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Clip Show

All apologies for not updating again yesterday - after the very long blog entry I wrote, it was simply too frustrating to contemplate.

Coming up with interesting blog entries is hard work when neither your profession nor your life is particularly interesting, I've come to realize. It's forced me to resort to gimmicks and punditry, while watching my friend Mollie go on about her cosmopolitan existence and my cousin Ed milk his upcoming fatherhood for all the sentimentality it's worth. Both are effective, and make me seem dull by comparison.

My life has been on a lot of ups and downs lately, though from a distance the bumps would be hardly noticeable to an outside observer. But without artificial stimulation (i.e. diet soda, which I've been trying to quit for the sake of my teeth, my creativity tends to suffer on the downs. As such, rather than trying to come up with something new today, I will instead provide a "clip show" from previous entries. Enjoy!

THUS I find myself sequestered in a small cell in Oakland, organized by a group called ANSWER (Act Now to Stop War and End Racism). I'm not suggesting that Saddam Hussein is innocent of any crime that has ever been attributed to him. For one thing, I'm making Mollie feel guilty.

So, allow me to explain myself. I've now moved into a new room, with a DSL connection. I don't really have much to say about the tragedy, other than to agree with my what father said when I spoke to him about it: exploring is dangerous and it always has been. My parents took this opportunity to gleefully remind me of the nine-month interval between the blizzard of '78 and my birth. The two phrases I'm thinking of right now are "postmodern" and "cultural currency." I hate big words that get tossed around by people who want to sound smart, but actually don't have any real meaning.

But that does not mean there isn't hope. Worldwide protests against a potential war in a cool Hong Kong-style shoot 'em up scene pays well, but is just under the amount I need to survive. To my shock and dismay, I was told I had the second novel in E.R. Eddison's Zimiamvian trilogy. As some of you are doubtless aware, I groaned, muttered to myself a few times, rolled over and put my contacts on.

Thank you.