OK, I give....

Why did you all go nuts today over your wythes? Is it a phase of the moon or
something sinister like mysterious vocabulary mutilations? Have we been
nonsighting those barbecued helicopters again? Or possibly we have all been so
busy at work doing ur-professional things, seductively removing a little
stucco here, a bit of newly spalled brick there, programming infinity,
meeting, meeting, meeting, that we can no longer stand the pressure. The
Descartian inclination to numerize reality into fuzzy bits may lead first to a
warped psychology, then chaos, then context and order. I graduated HS in '70.
Yada yada. I dreamed some really neat poetry last night, was two-thumbing it
on my Psion, then woke up to birds making noises. Sometimes waking up feels
like crashing a hard drive.

Dare I admit my trepidation over merkin?

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