In which I ramble on hoarsely for an hour

Poor Karl Erikson. In an hour he and I will be chattering away on his Secondhand Radio hour of power, and I've got a cold so ferocious I just might be able to infect people over the phone. Sneezing, gasping for air, fumbling for my handkerchief, and slurping up the hot tea -- yes, I am the perfect freaking guest. Spare a kind thought for him, won't you?

(I, on the other hand, expect to enjoy myself just fine; after all, I'm gonna have the cold whether I'm inflicting it on the rest of the Internet or not. Sharing is caring!)