Twitter. It's not a good sound, is it? If it were worth doing, there would be a better word for it.

Twiddle-twiddle away at my softly clicky keyboard for a while, making twiddly adjustments all along- and then print what I have twiddled. Glare at the printout and snarl and curse and scribble almost illegibly all over it with a ballpoint pen. Go back to the machine and enter the scribbles. Repeat this procedure until I hate the very meaning of every word I know.

I am open to the accusation that I see compost as an end it itself. But we do grow some real red damn tomatoes such as you can't get in the stores. And potatoes, beans, lettuce, collards, onions, squash, cauliflower, eggplant, carrots, peppers. Dirt in you own backyard, producing things you eat. Makes you wonder.

The legendary yet factual Curtis Wilkie has been the right man in the right place at an uncanny number of extraordinary times.

In the beginning, Atlanta was without form, and void; and it still is.

Many a person has been saved from summer alcoholism, not to mention hypertoxicity, by Dostoyevsky.

Being president of too many well-meaning organizations put my father into an early grave. The lesson in this was not lost on me.