Note to self: remember to look out the window when the train rolls from Central to Harvard tonight, keeping the eyes peeled for the new animated advertisements on the tunnel wall. (This gentleman seems to have experience even more public transit resentment and bewilderment than even I have.) Not that I really need more ads in my life, but I’m kinda curious about how it’ll look.

Spams du jour: One with a subject line “salad dressing brides near 71″ and one with the followingbody text:

Turning the indicator to the word up he found, to his joy and relief, that it would yet obey the influence of the power of repulsionSeeing him rise into the air the fellow made a grab for his foot and held it firmly, while his companions ran to help him Weight seemed to make no difference in the machine; it lifted the pirate as well as Rob; it lifted another who clung to the first man’s leg, and another who clung to him

Further down in the same message was more text, as if this was the original email and the stuff about foot grabbing was in the reply.

However rates of adverse event increased with the aminoglycoside Nephrotoxicity was much more common with combination therapy while vestibular damage and ototoxicity other important morbidities associated with aminoglycosides were not routinely examined Nothing ever clear cut but forever maybeing bout like a bloody hive. In my head. I try to imageine myself in the reverse situation and conclude that were it joan who was see-sawing about all this whatnot a doublebarrelled shotgun might just be in order. This temporarily quells my jelly berans. talma10popularidad62arquitectural,lamero’n interesada

This reminds me . . . I was going to compile a list of fake spammer names, the ones following an “Obsequious J. Bluebird” pattern.

I’m still on the antisocial kick that started when we got back from Maine. Yesterday I blew off my company’s annual “Summer Day,” which used to be a really good meal, bands, etc. on a boat or at some other festive locale, but which in recent years has cheapened down to bad hotdogs, a DJ spinning Jimmy Buffett, and touch football at one of Harvard’s lesser athletic fields near the stadium. Last year was pretty sucky, and since I have even fewer friends working here now, it didn’t seem too important that I sweat to the oldies with people I don’t really like getting paid to spend time with.

At least tomorrow I’ll be having lunch with Kevin, Teresa, Ted, and Sam — Teresa’s all excited to check out the Blue Room’s makeshift patio barbecue (which I’ve never been impressed by) after having read a writeup in the Globe.

Best thing that happened today: finding my “Bush Is a Punk-Ass Chump” bumper sticker. I must have filed it away when my then-boss started arguing with me about it a few years ago. I’m less of a wimp now, I guess, or I just don’t care.