Bons temps

When finally I was able to take lunch today, I was so ready for it I was almost punchy. I sang "Iko Iko" the whole way to Dixie Kitchen, increasing the volume when necessary to frighten off the ubiquitous chamuggers. Once there, I mulled before settling on the fried chicken; it seems so mundane I forget that I virtually never eat it any more. I ordered a Blackened Voodoo, forgetting that they no longer carried it, so my earnest server began reciting the whole beer list, starting with their seasonal pick, which immediately caught my fancy. I cut him off with the words, "You had me at 'chicory stout'."

It was a Dogfish Head beer and a tasty one, too. I told the manager who was responsible for selecting it that it was a pleasant alternative to some of the oversweet stouts coming out these days. Even though my colleague had warned me away from the beignets, calling them "greasy", I inquired anyway, figuring they wouldn't have them outside of brunch hours in any case. I was wrong, and so was she; they may not have been as fluffy as those at Big Jones, but they didn't have any more oil in them than necessary.

I felt I deserved a little indulgence after my obnoxious morning. I had an hour to prepare for a morning meeting and I burned it teaching coworkers how to use the calendar function in Outlook and ranting about a request for several Japanese titles. Seven years these have languished due to a lack of provision for their processing, finally I put them into storage, and not a week later a prof goes and requests ten of them. Worse, I thought I knew exactly where to find them, and when I didn't I ended up going through at least five locations in two buildings. Now there are only six we can't find.

This brought me to my afternoon meaning, which was so full of institutional stupidity I don't even know where to start. [Hon, look away if you don't want to spoil our dinner conversation tonight.] Foremost was the revelation that one of the units is putting overflow materials in a lower level location without changing the records to reflect this. When called on it, they reportedly said they'd soon be hiring a new person who would "fix" it all. Great idea! Then I made an innocent inquiry about a couple of "temporary" stores of materials in our area and found out (a) one is really a permanent working backlog and (b) the other is caught in a tax-related wrangle between our institution and the donors.

Oh, and how could I forget the news that the IM software which everyone in the department was required to take classes in and log into daily so that the head can keep track of our whereabouts is scheduled to go away soon, but we will not be immediately adopting its replacement because--according to our head--we have "too much on our plates already". The department we deal the most with is switching, and there's no interoperability between the two systems. Which effectively means that I'll have to run both--one to keep my boss happy, and one to actually use. WHEEEE!!!

Wired

Surprisingly, taking a sponge bath only added five minutes to my morning ritual today, even with hair washing. That doesn't mean it wasn't supremely awkward, kneeling in the bathtub and trying to wrap a towel around my middle while sticking my head under the faucet--all without knocking the monitor onto the floor. If I'd only known I'd be under a Duschverbot, I would've washed my hair yesterday. I can go two-and-a-half days without shampooing, but three-and-a-half is simply beyond endurance.

How outrageous is it, by the way, that I can store my entire library of pop music on a device which can fit under my tongue, but to record a mere 48 hours of heart activity, I'm saddled with something the size and heft of a Walkman? I know I shouldn't expect Cadillac care on my budget health plan; I'd happily settle for half-decade-old Apple technology. But the worst of it is the sticky patches. I hardly noticed them at first, but by this afternoon I was ready to tear them from my body. I can't imagine how satisfying it will be to pull them off tomorrow.

At least I feel like we're getting good data. I was worried I might go the whole period without any symptoms, but I've been running around so much it felt like an amateur stress test.