* Work on pout. Tried to pout at search committee this morning when it appeared I had dragged myself out of bed for nothing. To spend time with one's work comrades is never a waste of time, of course; thus, couldn't sustain pout. Did try to wave around Palm Pilot to reestablish dominance. Didn't have Palm Pilot. (See #1.) Hadn't hotsynced anyway. Now, I'm pouting. Embed in muscle memory.
* Work on tasteless jokes for banquet tomorrow. Remember to insult everybody. Nothing more insulting at males-only sports-themed function than not to be insulted. Must strongly suggest males at banquet are drunken lechers, mindless -- but also legendary -- in their debauchery. Even to imply restrained, sober, sexually responsible behavior would be devastating, profoundly unkind.
"Have you no decency, sir?" all those in attendance would be justified in saying if anything I said was remotely decent.
If a man is of a certain age, the row that man hoes is a long hard row, particularly if he must pretend to be drunk and, as he walks, to be wincing from an intimate disease.
- ESTRAGON:
- That's the idea, let's abuse each other.
- They turn, move apart, turn again and face each other.
- VLADIMIR:
- Moron!
- ESTRAGON:
- Vermin!
- VLADIMIR:
- Abortion!
- ESTRAGON:
- Morpion!
- VLADIMIR:
- Sewer-rat!
- ESTRAGON:
- Curate!
- VLADIMIR:
- Cretin!
- ESTRAGON:
- (with finality). Crritic!
- VLADIMIR:
- Oh!
- He wilts, vanquished, and turns away.
* Where did I put those maracas?
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