"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

I'm not one for famous quotes -- at least, I haven't been drawn to them since my grand oratory phase back in 7th or 8th grade. So I hesitated to use one in the title here; after all, deference to our cultural hegemons runs counter to one's subversive instincts. However, Mark Twain is an iconic character on the order of Hemingway . . . no matter how mainstream, he doubtlessly merits serious attention. I oblige.

As of late -- over the past 5 months to be precise -- I've been besieged by a series of daily inconveniences, and although they have subjected me to no shortage of sacrifice and suffering, nuisance and annoyance, I have (just barely) survived. In my heroic insistence to cling on to the frail shreds of my life as they dangle, graciously and miraculously, from the firmament, I have been too busy to mind my blog entries, much to the dismay of the millions who read this blog every week. You've heard nary a word in the last few months. And for that, I can only blame my infant daughter, who has effectively left a deluge of heartache and longing in the wake of her birth.

At this point in the blog, I considered punctuating these sentiments with something profound like "I’ve been too consumed by the caustic art of everyday living to devote mindtime to the regenerative tonic of reflection," but that seemed inaccessible and fantastically overwrought, and truth be told, I’ve still been writing and brainstorming on the margins of my daily compulsions, building a backlog of posts to prepare for rapidfire release . . . I just haven't had time to organize them into posts . . . Until now. So please, stand back, and cover your eyes and ears.

In the meantime, please feel free to visit the link to my very own Home & Garden blog to the right (Exercise in Domesticity); I've been more active on that front over the past few months, so don't be surprised if you find things that blow your mind and open you up to a whole new consciousness.