What's New

Hey readers, semi-new stuff on the What's New page.

You know I'd have a hell of a band

I think I would have loved being a musician. Whenever I've hung out with other friends who are musicians or heard the stories of people I know who have managed a band, the stories always fascinate me. The parties. The people. The lifestyle. The art. It all speaks to me. Spending a day in Nashville two years ago only fueled that feeling even more. I know that very few musicians make it big, but even the life of a struggling musician, the starving artist, appeals so much to me. I know it's not all roses - no artist's way of life ever is - but man it must be an awesome trip. If I had it to do over again... and had a shred of musical ability, I have decided I would move to Nashville and live the life of a singer-songwriter.

That's obviously not going to happen, but last night before Amy's show I got a brief, albeit meaningless, taste of what it might be like. I walked up to the counter at Milkboy Coffee and ordered myself an iced latte. Seeing me standing there with my red beard, my slightly shaggy and windblown hair which I've been growing out, and my groovy retro t-shirt, the chick working the counter asked me, "Are you playing tonight?"

For a split second, I was a musician. I was there man. I felt it through and through. And dude, it totally rocked. Then you know, I snapped back to reality and paid full price for my drink.

Amy Loftus: The way music should be

I love listening to singer songwriters. I love discovering new talent. I don't mean that in the arrogant sense of "I discovered them an introduced them to the world." I just mean, I like stumbling onto some new independent artist, either at a live music venue or through a friend who owns one of their CD's and being blown away by their music. I like listening to more than just the same 40 songs they play on every radio station. I'm by no means a connoisseur of independent music. I simply like what I like. The very first, and very best, singer-songwriter I discovered for myself was Amy Loftus.

One of the things that has always impressed me about Amy's music is that she doesn't fall into the same trap as a lot of other singer-songwriters where they focus their energy so much on the LYRICS that they forget about the actual MUSIC. What you end up with is an album full of songs that, while lyrically exceptional, all have the same boring indistinguishable sound so that you can't tell one song from another. Amy's album, Straight to Amy, doesn't do that. Embracing that folky, bluesy, country rock amalgamation favored by a lot of singer-songwriters, each song is yet something new and different, with both lyrics and melodies that keep you engaged throughout the entire disc.

Last night, Amy performed at a new live music venue called Milkboy Coffee about an hour down the road in Ardmore, PA. I, of course, made the trip. As always, the show was awesome. Although her guitar playing has improved tremendously since I first met her, her voice is still her most powerful instrument. She can send it to the rafters then draw it down to a soft vulnerable whisper. She can be convincingly breathy and sultry without sounding like she's trying too hard - another unfortunate shortcoming of many singer-songwriters. If the soul has a funny bone, Amy hits it with that voice of hers, sending radiating shivers and tingles down your spine. The last time I saw Amy perform was two years ago on our road trip and she was awesome then. Last night she was... incendiary. Performing with a drummer and backup guitar player, she sang familiar songs from her album as well as a couple of new ones which blew me away more than the others. I can tell her next album is going to be even better than the first.

The show was far too short.

Afterward, we went next door with her backup musicians, had a beer and talked for a few minutes before I had to run. Lauren was on call but she'd allowed me to go out with the strictest promise that I would come home as soon as Amy's set was done. Amy and I hugged goodbye, promising to keep in touch and giving each other respective words of encouragement on our continually evolving art forms... and vowing to meet at the top someday - her with a number one record and me with a best-selling novel. Someday.

If you haven't yet checked out Amy's album, I beseech you to go to her website and listen to the samples. Better yet, check out her list of show dates and go see her songs live. If they hit you in the funny bone like they do me, support the indie music scene and buy her CD. It's only a matter of time before Amy finally gets her big break and these discs will be going for twenty dollars a pop.

Thanks for the show Amy. You consistently amaze and inspire me.

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Links to other great singer-songer writers I've "discovered."

www.sarahborges.com

www.ninicamps.com

Fun with Webstats

It's a slow day at work today and I've been perusing the stats for my website. Of particular interest to me are the phrases people type into search engines that bring them to my site. Here are some of my favorites and the pages I can only assume it linked them to.

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"fag test" - I can't believe there are other people out there who actually remember the fag test, but they were in good company reading my tongue-in-cheek column, When "Niggers" Were Jerks and "Faggots" were Sissies.

"nigger humor" - I'm honestly appalled that there are people out there who would actually type this into a search engine, but I assume it brought them to the same piece.

"Jerry Stiller hernia" - I find it funny that people find this interesting enough to look up. What's funnier still is that due to two completely unrelated entries on my old What's New Blog, they found my site.

"dewey decimal kama sutra" - To the dirty librarian who typed this one, all I can say is "Yeah Baby", and come look me up as soon as you're done reading Dewey Decimal Surfing.

"what is a pre-op enema" - I don't know what they told you, but it's all gonna be just fine my friend, I promise you. In the meantime Pick a Weird Al Title and cheer up.

"quadratic formula humor" - I can't tell you how happy it makes me that there are other people in the world who find the quadratic formula just as funny as I did in my column Fractals and Traffic Jams.

"tiny penis girls laughed" - Hang in there buddy. It's not how big it is. It's how small YOU are. We all know that. But that doesn't stop the girls from being cruel the way I learned on My Night on Bourbon Street does it?

"how to play tag gool" - I'm so happy I'm not the only one who recognizes the word "gool" and the fact that all is fair In Love and Tag.

"sugar tree raking balls" - I honestly don't know what this phrase means, and when you put them into your search engine without quotation marks it brings you to After the Foilage where every word is used, but not in the context (or order) this phrase conjures up.

"bathrooms along route 160 new mexico" - Um... okay... so... I know we use the internet to look up pretty much everything these days... but honestly... If you're on a Road Trip, let's just leave a few things to our sense of discovery.

"girls sucking on pee pees" - I particularly love this special brand of pervert who wants to see pictures of girls giving head, but doesn't actually want to come right out and say words like d---, c--- or schl---. Either way, again thanks to an unfortunate combination of words that had nothing to do with each other, this poor soul wound up at my Humor Column Archives. Sorry to disappoint dude.

"f--- kathy hodges" and "lauren hodges f---ing" - I don't know who Kathy Hodges is or why this guy was intersted in f---ing her and my wife, but I'm sure he was disappointed to wind up reading my very tender essay about The Day Allison Was Born

"the simple lifestyles of hippie tree huggers" - Ah yes those simple hippies and their trees. But once again, multiple unrelated words on a page add up to another inadvertant hit to my Humor Column Archives.

"spongy carrots" - I don't know what's more amazing - that somebody was actually trying to look up spongy carrots, or that my Hot Lunch Uprising came up almost number one on a google search of it.

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Ah the joys of essentially useless technology in the hands of a bored man whose boss is away. Hope you had as much fun as I did.

The Hatteras Gestapo

I don't think it's possible to spend an entire week in the Outerbanks and not go to at least one lighthouse. Especially if your wife is a lighthouse enthusiast. Fortunately we got our lighthouse fix out of the way early in the week. We drove an hour south to arguably the most famous lighthouse in the entire world, Cape Hatteras.

The Hatteras light has a semi-interesting history, especially its recent history. The original light was first placed here in 1803 to warn mariners of the dangerous Diamond Shoals that were constantly causing shipwrecks in what became known as "The Graveyard of the Atlantic." The light was your typical-looking tower, nothing special. The light was damaged considerably during the Civil War and Congress decided it would be less costly to just build a whole new one. The Outerbanks is the victim of constant, relentless erosion from the pounding ocean and the builders rightly decided to build the new light 600 feet farther inland. The original plan was to paint a diamond pattern on the light to remind mariners that it was the "Diamond Shoals" they were being warned against. But there was a logistical goof and the Cape Lookout light got the diamond pattern. Rather than repainting, they decided to give Hatteras its now trademark spiral "barber pole" pattern. Honestly, I can think of no other reason, other than its "pretty design", why this light should be so famous. The average American tourist doesn't really care about history or marine geography so much as nice photo opportunities for their digital cameras. But there you are.

The constant erosion of the Outerbanks put the famous light in danger once again, so back in 1999 a huge and ambitious project began to MOVE the lighthouse 1600 feet inland in order to protect it from inevitable death as the ocean continued to weaken the shoreline it stood on. I know there are enthusiasts out there who want to do everything they can to protect lighthouses and keep them as an indelible icon of the mariners way of life, but mostly they're just trying to make sure there's enough money to keep the lights shining and not torn down to put up beach front property. But this was an outlandish preservation effort for even the most committed lighthouse nut. I seriously wonder if this much money and effort would have been committed to save the Cape Hatteras light had it not been given its pretty spiral pattern way back when, casting it hopelessly into the hearts of enthusiasts (and people who otherwise wouldn't have given a shit) for generations.

But enough history. These days the Hatteras light is open for business once again to those who want to endure the gruff employees, rushed atmosphere and gestapo-like regulations they've placed on the thing. My last experience with a lighthouse was in Oregon on our road trip. The Oregon folk know how to maintain a lighthouse. And we visited several in our drive through that state. Each one is operated by volunteers who have been educated in the rich history of the particular light. They will spend the time talking, explaining and telling anecdotes from each light's hundred-year-plus history. Lauren and I spent a good half-hour chit-chatting with the volunteer at the top of the Coquille River Light. He pointed out the hazards of the area, told us stories about tsunamis (which he called "sneaker waves") and fascinated us with tales of local mariners.

Compare that to the workers at Hatteras whose only job appeared to be reciting the long list of rules one must obey while in the lighthouse, as well as the lengthy list of what you could and could not bring with you into the lighthouse. There was no interaction with the workers except for when they told you exactly how much time you had left before you had to leave the lighthouse. The Hatteras organization DID make a token attempt at education via a series of displays set up in the old keepers quarters a few hundred feet away from the actual light. But again the workers (volunteers?) had an air of people who are bored to tears with their job and are just waiting for the clock to hit 2:00 so they can punch out. They didn't strike me as the kind of people you'd feel comfortable asking questions of expecting a friendly, informative answer.

To these people's credit, again, this is probably the most popular lighthouse in the world. It gets over a million visitors per year. People visit this lighthouse who don't give two craps about lighthouses. You get average Joe Public with his fat obnoxious wife and their six bratty children coming to this lighthouse asking questions like "how come there's no video arcade?" rather than people with a genuine interest in the magnitude of the lens and how many shipwrecks are out on the shoals. It's got to get aggravating. And it's these people (who I have termed "interstate tourists" in my road trip travelogue) who are the troublemakers, the people with no respect for anything, and the people most likely write their names on the walls or sue to Hatteras organization should they have a coronary trying to climb to the top of the 12-story tower. So I really do understand it. And actually I don't fault the Hatteras folk for anything. In order to keep this place open to the public, they really do have to cater to the lowest common denominator and that means creating rules for people too stupid to have common sense.

But it's exactly this kind of mass consumer tourism that I hate, and the reason why I will stick to less popular lighthouses in the future. I'm sure the Hatteras light is taller and "prettier" than the one at Coquille River, but I have much fonder memories of that short, plain-looking light with its friendly staff...

And if I ever get off my ass and finish Week 3 of the Road Trip, you too will read about it some day.

You never forget how much it hurts to ride a bike

I haven't updated in over a week because Lauren and I have been on vacation down in North Carolina's Outerbanks with the whole family. So the next few entries will include some observations from our week away. First of all, I've got to say that this was the most relaxing vacation I've had in a long time. We went to Hawaii this summer, but it was far from relaxing. After you spend over a thousand dollars on plane tickets and fly for nearly 12 hours each way, you feel the need to GO GO GO and do as much as possible in a week's time. Compound with the fact that Allison caught a cold and was a bear all week long and it didn't add up to a whole lot of R&R.

Well, Allison ended up getting sick this time around as well. Me too for that matter. But in spite of that little snag, this was an incredibly easy-going week. The good thing about going to the Outerbanks in April is that the tourist season hasn't started so there actually isn't a whole lot to do. We went to a couple lighthouses and a few of the tourist areas, but other than that, we mostly just chilled out. Lauren's uncle owns a house down there and he let the family use it free of charge. We hung out around the house, played board games with the in-laws, ran around on the balcony with the kids, walked to the beach, walked around town, sat around and read. I can't tell you how good it felt to be able to sit in a lounge chair in the sun and the breeze and just READ without worrying about what else I could be doing.

On our first day there, Lauren and I rented bicycles with the intention of riding them around a few times during the week. I know they say you never forget how to ride a bike, and I didn't forget, but man, I sure don't remember it hurting so much. We weren't a quarter mile away from the rental place before our legs started burning. I mean burning. It was a five-mile ride back to the house and by the end my heart was pounding and my legs were ready to give out. I couldn't seem to stay on the seat very well and every time I slid down, it wedged the underwear up my butt a little further. I remembered that as a kid, whenever we'd ride our bikes and wanted to go faster, we'd stand up and peddle. I tried that for about two seconds, shouted, "Ah crap!" and sat back down. The burning in my quads had multiplied with that little stunt.

How did we do this as kids? I know that I was using muscles I don't normally use and all, but geez, I don't remember feeling pain the first time I rode a bike - I mean, you know, other than the pain of my skull slamming against the concrete when I wiped out. If it had hurt like that the first few times, I don't think any of us would have ridden bikes. Kids aren't like adults. We don't find fun in painful activities.

Unfortunately, that ended up being our only ride all week. For several reasons. Like I said, I ended up catching a cold part way through the week and didn't feel up to peddling. Plus, we'd rented a bike with a kiddie seat on the back for Allison to ride in, but the helmet they'd given us was way too big for her - and it was the smallest size they had. I tried wrapping a towel around her head to make the fit a bit more snug, but she was having none of it. So we eventually just gave up on it. Oh well. At least I had my book.

Operator... well can you help me send this text message...

Lauren and I got new cell phones a couple of weeks ago. Lauren’s sister Lisa had just upgraded her phone and told us about a sale that Verizon was having, so we went out and got a good deal on two camera phones that will allow us to take and send pictures and videos in addition to regular text messages. When we’ve talked about getting camera phones in the past, it’s always been seen as more of a practical device.

“Oh, this will be good if one of us is ever involved in a car accident. We’ll be able to take pictures of the scene for court.”

Well, it might have been that way if Lisa and Lauren hadn’t gotten the exact same phone with the exact same capabilities. Now the two of them, I swear, are like teenage girls, sending cutesy little messages back and forth all day long, shooting and sending pictures of everything they see, dressing up the pictures with pretty borders, attaching different ringtones to the pictures and typing the text messages to make it seem as though one of their kids wrote the sentiment.

One of them (I won’t reveal who) actually took a picture of her own butt and sent it to the other. Maybe they aren’t like teenage girls at all. Maybe the new phones are bringing out the teenage BOYS in them. “Hey Marc, lookit ‘dis. ‘Dat’s my BUTT! Heh, heh, heh!”

When they send something, it of course prompts the other person to call them back, and then they proceed to have an hour-long conversation. They sit up until midnight chitty chatting on the phone about this and that. Except instead of whispering about the boys they snuck a kiss and a trip to second base with behind the dugout, they’re gabbing on about their latest Tupperware parties and PartyLite orders. And rather than Lauren’s dad yelling at her for racking up the phone bill, it’s me, her husband yelling at her for going over her minutes.

But it’s the videos that are the most out of control. You can shoot fifteen-second videos with this camera and send those to your friends as well. I’ll even admit that it was fun for the first couple of days. I’d shoot a scene of Allison on the swings or throwing rocks at the neighbors’ kids and send it off to Lauren for a quick laugh. But these sisters think they’re Martin Scorcese armed with a cell phone. The thing about it is, it’s really all the same video. Fifteen seconds of one of the kids saying “Hi” to their aunt.

I can remember watching a busload of Japanese tourists one time taking pictures of just about everything. Except it wasn’t really everything. What it was was Mom and Aunt Lilly in front of the entrance sign. Then Mom and Aunt Lilly in front of the exhibit sign. Then Mom and Aunt Lilly in front of the restroom sign. Now just Aunt Lilly in front of the restroom sign. With Lauren and Lisa it’s kind of the same thing. Except here, it’s “Hi Aunt Lisa” on the slide. Then “Hi Aunt Lisa” in the car. Then “Hi Aunt Lisa” at the grocery store. Then “Hi Aunt Lisa” in no place special except for the fact that Allison is just being really cooperative with the camera this time around.

I’d get mad, but it really is very cute, the two of them. They think it’s the pictures of their kids that are adorable, but really, it’s the two of them who are just so precious. Like little boy-crazy girls with technology. Can’t wait to see our next wireless bill.

Science Stuff

I've been getting actual paid writing work lately, writing short scripts for a series of science videos. It's actually been pretty interesting work, my assignment being to present various science topics in a "fun hip way." My first assignment was for Quantum Theory. Yeah, I know. How does one make THAT fun? Actually, you'd be surprised how much the subject lends itself to humor though, simply because of the fact that it defies logic, and even the scientists themselves who study it admit that it makes no sense. If you ever want a bit of a head trip, find a book that presents the topic in an accessible way. Be prepared though to still be utterly confused. At the same time, it will be an eye-opening, if a little bit trippy, read.

The new assignment I'm working on is for Mind and Brain. It's not nearly as mind-bending as Quantum Theory was, but it's still an interesting subject to learn about. For instance, the part of our brains that is involved in emotions, the limbic system, is an area that's actually used for SMELL in "lower" animals. But through evolution, we decided to develop our hearing and sight senses moreso than smell. So now the scent part of the limbic system is virtually non-existant. The rest of it seems to be given over to emotions. Ever wonder why dogs and other animals can smell so well compared to us? It's because what they're using for smell, we're using for love, hate, jealousy, embarrassment... all senses they have no use for.

It's truly fascinating stuff and it's giving me a throwback to a book I recommend often, "How the Mind Works" by Steven Pinker. That book is all about how evolution shaped the mind and how every little thing we think and feel is merely the byproduct of natural selection and survival of the fittest. Again, I'm not completely sure how sold I am on the whole evolution deal. Even moreso, now that I've read a lot about how it supposedly works. It just seems far too complex and based on chance and impossible odds to have worked out... and to KEEP working out the way it apparently does. But either way, that book is a fascinating read and gives you some good insight into... well, how the mind works. It's a little hard to get into at first. There's a lot of heady material that you have to weed through at the beginning that the author uses to set up the rest of the book, but once he gets going, his ideas will make your head spin.

Jack, no George, no Frederick, no Sue, no...

I took the day off today and spent the whole day with Allison. Around lunchtime we went down to visit Lauren at the birth center. On Thursdays they have a sort of "Mommy-and-Me" get together and the place was filled with moms and their babies. While we all sat around talking, there was one mom there who had just had her baby about two weeks earlier. And apparently, she still hadn't named him yet. The kid is two weeks old and still has no name!

This is hardly an unusual occurrence. In her years as a labor-delivery nurse, and now as a midwife, Lauren has come across I'd say at least a dozen couples who, by the time they leave the hospital, or even by the time they come in for their TWO WEEK checkup, still haven't been able to come up with or agree on a name. How does that happen? Seriously, how? Believe me, I understand the dilemma that comes with picking out baby names. Lauren and I started brainstorming names before we were even married. It took forever to agree on one we both liked. But even then, that wasn't the end of it. A lot of times, I'd be crazy about a name which Lauren was opposed to. After months of bringing the name back up again, she would finally start to come around to liking it... right about the time I decided, you know what, that's actually kind of a dumb name. Boys names were (are) the worst. We've got all our girls names picked out one after the other until one of us goes either barren or senile. But after nearly 6 years of discussions, we still haven't found a single boys name that we both liked consistently, and at the same time, for more than a month or two.

So yes, I get the hardship that comes with picking out your kids' names. After all, this is a decision that will be with them for their entire lives. But to not have a name picked out by the time your kid is born, much less two weeks AFTERWARD! It's not like it was a surprise that the kid was coming and would need a name. I mean, you had at least... let's say seven months from the point when you first figured out you were pregnant. You're telling me in all that time you didn't spend a little time thinking about what you might name this kid? That's kind of like putting off writing your doctoral dissertation until the night before it's due isn't it? Or really, it's like handing it in TWO WEEKS LATE.

So as of now, this poor kid still doesn't have a name. What do you call a kid - your kid - for two weeks if you haven't named him. The birth certificate and hospital papers can just say "Baby Boy" but geez, can two parents coo that informally over their own son?

Can somebody who has gone through this little dilemma personally please explain it all to me? Because I just don't get it.

Going WHAT?

I was listening to a stand up comedian the other day and in one of his bits he said something to the tune of how we should send postal workers into dangerous situations like Iraq and whatnot, because they would have the crazy violent ability to straighten everything out. I laughed and so did the audience, but what amazed me was that that joke is still funny. Can anybody remember the last time you heard somebody use the words, “Going Postal”? I mean actually said those words. Honestly, the last time I heard them used was in the movie One Night at McCool’s which was made in 2000. So it’s been six years. And it's probably been way longer since I heard an actual real person say it.

Does anybody remember how that phrase originated? Of course you do. If you were of a conscious age in the early nineties, you remember a string of incidents where disgruntled postal workers were coming into the post office and shooting up their co-workers. It was kind of funny in a sick way. The whole idea that delivering the mail was such a stressful job that it was causing people to freak out and snap.

Here’s the weird thing about it though. Although here and there throughout the past several decades there have been several random post office shootings, the phrase “Going Postal” was set off somewhere around 1993 because over the course of several months there happened to be a string of post office shootings all in a row. In fact, in May of that year there were two seperate post office shootings on the same day - one in California, one in Michigan. I honestly don’t remember how many shootings there were total that year. It was probably only 3 or 4, tops. Just enough for people to notice the pattern and start talking about it. But once it came into the limelight, and really, once people started using the term “Going Postal” the shootings stopped. I honestly cannot remember hearing about a single post office shooting since people started using “Going Postal” in everyday conversation. I guess the post office finally wised up and started treating their employees better.

So why the longevity of the term? Or at least why the continuing mentality that postal workers are unstable? In addition to the comedy routine I heard the other day, I can remember a scene in the 2001 movie The Mexican starring Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts where a side character makes the comment, “Guns don’t kill people… postal workers do.” What is it about that particular series of events in the early 90's that struck such a chord with us that after ten years it's still so funny? Honestly, even though I haven’t actually heard anybody use the term “Going Postal” in a long time, I don’t think it would strike me as odd or out of place if I did hear it. It’s that ingrained in my vocabulary from the past decade.

What about the next generation? Do teenagers know what “Going Postal” means? And if they do, do they know why it means that? I’d be curious to find out.

And I Used to Watch Rambo at 8

I took Allison to the park the other day and while we were there another father showed up with his five-year-old son. The kid was your typically rambunctious boy - loud, excited, lots of energy. He'd brought with him to the park a toy gun. A very realistic looking toy gun. Like the kind that could get you accidentally killed by the police in the wrong situation. I was surprised they made those anymore. Don't toy guns have to be painted bright green or something now?

I know all about playing guns when you're a kid. My sister and I used to play a game we called "Spies" which was essentially just hide and seek with guns. And I really hate the way the pansy-girl ex-hippies have tried to ruin good harmless pretend violence. I hate how as soon as a kid uses his finger as a gun and pretends to shoot his friend in school, all of a sudden people freak out, call the principal, put the kid in counseling. I personally think we're setting ourselves up for more disaster by NOT allowing kids to get out their aggressions in a playful manor.

But when this kid started pointing his play gun at me and Allison and making loud "POW POW" sounds, I'll admit, something inside me said, "This is wrong." And it didn't stop there. The kid started shouting, "Better watch out or I'll shoot you. Watch out or I'll kill you." Mind you, he was laughing the entire time. There was certainly no malicious intent behind his words. He was just playing. And I KNEW he was just playing. I was even playing back at him, pretending to be hit by a bullet when he shot me. But even so, something rubbed me very wrong about this whole situation. Especially when he ran up to other random kids and started shooting THEM.

Why did I feel that way? Have I allowed the patty-cake liberal movement of the 1990’s to infect me? Or was there something truly unique about this particular situation? Perhaps it’s simply a matter of the fact that I didn’t know this kid. He didn’t know me. He didn’t know Allison. He didn’t know any of the kids he was shooting at. I guess when I was a kid I never pretended to shoot anybody a) who I didn’t know and b) who didn’t know for certain that this was a game and they could shoot me back. We never said, “I just killed you,” to random strangers, even as we said it constantly to each other, to our friends and siblings. Maybe that’s the difference.

Man, I HOPE that’s the difference. Otherwise who knows what other core values I may have gradually turned over to the creampuff bourgeois in the last 15 years?

Ah, the ease of it all...

I finally got fed up with the annoyingness of it all... html, ftp, creating, posting, formatting. Having to do it all manually step by step on my computer caused me to put off posting unless I really had something big to say. And the longer I waited, the bigger the thing was that I felt I had to say. So I would put it off for longer. Now, with the joy and ease of web-based editing, posting and archiving, I don't have to worry about any of that. Sure we lose the fancy and much-loved Hey-Guess-What buttons and layout while we're here, but at least it will guarantee that I'll update more often. With the simple click of a mouse I can log in, shoot off a quick thought and post it without all the annoying drudgery that comes with creating a whole new page from scratch.

Plus now you too can post comments for immediate viewing and let me know what you think of the site, pieces I've posted, or the random things I'll be saying here. Keep it clean though. While I may curse from time to time on here, I'll delete anything that's blatantly derogatory. I don't care if you disagree with me, in fact I encourage an open dialogue. But sound intelligent. If you sound like a drunken frat boy whose only grasp of the English language involves new and interesting expletives describing the male and female genitalia, then I'm just going to delete you.

So I hope you, my adoring fans enjoy this new foray, and will bear with me while I work out the bugs. Check in often, and don't worry, I'll keep you updated on updates to the main site as well.