Not forgotten

Fat cats in party hats are standing by

It's literally been years since I've been able to conjure up a strong enough blend of bravery and laziness to allow Pfiff! to go this long - nearly two months! - without any posted updates, but there's no denying the past six weeks have been an enjoyable sabbatical, made of equal parts reflection and disregard. And it would be a shameful, outright lie if I didn't state how pleasant it's been to take a break. Absence, the heart, fonder and all that. While the past few months have seen many acquaintances increasing their responsibility to write diligently, often, and in depth about beer, I've been feeling preternaturally detached from the scene, at last in terms of writing about it. Of course, it's only natural that this waxing phase should coincide with a nice, traffic-driving profile that excusably calls me out on a lack of regular writing, an event that would throw anyone looking to drive and snare traffic on their site into a hysteria of shotgun composing, throwing up scattershot postings in an attempt to create a web of interest in which to capture this newfound audience unawares. The fact that it elicited an even smaller shrug of dismissiveness on my part than usual should have been a good clue that something was amiss.

This short, but well spoken piece by John LeMasney, is a good detour at this point. Which is not to say that's what's happening here, yet, anyway. I'll prove it to you soon. What's irrefutable, though, is that my attention, interest, and energy has been recently diverted, but surely not permanently. If there are actually any readers out there who've been waiting and wondering, my apologies. We'll be back shortly.