And so has he.

I'll admit it.

I'm feeling a little bit stressed.

Some, like The Freelancer, think this is my natural state.

That is not true.

Or, I think it isn't. I mean, if it was, I probably wouldn't notice it.

Right?

The first rule of Nabliboomooo, there is no Nablubahbam

See what happened back there?

The minute I mentioned trying to do National Blog Posting Month I missed a day.

Yesterday was a disco inferno without the disco. No mirror ball. No white leisure suits.

No Roberta Flack.

Just too many deadlines and responsibilities and new things happening at the same time. A panic attack. A late night/early morning trying to make deadline. A general sense of "blah" when I think about what it is I put together.

And the echo of two words in my head: epic. fail.

So, I'm feeling kind of punk on a number of fronts this morning but this...well this was just a bummer.

A Nabliboombop-bummer.

Naplablahblomahamadoooo.

Artboy: I have to get a blog post in.

Leopold: Why?

Artboy: Because it's Nahblublablowblooblah (1).

Leopold: And what is Nahplahblueblahblahboo (2)?

Artboy: It's National Blog Posting Month where people who have blogs are challenged to do one post every day for the month of November. There's a lot more to it than that but, since I started the blog with the intention of posting once a day every day I'm using this as motivation.

Leopold: What if you just put that energy into working on a novel?

Artboy: Actually November is also National Novel Writing Month (3) where people are challenged to write a full novel in a month.

Leopold: So why aren't you doing that?

Artboy: Um...

And...scene.

1. Which, of course, translates to NaBloPoMo. There are banners and buttons and the like but I figure the moment I put something like that up here I'm pretty much announcing, "Hey world, look...it's another thing I'm not going to do!

2. Still, NaBloPoMo.

3. NaNoWriMo. Which really rolls right off the tongue.

There is no "e" in patriot.

Congress took a page from The Breakfast Club and is holding a Saturday session today.

Since I had to work today I wasn't losing any sleep over this situation...especially since word on the street is that Nancy Pelosi was going to take Olympia Snowe into the bathroom for a makeover sure to catch the eye of the captain of the Senate flag football team.

But, driving back to the house from dropping things off at the magazine I had to run a security gauntlet on Pennsylvania Avenue because of those rascally self-appointed patriots of freedom, the Teabaggers.

Which led me to think, "If you're really that concerned about the state of the country, isn't there something else you could be doing with your Saturday besides standing on the side of the road holding up signs that not only demonstrate your lack of organization but your inability to spell (1)?"

So here's what I'm thinking.

Maybe, instead of standing along the side of the road screaming that no one is doing anything (2), you could...you know...do something.

Like spend your Saturday volunteering at a local library so that they don't need to close on weekends in response to budget cuts.

Or spend your weekend volunteering at a local hospice so that you can put all that poster-making energy into making a difference in the final days of someone who maybe didn't have the great healthcare you all apparently have.

You...yes, you with the giant poster of an aborted fetus...maybe you could...um...you know what. Never mind. You've obviously found your calling and I like the idea of you staying where someone can keep an eye on you.

There are after school programs, youth athletic leagues, rehabilitation programs, halfway houses, rec leagues, church outreach programs, soup kitchens, homeless shelters, transition re-education programs.

In other words, there's a whole lot of folks out there who actually need help. People who are struggling. People who don't have healthcare. Who don't have jobs. Who have lost their homes.

So maybe, just maybe, instead of standing on the corner swinging your "Don't Tread on Me" banner and acting like you are doing anything other than causing folks to wonder, "Why the heck is that guy swinging a 'Don't Tread on Me' flag?" you could, I don't know. Do something productive.

Like take an English class.

1. General note: "It's" is the contraction of "it is." "Its" is possessive. So, what you meant to write is "It's my country." Yeah. I'd feel good with you in charge.

2. As we're still on the it's vs. its discussion this might be pushing things but I'd like to point out that you, standing along the side of the road, screaming at passing motorists that the government isn't doing anything useful, is what some of us would consider to be ironic.

Stop the presses!

This just in from the folks at the Wall Street Journal.

Writing is hard.

As in, being an author is like working an actual, real live job with challenges and expectations and typing and stuff.

"Behind the scenes, many of these writers say they struggle with the daily work of writing, clocking thousands of solitary hours staring at blank pages and computer screens. Most agree on common hurdles: procrastination, writer's block, the terror of failure that looms over a new project and the attention-sucking power of the Internet."

Next up: math is for nerds.

The first time I have felt the need to use: ROFL

So, the Teabaggers came back to Washington today...and they brought Jon Voight.

Jon Voight.

Jon Voight, who earlier this week at a fundraiser for Governor Tim Pawlenty's new Freedom First PAC said, "I say that they're taking away God's first gift to man: our free will."

The "take our country back" good times kept rolling today at a rally where Voight said to the cheering crowd, "We do not want our freedom of choice taken away from us."

I'd keep typing but it's all I can do to not pee myself from laughing this hard.

Whoa, man on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Consider for just a moment the number of fables, fairy tales and folk tales that revolve around the problems that arise when someone gets what they ask for.

Like, I don't know, if someone were to wish to be a writer. A writer with lots of interesting projects to do and two or three story ideas on the hook.

Perhaps even a post-it on the edge of his laptop (1) with the word he's been looking for: "Parasomnia." And another post-it underneath that reads: "Parasomnist?...Parasombulist? (2)"

And then that writer sits down and opens up his laptop, pours himself a cup of tea and...stares.

And stares and stares and stares and stares and stares and panicks and stares and panicks some more and eats a peanut butter sandwich and stares and wonders what Ina Garten is cooking on Food Network and then wonders what it would be like to have a show on Food Network because the grass is always greener and having a show on Food Network must be so much easier than all these writing projects and stares and stares and stares.

And puts laundry in the dryer.

And stares and stares and stares and stares and stares.

Do you get where I'm going with this (3)?

1. Yep. That's how I roll. I put post-its on my computer. Today I also used my Crackberry to hold open the pages of my linen covered agenda so I could write down some important dates.

2. Which to the best of my looking are not actually words but I was trying to figure out what the equivalent of somnabulist would be.

3. In case you're wondering, she made grilled clams with basil bread crumbs and hamburgers for a beach barbeque that was set-up by two folks from Ina's army of gay designer friends.