Thanks to the awesome folks at Time Warner Cable-San Antonio, I am completely without Internet access until Monday at the earliest, a full five days after they were supposed to come out and install it at the new house. It seems there was no cable line coming to the house, which is the kind of thing you figure they're supposed to know, but really don't. And would they be kind enough to maybe come during the weekend when I'll actually be there to make sure it's connected correctly? No, sir. No they are not so kind.

So I'm typing this from work during my freakin' vacation, as I'm catching up on tons of e-mail I wasn't able to check from home. So if you e-mail me this weekend, I won't see it. Sorry, folks. You don't even want to see how few Christmas list and Christmas card items have not been taken care of by me this year. It is a sad and depressing list, the kind that would spontaneously break both of Tiny Tim's little legs if he read it.

The new house, though, is awesome. It's worth all the trouble and more. Just don't send any more trouble just yet, all right? I'm still trying ot figure out where there's a nearby wireless Internet cafe.

Edited to add: new Space Monkeys! comic today, one that I couldn't even see because of the afore-mentioned Internet snafu until just this moment. Ha! Those crazy Space Monkeys. Go check it out.

And I did feel woe.

WOOOOOEEEE!

My e-mail address. My personal e-mail address. The one that was forwarded to for years and years, ever since I got Road Runner, lo those many days and days and days ago.

I WILL MISS YOU, OMARG@AUSTIN.RR.COM! Why!?! WHY!?!??!

Why must omarg@austin.rr.com die?

You were easy, like me. You had my name. You were on a fast network, like I like to be, and you were my address on the road when I couldn't get to omar@terribly-happy or ogallaga@statesman or my myriad other e-mail addresses over the years.

YOU WILL BE MISSED, OMARG@AUSTIN.RR.COM!

O, but you did prove useful, for a while.

When you were overloaded with spam, lo these five or six months, you chugged along, sick but faithful, never complaining even when I forgot to clear you out for a week or two and you had 3,023 messages with the words "p-enis" or "oppp ortun-ity" in the subject line. YOU FOUGHT ON! You were like fucking Rudy in that movie about that guy Rudy who played that one play for Notre Dame, then he fell, but it was cool because Rudy got to play, man.

I WISH I COULD REMEMBER THE NAME OF THAT MOVIE! O, SEAN ASTIN RULED! BEFORE HE WAS A HOBBITSES!

Omarg@austin.rr.com, I had to lose you. I fought, O HOW I FOUGHT!, to keep you.

The lady was nice, but mean. Like she was nice to talk to, but unyielding and mean when it came to letting me keep you. I felt awful, like a bad parent losing custody. They took my baby! It was Losing Isaiah except Isaiah was OMARG@AUSTIN.RR.COM. My omarg@austin.rr.com!

It went down:

Road Runner Lady: We don't have service in New Braunfels, so you'll have to set up a new account with San Antonio Road Runner.

Omar, Full of Woe: Can I keep my e-mail address?

Road Runner Lady: Is it a sub-account or a master account?

Omar, Full of Woe: Does one of those allow me to transfer my address?

Road Runner Lady: No.

Omar, Full of Woe: Oooooohhh! Noooo! The sky! She is falling aflame!

Road Runner Lady: Would you like the number for San Antonio's Road Runner service?

Omar, Full of Woe: WHY!!??!!?? God, WHY!!?!?!?!?! But, yes.

They killed you, baby e-mail address omarg@austin.rr.com who was only six or seven years old, and I'm sorry I didn't keep better track of your birth date. KILLED YOU!

On Thursday, they pull the plug. But I think I'll do it first, beat the bastards to you. I'll sit down at the desk where I once made you fly without wires (the router will survive; he's going with me) and I'll slowly unscrew the coaxial cable. I'll ask you to turn away as I hear you collapse into yourself, the few surviving messages left melting into 0/1/0/1 goo.

I'll ask you to close your eyes. I'll tell you about the rabbits, if you want.

O, omarg@austin.rr.com. I hope you leave this earth empty and content, free of dead weight, unburdened by attachments.

It's the holidays, so that means a crushing tidal wave of holiday video games. I've been writing up a tiny tornado of games stories including:

A feature that ran in today's Life & Arts section about the best non-sequel holiday games. Joe Stafford, who's a big-time PC game addict, and I collaborated on it.

Austin360 did a feature on the new Nintendo DS and I got to play with it for a few days and contribute to their impressions on the system. I also reviewed one of the launch titles, The Sims: Urbz in the City which was, eh, not so great.

Lastly, I had a short review that ran Friday on the unholiest of guilty pleasure, Rumble Roses a game that made my physically uncomfortable to play. My wife was playing it too, though, so I refuse to feel too bad about it.

The Space Monkeys! are back, this time without the benefit of an ongoing storyline. (Unless you count the storyline that is the ongoing strip itself. You got me there, you smart person, you.)

Bunny mischief happens. It's not pretty.

The move is going well, but slow, and I think the new house, in its completion, has fulfilled its obligation to be a "Dream home." In that I wish our stuff was already over there so we could sleep in a bed and start dreaming in that domicile.