Never explain a joke.

For some bizarre reason, a conversation at work today about the city's upcoming non-smoking bylaw turned into someone proposing a bylaw that nobody would be allowed to beat up on Denton.

"A charming sentiment," I agreed, "but ultimately meaningless. After all, you just know there's going to be a sprig of mistletoe out there that won't listen."

Dead silence and puzzled looks. Apparently, my esteemed co-workers don't speak hypertext.

"It's a myth," I explained. "The death of Balder? Balder The Beautiful?"

"Who?"

Oddly enough, it wasn't a rhetorical question, and I was obliged to answer. It's a very odd situation to teach your direct supervisor about Norse Mythology. Better still is when you intend it as self-effacing humour, but you're forced to explain that you were comparing yourself to the Norse God of Beauty. That's awkward.

And when I say "awkward", I mean "the-only-person-applauding-is-your-mother" awkward.

The day improved, though. My co-worker (Mike) and I helped the new grad student (Armando) design a gas chamber for his experiment. (Nitrogen gas. Stop worrying.) After sketching out some ideas, Armando put it together, and he decided to name it using all three of our initials:

The M.A.D. Chamber.

Roughly speaking, that's the most awesome thing of 2007 so far.