Uh. Put a hold on that whole exercise thing. My tooth just exploded because I have been pretending I don’t need oral surgery. Turns out the only thing less pleasant than oral surgery is emergency oral surgery. Maybe that’s why they don’t have emergency-oral-surgery mixers, or emergency-oral-surgery ice cream socials. Simple logic, people.

Also, my comments no longer work. I think it’s database corruption or something, but I’m having trouble getting definitive answers, and I have no idea how to fix this kind of thing. The silence is somewhat deafening on this end.

Guys? GUYS?

Aw. I miss you.

Have you heard about Plinky yet? It launched yesterday, and you might want to go grab your preferred user name before it’s gone.

Plinky gives you a new question to answer every day, and lets you friend people and compare answers with them, sort of like you can on Facebook or Twitter. You can favorite other people’s answers, and publish your own answers to your blog (or your Twitter feed), and so forth. If you’re already blogging, it’s a nice way to supplement and to help your readership grow. If you’re not, it’s a less work-intensive way to connect with friends. I’m an advisor to the company, and I’m excited about it, so I’ll be posting my answers to Plinky prompts here in the next few weeks. Go have a look, and let me know what you think.

In an effort to eliminate my mystery hives, which are apparently not allergic reactions, I am off to have a very nice acupuncturist stick needles in me. These are tiny needles. Hair thin needles, I am told. Needles so small they hardly even qualify as needles, you see. So why call them needles then? Why not call them something less panic-inducing? Stupids.

Fun Fact! Tongue goo is a part of the diagnosis process in Chinese medicine. Therefore, I was not supposed to brush my tongue this morning, which is counter-intuitive when you wake up and it tastes like something died in your mouth.

The end.

(Photo by Valerie Macon)

What’s that you say? You’re an Obama speech writer? Come here. The nation would like to kiss you on the mouth.

New Year’s Eve Maggie (circa 2005), wishes you a very happy 2009. Little does she know what the morning has in store for her. Poor little Maggie. Come here, let me pet your hair. Stop whimpering, dear.

As for you, may your evening be memorable, and your morning a small price to pay.