For those of you in the United States (excepting residents of Arizona or Indiana), be aware that Daylight Savings Time will be starting three weeks earlier this year. Your computer will need to be updated, and some of your applications may need to be patched. My clients’ computer systems need this update, and making the job that much more difficult is the fact that many companies (including Microsoft) waited until the end of last month to produce updates. Rush-rush-rush!
    Not that you would care, but if you happen to be running Microsoft Exchange 2000 on your servers, Micro$oft insists upon receiving $4000 from your company in exchange for the necessary updates. Bastards.
    So what’s on my mind? Dental amalgam.
    This morning my dentist filled a cavity in one of my molars. My mouth now aches a bit, but I did enjoy the hours of moist, Novocaine-fueled droolishness that followed the actual operation. I collected some of the oral effluent in a napkin as a keepsake, and tonight I shall place it reverently upon my bedside table. Do not worry: pictures will not follow.
    Drooling in such an obvious and uncontrolled manner, as endearing as I’m almost entirely sure it was, reminded me of one of the most singular abilities exhibited by my baby daughter, Riley.
    Imagine you are talking to a coworker and then, with a careless smile still pasted upon his or her lips, a fountain of vomit pours over their lower lip and runs off their chin in thin, lumpy rivulets which then slowly soak into their shirt and pants. They continue talking, unaffected by this eruption, only occasionally interrupted anew by another escaping mouthful.
    My 7-month-old has this ability. She can twinkle her adorable little eyes at you and beam out a 10 megawatt smile all while happily puking out ounce after ounce of partially digested baby formula and mushy vegetables. I don’t know about you, but for me vomiting is a far more traumatic experience.
    Normally my regurgitations are accompanied with wrenching pain, involuntary doubling over, a goofy looking fuck-face, and whorking noises so disturbing that my dog hides under the kitchen table and hums nursury rhymes to herself until I bring her down with soft words and a whisky-soaked Milk Bone.
    But oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to quietly and calmly vomit right in the middle of a long, boring business meeting covering Daylight Savings Time patches. I swear, I’d just keep talking and damn the rest of the bastards. If I have to be there, then at least I’ll be entertaining.
    Well, good-night, peoples.
    And nighty-night, crunchy-dried drool napkin!