Okay, I admit it, this is kind of fun. See, Julie Oakley, a artist in some quaint little village in England, probably lives in a thatched hut and eats spotted dick and yorkshire pudding for breakfast and rides a wobbly bicycle to the chemist's, bought one of my sketches at Wally-Mart, and finding she couldn't convert all her little shillings and guineas and ha'pennies to real money, bought me a credit at Amazon, which amount, when shipping was added, came to within 15ยข of the cost of a spanking new Moleskine sketchbook! How's that for serendipidity? This way, she gets her sketch, I get the wherewithal to make new sketches, and nobody gets hurt! No sketch mills in Cleveland shut down and put hundreds of families in jeopardy, no fat cat businessman makes a brazilian dollars off my drawing while his own workers starve to death in the freezing warehouses of Well, Jeff Bezos, I guess he's a squantillionnaire or something, isn't he? So my hands are dirty too. See, unless you go sit on a mountaintop and hold your breath until you die like some Jain guy, you're going to end up being complicit. There's no way around it. Which has a small good facet to it, in that all of us, no matter what our politics or moral stance, should be humble as hell. Except we aren't, because we're too smug and stupid to see our complicity. You know so much of what ails us could be ameliorated if we would just open our eyes and see.

My new year's resolution was to use the word "ameliorate', it's such a cool word, dripping with the balm of Gilead and other essential oils, so now I can relax.