rone | go jump in a goddamn volcano, you fucking cave newt

I swore i'd never make the by-now cliché "i'm sorry i haven't been blogging" update to my journal. I also had a snappy putdown for myself in my mind this morning when i was thinking about writing it, but a day of resetting firewalls and building bookcases and Pilsner Urquell means that i've forgotten my clever phrase. But never mind that. The point is, i don't owe you, the reader, anything; this is my fucking journal and i'll write in it when i write in it about whatever it is i'm writing about. No, wait, that's completely wrong. If i didn't owe you, the reader, anything, then i should just shutter the whole operation and write my journal on paper in elegant longhand and store it under lock and key (as opposed to under lock with no key, because then i'd never be able to get it out). Anyway, "Fuck me, fuck you, fuck everyone," as that great patriot Al Jourgensen once said.

I think the World Cup recaps were a little draining, albeit not nearly as draining as actually getting up to watch nearly every early game. Work has been a busy affair, what with getting familiar, actual tasks, and moving my workspace twice in two months (and top that off with an impending trip to Bangalore). To compound that, my workspace at home was also disrupted, specifically by a CPU failure. So not only have i been too busy to sit down and be creative, but when i have sat down, it hasn't been in a place where i felt comfortable. So all you've gotten from me since the Cup ended has been soccer reports, link dumps, cheap one-liners, and ~~anti-Semitic crap~~ bad sports analogies.

I've had the next part of E&TG sitting on the hard drive of my (now fully operational ~~battle station~~) workstation, and gods has it been so long since i've worked on the damn story, and i just want to finish the damn thing.

[Poll #786187]

There's lots of detritus and debris in my head of things i wanted to write about. I know i have some empty wine bottles kicking around the house that are waiting to be written about while the memory of their flavor is still present. I have to write a book report of Eco's The Name of the Rose for my dad. I also want to review a couple of movies. We'll see how it goes, but at least now i can get on with it. My journal: confessional booth or bathroom stall? You, the reader: priest or creepy voyeur? I think i'm done. Am i done? Yeah, i'm done.