. . .

I miss the good times.

I, Alloni Kramer, being of sound mind and body, or at least enough of each that I can both walk and chew gum simultaneously as long as nothing else comes up, like patting my head, and then there's the whole deal with deciding which of the other two activities to drop, which, in and of itself qualifies as a fourth activity, deciding, I mean, and so when I feel the need to pat my head I can just stop walking and chewing gum long enough to do so, and then take up both other activities should it prove to be necessary, hereby write this email.

Technically, no. Technically, I'm typing this email, but if we're going to get all pedantic, we can start at the very beginning, with the whole concept of "I"-ness, and is there really a self / universe separation as we so like to pretend. And then we get to the fact that that isn't really my name, and the whole thing falls apart. So you can just deal.

I have decided a number of things recently. Mostly, I decided that I haven't been writing. I've moaned about this before. And since writing is now the lesser of two evils (the other being doing Actual Work), I've decided to a) start giving you the benefit of my wisdom and experience, b) delude you into thinking that I'm going to make an effort to send Stuff to this mailing list from time to time, as it was back in The Day (which, by the by, is an interesting phrase. As if there was one day, way back in the mists of time, when all was Good. Men were real men, women were real men, and children were real men. People lived out long and happy lives on that day, got everything they wanted accomplished, and made big bucks with minimal effort. It was a good - nay, a great - day.

And then, of course, on the next day it all fell apart. I suspect that the day after The Day was a time of widespread devastation and plague, followed by a ravening barbarian horde scouring the landscape, with occasional serial killers, stock market analysts, and messianic Manson-like figures dotting the landscape. And there was incest. But not the good kind.

The Day after - no, give it its own capitals, it deserves them - The Day After was a dark page in the history of the world. But, hey, we're past that now. Many commemmorate The Day. No one commemmorates The Day After.

End of aside.), and c) ideally not be totally unentertaining.

We'll see how well it works.