Thank you, Bobby

He would have been 80 today, and the world would have been a much better place. We wouldn't have forgotten how to dream, and how to fight for our dreams.

"Too much and too long, we seem to have surrendered community excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things. Our gross national product ... if we should judge America by that - counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for those who break them. It counts the destruction of our redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm and the cost of a nuclear warhead, and armored cars for police who fight riots in our streets. It counts Whitman's rifle and Speck's knife, and the television programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children.

Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans."

Robert F Kennedy, University of Kansas, 3-18-67

Let us remember, and in remembering, keep pressing on, keep fighting on, and never stop believing in our dreams.

Ta-daa!

No excuses, I'm tired of excuses. I've been gone, I've been busy, I've been tired, you've heard it all before. Firstly, I'm quite surprised. In the past few months of not updating I've had more people attempt to contact me about this site than in the rest of its entire illustrious history. Call it exciting or call it ironic, either it fine by me.

As the few comments lingering beneath my lost post can attest, the civilized world is clamoring for me to reveal what my idea of hilarity is, and I'm not quite cruel enough yet to deny them. The link's broken now, but it was originally a very badly photo-edited pamphlet cover advertising the ostentatious Peugeot 405s, my beloved junk-box. As it is, I still don't have my license, and the Peugeot is quietly loitering in my aunt's garage, paont peeling, tires deflating, and battery dying.

So, I will try to make up for past hilarities 404'd with this wonderful website, guranteed to entertain for hours on end.

Has anyone out there been reading this since the beginning? I can't imagine how weird it would be, to have followed my erratic updates from 5 years ago, before I was even in high school, and now reading this, talking about my first car, about driving. Heck, I've been watching the whole thing from the front row and its still disorienting. Kudos to you, mysterious internet friends.

It's November again, which means I'm back to writing. It's hard, as always. Harder this, year, partly because of school, partly because of my constantly arthritic hips, partly because of my INSANELY EXCITING LIFE, and partly because of the intense subject matter. I'm lagging a little behind and writing this is really just pouring salt and alcohol onto my own wounds. Yet, here I am, everyone's favorite magnet for self-torture!

Send me your well-wishes, I need them.

I make no promises about my return, but keep your eyes peeled. (Whenever I say that, I think of Halloween. Do you know what I'm talking about? It makes me think of those old hounted house tricks; a bowl of peeled grapes for eyeballs, spaghetti for intestines...ah, the delight of tormenting our young. If not for that, there'd be no reason to grow old.)