The weekend is finally upon us. The alcohol will flow like manna from the sky and all our worries will subside for a few precious hours of inebriation. At least that’s my plan. You could be doing fund-raising for those poor bastards in Haiti or something as worthwhile. Good for you. Pat on the back. Et cetera, et cetera. Before I can get to not doing those things and befriending the bottle, I have to write two articles, one of which is practically done, the other has a beginning but not much else. I blame the Internet. It would have you believe that it’s innocent in this ordeal. As we all know, except for naked pictures and movies, the Internet can’t be trusted. And even then you have to give everything a second look. The Internet has trained me to spend about five minutes on any one topic and move on. I’ve lost my focus. I need a typewriter. Without the entirety of human knowledge at my fingertips to distract me, I could be a prodigious writer. One hundred pages of copy a day. Instead I find myself reading about the biography of Aaron Burr (number 7 on my list of mortal enemies). What’s a journalist to do? I can’t disconnect, the Internet has become to vital a tool for me. I could probably get by without it, but that would mean more work. God knows I didn’t get into this gig for the heavy workload. I haven’t found a solution, yet. I’ve been told of a program that turns your screen into a single white page on which only words you type appear. No formatting, et cetera. I haven’t found it. I’m sure it’s out there, but the Internet is huge. As always I appreciate the irony of writing this on a computer then posting it on the Internet. Get over it. I wonder what it’s like sitting up on your pearly cloud of wisdom tossing down tidbits of judgement and wisdom to us mortals. It’s a long way to fall from your perch.