I’ve heard of being addicted to computers, but does anyone have the problem that they just can’t think or communicate unless they’re tapping away on a keyboard? I do. Rob calls my rapid-fire clackity clacking “fake movie typing” because I type a hundred words a minute; that’s only about a third of the speed I can actually think when a computer screen is blasting radiation into my eyes but twenty times the speed of my thoughts when I’m sitting face to face with someone and mixing up my sentences. This has come up before, but I clearly need to be a disembodied brain in a vat of saline juices, communicating telepathically with the Internet on a constant basis and through a speaker to the visitors who will occasionally drop by.

Then again, as a brain in a vat, I wonder if I will receive invitations to lovely dinner parties, such as the one I attended last night, which was probably one of the most triumphant dinner parties in all of Christendom. In any case, it was one of the only dinner parties I have ever attended in Christendom, which isn’t a very good ratio considering the number I have thrown, but my guests tend to have been raised by wolves anyway.