So Maureen Johnson, as you may have heard, has decreed this month Blog Every Day in April month, and so far, has followed through on her insane pledge. I, on the other hand, can't help but notice that I seem to be silently waging my own counter-campaign, Blog No Day in April month, which I would argue is the perfect movement for all the lazy procrastinators who can't be bothered to, well, move, much less blog every day. Or any day. As is fitting for a manifesto of laziness, I've offered no manifesto at all on this front. Until now, I suppose. Violating the whole spirit of the thing in the process.  But this also seems fitting, since apparently, having noticed that I'm midway through BNDA, I'm too lazy to follow through.

Anyway, the truth is, several people have asked me recently why I never post anymore (okay, by "several people," I mean "my mom"), and I hate to disappoint the people. (Perhaps "the people" would like to reciprocate by making me some chocolate chip cookies next time I'm home? Ahem.)

So while it might have seemed that I winked out of existence about the same time as Battlestar Galactica (and it's true, slogging through the days is markedly more tedious without a roguish band of insane-robot-massacre survivors leading the way), I've been here the whole time.  Just too cold and too cranky to think of anything particularly fascinating to say.

As you can see, I've elected to return despite the continued lack of fascinating things to say. (Blame Maureen. It's usually a good default position.)

Actually, you can probably blame the book I'm supposed to be writing, since I've hit that phase in the writing process where anything, ANYTHING is preferable to opening the document and adding one sentence after another until I get to the end. (This is what I like to think of as the Zeno moment, at which the end of the book, despite getting closer and closer, is still receding an infinite distance away.)

My sad little manuscript has done quite a number on my sad little brain, leaving me unable to complete a cohesive train of thought, much less sustain a single theme or argument or point or anything over the course of this post.  So instead, I'll leave you with some of the questions buzzing around in my head (although I'll spare you the most obvious and prevalent, ie WHEN WILL IT FINALLY BE SPRING BECAUSE I AM ABOUT READY TO LIGHT MY WINTER COAT ON FIRE, because I'm starting to suspect the answer to that one is NEVER, and if so, I'd really rather not know).

Am wondering;
-What is the deal with these tea parties? I know I don't follow the news quite as carefully (read: obsessively) as I did during the campaign (speaking of which, did everyone see this?), but I feel like I blinked and the entire country went insane. Perhaps Senator Stuart Smalley can set us straight.

-Am I too old to think Hunter Parrish is hot? (Answer: Um, yes.) (On the Weeds front, did you hear that Jennifer Jason Leigh is joining the cast as Nancy's sister? Could that casting be any more perfect? Next I request Phoebe Cates and Parker Posey and, while we're on the subject, how about the entire cast of the Anniversary Party.)

-Am I too cool to get a little shiver of excitement every time I pass one of those posters for the imminent JJ Abrams Star Trek reboot? (Um, no.) (And speaking of unabashad geekiness, I'm still thinking of investing in a set of these. Just. Can't. Resist.)

-Is the new Turkish version of the Golden Girls going to approach the awesomeness of the original? Is that even possible without the presence of Bea Arthur? Will they still eat cheesecake?

-Because I am going to keep asking this question until someone gives me a good answer: Where is Whit Stillman?

-Did Dollhouse really, finally get good, as in so good that I have to catch up on all those episodes I missed and start watching the show?

Finally, here is a question that anyone who's crossed my path recently might want to ask me: When will Passover be over, thus allowing you to eat bread again, thus allowing you to stop being such a CRANKY, FOOD-DEPRIVED PSYCHOPATH?

Answer: Eight hours and counting.

And trust me, I am counting.