While I wait for today's Godot -- Adobe CS3 -- to attempt (yet again) to reinstall Adobe Acrobat CS3 (of which install, I might add, there are several known problems, especially regarding upgrading) ... well, guess what, kids, you're stuck with me for a little while.

If you want to know how to keep a webmaster from getting anything done, deny her access to her email and her web browser. After a few tumultuous minutes of foaming at the mouth, she will subside into quiet, trailing whimpers while she waits for the pain to stop.

Over the past week or so, I've been asking myself the question every self-respecting traveler asks well in advance of his/her trip—"What's gonna go in the bag?" My goal, admirable but perhaps ill-advised, is to make everything except my toiletries bag fit in one bag, which I will check.I will live out of that bag for a day short of two weeks. Thankfully, the vagaries of flight will deposit me in a land known more for sunshine than for snow. It's far easier to pack for sand and sun than it is for snow and cold. No boots, no sweaters, no scarves.

We are nearly prepared. Yes, PHE 2006 is just about to land on us, and land on us with this sickening, alcoholic *thump*.The RSVP list currently stands somewhere around 40. There will be thirteen people staying in our house alone. I have a fridge full of food, and I'm not done yet.

I have a sweater to finish knitting for Saturday—if I'm diligent, I will finish tonight.

I love to cook, but I love my laziness more. Most of the time, this intersection of personal interests yields little of interest, but every now and then, I have a eureka! moment that's worth sharing.

In the past couple of years I've come to appreciate the goodness of an off-the-cuff pan sauce. A bit of stock, a bit of wine, some aromatics, and then a bit of thickening agent (either some kind of fat, or arrowroot starch dissolved in water) for a good mouthfeel. Reduce, plate, eat.

I tiptoed out early on a Saturday morning to buy ingredients for salsa, leaving my spouse, still sleeping, to be guarded by the house cats. I bought a shower gift and salsa ingredients, and was well on my way through processing the vegetables into finished salsa by the time Jeff woke up.

It had to get done, not because it was a chore but because I had promised, and it was my own fault that I'd stayed up late with friends the night before, talking and playing games instead of shouldering responsibility and purchasing habañeros and peppers for food-making.

Penzeys loves me. I don't have to ask. I just know. Spice companies have to adore customers like me, who, like clockwork, place 2-3 enormous orders per year and turn all their friends into customers as well.