I had a whole column planned about the Democratic primaries, but I decided to scrap it. Two reasons:

1. It was unfunny. Like, depressingly unfunny. If you read this column, and then read something funny, they would cancel each other out, and you'd go through the entire afternoon feeling horribly unfulfilled. I'd never forgive myself for that.
2. Achewood said everything I wanted to say in 7 short panels: Philippe for President!

So now I've got come up with something new upon which to expound. Let's see...hmm...yeah, I got nothing.

Here's the thing. I need to figure out how it is that other guys, such as Jeff, James, and Charles, come up with quality columns, every day. Hell, I've been going twice a week for about a month and the ideas just aren't flowing. Well, they are, but they suck. Here's a list of the stupid crap I've come up with for columns over the last week:

• Ask people what they would do with a million dollars and write about their responses. I don't think I could get more clichéd if I wrote about the Curse of the Bambino, which of course I have already done. Sad, people, just sad.
• Political stuff. Not only am I about as politically astute as lichen, the column was (as previously mentioned) not funny. I can't be having that here.
• Grammar instructions for blogs. I think everybody's had enough of crap like that from me, right?
• A simple title: "Why girls are cool." I think I got cooties from that.

See? And yet Lileks just writes a bunch of stuff about how he's too busy to write bleats and gets 3,487 hits an hour. Jeff Kay takes a bunch of pictures of fat people at Walmart and he's got material for weeks. Charlie...well, Charlie is clearly snorting 20 grams of cocaine every 15 minutes. (I wonder if he lets people call him "Chuck" or "Chaz" when they get to know him better. I dunno. Somebody get him drunk and find out.)

And my dumb ass is sitting here, looking around my cubicle, frantically looking for something to spark the old Muse. The only thing that's really happening, though, is a bunch of tough-looking guys are disassembling the ceiling a few rows over, so they can work on a ceiling support. One of them does kinda look like David Crosby, but how the hell do I get a column out of that? Answer: I don't. And so you get to hear me rant about it. Which basically indicates I'm not much of a writer, I guess. Maybe I should look for a job in computers.

Wait. Already got that. Dammit.