Until a week ago I did not have a home computer. And although I am not an octogenarian seeking some sign of life from estranged grandchildren nor as ardent a Luddite as I expected I would be by this age, it is taxing to think any of this is necessary. If I had my druthers (or independent wealth) I would avoid glowing screens altogether and keep learning how to craft leather somewhere not too warm and not too hot. But as the deeply grim Irishmen said, one must live with the times. So here we are. Twenty-six years old, fourteen years into the new century that I am more upset and put off by than most Boomers. I suppose this will try to be a chronicle of things I enjoy, or try to enjoy.