Twunch

by now, you’ve all
heard it. 52 New Species found in Borneo!  And I feel the same way I do when network news violates those rape shield laws and publishes the name of the victim.  Why?
Why do you think this poor motherfucking tree frog was hiding out in Borneo?  Do you think he was doing it for press?  I don’t think so. 
I’m not one of these people who thinks that he will see the world end within his lifetime.  Instead I think we will simply be fortunate enough to see the whole franchise slowly go downhill so our great grandchildren can contend with the ugly ending.  Sort of like dying after seeing the Phantom Menace.
And the reason that I can’t get optimistic about our cache of Bornean Biodiversity is that without a doubt, this number will be trotted out in the future:
"Sobering news today.  Of the 52 species discovered in December 2006, only 17 could be found last month."
It’s going to suck.  One more countdown to enjoy.
on the plus side:
Dateless Wonder FLORA, the KOMODO DRAGON, is with whelps!
Here’s a story for you single ladies who are hearing the ominous last few ticks of your biological clocks reverberating through your fallow hips: Sister Serpents Be Doing It For Themselves!  "Life finds a Way," stutters Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park and indeed it does in a North England zoo as this Komodo dragon managed virgin conception just in time for Christmas.  Not everyone is happy though.  Certain Christian Family groups have expressed their dismay at this productive non-union citing that it might be a harbinger
of our times.  Flora, when asked for comment, simply licked her eyeballs and flaunted her stem-cell based genitalia.
Lastly…
I wanted to apologize for a false report that I had updated my blog.  In fact I had worked on a segment on Mancrushes.  But as I looked it over, it was simply too gay to be placed here. 

Though in the interest of full disclosure I will place several of my Mancrushes (read: heroes) on the left over here.
The topic came up for me while I was watching the last few minutes of the last episode of the year of Colbert Report and a sleeveless Stephen Colbert was on stage with Peter Frampton, and the guitarist from Cheap Trick singing the theme from his show into a Talk-Box (if you know Frampton, you know what I
am talking about)  and I thought of a line from True Romance (the only good thing Christian Slater’s ever been associated with) regarding Elvis:

"In "Jailhouse Rock" he’s everything rockabilly’s about. I mean he is
rockabilly: mean, surly, nasty, rude. In that movie he couldn’t give a fuck
about anything except rockin’ and rollin’, livin’ fast, dyin’ young, and
leaving a good-looking corpse. I love that scene where after he’s made it big
he’s throwing a big cocktail                                                 party, and all these highbrows are there, and
he’s
singing, "Baby You’re So Square… Baby, I Don’t Care". Now, they got
him dressed like a dick. He’s wearing these stupid-lookin’ pants, this
horrible sweater. Elvis ain’t no sweater boy. I even think they got him
wearin’ penny loafers. Despite all that shit, all the highbrows at the party,
big house, the stupid clothes, he’s still a rude-lookin’ motherfucker. I’d
watch that hillbilly and I’d want to be him so bad."

Also, The President for Life of Turkmenistan died two days ago.  So my blog on that topic is officially a collector’s item!  Happy hollandaise!

My dear friends, and strangers who were looking for something else but have found themselves here,
Today you find yourselves reading what is my Fiftieth Blog Entry.  Now while I’m not saying that this once in a lifetime happening should merit the congressional medal of freedom (Though, Mr. President, while you have earned my personal disdain I am still willing to accept this award from you because of my high respect for the office you hold), I did think it worth mentioning. 
More than anything, I write this blog for the comments that you provide.  You the reader.  Those of you who know me well know of my narcissism, my need for attention, my desperate need to feel that I am somehow plugged into the stream of consciousness of every human being with whom I have shared time and space.  Each day I stand around desperate for email, voice mail, real mail, spam, fliers on my car windshield, any sort of communication that I might be able to construe as a few more heartbeats from the canary in a coalmine.  And for those few comments I receive I thank you.  And I encourage you.  Keep them coming. 
The beast inside me needs to hear from  you.  Just comment.  Don’t worry about on-topic/off-topic.  THIS IS YOUR BLOG TOO.  Its just my name is on it.  And I dictate what gets said here.  And I can erase stuff you write.  But I would not have reached fifty entries if I didn’t honestly believe that everyday when you receive a little email in your inbox from a service that I cannot stop on my end, your face lights up briefly until going completely dark when you read my latest effort.  You, gentle reader, are the wind beneath my wings.  So comment.  All you want.  We’ve got room.  It’s a big tent.  Happy holidays also.  Etc.

There is a reason that I preface all of this.  And of course you, the astute reader, with me since day one, recognizes that my prefaces always come when I’ve very little to say. 

WHITEHALL — Former PhishTrey Anastasio
was arrested by village police early this morning and charged with
DWI-drugs after they stopped his car for failure to keep right.
Consider the joy this must have provided the arresting officer.  Trey Anastasio’s patchouli stained fingers were the absolute incitement of tens of thousands of people to DUI, DWI, Drive Under Multiple Influences, Drive Under Spheres of Psychedelic Hegemony, Driving While Pursued By Bats, Driving While Rolling… and this cop pulls him over and finds…Drugs?  It must’ve been an amazing thing.  I expect that cops private parts grew three sizes that morning.

In spite of my absolute need to be inundated with vapid epistles, I unsubscribed to Phish’s webservice today and not simply because of their former lead guitarists inability to keep right.  Nor because the band broke up two years ago.  Nor because I hadn’t seen a show in six years.  I unsubscribed because I realized today that I hadn’t yet.  I hadn’t jumped off the trolley.
A (n embarrasing) List:
Number of Phish shows I went to……………………………………….17
Amount of money to attend said Phish Shows (17X~50)………………..$850
Number of Phish shows where I committed activities that would keep me off of the senate………………………………………………………………….17
Number of miles I traveled to see said band at shows…………………..5000
Number of Phish CDS of bootleg CDS I own.  Still own.  Still have with me.…………………65
Cost for above: 11 studio albums ($165) Live Releases ($155)………….$320
Number of those CDs I listen to in an average year after 2003…………..4
Number of Phish based websites I checked on average per day in 1999.…………………..6 or 7
Number of strangers I met up with at their houses because we both liked phish and met on line………………………………………………………………5 or 6
Number of people I’ve forced to listen to Phish in my life…………….more than 75.

Honest to God.  I look at this list
and I want to kick my own butt.  And the thing is the signs were all there, man.  The signs were all there!  There were never any black people at these concerts.  Is that not a dead give away?  The whole scene resembled a concentration camp for English and Psych majors.  And then came the fact that none of their songs were ever on the radio despite the fact that the band desperately wanted to be on the radio.  The band asked its fans to call in to have their songs requestsed so they could prove that they really were a respectable band.  It was the rock’n'roll equivalent of Mormonism. 

So what can I say?  I guess I’m most sorry that I kept the door open this long.  I mean in 2004 they publicly admitted to not having practiced together in four years.  I can’t come up with an equivalent to that level of ripping people off.  I’m angry and I’m hurt and I feel so stupid.  I have a buddy whose twice gone in for pyramid schemes.  And I don’t mock him because he’s always let me slide where this band was concerned. 

But here it is, 2006- nearly 2007 and the band does the first truly rock’n'roll thing they ever did in their 22 year history.  The front man gets busted with drugs.  Is it Heroin?  Coke?  Fuckin’ Weed?  LSD?  PLEASE?
No.
Xanax.
Percoset.
Hydrocodone.
Pussies to the last.  And me the last sucker to figure it out.  Comment.
Please.  Fucking change the subject or something.  I’m seriously nauseous.  One more look at that list and I’m sure to throw up.

So there is a picture attached.
And I’m placing it down here.
.
.
.
.
but I don’t feel good about it because you guys are going to think I’m making this up.  Because I once blogged about a corpse I bought in Chinatown. 
But I assure you…this one’s totally legit.
And not for the faint of heart.
.
.
.
Here it is.
.
.
.

Now I know we’ve got some knowledgeable art people out there.
Any takers?

Let’s talk for a moment about what I’ve been sort of
obsessing about lately which is the curse of the middle class. I don’t have a good handle on this so I’m
going to take a little bit of time to just try and empty my fucking skull at
the moment. 

First, the curse of the middle class is

1) To
believe that at any moment your life will be swept inexorably upwards by fate,
nepotism, the Gods, Jesus, someone famous, your present lover, a future lover.

a. This
belief precludes the need for hard work. Renders it unimportant because without a doubt you are soon to be saved.

b. The
fact that this hasn’t happened to you yet is not fair, but with hope and prayer this unfairness will soon be
rectified.

c. Your
life hasn’t really begun until this moment of positive updraft.  

d. This
moment of updraft may well be accompanied by a soundtrack.

2) There
is a force somewhere watching you and everything that you do. You are constantly performing for an audience
which may be posterity, God, Gods, the positive energy in the universe, your
ancestors (not likely), a television crew that you imagine follows you around.

a. Every
response you have to everything around you must have some sort of television
model upon which to be based. When you
find yourself without a television program upon which to base your response
these moments must be commented upon as “freaky.”

b. Any
occurrence of even the most random or arbitrary interest must be considered
proof of your holding the interest of these divine forces. 

c. You
are special because you feel you are special and your potent self awareness
renders you special.

3) There
is nothing more horrible than discomfort of any kind. Discomfort must be removed at all costs. In the event that you cannot personally
remove the discomfort in question the discomfort must be railed at at all costs
until a) someone else removes this discomfort or b) someone else notices and
comments upon how uncomfortable your discomfort must be.

a. Discomfort
can be physical, however it must not be grotesque. Middle class people are perfectly comfortable
showing a scratched elbow, but not a calf muscle eaten away by cancer. Showing people discomfort that places them in
discomfort is a violation of middle class ethics.

b. Discomfort
of an emotional type, particularly based on familial or relationship problems
represents the most readily addressable form of discomfort and begs for ADVICE
(See ADVICE: Currency of the Middle Class)

c. Discomfort
serves as an excuse for any and all forms of personal abnegation (See
DISTRACTION) from Television to drugs and alcohol to impulse purchasing.

4) Your
responsibilities extend only to yourself and your family, and then chiefly to
yourself. This works axiomatically from
the point of view: “If every person simply looked after themselves, we wouldn’t
be in all this trouble.” Family serves
as an exception here because as our progenitors they are owed something. Precisely what is a topic to be discussed at
length and an issue for which we seek ADVICE.

a. A
corollary here is that any situation of any magnitude cannot be remedied and
being past remedy is therefore past concern. Massive social issues, wars, genocides, pestilences, poverty represent
problems that simply exist and as such do not trouble the middle class. They
are sad things and merit occasionally reading a newspaper to notice that they
are sad and have not ceased to be so.

b. Politics
are not your responsibility save avoiding appearing ignorant regarding their
developments. The political party in
power is to be known, as are the candidates for president, senator, and in
interesting races congress. Local
politics for the middle class extend to school board issues with the exception
of SCANDAL (See SCANDAL: Don’t get caught unawares!)

c. Celebrity
is the avenue of dreams for the middle class. Celebrity is not financial- however it is impossible for celebrity to be
separated from money. To the middle
class celebrities have achieved that very position outlined in Section 1: in a
neo-Calvinist way they have already been swept inexorably upward and stand upon
the hill for our observation. They know
something that we do not, see more than we see, are privy to a great deal more
than we are. There relative worthiness
is subject to DEBATE, and a competent member of the middle class should be able
to hold one’s own in such a debate. Topics for middle class celebrity debate include:

 i. ACTING. These
people hold up the mirror to ourselves. Therefore acting can be said to be a worthy debatable subject.

 ii. SPORTS. These
athletes represent the height of human development and therefore athletes can
be deemed worth of DEBATE.

 iii. MUSIC. Musicians- particularly contemporary ones- or members of the celebrity
pantheon of established songwriters and singers merit debate.

 iv. BOOKS. This is
not a particularly debatable category as there is little celebrity to book
writing. Occasionally a novelist will
move into this field but rarely.

 v. PLAYS, POETRY, MATHEMATICS, ARCHITECTURE, and SCIENCE
will only occasionally careen into the realm of middle class debate and
generally only serves to distance the Middle Class from each other.

5) Community. Nothing is more important to the Middle Class
person than belonging to a community. These communities can extend from Political Party affiliation to Light
Beer affiliation. From the audience of
Oprah to the audience of Jimmy Buffet. The point of community is that everyone in attendance be able to know
that what they are feeling in that moment represents a one to one correlation
with exactly what everyone else in that community is feeling. 

a. The
strongest communities are created through ADVERTISING (see ADVERTISING: The
Tie-Ins that Bind). 

b. RELIGION
(see RELIGION) represents a strong form of that advertising via branding,
product placement, shock and delight programs, back end inducements, and feel
good music that naturally is intended to appeal to segments of the middle class
or more accurately age groups of the middle class. 

I’m looking to continue this jag- please help to make a more
complete diagnostic of the curse of the middle class

if marcel marceau actually lived inside a box I don’t think his act would be considered nearly as funny.  People who knew him would tell him, "Marcel!  Desist!  You’re only forcing me to think about the one circumstance in my life that is in fact utterly destroying my soul!"  And you know what he would do?  He would shrug.  Or possibly give people the finger.  Or spit.  Mimes have few avenues with which to defend the validity of the their art. 

I’m sick today and therefore I thought I would share a couple thoughts with you.  Whoever you are. 

My girlfriend’s family descended on my blog recently in a spate of juvenile copraphilia, filling my comments section with the vilest one word posts imaginable.  There were no explanations.  Just foulness, spurted across the page.  Gentle reader, if you were offended, I can only say that I was too.

I feel stupid asking this. But do you remember V?

It was a made for Television movie about Aliens taking over our planet and harvesting our bodies for food and our water for drink.  It came out in 1983 and it dominated playground culture at my grade school even more than ET or The Dark Crystal.  I was seven or eight at the time (I think it came out in the fall of 1983), and I’d only been at St. Roch Catholic School for a year or so and the games we played a recess really made me aware of the pecking order involved at our school.  The choleric hero of the show, Michael Donovan, was invariably played by Ryan P. who was in fact a latter day incarnation of the fictional character, Jack, from Lord of the Flies.  The other
characters were doled out- and if someone in the class was sick I had an outside chance of getting to be the black guy.  Otherwise I was stuck playing the Robert Englund character.  Who was in fact not even a human being.  He was turncoat, a fifth columnist, who liked to guzzle hedgehogs in peace.  And this was a year before the first Nightmare on Elm Street so I couldn’t even have known that I was being force to identify with a child murdering knife fingered former janitor.

Accoring to Wikipedia (cited here without permission)

The story remains a Nazi allegory, right down to the Swastika-like
emblem used by the Visitors. Later, throughout the TV series, the
Resistance Network’s TV news bulletins report stories of erstwhile
enemies uniting in common cause against the alien occupiers, such as
black and white South Africans (the series was produced when South Africa was still under apartheid). In addition, direct figure analogies are used, such as the senior Visitor scientist, Diana, who is a direct analogue of Dr. Josef Mengele.

However I chiefly remember it for the baby with the snake tongue.  And lizard masks that lived under human masks.  And also a lot of really teased hair among the Alien vixens.  And I put it to you- if you remember it- was this the greatest mini-series of your childhood?  And did it tip the balance of power on the asphalt at recess? 

Lastly.  I sat at a diner and scribbled on a napkin. 

Thanks to technology you can now see what I wrote.

Sickness
on days like today
I explore everything
at a hound dog’s pace
Sounds
Smells
the mind allows nothing to be
known.
(I know the staff at this
diner.  I know their politics.)
But now, ill, I keep my hat
on.  Feign Foreigness. And
Dispose myself to the great
mysteries of our time. 
why is the sugar dispenser
sticky.  Who thought to put
Mineral water on the table.
The pen releases controlled
Mess into the napkin.
While my nose runs free.

Another Saturday night…

• the expression "blogging a dead horse" appears 13,400 times on the internet according to google.
• Brenton Wood is a truly expert soul singer from California whose website www.brentonwood.com offers some pretty amazing things:

• *Limited Dedicated to You Autographed Lyrics    
              
  $5.00

  
  (Get your favorite Brenton Wood song dedicated to you Lyric Sheet)
  8 1/2 x 11 Bond Paper,
  Signed by the Oogum Boogum Man himself.
  

  Song (none selected)
  Gimme Little Sign
  Oogum Boogum
  Baby You Got It
  Catch You On The Rebound
  Great Big Bundle Of Love
  I’m The One Who Knows
  Darlin’
  Me and You
  Where Were You
  Take A Chance
  Can You Dig It
  I Like The Way You Love Me
  I Think You’ve Got Your Fools Mixed Up
  Trouble

  ---

  Shipping/Handling Fee (for all orders)         
  $3.95

• The album on the right deserves to be purchased rather than napstered because Brenton Wood clearly appears to be a bit hardup for cash.  5 dollars for an autograph?

• I’m putting a picture of it here, in case you’re too too lazy to have a look for yourself.

But seriously, why not spend five bucks to get the oogum boogum man’s autograph.  You could frame it and when people ask who’s autograph it is, you could flash a cryptic smile and say, Why it’s the Oogum Boogum Man.  Who?  The Oogum Boogum man! 
Who’s he?
He wrote also wrote the song Gimme Little Sign?
I don’t think I’ve ever heard it.
Well, you have, it’s just the words Gimme Little Sign are not actually in the song.  It goes…Just Gimme Some Kinda Sign girl, Oh My Baby!
To show me that you’re mine girl! Oh yeah.
So why did they provide it a name that is not within the song? 
Because he figured that with the catchy moniker, The Oogum Boogum Man, he would have no trouble every being remembered. 
But he is.  And it looks like he may have done his website himself.  Also, if you go to the page you can see his wife or possibly his daughter modeling Oogum Boogum Man merchandise. 
Anyway.  That’s not what I’m here to talk about but I just wanted to make you consider getting that album.  Also Barret Strong’s greatest hits.  Which you probably have anyway unless you’re a douchebag.

All in all, I’d describe the week as a push.  A push for those of you who don’t gamble compulsively is when you have seventeen, and the dealer also has seventeen and the dealer pushes your money across the velvet table and back to you.  At which point you add a bunch of chips to your bet and the dealer deals you a thirteen against his visible jack.  So you know you’re probably cooked.  But anyway.

Let’s start with the positives.

I worked background on a movie.  With Mark Ruffalo, Joaquin Phoenix, Mira Sorvino and John Gielgud’s femur.  I seriously was paid almost five hundred dollars to drive bumper cars for three hours.  It was excellent fun and I spent the day in Bristol Connecticut at an abandoned theme park.
The best moment was when I did permanent spinal damage to an eleven year old who was making fifty times my wage.  We all need something to believe in.

My play is four days away from its lone day of production.  So amazing to have a play that opens and then closes.  It seriously has the same life expectancy of a really lurid fart (plus or minus three hours).  The play is at the Wings Theatre in NYC in the West Village on Wednesday Night.  More likely than not you already know this because I’ve posted it everywhere.  I’m desperate for your attendance- the actors are very good. 

The bad stuff:
Yesterday I had to bounce a female bum from my hotel.  What do you call a female bum?  Hoe bo?  Bumbo? 

I dunno…

I want to give props to any of my friends who are presently having children or who have already gone on to have children.  I’m stunned by your optimism. 

Big ups to Ministers getting massages and meth and still arguing that they’ve done nothing wrong.  Plausible Deniability is an amazing thing.

I’m still here.  I assure you.

Years on earth: 31.
Time I was born: No idea.
Number of nice notes, texts, emails: <25
Nicest moment: Cardinals world series win.
Number of times I threw up: <3
Things consumed (in order)
1 tiramisu.
1 glass of dewar’s scotch.
1 pint of Stone IPA
1 pint of Stella Artois
1 glass of Booker’s bourbon.
1 pint of Newcastle
1 Glass of Oban Irish whiskey
1 pint of Newcastle
1 Carne Asada Steak (15" by 7" huge- topped with green salsa) consumed in it’s entirety.
1 Potato
4 Forkfulls of rice.
3 Forkfulls of green salad.
1 Piece of Birthday cake (ladyfingers, chocolate cream, and caramel from Omonia bakery)
1 paper cup full of goldfish pretzels
1 philly cheesesteak
1 Doctor Brown’s Cherry Soda
1 Dos Equis Beer (consumed while watching bottom of the ninth inning)
1 Glass of Jack Daniels
1 pint of Sam Adams
1 piece of Birthday Cake
Age I was during last Cardinals world series win: 7
Age I was during last Cardinals World Series loss: 29.
Did they lose the world series on your birthday? Yes.
Were they swept? Yes.
Did you watch any of the games in their entirety? No.
Can all ESPN baseball analysts suck my balls?  Yes.

Thanks, everyone.  Especially deedee.  So nice.

Two deaths in two weeks.  Both inarguably tangential.  First one was a friend of a friend, who died at his own hand.  I was not shocked and felt tangible guilt at my own surprise.  My friend was not shocked either.  Not exactly.  Words run sort of dry here.
The other one surprised me.  An acquaintance from high school.  Two people from my high school class have died now and neither are one’s I would have actively chosen.  And please believe me, there are a quantity of people I would have chosen.  A group of maybe five or seven folks who’s obituary would bring an involuntary curl to my lips. 
I worked sixteen hours today on three hours sleep.  I wrote this about Mark today.

-As a child I feared death-
-Not the the severance so much
As the walk in to the foyer of the Sweet By and By-
-The swept marble, the music, the incomparable
Hors d’ourves-
-And no one to talk to
-Not really-
-Grant parents I didn’t know, family members
Who observed me on earth scarcely observing
Their passing-
-Now awkwardly inquiring about how I left things-
-How will you fill your days without pain to avoid?-
-Nor am I able to throng at Hepburn or Moses
Or the Alton Giant-
-You were so great at Tiffany’s-
–In Egypt-
—At being tall-
-Heaven and Hell are indistinguishable in the Sweet By and By
-Without tolerably familiar, unfamiliar company.
-We’ll stake out a couple of wingback chairs-
Between the bar and the band.
-And smoke-
-Like Everybody does in Heaven.
-And this time you’ll talk and I’ll listen-
-About punk rock music and airplanes-
-Heredity and how we’ll do things next time-
-So they tell me you had a son?—

Presidential decrees

As President-for-Life of Turkmenistan, he has issued many unconventional decrees, such as:

• In March 2004, dismissing 15,000 public health workers in wide-ranging cuts that particularly targeted nurses, midwives, school health visitors and orderlies[5]
• In April 2004, urging young people not to get gold tooth caps or gold teeth, suggesting instead that they chew on bones to preserve their teeth[6]
• In February 2005, ordering the closure of all hospitals outside Ashgabat,
  saying that if people were ill, they could come to the capital; also
  ordering the closure of all rural libraries of Turkmenistan, saying
  that ordinary Turkmen do not read books anyway[7]
• In November 2005, ordering that physicians swear an oath to him instead of the Hippocratic Oath^[6]
• In December 2005, banning video games, stating that they were too violent for young Turkmen to play
• In January 2006, Russian media reported he had ordered to stop paying pensions
  to 1/3 (more than 100,000) of the country’s elderly people, cutting
  pensions to another 200,000, and ordering to pay the pensions received
  in the past two years back to the State. This has supposedly resulted
  in a huge number of deaths of old people, who may have had their
  pension (ranging from US$10 to US$90) as the only source of money. The
  Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Turkmenistan strongly denied [8] these allegations, accusing the media outlets of spreading "deliberately perverted" information on the issue.
• In September 2006, the Telegraph reported
  that Turkmenbashi had issued a new pay scale for Turkmen teachers,
  which was to come into effect in October of that year. Until then,
  teachers who wished to avoid being put on the lowest grade of pay or
  even sacked, would have to write a newspaper article praising
  Turkmenbashi and have it published in one of the two newspapers of the
  country.
• In October 2006 Turkmenistan will set free 10056 prisoners, including 253 foreign nationals from 11 countries on Night of Omnipotence.
  Niyazov said: "Let this humane act on the part of the state serve
  strengthening truly moral values of the Turkmen society. Let the entire
  world know that there has never been a place for evil and violence on
  the blessed Turkmen soil"^{[citation needed]}

This came in from superstar blogger k8 this morning:

To:	kaferrig@aol.com
Cc:
Bcc:
Subject:		well, i think i just broke your blog
Date:		Wed, 18 Oct 2006 1:11 AM

all i did was post a comment… now suddenly it won’t appear. ack.
meanwhile, you know adam kruvand?? weird.

So I posted on her blog:

Hey
Why did you destroy my blog?
I care about you.
K

–

Posted by Anonymous to rants & ramblings at 10/18/2006 10:48:10 AM

which merited the response

To:	kaferrig@aol.com
Cc:
Bcc:
Subject:		Re: [rants & ramblings] 10/18/2006 10:48:10 AM
Date:		Wed, 18 Oct 2006 11:20 AM

all i did was comment!  i’m a little freaked out, actually. you know us
web types get a little twitchy when the inexplicable occurs…

So I’m posting all of this to try to kick start my blog again.
Wish me luck.