When one has a job that ties one to a desk for a considerable portion of the day, one invariably becomes very familiar with the internet. Defamer does not post enough. Gawker does better. And wouldn't it be lovely if the New York Times at 2 p.m. was as exciting as the New York Times at 9 a.m.

So, blogs it is.

For someone whose 3 o'clock sanity often depends on whether or not a housewife in Utah has posted or not, I am very critical of those who detail their lives thrice daily for all the world to read. (This would be a good time to point out that this is not a blog, but a forum for ideas. There is a difference. One is a diary with an audience, the other...art?)

Right. So. I'm back. At posting. And I don't think it's because I'm bored, or an exhibitionist, but because I want to be a writer. And I'm reading a good book, by a good writer, and it is inspiring me to practice, and not lose my voice(s), because one day I'll need them to break out of whatever life I have right now. Or something.

Basically, what I'm saying is, go buy Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, and read it.