The Anti-Nablopomo

After the deluge of inquiries into my wellbeing, I find I must put to bed rumors of my untimely demise.

In fact, I did not perish buried under seven feet of snow with nothing but a camelback full of margaritas and a sack of unshelled pinon nuts for sustenance. It wasn't for lack of trying; sadly, those mountain bloodhounds have strong sniffers and my attempt to get out of my last semester of law school ended in utter failure. Tunnelling to my snowy destiny seemed like a good idea at the time. But in retrospect, while I still have at least six and a half of my original set of toes, I don't think the Fairyprincess Frostbite look really suits me. Curmudgeonly law clerk seems to be my strong suit, so it's back to burrowing into books for me.

In addition to laying around for three weeks, I also read through all but the last book of George RR Martin's recent series. It was, ahem, kind of boring. I think I can do better. Oh, the time committment though. Nevertheless, I'd like to read at least one fantasy series that isn't either a romance novel with dragons, or a ode to meritocracy as noble stablehand makes good and rises to nobility through humor, fortune and hard work.

I whiled away January at a frenetic pace of pedicures and Sunday afternoon rum&coffee bombs, girding my sagacity for the upcoming marathon that will end this chapter of my life. Alas school has restarted and it would be downright uncharitable to withold the neuron-numbing moments of lawschool from you my loyal readers. I think I'm going to rent the HitchHikers Guide again, just so I can watch the parts with the Vogons and really get into the spirit of my calling.

The torrent of logorrhea begins anew.