Walking down the sidewalk towards my office building in one of my louder shirts, shades, and my indisputably awesome hat (not that you can't dispute its awesomeness, it's just that I won't listen), I feel so cool I can almost forget my geeky station in life. It's after hours but I'm at work because my life has made that the best strategy for the next few days. It's pretty sweet - no one is around but the security guard, and as I security-card my way through a multitude of doors and elevators I feel like a secret agent. The shades and the hat help, as does the clovey scent of my Djarums. It's back-to-work time, but first I have a few moments left to rant about the shitty book I'm reading. It's by a guy called Neal Stephenson, and it's called Snow Crash.