Sitting here in limbo, limbo, limbo.

You know how people talk about the pleasure of anticipation, I don’t buy it. Fuck the tease, I don’t like a story with too much exposition.

Meanwhile, I’m about to take down the poll as to whether I should move. I’m almost at 65 total voters tallied, and over 75 percent think I should get the fuck out of this one-horse town. And, I gotta say, I’m tending to side with the mandate.

Of course, we don’t know where all of those voters work, maybe they have a different agenda from my happiness.

But, before I go, I’m doing something here I ain’t never done before. I told Avi Green that his folks could jam a sign onto my teeny-tiny front lawn. Oh yeah, I’m all poliltical.

Turns out in chatting with Avi, as he did a walk through of my ‘hood (he lives just a couple blocks away), that we are one degree of separation from each other by way of Baratunde Rafiq Thurston. Jesus god, Baratunde is like something in a movie where there are repeated signs that aliens have already beaten you to whatever rare corner you hit. There is no place in Cambridge/Somerville political comedy in which the marketing machine that is baratunde.com has not already planted it’s little flag of conquest before you’ve even stepped out of the door. The man ain’t exactly human.