So much for daily postings huh? Argh. The mind, the body, and the spirit were weak, not to mention every time I tried to type something up, something came up. Wednesday, I started a column and had to leave the office to go manhandle servers around all afternoon, followed by an evening of having burnt palm-fronds rubbed onto my forehead to indicate to all I might meet that I believe in a twenty-century-old legend about a guy who told us to love sinners and got stapled to a whipping post for it. Thursday, I started a column early in the day amid frequent requests for my attention, and then had to skedaddle home to make sure Hearnwife didn't throw up a lung. (She's much better today, thank you.)

Today will be different. I still have plenty to do, and I'm not entirely sure I'm going to get to it all, but I'm determined, dammit, to get something posted on my webpage, so that my readers (both of them) don't wither and die from lack of subtle humorousness. Plus, I finally got some information about the first thing, which is:

Come to the Absalom Jones Concert at the Cathedral next Friday, February 18th, at 8pm. Tickets are $15, and I expect the show to be awesometasticalicious. What you will see: the Cathedral Choir, getting its jam on with some classical stuff, and some gospelly favorites. Dawn Padmore, choir alumnus and touring professional, singing whatever it is that touring professionals sing. Soloists from the choir (including yours truly), singing some nifty solos. It's well worth the $15, so come one come all!

I've been trying to post something about that for 2 days. FINALLY. Sheesh.

Also, Speedweeks is upon us! The drivers, crews, and groupies have hit Daytona for 11 days of practice, qualifying, racing, and surreptitious nookie in the team hauler. I couldn't be more thrilled if Michael Jackson himself appeared at my door in Full Zombie Mode and grabbed his crotch at me.

The racejoyment begins Saturday night with the Bud Shootout, aka the Bud Clash, or whatever it is they're calling it this year. I predict high speeds, a truly brilliant wreck that takes out half of the field, and for the winner to thank Budweiser for their support and for all the cases of pee-flavored alcoholic beverages they'll be delivering to his mobile home. Sunday afternoon, pole qualifying, which to the untrained eye is deathly boring, but which to the trained eye makes me fall asleep.

Then things die down a bit until Thursday, when the Gatorade Duel 125s are run to determine the starting positions for the Daytona 500. Friday night there's a truck race (which you'll miss, seeing as you'll be at the Absalom Jones Concert watching me sing Old Man River), Saturday the Busch Grand National Race, and then on Sunday the DAYTONA 500 sponsored by Some Rich Corporation (SRC)!

Somewhere in there, there's also an "International Race of Champions," or "IROC," race, but that has lost relevance since it's lame.