So beginneth my Hell Week. In addition to the usual mayhem at work, this week is my company's annual convention -- and add on to this the fact that it's our 30th year of existence, so we're doing a big 30th annual convention thing. Rudy Giuliani is coming to speak. Mind you, this is the same convention that in years past has been described as "when all the radio and record label people in the country descend on Los Angeles for a three-day frat party." However, things have gotten pretty tame in recent years, so I think a more fitting analogy would be a wine-and-cheese soirée... thrown by the boys of Delta House in Animal House. Unfortunately, we had the Big Meeting a few days ago in which we were all cautioned to be on our Best Behavior. Either way, don't expect to see too much of me over the next few days... I'll be running around Merv Griffin's Beverly Hilton like a crazed maniac -- well, more so than I usually do. One of the unfortunate side effects of stress for me is that I turn into a klutz. Over the past two weeks at home, we've suffered the loss of two glasses and a plate at my hands. And the worst part is that my spatial alignment goes offline as well -- I've been walking into doors, doorways, walls and stationary objects with increasing regularity. A couple of my co-workers remarked to me today that they don't need to hear my computer starting up anymore to know I've arrived in the office, because instead they now hear me walk down the hall, turn into my cube area, then they'll hear a THUD and a plaintive "Owwwww..." coming from my cube.