I suppose a clarification is in order: anything unpleasant that happens to me, no matter how trivial, is classified as a tragedy in my book. Seems like a reasonable policy. Wednesday night my iMac refused to boot up, and I was only halfway through my Pilot sketchbook, due the next morning. After fortifying myself with a good strong whimpering session, I performed a home invasion on the premises of Bot Fot and commandeered his Mac, but it turns out that material backed up with Time Machine is only restorable on a Mac with Leopard installed, and Bot is the type of guy who would still be running System 9 if business would allow. So we cruised his neighborhood trying to guess who might be harboring Leopard. Finally found Zach, and, long story short, well, not as short as I'll bet you wish it were, but shorter than it could've been by a long shot, because I left out Brandy and uncontrollable peeing and that kind of stuff, I finished up the job in the middle of the night, and spent yesterday in and out of the Apple Store, and they were very helpful and would have been so without the crying, and all seems to be well this morning. So it's back to cataloguing the never-ending stream of Starbucks addicts.