It's fairly early (or would it be considered late?) and I'm writing. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. I like to imagine other great writers - Voltaire, L'Amour, Lovecraft and the like - doing the same thing (though obviously my life has turned out to be quite different than theirs). Words rushing out, pouring onto paper and Bam! Another scene done.

Perhaps I should view this through the eyes of history. This blog will be like the letters that scholars sift through; the future will peruse these documented thoughts and try to envision themselves as the glorious, yet oft-misunderstood "Discojer".

Oh, who am I kidding? No one will ever read this, I'll be lucky if I even get around to looking at it.

Also, some cool news: I woke up the other day to find that the oblivious paperboy had thrown the Thursday edition right into a big puddle on my driveway. I called to complain, and they said they wouldn't charge me full price for it. Best thing that's happened in some time.