I'd make such a great bohemian...

...because eight hours of wearing a nametag has squashed my creativity like a bug. I've been sitting here all morning and not found anything to make fun of, other than myself for killing my Wall Street's battery so thoroughly that the only way to fix it will be to round file it and order a new one. (...and they're pretty proud of Wall Street batteries these days, let me tell you.) I had thought about lugging it along to work, but the nearest WiFi signal belongs to the adjacent fast food joint, and they want a pretty penny for their bandwidth, make no mistake about it. On the bright side, it looks like I'll be able to pick up any slack PDB may have left in the Making Fun Of Skate Wanks market, which is a blogging niche that demands filling.

I see that President Bush is sending another tropical storm hurricane tropical storm to kill poor people rich people everybody, this time in the Carolinas, and that Fortune magazine says that everybody is to blame for the subprime fiasco except me, which is cool, although I'm sure that a diligent enough round of finger-pointing could peripherally implicate me, my cats, and the weird lady with the shopping cart under the freeway overpass, too. I need to drag out the camera for the Sunday Smith bit at the other blog before I head into the store this afternoon, but this next one should be a doddle of a writeup. Lastly, I just need to accept that the story of the MAS 49/56 is impossible to tell without a few expository paragraphs on the problems the Frogs faced because of being the first kid on the block to have a smokeless cartridge. So... Off to typing. :)