Okay, maybe it isn’t on.

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Vacation bathroom selfies; always the epitome of class, right?

It’s both vanity and navel-gazing, rolled into one – looking forward and backward and selfward, like a Narcissus pretzel.

I have been, yeah, ignoring this space because of a shattering of social media platforms and the attention paid to each, and, frankly, this place has seen roughly as many visitors as my actual residence (which is to say: a handful of friends, a couple of miscreants, and a lot of unsolicited businesspeople). I’m enjoying tumblr’s infinitely-scrolling yet repetitive effervescence; surfing there is like floating in the ocean – the waves are repetitive, if somewhat unique, and the wind changes direction occasionally; I don’t tweet as much as I used to, but still offer the occasional bon mot on that platform; I still do what passes for my heavy linguistic lifting on LiveJournal with the handful of tumbleweed farmers who still haunt the joint; and, like every goddamned one else, I’m on the bookface, mostly to keep in touch with people I want to and don’t have a better option available, short of a Powerball hit.

Not saying I’m going to be here more, even though, yeah, I’ve done a lot of lifting and running and hockey playing and other athletic and psychological shit since last I beat on this particular bit of scaffolding.


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