Writing, this time, in the lobby of a mixed-use condo and office building, across from Mt. Normandale Lake, with wireless from a nearby coffee shop.. There is a piano sitting to my left, businessmen on cell phones to my right (as I write those directions, I realize I have unconsciously made them stage left and right) and the lake behind me. My entire post-Stanford writing career is about discovering computer clusters where none exist. It’s a familiar, but lonely, landscape – enough to almost make one turn to the “ambient awareness” of Facebooking and Twittering to bring community to being a freelancer. Almost. SK challenged me (well, suggested, but I take it as a welcome challenge) to write something about that article, and I haven’t done it yet. But I will.

As for getting work done by staying up all night, I’m officially too old to do it any more. Yesterday’s midnight writing session devolved into reading my former roommate’s father’s blog, a rare Chicago conservative. Some interesting stuff from the other side of the aisle. And this morning, death warmed over would have been putting it kindly. I suppose if I had known that my body was going to rebel against this kind of usage, I might – might – have developed other work habits. Maybe.