I’m working late; tonight I’m moving all but a few of my 18 hosted Web sites to a new Web host, which means the Underground’s going to act a little squirrely for a while (the site, not the writer).

Comments added in the next 24 hours could disappear, but you should just consider that a potential feature.

After all, a comment that appears and then disappears into the aether creates serendipity – and a rarity – all its own.

Compounding things is the simple fact that I don’t really know what I’m doing – a reality which generates a dramatic tension all its own.

What I wish would disappear is my cold, which got worse over the weekend. Being sick makes me cranky, which wasn’t helped by Dave Robert’s phone call.

Dave broke his ankle a while ago, and just got cut out of his cast late yesterday afternoon, and I thought he showed a lot of restraint by waiting until today to go fishing.

He invited me along, dangling the Rouge’s wholly fishable flows, but I had to say “no” – and in favor of day spent essentially pushing buttons.

Now I’m saying “no” to a reasonable bedtime so I can push even more buttons, a fate I’d only wish on a Nestle employee (well, some Nestle employees).

See you pushing buttons, Tom Chandler.

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