Tighter Than A Something-Something's Something

      Just a brief note to any of you that have sent emails in the past little while: my apologies if you haven't heard back, as I've been horribly, shamefully, miserably delinquent with most such cyber-correspondence, and now the blasted Inbox is a cocked-up travesty of Bushian proportions. So, if you're waiting (or have been waiting) to hear from me, try sending things again. Once again, everything's just been,as they say, a bloody rectum-tearing bugger. (You'll be thanking me, I'm sure, for that imagery.)

      In other matters: the Not-So-Good Doctor's trying to get a grapple on matters, and part of this has included the (p'shaw!) reorganization of his books. For those of you that have seen what usually constitutes The Wreckage, you know what a task this has been.   For those that are simply trying to fathom it, imagine trying to sort through God-Only-Knows-Anymore how many books into a space only slightly tighter than --- no, no, no, I won't finish THAT old joke. But it's at last finally done, or at least the preliminary sorting is done.   This is partially why there's been little on this blog of late about literature; it's a bit hard to talk about the finer details of fishing when one's drowning.

      So there we are. Things will untangle eventually.   Or so one hopes. Cheers.