The Death (or Dearth) of Writing

So, last night, lying on my couch drifting to sleep, I came to a most important conclusion: I am not a writer. In the midst of planning out the new StandardChuck, a new shiny blog filled with ample content that would repeat weekly like "Me Mondays" or "Science Fridays" (sorry for the potential plagerization, Ira Flatow), I began to realize something that caused alarm...just thinking about writing something consistantly, week after week, month after month, filled me with malaise...I was dreading the writing even before I had started the first one! There's laziness and then there is bone-lazy, sad-sacked, molasses thick, rim-rattling idleness.

Here's my new maxim: I will write when I write and never shall I be known as a goodish-like writer, and what-not.

Shame on the Golf Channel

http://msn.foxsports.com/golf/story/7651694

Picture of the Day (from the Grand Canyon)

From Kissing Suzy Kolber

http://kissmesuzy.blogspot.com/2007/12/you-can.html

You fools! Do you really think the next guy you hire will have the insanely huge ego to deal with those assholes in the locker room? Only the Bri has the brains, and the hair, to make that happen! Idiots! Only I know the secret to preventing Lewis from killing again. And there's no way I'm telling you now! That's your punishment for thinking you could go behind my back, or in front of my back, and fire me!You know naught what you hath wrought, Ravens. I hope you like wearing chain mail.