ABSTRACT
I awake when my combination alarm clock/computer-driven coffeemaker kicks in. As the sounds of Beethoven flirt sensuously with the aroma of my organic Chiapas blend (originating from a cooperative and marketed by some group connected to the politically correct Working Assets) drifting through the house, I consult my Palm Pilot for my agenda, check the three-hundred-plus new e-mails and surf the Web (the DSL line means no waiting) for possible excitement from Kazakhstan, while my mechanical toothbrush stimulates my gums.
