I am pleased. The wireless internet connection is up and running. My signal strength is almost as weak as the argument for Intelligent Design, but I'm still happy to have it.

The monsoon rains have been pelting the house. This is not a good night to be a delivery boy.

I still need to make a name tag that reads "Fry". In time, I hope to make a Galaxy Express polo shirt.

It feels good to sit at my old writing desk. It is as cluttered as ever with cds, notebooks, folders, first-aid tape, a talking Triumph the Insult Comic Dog doll, and the usual slew of hygiene products.

* * * *

As Kelly and I were driving to pick up Luis from his first day at Mountain Pointe, I tuned in to National Public Radio. I turned up the volume as I heard the familiar voice of Peter Jennings. I listened happily to the interview. "I really like Peter Jennings," I said to Kelly.

The interview drew to a close and then a voice said, "That was Peter Jennings in 1990."

I remember feeling little pin-pricks of warning inside my brain and I was instantly uneasy. NPR doesn't usually play programming from that long ago unless...unless...

"Peter Jennings passed away yesterday of lung cancer."

Peter Jennings was the first anchor I paid any attention when I was much younger. This was significant because at that time I didn't care for any television programming that didn't revolve around some kind of teenage mutant animal.

Perhaps watching a few snippets of news back then didn't really have a signicant impact on my development or anything, but I remember it and I remember it fondly.

What more could a man ask for?