Almost a month since the last post, so I guess it’s time to make some more excuses. I have actually been somewhat busy, what with looking for work (yes, again. do you have some work for me?), doing makeup consulting and various other stuff for a theatrical production (chemical burns are fun!), cooking up big hunks of meat on the grill, and the usual swank parties, drinking and debauchery, I’ve been swamped.

And if that’s not enough to excuse the lapse, I’m also sick to death of this design and therefore working on a new one, along with an online portfolio of sorts that, even if it doesn’t actually help me procure paying work, will perhaps keep my brain from melting out my ears.

Add to that the fact that I’m still determined not to turn this entire blog into a big long political rant (and therefore try to stay away from political material as much as possible): if you’ve opened a newspaper or turned on the television in the past two months, you know how close to impossible that is.

So call it what you like: a frenetic lifestyle, chronic laziness, general boredom and malaise, or political hand-sitting. There, is that enough?

OK, OK. I’ll give you one little morsel that isn’t about me making myself feel better: last Sunday, I was walking back from a sun-drenched coffee-drinking-paper-reading afternoon. There, in the middle of Wolcott Avenue, was a man in a pale pink suit, matching fedora and faux-alligator shoes. In a wheelchair. An electric wheelchair. Speeding down the perfect center of the street. Doing a wheelie.

People, I’m telling you. I couldn’t make this shit up.