August, 1999

To those of you who have been paying attention. I am late in getting this issue together. Again. You see, I was just getting ready to put this issue of Eye Caramba together about three weeks ago when, all of a sudden, a deranged and ravenous bird of prey tore the roof from my house, then snapped off my arms just below the elbow and flew off, taking my arms with him. It is as yet unclear to me if this was a random attack or whether there had been a motive behind this insane creature's actions. A jealous competitor perhaps? One cannot be too careful it seems.

So, after weeks, er, I mean, several days in the hospital, I was fitted with a prosthetic digit on each of my tragically stolen limbs. Therapy has been exhaustive but I am nearly back up to my accustomed twenty words a minute typing proficiency. Praise be, for the hunt & peck system and whoever was the blessed soul who shined his/her brilliance upon this world. Then, for the staff here at E.C. Worldwide, the next concern was where might we secure an underground cavern from which to publish the upcoming issues. The incredible interplanetary search began with little success because, uh...

Okay, so it perhaps didn't happen just like that. The real excuses are as follows...

My, how time slips away!
My attic was just too damn hot for me to work on my computer.
The dog needed to go out every now and then.
Everybody else was late!

Well, some of those excuses are not very good either. I am the architect of my own negligence. Hopefully there are those out there who might still accept me, tardy and pitiful as I am. My guess is if you are reading this then you are probably my mother anyway. And so then says I, thank you for the shirt. It fits beautifully. And then you will say, your hair looked much better when you had it cut short. Then I'll say times have changed mom, even Jeb Bush, the governor of Florida, has dredlocks these days. And then you'll say well, Jeb Bush isn't your son and that even just a trim would make me that much more handsome. And on and on we'll go. You and I. But you have to admit that there really is a lot of love between us. And if you happen to not be my mother, then I salute your tenacity in finding this dark editorial corner where my psyche runs around in its bathrobe.

To the artists and writers in this issue, thank you. Again, it is really a privilege to publish such work.

That's all for now,

Gordon Stettinius

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