Now that I'm no longer hiking mountains, kayaking fjords, or canoeing my arms off, I find myself once again with oodles of time for browsing the web (yes, I've returned to work). First thing's first: Killer Space Rock Update! It appears that while my country's leader has decided to junk decades upon decades of hard-won nuclear arms agreements in order to construct an elaborate, expensive, and most likely non-operable anti-missile shield to protect us from "the bad guys", the Europeans put two and two together and figured out who (or in this case, what) the real enemies of civilization are. Rogue asteroids are far more frightening than rogue nations, and I'm pleased as punch that not only is someone finally listening to the astronomers, but that governments are actually ponying up the dollars - make that Euros! - to do something constructive about it, so that we won't have to make like the dinosaurs when our already-overdue Killer Space Rock draws a bead on poor Mother Earth.

In other news, Kentucky Fried Chicken - or, as it now refers to itself, KFC (and not without a bit of controversy/urban legend attached to the name change) - is celebrating its fiftieth anniversary. I have pretty much the same relationship with The Colonel as Stuart MacKenzie from "So I Married An Axe Murderer". I crave it inexplicably until I break down and scarf half a bucket of chicken, at which point I immediately feel like I want to die, and then remain in that state afterwards for about twenty-four hours. Like Stuart, I remember how awful the experience was for about a fortnight, at which the irrational desire returns and the cycle begins anew. Damn you, Colonel Sanders! Damn you to hell!

Though in the world of fast-food fried chicken, KFC can't hold a candle to Chik-Fil-A. Their chicken sandwiches are truly the food of the gods.