So this is what it’s come to: I’m in bed, on the verge of passing out from exhaustion … but, like any obsessive-compulsive iPhone user worth his or her salt, I can’t just climb into bed and go to sleep. Oh no; first, I must check Twitter and email, for you never know when that life-changing tweet or electronic missive is going to show up, am I right?

Back in early 2008, I began working on the first iteration of my Daddy Scratches WordPress theme. Took me about eight months to finish building it. During the two years since then, I’ve half-assed my way thru various WordPress upgrades and placed Band-Aids on as many things as possible, but I finally came to terms last week with the fact that this thing needed to be reconstructed from the inside out. Thus, I have been staying up way too late and sleeping way too little in an effort to reconstruct in the space of just a few short days a blog that took months to build the first time around. This has mostly sucked … but with our annual Delaware vacation just around the corner, and our subsequent move to Pennsylvania taking place just days later, I’m kind of screwed if I don’t bite the bullet and plow through it now. With any luck, I’ll finish it before the future residents of my current home are done unpacking all their shit … at which point, I’m assuming, they’ll want me to leave.

And here’s the thing about spending all your time reconstructing your blog: doesn’t leave much time for getting any actual blogging done. So, instead, you get this whiny little missive, which really is little more than my excuse for experimenting with the WordPress app I just installed on my iPhone. Because what I really need is one more reason to lie awake and type with my thumbs instead of getting the sleep I so sorely need. Thanks, Steve Jobs, for making it possible for me to essentially take my computer to bed with me every night. Because that’s healthy.

Let’s just say I was in the right place at the right time … where “place” is…

Twenty two years ago today, the skinny, scrawny, baby-faced, bobble-headed, scared-shitless, chip-on-my-shoulder, had-something-to-prove, 18-year-old version of me shipped off to…

So there it is…

Have something you want to say to this one, or some parental directive you need for her to obey? Well, consider this photo a visual representation of…

Dear Zan,

Seeing as how your sister turned five a few days ago, I figured I should finally write the letter I’ve been planning to write you since your birthday last month. Sorry, dude; through no fault of your own, your seventh birthday took place smack dab in the midst of The Great Clusterf**k of 2010 (and please note my use of not just one, but two asterisks back there … because I am a responsible parent who believes blatant use of the “F” word should be avoided when writing to a 7-year-old. Take that, people who think I’m not fit to raise children!).