stroganoff, of sorts
I'm at my desk, once again illicitly updating from work. Well, it's not THAT illicit, but I feel guilty. I read a lot of web diaries from people who work at these teeny tiny Internet-type companies, and it seems like they do a lot of non-work-related stuff at work, like throw Frisbees and order pizza late at night etc.
Well, I don't work at a place like that. I'm not going to say exactly where I DO work, but it's a big place that publishes big scientific journals. If you listen to the news on Wednesdays, any health-related stories probably use a press release from this journal.
And actually, although my friends who work at tiny start-ups seem to have a lot of fun, and seem to be super-tight with all their coworkers, they also seem to work A WHOLE LOT, and I'm kind of glad I don't have a job like that. I like the line between work and home to be a fairly sharp one. I like my job. A lot. And I like most of the people I work with. I just don't feel I need to be here any more than necessary, even if frisbees and pizzas were involved.
WEEBLES WOBBLE, BUT THEY DON'T FALL DOWN! NO SIR! NOT EVER!
Sorry, I don't know where that came from.
Yesterday I tried a new recipe. I like to cook. So does LT, but he often gets home later than I do, so I probably do most of it. Anyway, this recipe was supposed to be a sort of vegetarian beef stroganoff, with big wide noodles and vegetables in a sour cream paprika sauce. Not the kind of thing I usually cook at all. (I am a vegetarian, but beans and rice or fancy pasta is usually my style—not so much the suburban-mom-type casserole things.) It turned out odd. LT and I agreed that it wasn't BAD exactly, it just needed a lot of…something. Because we couldn't define that “something,” we ended up adding a lot of salt.
It's Kat's birthday, and I've been trying to call her at work all day, and she doesn't seem to be there. Grrrr. I really want to go out tonight. It's only 3 pm and I'm thinking about beer.
—mimi smartypants