I am not turning into J.D. Salinger

And what I mean by that is that I'm not avoiding my throngs of thirsty fans, who have been deprived these many months of my greatness, by holing myself up in some compound in suburbia, only answering the door for the guy from the Amazon.com delivery service when he shows up with my Prime subscription monthly installment of two-ply bathroom tissue.  Which is I'm sure what Salinger does, assuming he's still alive.

My point is that I'm too lazy to Google whether or not Salinger has died, so you can bet I'm not posting because I'm, you guessed it, holed up in some compound...

Is lazy just another word for afraid of something?  I don't know, but in the spirit of self-knowledge with which this blogging experiment was initiated, I aim to find out, starting tomorrow afternoon at this event, which I still can't believe I actually signed up for:  http://bit.ly/13kwas8

Those of you who are not completely disappointed by my absence these many months might check in periodically over the next couple of days here: @weissology

I think that's a twitter thingy-majiggy.  I'll be posting (tweeting?) pictures of my feet before and after the firewalk.  That's FIREWALK.  Walking on a bed of red-hot coals.  Please don't tell my mother about this.  Or my father.  Or my salsa teacher.

I close this re-emergence from my suburban compound, surrounded by two-ply quilted comfort, with a promise to post more often.  I have a backlog of things to share.  For the next four days, I'll be backlogging that backlog.  And then the posting shall re-commence.  Huzzah!