As for my last post, I've once again proved the futility of writing about my regular activities. Telling people to read Plato if they are interested in thought is like telling people to breathe air if they are interested in living. Honestly, any famous literary work is worth reading, albeit some more than others. They always provide insight, though not always immediately. For example, you may read some famous work, and you enjoy it somewhat, then you forget about it, and then three or four months later the genius of it strikes you. Famous literary works are famous because they deserve it. I managed to mention two of the most famous works. Who am I helping by pointing them out?

2:46 AM | e-mail

Tuesday, November 13, 2001

Hmmm... I have been delinquent in posting again. And yes I do feel guilty, simply because Chris is offering me space to wank off and I'm not even wanking. I was talking to a friend today (Len), and he said weblogging was about mentioning the everyday things and using it as a segue into more important things. Well I have everyday things to mention but there is no segue, you'll have to pull out the important facts on your own. I sang a lot today, and my throat hurts. I don't think that is a good thing. I do think I am making progress, and that is a good thing. Alright then, next topic. I'm reading Plato, particularly the Phaedo for Philosophy class, and hot damn it is good. I had a conversation with my friend a week or so ago about the concept of harmony applied to the universe, namely, do things have a proper place? So the idea that the human soul could exist as a harmony is very interesting to me. Socrates argument against the harmony theory consists mostly on his recollection argument, which I think is bunk. You have to accept the existance of forms for that to work, and the forms I believe are nothing more than transferable man made concepts that have no longevity. They are, actually, quite arbitrary, considering we can't see any perfect examples of them in the real world. And I know Plato and Socrates have arguments against what I'm saying, and no I'm not listing the all. The point is anyone interested in thought needs to read Plato. On the other side is Milton, which I'm also reading. I've been waiting to read Paradise Lost for awhile. The epic poem is extremely provocative. I had all sorts of excellent thoughts while reading it that applied to a film idea I have, but being in the laundry room with no means to write my thoughts down, I forgot all the arguments for my ideas. Sigh. I will have to reread the passages, I suppose. I'm filming later tonight, and that is all.

11:23 PM | e-mail

Monday, November 12, 2001

I haven’t blogged in a while. Well, here’s the story why. I wrote a huge blog about how the people in my life have influenced me to play music more than famous musicians have. But I didn’t like what I wrote. I couldn’t stop rehashing old stories about my past. And here at FSU, away from home, sometimes I would like to do something other than think about my past and dote and dote and dote. So I didn’t post it, but instead I wrote an angry vexed cry. To clarify, the last post is an obvious question that does not need to be answered. I was only wondering why every time I’m close to moving on, I get mired in memories.

4:41 PM | e-mail

Sunday, November 11, 2001

Why is it easier to talk about the past than the future?

5:48 AM | e-mail

Saturday, November 10, 2001

I went to the homecoming parade yesterday. Marching bands always amuse me. The interlocking drums are intriguing, but overall the music is atrocious. Who can be expected to play well while walking down a street anyway? Seeing the bands also reminded me of how most organized music is supposed to symbolize the height of cultured man. Marching bands are mostly constructed to look impressive, not to sound good. The same goes for chamber music, in my opinion. I’m not saying that individual composers, a good deal of the famous ones I’m sure, weren’t creative and artistic geniuses obsessed with expression. But the professional organization behind chamber music reeks of exhibition. The idea behind sections of people playing the same musical figures, and the idea behind having a splintered group play carefully interlocking and harmonized parts seems to be a monument to the ability of modern and cultured man to construct harmony in his universe. Personally, I’m not interested in experiencing the height of civilization. But I don’t shun chamber music. On the contrary, I enjoy concerts all the time. But I think the power of the composer and the individual performer can be hindered by the formal structure. I’ve also seen concerts where the opposite has happened, at least to some degree, where the entire ensemble is comfortable with their setting and they draw power from the organization. I imagine this is how excellent chamber music functions, and the sound is just as amazing as any other vivid musical experience. I just don’t believe that the structure of the music was designed to support performances, but instead to massage the egos of the spectators by praising the capabilities of modern man. A great performance of chamber music would then not necessarily be congruent to the performance’s constructive purpose. An interesting relationship, but I wonder if any of the musicians involved feel restrained. Of course, I’ve never been an orchestra, so all this is speculation.
I’m working on a film with Jed. We were talking about some film ideas last night, and he said he needed some input to come up with something. So we are doing a mood piece from a really banal comment I wrote in my journal. The film will be a night shoot, and some of the visuals we shot last night, at 3:00 in the morning around campus, seem really promising. My contribution is scheduled for after we wrap up filming, when I have to write and deliver a detached and dubbed thought pattern for the character on screen to match Jed’s scoring. We shall see how pretentious I get. Hopefully, Jed and I won’t lose ourselves in the project, and can finish something of quality quickly, and move onto something with more substance than night photography and rants about emptiness and art.

1:22 PM | e-mail

Friday, November 09, 2001

I saw an old friend tonight. I hadn’t seen her in ages. We went out with another friend of mine to get some food. Then we all went to see my old friend play guitar at some open mic night. She played well, and I was pleased to see her progress with performing live. We had a good time. Also, seeing her with her red guitar brought back a lot of memories. She was one of the first friends I had who played guitar. She gave me my first guitar. She taught me my first guitar songs. And from all that exposure, I developed a fascination with her guitar, which she used to play the most intoxicating music. The guitar is just a normal red ovation, but it feels so comfortable in my lap when I hold it. I remember holding it for the first few times, learning my first few chords. At home, I’d practice incessantly the three or so songs I knew on my guitar. And then, in front of her, on her spectacular instrument, I would embarrassingly repeat my exercises, trying to generate the sounds that she did when playing. The tone of that guitar was different than any other guitar. And as she got better and better at writing and singing her own songs, the sounds that would come from that red guitar became more and more amazing. Nowadays, I'm happy with the way I play my own guitar, and I generate some pretty decent sounds. By watching my friend play, I can figure out mostly what she is doing, and it isn't all that complicated. I’ve heard guitars with “better” tone. The experience of hearing her play isn’t as magical as it was when I began playing. But more than anything else, that guitar made me want to play guitar. I want to recreate that magical feeling when I play my acoustic. Sometimes, I don’t want to sound like any other guitarist, except for that guitar and the way she played it. I don’t know where I’d be with music now if I hadn’t met her. No, I do. I’d be nowhere.

12:14 AM | e-mail

Thursday, November 08, 2001

I said I was in a U2 phase, so here’s another post about them. I remember the first time I heard U2. I didn’t know who they were of course, because I was living in a cave at the time. I must have been a freshman in high school. My sister usually drove me to school, but she couldn’t for some reason on this particular day. So she got her friend who lived in our neighborhood to take me to school. My sister’s friend asked me if he could put on some music. I said sure, of course, so he put on The Joshua Tree. I can’t remember all the songs he played, I didn’t know their names at the time, but I know the first thing that came on was the album opener, “Where the Streets Have No Name.” I was tired that morning, and as the chiming guitars swirled in, I looked up into the sky, exhausted. I saw the most rejuvenating sight just as the music started. The sun was rising at the time, and as I looked above the horizon I saw this incredible cloud, unlike any cloud I have ever seen. It was one long stretched piece of opaque whiteness against the clear blue sky. It was straight, skinny, and long. It wasn’t a jet stream, it was too long and too thick, but it didn’t look dissimilar from exhaust. We traveled under it for our entire trip to school, twenty five minutes away. It didn’t have an end or trail off for the entire trip. It finally stopped right over the northern part of school. I stared at it as we drove under it. As I did, U2 sang the most enchanting music. They seemed to capture the moment and my emotions exactly. I wasn’t listening to the lyrics, but just the sound, the tone of the songs. They seemed to capture that huge yearning feeling, the space between me and the cloud. I swore at the time that the cloud was a sign from God. I had just been thinking about god and the possibility of his existence the night before. That cloud looked to me like a manifestation of Him. Seeing that cloud, I suddenly had a new awareness of what the word god could mean, and he suddenly became God, a real thing that I had seen. I asked the driver who was playing the music, fully hypnotized. He told me U2, and I made a point to remember. I didn’t buy a copy of Joshua Tree, or hear those songs, until two years later. Honestly, they never sounded as good as they did that first time.

That experience reminds me of a time I was acting in a play. I had just made friends with a girl who I respected a lot, and she came up to me before the show one day and took me outside. She pointed into the clouds where they had made a nest, and there was a single bright shaft of light breaking upwards through the barrier. She said if there was a god, that’s what he’d be. She was an atheist. She wanted to be an atheist. She left me there, outside. I sat on the ground and stared at that single shaft of light for a long time and thought about God. That’s when I still thought of him as Him.

3:59 PM | e-mail

Tuesday, November 06, 2001

Hey. Prol linked to me the other day. I think she has a really bitchin’ website, so if you haven’t been there, get your ass there now. Or check out this other site she runs, Croon.

I have to write a philosophy paper by tomorrow. I see no value in doing it. I haven't started yet. Sigh. College, on the whole, has been uselss thus far.

7:13 PM | e-mail

Monday, November 05, 2001

For astronomy lab, we traveled outside of the city for a dark night observation. Whenever I see the stars, really see the stars without the light pollution from the city, I feel a loss inside. Also wonder, of course. I love knowing that what I’m seeing is what Plato or Socrates or the Egyptians saw. But the night, and the dark sky, and the distant stars always seem to invoke in me a feeling of incomparable loss. Once, on a beach, I feel in love under the stars. I went back to that place once. I stared at the stars to see if they had changed. I took off my shirt and walked to the ocean. I can’t remember if I said anything. I waited a long time. The waves did not give back my soul, and they would not let me pass.

10:33 PM | e-mail



I didn't have time to finish my last post in a timely manner. I realized I was late for class and finished up quickly. I went back just now and fixed a few errors I caught. I'm sure Chris has spent his time deconstructing my bad grammer. I will admit that I have bad grammar. I admit that I have to carefully check over my documents to ensure that I didn't leave out words or combine words or start a new sentence on top of the last. So if you come here, you may have to deal with these small difficulties. Therefore, I apologize. But I do go to class, unlike some others, ahem, and sometimes have to write and post quickly. Sorry for any pains my two or three mistakes may have caused you.

7:13 PM | e-mail



So I saw my brother. We had a pleasant time. He picked me up from my dorm and we went to a sports bar to watch the Bucs game and had brunch. I hadn’t watched a sporting event in a long time, and I enjoyed myself. Although the Bucs are ridiculously bad. My brother is doing fine, and he might even be able to come back here next semester, which would be great fun for everyone. He also didn’t hassle me too much about my beard and long hair. Well, I worship 60s rock. What do you expect me to look like?

So I’m back in a U2 phase. Which is a great place to be. Chris got me a ticket for their show in the Garden in New York, and they brought the place down. The only concert I’ve been to that has compared in energy was when I saw The Who. And because Chris is nice enough to host me, I’m going to pick up his crusade to promote U2’s forgotten and trashed album Pop. I’m not linking to Allmusic.com for this one because they’re review is a fucking joke. Here are three reasons you should listen to Pop at least once every three months.
1) “Discotheque.” The album’s opener fucking rips. The charging riff gets stuck in your head as it seamlessly connects one section with another while Edge pours on the effects. The song breaks into pretty ballad parts that play out like trance music and then the song slams home into rock out mode while the main riff is mutilated by an effects box. And the “electronica” elements, if you want to call them that, create an atmosphere of a trashy dance-club. Really nothing more than a few sampled synth effects (you may ask “what else is electronica?” Fool.), the extra blips appear on this song as attractive rather than some horrible vice as they do on the rest of the album. Discotheque sounds like a trashy club song that still drives you to shake your ass. Although it sounds a million times better. Probably because it is done by U2.
2) You didn’t go listen to your copy after reading the above? You do have a copy, right? Anyway, the third track, “Mofo,” is one of the most open and honest U2 songs ever recorded. The middle eight is gut wrenching. Any fan of U2 should love this song. You do know Bono’s mother died when he was a teen, right? Beyond that, the electronic effects on this song are shattering. The loops are dense and layered and create a soundscape with Bono’s strangled vocal disappearing into the overpowering electronics. The idea that Bono is searching for his mother amongst the horrible background noise is heartbreaking. The song is also balls to the wall rocking.
3) “Please.” This is my favorite U2 song, even over “Where the Streets Have No Name,” which in my mind is THE anthem rock song. "Please" is sheer brilliance, with a hypnotic drum riff, killer keyboards, a slow pulsing rise, and a melody and lyric to die for. I’m not always a big fan of Bono’s lyrics, and sometimes even his melodies are formulaic. But the symplified verse melody emphasizes the lyrics for this song, and what he’s saying is important enough to hear. The verse is contrasted sharply against the anthemic chorus, and of course, U2 writes the best choruses, so no problems there. Any album with a song this good on it is worth buying. Trust me.
So I could provide more reasons, more individual song synopses, to convice you of Pop's inner beauty. But honestly, there is only one genuinely bad song on Pop. And that is “If God Will Send His Angels,” which I find absolutely wretched. Even then, the only major problem with “If God Will Send His Angels” is it’s early presence on the album. Coupled with “Do You Feel Loved,” which I ironically find to be one of the weaker compositions on the album, "If God Will Send His Angels" diminshes the opening of the album. My theory is that since most of U2’s albums have strong openers (compare with “All That You Can‘t Leave Behind“ or “Joshua Tree,” both having all their singles at the front) and aren’t quite as depressing as Pop, critics smashed the album for being end heavy and depressing. They blamed the “electronic” elements for U2’s turn into darker areas. But honestly, if you like a band, you should be willing to follow them anywhere as long as they are still compelling, and you shouldn't stay hung up on their image. The bottom line is that Pop is a true cohesive unit, and my third favorite U2 album. And for a band that I feel records better songs than albums, that’s high praise. I don’t have a fourth favorite U2 album.

3:05 PM | e-mail

Sunday, November 04, 2001

A small correction. The Drama League's version of A Piece of My Heart will open on November 16th, not the 15th. The post below has also been corrected. I apologize for this small error, but I rest easy knowing that all of you who read this blog and plan to attend the play most likely knew the correct dates anyway. Thanks to Jackie, the director of the show, for catching my slip up.

4:45 PM | e-mail



This is where I begin linking to blogs I dig. I Love Everything always has great links, such as this chilling link about phoons. Disturbing. Linkmachinego, which I’m sure you’ve all visited, is another great blog that gets bonus for points for posting about Alan Moore. Yes, I am a former comics geek, and I still love Alan Moore. Although the From Hell film adaptation blows, as I said last post. And of course there is King of Trash, run by Paul who I know in real life, and is also from Sarasota. However, he never posts, the little fuck. I like all the above sites, so kudos to you all for running enjoyable blogs. I have no idea how to figure out who is linking to me, so I won’t know unless I actually see it on your site. Alternately, we could all just send emails, and communicate like normal people. Actually, emails are far from normal communication, but you understand my intent, right? My brother is visiting from Sarasota, so I am about to go “see the Bucs game” with him, at some party I imagine. I’ll be glad to see him.

1:21 PM | e-mail



I saw Riding in Cars with Boys last night with my friend Kelli. Kelli also hails from Sarasota, and she spends her time here at FSU playing rugby and acting like a Klingon. She also cut her hair and dyed it blue. She’s still single boys! Just kidding, Kelli is a true friend that I feel safe trusting, so I won’t try to violate that simply to amuse you online hounds. And I had a really nice time going to the movies with her. Thanks, Kelli. Now for the movie. Well, you see, I have a problem. I basically hate everything I see. And I didn’t hate Riding in Cars with Boys. That’s not to say it isn’t riddled with problems, which I won’t enumerate here. But the important things, namely the acting, were decent enough for the movie to get a few important points across. The movie functions as the anti-feel-good film. No character changes in over twenty years of existence. What’s worse is that all of their sizeable character flaws prevent them from enjoying each other. And then they screw themselves over by not appreciating what’s around them because they are so self absorbed. That’s all of the characters, including children. The movie manages to feel like real life. These people obviously exist outside of the film-space. You don’t need to know this movie was based on a biographical book. You’ve seen these people before, you‘ve been these people before. And to see them fail again and again and treat each other like absolute shit, and to know why they do it and to want them to forgive each other, well those feelings just kind of surmount the technical and narrative difficulties of the film. So I enjoyed it. And I suppose anything that I enjoyed I have to recommend, but don’t expect a great movie or a happy movie. Just let yourself be reminded of any relationships you have where you can’t stand to be around someone because you just love them so much you want to stab your eyes out with forks and you can’t do anything about it because you always ruin each others lives. Ahem.

As for Chris saying I would hate Mulholland Drive, I want to say that I’ve already seen it and I didn’t hate it. And yes, the movie is “weird” as all fuck. But you can’t expect David Lynch movies to make sense. I would have to say that the movie is about Hollywood corrupting youth and love, and the character switch in the middle has to do with the interchangeability of young starlets who are fucked over by the system. The “Silencio” scene reinforces the theme by introducing the illusion of Hollywood and the emphasis on craft rather than the people it consumes. But I still believe it wasn’t made to be understood, just to stun audiences and to create an independent film world that operates for David Lynch alone. So take that Chris! Two movies I didn’t hate! And From Hell still sucks!

12:10 PM | e-mail



I’m giving a shout out to Lindsay Gordon, who emailed me to wish me good luck with my new weblog. Lindsay is a fantastically nice girl from my home town who digs musicals and being Jewish. Thanks for dropping a line, Lindsay. Now when are the rest of you going to email me? I linked to a webpage last entry without a full explanation of what it was. The site that is hosting Catlan’s movie is the online home of my high school Drama League. As you can imagine, they are a rowdy bunch. I’ll be coming back to Sarasota to see them open A Piece of My Heart on November 16th at Pine View School. My visit will be my first time in Sarasota since I moved to college. Chilling. Learn more about the Drama League by visiting their webpage. I apologize for their mad ramblings. They are drama people, and you should accept them for who they are. In fact, I’m one of them, so you better accept us, bitch.

1:41 AM | e-mail

Saturday, November 03, 2001

What did you do today? I spent my day doing absolutely nothing. After waking up late, I sat in front of my computer until boredom drove me nearly insane. Then I played my guitar for several hours. Around five I bought a sickening amount of junk food and ate myself sick. I am now lounging listening to music. Woof. What a day.

So I’ve begun posting, and that means you bastards can begin picking apart everything I write. Hopefully we will be able to reach a nice agreement where I write entries and you like them and don’t complain. If anyone is coming here, drop me a line and tell me what you are enjoying. The only other news I have to share is that I saw the Apocalypse Now Redux yesterday. The new footage makes the movie more powerful. The added footage isn’t necessarily up to par with the scenes from the original, but the effect the new stuff has on the movie is stunning. Many of the films smaller problems, such as a few times where Martin Sheen seems to make some odd choices with his performance and other similar filmmaking choices are seen in their original setting where they are fully understood. And of course the footage changes the entire tempo and feel of the film. The original played like a hallucinatory dream through the darkest parts of Vietnam. The Redux builds more tension by allowing the audience to be lulled into a feeling of safety, and the cast of characters on the boat form a family unit and are given more time to be fully absorbed by the audience. When death finally strikes the soldiers on the boat, the result is much more brutal. The family aspect also seems much more in line with Coppola’s other films. The new film is much more plot oriented, rather than a collection of startling and frightening images. Willard is also much more central. I urge any fans of the original of the movie to see the new cut, because it is a completely different experience. In fact, I encourage everyone to see the Redux. On a related note, I seem to get extremely upset when I see acts of senseless violence (i.e. war) portrayed on the big screen. When Kilgore’s Air Cav started raining fire down on the Viet Cong, my body went numb and I had to hold back tears. And I’ve seen that scene before! I guess the prospect of being powerless in the face of war scares and upsets me, especially with all the violence happening nowadays. (In fact, American airplanes are raining fire down on Afghanistan as you read this). The only other time war images had such an effect on me was when I saw my friend Catlan’s video on a big screen. What, you haven’t seen it? Go see it right now. (click on “Catlan McClelland, Exit Music.” Yes, there is Radiohead music. Sigh.)

8:16 PM | e-mail



Hello. Welcome to Guberkov.

My name is Cameron Stuart, and I’ll be doing the blogging. Before I introduce myself, I want to shout out to my blog “mother,” the man responsible for giving horrible painful birth to this site. He offered to host my page on his website, and then went to the trouble to write all the crummy html for this page. That’s right folks, I didn’t do any coding, and the person who saved me from that terrible task deserves my infinite thanks. Of course, you’ve already heard of him, because if you are here, then you undoubtedly just came from doyoufeelloved.com. So Chris deserves another huge thanks for promoting me. Boy, I just owe him everything. On the other hand, I apologize for the shoddy design, it’s not my fault, I got a friend to do it. Er, right. Expect changes when I feel competent with html.

Now for my introduction.

I’m a college student attending FSU in Tallahassee. I have no major, nor do I want one, and dream of nothing but leaving this place. I was born and raised in Sarasota, Florida. I have no physical attributes or even a corporal body, except for the text that comprises this web blog. I spend all of my time working on becoming a rock star. That’s right, I want to play rock and roll, and I’m god dammed proud of that fact. I’m also going to succeed in becoming a successful rock star. I will keep playing rock and roll until I become famous or until I die. Either way, I will be content as long as I am allowed to play music. Where did I develop such awe-inspiring devotion? Actually, I fell in love with rock and roll comparatively late. I spent my middle school years not thinking about music, ever. If I wanted to listen to music, I would put in my tape of the Forrest Gump soundtrack. I never sang, I quit piano lessons after a year, I barely touched the saxophone I borrowed for six weeks, and I never thought twice about music as a way of life, or even as an essential element of existence. When I entered high school, I realized that everybody was listening to music except for me. So I began listening to my brother’s CDs and I acquired my musical tastes from him. But not for long. My sophomore year in high school, I innocently asked for some Beatles albums for Christmas. I had great memories of listening to Beatles music as a boy of six or eight, and I owned a copy of A Hard Day's Night somewhere in my room. I figured why not get a couple of their other albums and actually listen to them? I received two CDs that Christmas. One was With the Beatles, the other was Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Of course, I had already heard Sgt. Pepper’s when I was younger, so the album wasn‘t new to me. But when I revisited the Beatles as a teenager, my entire world changed. Lou Reed said (I’m paraphrasing here), “If I hadn’t heard Rock and Roll, I wouldn’t know there was other people on the planet.” The same holds true for me. Before rock and roll, I was a depressing little fuck who acted in plays and brooded in the corners of parties, never sharing myself with anyone. But hearing the kaleidoscope of emotions on Pepper‘s, presented in the most straightforward form possible, catchy pop and rock and roll, changed my life. I simply saw the world in a different way. I didn’t realize immediately the effect the music was having on me. But rock and roll music expanded the way I interacted with people and with the world around me. Rock and roll was able to express to me the beauty of human relationships, despite the personal risks involved. I learned from music about the power of everyday life, the intoxicating joy of experiencing anything and everything. And I learned how to share that music, and a lot more, with my friends. I told everybody about the Beatles. I forced everybody around me, whether they had heard the Beatles before or not, to listen to their records. And I got a lot of people devoted, or re-devoted to them. Those were the times I was sure I could sum up my life in just a few songs. And then, my friends got me a guitar. On my sixteenth birthday, I received a beaten up, mutilated, warped Spirit electric guitar. I have never heard or seen of another Spirit electric guitar. I didn't have an amplifier and the guitar wouldn’t stay in tune. I had to get other people to tune it for me periodically. I sat in front of my computer over the summer squinting at tabs of Beatles songs and trying to play barre chords. At first, I was content with just playing through my favorite Beatles songs. Of course, I thought about writing my own songs. But I didn’t have the courage or the drive to write anything. Until I heard Bob Dylan. Individual songs of his stuck out more than particular albums. “Like a Rolling Stone” was my first favorite Bob Dylan song. But I listened to “It Ain’t Me Babe” just as much, and also “Positively 4th Street” and “Mr. Tambourine Man.” Listening to Dylan was different than listening to the Beatles. I didn’t sit down and space out listening to Dylan, it wasn't as intoxicating. But something about the language he was using, something about what he was saying drove me to start writing stuff down, and figuring out how I could start composing songs. I know that being inspired by Bob Dylan to write songs is a cliché. But I recognize the power behind that cliché. Bob’s song craft is dynamic enough to draw into his world a huge variety of people. And when he does draw you in, his music is so shockingly expressive, he changes your conception of what songs can mean. Bob, like music, is extremely universal. Except for his voice (which I don’t mind, by the way). And by extension, rock and roll music is universal, the universal language of youth today. By wanting to be a rock star, I hope to be part of that universal language.

I think that is enough for right now. I will continue recounting my odyssey with music some other day. All you need to know is that I love rock and roll, and I want to be a rock star, not for the money, or for the music, but for rock and roll. And if you don’t know what I mean, go out and buy some real rock and roll albums right now. I don’t have much else to say for this initial blog, except that I hope you keep coming back. I don’t have some higher reason for starting a blog. I just want to write, and I assume you want to listen. Drop me a line with any comments or suggestions, especially those who know me in non-internet life. I hope to see you all soon.

3:22 AM | e-mail