Almost every Saturday morning (or Sunday if necessary) I call Elena to have Coffeetalk. Sometimes she doesn't answer and the answering machine* kicks in with her Brisbane-born husband's "Hullo, yeeve reeched Hayydrian 'n Heleyyna," at which point I yell as loud as I can into it because it's downstairs and if she's going to hear me while she's still in bed my voice is going to have to carry: "HELLO? GOOD MORNING! HI! HOW ARE YOU! WAKE UUUPPPPP!" Then I hang up and call my sister or my mother because I've already steeled myself for a period of inactivity and kvetching and by God I'll have it one way or another.

* Which was originally mine, purchased for, like, a dollar in a Connecticut Salvation Army in 2002 with the original recording from something called the Buffalo Emporium still on it, but then voicemail killed the plot point star and cell phones became the new deus ex machina for 99% of the human population and so it's almost like I'm calling from the future now.