The greatest thing about being incredibly busy during a Florida summer is my electric bill. I live alone. And I don't cool an empty apartment while I'm gone. And I'm usually gone. And I can't write at work as much as I used to because I'm busier there than I used to be because I do other people's jobs too (and I'm thankful for the work) because of the economy.
(Remember when you were a kid and the economy was just some kind of stupid chunk of news that your parents had to worry about? I miss those days.)
Anyway, I may get to write more now in the upcoming few weeks but it can't be as regular as the old days. I know the few fans I have left are sick of me going in and out of their lives. If it helps make you feel better, a few accredited doctors have diagnosed me as functionally insane (that's all the explanation I have).
I am putting as much debt on credit cards as I can and I'm not paying any of them off. If the banks want the money back, they can just go to the government. Moral hazards are fun sometimes. Sometimes they really are.
I'm occasionally tweeting now. Not for nothing.
I plan on live-blogging the MLB All-Star game again this year. So look for that. Live-blogging is as fun as it is exhausting. It's kind of like good sex. For lonely geeks.
Court put this column up as a Facebook column (I have never nor will I ever understand what the hell Ole Sully is thinking and I don't know why we're writing on Facebook too when we have a perfectly good site) and the sad thing is, though he says I wrote this piece five years ago, I have no memory of it. When I first read it I thought, "Wow, someone did a great parody of me doing a bad parody of a yuppie spawn." That piece is like the writing equivalent of a blackout for me.
And that's all I got today.
And I'm sorry about that. I really am.