I Love Writing Traditional Magazine Pieces, And

I Feel Somewhat Responsible For The Borders Books Bankruptcy.

To My Great Surprise, Twitter Is Not Housed In A Silver Pod That Orbits Earth At Supersonic Speeds, Vacuuming Up And Then Dispersing Digital Bits Of Worldwide Chitchat; It's In A Big, Bland Office Building In Downtown San Francisco, Near A Bowling Alley And An Old Navy.

I Am Of Mixed Minds About The Issue Of Privacy. On One Hand, I Understand That Information Is Power, And Power Is, Well, Power, So Keeping Your Private Information To Yourself Is Essential - Especially If You Are A Controversial Figure, A Celebrity, Or A Dissident.

In The Course Of Transferring All My Cds To My Ipod, I Have Found Myself Wandering The Musical Hallways Of My Past And Reacquainting Myself With Music I Haven't Listened To In Years.

The Old Orchid Hunter Lay Back On His Pillow, His Body Limp... 'you'll Curse The Insects,' He Said At Least, 'and You'll Curse The Natives... The Sun Will Burn You By Day And The Cold Will Shrivel You By Night. You'll Be Racked By Fever And Tormented By A Hundred Discomforts, But You'll Go On. For When A Man Falls In Love With Orchids, He'll Do Anything To Possess The One He Wants. It's Like Chasing A Green-eyed Woman Or Taking Cocaine... It's A Sort Of Madness.