Grin and Bear It

Okay, okay --

I'm back on line here, having just yesterday given my home internet connection ( = wireless card, drivers, etc.) the aspiring geek's equivalent of a solid thwack. Working fine now... other than the fact that I'm still trying to persuade Outlook 2002 to shake hands with GMail. Worked before on my last antiquated 'pute-box, but this time they'd still rather snub one another. Oy vey, Maria.

I'll figure it out; till then, my blog-formatting is going to be a problem again. And I'm left here with quite a load of things long-since promised, and in hefty need of catching-up on... not the least of which is the crew of the Enterprise, stranded on Thyatira lo these many months. Incredibly, word's gotten back to yours truly that some folks were actually reading that serial, and have become a bit antsy about resolving Archer's plight -- not the least of whom is the scriptwriter herself, the incredibly patient Chuckles.

Peace, people -- see this spot tomorrow.

I offer no apologies for my long absence here... although I hope a sheepish blush will suffice. No? Well, let me welcome both my readers back with something else un (uh...) bearable.

Seems this large grizzly shambled into a bar one day (parked his unicycle outside the swinging doors, no doubt), stood up and leaned on the bar, which creaked ominously. "Bartender," said fine furry fellow, friendly-fashion: "I'd like.............................................

.............................. a beer."

'Tender tapped out a large, frosty mug of his finest. "Sure thing, pal -- here. But... why the big pause there?"

Grizzly raised his hands -- fur, claws, and pads -- and looked them over, turning and flexing them. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've always had them."