My Poor Boss

(My boss stops by my desk to assign me a project.)
UIM: “Ok, I’ll work on that. How are you otherwise?”
Boss: “I am doing well. How are you?”
UIM: “Ticking along like a Timex strapped to the horn of a rhino, while John…” (pause) “..who was that newscaster who did those sorts of Timex commercials in the 50s? Anyway, ticking along like that.”
Boss: (that look) “I… I… I haven’t thought about those commercials… in decades..” (starts to get up from the chair)
UIM: “No one has had a sane reason to.” (mutters to self) “John… Cam…. Cameron….”
(My boss stands, and makes the turn around my cubicle to go back to his.)
UIM: “John Cameron Swayze. That’s it.”
(My boss stops briefly, intensifies the weird look, and shakes his head.)
(I dissolve into cackles and giggles while my boss walks back to his own cubicle.)

Quick status update.

Things are going well enough.

Weather is nice in bursts, so I've again started making lunch dates with cow-orkers whom I've known and liked for years.

Frage and I are straightening up the home a little each night.

I've been throwing a few more gags and emails from the back files into this web log, in no particular pattern, but assigned to the dates I originally wrote them.

I'm not saying that I feel quite like a room without a roof, but things are okay.

#FictionalConversations

A: "So, how's the relationship going?"

B: "Well, his depression seems to be kicking into overdrive."

A: "How so?"

B: "When I write him a 'good morning' e-mail now, his response is 'Nos morituri te salutamus'."

A: "So, you're gonna spike his morning soda with Lexapro, I guess?"