I know I introduce a lot of topics in this space and then let them drop. But there are two factors at work: First, world events are happening, events that will certainly go down in history as eventful. As a graduate of Oxbridge and two-time winner of the Bloggy Award for Bloggingest Blogger, I feel compelled to address the evils of France as they emerge. Second, I am, quite simply, a busy and complicated man. Certain strands appear, then they recede, only to appear again. Today is a slow day. Our President prepares to barge into the U.N. building, guns drawn. But not today. So I play catch-up.

As you recall, I announced last week in this space that I'm seeking a wife so I can take advantage of federal monies that promote marriage. Well, the search is still on for Mrs. Right. Since I first announced my intentions, we've received more than 500 videotapes here at the castle. A few had to be discarded. Alice Sebold, author of The Lovely Bones, sent in seven different tapes, but I had to call her and remind her that she's already married. And Juliette Lewis, she's just crazy. No way am I marrying her again. Also, while I support gay marriage, I don't want to marry a man myself, so that got rid of another 50 submissions or so.

But the remainder of the tapes have been delightful. I've masturbated to seven of them that featured strip-teases of one kind or another. Those women are automatically finalists. Also coming to Mount Winchester are the charming young woman who introduced herself to me as "Georgette Orwell," another who said she'd like to see what it was like to have my "nozzle" in her "think tank," and also one who said she wanted me not for my money, but for my mind, and also she said I am God to her.

These are the kinds of women I seek for my marital loft. We've selected ten. There are only ten more to go. What surprises, what federal grants, await the lucky winner?

I've also pledged to keep you updated on my efforts to play Olivia in an all-male community theater-in-the-round production of Twelfth Night. Doing Shakespeare, for me, is like putting on an old shoe. The nearly perfect humanity of his characters, the searing poetic exactness of his language, the sheen of greatness, all these come naturally to me, his logical heir on earth. Olivia is like all of us, except that she's a noblewoman trapped in a mystical forest, but then again, aren't we all noble, and aren't we all trapped in the thickets of our own minds? How often I've wandered the woods immediately around my house, searching for love, spunky and cocksure, yet still driven by the baser passions.

The director of the play says I need to stop writing essays about Olivia and start memorizing my lines. In due time, man. What a nudge. Meanwhile, Roger is handling the role of my unctuous manservant Malvolio with aplomb, though I find it odd that he breaks out weeping every time his character confesses eternal love for mine. Roger is very emotional, but I keep him around because he makes a fabulous shirred egg.

In other news, my public appearances will be numerous in the month of March, extending into early April. First, there is my absurdly busy South By Southwest schedule, with appearances every day from March 10 through March 15. Then I'm reading in Dallas on March 22. Then, lucky residents of Georgia, I will be reading in both Athens and Atlanta during the first week in April. For more details, click here for the best tour page on the web.

Mr. Rogers, RIP. I'm sure there will be comfortable slippers for you in heaven. Can you say sad? I thought you could.

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