I must confess, though, it�s difficult to soothe troubled authors with any sense of authority and professionalism when one is dressed as a Shriner and has been toodling about the office wearing a cardboard car and pelting people with candy. Nonetheless, I am a H-PPP.

Sigh.

My car is looking a bit rough around the edges already, and I�m significantly less energetic than any self-respecting Shriner would be. Mind you, my intention is not to mock the Shriners, nor to point out the obvious lack of female members (okay, maybe that is a fine, fine point), but merely to confuse the evil spirits, to prevent an evil possession. Yeah. Fess up�didn�t you always love the Shriners in parades? They had candy, they had tiny cars, they had precision drills�they had the most fun.

There�s a slight Flintstones attraction to this outfit, as well. You understand, right? Yep. And it�s won me a jumbo pack of self-stick removable notes (yes, the generic ones, but oh, the possibilities nonetheless).

I feel scattered and drugged today. Maybe there was too much candy last night, maybe it was the odd dreams (rehashing tired old garbage, blah blah blah), but I can neither stay awake nor articulate all of the important issues I wanted to discuss today. That doesn�t leave you with much, I know.

Go ahead, send me away, tune me out, visit my sponsors. Find me some sponsors, so I can go to London. Plans underway.

No, wait. Let me leave you with a morsel that momentarily jerks my head out of the sugar-induced coma. Seamus Heaney on Roger Straus (The New Yorker, 8 April 2002): �What�s great about Roger is the head-on strength of body and personality, the forthrightness, the swiftness of his judgments, the immense largesse.�