Blog Speculation for Fun and Profit

The web is an interesting place, and the blogosphere more interesting still. It’s become clear that there’s space for millions of voices to write on millions of topics. But only a few weblogs rise to the top.

How, then, can a person be sure that a weblog will obtain popularity? The short answer is: “We can’t.” But I think that just as domain-name speculators have been able to make their trade profitable, it’s becoming possible to make money from blog speculation.

I kid you not.

When Nintendo announced that its next-generation gaming system would be dubbed Wii, it took me a few hours to realize the obvious: Wii Blog was the perfect name for a Wii-themed news site. By the time I’d figured this out, the domains were gone. One is home to a lame-ish blog (and others are dead or mere placeholders), but it didn’t have to be that way. With a little style and panache and a lot of content, the Wii Blog could have been a hub for Wii enthusiasts, and a huge money-making proposition.

Blog opportunities aren’t limited to the realm of consumer electronics. I was reading an article today about Illinois Senator Barack Obama. Obama is a rising star in the Democratic party. (Perhaps the rising star, the One Great Hope.) He has cross-party appeal, bridging all sorts of gaps. He’s black. He’s religious. He’s an excellent orator. He knocks ’em dead wherever he goes. He’s widely expected to be a viable Presidential candidate inside a decade. “Why not an Obama blog?” I thought, and before the thought had even finished forming, I was on my way to the computer to set one up. But, alas, the idea has occurred to others already.

What other sorts of blog topics could generate traffic and cash? It doesn’t take much of an imagination sometimes to make a prediction. How about a blog about the 2008 U.S. Presidential campaign? Start it now, add quality content, and in two years you have a search-engine-friendly popular blog with huge traffic. And huge revenue.

Think making money from blogs is impossible? It’s not. If I can make several hundred dollars a month (or more) from my loose collection of blogs, how much could a person who pursued this seriously make? A savvy techie could make a fortune in passive income.

In the future, I believe we’ll see more blog speculation as people create sites devoted to the Next Big Thing.


As some of you have already noticed, I’ve begun working on a foldedspace.org remodel at the root of this site. Yes, it’s true: I’m going to switch this blog from Moveable Type to WordPress. I’m also going to move its location again. With any sort of luck, this will be the last major overhaul for a long time.

On the Proper Use of ‘Me’ and ‘I’

Listen people, this is easy: you do not always use the word “I” when speaking of yourself and another person.

I’m going to be called a grammar Nazi for devoting an entire weblog entry to this, but it’s driving me crazy. Over the past week I’ve seen this error a dozen times, and from smart people who should know better.

What am I talking about? We’re taught from a young age that it’s polite to say:

Jane and I are going to the store.

That’s well and good for the nominative case, when you and Jane are the subjects of the sentence. But it does not work if you and Jane are the objects of the sentence. This sentence is an abomination:

The man gave ice cream to Jane and I.

This is WRONG, and it hurts my brain. It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard. I’m serious. It drives me insane. Would you say this?

The man gave ice cream to I.

Of course not! Politeness does not take precedence over grammar. The proper sentence in this case is:

The man gave ice cream to me.

And if you’re talking about yourself and another person, then the proper form is:

The man gave ice cream to Jane and me.

I know that sounds wrong, but it’s better than “Jane and I”. Far better. And if you really want it to sound better, then ditch your notions of the polite and say:

The man gave ice cream to me and Jane.

However, the real answer to your dilemma is to use the handy clear and concise first-person plural.

The man gave ice cream to us.

Isn’t that nice?

Are you confused? Here’s an easy way to tell whether you should use “Jane and I” or “Jane and me”. Ask yourself: if this sentence were only about me, which would I use, “I” or “me”? Use the same pronoun when talking about yourself and another person. Seriously. That’s the rule.

You make Kris and I weep when you do this.

The Last Day of Summer

Tom, the guy who lives next door, tells me that the rainy season starts October 15th. He’s old, and has lived in this area for longer than I’ve been alive, so I should believe him. All the same, I spent some time rummaging around the National Weather Service web site to see if he’s correct. He is, mostly: the rains do start in the middle of October, though there’s no one set day.

I also found that the warm days (by which I mean above 27 centigrade) generally end around the first of September. We’ve had a bit of an extension this year, but it looks like that’s going to come to an end. It’s 27 outside the office right now, but the highs for the next week are only expected to reach about 20 or 21. My kind of temperatures.

“Summer’s ending,” I told Kris when I first saw the forecast, with its stark change from sunny and warm on Tuesday to cool and damp on Wednesday.

“Shut up,” she told me. It’s been a long, dry summer (and our plants are suffering for it — I seem to have lost a blueberry!), but she’s not ready for it to end. To tell the truth, I don’t know if I am, either.

Don’t get me wrong — I love autumn. It’s my favorite season. But this has been a nice summer. I could wish for it to last a while longer. My cousin Bob just built us a wonderful new picnic table and delivered it on Sunday night. Couldn’t I be granted a few more warm days to enjoy it?

Too, there’s the fact that we’re beginning to believe that my Depression is seasonal. We had a couple of grey days a few weeks ago, and wouldn’t you know it? I fell into a deep funk. I’ve never given much credence to Seasonal Affective Disorder (also), but I’m going to pay close attention to my mood levels over the next couple of months. There may be something real here. (Tiffany was the first one to point out that my mood seemed to be influenced by the weather.)

I took a walk this afternoon, and enjoyed the sun. I had too. It may be the last I see of it for six months.

The New Frugal J.D.

I made some changes to this site’s RSS feed the other day. Could somebody who reads foldedspace via RSS please leave a comment (or e-mail me) so that I can verify things still work? Just a ping is fine.

Here’s an entry I’m able to post to three different weblogs! You gotta love that…


Rhonda called this morning. “There’s a garage sale near me where a guy is selling old comic books. They’re from the seventies. You might want to come take a look.”

I did want to take a look, though I knew it was dangerous business. One key to managing your money is to avoid temptation. It’s foolish to purposefully put yourself into a position where you’re likely to spend.

And yet I drove to the garage sale to look at the comics books.

I’ve collected comics since I was a boy. I used to collect the actual magazines, buying them at grocery stores and bookshops. I grew out of them in high school, and in 1989 I sold my entire collection for $100 to a comic book store near my university. I needed the money to take a girlfriend on an expensive date. (The collection I sold included many fine runs, including all of Miller Daredevil, most of the “new” X-Men, all of Marvel Star Wars — basically all the cool stuff from the late seventies and early eighties when I had been actively collecting.)

Most garage sale comics are woefully overpriced. People ask $5 for a common-as-dirt mid-nineties Batman, for example. Nobody’s going to pay that. But the garage sale I drove to today was different. The seller had two boxes of mid-seventies Marvel comics, all of which were priced at about $2 an issue.

He had Amazing Spider-Man from about 115-145. He had Fantastic Four from about 130-160. He had Incredible Hulk from about 180-200. He had various issues of Avengers, X-Men, Captain America, and Daredevil. There was a lot of great stuff here, and two years ago I would have offered $100 for as much as the seller would let me take.

I didn’t do that today. Today I leafed through both boxes, thanked the man, and left. Why? Two reasons:

  1. I no longer collect the comic magazines themselves. I collect comic compilations.
  2. I’m a better money manager than I was two years ago.

Would I have liked to have these comics? Absolutely. They would be great fun to read, especially since most won’t be collected in reprint volumes for another five or ten years, if ever. But I can’t keep up with the comics I buy currently. I’m thinking of cutting back to collecting only comic strip compilations. And there are other things I’d like buy with that money. (MacBook Pro, anyone?)

In the end, I only spent a few dollars in gas to drive to the sale and back: a victory for the new frugal J.D.

40 Classic Sci-Fi Intros

Ah, YouTube, how I love you. Lonelygirl15. Storm Large. Stephen Colbert. That dude who does all the movie re-enactments. (Woohoo! He did The Big LebowskiNSFW.) And, what do you know, a whole collection of intros from my favorite science fiction shows. It’s like a sort of geek-gasm.

For Dave and my brother Jeff (with whom I used to watch this show), “a shadowy flight into the dangerous world of a man who does not exist”.

Man, I love that theme music. I also like the theme music to Buck Rogers:

Whatever happened to Gil Gerard anyhow?

Yes, my brothers and I loved science fiction shows. We didn’t have a TV when we were young, so we had to catch peeks of The Six-Million Dollar Man when we were visiting friends on Sunday night.

We didn’t get to watch The Bionic Woman when it originally aired, either, but eventually KPTV in Portland would re-run it in the late mornings during a period when we did have a television. Staying home sick became a treat!

Jamie Sommers wasn’t the only superwoman we liked. There was also Wonder Woman.

The Wonder Woman intro changed later in the show’s run:

Does anyone else remember this Indiana Jones knockoff? I think it aired on Friday nights.

Saturday morning cartoons were always a treat for us, but I was especially drawn to the live-action shows, shows like Space Academy:

and Ark II:

Who can forget the mighty Isis? (Isis, Isis, Isis)

Which, as I recall, aired in tandem with SHAZAM! (in something like “the power hour”).

I think The Greatest American Hero borrowed its flying effects from SHAZAM!. I watched every episode of this, but it never lived up to my hopes.

We worshipped Battlestar Galactica:

It helped that Mormon themes were prominent in the show’s mythology. We could relate. Now I love the new incarnation of Battlestar. I think that the first season’s opening sequence is the best-ever for a sci-fi show. (I really wish they hadn’t done away with the 20 seconds of preview clips for the season two intro.)

Another childhood favorite has been remade recently. I started watching Doctor Who during the Tom Baker years.

I love the new series. It gave me chills the first time I heard the theme redone.

There have been some other good recent sci-fi shows. What would the mid-nineties have been without The X-Files?

Farscape was fascinating, but I could never really get into it.

Firefly was vastly overrated. I know you all love it. I don’t. (And Serenity wasn’t very good, either.)

Babylon 5 is simultaneously over-rated (by fans) and under-rated (by everyone else). It’s not nearly as good as the zealots proclaim, but it’s worth watching. Especially the second season. Each season had its own title sequence. I’m not going to post them all, but here’s the title sequence for season one:

And the title sequence for season two:

(You can get a feel for some the awful writing with “the name of the place is Babylon 5” at the end of the voiceover.)

Here’s a show that my wife and I loved, but which didn’t last:

In high school, I loved Max Headroom, but now it seems oh-so-very-mid-eighties.

There are a lot of sci-fi shows I haven’t seen, such as:

I used to watch these two when KECH 22 debuted in Portland:

Here’s a show that’s not nearly as good as I remember it being:

And, of course, here’s the classic, the one that started it all for me. My childhood was devoted to Star Trek, the original series. KPTV showed reruns every Sunday at 4pm throughout the 1970s and 1980s. It would also frequently run the show on weekeday evenings before prime-time. I loved it.

During the early nineties I became obsessed with the first spinoff. I posted to USENET about the show. I kept detailed logs of every episode. I even audiotaped it. (I can’t believe this is the best quality version available on YouTube.)

Deep Space Nine was okay, though it lacked some of the spark of the first two series.

However, Voyager sucked. It had a great intro and gorgeous theme music, but the rest of the show was lousy.

It wasn’t as lousy as Enterprise, though, which had the worst theme song ever for a sci-fi series.

My parents once took me to a movie theater in Portland specifically because the Star Trek blooper reels were playing. They’re not as funny as I remember.

What is funny (and Star Trek-related) is the recent William Shatner celebrity roast. You can find all of the segments on YouTube, but the best is Shatner’s response (which is very NSFW).

And finally, though it wasn’t a television show, here’s a clip from one of my favorite early-eighties sci-fi films. I own this soundtrack on record, tape, and CD. I spent $50 to order the DVD (which is out of print) from eBay. Yes, I know I’m crazy.

Stupid, but I love it.

Canning Season

Kris and I grow a vegetable garden every year, but some summers are more productive than others. This summer has been the most productive that I can recall.

We were swimming in berries from the end of May until the end of July. We had so many berries that we eventually gave up. Can you imagine? Not eating fresh berries that sit there, ready to be picked? We didn’t let them all go to waste, of course. Kris canned some of them. I’ve been enjoying toast and freezer jam every morning since we returned from San Francisco.

We were picking snow peas for just as long, eating them fresh off the vine. Eventually we gave up on those, too, and just let them wither. (We planted our fall pea crop a couple weeks ago; I have little one-inch sprouts.)

Kris and Craig masterminded a tomato-growing extravaganza: they ordered seeds together, and each are testing certain varieties. Kris has eight plants (plus just as many volunteers scattered throughout the yard), and she’s been harvesting the fruit like mad. She’s made tomato soup, tomato sauce, marinara sauce, and, of course, many batches of the Best Salsa Ever. Her tomato map hangs from the fridge, and she’s circled her favorite varieties (Aunt Ruby’s German Green, Yellow Pear, Bloody Butcher, Dr. Wyche’s Yellow, and maybe Caspian Pink).

Our neighbors have given us apples and pears, and soon we’ll pick grapes from across the street. From our garden, we’ve picked cucumbers and green beans and zucchini and corn.

It’s a veritable cornucopia.

What to do with all this food? (Especially since I’m allergic to many vegetables?) Can it, of course.

Kris has been canning like crazy — sometimes with Tiffany’s help — and last night, she set out the fruits of her labor:

Here’s a list of everything that she’s canned:

  • 3 kinds of bread ‘n’ butter pickles
  • sweet pickles
  • pickled zucchini
  • pickled green beans
  • pickled cherry tomatoes
  • preserved grape leaves (experimental)
  • pears
  • almond pears
  • pear pie filling
  • mixed berry pie filling
  • apple cranberry conserve
  • apple elderberry conserve
  • pear syrup
  • tomato soup
  • marinara sauce

Later she realized that she’d forgotten a box of jars downstairs. “And don’t forget that we’ve given some away, too,” she told me. She’s also making some (gnat-infested) berry liqueur, which is fermenting on a shelf in the library.

Of course, all of this canning is nothing compared to some people

RIP Crocodile Hunter

It’s always startling to discover which celebrity deaths affect me. Ronald Reagan? “He was so old, man.” River Phoenix? Meh. But Steve Irwin, the crocodile hunter? My heart aches.

But why? I never watched anything the guy ever did. I always thought he was kind of goofy. But somewhere deep inside, I admired Irwin’s spirit, his enthusiasm, his vocation. He was a man living his dream.

And so when I read the news of Irwin’s death last night, I went to bed in a funk. I dreamt of wild animals. I woke still sad.

.

A Little Taste of Liberal

Warning: This entry contains profanity and political ranting.

I am a small-i independent.

I have some Conservative views, especially with regards to money. But I have some Liberal views, too, especially with regards to social issues. You might say that Get Rich Slowly is devoted to my Conservative side. Today, let’s explore my Liberal side, shall we?

First comes word that the Catholic church will excommunicate the doctors who performed an abortion on an 11-year-old girl, a girl pregnant because her stepfather had raped her. Repeatedly. For four years.

A Vatican official has said the Catholic church will excommunicate a medical team who performed Colombia’s first legal abortion on an 11-year-old girl, who was eight weeks pregnant after being raped by her stepfather.

Cardinal Alfonso Lopez Trujillo, the president of the Vatican’s Pontifical Council for the Family, said in addition to the doctors and nurses, the measure could apply to “relatives, politicians and lawmakers” whom he called “protagonists in this abominable crime”.

The girl, whose identity has not been released, had “fallen in the hands of evildoers”, the cardinal said in an interview with local television on Tuesday.

What the fuck, Catholic church? What is really the “abominable crime” here? This is where your priorities rest? Screw the poor girl who has been raped since she was seven years old. She can carry that baby to term! It’s what God wants! “Suffer the little children”, indeed.

Fucking idiots.

Secondly, here’s a fabulous piece from Keith Olbermann, decrying Donald Rumsfeld’s myopic assertion that dissent harms the security of the United States. I’ve posted the YouTube video (via) and the complete transcript (via).

The man who sees absolutes where all other men see nuances and shades of meaning is either a prophet or a quack. Donald H. Rumsfeld is not a prophet.

[Mr. Rumsfeld’s remarkable speech to the American Legion yesterday demands] the deep analysis and the sober contemplation of every American. For it did not merely serve to impugn the morality or intelligence — indeed, the loyalty — of the majority of Americans who oppose the transient occupants of the highest offices in the land; worse, still, it credits those same transient occupants — our employees — with a total omniscience, a total omniscience which neither common sense, nor this administration’s track record at home or abroad, suggests they deserve.

Dissent and disagreement with government is the life’s blood of human freedom, and not merely because it is the first roadblock against the kind of tyranny the men Mr. Rumsfeld likes to think of as “his” still fight, this very evening, in Iraq. It is also essential because just every once in awhile it is right, and the power to which it speaks, is wrong.

In a small irony, however, Mr. Rumsfeld’s speechwriter was adroit in invoking the memory of the appeasement of the Nazis. For, in their time, there was another government faced with true peril, with a growing evil, powerful and remorseless. That government, like Mr. Rumsfeld’s, had a monopoly on all the facts. It, too, had the secret information. It alone had the true picture of the threat. It too dismissed and insulted its critics in terms like Mr. Rumsfeld’s, questioning their intellect and their morality.

That government was England’s in the 1930s. It knew Hitler posed no true threat to Europe, let alone England. It knew Germany was not re-arming, in violation of all treaties and accords. It knew that the hard evidence it received — which contradicted its own policies, its own conclusions, its own omniscience — needed to be dismissed.

The English government of Neville Chamberlain already knew the truth. Most relevant of all, it “knew” that its staunchest critics needed to be marginalized and isolated. In fact, it portrayed the foremost of them as a blood-thirsty war-monger who was, if not truly senile, at best morally or intellectually confused. That critic’s name was Winston Churchill.

Sadly, we have no Winston Churchills evident among us this evening. We have only Donald Rumsfelds, demonizing disagreement the way Neville Chamberlain demonized Winston Churchill. History — and 163 million pounds of Luftwaffe bombs over England — have taught us that all Mr. Chamberlain had was his certainty and his own confusion. A confusion that suggested that the office can not only make the man, but that the office can also make the facts.

Thus did Mr. Rumsfeld make an apt historical analogy, excepting the fact that he has the battery plugged in backwards. His government, absolute and exclusive in its knowledge, is not the modern version of the one which stood up to the Nazis. It is the modern version of the government of Neville Chamberlain.

But back to today’s omniscient ones. That about which Mr. Rumsfeld is confused is simply this: This is a Democracy. Still. Sometimes just barely. And as such, all voices count, and not just his. Had he or his President perhaps proven any of their prior claims of omniscience — about Osama Bin Laden’s plans five years ago, about Saddam Hussein’s weapons four years ago, about Hurricane Katrina’s impact one year ago — we all might be able to swallow hard, and accept their omniscience as a bearable, even useful recipe, of fact, plus ego.

But, to date, this government has proved little besides its own arrogance and its own hubris. Mr. Rumsfeld is also personally confused, morally or intellectually, about his own standing in this matter. From Iraq to Katrina to flu vaccine shortages to the entire “Fog of Fear” which continues to envelop this nation, he, Mr. Bush, Mr. Cheney, and their cronies, have — inadvertently or intentionally — profited and benefited, both personally, and politically.

And yet he can stand up in public and question the morality and the intellect of those of us who dare ask just for the receipt for the Emporer’s New Clothes.

In what country was Mr. Rumsfeld raised? As a child, of whose heroism did he read? On what side of the battle for freedom did he dream one day to fight? With what country has he confused the United States of America?

The confusion we, as its citizens, must now address is stark and forbidding. But variations of it have faced our forefathers, when men like Nixon and McCarthy and Curtis LeMay have darkened our skies and obscured our flag. Note, with hope in your heart, that those earlier Americans always found their way to the light and we can, too.

The confusion is about whether this Secretary of Defense and this Administration, are in fact now accomplishing what they claim the terrorists seek: The destruction of our freedoms, the very ones for which the same veterans Mr. Rumsfeld addressed yesterday in Salt Lake City, so valiantly fought.

And about Mr. Rumsfeld’s other main assertion — that this country faces a “new type of fascism” — as he was correct to remind us how a government that knew everything could get everything wrong, so too was he right when he said that, though probably not in the way he thought he meant it. This country faces a new type of fascism indeed.

Although I presumptuously use his sign-off each night, in feeble tribute, I have utterly no claim to the words of the exemplary journalist Edward R. Murrow. But never in the trial of a thousand years of writing could I come close to matching how he phrased a warning to an earlier generation of us, at a time when other politicians thought they, and they alone, knew everything, and branded those who disagreed “confused” or “immoral.”

Thus forgive me for reading Murrow in full: “We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty,” he said, in 1954. “We must remember always that accusation is not proof, and that conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of another. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men. Not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate, and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular.”

And so: good night, and good luck.

It’s no secret that I think our current President is worse than incompetent — he’s a bigger threat to this country’s security and prosperity than any terrorist. My greatest fear is that there’s going to be some sort of monkey business to arrange for him to get a third term. Fortunately, I think the Administration has squandered their political clout. While they might have been able to achieve this once, I don’t think it’s possible now.

For all of my Liberal friends: Kris swears by the Cursor Link news summaries, an ongoing daily summary of current events with hyperlinks to (biased) news stories with more information. I’ll let her praise the site in the comments.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go post something Conservative at my personal finance weblog.

A Girl Named Wayne

Ah, spammers. You gotta love ’em. The following message was clever enough to fool my spam filter. It’s also dumb enough that I’m posting it here:

From: Wayne <himwimwnn@banesto.es>
Subject: my dream come true
Date: 29 August 2006 12:38:56 PDT
To: jdroth@fooledspace.org
Reply-To: Wayne <himwimwnn@banesto.es>

Hi,
Hope I am not writing to wrong address. I am nbice, pretty looking
gbirl. I am planning ona visiting your town this month. Can
we meet each other in person? Messabge me back at gonqw@bravomailing.com

No thanks, Wayne — I’ll pass.

Actually, come to think of it: what does this particular spammer hope to get out of this? Maybe she’s hoping to sell me Viagra or Levatra or penis-enlargement pills. There must be something wrong in this country, what with the chronic penis deficit we’re running. (And now I’ve just made this entry a huge bullseye for the comment spammers, who are just as eager to help me increase the size of my member.)

You Don’t Have to Explain the Math to *Me*!

This story will be a repeat to those of you who read Get Rich Slowly (though I don’t know what percentage of you do). The more you know of my personal mythology, the funnier this story is, in a total self-depricating sort of way.

The Woodstock Writers Guild met last night. We meet one Wednesday a month at the local pub. The food isn’t very good, but my fellow writers find it difficult to resist $2.50 pints. They quaff cheap beer; I drink diet soda.

I arrive at the pub early to take advantage of Happy Hour. Very frugal. Cheap hot wings are hard to beat. I eat my hot wings and mozzarella sticks and drink my diet soda while reading the latest issues of Smart Money (“10 Things Your Gas Station Won’t Tell You!“) and Business 2.0 (“Blogging for Dollars!“).

My fellow writers filter in. The meeting begins. They quaff their beers. I drink my diet soda. We talk about the craft of writing. The waitress comes by — my friends order more beer; I order another diet soda and a slice of apple pie.

Our discussion is interrupted when Andrew is declared the winner of the pub’s nightly raffle. He wins a t-shirt — a t-shirt with a beer logo. He’s pleased. Cheap beer, cheap hot wings, and a free t-shirt — we’re doing well.

When our critique of the story is finished, we catch up on our personal lives. Rick got married last month. Paul has just begun dating someone new. Josh and his wife are expecting their first child. Andrew and his wife just had their second. I just returned from vacation in San Francisco.

The check arrives, and the monthly ritual of “who owes what” begins. It’s always the same thing: five brilliant guys (seriously — each of us is pretty damn smart) trying to decipher a restaurant tab. It should be child’s play. It’s not. Andrew, in particular, seems to have a hard time. I give him a lot of crap for it — he has a math degree. Once, in a large group, he declared defensively, “You don’t have to explain the math to me!” as someone was trying to tell him about Malthusian population growth.

So there we are, trying to figure out who owes what. Mine is easy. Since I was there first, the top three items are my order. I calculate the total, write it in the corner, and hand over my debit card. I let the other four geniuses dissect the rest of the bill.

The waitress comes and takes it away. We talk some more.

When she returns, the “who gets how much change” ritual begins. There’s a great deal of confusion. The numbers don’t add up. “This is why I paid with a debit card,” I say. I stare absently out the window, savoring the lingering taste of diet soda and apple pie in my mouth.

Apple pie in my mouth.

It occurs to me that perhaps I’ve been a little too smug. While it would be amusing to allow the confusion to continue, my fellow writers are becoming a little cranky. “I think I know where the problem is,” I say. “I forgot to pay for my apple pie.” My five-dollar bill is greeted by a chorus of jeers.

I’ll never be able to live this down.