I can't get used to how different it feels to write for the blog and to do any other sort of writing. You'd think writing so much here would build up my capacity to tap out the words at will for any purpose. But it's not so. I try telling myself to pretend it's just a blog post. But it's always different.
Perhaps it has something to do with deadlines. With blogging, there's just another time stamp, and you never know when the next one will appear... though you do have a very strong feeling that something needs to go up in the morning.... like this one, which I'm putting here just before I withdraw into my deadline-meeting cocoon.
Meanwhile, check out this heading, which startled me this morning. Fortunately, I'm holed up out here in Madison, Wisconsin, so no Cambridge posse can reach me. I am picturing Harvardians cursing me, but I can't hear them out here. Yes, of course, they can blog about me... Well, let them try. I need more material today.
Anyway, as I've said, I've got to curl up inside that deadline-meeting cocoon, so let me declare this post a coffeehouse -- an Alt-coffee-house -- and let all you thirsty readers talk about whatever you like. You can even confess to crimes in the hope that the authorities will come and serve you paté and prawns.
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