If an economy is taking a downward turn, regardless of how dramatic the decline may be, there are more calls for patents and idiocy like digital rights management. At best patents should be about attribution rather than letting someone take full responsibility for one's work.

I ran out of steam but I decided to post the germ of this idea here at heptapod.org.

Everyone had a hearty laugh at the dream avatar which appeared in Lee's dream.

Dear Editor:

I must share with you a tale.

This week, during a sullen sleep (intermixed with the wailing of my editorial staff here @ your sister publication, "Lee's Depilatory"), I dreamed of a large body of water upon which Paul and yourself were floating on top in an old wooden rowboat. Both of you were stretched across starboard to port with your butts on the plywood seats and your feet dangling over the sides. Your heads were slightly raised, and you were each drinking a Budweiser, laughing and toasting and cheering.

I pulled up alongside, paddling in a canoe, and took note that your rowboat was somewhat sunken into the brownish water, rocking back and forth splashing water into the hull. You were in the middle of some male bonding so I left, wordless, and continued to paddle to the shore. When I arrived at the shore, a shore of brown soil with no plant life except for a mass of leafless trees, you were standing in a circle with your friends wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, a black leather vest and a silver chain connecting a front belt loop with the wallet in your back pocket, and your old combat boots (my biker gear fetish or wishful thinking, I do not know.). It was an overcast day, no discernible clouds but no sunshine either. Just gray. Paul may or may not have been part of the circle. However, there was a slight, hispanic gent wearing scrubs. As I approached the circle, tailed by some friends (the people you only know in dreams), Mr. Scrubs, in order to comment on your penchant for the plus-sized with the circle, put his pointer fingers together side to side and spread them apart as if commenting on the thickness of my midriff.

Paying no mind, I broke into a run as I got closer to the circle. The circle broke apart and there you stood, gentle editor, with outstretched arms. I jumped into your arms and you lifted me up with a giant hug. When you put me down, you bent your head down and I put my lips on a clean shaven cheek. Weird, because I've never known you without a beard. You had a mustache and possibly a goatee, but your cheek was cool and clean, just shaved, and I could feel the spark of my lips on your flesh. I kissed your cheek several times without really moving my head too much. As I felt the warmth of you, you kept your arms wrapped around me while whispering in my ear. Naturally, I don't remember exactly what you were saying. As you say, the memory of dreams very often burns up in the sunlight. However, I think it was something like "you're here".

I feel compelled to mention that the dream did not in fact, include a scene where Paul and yourself expressed relief that I indeed do not have the chest of a 13-year old.

Thank you and good night.

Your editor-at-Large,
Lee