The trend is to remove MySpace profiles. I see the emotional appeal in that. But I'm not going to. Instead, I'll leave this as a place holder and a way for those the prefer it to contact me. Sorta like I've done before. But now I'm making it "official".

Any emails, comments, friend requests or whatever the hell they come up with will eventually be answered, but that could be weeks or months. If you need to get in touch with me quickly, I suggest that you find an alternate method. http://funanymore.com will always show you my preferred contat methods.

Yep, it's official. I've severed ties with Farpoint Media, a family of podcasts that I helped to create with Summer Brooks and Michael R. Mennenga.

That means that I'm no longer hosting any shows, including Slice of Scifi and Wingin' It!. To the best of my knowledge, Slice will continue. The future of Wingin' It!, already slated to end in on New Years, is obviously in question.

To the fans: I'm truly sorry for the abrupt departure. I know I've let many of you down and I wish there was another option for me. But alas, there was not. Thanks for listening to me on the programs. I hold no ill will towards Farpoint and the many podcasts flying under their banner. In fact, I wish them all success and consider many of the hosts of those programs among my closest friends.

All other projects of mine, from Fun Anymore and Podiobooks.com will remain in full swing and were unaffected by this change.

E.

Oh, that's right. I have a Myspace page! Well, maybe it's time I started using this thing for something. With all the work I've been doing at Fun Anymore and the myriad of Web 2.0 applications I've been joining like mad, it's no wonder I haven't been here.

But I think Myspace serves a purpose -- at least a purpose I can actually utilize. So that's my plan. Figure out how to use this better. I think there's more to it than the occasional blog post.

Well... we've seen how often I come here, right? I'll keep the profile and all, occasionally coming over to process friend requests and view comments, but I doubt I'll post any more frequently.

To keep up with me on a multiple times per day basis, check out my Twitter page. And for deeper, more meaningful things, I've decided to start posting more all-about-Evo stuff at Fun Anymore.

Enjoy!

I've been noticing lots of friend requests and other notices from MySpace for the past... unit of time. Decided to finally take a moment to log in and reply to a both.

CRAP!

I hadn't been here since November 30th and had THREE PAGES of friend requests. About 40% were from bands and scantily clad chicks and a handful of others who I had no idea why they think they knew me or knew of me.

So those who I do know or it makes sense that know me -- welcome to the friend list. I'm a bad MySpacer, so don't expect that much from me here.

I struggled with where to post this and even whether or not I should post it. But maybe I'll feel better after I write it down and get it outside of me.

The world just got a little bit darker, as one of its brightest lights went out yesterday -- much too soon. So bear with me...

Dear Death,

If you don't mind, and will pardon my frankness, would you fuck off for a bit? Just a little while. I know you've got an important job to do, but man... give it a rest. I'm a big supporter of yours when you exist to relieve suffering. You did that twice for two friends of mine earlier this year. And while I'm not happy that you had to come at all, I am glad that you came swiftly and put a decisive end to their struggles with cancer.

But gods dammit, Crystal didn't need to die. She was 15 years old. Yes, I realize that life isn't fair and that you aren't fair and that I'm railing about something which no one can control. But I don't give a shit. I'm angry, hurt, sad and want to scream at something, anything right now.

If I'm feeling this terrible (and I know my wife and son are going through something similar), I can't even begin to fathom how her parents must be feeling. And her sister, Chelsea. Oh, poor Chelsea. I fear the wounds from this will be too great for you to bear for a long, long time.

I know there is a healing process which we'll all eventually go through. But I don't want to. Not that I don't want to feel better, but I don't want to have to have to go through with it. Where's that reset button for yesterday? Let the dice roll another way. Any other way would be better than this.

See ya, Kiddo. Crash. The world sucks a whole lot more without you in it.

(Comments and Kudos are turned off by me on purpose.)

As of this posting, there are 55.7 million listings on Google for the word "Evo". I'm number 7. The president of Bolivia is number 2. The rest of those above me are about a car by Mitsubishi.

There are 36,200 listings for "Evo Terra", and my highly unscientific research of checking the first three pages and the 10th seem to indicate they are all about me.

36,200?

OK, I've got my fingers in lots of pots, but it's not like I write peer-reviewed articles or anything. Don't get me wrong, it's cool to see such a big number, but what's the point? I mean, in a world of non-scarcity, the value shifts from sheer volume to the ability to filter. Who needs to see all 36,200 references for me? Should Google, or perhaps another enterprising young company, figure out a way to display the three or four most relevant articles about me (or anyone else)?

BTW... I don't have an answer to this. Talk amongst yourself. But this exercise has caused me to create a new game. Now, with my track record, this has been done before and I've missed the wave. But if not:

My Google Weight¹ is:

• 1/50th that of Wil Wheaton
  
• 3/8 that of Scott Sigler
  
• 1/5th that of Phil Plait, the Bad Astronomer
  
• nearly 2 times that of George Hrab
  
• ... but only half that of... Tee Morris

Well, that last one brings me back down. Maybe 36,200 isn't that many after all...².

¹ - Simple division, people. Their number over your number, converted to a fraction. Don't strain yourselves...
² - My 36,200 entires make up .06% of the 55.7 MM, further lending credence to this statement.

I guess I'm lucky that my family tends to checkout when the old ticker finally calls it good. And I'm even more lucky that most folks in the clan live into their 80's before giving up the goat.

This year has marked the passing of two acquaintances from The Big C -- cancer. Both were way too young and had odd strains (do we call them strains? Not like we're talking about external viruses or bacteria... cancer is inherently "you") which were both difficult to treat and exceptionally aggressive.

I saw both of them one month prior to their passing, and both of them had incredibly high spirits and looked -- all things considered -- very good. Of course, that was the face they put on for the outside world, and I have no idea what was going on inside. Figuratively and literally. And then I get a phone call like the one I got half an hour ago.

Life often sucks. The end of life always, in my vicarious experiences, always sucks. Wonder if it has to?

E.

Warning - He has been drinking

I dropped the kid off at hockey tonight and decided to stop by the pub to have a beer. It's been a crappy end of my day and FUCKING QWORST isn't helping. But that's fine. Just needed a brew to take the edge off. Decided to bring in the laptop. Thought I might get a little writing of the next Cult Cast done.

Holy SHIT! They have open wifi at my PUB! So much for writing. :)

Instead, I'm listening to some groovy tunes by George Hrab and enjoying a mini-pitcher of Horny Toad IPA. And I may answer a few emails and hang on Skype for a while. But writing? Nope. Not in the mood.