"We Do Things At Night In The Club, Roy."

If there's one thing I love above all others (or "loev abvo al otters", as the case may be) it's paperwork - which makes this week the greatest week of my life. For a true paperwork lover - such as myself - the opportunities afforded by a period such as this only come along once a lifetime! Or more, I suppose, depending on how many times you attempt to pry doctoral degrees from the wizened, grasping hands of a large public university. It's as though they have a finite stack of the damn things that they were counting on for nutrition and a fuel source in the coming winter.

Fortunately, I am able to get an early start on all sorts of paperwork-related matters, as energetic entrepreneurs of all shapes and sizes have taken to calling me very early in the morning, attempting to make me as entusiastic as they all are about various services the nature of which escape me. Doomed to failure, they are, I regret to say. If I were as clever as this person these little chats might even be amusing. But I'm not. I'm just trying to enjoy my fever dreams of Federal form number nine-million-and-whatever, the one establishing that nothing in my thesis has been tested on defenseless forest creatures.