All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl. All schlock and no symphony makes Keckler a dull girl.

Enterprise nears the coordinates given to Hoshi by Alien Von Stalker, bart., and Reed is troubled by the apparent lack of defense systems, but Quantum thinks the Xindi could have defense systems undetectable by their scans. Reed, ever the security chief, airs his doubts on the reliability of "Hoshi's telepathic friend." Whoa -- jealous much? Quantum gives some orbiting orders to T'Pol, and tells Reed to get Uh-Oh Hayes on the Away Team.

In celebration of Halloween and San Francisco finally reaching autumnal temperatures, I made English Cheddar Chowder for dinner, and then we argued over how to make S'mores over our new gas oven's flame. I like to turn my forked marshmallows into a Molotov Cocktail, watch them burn for a bit, then blow them out. I love the charcoal crunch mixed in with the runny marshmallowy stuff, and then that gummy lump in the middle that stays slightly chewy. However, the Evil Dr. Mathra tried to school me in Single Variable Marshmallow Roasting. He stands patiently over the stove, carefully rotating the fork at calculated degrees -- early on, I think I even saw a protractor in use -- until the entire surface area of the marshmallow is golden. When you smear it on the graham cracker and Hershey squares, the entire marshmallow is gooey in a single, cohesive, mathematically perfect mass.

I like my way better.

Sh'pod. Quantum does some fancy technobabbling to make the sh'pod look like a meteor approaching the planet. Of course his little subterfuge will be shot to hell if the Xindi on the planet could read bio-signs aboard the "meteor." Maybe he's hoping they're all fans of The Little Prince. I don't even know what I mean by that.