It may seem as if I am falling off the face of the earth, dear friends, but I promise I am not. The brownout situation has gone from bad to worse, and we don’t even have the luxury of sepia-toned lightbulbs anymore. What was supposed to be a festive margarita-soaked happy hour with the Pie Queen has now turned into a race against time, in which Lloyd and I cross our fingers and hope that the N is still running, run home, throw out everything in the fridge—so long, gallon of milk, two dozen eggs and beet tops! It was nice knowing you!—pack a small bag o’stuff, cross our fingers and head back into Manhattan, where the lovely Bunni will be waiting to share her air conditioning with us tonight.
Until we get our power back, blogging will not really be an option, at least unless I want to try it at work, and I know you know I know better than that. 
Hopefully this will all be short-lived, and I can go back to my regular gig of complaining very soon. Stay frosty, dear friends.