I'm Not Dead, Just Dozing
The challenge of blogging when you're just too damn busy and tired and there's all this yammering election coverage

Image of yours truly, by Jay Paul, taken at Old City Hall, Richmond, Va. One of a series he made to get an "Author's Photo" for Richmond In Ragtime: Socialists, Suffragists, Sex and Murder. Jay came out on a wretched rainy afternoon about a month ago, almost on a moment's notice, and we got the image-making accomplished almost at the 11th minute. Praise Jay -- and technology.

Where I've Been

My intuition has alerted me that some members of the billion-eyed audience are restive and wonder what the hell I'm doing; the nerve of me to have a life and a job and stuff. Well, I know. Some Richmond bloggers have figured out a way to have something up every day, or at least refresh each week.

But I'm a laggard. A distracted laggard.

Occurred to me just today, that if I'd stopped watching cable news six months ago, I'd not be ignorant of much about the current political contest than I am now. That is to say, so much that passes for news is just idle speculation and chatter for chatter's sake. We didn't know who was going to win six months ago, and we still don't.

I would like to report that my cynicism pertaining to the U.S. electorate and that my distrust of the process and general disdain for the two-party system have been overswept by a tide of good feeling. But it's not the case.

Oh, I'm going to get up early on Tuesday and amble over to my p0lling place, because it is three blocks away, and I like to experience the majesty of democracy in action. But I'm not making any predictions, and feel as though something could go quite awry. That's just my own internal pessimist.

Meanwhile, I've Been Reading

I finished William Gibson's All Tomorrow's Parties and picked up Robet K. Massie's hulking but engrossing and detailed Dreadnought: Britain, Germany, And The Coming of the Great War. I'm working up to a kick-ass Nov. 11 posting, which, if you're a long-time listener, I reserve for ranting about the injustice and illogic of the First World War, and urge that it be stopped.

Today I learned, for example, that Bismarck had tiny hands and feet and a reedy voice.

And that's all I'm saying for now. I'll be back, don't panic. Well. Panic only slightly.

Happy Halloween. We're going to see the No BS Brass lead a crazy second line from Monroe Park to Hollywood Cemetery. May not do costume. Who's got the time?

Oh, finally. On this very eve of Hallowe'en, some 16 years ago, the Firehouse Theatre Project formed. No trick, but a treat.