Trade you for the frogs

I'm not sure what's better than a cold chicken sandwich, not when it's made from breast meat freshly carved from the roast chicken sitting in the fridge and topped with cold pan gravy. Yarm yarm yarm.

I got to feel very spousal tonight, milling about in the president's yard with the other faculty spice (and spouse-analogues) while the breadwinners discussed Big Important Things in a faculty meeting inside. The meeting ran way over—where "way" is defined as "an hour"—so there was a lot of milling to be done, and I was among the first half-dozen to arrive. I was nervous at first, unanchored in a strange place as I was, but as we got the lion's share of the good snacks (spanakopita, stromboli slices, artichoke dip, all carried about on trays by scurrying undergrads in white dress shirts) I couldn't really complain. The company was quite nice; I chatted with a lawyer who was waiting to hear the results of her NY bar exam and who'd found frogs in her swimming pool upon arrival here. (It seems to be a Green Acres sort of situation for her.) And once the meeting ended it was a whirlwind of socialization, in the twenty minutes we had before adfamiliares had to leave for her contra: I met a handful of new faculty, hung out with Dan and his family, unmasked a Scottish fiddler in the history department. (Incidentally, Dan truly amazed me by precisely guessing, with no prompting, the reason for the 7 and ? in my name. Nobody has ever done that before, in the twenty years or so that it's been an issue. He also plays a lot of Elvis C. on the geetar, it turns out. Hats off to the man.)

I realized tonight how lonely I've been here, lonely without really noticing it. These were, literally, my first face-to-face conversations (with someone other than K.) since sinsofthedove left, and I soaked them up like a sponge—like one of those hard dry sponges you find tucked way back under the sink when you move out. It's difficult, moving to a new area, and unlike K. I haven't had a lot of opportunities to interact with people; I hope that'll change, now the school year is starting. (The TV season starts this weekend, too, which also helps.)

I apologize, a bit late, to my long-distance friends who might've grown sick of my constant hunger for human contact; tonight gave me a bit more faith that I might eventually Get A Life of my own, and not rely so much on the friends who live in the little glowing box on my desk. I do appreciate you all; you keep me sane. (Sane as I ever was, anyway.)

Mikey likes it (not)

This is what I get for failing to do proper research: my Mac has a line-in audio port, not a microphone port. This translates to a very quiet microphone, since the mic needs to draw power and it's got none. I can fix this with a $30 USB mic port, but I'm annoyed with myself. *bonks self on head*

(The mic has a battery, and claims to be able to run without a powered jack if the battery is in. This appears to be a lie, unless the battery that came with it is just dead. Hrm.)

On the other hand, my work of the last few days has produced a spiffy and multi-layered rhythm track in GarageBand, which pleases me.