There's been precious little in the file of late, we know. We've blamed Oprah and Harry Potter, we've blamed the demands of parenthood, we've railed against vague computer troubles and the bastards at G--way, we've pointed the finger at governmental over-regulation of America's herbal-supplement industry (Well, we've never actually done that. But we think it's implicit in everything we do and say here.)

We wanted to write this week about the possibly heat-induced wave of anti-blog nuttiness, a subject now suitably hashed-over on the Internets.

Or maybe about Allawi's "walking-around money" or the emerging problems with the Iraqi "Ready in minutes!" constitution?

But we didn't. And all we can say is that we hope this miserable lack of nonsensical blather over here at the home office will cease.

Right after we get back from out of town...yes, the newly combustion-engine-enabled editorial staff is once again scampering out of Gotham for a couple of days. We'll be thinking about all of you with appropriately fraternal tenderness, as we spend a little time in the City of Brotherly Love.

Meanwhile, a little quizlet to chew on while we're gone. We may not be able to check in from the road, but on Sunday we'll view the battlefield.

He was born Joel Emmanuel Hägglund on October 7, 1879. He emigrated to the U.S. in 1902. He was executed in 1915. He is known by the much shorter name he eventually went by, and immortalized in song.

What four-word phrase did he coin, which passed into the common lexicon and became an oft-deployed cliche?

First correct answer posted to comments wins an ottoman constructed entirely from unwanted Hold Everything catalogs. No Googling or inventing a new, better-than-Google search engine for the purpose of better-than-Googling the answer. One guess per comment, but you may comment as often as you like.