Apologies

To Reader(s):

I was all set to post every weekday in earnest this week, but then I totally forgot to post yesterday. But I figure that the what? third day in a row of Britney flashing the photogs is like the blogging equivalent of a snow day: why bother posting when you know you cannot compete with that trainwreck?

To Candidates:

This week, it’s totally not you, it’s me, and in this particular case, I actually do mean me. No matter how many cups of coffee I drink this week, I cannot wake up. It’s like my synaptic clefts got exponentially bigger over the holiday weekend and my little neurotransmitters are pumping at the same volume and so cannot make the jump. Like they just disappear off a cliff. And I wind up just sitting here staring off into space for ten minutes before I realize: I’ve been staring off into space for ten minutes.

(Aside: when reading about how neurons and the brain works, does anyone else GET COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT like, is that IT? Like somehow you throw enough of those things together and all of a sudden I can read and/or write a sentence, have a personality, prefer cats to dogs, sing in harmony? That just wigs me out.)

But anyway, Candidate, so I am giving you a total pass for the rest of the week because, quite frankly, I can barely tie my own shoes, much less make a measured assessment of your abilities against the job description. As long as you don’t make any egregious missteps during the phone screen, you are probably getting through! (Streamers! Party hats! Confetti!)

To the Dude Who Wrote this Letter on Salon (you might have to watch a brief ad to read):

You are right. And I am sorry. And I'm being completely sincere. We do kinda suck.