I know I said it on Sept. 11, 2001, but this time I really, really mean it: This changes everything.

Dang, now I feel guilty. Because I'd given up on the Red Sox actually making it to the World Series. I stopped paying attention. I let my eye off the ball.

Hm... I wonder if that's why.... Naw.

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The other day I ran into an acquaintance who says he reads my blog. "And I always say, 'Doesn't this guy have a restaurant to run?'" As if to say, Scott writes in his blog so much, how does he find time for anything else..." Whereupon I immediately recognized that this person read my blog once, maybe twice, not even bothering to look at the entry dates.

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I don't see any reason not to mention this here: Tulip Cafe is for sale. Highest bidder. I want my life, sanity and my journalistic career back, and my partners in this venture are not willing to help out.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want to close Tulip. I love the place; I just don't particularly like owning it anymore. In the best case scenario, somebody would come along and offer a decent price for 51% of the company. I could stay in as a passive minority shareholder -- although I don't have to. (As 51% owner, you can pretty much do anything you want.)

Ideally, this prospective buyer: a) has experience in the restaurant business, particularly in Prague; and b) actually likes Tulip -- the food, atmosphere, and concept.

To me, Tulip is like a big lovable dog that's not particularly happy in its current living environment. Apartment's too cramped, owner's away all the time, doesn't feed it properly. I could keep the dog, because I love it so much; but then it would suffer. Or I could give it to somebody that would take proper care of it. Perhaps I would have visitation rights, perhaps not, but at least the dog would be happy.

Contact me privately if you know of anybody with serious interest.