Boy, they don't make a fuss about bringing you a beer here, do they? My little gay skirt-wearing glass has been empty for about 10 minutes here, guys. Little help?

I'm now no longer in a bar. I'm sitting in a caf in the Portuguese section of Hamburg, drinking coffee and working. Well, blogging. I don't like crowds of people. Well, let's not be negative. I like working in closed, empty spaces. I'm not an agoraphobic; I'm a claustrophiliac.

It might have something to do with working over the local wireless hotpoint here in this part of town. Public Wi-Fi hot-spots are just...unclean. It's the computing equivalent of a 70s bathhouse sex-romp. Every virus in existence is probably swimming around in these soupy, goldfish-infested airwaves. Sure, I'm using OS X, so there's not much chance I'll get glory-holed by some lame-ass XP user who hasn't installed a patch since his 'partner' caught MyDoom in that San Francisco coffeehouse last week, after a drunken AIM session that he neglected to mention. Pervert. Not to mention the fact that any schmo within 100 yards can just fire up Kismet or tcpdump and get a free peep-show.