Overwhelming Joy

Scott Adams, the genius behind Dilbert, has spent the last 18 months in a speechless hell, suffering from Spasmodic Dysphonia, a rare disorder that nobody has ever recovered from. None.

Before this week.

He has his speech back. Go read about it at his blog. It's a happy, happy story. And he has asked commenters to describe the happiest moments in their lives.

I spend a lot of time in the moment, which is a pretty good place to be, arguing politics, dealing with hassles, working to make stuff better, hanging with friends, and all the other stuff, mundane and spectacular, that goes on in a Gonemild day.

And most of the time I fall out of the moment, it's because of something unpleasant. Death. Disease. Ugliness. But it's fun to get slapped out of the moment by a big burst of happiness.

And it's probably harder to write honestly about happiness than it is to write about sadness. And for a guy who's been married for 24 years and has two stellar kids, it's risky not to describe a wedding day or a day of birth.

So I'll avoid setting a superlative in cement, and hit a couple highlights.

The day I flew to LA for some legal work - I was probably 32, quite cocky in my abilities, and totally on my game. I landed at the Ontario airport, and the rental agency upgraded me to a huge silver Cadillac, which I drove through LA for much of the day, before blasting down the highway to Palm Springs for depositions. Speeding through the desert in a big Cadillac, with a Neil Young tape (yes, this was before a rental car would have a CD player . . .) blasting so loud that the rear view mirror was vibrating . . . it was a blissful moment.

The day I won an election to head up a leadership organization - probably the same year as my trip to Palm Springs. I got into my car and it was the first day of that spring when the car was noticeably warm because of the sun, and you could drive with the windows down. I cranked the radio, and heard "Life is a Highway" by Tom Cochrane for the first time, and all was good.

Christmas morning a couple years ago, and I opened a box that promised a trip to Cochabamba, Bolivia. It was such a weird and infeasible idea, that it meant much more than a trip. It meant change and growth and oddness can still be a part of my life, and there are fewer limits on my life than I imagine.

Cards Win!

That's so cool.

I know Dad is happy about it.

I im'ed with Ali through the game.

Ali never really knew my Dad.

The Cardinals mean more than I can explain.

Hah. The Cards are the World Freaking Champions.

Am I Missing Something on Kraus?

Like many other politically-interested bloggers, I received an anonymous email from "Mr. East Jackson" directing me to The KC Blue Blog. The goal was to alert us to the fact that Will Kraus, Republican candidate for Missouri representative for the Raytown area, apparently failed to list a couple of corporations on a form listing his business interests.

I strongly suppport Chris Moreno, Will Kraus's opponent. People I know and trust have met them both, and convinced me that Moreno is a smart, strong, likeable, dedicated candidate, and Kraus is an arrogant typical Republican. So, by all means, go Chris!

But my pro-Moreno bias doesn't help me understand why The KC Blue Blog is trying to make a big deal about the failure to disclose two corporations that never appear to have really done anything, and appear to have been inactive for a half-decade. It looks like a technical, arcane paperwork matter without any substance behind it.

Now, if Kraus were heavily financed by a secret corporation and failed to disclose it on his ethics form, that would be worth talking about. But there's no such allegation yet.

To me, this appears to be one of those lapses in perspective that happen to people too close to a political campaign. "Can you BELIEVE IT?? He failed to correctly fill out line 17 on Form QDT!! Can you BELIEVE IT?? And he didn't do a TPS Report Cover Sheet!"

If anyone has any evidence that there is substance to this little kerfluffle, I'd be overjoyed to hear about it. But, right now, it looks like Mr. East Jackson is grasping at straws, and dragging up the sort of nonsense that makes good people hesitant to put themselves into the line of fire in the first place.

Talent = Chocola = Bartle

Do you ever ponder the human impact of your vote? Well, if you're thinking of voting in favor of one of the people who think God opposes science, watch this advertisement, and think about who you're voting for.

And who you're voting against.

Proud Father

My daughter is traveling to SMU to participate in an intercollegiate sport this weekend. I'm the father of an intercollegiate athlete.

Least likely jock family. Ever.

Phone-Banking in Midtown

I spent a couple hours yesterday evening doing "get out the vote" calls for Claire McCaskill. The recipients were pre-screened to lean democratic, so I was left with a very positive, but utterly unjustified, impression that Claire is the overwhelming choice of Kansas City voters. It's kind of like being in Busch Stadium and concluding that the Cardinals are the most popular team in baseball - it might be true, but the survey is skewed.

One thing that did impress me is the diversity of McCaskill's support. The list shows the address, age and gender for most of the call recipients, and I got positive responses from all over the area, and from all ages and genders.

This was a refreshing reminder that our electorate is not nearly as polarized as we tend to believe. Demographic groups display tendencies, but they are not rigid. There probably are a few working class minorities who will vote for Talent. There definitely are white millionaires who will be voting for McCaskill.

Let's just pray that the Democrats show up at the voting booths on November 7.

99 Bottles of Beer on the Blog - Young's Double Chocolate Stout

It's 44 degrees in Kansas City this evening, after a gray, rainy day. The radiators are starting to clank and hiss - postseason baseball is on the TV.

It's time for a cold weather beer, and Young's Double Chocolate Stout is my choice. It pours dark as espresso, capped with a tan head that stays there till the end. The aroma is chocolatey, with caramel and almond undertones. It smells like good chocolate toffee.

The flavor is sweeter and lighter than you might expect after enjoying the aroma and seeing the color. The chocolate is definitely there, as are the roasted malt bitter tones of a more typical stout. But the flavor is not overpowering with deep, dark flavors. There's a bit of cherry or raspberry hitting some high notes, and making the beer much more interesting.

The mouthfeel is full, but not super-rich. Again, it's a more balanced beer than you'd expect from a "luxury" Double Chocolate Stout. It's a perfect dessert beer - not heavy enough to put you into a coma, but definitely a satisfying drink.

Funny or Not

This is funny - a right winger complaining that the Mark Foley scandal is attracting more attention than an apparently legit real estate transaction involving Harry Reid's LLC. It is shocking, shocking(!), to these people that IM conversations about masturbation grab more attention than real estate transactions.

This Brevity cartoon isn't, though.


(Hat tip to the humor-impaired Media Lies for the right-wing expectation that we all are titillated by LLCs.)

Icelandairwaves 2006

Sam is using his fall break from his semester in Prague to travel alone to Icelandairwaves 2006, an annual rock music festival in Reykjavik. Here's a quote from the website for the festival:

Since the first show held in 1999 (in an airplane hangar), Iceland Airwaves has become one of the premier showcases for new music – Icelandic and otherwise – in the world. It's been called "the most innovative music festival since CMJ" and "as responsible for all of Reykjavík's recent positive press as Björk herself".

Some of the world's most exciting artists, including Suede, The Flaming Lips, The Hives, Fatboy Slim, Sparta, and Thievery Corporation, have made the short hop from Europe or North America to share the stages with Iceland's finest talents: Sigur Rós, Gus Gus, Jagúar, Quarashi, Leaves, Trabant, Ulpa, Apparat Organ Quartet and many, many more. And when the live bands are finished, top DJs spin across the city until dawn.

But there's more to Airwaves than music. Reykjavík is possibly the perfect festival city – small enough to be welcoming, sophisticated enough to offer cultural, historical and nightlife diversions to rival cities ten times its size. Maybe 20. And it's surrounded by some of the most unique and astonishing natural beauty you're ever likely to see. Roll out of bed, hose the party remains out of your hair and hop a bus. Before you can remember what you did the night before, you're looking at geysers, waterfalls, lava fields – all the best that a volcanic island has to offer, including the world-famous Blue Lagoon, favorite soaking spot of the international hung-over glitterati. Mmm! You can really taste the hipster!

Sounds like a truly bizarre experience for a 21 year-old kid from Kansas City.

Nordie's at Noon

Of course, the publishing event of the year for the Kansas City blogosphere is Joe Miller's Cross-X. I have my copy, and I'm looking forward to reading it.

But, if you're the kind of person who reads more than one book a year (sorry to exclude you, XO), there's another new book from Kansas City you should add to your library. Nordie's at Noon is the story of 4 women under 30 who are diagnosed with breast cancer. Not to spoil the story, but it's real life, and not all the authors are around for a book tour.

They self-published the book last year, and a national publisher recently picked it up. The book gets a 4 star rating in People magazine this week, and Barnes and Noble and Borders will be doing front of the store displays in October for Breast Cancer Awareness month. Kim Carlos, one of the authors, is an old pal.

Over the past year, several of my friends have struggled with cancer, and all have survived. I'd like to make an easy joke about offering to do exams for anyone who wants one, but, seriously, women, please do regular breast exams and pap smears. If not for yourself, for those of us who would feel like the world would be a little emptier without you.

Las Vegas - Fear and Intimidation

I won. I walked out of the casino having won more money than I lost. How many people have achieved that? The lavish building spree and booming economy of Las Vegas indicate I'm a rarity.

The blog silence this week has been due to a trip to Las Vegas to attend a nonprofit's convention. Met tons of nice people working on important causes and improving the lives of some of the people most in need of help. Met a young man who has emerged from deep, dark, angry autism.

I learned a lot, which was oddly frustrating. "As the circle of my knowledge grows, so does the circumference of my ignorance."

Here's an oddity of the nonprofit world - board members are, by and large, relatively ignorant of the field they are in, while the people they employ should to be at the top of the field. But the responsibility for setting the direction and making the strategic decisions for the organization rests with the board. The success of the organization, the continuation of the organization's legacy, and, ultimately, the help given to children and families - real people, with real needs - is in the hands of a bunch of people with relatively little knowledge and, occasionally, a casual, social sense of responsibility.

When I joined this board, I was flattered to be asked, and I thought I'd like to be involved with helping kids. The shallowness of it all is astounding. Who wouldn't support helping children and their families, when that really only seems to mean showing up to a monthly meeting and doing some very light work on a committee? Who wouldn't like to have their name on a letterhead among some impressive names?

Now I'm involved with a board responsible for making decisions that really matter to staff, families, kids and the people who have handed the legacy of the organization to us.

I mentioned above that I won in Las Vegas. I should clarify - I put $2 in, and walked out with $2.25. It was mildly fun. I would never be able to enjoy gambling with amounts that would really matter to me and those who depend on me. I would feel fear and intimidation - I would feel in over my head.

But, put in that situation, I would play as well as I could, control what I can control, get whatever advice I felt I could trust, not cheat, and hope for the best.

David Brooks - Save Him from Himself

David "They Will Welcome Us as Liberators" Brooks set a new standard of stupidity-inspired hilarity in this morning's Kansas City Star. I had to read the column a couple times, and then look it up online, to make sure he really wrote what got published. Alas, he did, and it is obvious that the man has snapped, and needs someone to watch over him while he recuperates.

The column in today's Star is titled "We should not allow breaches in moral code". But, no, he's not talking about torture, or about denying kids medical coverage, or about invading countries without planning for the aftermath. Instead, he uses his column inches to compare Mark Foley and a character from "The Vagina Monologues", who may have been the victim of statutory rape.

He writes, and I'm putting this in block quotes so you can see that I'm not making it up:

But why is one sexual predator despised and the other celebrated?

The first and obvious reason is that male predators are more disturbing than female predators. But the second and more important reason is that they exist in different moral universes.

No, Mr. Brooks, the first and most obvious reason is that ONE OF THEM IS A FICTIONAL CHARACTER!!! Those of us who live in the real world, the world where insurgencies happen and actions have consequences understand that those people on the stage are play-acting.

Cheering for a character who has dealt with a rape is not the same as saying that rape is good. Mark Foley is not a character in "The Penis Monologues". Abusing your status as a representative of the United States to have sex with underage pages is not equivalent to attending a thought-provoking play. Really, it isn't. They are two different things. Most of us get that. Not David Brooks anymore. Appearing in front of a "Mission Accomplished" sign is not the same as accomplishing a mission.

There's more, of course. Brooks concludes his column with a puzzling, and vaguely threatening, spin on how the Foley scandal is bad for Democrats:

In the long run, the party that benefits from events like the Foley scandal will be the party that defines the core threats to the social fabric and emerges as the most ardent champion of moral authority.

Back here in the real world, the most ardent champion of moral authority, the real Republican leader of the House Caucus on Missing and Exploited Children, just got caught exploiting children!! The Republican most ardent champion of moral authority turned out to be a pervert! Do you really think that this development means that the American public is going to accept at face value a new Republican ardent champion of moral authority?!

I wonder if it actually hurts to be that stupid.

99 Bottles of Beer on the Blog - Oud Beersel Geuze Ale

This is the first of a series on beer. I love to try new and different beers, and I have served as judge in a few homebrew contests (now that's a story for another day . . .). I'll eventually post about 99 beers, and I'll rank them on the side.

The first selection is one of the more unusual beers you're likely to find in a Kansas City retail outlet. Oud Beersel Geuze Ale is a lambic ale - beer brewed without normal brewing yeast, but using the wild yeast floating in the Belgian air instead. It's the sourdough of beer.

Here are the style guidelines from the Beer Judge Certification Program:

Gueuze/Geuze-Style Ale
Aroma:

The aroma of these beers is a complex blend of aromas from a wide variety of microbiota. These aromas include: horsey, horse blanket, sweaty, oaky, hay, and sour. Other aromas that may be found in small quantities are: enteric, vinegary, and barnyard. There can be a very fruity aroma, and some mustiness may be detected. Typically, no hop aroma or diacetyl are perceived.
Appearance:

Gold to medium amber color. May be slightly cloudy. Head retention is not expected to be very good.
Flavor:

Young examples are intensely sour from lactic acid and at times some acetic acid; when aged, the sourness is more in balance with the malt and wheat character. Fruit flavors from esters are simpler in young Gueuze and more complex in the older examples. A slight oak, cork or wood flavor is sometimes noticeable. Typically, no hop flavor or diacetyl are perceived.
Mouthfeel:

Younger bottles (less than five years old) tend to be sparkling, but older vintages are at times less carbonated. Light to medium-light body. Avery faint astringency is often present, like wine, but no more than a well-aged red wine.
Overall Impression:

Intensely refreshing, fruity, complex, sour, pale wheat-based ales fermented with a variety of microflora.
History:

Uniquely sour ales from the Senne (Zenne) Valley of Belgium which stem from a farmhouse brewing tradition several centuries old. Gueuze is the French spelling, while geuze is the Flemish spelling.
Comments:

Gueuze/geuze is traditionally made by blending lambic that ranges in age from three years to less than one year and then bottled. Typically, gueuze/geuze has a smoother palate than straight lambic.
Ingredients:

Unmalted wheat (30-40%) and aged hops are used. Traditionally, these beers are spontaneously fermented and aged with naturally occurring yeast and bacteria in oak or chestnut barrels. Home-brewed and craft-brewed versions are more typically made with pure cultures of yeast, including Saccharomyces and Brettanomyces, along with Pediococcus and Lactobacillus bacteria, in an attempt to recreate the effects of dominant microflora of the Senne/Zenne valley.
Vital Statistics:

OG: 1.044-1.056

IBUs: 10-15 FG: 1.006-1.012

SRM: 4-15 ABV: 4.7-5.8%
Commercial Examples:

Boon, Cantillon, Hanssens, Lindeman's, Boon Mariage Parfait, Girardin, Vandervelden Oud Beersel, DeKeersmaeker.

Did you get that? It smells "horsey, horse blanket, sweaty, oaky, hay, and sour." It's a tart, sour beer that is as far from Bud Select as you can get.

The bottle I tried was $5 from Lucas Liquors. The bottle comes with a champagne style cork and cage. The head has tight little bubbles, and lasts pretty well after settling from a mousse-like cloud. The beer's color is a little lighter than Boulevard Pale Ale, and it is slightly cloudy. The "Best by" date is January 26, 2025, so this is a beer you can store for a while, but I'm not willing to wait.

The flavor is sharp, sour and refreshing. It's kind of like a blend of grapefruit vinegar and wheat beer. No hop flavor, but there is a kind of oaky bitterness to balance the sweetness of the beer.

This may be one of the ultimate beer snob beers. It would be virtually undrinkable if you popped open a bottle at a softball game - the shock of a mouthful of tart, vinegary lamgic would probably cause you to spit it out and assault the person who handed it to you. But, if you know about the way it is created, in open fermenters in Belgian barns, where it has been produced for centuries, and if you're looking for something complex and totally different, this is a memorable, interesting, wonderful beer that will expand your idea of what beer can be.

Electronic Bliss

It's here. It has a few kinks I need to work out, but I'm typing this on my new-to-me aluminum PowerBook G4, with a gig of ram, a 15 inch monitor and 80 gigs of hard drive.

Posting should return to around one a day, at least, unless I get distracted by the poker game on my widgets.

No Foley, No Fooling

Incidents like the Foley matter alienate me from other politicos. Clearly, I'm disgusted by the behavior of Representative Foley, and I wonder what his world was like. Certainly, he knew he was on a tightrope of sickness over an abyss of self-loathing and humiliation. It's a sadly familiar tale of human weakness and hypocrisy - such an extreme case that it's hard not to feel a little sympathy.

For the politicos, though, it's been an opportunity. The Republicans have shown themselves as willing to spin ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING, as they claim any nonsensical bullshit whatsoever that will shift attention away from the moral degeneracy of one of their own. Yes, there have even been those who have tried to blame Clinton. It's sad, really. And those who spread the identity of the victim have proven themselves to be vacuums of decency. How low can they sink?

On my side of the aisle, there are those who quickly saw past the human sadness of the situation and sought to push the envelope of political damage. The entire Republican leadership must resign in disgrace, and anyone who heard a whisper of a rumor that Foley was not a straight arrow is a virtual child molester if they didn't drop everything and devote themselves to responding to the rumors.

Guess what? Foley's issues with pages do not change the rightness or wrongness of the Iraq war. They don't change the morality of repealing the estate tax to favor dead millionaires and their apoiled children. They don't really have anything to do with the serious issues our political system is dealing with. They are simply a distraction, and a voyeuristic, tut-tutting display of all that is wrong with those of us entranced by politics.

Madama Butterfly - Nutshell Review by a Philistine

I truly respect the effort, but . . .

Last night, we went and saw Madama Butterfly at the Lyric Opera. First, let me start off with a few positives.

1. The place was packed - a LOT of people came out on a Wednesday night in Kansas City to see opera. That's pretty cool and impressive. The dress ranged from $800 suits and elegant dresses to jeans and t-shirts, and the people-watching was way above-average. For some reason, it seemed like a lot of couples were composed of short men and tall women. I don't know what that means, but that's what I saw.

2. Student rush tickets are only $10.

3. The set was great.

4. The performers were, to my untrained eye and ear, nearly flawless. I didn't catch any flat notes, and their voices sounded just like what opera sounds like when I see it portrayed elsewhere. People who looked like they knew their stuff stood at the end and yelled "Bravo!" with astonishingly loud voices.

5. The Lyric Opera Theater is pretty, and there's lots of legroom.

On the other hand . . .

1. This thing is long. It started at 7:30, and went to around 10:30. For someone trying to develop a taste for opera, this is kind of like trying to develop a taste for hotdogs at a hotdog eating contest.

2. The characters are stupid. Not a shred of emotional or other intelligence appears on the stage. It's hard for me to develop a connection with someone so prone to emotional excess and a lack of critical thinking. I know my share of nutcases in real life, but these people are beyond acceptable.

3. The singing just doesn't grab me. I can respect its beauty, and I think I could learn to love snatches of it, but to hear 3 hours of operatic voices soaring on everything from "would you like a cigarette?" to "go away, kid, I'm about to jab this dagger through myself" is kind of wearying. I remember that scene in Philadelphia where Tom Hanks plays opera and it is absolutely spellbinding - for a few minutes. Maybe that much emotional richness needs to come in smaller bites for someone like me.

In summary . . .

I'm glad I went, and I'll go again. It certainly beat sitting on my couch and channel surfing, and Robin enjoyed it, so it was time well spent. But, honestly, it did not engage me on a deep level. Fast Johnny Ricker is more my speed at this point in my life.

Exposing Myself

As part of a constant and probably pointless effort to stretch my exposure to art, I'm planning to go see Madama Butterfly tonight at the Lyric Opera. Here's a good article by Tim McDonald, a Rockhurst University professor, about why I need to get over my hang-ups and enjoy the experience. I'll go with an open mind.

But there's no way it's going to blow me away like Fast Johnny Ricker did at BB's Lawnside Saturday night . . .

Cardinals Win!

The Cardinals have started off the post-season with a victory, and, to celebrate, I'll rerun this post on why I care so much . . .

The Kansas City Star ran a fine essay this morning by Justin Heckert about how he feels about being a Cardinals fan. I thought he did a fine job of conveying a bond between fan and team that has deeper roots than normal:

Cardinals fans. We have a great habit of filling the stadium, 3 million plus each year, for good teams and bad, a strange miracle for a city of no more than 380,000. With the numbers you cannot argue: we come from the city, from the bootheel of Southeast Missouri,from Southern Illinois, from Iowa, and Indiana, and Mississippi, Arkansas and Tennessee, and Oklahoma, from the banks and shores and mountains, where KMOX is still the radio voice of the team that can be heard across the country. We are not fans pinned to the heavy cross of a curse. We are not fickle with our undying passion, as are, say, countless other fans in sport; and we have a past of winning that is usurped by only that of the omnipotent New York Yankees. We bring to the stadium, regular season and especially playoffs,a home-field advantage unrivaled in baseball. But, that said, we have not been to the Series in a long time.

I am what you would call a diehard St. Louis Cardinals fan. I was during last week's NLDS, I am during the National League Championship Series against Houston, and I have been since I could fit atop my father's shoulders and stare out at the green turf and the deep fences, in that gilded age of Whitey Ball and Willie and the Wizard. I do not remember our last championship; I was 2 that year.

I, too, am a diehard Cardinals fan.

I've lived in Kansas City for the past 19 years, and I have come to enjoy the Royals. I like it when the win; I don't like it when they lose, but it doesn't change my mood the way the Cardinals can.

The Cardinals are a part of me the way that no other team can ever be. Many of my earliest memories have a soundtrack of Jack Buck and Harry Caray. I can still see my father,late at night, sitting at the kitchen table sipping a 9-0-5 beer and listening to a late game played on the west coast - it chokes me up to think how much I wish I could sit with him one more time, lit only by the stovelight and hanging on every pitch.

I remember the first time I went to a Cardinals game - at least I remember walking through the concourse and then seeing the shocking green of the field - green so green it almost hurt your eyes.

Iremember the "El Birdos", and the 1967 World Series - the joy of defeating the Red Sox, behind a lineup that included Julian Javier, Orlando Cepeda, Lou Brock, Curt Flood, Dal Maxvill, Tim McCarver, Roger Maris, and Mike Shannon- and the pitching of Bob Gibson, Nellie Briles and Steve Carlton. Even hearing those names these days brings a wash of deep - I don't know - nostalgia? Longing? Security?

The 1968 Series - I'll never forget Bob Gibson on the mound in game one, sweat literally streaming off his face, as he struckout 14, 15, 16 and 17 Detroit Tigers, breaking a record set by Cardinal great Sandy Koufax in the 1963 Series, just outside of my conscious Cardinals memory. I wasn't at the game - the nuns at Ascension School brought TVs into the classrooms and watched with the same passion as everyone else. We lost the Series, but it was 7 games and full of excitement. I was 8 years old and everyone loved the Cardinals.

Even during the years after 1968, when the team did not make it into the World Series, I loved the Cardinals. Vada Pinson, the sparkling play of Garry Templeton (I am the ONLY Cardinals fan who wishes we had never done the Templeton-Ozzie Smith trade), Al Hrabosky, Lou Brock dominating the base paths and signing my glove at Stix, Baer and Fuller, Ted Simmons and Keith Hernandez. Augie Busch and the Budweiser jingles. These were the Astro-turf years, and, at the time, it seemed like the coolest and most exciting thing ever. They laid a new carpet the year I graduatedfrom the U. High. Whitey Herzog came in 1980.

The year I got married and returned to Missouri, the Cardinals defeated the Brewers in the World Series, led by Lonnie Smith on the basepaths and Bruce Sutter on the mound in the late innings.

The year I graduated from Law School and moved to Kansas City was 1985. The less said about Don Denkinger the better.

The last words of my father were to tell my mother she was crazy after she said it was good that Willie McGee was traded.

Eventhough I rarely get to see Cardinals games, and only occasionally get to listen to them on the radio, they still evoke deeper emotions than can be thought to be rational. They bring me back to so much. In a family that eschewed sexuality and scandal, it was acknowledged with a wink and a nudge that a member of the previous generation had a fling with Dizzie Dean.

I know, I know they're only a baseball team, and that the players are hired guns. I know that baseball is big business, and that I shouldn't care as much as I do. But I do, and the Cardinals may well be on the way to the World Series. I understand that may not be important to you, but it means more to me than I can say.

Dead Laptop = Slow Posting

I'm working on lining up a new one (or, more accurately, a gently-used one), but posting may be a little light this week . . .