Sorry I haven't posted lately, things have been heating up on the job search front. Without revealing too much (because a. I don't want to jinx myself and b. I'm not sure how much I should say) it looks like I will soon be sliding into position on a Senate campaign out in the Midwest, with the help of a big-time Philly political consultant/fund-raiser. From there, once my guy gets elected (because if he gets through his primary, there's no way he'd lose), I'll hopefully end up on a Senate staff in DC.

Fingers firmly crossed, wish me luck.

So, apparently I'm really bad at keeping blog-related promises. This is actually somewhat surprising, considering that I like to think of myself as a fairly dependable guy. I mean, I even have extra time on my hands now that classes are over, and I'm just studying for my comps. It would seem, however, that every time I make a promise of something funny in this here forum I fall into some random existential funk. Seriously, it's not cool. So rather than lay a big literary turd on all of you, I'm still working on getting the manifesto off the ground. Look for it soon-ish, I hope. Once I'm done dealing with my own shit, I'll get right to it. In the meantime, keep yourself entertained here, with a debate about friendship and the sexes, and here, because hey, everyone needs to know a little more about whiskey.

Ok, so I know I've been gone a while before this morning, and I've been meaning to post about it sooner, but I haven't had the time.  And yes, I know some people were angered that I diaried the Red Sox game before writing about this, but that was a spur of the moment thing, I'm sorry if I bothered you.

Anyway, to get right down to it, I haven't been writing because C and I got engaged on Thursday the 13th.  I've been really busy with school, trying to set up my comps and still working full time, and now wedding stuff is taking up some more of my non-existent free time.  Now don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, at all.  I'm so excited and I've never been happier in my life. Really.  I mean, yes, it did suck having to talk to the mother of the bride-to-be about this, but then again, who likes getting sniped at and picked apart for the better part of six hours? I know I don't...

So I hope this is an adequate explanation for all you angry types out there... I'll get back on the ball, promise.