Good Lord I've Gone Metro

Well, Teter talked me into it, and now I've joined the freshly-washed masses of Starbucks-drinking, New Yorker-reading, American Idol-watching bloggites. I have no idea what sort of things I'm going to subject you people to, but it's safe to assume that an erratic sleep schedule mixed with too much caffeine, way too much nicotine and the occasional pop song stuck in my head will make for some hard-pounding, insightful blathering.

I'm not going to do the whole 'my name is Earl and I'm an alcoholic' introduction which is pretty much expected from a debut bloggite. Instead I guess you'll have to figure out who I am and what I do from some careful googling, perhaps some dousing or even playing a Willie Nelson album backwards. I wish you luck and godspeed.

At the moment deadlines are six hours behind me, the awake marathon is stretching into the 30-hour frame, and I'm still boycotting my bed as some random Internet crawlers did the nasty in it this weekend sans my permission. The 12-gauge in my closet has been freshly oiled and sighted in, and it just might be time to go snipe huntin'.

Hopefully I won't lose interest in this after three days like I do with most everything else, but now it's off for a beer and a few quotes from my favorite collection of PR flacks this side of the Ohio River. To channel the spirit of the Dude, Man, I've had a long night, and I hate the fucking Eagles.