That's My Bix!

I’m hesitating to update this thing because every time I fixed the blog, an update seemed to cause the Russian hacking bot to take over the site again and then it would be all kerblooey. Fredlet’s got my back (this is why I make sure to surround myself with people who are more clever than me) and we’re sitting in a temporary set up at the moment, to determine where the vulnerability was. Aside from the one inside my fragile little ego. So sorry if it appeared like I’ve been all Greta Garbo all summer, it’s just been one fubar web-related bullshit thing after another.

Ah, let’s see what’s been up. I went to LA and then went to Vegas. I’ve been to Shermer, Il more times than I care to think about, and working just about every moment that I’ve been awake. Also, apparently there’s something wrong with my gut that has doctor’s perplexed, but is probably nothing (but will be interesting if it gives a name to my mysterious and ephemeral flutter tummy syndrome that rears up a few times a year). And also, the pug is now the boss of all of us. Well, not Jincy, but I suspect that Aveline will prevail, if only by nature of physics.

Also, I’m still very sad about John Hughes, much sadder than I thought I would be, in that I never really thought about it at all. I wouldn’t think the man who defined my generational angst would be gone before said generation started having grandchildren, you know?

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You know how when people say “I wish XXX had never been born” when XXX= someone annoying or Dick Cheney or the lead singer of Nickleback? It seems like such a useless statement to me, because I suspect that annoying people are like Cheerios in an over-crowded bowl of milk. You take one out of the bowl and another one pops up. So many there was another universe or another reality where you made that wish about someone else, someone worse than Hitler or not even quite as bad as Nickelback and then maybe a genie or fairy godmother or Morgan Freeman made it come true and rewrote our elemental plane and blammo, we don’t even realize how lucky we are (or are punished with an even worse scenario). Oh, did I mention that I had some really good drugs at the hospital today, when they stuck a camera down my throat to get a picture of the inner beauty of the Bix? I might be still a little loopy. Not that you could tell from this paragraph. The doctors are keeping the very best kinds of drugs all to themselves.

Also, I’m writing a novel. Did I tell you that? I can’t remember. I think I called it “this thing I’m doing”, because calling it a novel just seems all self-righteous and maybe a little pathetic. A little too NANOWRIMOFLMAO or something. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Of course.

I had a whole bunch of other things to talk about here, but fuck it, I’m going to bed and enjoy some of the remaining narcotics while I still have the chance.