More bitchin' 'n' moanin'

So, after what seems like nearly a year, the grandiose sewer work along my route to the office has wound to a close and all the cuties have moved on to dirty jobs elsewhere. But you know what? The nearest intersection still floods every time it rains. This morning the water wasn't three feet deep like it was after that terrible downpour some years ago, but there was still plenty of it. No wonder the local municipality needs to lean on my institution to cough up protecvoluntary contributions from time to time to keep it afloat.

Despite the relatively moderate temperatures, this is one of those hideously humid days where everything that comes in contact with you becomes sticky with sweat within instants and you can't move a muscle without generating more. Naturally, this is the day I need to dress up because the search committee I'm on is holding its first onsite interview. Could be worse, I could be broke and sick in a garret on the Prinsengracht, where it's currently 73 degrees with 57% relative humidity. (Who am I kidding? That would kick ass compared to this.)

NO! NE! OTE! MELE!

Another entry from the oddities of mediaeval cookery page highlighted specifically for the appreciation of monshu, since I'm forever mocking him about the oatmeal-based cuisine of his ancestors:

Buttered Wortes. Take al maner of good herbes that thou may gete, and do bi ham as is forsaid; putte hem on the fire wit faire water; put there-to clarefied buttur a grete quantite. Whan thei ben boyled ynog, salt hem; late none otemele come there-in. Dise brede small in disshes, and powre on the wortes, and serue hem fort. [emphasis added]