In Horizon Books of Traverse City, MI, I remember my dream of last night. I was discussing accounting with men and women from Ernst & Young.

I was able to unhook from my duties as a key person in a 1.3 billion
dollar capitalized company, manufacturing rather important items. I
visited my electronic empire only once and then briefly. I snoozed
through a phone conference meeting, a wonder of WebEx, to which
calling in would have looked good. I will be jacking into the Borg,
not Borg Warner silly, in a few days. So why last night did I take
questions on accounting from all comers in my dream. I gave acceptable
answers, GAAP and auditor approved. I have the option of not jacking
in to the Zeitgeist. The 401 K can be raided and I could return to
programming by the month somewhere in America. I was expecting to
dream about Inuit men, bare chested, sweating and dancing as they
danced about the igloo, drumming frenetically, the womenfolk chewing
the newly sewn sealskin boots. Not out of hunger but to soften them.
Inuit drums are so powerful, the men keep them frozen in the snow when
not required for ceremony. I had expected my visit to the Dennos
Museum collection of Inuit art to perfume my dreams. Well, and then I
get it. Accounting and manufacturing. That's my drum. Play it better
this year.

Table next to me at Horizon Books, manufacturing man is talking on
phone because customer is ordering a sleepy part number at an
unexpected rate and safety stock is dwindling. He's got a WebEx phoner
late afternoon to react before Just In Time deliveries fail. He is
beating his drum.