Hola, nerds! Happy 2004—if you actually believe we’re in 2004. I, for one, have chosen to believe that we’re really in 2005, really in a year that does not come bearing a quartet of unwanted gifts. Namely: a presidential election involving that dude who can’t even pronounce nuclear correctly; the Summer Olympics as televised by NBC, where every gymnastics competition threatens to summon a John Tesh boner like “Little girls, dancing for gold”; another baseball season in which the Detroit Tigers have virtually no hope of losing fewer than 100 games; and that date most foul: February 29. (Really, what good is February 29? It only adds to the yearly agony, and it messes up that “Thirty days has September…” thing.) So I’m going to ignore all that stuff and focus on what really matters: 2005. Aye, 2005—and a pirate’s life—is the life for me. I’ll catch y’all then.


My much-crowed-about winter coat still hasn’t arrived! Will the idiocy never end!?