Wednesday, June 22, 2011


Since my summer class has been cancelled due to lack of interest (I’m shocked there weren’t at least 25 students at Cascadia Community College dying to take a course in “global” philosophy, which would have included yoga and vedic chanting; alas), I’m now officially on vacation.

My sabbatical is over, and now I can get back to what I do best: puttering about my house, making plans for books I’ll never write, running errands on my bike(s), and “reading” on the couch until my eyelids get heavy and the book falls from my grasp.

I’ll also probably start back up with the more regularly-scheduled 327-word essay. It’s doubtful that I’ll reprise my epic (and yet oddly-ignored by major media outlets) accomplishment of 327 days in a row of a 327-word essay, but I think I’ll probably average at least 3.27 of them a week.

There’s just something about the practice that helps me feel whole and which—given my impossibly low standards—has me feeling that I’ve accomplished enough for the day after I’ve written and posted a piece.

Besides, there’s no end of material upon which I can riff.

Case in point: the recent news story indicating that Bill Gates will only bequeath a “minuscule portion” of his fortune—something on the order of $10 million dollars each—to his children because he wants them to make it on their own.

Now, I’m not a Bill Gates hater; I realize he’s probably a way better person than me. But if he thinks that somebody with a $10 million dollar trust fund is someone who has to make it on their own, then I strongly encourage him to give me that same amount so I can pull myself up by my own bootstraps and self-make myself as quickly as possible.

At the very least, having $10 million on hand would enable me to keep puttering, planning, riding, and “reading” whether I have a summer job or not.


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