I'm not anonymous

I really must work on being more revealing on a personal level. The comments come-a-flooding in, and you know I do love a comment. Especially when they're from mysterious cyberspace Lamont Cranston types, stirring the shit under a pseudonym. Just like leaving out a sugary snack at a picnic. Soon, you're infested. They're not very good spellers, though.

Canada, however seems to be accommodating to all manner of people. There's a mental hospital nearby [I know, very funny] and one of the lunatics has escaped the asylum. His name is William Enman, and he's not just crazy, he's a crazy killer. This paragraph from today's newspaper story had me intrigued: The Prosecutor's Office in Morris County, where Enman's murder case originated, said that Enman may have purchased real estate in Nova Scotia. Officials at the Prosecutor's Office could not provide more details to explain how a man diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and confined to a mental hospital managed to buy a place in Canada.

I'm guessing he saved his cigarette money and probably bought it over the Internet, like we do drugs. Just because he's crazy doesn't mean he's stupid.

I get a lot of hits when I mention Britney Spears. More than I get when I write that stupid philosophical jazz. Give the people what they want. If I ran a picture of Britney Spears kissing Cecily Tynan, taken by Alycia Lane, Blogger would have to upgrade its server. It's strange, I tell ya.

This 9/11 thing is really close to being a National holiday. I can feel it growing. It must be what it was like in the middle ages when somebody brought home a tree in December and started decorating it. At the beginning, everybody wondered what in Hell he was doing, but before long they all had the stupid trees and there were so many of them that a store had to open to have all the junk that people wanted. Then the lights and the mistletoe ... Just like that. The Nine-Eleven Store.

I read an article today about the planned National Park in Shanksville, where Flight 93 crashed. The design is finished, and there's going to be another of these walls with all the names on it. I've noticed that since the Vietnam Memorial went up in D.C. that there's this trend of putting all the names on monuments. That's something new.

So who needs a girlfriend, anyway? Not me, that's who. That's my story and it's sticking to me. I can have fun by myself. [What do you think that means?] It was kind of fun to exorcise that demon yesterday. I had that saved in 'Drafts' for about 4 months. Can I hold a grudge, or what? I thought it might be a little harsh, but I no longer care how things I say are interpreted, since I only say what is necessary. Besides, I didn't mention any names, and she's the only one who knows who I'm talking about ... well maybe somebody else. You might know, too, and if you want to know, like any good Beatle album, the clues are in there somewhere, you just have to know where to look. Maybe if you spelled my posts backward?

Number 9, number 9, number 9.