Today I was in a meeting with about seven people in it, by memory. Three of us were Annes--in fact, all the females in the room were named Anne. All three of us spell it the same way.

I go from being the only Anne, especially the only Anne-with-an-e, to that name being as common as pennies.

Better yet: one of those Annes shares the same job title and responsibilities with me, and has the office next door. Even better yet: we have the same middle name, as well.

There seems something a bit wrong about snow drifting past magnolias in full bloom.

Snow greeted me as I walked out of the house this morning. Less than a block from home, the little amber gas pump next to my speedometer lit up.

Normally, I'm a good girl, and follow the advice my dad provides: that is, never let your tank get below half when it might snow.

Really, near May, I didn't think this would be a problem. But I have to admit I debated for a good long time (even though I was five minutes late for work) about whether or not to get gas before going in. Lateness and a meeting spurred the latter choice. Instead, I snagged a couple minutes at lunch to do so.

The older lady in the car who pulled in behind me couldn't figure out how to work the pump. The reflection on and angle of the little screen on the pump (as well as her height, or lack thereof) contributed to the problem.

I have to say I fear becoming that little old lady. The day that technology confuses me to the point that I can't fill my gas tank is the day I should really stop driving. I don't think it'll happen anytime soon, but that certainly helps along my drive to stay current with web and tech developments.

Even better, during my last (first, for that matter) staff review, I was told the entire office depends on me to research and help implement new and better ways to communicate with students via tech and the web.

I like my job.

Judged the Student Film Festival here yesterday, along with five other people. One work felt like a standout to me--an almost concept-piece about a woman who kills God, and the world being unprepared for it. It was also one of the few actually on film, and you could really tell the quality difference. Touches of beautiful color work were included, and simply amazing visuals every once in awhile.

Overall, it was great fun, and I think we turned out an excellent Film Festival. I hope they'll invite me to do it again next year.

I just saw Amiri Baraka, Sophia Sanchez, and a couple younger folks perform and speak. As is my habit lately, thanks again to my fantastic uncle and his fabulous gift of a great little voice recorder, I recorded the entire thing. I intend to convert the files to .wavs and burn them to a CD, if that's possible.

That experience was just amazing. I'd forgotten how much I love the poets that emerged from the Harlem Renaissance--and their younger protoges were also excellent. Baraka read the poem "Somebody Blew Up America," which moved the governor and legislature of New Jersey to try to oust him as poet laureate of New Jersey. His reading style--confrontational, vehement--can be entrancing if you let it.

Also amazing (but not nearly so much) was the girl sitting next to me who later asked: "What's your major?" after asking me for copies of the files. Mental note: email her when I've managed to burn the CD.

While I have to say I'm really, really curious about my background, I'm not $100 plus shipping curious.