Sorry for the lack of updates. I say that often, don't I?

I've been on full-time daddy duty. Working at night. I'd say I'm tired, but my wife would probably try to kill me. I soothe my soul by listening to Nick Cave which, by the way, only rips it open further. Found out my soul is made of saw dust. Very messy.

Let's see . . . is there anything I can update you on since my last installment?

Well, one of my authors at my freelance gig died. Figures. I'm the angel of death when it comes to authors. No matter what project I work on, someone ends up dying. They're currently making a list of all the authors they want to give me.

Easter was joyous, I suppose. I got to see Panic Room, which stars Jodie Foster, a woman whom I love. I once had a theory that she'd run away with me. Besides the fact that she's a decade older than I am, possibly a lesbian, inspired a presidential assassin, a powerful and talented movie star and MENSA smart . . . I figured it was a plausible fantasy. She never called.

I wonder why Easter has no songs to go with it. Why is it that Christmas gets all the music? I mean, if Easter marks the culmination of everything Jesus was supposed to do, isn't that a little more important than his birth? I don't want to deny Jesus his free dinner at Denny's, mind you, but I would like his work to be appreciated. The guy not only died, but he came back to life. That's not easy. Hell, Elvis didn't do that and look at all the recognition he gets. The world needs more Velvet Jesuses.

By the way, I may have said the most offensive thing of my entire life yesterday. I was thinking about Easter and Passover, the whole religious angle. So, I said, "Jesus died for your sins, but came back for the buffet." I was promptly told I was going to Hell.

What's a holiday if your soul hasn't been damned for eternity? Next I plan to ruin Memorial Day.