Just testing a new interim front page with Planet SOMA to the left and The Other Stream up above. The idea is to make it the entrypoint for both sites until I’m ready to divorce them completely in a month or two. This idea may suck. I haven’t decided yet…

Besides, it’s Thanksgiving week, which has always proven to be a low-traffic time which is great for experiments.

At any rate, my uncertainity pales in comparison to what they must be going through at the Chronicle and the Examiner right now. It’s a strange thing; the Examiner’s “final issue” today was sort of final, but not really. After all, the paper will still exist tomorrow, albeit as a morning paper owned by a different company and written by a different staff. And the old Examiner staff will still be around tomorrow too, working at the Chronicle. Confused? A lot of people are…

My biggest concern, of course, is where Zippy the Pinhead will end up.

My other biggest concern, alas, is about my increasingly miserable on-site part-time job. No 20-hour a week gig should be tormenting me as much as this one is starting to. I don’t see it lasting past the end of the year. So if you have any great-paying semi-regular part-time work which will balance out the cashflow in my freelance jungle, please let me know…

Funny. Thanks to Ron for that one.

A friend and I were discussing sperm yesterday via email (it made sense at the time) and he asked “is it weird that I often view semen as some sort of awful venom?” It started me thinking that there’s a whole generation of Sodomites just slightly younger than me who, given recent world history, may very well have grown up thinking this.

I guess I’m part of the last generation which started out its sex life thinking it was just fine and dandy to spooge in the mouth, up the butt, or wherever else was handy. Of course, things changed pretty quickly for most of us about 1983 or 1984. And people just a year or two younger than me came out into a world of condoms, “on me not in me”, and all the rest. It was the default condition for them, and significantly less behavioral modification was involved. I think.

It’s a shame in some ways, that so many people have been conditioned to view semen as toxic. But you could argue that it’s a necessary shame, I guess.

I’m home. I’m not committing murder. You’re all relieved, no doubt.

Jonno was right; November sucks. It’s freezing and the heat in my apartment isn’t working. I have an ingrown pubic hair and a big shaving-related gash on my left cheek. I’m thinking of calling in sick to my part-time job tomorrow rather than going in and committing the grisly murder I fantasized about all day today.

And there’s still no elected leader of the free world…

I guess things aren’t all THAT bad, though. I had my fill of barbecue this weekend. Real barbecue. North Carolina barbecue. Chopped pork in a vinegar and pepper sauce. None of that ketchupy crap the rest of the country uses. I was happy.

I’ve also spent two quite pleasant low-key evenings with a nice guy who met me through email. See? That could have been you. But then again, you might have been miffed at the fact that I’m not really fit human companionship this month. David (the David who isn’t me) wasn’t, fortunately. He gets extra points; I’ll write more when he gets to 50.

I’m thinking of taking a few days off from this space. Of course, that’s in addition to the few unannounced days I already took off. Check back though. I may change my mind later tonight if I have somthing more to say, or if I really go on that killing spree at work tomorrow.

Sorry for the Beavis and Butthead moment here, but I just saw this commercial featuring some grandfatherly old pharmacist who managed to keep a straight face as he discussed this wonderful new skin-care product called Zim’s Crack Creme. Obviously this name was decided without the moderating influence of a corporate marketing department.

More later about elections, meeting a nice guy last night, and more, but I had to get this one posted before I forgot…