My eight-year-old computer is failing and I will be replacing it next week. It bubbles, it wheezes, it hesitates, it stalls. It is outdated. It is no longer supported, except by my desk. When I click on the link that leads to your page, it takes me to an earlier time when shovels ruled and the snows were undefiled on solemn slopes. Is that you I see waving in the distance? How silly I must appear, a twisted, bearded elf pulling the stops, firing toy cannons. What you say I can’t hear, what you show me I can’t see, what you mean I can’t fathom. The new computer, meanwhile, will be wonderful. It will be a pristine notebook I am afraid to write in. I will stare at it for hours, then I will go and wash my hands. O Profundity! Omar Serif of the Sans! Oh, how I love thee, my Friend! Forgive me, remember me, ’til then!