Week Redux

It's easy to write about work because it doesn't require much writing. If I was to actually sit down and think through what happened this week, I'd probably talk about the inexorable pull of drinks at The Pig on us. We spent much of last semester and this week talking about switching to a new pub for end-of-the-week drinks and yet somehow found us all there on Thursday night again, eating the same Tuscan fries (since I was abstaining) and complaining about the service. I may have also gone back and had more addictive fries for lunch on Friday- and they're not even good fries, they just sprinkle a generous amount of fake Parmesan on it. Or maybe I'd talk about how Professor Builder (not to be confused with Professor B(l)ender) is like the gentle, sagacious grandfather I'd never had (except that I have 2 real ones, plus another 'grandfather I'd never had'). Or how people named Nancy will always come up to bat for me. And intimidate me.

But like I said, too much effort. So here's a little blurb on the lack of trust between Whitecastle and myself.

Moi: You look great today. And I love what you've done with your office.

Whitecastle: What did you do now?

Moi: What I did? No, I need something from you.