Today I successfully fired up my brandy new wireless router, discovered that I hadn't overdrawn my account, cleaned the kitchen, made my bed, inspired Beach Boy filk, had my refrigerator fixed to the tune of $240 DOLLARS! and watched another month of Ze Frank's "The Show."

Hehehehe... killme.

Now I'm going to head out into the great, big, scary world to go sign a paper I signed once before to demonstrate to our corporate masters that I exist. I will then reward myself for this endeavor with a delicious frappe. Frappe is verb used as a noun in Massachusetts, in place of the far less French-sounding milkshake. Rumors are, if you order a chocolate milkshake here, you will be given chocolate milk. Since this is crazy talk and makes no sense, I've not put it to the test.

Don't even get me started about egg cream.

Tomorrow, I will attempt a precision insertion to the familial estates in hopes of obtaining a stone's weight of freshly picked heirloom peaches for the next very French-sounding peche. I've also been threatened with four genuine Maine lobsters, so I may need to enlist the aid of the Lords of the Sea to survive the experience. If you wish to be my God co-pilot for this journey, drop me a line. We're leaving early, and I'm buying the coffee.