If you ever stay up late at night and end up watching those late-night advertisements, you've probably noticed the formula they use:

1. Tell you that you have a problem. Do your friends think that you stink?
2. Establish that their competitors don't solve the problem, and are actually embarrassing or dangerous to try. Normal deodorants can't mask your stench, or they smell too strong and freak everyone out. Some of them actually cause nasty rashes, requiring months in intensive care to recover from.
   

Can you prove it?

Because, if you can't then you'll probably have to pay up.

Because I only lived in the city of Pittsburgh for half of the year in 2008, I owe them a full year's worth of taxes. It may sound illogical to us intellectual types, but you see, I'm a lying bastard, and the only way to get out of paying a full year's taxes to the city is to get a letter signed and sealed from the borough I lived in for the first half of the year attesting to the fact that I paid their taxes.

I try desperately to put content on this site, and usually fail because I'm too busy with other things.

But there's one thing you can count on to rile me up enough to cause me to write, no matter how busy I am.

Yes, it's tax time again, and boy is my asshole sore.

Granted, I'm not getting raped nearly as bad as H&R Block raped my friends Paul and Jamie, but the IRS and their lackies are trying ... oh, they're trying.

I had pancakes for breakfast this morning. They were delicious.

To most people, this ordinary act wouldn't seem like much to write about, but it was important to me. Symbolic. It was the lifting of a curse.

See, last year when I invited a good friend to be my roommate, I started making pancakes for breakfast on weekends. I tried doing this a few times, and she seemed grateful but never ate much. Later, she admitted that she didn't really like pancakes.

It's odd to remember my personal battles as I grew up as I watch others fight with those same battles. It's interesting that many people who've known me only a little while don't believe me when I try to tell them what kind of person I once was.

... to be fated, to telling only lies.

There are times when I think of myself as just another person in the world, and there are other times when I wonder if there's something about me that's
inherently different, or at least unusual.

As the holidays approach, it's a good time to write about scams.

Or maybe it isn't, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Saw an ad in a magazine lately for tree trimming/removal services, which interested me because I have some trees that I might need some professional work done on. Lo and behold, it includes a coupon: "$250 off any service of $600 or more."

Sounds like a good deal ... except ...

"Must present coupon prior to quote."

Perhaps I'm a bit paranoid, but if I were to whip out said coupon, wouldn't the quoter:

Every day that I wake up and the world is still here is a joy to me, and a wonder.

I mean everything. With the poisons we dump into the environment, I'm shocked and overjoyed every time I see a wild animal. I'm amazed and delighted when the rain doesn't burn my skin because of the acidity. I'm filled with awe that I can see the stars through the light and air pollution.

Haven't put anything up on this blog for a while. Bought a house, kayaked a lot, generally very busy. I plan to start remedying that, starting with this post.

Tripped across a fascinating quote the other day:

I'm way behind the curve when it comes to having sex. I guess this shouldn't come as a surprise to me, but it's how far behind the curve that is shocking.

Like many people out there, I hate spam. I expect I have less brethren who hate it so much that they make an actual effort to do something about it, but that's me. I report every spam email I get through the SpamCop reporting service, and you should to.

Usually this reporting results in very little, but it generates statistical data that puts pressure on companies to solve the problem and allows mail server administrators (like myself) to decide who to refuse mail from.