Hey Jakey,

Just got back from the fireworks show in Carson. I should've timed the show, I think it lasted a whole eight minutes. Oh well, it was fun. We parked out in front of Scolari's on Hwy 50 and set up our lawn chairs and mingled with the white trash. Oh, how I hate Carson City. Anyway.

Daddy and I were worried that you would have a shit fit once the fireworks started, but you just didn't care one way or the other. You were fidgety half-way through and wanted nothing more than to climb off my lap and run into traffic.

Random notes (television commercials): There's a Quizno's commercial with that evil baby with the dock-worker's voice, and he's sitting on a park bench, talking about his dad's sandwich. How the next time his dad turns away from the sandwich (clap-clap), "Sayonara!"

Every time that commercial comes on, you stop everything, wait for it... wait for it... then "clap clap" along with the Quizno's baby. It's very amusing.

Commercial No. 2: There's a home loan or some such commercial, featuring home improvement guru Bob Vila chasing people in a hedge maze with a chain saw. As soon as the commercial begins, you're up off the floor and in my lap, whimpering, and as soon as Bob Vila starts up the chain saw, you're out-and-out sobbing. Very strange.

Yes, we all watch way too much television.

Talked to my mom and dad yesterday. They had called last week to say they were on their way to Nevada. They were going to stop to visit family in Nebraska, then swing west and be here by the 9th of July. Yesterday they called and said they hadn't even left Texas yet.

Apparently mom went in for a check-up last week and the doctor said there were a couple of "spots" on her colon. She's been having colon trouble for a while now. But the doctor would not give her the okay to leave town until she saw a colon specialist, and the soonest she could get an appointment was Tuesday (tomorrow). So... either the spots are nothing, and they'll be here within a week, or they could be serious. Ah shit... it's always something. I'm trying not to be worried, but I am anyway.

So, baby... did you notice what day it is? And what time it is? It's 11-ish pm on a Monday night, and I'm not stuck at work trying to get my paper out. Imagine that. I actually got to go out and do holiday-ish things with my family on a 4th of July. I haven't been able to do that in... well... forever.

That's right. As of July 1, I am no longer editor of the [insert name of shitty publication here]. I'm kind of a floater within the company now. Don't ask me what I do now, I couldn't tell ya. I'm just kinda helping T out with his stuff, and eventually I'll be working on the company's internet site. But for now, I'm a floater. Glamorous title, no?

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Here's my last column that I wrote for my last issue of the [insert name of shitty publication here]:

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This is my last spin as editor of the [insert name of shitty publication here].

I tried to come up with a nifty title for my last column, but nothing sounded just right to me:

"What a long, strange trip it's been..." A tired, old workhorse of a phrase, yes, but possibly appropriate in this case. A nod to the Dead, and to the endless succession of heir-apparents to the jam band throne that grace our North Shore venues 12 months a year.

A long trip, perhaps; a strange one, definitely. I started this gig in 2002 with no expectations, all wide-eyed and eager to become the North Shore's entertainment "mouthpiece." Skip forward a few years, and I'm the grizzled, jaded vet chomping on a cigar, cursing and muttering about "deadlines, shmeadlines..." and swigging Diet Coke like it's going out of style.

In my personal life, too, the road from 2002 has taken a few twists and turns. I got married, I had a kid. Finding the time and wherewithal to balance an editorship and family life has been interesting, to say the least, and downright taxing, to speak plainly. The first half of the week, I'm lucky to glimpse my baby in the daylight hours, the last half of the week is spent re-establishing some sort of mother-son bond, or rather, trying to convince him that I'm his mommy, not just some random weird lady that shows up in the middle of the night, smelling like toner and newsprint.

"So long and thanks for all the egg salad..." A Douglas Adams-esque Hitchhiker title, a tip of the embroidered [insert name of shitty publication here] trucker hat to L, our lovely office manager, who has shown up on some of the most challenging days with her creamy concoction of egg, mayonnaise and something crunchy, slathered between slices of white bread... a true balm for the soul.

Thanks, really, to everyone in this office, it's truly been a pleasure toiling beside you. Thanks to everyone who reads the [insert name of shitty publication here], and also to everyone who contributes to the [insert name of shitty publication here]. Without your constant barrage of emails, faxes and phone calls, there would be no [insert name of shitty publication here]. Finally, a huge shout-out to the Costco-sized bottles of store-brand antacids and extra-strength ibuprofen in the office medicine cabinet. An [insert name of shitty publication here] gal suffers a lot of aches and pains throughout the day, and pharmaceuticals on the company's dime sure hit the spot.

"How can I live without you, if it means I gotta get a job..." One of my favorite song titles from my favorite band ever. No last column of mine would be complete without some sort of reference to my all-time favorite band, Cracker. I've subjected readers in the past to entire columns waxing adolescently poetic about this relatively obscure group, so they get one more mention before I get gone.

But look at that title; how appropriate is that? What will I do without you? I'm gonna have to get a real job now. Working at the [insert name of shitty publication here], to borrow a hackneyed, '70s cop-show phrase: "it's not a job, it's what I do." Oh, I may sit down at a computer elsewhere, edit stories and butcher press releases for someone else, but the [insert name of shitty publication here] will always be my crib, my starting point, the job I'll tell stories about to future co-workers, and they'll roll their eyes, and say, "Oh, not that story again. How many times do we have to hear about the April Fools fiasco of 2005..."

Okay, to wrap up, you're getting a new editor, xxxxxx. He's been in charge of the xxxxxx [insert name of shitty publication here] pages for the past couple of years, and a talented reporter at the [insert name of yet another shitty publication here], as well, and now he's stepping up to take this mutha into outer space. There are grand plans in the works for [insert name of shitty publication here], and xxxxxx's the guy to get the job done.

As for me, I'll be around. I'll still be at the email addy at the bottom of this postcard for the time being. Grand plans are also in the works for this company's Internet presence, so look for me there. But if you really, really want to get a hold of me in the next couple of weeks, you'll have to leave a message. I'm finally taking a vacation. This gal is going to rev down, pack up the baby and husband, and get out of town to see my mom and dad. Family, now that's where the real "[insert name of shitty publication here]" is...

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And that's all I have to say about that. Love you, sleep well...