If I was feeling especially masochistic I might be impelled to do a "looking back over the last twelve months" piece here, but to be honest, 2013 sucked.... Rush Limbaugh's atrophied scrotum.... Through a dirty straw.... While watching The Following.... Etc. So I'll skip that, at least for now. Save it until I need a proper full-length wallow.
So, 2014 finds me out of work, out of shape, out of luck and out of similar phrases to end this sentence. The number of things That Give Life Meaning has gone down by approximately three. Only the news that, say, Malcolm Gladwell has got his hair caught in a revolving door could bring a smile to my dour Victorian countenance.
And yet I have vowed to post to LiveJournal every day this year....So in an attempt to enrich my life with the lively interaction and community that I know surely survives here, I shall rise above this brown study and grin like a fool and talk about my cat a lot.
("That's a joke, boy, I say, a joke, boy," he said in a Foghorn Leghorn rumble.)