Dotsy, eh?

Gentle reader(s),

It's not without cause that the author of this web log lifts his head from his glass of whiskey and addresses the (of-course-you're-not) morons that read this site. Here are four things:

It embarrasses me to say that I don't know the exact day that this website transformed from a dot com to a dot-cee-ay. It is true that I have become neglectful of late, but nevertheless the domain change hit me like a tonne of bricks. Like a deadbeat dad finding out his teenaged daughter is rounding the bases on her second abortion, it's still a massive shock, even if I am late to the proceedings.

Many of you can't appreciate how distressing this is. As a Canadian, it's downright derogatory that our culture is so often defined by tacking the word "Canada" on to existing artefacts, like Time Magazine or So You Think You Can Dance. It's less a modifier than a warning label that says: what you're about to consume tastes different. Now this web log has become the unwilling recipient of just such a label.

It can be argued that my zest for writing suicide-y missives has waned. I've become older, less boisterous with my hate, and my muses have fled. It's also worth mentioning (though briefly) that no one actually reads this site. This slap in the face by Blogger was just about the impetus to throw in my towel completely.

I did something crazy. I moved to San Francisco.

This strange act served the dual purpose of correcting the domain on this site to something palatable, and removing me permanently from everything I have ever known. If I wasn't already alienated enough, I have finally succeeded.

So in the interest of fairness, if I will mull over excuses to quit, I must also consider prods to continue. And so it goes.

Yours always,

Harvey