Box O'Wine Headquarters.

Last night, at the first (annual?) Meeting of the Minds poker night, 4 PhD English and a Masters of Education candidates tussled over a deck of cards. Actually, two decks of cards. One deck had pictures of animals, like the common wombat

and the wallaroo.

The other had presidents, like Howard Taft

and Millard Fillmore.

Well, at this epic scrape of a poker joust -- at which two people actually knew how to play poker before we started playing -- I, in the end, bested the Masters in Education candidate with my suited jack-ten to win four dollars. (Four dollars, because I didn't have a dollar except in quarters, and so I would have owed the winner a dollar. But choose to renege on that deal with myself.)

I didn't get too drunk this time, but I did get told some of the things I said last time I got too drunk -- things that I didn't remember -- awful, awful things -- and, as such, awoke with more or less the same feeling of shame I would have had I gone three sheets to the wind.

Did I mention we were drinking a five-liter box of Franzia? And that it's Franzia's 100th Anniversary? It seems the good people at Franzia's Box O'Wine Headquarters thought that they would, in celebration of this, their centennial annum, change it up by doing something they don't normally do: making shitty wine. And then putting it in a box.

And so, P, who bought the box of wine, apparently had to get the purchase over $15 to put on his credit card. So, instead of buying, say, an upgraded, classier Box O'Wine, he threw in a flat flask of Seagram's Gin. So, now, as the man said, I've got me some Seagram's Gin, et& et& et&.

Tonight is the big department reception. Which is weird, because it's in the basement of my building, so at least I have an angle for schmoozing. "Yeah, I live here." Annoyingly, there's a party afterwards. So I don't have to go anywhere to get to the reception, but then I have to leave to go to the party and come back to my building. So really, the convenience of having the reception in my building is negated by the discourtesy of somebody who would be so presumptuous to have a party somewhere else, and then to invite me. Can you reckon the nerve? There's not even a keg! Reckon the nerve!

Also: I get my first department paycheck today! That would be really exciting, but it also means that I have to start a checking account at some fucking McMegabank. Not that they care, for any symbolic or fiduciary reason, whether they get a penny of my money. In a way, they'd be doing me a favor. But still, fuck them. Plus, now I have no excuse for stealing internet. And that's as hard to deal with as anything.

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