This week's New Yorker cover:



(If you don't get it, this should clear it up.)

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The technology gods are mad at me today. My latest black printer cartridge lasted barely two weeks before petering out, and I couldn't find the second of the two-cartridge package I bought in mid-September. Then, returning from Office Deport with a replacement, Outlook told me I had eight emails, only to go on strike before retrieving them, refusing even to tell me what they were. Four of them were cc'd to a backup account, and I've called most of the usual suspects who I'd emailed myself in the past day to beg their forgiveness for not responding to them.

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On the bright side, I cleaned the living crap out of this office today in the process of trying to find the missing cartridge; I saved 12 bucks on the replacement by finding four spent cartridges laying about the place; and things look much better overall.