"Wither JVG?" The question echoes in the halls of power, the corridors of justice, the bathrooms of dive bars. Whither JVG, indeed. The formerly proficient and prolific blogger and arbiter of all that is fame has slipped from the annals of the blog world, his infrequent posts to his own web presence not even supplanted by an inane real estate blog or a cushy job at a blog-related media enterprise concern. His autobiographical comic strip, previously a reliable source of daily JVG news in line and capital letters, sits fallow atop the page, and even Andrew Snail, a strip that requires only the briefest of photoshop alteration to be made ready for publication, moves on more slowly than the title character himself.

So, whither? Drawn into the arms of lady stage, he hawks his more frequent appearance on the boards; self-aggrandizement hithertofore unseen, even on this site. But this is not the first of these forays, previous jaunts have returned Mr. Van Gieson to blogging, and thereby to fame, relatively unscathed.

Semi-retirement? It has been said. Can one, in fact, semi-retire at the tender age of 31? Yes, one can. But should one? These questions, hanging as they are on the coattails of hypotheticality, mean little. Van Gieson blames for his lack of production various objects; his scanner, his plans, his "other commitments," but does not the problem lie within?

The answer is no.

Fame is fleeting, a blog about one's own fame doubly so. But, more importantly, in the immortal words of Kenny Rogers, "You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em." Or, if you prefer Sondheim, "Here's to the ladies who lunch... everybody dies." Did U2 say it best when they opined "You've got to get yourself together, you've got stuck in a moment and now you can't get out of it"? Perhaps. Or perhaps the most appropriate insight comes from They Might Be Giants: "Where your eyes don't go a gruesome scarecrow waves his broomstick arms and does a parody of each unconscious thing you do."

But these are all excuses; empty syllables, lacking sound, full of fury, signifying nothing. A tale told.

The truth is more complicated; understandable only to Hawking-level physicists. JVG has reached an apex of fame too great for ordinary eyes. An elemental fame; a fame of vibrating strings; a microcosmic, macrocosmic fame, both infinitely larger than fame and infinitely smaller. A fame that needs no writing about, or perhaps a fame which is writ too large for casual readers to see.

Gentle friends, the blame lies with you. The blog continues apace; the strip as well. Both appear between the lines (or the panels) of that which does not seem to change. To the wider vision, the change is all around; fame becomes itself, overrides itself, rebuts itself; the emperor wears a suit of his own fame, no other clothing is required.

There are more things, Horatio. And Macduff, read on. Damned be him who first cries "Hold, enough."

I don't want a two year goddamn service contract, I don't want a new goddamn plan, I just want to buy a goddamn phone for less than $150. For this fine piece of equipment, worth, by my estimate, upwards of $19.99.

Any ideas? If you are about to suggest "call Sprint customer service," you, sirrah, are an ass.

Perhaps I shall forsake my mobile until those who provide service are no longer the same those who provide phones.

Parking Ticket Issued: April 17, 2004
Hearing Held: Late April 2004 (Verdict: Guilty)
Appeal Filed: Early May 2004
Appeals Appointment Letter Rec'd: Jan 26, 2005
Appeal Hearing: Tomorrow! (April 6, 2005)

Justice served in only 354 days! Would you like fries with that?

Hm. Turns out I went to Grade School with The Bachelor. He's not on this page of the yearbook, but does appear a few pages earlier. (Scan to follow when scanner becomes a working device. Won't that be fun?)