"I bid you a heartfelt goodnight."

from Johnny Carson on his final taping of The Tonight Show in 1992

Bloggers have evolved, died, stuck around, or apathized. There are many who have stuck around on Blogger. Some have moved to MySpace. Others don't care. Some have died.

I am not dead. I care. I'm busy, that's a difference. But, I use MySpace. And that is where I shall set up new camp.

It almost seems like the life of a Blog lasts only as long as your collegiate career. As you enter adulthood and have to earn your living, your correspondence becomes more interpersonal, maintained to phone, IM, and e-mail. No longer are your thoughts made public publication.

Someday, we'll look back. I don't what else we'll do. We'll just look back. Why back? I don't know. Some people might regress enough that they look forward. I might be one. I have no clue.

Blogger, you have been great to me.

So, in the same year as my beloved childhood mall of Windsor Park closes, as well as the TEX calling system at UT Austin ends, I use TEX's final message to say, "Goodbye, and good luck."

>

American Cities That Best Fit You:

75% Austin

65% Miami

60% Atlanta

60% Denver

55% Las Vegas

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

Live on, little kitty!

Enjoy.

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Ruminations and Announcement

First things first:

God rest the soul of Carolyn Noseff.

California, be ready for damnation after acquitting a murderer who asked thousand of friends to kill his wife, yet damning a horrible, yet unattached-to-any-murder-weapon husband to death.

And now:

This is post #454 of Kvetcher in the Rye (sometimes known as "Arte es Vida, y Mi Encanta Mi Vida"). This blog will end with post #500. I don't know when #500 comes, but when it comes, that will be the end of this blog.

Let's Play the Feud

Have you ever had one of those days where you felt like introducing yourself to strangers, "Hello. My name's Richard Dawson," while wearing a pink crushed polyester leisure suit? Or am I just having an oddball day?

Today's day #4 back from my pharyngitical sabbatical (rolls off the tongue, no?), and I immediately had to endure two make-up exams (one of which I'm severely pissed off at myself over: I second-guessed myself on two out of 30 answers on the test, and wound up being correct the first time around. It cost me a C down to a D+. Fortunately, one of them turned out to be correct, so I wound up with a 70 for the exam...not too shabby considering I had a hoarse throat the previous week).

Worry not, I scored a perfect 100 on the other make-up...at least I would hope I would score 100, considering it was a take-home exam. My professor (in Public Speaking) told me that she has had students fail her take-home exams.

WARNING: I am about to explode...

IF YOU FAIL A COLLEGE COURSE TAKE-HOME EXAM, THEN WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD ARE YOU DOING IN COLLEGE?

...warning over.

In the vein of Melissa's February 19 posting, I need sex with random people. Please submit your application, along with a blood sample, urine sample, photo of your breasts, and your phone number to author@gmail.com.

But, Matt, how can they send a blood and urine sample via e-mail?

How the hell should I know? I may not be a technophile, but, damn it, I'm horny.

Still Ill as Hell, The Musical

Comin' home used to feel so good
I'm a stranger now in my neighborhood
I've seen the world at a faster pace
And I'm comin' now from a diff'rent place

Though I may look the same way to you
Underneath there is somebody new

I am not the boy next door
I don't belong like I did before
Nothin' ever seems like it used to be
You can have your dreams, but you can't have me

I can't go back there anymore
'Cause I am not the boy next door

You've been savin' those souvenirs,
Faded photographs from my foolish years
We made plans, but they're wearin' thin
And they won't work out 'cause I don't fit in

And those mem'ries will just weigh me down
'Cause I got no place to keep 'em uptown

I am not the boy next door
I don't belong like I did before
Nothin' ever seems like it used to be
You can have your dreams, but you can't have me

I can't go back there anymore
'Cause I am not the boy next door

And I'm sorry for just bein' me
But if you'd look past the past you could see
That

I am not the boy next door
I don't belong like I did before
Nothin' ever seems like it used to be
You can have your dreams, but you can't have me

I can't go back there anymore
'Cause I am not
I am not
I am not
The boy next door