Oh, legions of adoring devotees!  How cruel of me to leave you alone for so long!  How dare I disappear for two weeks (more or less) without an e-trace!  How callous and cruel of me!  You probably had no idea how to behave!  But not all rulers are benevolent, eh?

Allow me to justify.  The reasons for my absence being:

1. A roommate making aliyah (of sorts) to Rio de Janeiro, and engaging in myriad heated phone conversations in Portuguese.  Yelling in a foreign tongue throws off my concentration.

2. In relation to 1, packing for above move, as I have to vacate my current home, too, which, when all is said and done, I believe will be a blessing.

3. Tendinitis!  (To the tune of “Reproduction” from the flick Grease 2.)  I got it in my left wrist, yes, just from typing too much!  I like to say “writing too much” as it makes me sound like less of a computer geek, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, all adnoid voice, “I made it to level Q32 hehehe.”  Also in an attempt to look like less of an ass (this of the pudgy, Cat Fancy-reading secretary variety) I’ve put my ice pack in a Chanel shoe bag (with a Miller Lite wristband I got in a bar for free holding it in place.)

4. Finishing a book!  Damn, that shit is hard.  Nothing more to say about that.

5. Regular work.  BOH-ring.

6. Surveying my adoring citizens about very important matters, such as what they think their brains look like and what their favorite dance scenes in movies are.

7. Reviewing this book Rock and Hard Places: Travels to Backstages and Frontlines and Assorted Sideshows by Andrew Mueller.  Quite bumbling and very British but not nearly as deplorable as I expected.  He’s also given me an idea of some destinations for my future, most notably Bosnia and Edinburgh during its “festival”…of what, I have no idea:

“As for Edinburgh, I know I haven’t a hope.  I’ve arrived in the middle of the city’s annual festival, without even any official attachment to the literary component of the event –– and even for big names with bottomless resources, attracting attention in Edinburgh during the festival is difficult, for the fairly fundamental reason that in Edinburgh during the festival it often feels like there are more performers than there are punter.s  For the duration of the festival, the normally famously staid city goes, in the most genial and least pejorative sense of the word, crazy.  By which I mean that if, after the previous Edinburgh Festival I’d attended in 2006, I’d entered some hypothetical contest to find the most bizarre one-line reminiscence of the event, my own submission (‘I hosted a three night stand at the Underbelly by England’s greatest living songwriter, shook hands with Sean Connery, accidentally kidnapped a waitress and compared favourite Onion stories with a former vice-president of the United States’) though no word a lie, would have struggled to crack the top ten thousand.”

And clearly the highlight of all above is “accidentally kidnapped a waitress.”

A demain!

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