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I have nothing to say. Nothing.
This happens. It's nothing personal, and it doesn't mean I'm in the middle of a crisis, although sometimes it does. I just run out of things to say sometimes.
And when this happens, of course, I have to scrape my feeble mind for nuggets for people who have deadlines and pay me, etc. This can get awkward. On Monday morning, for example, I sat down and wrote a newspaper column about penguins, that's how pathetic it gets sometimes.
OK, they were gay penguins, so it was sort of topical. But I was reaching.
Thanks for the emails, the curiousity and the concern about my dog and my mental health. The dog is still sort of sick and it's a little unclear, but he's not at death's door. He might have an ulcer. I think he has body image issues and is a little bulemic, but no one listens to me.
Anyway. This Friday we celebrate the 21st anniversary of the very first birthday my wife elected to share with me, the day I gave her the boots and we drove through the snow to visit my parents, who were curious about this woman. So I'll post this picture, which has a story, which you can read if you want, because it's the only thing I can think of at the moment. Plus, it's my favorite picture. But maybe you know that by now.
Read The Prophecy to learn why this is my favorite picture.
11:27:26 AM 
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