Today, half of the office is out with the flu.

H. writes:

Dear Booksellers,
I am not coming in today, choosing instead to sit around in my pajamas impersonating a snow cone in sunlight. I am unwell.

It is possible, likely even, that I will get phone calls from bankers or lawyers or candlestick makers. Would you kindly give these folks my home #***-****. This does not apply to Conrad.

Take your antioxidants. H.

Conrad is H's #1 Fine Lit Groupie. We all have them(H. has the most), and they are quite an odd lot. Different from your garden variety Rock'n Roll Groupie -- those directionless young women with a strange penchant for excitement and emotional abuse -- Lit Groupies are often mature men and women who inhabit the upper echelons of society and nerd-dom. They are also undoubtably lonely. This year I received a Christmas card from my very first lit groupie -- a woman who, despite her laughably junior high-esque penmanship (fat bubbly letters), can afford to drop a couple grand on Tim O'Brien. She always pays with a check so that she can include with it a somewhat lengthy personal letter. In return I send her the book and a neatly typed receipt.