I think this will be the first year I can recall that I didn't help promote the Boobiethon. I guess that must mean I'm siding with cancer. Wow. I apologize for my carcinogenic behavior.
Am I such a lazy blogger than I couldn't get off my ass and write a few words that could potentially save some lives? Yes. This is indisputable.
High school students, do not ask me to write you letters of recommendation to your favorite college admissions departments. A few months later, after I've decided that I couldn't be bothered to hook you up, you'll be cursing my name as you toil away at Safety School State. And your less enterprising friends with semi-reliable references will instead enjoy the scenery at prestigious Nepotism University.
Completely unrelated aside to help me reach my unofficial minimum word requirement:
One of my lifelong aspirations has always been to own a bearskin rug. I'd grow a beard out, get a mug of something warm, sit on the rug and stare into a crackling fire while I talked to someone about the time I saved a wolf from quicksand and became its best friend. Maybe I'd have friends over and casually pet the bear on the head while saying, "Careful, old friend - we remember what happened last time you bared those teeth at me, don't we?" It'd be so bad ass*.
For whatever reason, every time I daydreamed about the rug (and, consequently, how much I really hate bears) I'd never be near a computer to look up what they cost. Then, I'd get near a computer and, before I remembered to price one, I'd get on Wikipedia and read about Unwound or something.
This pattern went on for years. Literally, years. I would never think about my desire for rug ownership while I had the means to find out how to get one. I'm not sure what the issue was.
Then, the other day, I got on the google machine and remembered to price rugs. And, now, I'm thinking I should just focus on trying to save a wolf from quicksand someday. That'd still be bad ass, and it wouldn't require years of indentured service to Bank of America.
* To be fair, for about 5 of those years, I just wanted a bearskin rug so I could be that guy that could say he'd had hooked up on a bearskin rug. That pretty much stopped when I realized that normal women who aren't named Sheena or Zula don't easily get turned on by the notion of having sex on a corpse. Live and learn.