In the melodic words of John Sebastian, welcome back.

It's hard to describe the thrill I get when my messenger alerts me that: "You have received e-mail from Brett Favre." I just knew joining that fan club would pay off.

The NFL season opens in a month. I'm already fired up.

I returned home Monday to three weeks of mail, including the results of my annual physical, which delivered the unexpected news that my LDL cholesterol level (the crappy one) had dropped almost 25 points in a year. Apparently, cutting back on the 3 a.m. cheese dogs and fries after drinking marathons does have some positive health effects. Who knew.

However, it is a good thing I had the blood work done prior to our four-day getaway, because that was a glorious festival of culinary boardwalk crap – pizza, fries, waffles and ice cream, and perhaps the best pork-roll-and-cheese I've ever eaten.

The trip also featured a stop at McDonald's on the way home. I had not visited a McDonald's since I made the decision earlier this year to eat healthier (outside of one extremely hungover morning when nothing but the collegiate breakfast of champions – sausage biscuit, hash brown and a high-test Coke – would do).

So imagine my surprise to see this new sign as I wound my way around my long-lost friend's drive-thru:




















Do I really care if I have a face-to-face experience with someone at McDonald's? I think I do not. I just want my golden goodness. I don't care if it's delivered by a robot.

But it's interesting that the muckety mucks at the Golden Arches saw this as a viable business plan. I'd love to have been in that meeting. “No, seriously, I think people would be happy to know they will definitely interact with the surly teenagers we have working at drive-thrus. That’s can’t-miss."

For the three people who care enough to have asked me about it, I am working on the Mount Rainier round-up. This week was a blur of work, social gatherings and planning a trip to Ireland. Bear with me.