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."
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