It seems wrong to be blogging under the circumstances. But here I am... camping. And there's WiFi. And it's not like I'm at some froo-froo KOA or something. This is full-on dark dirt camping high up in the mountains.

Someone decided it was a good idea to give the bears internet access though so there you have it. I can't stay long though, the girls are taking my in-law's golden retriever on a snipe hunt and I've got to get to shining my flashlight in the camp fire.

Catch you when I'm back in civilization. That is, where I have internet access AND flushing toilets.

There's nothing new to report about the missing camera. I guess all there is to do now is hold out hope that someday, someone will see my camera walking down the street in the custody of a deranged self-proclaimed prophet and his crazy wife.

While all the personal electronics drama was going down I did manage to record and edit the premier of Blogger Love On Wednesday. It'll be up in just a few hours and I couldn't be more pleased with how it came out.

Just wait till you hear the guest tell me the name of her hometown. That alone is worth the price of admission. Which, by the way, is free.

I'm interested in you. I'm curious about who you are and what makes you tick. I want to meet each and every of you and nuzzle your internecks. I like the sound of my own voice. I like to start my sentences with I.

Lately, I've become a bit frustrated about a couple of things. I've posted what I think is some pretty damn good content fairly regularly on this site for a couple of years now. But my readership has stayed nearly level since it peaked in the first few weeks since the site launched. Try as I might, I've not been able to extend the reach of my voice.

Fine. If people aren't interested in what I have to say then maybe, like me, they're interested in what you have to say.

I was going to get really drunk on Friday night. Half the girls were off at end-of-the-school-year parties. The other half go to bed pretty early. Donna was working the late shift at the fabric store. My mother was out with friends doing what they do best. Gossiping with eyes closed while she wags her index finger in tiny, manicured circles.

But when I got home I got a hankering to ...wait... did I just say hankering? That reminds me... I'm trying to write younger. Hankering is not younger. Hankering is the kind of thing uranium prospectors in the red hills of southern Utah in the fifties would say. Like, "I'm hankering for a glass of whiskey and some jerky. I reckon I'll ride my mule into town and sit a spell in the saloon."

The reason I want to young it up is because Thursday night, when I went to Heather Armstrong's book signing, Heather said to me, "Oh, I thought you'd be old... and fat... and bald. From your writing you sound old." Jon stepped in and clarified, "That is to say, your voice is older than you seem. We just thought you'd be an older person."

Kelly over there to the Mocha Momma blog
tagged me with a meme.

Normally, I'm not a big fan of meme tagging but I guess I'm just not in the mood to be anti-social. Maybe I'm just feeling the love from the blogosphere and I wanna give a little back. Get I get an amen?

Try as I might I couldn't get Dave Fletcher to admit to randomly deleting Chris Buttars' email. Though, towards the end of the interview, after finally lulling him with my witty repartee, he did admit to once having been a bigot.

Listen to The Couchcast

Every morning I get an email from Google with a daily agenda from my online personal calendar.

From: Google Calendar

...read the rest...

I've been thinking about putting together a podcast for a while. I have a ton of ideas, probably too many, and I still need to settle on an exact format. While I'm trying to figure all that out, I'm trying to participate in as many other projects as I can to get the hang of the whole process.

I've been given a generous offer to join Robert Merrill, Thom Allen and Matt Reinbold on The Couchcast this Monday to interview Dave Fletcher, CTO for the State of Utah. I can only assume I've been included as comic relief.

Hopefully the joke isn't on me. Be sure to tune in and find out.

Born at Menlo Park
More heat than light emit you
Dead in twenty-twelve

A few weeks ago the batteries in both my watches died on exactly the same day.

One of my watches is a twenty-four hour watch like astronauts wear and is handy for confusing people who have the nerve to ask me what time it is instead of just wearing a watch themselves. At noon, the hour hand points to the bottom of the watch. At six in the morning, it points to where you would normally expect to see the number 3.

The other is a snazzy Cole Haan number that makes me look like I belong in an Abercrombie ad. Which, of course, I do. I prefer this watch for every day use as the astronaut watch is just one step on the nerd scale above having a Casio digital calculator timepiece.