the only thing ernest and i will ever have in common

Great news: I'm no longer hunched like Igor, craning the neck to type at my very low coffee table. I've got a desk! It is massive. A handsome fellow—dark, tall, and exceptionally solid (as we like our fellows)—with newsroomy fixtures, he's a drafting desk of sorts, with all sorts of coffee rings on top and neat, measured tape on the two top drawers that read in perfect lettering, "templates and triangles ONLY" and "French curves ONLY." How could I refuse a free desk that accepted French curves only? Well, I could not is the answer.

M. just helped me move the beast up the stairs. And that called for an immediate, insulin-frenzying doughnut excursion. And of course, more Peet's.

I was going to get a tall chair for it, but standing at it now with the mirrored closet right behind me (that I can turn around to and speak with), I'm feeling like Hemingway was really onto something. Standing at a tall desk is the most! (Is this the sugar and caffeine speaking maybe? TBD. Stay tuned.)

p.s. As of yesterday, I've also given up my swashbuckling ways and gotten my own DSL. Seems like good California commies like our lot should be able to share signals, but it's just as well that my neighbors no longer need to compete with my incessant need for their bandwidth. Avast, mateys, it's clear sailing ahead! This barnacle's shoving off! (And so on. Eufemia, where are you when I need your help with all this piratical talk?)