After my last, Neil-loving post, all the shit in the epinw galaxy hit the proverbial fan. Just as I was completing six hours of my newspaper column (scanning, lay-out, writing) an evil message came up on one of my computers which, in a nutshell, meant I was FUKT. The hard drive is a thing of the past. I'll have someone try one more intervention but I think I've been jettisoned into having to spend more money to make this iMac my everything for the newspaper gig. So I had to rebuild everything after a brief personal meltdown. Then I got to the office at 5 or so and there was our art director who had had a panic attack and ran to work. It was very lucky for me as some other minor fiascoes came up. She said, "Nancy, you amaze me that you always keep going." I said "there's no choice." So the column was rebuilt, I was sleeping at about 8AM until Mr. UPS started banging on my back door to hand me a package from Gear Magazine, my returned Rolling Stone contact sheets. What's that saying, there's no sleep for the wicked? Back to new, exciting, post-meltdown deadlines. This is all almost funny, it's getting there. It's a real Over the Rhine moment.