The Department of Streets and Sanitation has finally taken leave of my street, which means no more jackhammering at 7am on weekdays. No respect for the unemployed night owl, I tell ya. That said, I don't sleep in quite so much anymore, although I'm suddenly a bit more stuck trying to figure out what the Sam Hell I'm doing with my daylight hours. This could get me to actually practice one of various musical instruments lying around the house.

Plan B is definitely alive and well, although the monthly gig at Goldie's may be in jeopardy due to low turnout. And yet, there was one point last week where a couple came in, couldn't find a table or a spot at the bar, and left. On the plus side, I'm increasingly optimistic about the voiceover side of things, as I'll be recording some radio spots for the Chicago Fire next week. I swear, I think I owe them my first-born by now, which could mean that more people than just my parents now have a vested interest in my abject lack of dating recently.

I'm not dwelling on that, mind you, but I may be due for a turnaround. The last several months have been about getting my shit together, and that didn't really put me in a good position to proffer myself to the singles circuit, such as it is. Yeah, no juicy details to be had, sorry. I know you're all (both?) dying to hear about that sort of thing.