The Junk Drawer 9

I’m adding something new at the blog – and I know it won’t be to everyone’s taste.  But here’s the deal:  I am working on my writing skills and doing daily fictional exercises from The Write Brain Workbook.  These will all have titles like “Day 86”, “Day 29”, “Day 281” etc.  If the fiction isn’t your cup of tea, the “Day ___” titles will be your signal that a fictional exercise lies ahead and to skip that entry. If you do read it, as with all the entries here, feel free to comment, critique, ask questions, it’s all good.

In other news, I had two adrenaline activating events take place this past week.  Monday night I was checking my blog stats and saw an ENORMOUS spike in visits.  I thought something might be wrong so I refreshed the view and saw it spike even further.  Unprecedented number of hits.  I thought I had been hacked.  As it turns out someone with the handle abennert bookmarked one of my blog posts on delicious.  God bless you abennert, it was the highlight of my week.

On Tuesdays I get up in the wee hours to make a holy hour at the adoration chapel.  My allergies have been awful lately and I’ve been pretty thick-headed in the morning – stumbling around in a fog, needing double my usual caffeine fix to feel even somewhat alert. So I completely missed the fact that the dog didn’t get up and follow me downstairs. Anyway, when I got home, I didn’t hear the usual tortured dog bark that Dante uses upon my return (it is one of the most irritating noises in the history of the universe, especially when you know that the dog on the other side of the door is not being tortured, but rather is one of the most spoiled dogs in Texas, arguably in all of North America).  So I open the door, no Dante.  I look at his normal perch on the loveseat, no Dante.  I’m PANICKING.  He’s 14 years old.  I’m thinking he’s gone to romp in dog heaven.  So I head upstairs, my heart booming.  He’s between my bed and the wall, where he normally sleeps during the night, but I can’t tell if he’s breathing.  So I say, “Dante?” Nothing.  A bit louder “Dante?” Nothing.  Now I’m sure he’s dead and I croak out “Dante!”  And he jumps up. That whole episode took a toll on the ticker.

What do Tiger Woods, Charlie Sheen and Jesse James have in common?  [Insert punch line here] A psychologist answers the question .

And another parting gift, one of the best articles I’ve read on the importance of integrated marketing .