The weather has been beautiful for what seems like weeks and weeks. I went to the beach for the first time here, two weekends ago. I read in the paper that by September 13, there had already been more 80-degree days than in all of August! Apparently it has something to do with the hurricanes. Nyah, nyah, East Coast -- we don't need your "springtime" and your "winters that last less than 8 months."

Yesterday I got caught in the elevator with Mr. E., the guy who founded my company a million zillion years ago. I mean literally, like 50 years. They have a big birthday party for him every year in the auditorium. He asked me what accounts I worked on and when I told him about the epilepsy drug, he creakily exclaimed, "L----! That's got another use besides epilepsy, though, doesn't it?" I started to say yes but I guess he was just catching his breath, because he went on, with enthusiasm, "That's one of the things they used to give my wife for bipolar disorder! I don't think she takes it anymore, though." I said something lame about how that was bad for our client but good for her, because of the nausea, headaches, etc. We got to the ground before I had to talk about the latest data on oral contraceptive interactions.

My coworker told me Mr. E's wife came in the office the other day to admire our floor, which has been painted top to bottom to resemble the clubhouse of some extremely worshipful Baltimore Ravens fans. For no discernible reason she plopped down in my coworker's cube, tilted her head back, and went all glassy-eyed. Meanwhile, my coworker had her big, heavy, precarious purse balanced on a hook just so, right over Mrs. E's forehead. So my coworker was facing two possible death scenarios for the boss's wife, in her cube. Luckily five or six minutes passed without incident, other than Mr. E figuring out that nobody liked the paint job. 

¶ 10:28 PM