Thanks to a combination of flickr and MEOW we're now moblog-, photomoblog-, and photomofoblog-enabled. Oh yeah!

Sorry. I get this way when I have a good excuse to set up a crontab.

I always get a giddy sense of glee when I find out a new means or degree of subtle manipulation to which I'm subject. Maybe you do, too. If so, go check out Paul Graham's discussion of how PR works.

Blogging... sweet blogging. How I miss her caustic phosphorescent embrace.

I haven't been writing much because I've either been busy or uninspired. My job usually lets me control these two unfortunate conditions so that they overlap, and then the rest of the time I lie on the couch, drink a lot of caffeine and key the resulting mania into the internet. But that's been impossible while I've been at this client site, subject as I am to regimented schedules, watchful eyes, weak coffee and this one guy who says "having fun yet?" to... no, at me, often several times a day.

But Catherine and I are going on vacation tomorrow, and all of that should change. If I get my work-related to-do pile fully taken care of I plan to install a nifty blog-by-email script I've got handy, allowing Catherine and I to post updates from my phone. Given the delays involved in getting around the damn country, there should be ample opportunity.

So prepare yourself for insights including but not limited to: "Italians move their hands when they talk!"; "food and wine are enjoyable!"; "the quirks of Italian culture sure are endearing/infuriating and therefore must be revered/eliminated!"; and of course, perennial favorite, "Im soooo drunk rigt now!!" If you're very good you might even get some shitty cameraphone pics.

If that's not enough for you, just imagine the painful thumb cramps that accompany typing on a miniscule keyboard, and the exorbitant international data charges I'll be paying. Doesn't art always seems better when you know there's suffering involved?

on the elevator this morning

WOMAN 1: How's X^* doing?
WOMAN 2: He's okay. He's still pretty out of it, but he'll be alright.
WOMAN 1: I'm so glad to hear that.
WOMAN 2: It was really strange, though -- last night he kept jumping up off the bed and running around. All night long.
WOMAN 1: Must be the anesthesia wearing off.

silence. the door opens and I begin to leave. Woman 1 has a mini-epiphany.

WOMAN 1: We're talking about a dog, not a husband!

^* Name redacted/forgotten. It wasn't an obviously doggy name, though.