If you don't feel like writing anything, just write about the weather:

Damp—Sole-soaking, hair-frizzing, glasses-fogging, damp.

And dark, so dark you can't see the spring flowers until you're right up on them, and then, when you are, the colors look drab and the blooms sad. Wilted with wetness.

It would've been a good day to stay inside.

I'm listening to the new Pet Shop Boys album. In my mind they've always seemed like the musical equivalent of a Whit Stillman film.

The last three rolls of film in the LC-A have processed blank. I was convinced it was something mechanical because the camera recently came apart and had to be reassembled. Turns out it was the battery. I'd forgotten it had a battery at all. But of course it does! Now I'm happy it works again.

I'm not sure why some newspapers have added comment sections to news stories. Is it part of their panic-grab for a life-buoy?

"Look Ma, I'm a blog now!"

Reader comments on news stories make no sense. The news isn't a dialogue, it's a one-way transfer of information: You didn't know and now you do. Now, go to your blog, write what you think about it, and wait for passersby to chime in.

I've never seen a reader comment on a news story that was informative in any way. Look at comments on Seattle Times articles: fanatics. Whenever my gaze veers below the copyright statement, I regret it. They're just as bad as YouTube comments, and who reads YouTube comments? Another venue where you could disable comments and nothing would be lost.

You already know what the comments will be: agreement, disagreement, misunderstanding, and trolling. Why waste the time, why crowd the space?