So it occurred to me that this post would be my 100th, and I thought I should serve up something special to mark the centepostal moment.
And that's what I've been doing for the past week all week trying to come up with something to write that would be worthy of a hundredth post.
A whole week lost to cogitatin' and ruminatin', and what do I have to show for it? A whole lot of NOTHING. No fanfare, no pageantry, no hoo-ha, no hullaballoo, no pomp and circumstance. No ceremonial recitations, no commemorative poem inscribed in marble, no unveiling of statuary, no 21-gun salutes, no ritual sacrifices to the sun god Ra. I collapsed under the pressure of the moment (that's a small "m" moment, until further notice), and all you get are these lousy T-shirts.
(available in white and ash grey, all proceeds will go to the Phutatorius & Co. World Domination Fund, all rights reserved, all liabilities disclaimed)
Here's hoping Post 101 goes better. In the meantime, I'm going to undertake a searching review of the base-10 numbering system, once we take power. It's so arbitrary that we celebrate the 100th iteration of anything -- if we were on a base-12 or base-16, we'd be honoring the 144th or the 256th, and no one would be complaining. 100 is just an artifact of history. I think it's worth spending some time poring over the numbers and selecting a numbering system that balances the competing goals of (1) supplying a sufficient quantity of milestone parties to satisfy the drooling masses, and (2) keeping those of us who have to stage these celebrations from tearing our hair out.
Anyway, 100th post yippee. Go buy yourself a frickin' T-shirt.