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Slave to the grind

Another largely uninteresting day, full of work and not much else. Tonight will be full of similar excitement: dish washing, bread baking, and some shuffling of registration paperwork in preparation for Thursday's meeting. At least the weather has improved somewhat, though I think it says volumes about the suckitude of Minnesota winters that we consider a day when the high is 17 degrees as somethng to celebrate. (Mainly because for the previous week it never got above zero, and that's Fahrenheit.)

My life may be dull, but I think I'm happier with it than this kind of life. Anna Nicole Smith wasn't on my radar screen much; her debut happened when I was still happily married and not looking around much, and I've never been much for drooling over centerfolds anyway. Cosh is much more sympathetic to this sad woman's arc of epic fail than, say, Cathy Seipp, but Seipp has never had a lot of sympathy for people who never bothered to develop anything but their looks.