February 6th, 2007

Catching up with Kevin, a meeting with Myra, and a tipsy tortured testament...

I actually went into the office today, where I had a decent day.

I had lunch with Kevin (zy1125), who is now sporting facial hair, which made me think "Woof!" when I saw him. We ate at Rudino's at RTP, consistently the place for hot young professionals in the Triangle. Today was no exception.

It was nice to catch up; Kevin's good people.

I attended a late afternoon meeting with Myra and Mark, in which we discussed, among other things, the high-level vision of the new Service-Learning web site, or more exactly, the new "Center for Excellence in Curricular Engagement." I think I got that right.

This discussion included such mundane things as: the organization, the navigation, and the rhetorical purposes we'd be trying to address on the web site, as well as infinitely more interesting things, such as whether the sleeves on Myra's blouse should be rolled back one fold, and whether the purple, lace "undergarment" exposed beneath her blouse was really underwear or outerwear. But we digressed...

The attention span of a gnat. Or, the 21st century version of that, and since we're talking about web sites, The attention span of a scrollbar.

Once home after the meeting, I did some more IBM work, and then took a nap.

I met Kevin (av8rdude) and Kurt at Karaoke at around 11:00. Chad's sister was there again, and once again their duet of "Endless Love" was most excellent.

One guy, who was here on business from Nashville and worked for Kenny Chesney's record label, spoke with me for 10 or 15 minutes. I'm pretty sure it was Kenny Chesney—some big country star, anyway, but not Tim McGraw. I definitely would not have forgotten that.

[Aside: "They" say if you have to use a lot of emphasis devices in your writing that the writing is poor. But I digress...]

Later this guy with slurred feet named [I'll leave it out], introduced himself to me, and when he did, I said to him, "Honey, your breath smells like you've drank a bottle of pure rubbing alcohol."

"I'm really not drunk," he said. Please.

Anyway, he turned out to be a tortured soul, who sometime in the last few months had tried to kill himself—with pills. "I went to hell three times during the ordeal. I want to go back to church now, and I need to go to confession."

I said, "Well I hope you are prepared to do a huge number of laps around the beads for your penance."

Shortly after that he wandered off, and stumbled back by a few minutes later, muttering, "My ride. My ride has left me." I left him shortly after that.