6 Dec
          I keep a Hotmail account, just in case. I check it every day just to clean out all the junk mail. I gets oodles of emails a day offering to loan me money, increase the size of my penis, find me a rewarding new career, or show me porn. Or maybe they're just offering me a loan so I can increase the size of my penis and embark on a rewarding career in porn. Think of it as multi-tasking.
          I haven't updated my journal much lately because to be honest nothing much has happened. And I've been uninspired. And lazy. Mostly lazy. Although Pen did win two tickets at work for us to fly to Vancouver, stay in a nice hotel, and see Shania Twain in concert on Sunday. Hey, it's free.
          There's nothing much happening with my writing, either. I'm still writing, but no one seems interested. You read all those stories about authors whose work was rejected by eleventy-four different publishers before finally going on to best-sellers. But you know what? At least those people had agents who could show their work to hordes of publishers all at the same time. I, on the other hand, have been rejected by at least eleventy-four agents. Which means if I want to submit I have to do it one publisher at a time. At this rate, it'll take me ten years just to get past Baen. Then I can work on the C's. 
          Nobody loves me. Everybody hates me. I'm going to the garden to eat some carrots. What? Worms? What kind of sicko are you?

9 Dec
          So Pen and I went into Vancouver and saw Shania on Sunday. The contest Pen won included the flight to the mainland in one of those little Buddy Holly Killers, and a suite at the Rosedale on Robson. Thank Vishnu that stuff was free, because I think we put a couple of cab drivers kids through university by the time we paid for the fare from the airport to the hotel and back, and to the concert and back. Pen and I "explored" Robson Street, uncovering the lost temple of Holts-Renfrew where we subjugated ourselves to the great god Prada, among other deities.
           The concert itself was pretty good. We had great seats--close enough that I could say, "Yep, that's Shania" without having to look up on one of the twenty-foot monitors for confirmation. Heck, if I wanted to watch the concert on TV I would have stayed home. Of course I always have trouble going to concerts. I keep looking up at the drummer on stage and thinking, "That used to be me. That should be me. Why isn't that me." Me, me, me. Hey, it's my journal.
          Unfortunately the flight home left at 8:15 the next morning. Pen was so paranoid we'd miss it that we arrived early enough to catch the 7:15 flight. The real kicker is that I lucked out and was on duty Monday, so after getting up at O'dark thirty Monday morning, I got to work an overnight shift until 15:00 hrs today.
          Hmmm...maybe I should have sacrificed a small handbag to Prada.

14 Dec
   Just a couple of random thoughts:

          KFC has a new Lord Of The Rings "QUEST Family Meal," complete with "Chicken Rings." I don't know about you, but I don't want to know what part of the bird Chicken Rings are made from.

          Troops found  Saddam Hussein, armed with a pistol, hiding in an underground crawl space. Saddam was "very disoriented" as soldiers brought him out of the hole. And as we all know, if Saddam sees his shadow, there will be at least six more weeks of winter.
          Saddam denies he had al-Qaida ties. al-Qaida cufflinks and t-shirts, sure, but no ties.