Intellectual, Kinda, & then Not

Top five search hits of the week:

1. why whitman is referred as a father and teacher to ginsberg
2. Meaning There is no greater treason than to do the right thing for the wrong reason
3. find me fuzzy butterfly chair covers
4. pictures of sumo wrestlers laying down on someone
5. shoes eastlands losers

Confidential to the author of #5, above: You know that every time you--whoever you are, you paranoid Eastlandsphobic stranger--access this blog through a Google search with some godawful Eastlands reference, I'm inevitably going to write another post about it. So there will be yet another link for it the next time you run your crazy search. And you'll get this blog yet again. So why bother? Why not, when you see "Get It All Down" as the link, just skip it?! Or, if what you actually, subconsciously or consciously, desire is to read the damned blog, just read the damned thing rather than taking such a circuitous route toward it? You, sir, are very strange. Very strange indeed.

    I had a fasting blood test this morning before work. It was amazing--the phlebotomist found a plump one on the first try (with butterfly, of course) and left no bruise. And while I sat there, draining ever-so-slowly into vial #2, the hefty, tough-looking man next to me keeled over. Just passed right out onto his lap. I'd never seen it happen before. When he regained consciousness several people were talking at once. When he heard someone ask if he was OK, he said, "I just fell asleep, that's all." Yeah, right. That's why he was Casper-white and shaking.
    Next stop, Chesapeake Bagel Bakery. Large orange juice and a Bacon Bagel for me (hold your comments, please) and a dozen bagel bites (2-inch rectangular bagels, either blueberry or cinnamon-raisin, with cream cheese frosting) for the homeys. Er, the remainder of the library staff. Recompense for my being late. Tho, I wasn't even that late--I got in at 9:00, earlier than yesterday when I came in "on time."
    I spent the day alternating between fucking processing (I hate hate hate hate hate processing) and finishing the ICode1 project. Non-catalogers won't care, and even catalogers aren't likely to give much of a damn about this. But as of about 3:00 this afternoon, every goddamned item in our catalog has a distinct and accurate ICode1. If we somehow manage to get our monthly statistics to each of the selectors in a timely fashion, we might manage to get a collection development policy that has some relevance to our actual patron usage. Gnarly, eh? (Sorry, I watched "I Love the 80s: 1982" last night. I'd forgotten how much I loved Fast Times at Ridgemont High. A classic.)
    Heard a heretofore unheard request today. A group of us are going out tomorrow night after work. A combination bon voyage party for E.W., who's going to do her last two years of college elsewhere (bigger and better things!) and celebration for Sleek the Weather Guy, who's doing a program after his consulting stint in the afternoon. Hmmm, I just realized how this is going to sound. Not so good. Perhaps I'll just say that someone who's not going to be at the bar suggested that he would've gone to the bar if he'd known I'd be there. Yeah, that sums it up. It wasn't exactly that overtly complimentary (nor that clean), but I'm not going to start something here that I'm not willing to finish.
    I also got the hairy eyeball from a couple of people on my way to work. Couldn't figure out why--I was driving reasonably well, considering my propensity toward squealing (although that isn't my fault, entirely, because the area where I drive is oddly sloped and other people have commented that they squeal there, too)--until I realized that the volume on the CD player was at 10 and the song was Last Resort by Papa Roach. Yeah,

"Would it be wrong, would it be right
If I took my life tonight
Chances are that I might
Mutilation out of sight
And I'm contemplating suicide"

blaring from my open windows. Oops. Sorry. [chagrin]