Thursday, December 21, 2006

In time for Christmas: A death and rebirth.

Two nights ago I took a second look at the baby I hadn't breast feed for almost two months and decided that the 4.95 monthly fee was too much of a strain to keep pages of pages of ramblings alive. That was fucking dumb. Granted most of the writing wasn't top notch, done under the influence of something or as a joke shared solely by four cubicle mates in The Nation pig pen. But still. Sadness. As one nice PR reader emailed:

I wish you hadn't killed it.

Worst. Channukah. Ever.

Then to rub sting into my already devastating remorse, Typepad sent me this cancellation email:

Dear Perfect:

This message is being sent to confirm the cancellation of your account on the TypePad personal publishing service with the domain of '' We're disappointed to see you go, but we thank you for taking part in helping TypePad to become the best weblog and photo album tool possible.

Your account and billing information has been deleted and you will not receive any service-related emails from us.

Dear Perfect. Dear Perfect. Dear Perfect.

Man. If only I got emails beginning this way often.

And so in one of those supposedly meaningful full-circle thingers, I made another drunken decision tonight to begin anew. In the spirit of Christmas. In the spirit of Jesus. In the spirit of Mel Gibson, Perfect Ratio will be reborn. And from what I know about rebirths, they're a lot nicer, hotter, and more sexed up.

There will be pointless crap, hard hitting news, and lots of lots of abbrevs.

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