Holy fuck -- I'm such a wasteoid. I've quit smoking and I'm even lazier than I was before. Fuck me. My job is also incredibly oppressive. Not to say that I mind -- because, really, who minds? But nevertheless -- it is hard to write about your job being hellacious while it is hellacious. Especially considering that the last thing I want to do when I get home is talk about my job.

Since we last spoke, John Ritter died from an undetected heart valve defect, Johnny Cash died of complications from diabetes, Venus and Serena Williams' Sister was shot to death, Sweden's FM Lindh was stabbed to death, Warren Zevon succumed to Lung Cancer, a pizza man with a bomb attached to his head exploded, Mahmoud Abbas quit as Palestinian PM, and, uh, what else. Yeah, it wasn't really a good ten days. So I think I have excuses.

The popularity of blogs has exploded, but I think mine may have exploded down the shitter 'cause I don't think anyone reads this other than me. Which is fine, I guess, but then doesn't it qualify more as a journal and not a blog? Maybe I should market it . . . eh? That's sad -- see, now my job has entered into my personal life. I'm totally screwed.