Yesterday, to paraphrase Green Day, I was one of those melodramatic fools. I spoke more sweepingly than normal. Example: Fellow office worker Amber is battling a cold, and I gave her several Vitamin C chewable wafers, each with 833% of the daily dose of C, to (I hope) help her get over it. She thanked me. I replied, “’Megadosing’ is a beautiful word.”

Well, it is, isn’t it?

Also, usually each morning I track down certain reports, which we call “jobs,” to correct coding mistakes. David e-mailed me that there were none to do that morning. I replied:

(Sung to the tune of Toto's "Rosana"):

Finally for once we don't have to chase down so many jobbbbbbbbbbbs!
Hosannah! Hosannah!
Gives me time to take care of other job-by stuuuuuuuuuff!
Hosann-naaa-ah!

(Yes, I know I'm mispronouncing it, and possibly even blaspheming it. This
is what happens when I need to laugh.)

Thus commenced mock-concerned e-mails about how dangerous it is to sing in our office. Then I got really random (to, I’m sure, the delight of Matt Kaplan and happyspector when they read this):

Hey, Tom Waits wasn't singing when he recited this:

He cut down the tire swing from the pepper tree.
He has no children of his own, you see.
He has no dog.
He has no friends.
And his lawn is dying.
And what's with all those packages he sends?

For some reason that cracks me up.

I got more normal as the day went on…