One of the more entertaining things about reading blogs by Stephen Fry is that he usually spends the first several paragraphs apologizing for not writing more frequently. He being British, literate, and famous, seems to do it really well, and makes it more entertaining at times to read his apologies than whatever his comments are going to be. Also, being British, literate and famous, he probably feels the need to do so more often.
However, I’m none of those things. So, just assume that I wrote something classy and inspiring as an apology.
I’ve been in Chicago most of this week. I went to high school and college in Chicago, and this place has a interesting effect on me. So much has been happening, and I want to share it, or the entertaining bits at least, but it’s hard to write it all coherently. I’ve been thinking about my blog and how I want to sit down and write and put some real thought and effort into it. I want to talk about the numerous legal issues that have been popping up, and the guilty verdict (Guilty! Me, guilty!). Oh, and the group that complained that I am discriminating against families (Discriminate! Me, discriminate!) because my craigslist ad, said a great place for a single person who wants lots of space or a bunch of friend living together, BECAUSE NEARLY EVERY TENANT WHO EVER RENTED FROM ME IS SOMEONE WHO IS A SINGLE PERSON LOOKING FOR A LOT OF SPACE OR A BUNCH OF FRIENDS LIVING TOGETHER. And the real estate deal that just crashed, and then got put back together and then crashed again. Maybe, I can put it back together to on Monday, maybe . . .
And the other real estate deal, and the new energy company that I’m helping to get funding. And the possibility that I may have to make strategic painful decisions to continue to build my real estate portfolio of over-leveraged assets.
Oh, and the chickens that the girls got back in August and the one chicken who was really a transvestite rooster. And when he finally realized he was a rooster, started crowing at odd times, until K kicked me out of the bed at 4am after he had been announcing to the world that it was a rooster for 10 minutes in the cold, black early morning and said “Do something.”
So I gave it an orange. And, he stopped.
And of course I want to talk about my girls. How Alexa, the Big One, really is big now, and responds more like an adult intellect than I’m comfortable with. And how Teja, the Little One, is in first grade and now usually arrives in our bedroom at 6:45am fully dressed, hair-combed and ready for school while I blearly look for my socks.
Oh, and of course, how K has spent 9 days painting the girls bedroom, which is approximately 10ft x 12ft, and how the girls have lived with all their toys in the living room for that time in a manner which I refer to as Modern Castaway (or Modern Refugee).
So much to talk about, and so little time to actually write it all . . .
