Last time you heard from me I was in New York City. Wall Street was alive and happily kicking. Really, I saw it. Then tragedy struck. Having received its rather large antibiotic stab though, it might show its perky little face. On the other hand, come to find out, antibiotics don’t cure, they just cover the symptoms. Then they kill the good, innocent cells. Ask your doctor.

Journalism is a stealthy beast. It shows its face even when it was deliberately put on the back burner. Leaving it in NYC is not an option. It won’t leave me alone. That’s ok with me as long as there aren’t too many important men parading around in stuffy suits. Of course, my brother is a journalist on Capitol Hill, and he parades around in a stuffy suit, but its different, because he mourns the fact, not revels in it. And besides, the stuffy suited people he interviews on the Hill won’t listen to him unless he has a stuffy suit too. It’s all rather ridiculous. And yet, they are making our laws right? I'm sure they mean well.