100

We interrupt this program momentarily to bring you a news flash. Herewith the 100th post on this blog. I see some of you yawning. Me too. Coffee spots on my shirt, cracker crumbs on my desk, I labour day and night to explore and express the answers to eternal secrets of the universe. Always striving to deliver.

Why so few posts here about the eponymous famdamily? I ask myself the same question. Indications are that assorted relatives, no matter how diligently I pry, rarely render the requisite foibles to illustrate cosmic truths. The neighbourdamhood and FEC are clearly more fertile ground for my parables, allegories, morality plays, and what have you — stop rolling your eyes, serious authors. You're thinking she's mental, shame on you.

Over two years, about 70 books, and a dozen camels later, a self-sustaining force took over. Some days the words fly out and post themselves. It's all I can do to pretend a bit of control. A lesser-known universal truth I've discovered is that a whole whack of writers do it so much better. Especially the black humour bits. The excellent memory for details. Raising trivia to stellar heights. The self-deprecation.

Inspiring, every one of 'em. Bravo, I say. Give me your lunch money or you die.

Baraq* has joined the office as Junior Camel Correspondent^®. His goal is to master the blogging format after he sorts out the two-toed typing. He's pretty bright; it may not be long before he heads for self-fulfilling greener dryer pastures. I don't want to lose the guy. But possibly contentious issues loom if he gets wind of the anti-slavery act or the human rights ombudsman.

⃰ Watch for his first report; he's being encouraged to explain himself.