The problem after a nine-month break isn't a lack of things to write about. The challenge after a sabbatical is finding a way to reintroduce oneself without resorting to the most self-indulgent tactic of all: reintroducing yourself.

But here we are again, dear readers, stumbling into each other's arms for yet another awkward dance of indeterminate years. Oh, how I've missed your early morning coffee breath, your sighs of agreement and your belligerent howls of skepticism.

It's been a long time, so we're bound to be shy in each other's company at first. But with time, we'll get the rhythm of each other's jokes and idiosyncrasies, I swear.

So, lets link hands. Be kind to an old hack as he works through the columnist equivalent of performance anxiety. Before you know it, we'll be reconnecting on a spiritual level again.

In the meantime, please indulge this modest recap of frequently asked questions since I've been back.

Q: Have you been gone? I hadn't noticed.

A: That's all right. I suffer from a touch of solipsism myself.

Q: Where you been?

A: Keepin' it real in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Q: Ann Arbor? Sounds very la-di-da!

A: After eight months of twice-weekly sherry hours at Wallace House, you'd be la-di-da, too. The Sunday night wine-and-cheese soirees were superb, but mentally taxing.

Q: What's Wallace House?

A: The international headquarters of the Knight-Wallace Journalism Fellows at the University of Michigan.

Q: What did you do there?

A: Mostly a lot of highfalutin' theorizing when we weren't "dirty dancing," playing poker or rubbing shoulders with the captains and galley slaves of journalism, academia and industry.

Q: Sounds like a scam of outrageous proportions. How many got in with the same roll of the dice that got you in?

A: There were 12 American and six international journalists in the program, 57 of us all together if you count spouses, bookies, horses and assorted dependents.

Q: Were you a close knit group?

A: There isn't a single K-W Fellow I wouldn't, well, suffer terrible inconvenience for. As proof of my affection, I continue to owe money to most of them so that we'll always have an excuse to get together. You can only do that with family.

Q: What did you do at the university?

A: Wrote screenplays, attended lectures that were over my head, luxuriated in my alienation, slept in, worked on my novel, learned to tango and hold my liquor. Tried but failed to grow as a human being.

Q: Did you spend all your time in Ann Arbor?

A: Yeah, unless we were in Argentina, Turkey or Detroit. I spent spring break in Amsterdam to complete my "Midnight Express" tour of the world. I have a nervous twitch now.

Q: What's the strangest thing to happen to you while you were overseas?

A: At a restaurant in Istanbul, a mob of crazed young men hoisted me on their shoulders and chanted "Tony is everything" in Turkish. I still don't know what brought that on.

Q: Was it the Muslim world's only gay bar?

A: Hardy-har-har!

Q: What's your funniest memory?

A: Political cartoonist Pat Oliphant did a savage caricature of me after I inadvertently referred to him as an "idiot savant" during a Wallace House seminar. We'll see who gets the last laugh when the drawing goes up on eBay in a few years.

Q: Was that you mugging for the camera in the tribute to Mike Wallace two weeks ago?

A: I'm shocked by how many folks saw my "60 Minutes" cameo. I was on for about five nanoseconds, tops.

Q: Did your family miss you?

A: Sure. My wife and her new husband let me see my boys whenever I want.

Q: Are you glad to be back in Pittsburgh?

A: Where else can you hear folks shout "I can't wait until they lay you off" with such sincere affection?