Remember, friends: those who have nothing better to do than to hit on random women online should be treated like telemarketers. If you've got more pressing issues to attend to, by all means amputate their noxious presence as quickly as possible.

But.

Not busy? Bored? Claws needing a touch of sharpen? Best thing you can do for your fellow mortals is to toy with your New Special Friend a bit. Every minute you tie them up in conversation is a minute a) they have to actually interact with another human being and b) they don't get to spend hitting up some other poor sap who probably doesn't have half your backbone.

Think of it as doing something good for the species.

Every few months, I feel compelled to turn the mailbag over, shake it out a bit, and blow out the crumbs. Every now and then, a letter actually falls out. Most of the time, I forget to answer it; those that I actually remember to answer are rarely answered in anything resembling a straightforward fashion.

I won't sport with your intelligence any more - let's get to the mailbag.

Jay, of parts unknown, writes in response to my rice-rice-baby entry "Turn down the stereotype; we can't hear you":

Atlanta. Three-point-five hours of driving to get to the geek farm, where newborn goats were cuddled and cooed over, and dragon*con staff meeting was attended.

It rained. Of course.
I managed to get lost in Atlanta. Of course.

When we pulled up at the restaurant to meet the crew for Sean's dinner, everyone who was already there ran toward my car. "PLEASE tell us you brought your camera. We all forgot ours. You've GOT to see this Saturn."

"Uh-oh," I said. "Where's the car?" They pointed me off to the left. Before I even saw the car, I saw the glow.Glow is a bad sign. It's the ricer equivalent of a cancer symptom. The appearance of a glow indicates severe ricer issues - ones that, as we well know, can only be dealt with by liberal usage of a digital camera.

Flickr

So, let me get this straight - instead of "French fries," they're "Freedom Fries" now because those dastardly French have the temerity to disagree with Dubya's cowboy brinksmanship disguised as foreign policy?

Freedom fries? Freedom toast?
Freedom fries? Freedom toast?
FREEDOM FRIES? FREEDOM frelling TOAST?

In case no one else in this country stops snoring and bothers to say it, let me jump around and yell a bit in the hopes that someone will hear it:

"People get uptight about the most bizarre things," Jeff said, nodding, as I showed him the pictures. I agreed.

I'd been zeroing in on a sweet little parking space at the store when the battered blue Dodge had caught my eye. I tossed my car into 'park' after whipping around the row, and had my camera ready before I walked by the car.

While I'm legally allowed to photograph cars, I prefer to do it as inobtrusively as possible.