12:40 a.m. For all the people who think that working at home on your own time is a piece of cake, a walk in the park, let me tell you. Or, I would tell you if I had the time. No time for cake, or walks, or lengthy entries.

Instead, I'm working all day Saturday and late, late into the night to try to get the UFO book laid out. I've just finished scanning this image, which I might as well put up here for your perusal, since it is, at this very moment, hurtling soundlessly into the very heart of the cold, airless vacuum of space.

This is the message that the folks at NASA have sent to any aliens who might decide to stop and play with our Voyager probe. It's stuck there, on the side. Probably with rivets, or screws. It's shiny.

Now, I'm not exactly sure when this plaque was manufactured and shot out into space, but I'm pretty sure it was sometime in the '70s. I do remember the feminist hue and cry that went up because the woman was standing by, passively, while the man was doing the hard work of saying hi.

Do you think aliens think that we are two sizes of women on this planet, some with breasts, some without? I mean, hello! Where's the penis? Where are the tender testes?

A few summers ago I met the young woman whose father was responsible for writing the words on the plaque. It was during a Republican administration, possibly Gerald Ford's, and the writer used his own name as an acrostic. So, if you read the words top to bottom, you'd think this man was maybe the king of the earth.

Sure, I could look all this stuff up and give you the facts and the dates. But right now I can barely afford the time. Time is pushing me down. Deadlines wait for no woman.

We were lucky enough to have pizza tonight, because of this increased work pressure. In our neck of the woods, it's always a toss-up between Italinan, Chinese, Hindi, Thai, or Japanese. The great fast-food races.

I have a special drawer for all those flyers and hangtags that the delivery people put in our mailbox and toss over our fence.

You know what I'm going to say next, don't you?

It's late, I'm tired -- so I'm not going to dress it up. I'll just say it straight.

I really hope that the shiny plaque, tossed as it is out of our solar system and into the night, isn't mistaken for a menu. The Big Blue Marble -- open all night. Teeming with life, tender and juicy. (Go for the big ones -- they're the better value; the smaller ones are too tough.)

Just a thought.