Summer Forecast

Remember summer jobs, brioches?  (I am co-opting Nicolatte's practice of addressing friends as tasty bread products.  Why limit myself to pretzels when there's a whole world out there of buns and rolls?)  Those sticky, long days spent scooping ice cream or folding khakis?  Or, in my case, sitting around in too-cold offices, pretending to look busy?  Now in the third decade of my life, I still have to have summer jobs.  Last week, Doc Nice offered me one.  It was very nice of him but for one problem: I already had a summer job.  With Doc Nice.  He'd offered me a different job weeks earlier.  Fortunately for you, the details of all this are not interesting and fortunately for you, they all got worked out earlier this week.  (Note to future important self: Pitch to funders before recruiting project staff.)  I should be in Boston for about half of my summer.  There will be no biscuits, but there'd better be literal lobster, and figurative brioches.