At Home He's a Tourist

He fills his head with culture/ He gives himself an ulcer.

Wednesday, April 16, 2003

I've discovered that our Sirsi software keeps track of the total number of checkouts each item has received since being entered into the system, so I'm planning a west Texas bibliometric shootout between myself and the faculty. Whose selections will receive the highest circ stats?

I hope that those of y'all out east are enjoying a lush, fragrant spring, but the vernal experience on the Llano is somewhat different. Yesterday afternoon strong winds swept the dirt off the plains and into the clouds, making the sky a brown canopy shutting out the sun. The flying grit stung my eyes and crunched between my teeth. Later in the afternoon the low-pressure front crashed through with a short burst of 70 mph wind, rain, and pea-sized hail. After work I drove up the I-27 service road looking for spectacular thunderheads but by that point the sky was merely overcast. Most of the cars in town are streaked with mud. Not what Hopkins had in mind when writing "Nothing is so beautiful as spring."

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