I had a dream last night: I'm alone on an island, surrounded by cakes, pies, ice cream -- tantalizing, but all just out of reach. Weird. Oh, wait, it's one "s," idiot; DESERT island! See, like many obsessive writers and editors, I'm often haunted in my sleep by my errors. Chased by Godzilla-sized, fire-breathing apostrophes, held underwater by dangling participles, and I really don't care to discuss my hallucinations when I had a typo in the word "public."