Barry White should sing the Toreador song.

Some day, I want to meet someone who became a real estate agent because of their profound love and fondness for Monopoly.

I think that would make me happy.

Other snippets:

Wednesday night a few Butlerites and I had dinner with Helen Fisher. There, she talked a bit about the brain chemistry behind personality types. She said she'd "figured out" Myers Briggs, and since I was an INFJ that meant I would have high levels of estrogen ("Look at that round face!") and seritonin. To which Mystery Prof gaffawed and assured Helen Fisher that I most certainly did not have high levels of seritonin. Acquaintance Prof then agreed with enthusiasm.

I don't think I've ever had my neurotransmitters so publicly and vigorously debated. Surreal moment, really.

Anyway, Helen Fisher went on to give a talk later than evening on the chemistry of love. Interesting study. I do think that some of her conclusions were sketch, but it certainly was food for thought. And fun.

Friday night I turned down a most rightious opportunity to go bowling to see Carmen at Clowes. Beth and I sat in the very back row in the very highest terrace and listened to Hoosiers sing in French that sounded distinctly German to my ears. That Toreador song now pops into my head at least once an hour.

Running late. Must be off. But do you think Barry White ever passed on genetic material? Or is that an incredibly naive question?