It's been awhile, I know. Please forgive me. But as I dig deeper into the realm of my online presence, I've found people — believe it or not — want to read my posts.
To that end, I'm expanding my potential readership by exploring the various tools available. One such helpful site is Technorati. But in order to use the services, I've learned that I have to claim my blogs.
Apparently I can't just throw a tantrum, stamp my feet and scream "It's mine! It's mine! It's mine!"
The claiming process requires that I place a small sliver of code (in this case: wqej65gkd9 ) in a posting. I pondered how to do that, and I've yet to come up with the solution.

More to come ...

        

Have I been slackin' or what? Here's the low-down on what's been happening in the world of Unky:
Not long ago, missus was given a "promotion" which meant transferring to a branch about two hours away from our Lodi homestead. We hemmed and hawed over living halfway between and commuting both ways.
We realized that we enjoy spending our time together, so commuting wasn't going to work. I began looking for a job in the land of her new employ.
I set out on a search of Careerbuilder, Craigslist and a bevy of local newspaper sites. I found an ad for a reporter. Doing just about the same thing I was already doing. I applied. I got it.
We moved in a whirlwind of weeks, finally settling in.
It didn't seem possible that we'd both be as happy as we are, but sure enough, it's turned out that way.

        

Believe it or not, I've had five new comics to upload for almost two weeks. I was about to upload them yesterday (Tuesday), and my Comcast modem stopped. Just stopped. Crapped out. Forget it, it said, I'm not doing it today. The field techs are supposed to bring one by tonight, to replace this one -- which is miraculously working right now.
I'll upload two of the comics before it goes out again.

        

It's Monday Morning. Time for some quick ideas:
People should be licensed before having kids.
If politicians can't stay within a budget, they're fired.
Taxation needs to be justified (lately I don't think our money goes to anything useful).
If people really want reality TV, they should shut off the boob tube and look in the mirror.
Legalize pot and gay marriage, then tax the hell out of both just like the rest of us poor schlubs.
Criminalize certain fashions: I'm tired of young dudes showing off their dirty undies.

        

There are so many different mediums for artistic expression, it's hard not to dabble in each one to see what works best for me. Hands down, pen and ink will always be the champ. But I've also ventured into colored pencil, acrylic paints, cake decorating (long history of that with mom), sculpting and, as most know, a little tattooing.
Recently I interviewed "Red" Hughes, a local tat artist. Red is as talented and amiable as he is big and, well, red (beard and muttonchops for days, y'all). Like me, once Red starts talking about his art, his craft, he gets on a roll.
I think that's a common trait among artists. Even the quiet ones. Probably true of anyone with a passion for something.
I find myself easily becoming a friend of Red, his shop and its denizens.
But it's surreal for me at the same time. I've always felt pretty alone in my art. I dive in and get lost in an ocean of ink and thoughts. To be around other artists is both a perfect fit and new, unsure ground.
For now I'll just enjoy the fellowship and laughter.

        

Sorry, this isn't about a trip to St. Mary's gone wrong. Where the padre asks for a list of my crimes and I blurt out the indiscretions with a goat in a dress in the back of an eclair delivery truck driven by a burly unshaven gorilla of a man that hasn't slept in over four days. But I digress.
My last post said I'd given up beer. For the most part this is true. And it is paying off. However, last night, we -- the Missus, not the goat -- went to a local pub called O'Reilly's.
Great little place filled with lots of fantastic characters, like Mikey, a stocky, good-natured guy in a red ball cap, avidly playing video golf with his buddies and the bartender (who won, by the way).
We visited with the aim to relax, and that's just what we did. The Missus had a draft Newcastle Brown Ale, and I went for the Guinness. She calls it a "beer shake," since it's a stout and pretty thick. Oh, but it was good.
We spent one round at O'Reilly's and then went home.
When I stepped on the scale this morning, surprisingly I had lost 1.1 pounds. This doesn't give me license to start chugging down beer again, but I may have one or two every now and again.

        

I'm a giver. What can I say? I like it when others can receive.
Since I started this running thing — OK, it's more like a jog-jog-gasp-gasp-walk-jog-jog thing — my gut has began to disappear. I can only conclude that I'm giving it away piece by piece. I hear others complain about gaining a few pounds here and there. It's gotta be coming from me. It's gotta.
It doesn't hurt that I've completely stopped drinking beer. That's no easy feat for a man who digs the hops and barleywine. But the results, though slow — and I must remind myself continually that it takes time to get in shape — and tedious, are beginning to show up.
Yet, being out of shape is so much more delicious and easier.

        

Twitter. Wow. What a technological marvel.

I'm obviously being sarcastic. We started using the app at work for news updates, and I decided to start my own personal account. From my desktop or by phone, I can tell people what I'm seeing or where I am or what I'm doing, then post it. I can take a pic and share it with the "followers," throw down a map of the exact location, stick a link in the post so people can visit other sites or even do all three in the same "tweet."

Don't get me wrong. It's a great little tool ... for stalkers. If you value your privacy or you're antisocial, this is definitely not for you. I usually find myself at a loss as to what should be posted, so I end up taking shots of things like billiard balls, my coworkers and movie posters.

One fellow I follow works at Marvel Comics in NYC. He posts about once every five minutes or less. If I was Marvel, I'd fire his ass, because he apparently Twitters all day long with no regard to work. But I enjoy finding out about the world of comics, so I can't complain.

In a nutshell, I just wasted your time by writing about a time waster.

        

Though the ideas are spewing from me these days, they are coming on a regular basis. The recent reemergence of Can Hed and crew has inspired other endeavors. I only wish I had enough time in each day to pursue those projects. One of these days when people ask what I do for a living, I can say, "Whatever I want."

        

Are you a voyeur? Do you like to watch?
If you answered 'yes,' then good on you for admitting it. If you said, 'no,' then you're a liar. Why? Because you're reading this blog right now. See, in my worthless opinion, blogs are like diaries that the entire world can read. Traditional diaries had a mystique, because they were kept locked, secret from the rest of the world. But now everyone with an emotion can vomit it to the world. And apparently the world wants to see it.

Now that we've got that out of the way, I can vomit.

Recently I stopped sitting around on the couch (I still sit around, just not as much) and began running/jogging/walking fast/breathing really hard. It's all an attempt to get my body a little healthier. It's not as easy as I'd like and the results aren't as immediate as I'd like, but I know with time and persistence, I'll be able to go further and fit in my old jeans.

This is also a part of my attempt at staying connected with my extended community of friends, readers and all those I brush up against. I'll be blogging more, facebooking more, twittering more (yes, I'm a twit).