This has been happening for over a month now: I get back "undeliverable" emails from the mailboxes of people I've never heard of—emails I had never tried to send.

The attachment to this one had an unspecified virus stripped out; a previous similar one had the NetSys virus attached, at one time.

So someone's spoofing my Hotmail address, nastily attempting to deliver viruses to people I don't even know. Presumably in the hope that I'll get blamed for that.

Why?

The spoofed address which these emails are apparently being "sent out from," and bouncing back to, is not widely known. Indeed, the only time at which it was publicly available was via a "mailto:" in the early days of this website, prior to the "mailbombing" attempts of one particular SRF/Yogananda cult nutcase (with a Netherlands ISP), who was trying to blackmail me into keeping silent about the abusive shit that goes on at the Hidden Valley retreat.

My guess is that that's not irrelevant.

Interestingly, I've just recently seen that my experience in that regard has made it onto this web page.

"Almost famous...."

Well, this is discouraging: My first read through this Writer's Digest Books marketing book, and this is what happens:

No money-back guarantee either, even for $22.99 Cdn.

Apparently, the average library book can be taken out eighteen times before it needs to be replaced.

And that, of course, puts me in mind of the story which our limey-accented, grey-haired Professor Arscott told way back in first year Applied Math for Engineers. We were doing stuff about induction proofs in class, and he had this "set of blonde girls" drawn on the blackboard, and was racing against the class-end bell to prove that something worked if you "took a blonde girl out" of the set. In the end, whatever he was proving worked for n and n+1, but not for the "first blonde girl you'd take out" (i.e., not for n=1).

So the punch line was finally that "you have to be careful when you start taking blonde girls out."

Because, like library books, they're good for about eighteen times before, you know....

Your cute little jacket, your flexible spine
Your backside covered with quotes that flatter
I'm overdue for a lover like you
And the size of the font doesn't matter

Well it's not like me to judge a book by its cover
But you look to me like a storybook lover
And if you like me like I like you
Spread your honey on me like Winnie the Pooh

I'm just a little black raincloud
Dont'cha worry 'bout me
Just a little black raincloud
Just a-lookin' for some honey

Stacked like a public library shelf....

Idea for a Book:

What Color Are Your Chakras?: A Practical Guide to Working with Flaky New-Age Co-Workers.

From the Leicester University Students' Union:

Good Lord—it's My Fair Lady all over again.

The Pink Floyd back catalog:

"Built like a brick Wall...."

Idea for a Movie:

The Hoarse Whisperer.

"What? I can't hear you—speak up!"

Idea for a Book:

Chicken Shit for the Sole.

"Life? You just stepped in it."

With the Lightning Source print-on-demand service, publishers can now bring back out-of-print titles and prevent premature extinction of low-volume sellers.

"Premature extinction"? Yeah, probably a lot of male dinosaurs had a problem with that.

"Did the Earth shake for you, too, babe?"

"Uh, that was a meteor, sweetie."

Betcha didn't know this about Playboy.

Idea for a Steven Tyler Asian-foods cookbook:

Wok This Way.

See, this is why women who complain that men "don't understand" them don't have a long, silky leg to stand on.

From veggiedate.com:

Note the gustatory taste in music: peaches, nuts, pumpkins ... Elvis Costello.

"Soma"? Maybe she meant "some."

"Lay lady, lady/Lay across my leopardskin bedspread." Looking for "friends." 'Cause she's already got the greatest boyfriend in the world. Hell, he's probably the one who took the picture!

And why is "Life" capitalized?

"I want to live life with a capital L!"

You go, girl. You go.

Go.

Well, this is interesting: Einstein's FBI file, from back in the McCarthy era, when everyone was suspected of being a Communist.