My prostate's as hard as an opal and ready to conquer Web 2.0
Why isn't yours?
And ninethly And seat-belts on because the most common observation in the hallways--made with tremble of panic--is that it's deja vu all over again. The workshops are jammed, the coffee-pots drained, and the massive central auditorium turning mobs away at the doors. Here's to praying that the exuberance is not a herald of rough times ahead. And here's a toast to all the inspiring, fascinating, and massive opportunities to come - Henry Blodget on his new blog, er, blog. Soft as ever.
First off, let me thank all of your for the influx of kind, inspiring letters. I never would have made it through these last two months without your undying support. It's the remarkable nature of Register readers that makes working for this publication tolerable.
Many of you were right when you suggested that prostate-strengthening surgery would be tougher than expected. Dr. Reedmuller, however, insisted that all would go fine, and that I would have an opal-encrusted prostate gland in no time. (Yes, real opal. I have a marvelous supplier in Australia.) I went with the doctor's advice, and that was a mistake from a pure pain perspective but from a genital gravitas point of view, I'm all the better for the procedure.
Today my prostate shines with the same glory as a divine woman's bejeweled neck or pinky finger. I can't see it. You can't see it. But X-Rays do reveal a spectacular prostate. I'm stronger now than I've ever been and finally ready to resume my writing.
(My dual-balloon silicon ass implants are helping these long days back in front of the PC, as well. Although, those are best left for a future column.)
The two months away from the IT scene taught me a lot. I spent hours vomiting as a result of the agony that would arise every time my loins burned. During particularly bad loin anxiety, I polished my favorite shotgun, rubbing grease up and down and up and down its smooth, black barrel. Days passed, and my loins felt human again.
More on this later. Just let the red text start to work its panic magic.
I learned a great deal about the arc that stretches between human suffering and redemptive bliss during all of the vomiting and polishing. I learned almost nothing about the IT agenda. That is until I returned to the computer and found IT journalism in an obviously decrepit state.
During my first days back, I knew something had changed since I abandoned the web and my pursuit of moral technology for the prostate infusion. Things had take a turn for the putrid. This week, in fact, proved the worst of all since I've been able to hound dog web pages once again.