I received at work a finalized, completed first-season DVD set of The West Wing in a big box yesterday. While I'd already been sent the "check disc" copies (no-frills CDs in plain, sometimes cracked, jewel cases), the company sent me the finished, packaged product as well. Their hook to get me to notice it (as if being one of the most brilliant shows on television weren't enough) was to tie -- using red, white and blue ribbon, of course -- the DVD box to a 12-inch-by-8-inch plastic model of the White House. On top of the portico it says "Lift." There was a yellow tag sticking out of it that, when I opened the roof to reveal the hollow storage space inside, was stuck into a small compartment in the roof. I pulled the tag out and the presidential theme song started blaring from the White House on my desk. It also plays the National Anthem, alternating between the two. Casey hates it. I kinda like it, but I've taped down the button that starts the music so that it doesn't scare the crap out of my co-workers every time I open it.

I bought the new Lyle Lovett CD over the weekend. I likey. Fourteen tracks, some country, some bluesy, even a gospel tilt here and there.

The other day in the mail, I got the double CD of selections from NPR's This American Life that I'd ordered. I've listened to the first disc ("We Laughed") of funny stories. The second disc ("We Wept") might not be as amusing, but will certainly be inspiring. There are some things I just love about NPR. I feel more informed and relaxed when I listen to it, even for 15 minutes on the drive home. But I'm also inspired by the more artistic things on shows like This American Life and A Prairie Home Companion and the commentaries on All Things Considered. I don't mean to sound like a pledge drive pitch, but it is a wonderful and worthwhile service.

They're doing Diaryland Survivor 5. I kinda wish I could do that sometime, but I didn't know they were reviving it. Damn.

The new girl at work asked me three times Monday night what time we'd be getting out. Actually, she asked that twice, and one time she asked, "Do you think we'll be out by 10? Do you think I'll be out by 10?" I told her I didn't know, that we'd have to see. When she asked me at one point when I was leaving, I did tell her that I was staying as long as she was there. We ended up leaving a little after 11.

I'm sorry, honey, I know you're young and pretty and you have a social life, but you have a big-person's job now. You knew when you interviewed that Mondays would be late nights. I find it a little -- I don't know what word I'm looking for; cocky? -- to be asking what time you'll be going home when you know what this job entails. She just called me to ask about tonight, though that's a little different. I simply assured her that it wouldn't be later than 6, our standard, office-wide quitting time.

I like it better when Karen's not sick, because it's her job to handle these things. I don't have much patience for it.