I have been too fucking lazy by a long fucking shot to write up to fabulous episodes in my thoroughly uninteresting life.

One involves skinning my knees and getting caught on the work surveillance system. (I just lobbed a softball for dvae to write something obvious and crazily sexual about being on my knees at work.)

The other involves the best-dressed, most disarming, strangest encounter with a self-described “beggar.”

Soon. Exciting stories. Thrilling anecdotes. Humor. Comedy. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll wet yourself in some manner in your nether regions.

For now, here’s the more boring reality. I signed up for a continuing ed class called something like “Mixed Blessings: Oil and War in Developing Countries” at a university called something like “Stanford.” It’s interesting and underlines what I already felt in my loins — The world is a fucked up place, and we’re hellward bound.

It was my floating effort to determine if I should maybe sign up for a Master’s program in the evening, which they have an OK program that caters to working grown ups. Here’s the thing, though, I’m already fucking behind in my reading, and I actually find this shit interesting. So fuck that edumacation bullshit, too hard.

Seriously, what’s not to love about learning the data to make slamdunk arguments against our currently fucked up foreign policy? I mean, in the unlikely circumstance that I end up at a cocktail party with true-blue Bush believers, I’ll be able to thrust and parry like a motherfucker. You know, party banter.

At least I know what the books I should be reading look like. I’ll start a new intellectual trend, just describing the outside cover for people to judge for themselves. It’s kind of like Fox news “We report, you decide.” One book is all swirly, oily black and has “paradox” in the title. I bet it’s interesting if challenging to read.

But, I did take the day-long getting yourself published workshop. My favorite part was hearing all of the shit people are working on in their little home offices and whatnot. Some guy just likes presidents and is gonna write about the six best. A chick married a geek who likes machines with gears and buttons and doohickies, but no computer chips. They’re going to make something with words and pictures.

Damn, I wish I were that nice and that devoted if I were to marry a geek. I’d just make fun of him.

A couple of guys with brainiac sounding jobs and no doubt some federal contracts in their pasts, our getting their Clancy on and writing some kind of espionage, world collapse kind of thrilling prose.

And, me, I’m planning on writing self-indulgent drek that is worthless than the gears, buttons, doohickies AND computer chips I’ll be using to express it.