In the year 2008, the Lord came unto Noah, who was now living in the United States, and said, “Once again, the earth has become wicked and over-populated, and I see the end of all flesh before me. Build another Ark and save two of every living thing along with a few good humans.” He gave Noah the blueprints, saying, “You have six months to build the Ark before I will start the rain for forty days and forty nights.”

Six months later, the Lord looked down and saw Noah weeping in his yard … but no Ark.”Noah!” he roared. “I’m about to start the rain! Where is the Ark?”

“Forgive me, Lord,” begged Noah, “but things have changed. I needed a building permit. I’ve been arguing with the inspector about the need for a sprinkler system. My neighbors claim that I’ve violated the neighborhood zoning laws by building the Ark in my yard and exceeding the height limitations. We had to go to the Development Appeal Board for a decision.

Then the Department of Transportation demanded a bond be posted for the future costs of moving power lines and other overhead obstructions, to clear the passage for the Ark’s move to the sea. I told them that the sea would be coming to us, but they would hear nothing of it.

Getting the wood was another problem. There’s a ban on cutting local trees in order to save the spotted owl. I tried to convince the environmentalists that I needed the wood to save the owls, but no go!

When I started gathering the animals, an animal rights group sued me. They insisted I was confining wild animals against their will. They argued the accommodations were too restrictive, and it was cruel and inhumane to put so many animals in such a confined space.

Then the EPA ruled that I couldn’t build the Ark until they’d conducted an environmental impact study on your proposed flood.

I’m still trying to resolve a complaint with the Human Rights Commission on how many minorities I’m supposed to hire for my building crew. Immigration and Naturalization are checking the green card status of most of the people who want to work.

The trade unions say I can’t use my sons. They insist I have to hire only Union workers with Ark-building experience.

To make matters worse, the IRS seized all my assets, claiming I’m trying to leave the country illegally with endangered species.

So, forgive me, Lord, but it will take at least ten years for me to finish this Ark.”

Suddenly the skies cleared, the sun began to shine, and a rainbow stretched across the sky. Noah looked up in wonder and asked, “You mean you’re not going to destroy the world?”

“No,” said the Lord. “The government beat me to it.”

Warren Buffett, the world’s richest person, yesterday guessed that the incoming (or ongoing?) recession will be far worse and last longer than most people realize, though I’m sure he will be none the worse for wear because of it.

In the meantime, thanks to high gas prices, Shell has reported a 25% increase in profits from the first quarter. Go f**k yourselves, energy companies.

The first batch of the government’s economic stimulus checks went out yesterday, and I’m pretty certain that most things bought with that $600 will have been made in China. So how exactly they’ll stimulate the American economy is beyond me.

Who knew it would suck so much to be middle class?

I’m feeling very cynical today.

What do you think, folks? Should I keep it? I have thirty days to decide, and the jury’s still out on my end. I’m a little concerned, too, that a simple search for “Blackberry addiction” on Yahoo! gives you 3,300,000 results, and a further 181,000 when you substitute in “Crackberry.”

… because you know what they say is the “worst” actually tastes the best.

Never mind that. Men’s Health, the men’s magazine dedicated to health, fitness, sex, relationships, and so on (think Cosmo for your dad) has a section every month called “Eat This, Not That.” This month, they’ve targeted the 20 worst-for-you foods this great land has to offer. I’m inclined to say that none of the items surprise me: Chipotle’s burritos, for example, though f’ing amazing, weigh about ninety-three pounds. P.F. Chang’s chicken lo mein is to die for (and maybe you will after eating it, of sudden heart failure), but were you to leave it on a paper plate for longer than three seconds, the plate would undoubtedly be translucent from the grease.

But it was number one that made me smile: Outback Steakhouse’s Aussie cheese fries with ranch dressing. Mmm. 2900 calories of yummy goodness. The description reads, “This weapon of mass construction is the caloric equivalent of eating 14 Krispy Kreme doughnuts, before your dinner arrives. Even if you split this ’starter’ with 3 friends, you’ll have downed a meal’s worth of calories.” Meg, darling, you’re a terrible influence.

I’ve become a slacker again with regard to this blog, and I’m sorry about that. Things have been pretty crazy at work lately, including the big launch last month and one of our biggest shows last week that had me traveling halfway across the country to Denver, Colorado.

When I originally set up a blog, I did so in order to keep in touch with my friends while I was over in Scotland for university. I was actually very good at updating every day, sometimes multiple times - anything to put off writing essays. The blogging continued on a regular basis until I joined the marketing team here at the office. I think, really, I’m more likely to blog when my days are less busy. That makes sense, I suppose, though one might argue that it’s those busy days that make the blog posts the most interesting.

I continue this blog as a method of connecting to my friends, both here in the States and over in Europe, and my sporadic posting parallels my cell phone activity: most of the time, I tend not to make calls or even answer the phone. Not because I don’t want to talk to you, mind you, but because, well, I just am not a phone person.

This blog is meant to be my email updates, with stories about my life, my job, what’s going on with me. And honestly, I need to get better at it.  I do enjoy blogging when I get back into the habit.

Michelle Kasprzak wrote an interesting post on why people blog. If you’ve got a few minutes, you should take a look.

The Brits have come and gone. Our launch at work has come and gone. And it’s taking a lot out of me to get back into the mindset of a ‘normal’ day here in Dirty Jersey.

It was fantastic seeing Becks, Ness, and Neil last week. The first night they were here, we did the standard “I’m jet-lagged and not really up for anything” activity of ordering take-out and watching American Idol. The next night was really the polar opposite. We headed down to Harrah’s in Atlantic City - and may I say that I’m really getting spoiled by free hotel rooms - and spent seven hours, from 10PM to 5AM, playing slot machines. I didn’t think that was possible, that the slots would get really boring, but honestly, with hilarious friends, lots of free alcohol, and a new paycheck burning a hole in your pocket, it’s extremely consuming. I was a wee bit concerned at first when I lost a quick two hundred bucks, but by the end of the night I’d come out about $20 ahead, and breaking even is just as good as winning. Good times.

The Brits spent the weekend in the City, but unfortunately due to the launch at work I was actually stuck at the office all day on Saturday, and felt well exhausted for two days afterwards, so that didn’t happen. They came back on Tuesday and we spent the evening watching a horrendously bad horror film called Rest Stop while munching on pizza and buffalo wings from Pizza Hut, because that was the only thing open past 10pm on a weeknight, apparently. We spent all the next day shopping at Jackson Premium Outlets and then eating at a fabulous New Orleans-style restaurant in New Brunswick called The Old Bay, which serves massive, amazing dishes like blue crap and spinach dip, seafood and sausage gumbo, crawfish etouffee, and seafood jambalaya. Highly recommended if you’re ever in the area, hungry, and willing to spend about 30-40 bucks per person with drinks.

All told, it was a great visit, and it makes me wish London were just a wee bit closer than it is.