So I've been wasting the past couple hours reading stuff on the internet in search of something about which to write. An article by Josh Barkey about what he calls "poopstain pulpit-monkeys" (my challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to use the clues in this sentence in Google to discover if I'm making up what I'm writing about; I have at least one reader who just doesn't seem to understand how Teh Googlebox works, so I want to see if he can answer this simple test) was interesting, but all I did was link to it on Facebook for folks on my friend's list to read.
Then there was the article from The Guardian about the Central Park Jogger case, which seems still to trouble the waters of New York City. I checked, and I've written everything I wanted to say about it; one of the perils of doing this blogging thing for so long is you tend to cover the same ground. Since I have no interest in repeating myself, I decided to just let it be. Again, if you're interested, you can put "central park jogger" in the search box at the top left and read what I said.
It's Saturday. The weekend. Get up off your couch and do stuff. Have some fun, for crying out loud.
If house music doesn't do it for you, maybe this will . . .
If you're feeling romantic, and want to dance slow and close to someone special, well . . .
So quit your belly-achin' and get out there and dance.
Then there was the article from The Guardian about the Central Park Jogger case, which seems still to trouble the waters of New York City. I checked, and I've written everything I wanted to say about it; one of the perils of doing this blogging thing for so long is you tend to cover the same ground. Since I have no interest in repeating myself, I decided to just let it be. Again, if you're interested, you can put "central park jogger" in the search box at the top left and read what I said.
It's Saturday. The weekend. Get up off your couch and do stuff. Have some fun, for crying out loud.
If house music doesn't do it for you, maybe this will . . .
