Great. I’m not at all hungry, but a part of my brain is trying to talk the rest of me into going to a Chinese buffet for lunch. Could it be the result of the bacon-flavored milk that I had Saturday morning? Is it the annoyingly loud bilingual conversations that have been going on all morning in the cubicle next to me, conducted by Important Men who could easily adjourn to their plush offices with doors? Could it because my beloved Browns lost by one point in yet another freak, last-second mishap? Or is the craving of lots of MSG-laden food a result of watching the Bucs lose in overtime? At least the Cowboys lost; I fell asleep in front of that one. Maybe I’ll compromise and have an egg roll. I’m already celebrating the fact that I’m all alone in the marketing zone today by wearing denim capris, a violation of the “no denim on days that don’t start with the letter F” rule. I could celebrate the gift of a new monitor that doesn’t flash on and off randomly. Did you know that llamas hum?