OK. By popular demand (1 person), the blog struggles to get off its knees and do whatever it is blogs do, which in my case is largely figuring that. I fled to the blog not only because I have a fan (I had about 300 twitter followers but that's probably down a lot because I've been such a fucking mess that the very notion of being witty within a certain number of characters felt obscene), but also because I started reading a real novel, the first twenty pages of which were so good I felt like any novel I could write would be like offering my abc's for submission. And I read to get away from interactivity. The rest of my life is so interactive I can hardly do anything. So just stick some five armed creatures fucking women in tights anywhere you please. Yeah, that's great. Perfect. I like tweeting but I have no idea how the larger tweet-universe works beyone my less than 300 fans and the hundred or so I follow. Perhaps for people my age (oh, please don't make me say it), the fact that we are so fucked up on the internet (I spend half my life at the Genius bar) is the very reason we are hooked by it. We understand most of the other things in our lives, sex, nuclear war, global warming, cheesecake--but facebook?!! My daughter spent an hour making the case and all I could think of was all the years of effort I had spent avoiding certain people and then to just fall into their laps or worse, yet, have them fall into mine-- what a fucking nightmare. I tend to require form, so I will probably diddle around with this thing for a while and then it will become my reason for living. My novel is in big trouble so maybe this can be an anodyne. And to my fan, you lit up my life. I will not alert my throngs at Twitter that the boss is back in town.