While you were away–
(hello. . ? hello. . ?)
Is there anybody in there?
Just click if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?
Six weeks of indulging The Vices, both Major and minor, have passed. The reckless, debauched, bacon-bourbon bender has ended and Less of Me is no longer comfortably numb, thus we have returned to The Suite. (The bar is fully stocked after all.)
What to do now?
We’re thinking of renovating and redecorating around here in anticipation of the emergence of Sterling Cooper Draper and Pryce. We miss Don and Betts and the gang and they will be a primary topic of interest come July 25. We’re ready to get Mad again.
Perhaps we’ll do a little blogging about other things too. We hear there’s some trouble a-bubblin’ in the Gulf of Texaco for example; that might be worth a few sentences. (ten to twelve years in a federal pen for Tony Hayward would be a good sentence to start with, if only we did live in Unicorn World) And we’d also like to explain to the universe how after thirty years of ardent passion, we’re beginning to be made to hate the game of golf. (note: despite the homophonics, these two topics are not currently related)
And most probably we’ll take some time to try to make sense of our entire existence. Why is Less of Me here? Prepare for Some Self-indulgent navel-gazing. We know that’s never been tried on the Internet yet. LOM can be a pioneer here, blaze a trail or two in the name of cyber-egoism. Go where no LOM has gone before — blah, blah.
Ahhh! The rampant enthusiasm after the Fall is always refreshing. The blogging sky is the limit! Onward and upward!
However, first we need to pick up our mail at the front desk and then ingest some hair of the hog that bit us; we’re still too shaky to type straight. Patience please. In the interim, read below an excerpt from The Daily Zen site we like; we found it inspirational.
And call housekeeping! This place is a mess. Didn’t the maid stop by even once?
To become a bodhisattva
You should be a mop.
I take care of the dirt,
And give clean things to others.
I’m almost nothing,
And I’m proud of that.
Strangers think I’m dust,
And I live with that disgrace,
I don’t lose the truth of the heart.
I urge you, my disciples, to write these words
On the broad belt so you never forget.
– Jinkag Haesim (1178-1234)