As I sit here tonight and battle another round of insomnia with milk and cookies at the kitchen table rather than my office, I'm trying to find a way to get in touch with someone loved and adored by millions. According to MySpace, John is one of my 13 friends, and I'm one of his 211,375. He is a hard person to contact due to his frequent traveling and wild popularity.
The reason I want to contact him is that I saw a book during my Christmas shopping that I thought he might be interested in. That's all. And I'm writing about it here and now because I can't sleep. I visited John's website tonight after reading that he'd stopped in San Francisco yesterday to do a special show at Macworld for the announcement of the iPhone. I thought he might write to say something about San Francisco or maybe the first performance in two weeks, but nothing except the "Tao of MySpace."
Yeah, Tao. Of MySpace.
I posted a comment on his MySpace page and thought I'd stand out somewhat with what I said. When I went back to actually see my comment (about two minutes later) I found it buried under 9 others already. It was then that I finally realized.
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