Wherein I go to England, am called Doctor.

This morning I'd finally had it.

Dear Prestigious Institution, I wrote. Shall I come, or would you rather I stayed home? If you don't know now, will you know soon? Sincerely, Dr. S.

Nine minutes later--I kid you not: nine--Thunderbird made its hollow thunk of a new e-mail alert sound. Dear Dr. S, the new message read. Attached please find your election letter from our college president. The original is in the mail. By the way, what do you specialize in, in twelve words or less? [I kid you not: twelve.] We keep a list of fellows and their specialties. Sincerely, Prestigious Institution.

Now they have my twelve words. Soon they will have (almost) all of me. Fortunately for the part of me that gets homesick, much of England looks like the parts of Ohio I love best. Plus there are trains that take you places. Like London. And the ocean. And the airport where there are planes to Greece.

That's right, gang: in September, we're going international.