Snake-Mart

That's what this blog isn't. It's not Target, either, even with the French spelling. It's a little general store in the mythical wild west, though it also specializes in feminist articles for wear.

And that's where the problem lies. Progress will wipe it out. I'm shit in the advertizing and marketing departments, and my sincerity and simple pricing schemes will not suffice. If I only could offer coffee and chocolate ice-creams for all comers! But it's all make-belief, until the InterTubes actually work to bring stuff to your mouths.

(Yes, I'm in need of a vacation, and will take a short one next week. Recently I've had trouble remembering the English terms for simple concepts. Let's hope that my guest bloggers are free to take up the store minding tasks.)

But in the advertising department: My travels in Wingnuttia are going as planned and two of the three instalments are out and available for no-money down. The last one, on the shallowness of the American culture and the various ways we react to that, is still mostly in the back of my head.

And this is the problem with one-goddess grocery stores. A great article still lies unmade on my workshop floor, on David Brooks's recent silly column and the other pieces that responded to it, and I may never get to it even though it seems absolutely urgent that I do. And there has been no dog blogging this weekend. If you have a cute picture, send it over, please.
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Later: I should really erase this post. Whining is not pretty, and I have no reason for it. This blog is doing better all the time in terms of the various indicators. I'm just a melancholic kind of goddess, always finding something wrong with everything, even success, and in particular with success. So it goes.