(no subject)

It's fingerless-glove day again here at the office. On the plus side, though, I needn't bother going all the way to the kitchenette to put my lunch in the refrigerator.

Got my first 419 scam-mail in French:

[...] Compte tenu du climat politique instable en Cote d´Ivoire , j'ai décidé de chercher un partenaire afin d'investir cette somme hors du continent dans des domaines rentables, c'est donc la raison pour laquelle je viens vers vous pour solliciter votre assistance et nous aider à investir dans votre pays. [...]

So that's cool. But the air temperature is cooler.

Getting in touch with my more feminine, or at least warmer, side

So earlier I left the office to do the following: (1) microwave a late
lunch; (2) get Prof. *****'s signature on a form due today; and (3) buy something to keep my legs warm, as Mere Pants are not enough, even here in the office. So, I thought, a microwave being present in a kitchenette across the hall from said prof.'s office, it made sense to go take care of number (3) first.

Down the street are several sporting goods stores; the nearest an expensive ski shop. I was willing at this point to pay expensive ski shop prices, but once there found that my size was sold out in the two brands my mind could comfortably conceive of paying for. On the way back, cold and defeated -- for I did not wish to walk down to the more distant stores--, I stopped in a CVS, more for a place to get out of the wind than anything -- and in a flash of brilliance remembered women's hosiery! So now I'm all warm and toasty with some 6-dollar fashion tights under my jeans, which is all to the good, at least until I'm in the men's locker room at the Y tonight.

Naturally, by the time I got to the department office, Prof. ***** had just left to teach a class which lasts until right when I have to leave to catch my train, so I will have to try again tomorrow, and my form will be a day late. But at least I have had lunch, and my legs are warm.

Boston "Molassacre" (so-called by a Duck Tour guy I heard once)

I overheard some people on the T saying they were going to a lecture on the Boston Molasses Flood, and expressing some ignorance over just what that was (so I suppose it was a good thing they were going to a lecture on it).

Today is the 85th anniversary of the great molasses disaster, when a large holding tank of molasses (for the rum trade; consider, if you will, the irony that this happened quite literally on the eve of Prohibition, which was ratified by the last state, Nebraska, the next day), in the vicinity of the present-day Aquarium, exploded (from unseasonable heat, perhaps; something else to think about longingly today, but the owners blamed Bolsheviks) and the resulting flood killed 21 people, snapped the supports of an elevated railway, and sunk a boat, and left Boston smelling like molasses for decades after.

Next time you hear the phrase "slow as molasses in January," inform the speaker that that speed can in fact be as much as 35 miles an hour.