A New Old Thing is complete today at about 3400 words. I'm happy with it, and I hope that when you get the chance to read it you'll be happy with it as well.

Actually, I hope I scare you with it, but, well, that's the part of the gig that goes along with writing scary stories. It was never the jumping out of the closet thing that got me excited, it was the late at night, staring up at the ceiling, telling stories into the dark and wondering if I'd scared my cousins doing it. That's what got me excited.

Now, not all the time. Just mostly.

Anything else this weekend for me? Wrapping up the Olympics coverage, wondering how on earth the blue collar gang in the curling end of the world managed to snag the media attention this year. I love those guys, always have, even though I don't pretend for a second to understand any of the game. It's what you watch when you're drinking beer at the bar, darts in the summer curling in the winter (and no, I'm not from up dere, I'm from warmer climes, but one great thing about cable tv is that they have hours to fill. Shoot, BBC America has my wife hooked with their darts coverage lately...)

I had a ball as usual. There are a million little stories whenever the Olympics crew get together. It's a bit harder these days to find them through the tv coverages, the reporters used to feel a little more obligated to go out and find at least one "look what I found" story in another country's team, but I think the online media has made up for that a bit.

And the week begins.. hang loose, hang cool, and be careful out there, it's a mean old muddled up shook up world.