Rumors of my Death
Have been tremendously exaggerated.

Alive, kickin, and fully accounted for not to mention stocked with stories.

Those'll have to wait, but here's a very basic sketch.

Wandering in Paris
Lost in Budapest
Dug in Hungary
Driving through Romania
Meeting Andra's Family
Mountain Climbing
Fog, No Fog, and one hell of a View
Mountain People Are Cool
Angry Fucking Hellhound
A Very Old Taxi
The Ice Storm

And that's only the first half. But I'm tired now. I started writing "rest assured" just now, but I stopped halfway through to look at something over there, and when I looked back it read "rest ass." Regardless, I got plenty to say and more stories a'coming in the coming days and months, but now it's time for sleep, with a bloodshot and ever-watchful eye on the evil red digits of my alarm clock that tick away the minutes between me and my wakeup call for the day.

I'm taking a poetry class; that sentence above consists mainly of trochaic feet, which is why it sounds kind of ugly.

Ug. That finishes me off for now.