I went outside into the freezing air, confirmed that we were in fact witnessing an eclipse, then retreated back into the warmth. I wasn’t alone for long.

“What are you doing at your computer when you could be out watching a lunar eclipse?” asked Dr. Jane.

“What’s to see?” I asked. “Spending hours watching the moon get darker then lighter while hypothermia sets in is the kind of excitement I don’t really need.”

“I suppose sitting at your computer is more exciting than watching a rare astronomical event,” she said with perhaps the slightest hint of sarcasm.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” I replied matter-of-factly. (I didn’t tell her that I’d already developed successful computer simulations of a solar eclipse.)

Even Dr. Jane couldn’t have known that I was watching an even rarer event, two nonconcentric rings in the bottom of my coffee cup!

I took a photograph of the extraordinarily elusive phenomenon, an image several orders of magnitude more interesting than any picture of a big curved shadow.

I was wrong wrong.

It turns out that the burrito didn’t weigh eight pounds, it cost eight pounds--about twelve dollars! That’s four San Francisco burritos!

As for the weight, there wasn’t much. I’m afraid the Scottish burrito broke my “never make a meal out of anything smaller than your hand” rule. And it wasn’t even tubular!

Why is it that North American food doesn’t seem to work in Scotland, whereas Scotch whisky works just dandy in North America? It’s one of those little international mysteries that makes travel so interesting.

“Jill’s invited me to her wedding and I’m not sure what to do,” she said. “She’s getting married to some jerk, and I can’t think of anything to get her that she doesn’t already have two of.”

She paused, then added, “Plus, I’m really broke.”

“I have the perfect solution,” I assured her. “Just make a gift tag that reads ‘To Jerk and Jill from Sally,’ then tape it to a piece of generic wrapping paper. Next, pull it off, and make sure there’s a shred of wrapping paper still attached to the tag. When you get to the wedding, just stick your tag under the pile of gifts.”

“Does that really work?” she asked skeptically.

“Perfectly!” I enthused. “I did it at Randy and what’s-her-name’s wedding and got a great thank-you letter a couple weeks later. The note itself was a work of art: they thanked me profusely for ‘something they’ll always treasure’ without even hinting at what it might be. Plus, I did them the favor of not burdening them with some piece of uselessness.”

I’m sure Sally will have a wonderful night.

“I’ll let you use my voice-activated tape recorder tonight,” he said, “I think it’s exactly what you need.”

“I’m not so sure,” I replied. “It seems like a lot of trouble to fumble with a new gizmo in the middle of the night.”

“That’s where the voice-activated part comes in,” he explained. “When you think of something, you just mumble your thoughts and the tape recorder automatically saves them. You’ll be amazed at what you find in the morning.”

I had to admit that it sounded like a good idea. When I awoke this morning, I was in fact amazed at what it had recorded: ninety minutes of snoring.

Apparently, someone gave Richard a set of “poetry magnets,” a collection of a few hundred small, magnetized rectangles, each with a single word in black type on a white background. These magnets are designed to be left on a refrigerator, where anyone can rearrange the words to make a poem. It’s kind of a cross between writing and curating. I’ve seen these magnets in many homes, and have never found anything worth plagiarizing.

Until tonight, that is.

Richard made the bold and wonderful move of eliminating every word except one: “opportunity.” And so it is that Richard has a small, refrigerated cube containing four bottles and three cans of beer, as well as two bottles of wine. The surface of the cube is broken only by the door hinge, the handle, and the word “opportunity.”

Perfect. Or at least close enough for art.