Test

This is just a test. Really. I mean it. I’m testing something. So don’t get all, like, excited, thinking I’m going to be posting photos of me skipping down the streets of the city, smiling at everybody I see (like Windy), happier than ever to be alive thanks to my iPod. And there are no photos of my lunches, although I promise there will be. And no tirades against gym jackasses or love letters to my vacuum cleaner. So go back to whatever or whomever it was you were doing before you got here.
Update, 10:20 p.m.:  The test yielded the results I wanted! Congratulate me, even though you don’t know what I was hoping for. (OK, I’ll tell you. If I tossed this entry above my head and it stuck to the ceiling, that meant it was al dente and I wouldn’t have to kill my troglodytic half-brother after all, even though it would have served him right!) (Just kidding.) (Don’t you love when people post cryptic blatherskite? It’s almost as adorable as when they tell “private jokes” in the company of people not privy to the source of the hilarity!)