Sweet merciful crap. It's been a week since I've posted. Such disgusting slothfulness. I haven't even been drinking my self into stupors. Actually, that's probably the problem. Without beer acting as high-octane blogtrolium fuel, this site sadly languishes. Damn that job for keeping me sober!

So, I had a pretty good new years. For once, I didn't end up face down in a pool of bile tinged champagne, which I think may be a growing sign of maturity. Or not. The key was to stick strictly with gin the whole night. But, now that I think about it, when is that not the key?

Anyways, work is keeping me busy, and the boss has hatched a malevolent scheme to keep me in my place. You see, he loaned me the first book in Patrick O'Brian's 20 volume Aubrey / Maturin series, and it is somehow insanely addictive. I just finished the second book, a tale of adventure and drama in Britain's Napoleonic era navy, and I wait sheepishly for him to bring me the next volume, needing my sweet, sweet hit of softbound crack.

Imagine, if you can, C. S. Forester (of Horatio Hornblower fame), Charles Dickens, Tom Clancy, and Jane Austin (yes, that Jane Austin) getting together in a mad night of passion, mixing their juices and producing a literary child. That child would be O'Brian, with his description of 19th century life, his maddening level of detail covering every aspect of Napoleonic naval technology, and a fascinating set of characters. The terminology is daunting, with ancient naval jargon thrown about without mercy. The action is almost cartoonishly non-stop, while at the same time it's brutally realistic and gory. I'm hooked.

So, if you don't hear from me much over the next couple of weeks, you'll know why. Mojo's gotta have his medicine...