To Learn: Blow this pop stand.

I don't care that I'm going to toil in academia for ten years for a degree hardly worth the paper it's printed on, to be a fake doctor, to teach ungrateful people who just check Facebook during my meticulously planned and witty lecture, to share an office with some retired guy who deletes my phone messages, to be 24% less fertile statistically, to NEVER attain tenure because there are apparently NO tenure openings IN THE ENTIRE COUNTRY and if perchance someone drops dead (like maybe the retired guy who deletes my messages), they probably SURE AS HELL aren't going to give it to the chick who sits puts in like three hours a day and that's only because she's catching up on bootleg video of The Tudors in her office and doesn't publish except in letters to the editor in People when Sexiest Man Alive rolls around to say WHERE THE HELL WAS ALAN RICKMAN I DON'T CARE THAT HE'S LIKE EIGHTY BY NOW, to do all of this for about as much money as a plumber makes.

None of it matters.

Because it means that I will not be slaving away at a bookstore chain, designing insipid "Summer Reading" tables, which include such brilliant works as A Clockwork Orange, Fahrenheit 451, and Lolita.

LOLITA.

In what twisted universe is freaking Lolita summer reading, except maybe in certain prisons and the Boston Archdiocese?

Gah.

But the day was not completely lost, for it was time to throw out the gingerbread men that go on top of the gingerbread lattes. Being conscientious employees, Keelin and I didn't want to waste them, so tried to decide what to do with them. Some ideas bandied about included slipping them into random drinks and then watching people's perplexed faces when they tasted it, letting them swim in melted ice cream (this would actually be more wasteful, as we would have to melt the ice cream, but I think we all agree it would be worth it), and reenacting battles from WWI in an effort to help me study for my test on Thursday (I think Gallipoli would have been particularly fun, we could put the little allied gingerbread on the ground, all slaughtered, and the Ottoman gingerbread on a bag of coffee, all superior, but I digress.)

Eventually we decided the best plan would be to hurl them at the bluegrass players and then use the sneeze guard as cover when they began attacking with their fiddles and jugs.

What? They weren't supposed to be there this month and they showed up anyways and I WAS NOT PLEASED.