I realize that I’m not someone who’s terribly keen on the whole “blogging” thing.

I’m also not someone who likes to hang out and post on message boards. Sure, I’ll lurk and read - but is it called “lurking” when you read an article on the BBC News site? No, it’s not. I am a web reader, and I write for the web as part of my job, and my own little corner of cyberspace is some kind of occasionally thawed cryogenic monument to something or another.

Speaking of this little cyber-hovel, I’ve also managed to keep it off the interweb “radar” for fear of it being discovered by the long lost hobo Dauphin, John Hodgman. He is a canny, cunning, capricious cad who’s only goal in life seems to undermine me. He is so cunning, in fact, that he is not even aware of his dastardly schemes, and would probably claim that it’s unfounded paranoia, and that he’s actually quite a friendly chap who considers me some sort of acquaintance. That his protestations are probably accurate in their assessment of the situation proves just how devious he is, the clever bastard.

Still, I make no promises to you, the non-existent readers of this virtual bedsit, that there will ever be anything approaching regular postings. However, I shall endeavor to do so during the delusional, fugue-like states that I find myself in after working through the evening.

Until next time, I leave you with a current photo of myself, taken during a candid moment by someone who is probably me.