You know you've been celibate in the South for too long when you find yourself gazing lustfully at a stubbled guy in a white wifebeater, with an eagle tattoo on his bicep, with his head under the hood of his car.

So, that beacon of sexual energy phase? Lasted all of three days. It quickly extinguished, and once again I felt more like Mr. Rogers than like Mick Jagger. I've returned to blessed anonymity, which is comforting to someone with chronic social anxiety.

I had an advisory meeting today with some department guy I've never met before, and at one point he said, "You have a noticeably strong character." A bit stunned, I asked, "Really?" He then said, "Well, you're obviously no shrinking violet." I'm not sure he meant it as such a compliment, but it made me grin all day long. Progress!