An Experiment in Scotch

So yeah. Quiet ’round these parts lately. I don’t really have an expla­na­tion for that. Well, I was on vaca­tion. And we have a major back­yard project that is under­way and has to be com­plete by this week­end. Oh and I have a mad case of poi­son ivy that basi­cally makes me cranky around the clock. But really, no expla­na­tion for the bucolic nature of this blog of late. It’s not like I don’t have ideas for writ­ing stuff. It just never hap­pens. Can’t really write in the morn­ing since, well, since I have to get up at 5:holyshititsreallyearlyandidonotwanttogotowork45 to get to work and miss traf­fic because if I get stuck on the PGBT in a traf­fic jam again, peo­ple are prob­a­bly going to die or my head will explode which is really a sub­set of the first. When I get home, hell, I don’t know where that time goes but lately it’s gone to the afore­men­tioned back­yard project.

So not much writ­ing going on. I also stop writ­ing when I’m not drink­ing as much and lately, I’ve been giv­ing that a try to see how it affects my sleep habits. Aside from tonight, that’s been a suc­cess. I did upgrade word­press and the new dash­board kicks ass. It always amazes me how easy it is to upgrade word­press. I love it. What a phe­nom­e­nal piece of software.

Also, there are things I prob­a­bly think I want to write but that aren’t par­tic­u­larly suit­able for a pub­lic audi­ence. So when I feel like I can’t write every­thing, I tend to not write any­thing. Have I men­tioned how hor­ri­ble poi­son ivy is? Yeah. Bad stuff.

Do you know how hard it is to do open heart surgery? Damn hard I bet. I wouldn’t know because I’m not an open heart sur­geon but I just bet it’s hard. Do you think you’d ever see an open heart sur­geon work­ing on a patient while a 5 piece rock band played in the cor­ner? No, prob­a­bly not. Open heart surgery is hard enough with­out mak­ing it more dif­fi­cult by hav­ing David Lee Roth jump­ing around (JUMP!!) and Eddie Van Halen doing ran­dom riffs (Hey David, get the hell out, we’re bring­ing Sammy back). If you were the patient, would you ever pay for open heart surgery but tell the sur­geon that he had to do the surgery in the third ring of the three ring cir­cus while the lion tamer tamed lions in one of the other rings and the clowns did their act over in the other ring? No prob­a­bly not because it would be sense­less to pay an open heart sur­geon a shit load of money to save your life and then make his job even harder by throw­ing 14 dif­fer­ent dis­trac­tions at him while he cut on your heart. Who would do that? Not me. Seems illog­i­cal. Totally bas­sack­wards. If I’m going to give some­one a shit­load (in the ver­nac­u­lar of course) of money to do some­thing, I want to make sure he (or quite pos­si­bly she) has the best chance of suc­ceed­ing pos­si­ble. I’m just saying.

Well, that’s really it for now. I have grand dreams of writ­ing more but eh, I have lots of grand dreams and most of them just don’t really pan out. So here’s some­thing to wet your whis­tle, so to speak.