Vacation

Yes, faithful readers. I've been on vacation. Self-declared, not real. I have been to Baton Rouge to see family for the past few days, but I'd vacated myself from the blog for longer than that. Truthfully, it's really easy to just not do the blog entries. But it's not as easy to contemplate not doing the blog entries. As I think I've publicly lamented before . . . I just can't drop Powderfinger altogether. It's been, I'm afraid, habit-forming for me, despite the drivel I sometimes produce, the meager number of people who check in regularly to see if Schott has any observations on the dying empire he felt worthy of sharing on any particular day, and the (lately) frightfully erratic series of contributions. I cannot promise to completely amend my ways--better than anyone I understand the rigors of everyday compliance with the imperative to write something (which really puts me in awe of people like my friend Montag over at his "Father Talks to Daughter . . . " blog who actually do write something every day)--but I shall strive to be more diligent.

Thank you for hanging in there with me. Although I could plead the dreadful state of things in general that have gotten me too dispirited to write, that would be b.s. The main reason, as it always has been with me, is sloth.