I'm so far behind. And it's not like I've got all the time in the world to catch up with what Guy Debord called "the mad parade" - the non-stop exotic cabaret of history, tra la freakin' la. Got a Hole show to review tonight, and several other assignments that need to be filled before the weekend, when the Overlords bring down the hammer. Do you remember when we gave a crap about Courtney Love? Do you? Do I? Am I stressed? Panicked? You bet your sweet life I am.
 

In the false twilight we crane our necks, struggling to tilt our heads back as far as they will go, to look in wonder at the skyscrapers lining the street. Wow, that must be - 1200 feet? 1300? Dylan Leblanc probably has an answer for you. His enthusiasm for leviathans is given voice on Nalyd's Skyscraper Page, a snazzy and complete reference guide for skygazers. A "World's Tallest" diagram places the biggest towers side by side; another larger, slow-loading diagram expands the field to 150 structures. Pictures of popular skylines and links to other "tall" pages round out this fascinating exploration of ambition and technical know-how. On a personal note, it does my sense of hometown pride no end of good to see our beloved Stratosphere Tower in the main diagram. If only it rained a bit here in the desert, it would grow way, way taller than Toronto's CN Tower. Easily.
 

Whaddya know? I'm not a "Type-A" personality, after all. While my desk proved that months ago (we'll have you out of there in a jiffy, Mr. Hoffa), taking an actual test, with multiple choice questions and everything - well, it just feels more substantial. You know what I mean? Even if you don't, 2h.com features links to dozens of IQ and personality tests - meaning, if you don't take my meaning, you'll be able to discover why with just a few simple questions answered. Whether you opt for a straightforward intelligence test or choose to go deeper - ever wonder why you can't deal with crowds? - there's a way to turn yourself inside out, fan out the contents of your soul like so many tarot cards, and you don't even have to leave your desk. Insane in the membrane, as a colleague of mine once so eloquently put it.
 

"The form of government that is most suitable to the artist," said Oscar Wilde, "is no government at all." He knew of what he spoke. Perhaps no artist in history was treated as shabbily by the state as Wilde; when charged with sodomy and sentenced to two years hard labor, even he was shocked by the cruel and idiotic denouement. "And I? May I say nothing, my Lord?" he dumbfounded, as he was led from the courtroom. Wilde's life - in particular, his association with Lord Alfred Douglas, and the consequences of that association - is the subject of "Oscariana," a narrative told through a series of letters and quotes. Here are Wilde's witty, beautifully human ruminations ("I want some pens, and some red ties. The latter for literary purposes, of course") and the ugliness that met them ("Society is well rid of these ghouls and their hideous practices ... It is at a terrible cost that society has purged itself of these loathsome importers of exotic vice," said the 26 May 1895 edition of News of the World, shortly after Wilde was sentenced). This is a fine page, with all the charm and pathos its subject demands.
 

"Stop bitching you rich American soft-heads (sic). Get out into the real world and then you may have some reason to complain," snarls "Yann," a disgruntled non-Yankee. Aw, you're breaking my leaden American heart, boyo. But that's okay. Wholesale cattiness, like ours, is the very bread and butter of Kvetch - a self-perpetuating, automated gripe index for softheads of all nationalities. Have a complaint about bad drivers, work, school, the Web, society, family, even love? Enter it into the public record with Kvetch's ridiculously easy-to-use form. Before you know it, your millennial statement is made, and all your problems are over. The only problem is, I can't hang around Kvetch too long without wanting to strangle somebody, Yankee imperialism be damned - see the psych tests above. Breathe in, breathe out, hit wall ....

Could Guy Debord have explained Courtney Love to me? I doubt it. Hell, he probably would have accompanied her to the Oscars. Back to work!