i can't tell if this shows that i really care about what i do or whether it justs boasts about my ability to make a great sandwich.

I would just like to use this post to publicly thank the turkey-cranberry sandwich in front of me for preventing me from spontaneous combustion. You see, I turned down an invitation to a kegger in Logan (Logan? Really? Not even gas under two bucks a gallon can make driving that far seem like a good idea when I am this busy. It just occured to me that not even free beer could get me to drive that far this weekend. Who am I becoming?!) to spend the evening "getting ahead" on a paper not due FOR ANOTHER MONTH (Where is Melanie?! What have you done with her?! This is turning into Invasion of the Body Snatchers, clearly).

I say this because I think that such effort-- such devotion to my craft-- should certainly be rewarded by the magic of the text-- the six books I need to read are, after all, in my field! This should be an unending pleasure cruise of an evening! And then I opened up The Longest and Newest Book on My List that I Shall Not Name and my evening started to feel like that Office episode where they go on the cruise, only not even funny or entertaining. I have not been so enraged and annoyed by a book after reading only the introduction EVER. I already hate this book more than any book I've ever read, and I mean come on, I finished... no, nothing even compares. My sensibilities have been so assaulted. I feel so wounded, injured, insulted, and aghast that somebody entered my subject area, injected this nasty, biased, bourgeois consensus liberal intellectual elitism into it and then, THEN, called it OBJECTIVITY! The children of post-modernism weep at the very existence of such a book.

So I just wanted to thank artisan bread, mayonnaise, red leaf lettuce, salt and pepper, rosemary infused roasted turkey breast, homemade whole cranberry sauce and whipped cream cheese for settling down the bustling atoms that make up my body. I very nearly exploded.