Too Many Options

The future is so bright. And I have no prescription sunglasses.

Kathryn and I emerged unscathed from the first foray into popular media. You will recall Mr. Media Journalist of last week who was avalanched by a mountain of words in an attempt to understand exactly what it was we were up to and shape and contain it in article form. He extracted himself admirably.

My observation then and now is that we wrote the article for him. It was all there. Sound bites, creative non-sequiturs, meat and potatoes, everything he needed. His challenge was to weed through the gravy, the gallons of gravy of verbosity, that we heaped upon his plate.

His was an editing job of substantial proportions, the needle in a wordly haystack. I’m in a little bit of trouble as Cute Instigator, the person who introduced Kathryn and I, does not feel she was adequately represented in the story. I told her, in this case, it’s okay to shoot the messenger.

We have taken a week off from further incursions into the Resurrection of Me, you know, Christmas and all. Probably a good idea I stop talking about myself directly (although, really, I am quite beautiful now)(the washroom is that way, if you don’t get to the Gravol fast enough) and perhaps deal with my take on some men’s issues while we wait for the next segment of the adventure.

So, in a tradition of casual, lazy Friday blogs, this is, more or less, all folks.