I Still Can't Blog

Even with the playoffs underway. Simply typing, "Proust tried a cute curl and drag move around Capitals defenseman Alexie Karenin and got hip-checked clear to Combray," is not a blog entry. You need some fluff to go with it! I seem to be all out of fluff. Maybe I need to take more vitamin F to get the fluff rolling again. Punchlines and zingers are worthless without fluff and lately I'm all punchlines. Like at work: I said to my Marshallese friend, "Soon we'll all be living bleak, horrible lives like everyone in Europe, Scandinavia, and Canada." "Dude," he answers, "give me some fucking context!" Apperently the irony of knowing that not all Europeans live bleak, horrible lives did not satisfy him. It satisfies me but only when I combine it with the thousands of other very mildly ironic sentence fragments which flash through my mind and disappear every distracted second of my sleepless life. So yes, my blogging has become so sporadic that I cannot reasonably expect even my most faithful readers to keep checking back day after day in the empty hope of finding something new. I do make this solemn oath to all of you, though: I promise, I swear before God, that no matter what siege of writer's block befalls me, no matter what destitution of ideas paralyses my fingers, I will never regurgitate old blog entries just for the sake of posting something.