Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Paranoia Strikes Deep

Nothing to see here, just poking my head in. I'm busy at the moment, brooding mostly, but also cooking up a new crime column meditating on one of man's oldest motivations. I'll give you a minute to laundry list your own.

A couple of items of note...

Now I feel better. Of course, if they lose the list of the books I took on vacation, they can always track the chip in my passport. Which seems so much more civil than just tasering me and sticking one in the back of my neck when I'm not looking.

Cheer yourself up by visiting Christopher Moore's blog, where he's emerged from his research stint in the UK. In his latest post, Chris contemplates turning fifty, what it takes to run for the American presidency and "Slam Dancing For Cougars."

I mean, you’re sort of born with unlimited potential (especially if you’re white, male, middle class and American) and as you grow up you hear doors closing as you go along. Some early. Like when you start cranking that C average in seventh grade because it’s much more interesting to think about Mandy’s lady humps than it is to pay attention to, say, averaging fractions -- well, the doors to the White House start slamming. This is presuming you want to be a decent president – I realize, with the bar where it is now, I could have probably stolen a car, kidnapped Mandy and made my way across state lines while free-basing coke, beer-bonging Jack, and robbing gas stations and burning love haikus in Mandy’s fishnets with a Marlboro -- basically gone owl-shit wild until I had to be lobotomized and sedated just to stop me from auto-humping the sky -- and still recovered in time and with enough sense to keep us out of Iraq. But I didn’t know that then.

So, you know, missed opportunities.

Happy birthday, Chris. Give 'em hell.

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