Holy fuck, this is EVIL — a “greeting card” that installs spyware on your computer and forwards your mail to god-knows-whom. Damn shame I’m not writing these days (yeah, some days I miss journalism greatly); for now this will have to do.

Oh, look — Blogger’s returned from the dead. That’s cheery news on a Monday. In other happy talk, sounds like the boomers and their evil spawn may have a silver lining, so to speak, though of course one must keep in mind that the writer is an intern — yes, pookie, you’re important in the scheme of things. (two minutes later) Well, so much for that good mood. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Here's the thing one loves about Salon: You can drop by to find an essay on Bjork that's not only so perfect you retroactively yearn to read it but so insightful it helps you to reorganize some thinking on a project of your own. And yet you're just one click away from proof that the smug, dense, and incompetent also have a regular place at their table. (Note to AT: Of course you know who it is. What we still don't know is how the girl manages to file all that copy in crayon.) Life in all its variety.

God, publishers are disgusting creatures. I had one in Seattle who was notorious for wearing slutty clothes to bars (allegedly in an attempt to give folks the impression that the newspaper in question was somehow “hip”) and trying to get free drinks out of bartenders by waving her title around. I assume she and the editor-in-chief she brought with her are currently working a waterfront somewhere, and I hope this schmuck joins ’em.

Cringely rocks. He just does. He’d like to fill you in on a hearing in Baltimore that happened this week, quite under the radar. He’ll tell you all about it. Go see. Elsewhere in the mailbag today, there’s a really lovely story about generosity and compassion, proof that good can be accomplished in this world without billions of dollars behind you.