Sam
I remember a brief scene from The West Wing when Sam Seaborn was having some difficulty writing a speech. He's writing on a pad of yellow legal paper on the desk in front of him. In one smooth motion he stops writing, rips off the top sheet, crumples it up in his fist, bangs his fist on the table three times, throws the crumpled up ball of paper into the corner, and picks up the pen to start writing again.
I feel Sam's pain.
Not coincidentally, my computer is also named Sam. Yet ComputerSam does not crumple in a very satisfying way like a piece of paper does. ComputerSam does not crumple at all, in fact. And slinging him willy nilly into the corner is probably a bad idea at this juncture. But I feel Sam's pain.
Gosh I'm wordy when I've run out of relevant work-related words.
I feel Sam's pain.
Not coincidentally, my computer is also named Sam. Yet ComputerSam does not crumple in a very satisfying way like a piece of paper does. ComputerSam does not crumple at all, in fact. And slinging him willy nilly into the corner is probably a bad idea at this juncture. But I feel Sam's pain.
Gosh I'm wordy when I've run out of relevant work-related words.
posted by Meredith | 2:16 AM
2 Comments:
If it makes you feel any better, I'm in the same boat. I spent thirty minutes Thursday tracking down a reference - for my introduction, mind you - of an experiment done in 1803 and entirely irrelevant to my work, simply to get away from the empty screen I was staring at.
(In turns out the reference was in German. Why does the library even have a 200 year old posthumously published autobiography of the guy who discovered ultaviolet light in the original German? And why did I seek it out?)
Um...Craig's comment made me feel dumb and inferior, so I have nothing to say here. I'm in some bizarre world of spit up and poop and I am having trouble relating to academia. Sorry.
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