Friday, August 22, 2003

I offer my deepest apologies, gentle reader, for leaving you in a silent lurch the past few days. Some of my silence is due to an Internet-free studio, which leaves me with only office hours to browse the ‘Net. And that, as you can probably guess, is not what I’m paid to do. Actually, that’s a blatant lie–you see, I am paid to surf the web. Not only that, I’m paid to make pop-up ads appear. Now read that last sentence again and promise not to lynch me with piano wire.

At this point, I’d like to reminisce about things that never actually happened, and the reminiscing will be fresh and wholesome, I promise. When I was a wee lad, I looked up into the stars one night and wished I were a fireman. I squeezed my eyes together really, really tightly and whispered a whisper for the ages. A crock full of shit that accomplished, obviously. I also may have wished to set things ON fire, I’m not sure. It’s all so fuzzy now, you know. Like a hamster in a cat in a dryer full of fuzzy sweaters.