Sun asked if she’d forgotten my birthday but, no, she remembered it’s in APRIL. So that means it took eight months for this stupid thing to arrive. It’s “just” a USB connected radio with some recording features, but now I can record some NPR shows so I can listen to them later.

Not much I can say about work or the gym, except that one of my old bosses is often there and he’s buff as hell now. After he sold the internet startup I worked at, he hiked the Pacific Crest Trail solo. He wears shirts from some military combat camp where he went to play soldier. Yeesh.

Oh, and Carolyn appears to have eaten something horrible that doesn’t want to digest peacefully in her stomach. How does one get ginger ale delivered to your door when you’re sick and away from people who’d do that for you? I suggested safeway.com but there aren’t any Safeways in Chicago. And gone are the dot-bomb delivery services of homegrocer.com and even better, kozmo.com. Now that I think of it, she could have ordered the soda from a pizza delivery place, but who wants to call around to pizza delivery places looking for ginger ale when you’re tossing your cookies? I’ll have to think about this.