the Postman resurfaceth

I'm back. I got into Las Vegas about 2:00 in the afternoon (it was 107 degrees Fahrenheit; thank goodness my folks brought the air-conditioned Chrysler to pick me up). I've been back about 24 hours now and already I'm jonesing for a cheese-and-Branson-pickle sandwich. No, I don't expect you to know what that means. Yes, I will explain it to you fully later. Right now I've got a million other things to attend to. I've got to finish writing all of my magazine articles and submitting them, for one thing (go to TheExpeditioner.com and check 'em out). I've got to get everything out of my room before Monday, too, so the contractor can tear up the carpet and replace it. That's going to be hell, I can already tell. There are some dead branches piled up out on the basketball court that need to be cut up, and at some point I'm going to have to resume my exercise regimen and mail off all the gifts I bought for people over in the British Isles.

And oh yeah, I'm going to have to get caught up with all you slobs' blogs, too. Anyway, give me a couple days. Then I shall begin to relate to you the marvelous, amazing, life-changing, mind-bending, delicious, adventurous, jubilant, feverish time I had across the pond. Stay tuned.