Dear Not John,

There's a diarist on Daily Kos whose handle is Hunter. I wrote him and said I could tell when he was the author of a piece before reading the by-line confirmed it. Your words have the same blend of spirit, wit, bile, profanity, polish and passion. It's a recipe for the kind of language that could save the world if only the politicians would be willing to speak it.

Seems I buried the lead as usual (which may be where it belongs): I love what you said, but you must know by now that Facebook IS of the devil ... aside from the inspiring quotes and cute-as-all-get-out kittens and news from friends flung afar. And then there is Twitter, where the destructive horror of uninhibited, uncensored, anonymous social networking is mitigated by the limitation of 140 characters. To bully or insult one must at least be succinct.

I will bring this to a close as I have a slight ache in my jaw from clenching my teeth during a night disturbed by worries. Did I offend my niece when I wrote her that I really liked her housemate but that although I would be willing to kiss his toes to prove my devotion a blow job is out of the question? Or how the actors would feel and what I'd do if nobody else showed up at a performance of Hamlet I’m going to see this Saturday?

Silly worries. Foolish worries. Trivial worries. There has to be a better way to spend the night. But there’s no better way to spend the morning than to have a raving rant with you.