I am awakening like a hibernating bear that smells suet. Things are being set in motion. First order of business is to hail Brett Martin. I am contractually obligated to tell you that he beat my sorry ass in our thrilling fantasy baseball league this year. His drafting technique is truly unstoppable.

Also, please buy my friend Rob Walker’s excellent book Letters from New Orleans — a series of dispatches filed from the city when he lived there a few years back, before the onslaught of Hurricane Katrina, which I am now referring to as H-Kat. As in: H-Kat was a bitch in heat, huh?

And I urge to run — don’t walk, please — to buy The Area of My Expertise. Mr. John Hodgman like squirrels and monkeys and Sasquatch as much as I do, and that is all the reason you need to pull out your wallet.

Finally, check out Jonathan Coulton’s excellent new blog on the left. He is Popular Science’s resident troubadour, and has recently been Wil Wheatoned due to his hilarious cover version of “Baby Got Back.” Coulton has also written many original songs, including one called “Dance, Soterios Johnson, Dance.” FYI!

Same old, same old with yours truly, except for the fact that I miss all y’all. If Dabney Coleman in War Games were to grade the “missing you” level going on in Angry John Sellers’ clump of a heart, he’d probably say “Gentlemen, we’re at DEFCON 4.”

I somehow strained a calf muscle while sleeping last night. It’s hurting even though I rubbed a crapload of Ben Gay on it. So now I’ve got a sore calf AND the goddamn pepperminty smell of old folks’ homes emanating from my person.