On the work front, my office journal submission deadline (complete issue, in form that doesn't later make me want to rip my hair out in frustration) is December 15. In anticipation of this, my OCD academic editor is besieging me with correspondence minutia, e.g., volleys between him and Merriam-Webster (no, he doesn't just look words up) on existence and/or proper use of various words. This, friends, is why we have copyeditors and style manuals. No, I cannot convince him of that. My head may explode before we get to the 15th.
Also, my office is moving! I must pack and purge, as well as address the tender and vital concerns of those other obsessive souls in our suite: can we, in fact, set people to the task of pulling apart printer proofs and old bluelines and recycle the relevant portion??? I'm as green as the next granola, vegetarian type, but I can't stress the degree to which I don't care and can't rush this dilemma to the top of my list. Trash, recycle bin, whatever, figure it out, be an active citizen.
And one of my rocks at this place is leaving. I'm really trying hard not to think about it until I absolutely have to. But because I thrust myself into the departure-party logistics (with the sensible plea that folks actually consult the fetee before getting carried away with the details), I got drafted to be Organizer-in-Chief. It's supposed to be about arm-twisting volunteers for snacks and the like (austerity policies of the institution). However, we have one individual running amok with the idea that we need a Classy Do for bigwigs and all, all my friend's colleagues throughout the institution, because he has so very many (my friend has no idea what she's talking about).
So, because of this woman's insistence, we are doing two parties. And she seems to expect me to spearhead all the details on her insisted-upon Classy Do. I spent half the day on Friday designing her an invitation. She now is passive-aggressively pining for folks to volunteer up homemade dishes ("those dips in plastic containers are so tacky"). She also wants me to look into places to get a proper cheese tray.
Somehow, I've turned into this woman, queen of the party-planning committee.
If I snap, you'll know why.
4 comments:
Once you bring your artichoke dip and my baked brie, what else do you really need?
You speak sense. And a party isn't a party until the brie's been busted out.
The thing I worry about is the time needed to accomplish these tasks in a toaster oven. I fear we're in Easy Bake territory, with a 12-hour head start necessary.
Actually, Toby, not that we didn't already know, but you're a genius. I think this brie thing would be perfect and pretty easy (if I got a small wheel of the stuff; the toaster oven even convects!).
Remind me of the directions? Crescent roll, raspberry jam, wrap that puppy up, bake at 350 or so for 20 minutes? Is that right?
Pretty much. I use the Pillsbury Crescent Rolls to cover the top and sides of the brie, fork in some holes to vent it, and follow the directions on the crescent roll package for cooking. If you want the pastry shiny, egg wash it before putting in the oven, but definitely an optional step. Glad I could be of use.
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