A cow behind a tree

Hello.
Well, so my long-term relationship with xanga has ended. Although it was sad to let go, it had to be done. The sixties are over, disco is dead, Milli Vanilli were lip-syncing, Michael Jackson molests small children, Beanie Babies are just pouches filled with plastic pellets, my Giga-pet ran out of batteries, Segways didn't change the world as promised . . . and now xanga has died. I guess that happens with everything eventually. Something about beauty only existing because we are aware that eventually it can die . . . something about roses being beautiful because their blooming period is short-lived, precious, frail. Xanga was beautiful when everyone used it . . . when everyone left comments, used obnoxious HTML codes, made computers freeze by placing music videos on their sites. People used to write blog entries about their days---Myspace is just a big picture fest, let's face it. Which is fun, I suppose, but what happened to writing? I'll admit, I grew tired of my xanga, too. I started changing the layout more often than I'd write a new entry. But I've decided I want a blog that I can link to facebook. That should be good enough. Sort of an odd picture of me, there. Who can get that excited inside of a crappy gym? Well, it was the last day of high school ever and so I guess I thought some jazz hands were appropriate. Whatever gave me that idea?