I hate the word "blog." Not for what it means, of course, but for the way it sounds. It's almost too juvenile a term for the logging of one's thoughts and online finds, which is not necessarily an art- actually, far from it- but at least a potentially aesthetic sort of mnemonic tool-cum-research pattern. It's amazing how much shit you can find just by following a random string of hypertext, and how much those strings make you remember half-buried thoughts, websites, and so forth. No, "blog" doesn't cut it. I need to find another word.

This is a great place to read up on the lives of people like me, but not really that much like me. The proprietors are some old buddies from college, and, like me, they seems to be blundering their way through life with at least some nominal idea o what they want to do. Worth your time, chumps. So is this. And then there's good old Flatland Books, home of Flatland Magazine and a catalog of more weird books than you can imagine.

While you're at it, don't forget to celebrate idleness, which Kierkegaard said was not the root of all evil, but the only true good. He is, as he often tends to be, correct. If everone spent less time doing things, especially working, life would be worth living.