A significant portion of the evening involved moving apples in plastic bags around campus, but now that they are all safely located in Parish 103--and taste-tested by one Andy McMahon--that chapter comes to a close.
In the meantime, things appear to be trucking on, beginning to settle into the rut that is 4th week right before the storm of mid-term. This rut is most aptly demonstrated by the collection of once- (or, occasionally, twice-) used glasses and mugs adorning Andrew's coffeetable in the center of our social space, as well as by the general reluctance to pick up the lawnchair that's been strewn on the floor next to Jon's desk for well over a week.
I can hear Peter elaborate about his Argentine central banking notions from down the hall, and so will retire for the evening. Not because of Argentine anything, but rather that when Peter's returned to Parish, it means that I'm up much too late, as a rule. So, I will heed my better judgment and call this post a raucous success.
Andy asks first, however, what that smell is. I, completely ignorant, am unable to provide a suitable reply.
Bis Morgen,
Parisher Bergmann Einhundertdrei
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