This week, some observant and probably annoyed readers undoubtedly noted that the Press was not up on Monday morning. Indeed, regular readers note that the Press is rarely up early Monday mornings any more.
I could say that the slacker staffers of the Piker Press don't get their material in on time for me to wrap up the Press Friday evening, but that would not be true. Or I could say that the cabana boys who bring me iced cooking sherry with little umbrellas stuck in the tops by my poolside are not making positive use of their computer time by formatting and uploading articles to the Press, and that would be true insofar as cabana boys do not do that ... and might not even if I knew of any cabana boys in the Central Valley of California.
This week part of the truth is that a sweet little girl gave me the sniffles that she had, and the sniffles transformed most unpleasantly in my throat to a raging hideous cough verging on pneumonia. "No, you don't have pneumonia," my doctor told me Monday morning, "but you were going to. Take this, this, and this, and wear hazmat gear around your grand-daughter from now on."
That was this week.
As to the lateness of the Press on most other Mondays, one of the real problems we face in getting the Press up is that on Sunday evenings and Monday mornings our site gets HAMMERED by internet spiders. That's a good thing, because they're noting who we are and who the authors are and what we present. Nice. Unfortunately the other side of that is that they clog up the site something horrible, and I frequently have to wait hours for the buggy SOB's to get off before I can upload final images and content.
In the rational portion of my mind, I know that, and keep working towards trying to get everything ready to load by Friday evenings (as those who know me know I am not worth a crap on the weekends, unless to write a movie review.) Nevertheless, some slouching adolescent that lives in my brain doesn't understand the concept of "Working Ahead."
So I apologize, and promise that I am trying to get the Press out in a timely manner.
And in the mean time, when we're late, blame the spiders, and don't trust any part of your mind that thinks it's under eighteen.