I could write about travel. I could tell amusing anecdotes. I could tell you where this entry is going, if only I knew.
At the moment I know about colds. Adam’s nose looks more like a Superfund site than a piece of harmless human anatomy. Beth thinks it’s really cool that she’s loosing her voice. I’m on the brink of a critical shortage of Motrin.
I’m wondering how much better my photography would be with a fancy new DSLR. The painstakingly programed consumer in me is convinced that the road to bliss begins with a new Nikon D40. It’s hard to remember that a month ago that road was supposed to begin with a new iMac, but somehow I got lost.
(Not that the new iMac isn’t a wonderful piece of hardware – it’s been great; but the answer to all mankind’s ills it ain’t.)
My idle mind has been working overtime to scheme up ways to scrape up a little dough for this latest obsession. Maybe a small withdrawal from our home equity line of credit is in order? Maybe if I put a Google ad on my blog, and convinced all of my readers to log into 100 different computers with different IP addresses and click on each add from each one, every day? Maybe there’s still someplace that buys plasma? (It was really big when I was in college.) Maybe someone would pay big money for an old computer collection? Bondi Blue iMac anyone? I’ll throw in a mint MacPlus for free on winning bids over $300. Maybe I could stand on the highway with a cardboard sign that read, “will sing for camera money.” (Would I get a few bucks for gall points?)