So I've been a hermit since returning from England, reluctantly returning phone calls and emails (nothing personal, mind!), turning down invitations to dances and dinners, and getting out only to play frisbee. That's started to change due to a "Scotch, Seaweed, Sheep's Milk Cheese and Pirates" party given by the frisbee crew...hey, I had to go -- I had the clothes! And concert season is getting started again.

Still not recovered from the culture shock of returning to the United States. I pulled out of a driveway Saturday onto a street absent of the usual visual cues (traffic, parked cars and steet signs) and the autopilot wanted to put me on the left side of the street. Mind you, the autopilot was disengaged and I pulled out directly to the correct side of the street, but it did provide a running commentary to the effect of "Are you sure that you know what you're doing?". Perhaps being a hermit is simply denial that I'm back where pints aren't what they claim to be, M&Ms have fairy-shit sprinkles, and church bells don't ring.