This entry is a big thank you to Jenn for being soooo helpful and observant this morning. It’s also a good illustration of how badly and easily I get sidetracked.

After I got out of the shower this morning, Jenn let our baby Xev cat into the bedroom. Xev climbed my towel (while it was wrapped around me) up onto the counter and Jenn got in the shower. So far, so good. I got myself ready while watching the cat. The cat likes it when you turn the water on in the sink so it just barely runs - she sticks her foot in it, shakes it off, then does it again. She also likes to try to eat your toothbrush, destroy the Dixie cup dispenser on the counter, etc. So while I was getting ready, putting on my deodorant, putting the gel in my hair, and so on, I was watching the cat and laughing.

There are about 20 minutes between Jenn getting out of the shower and me leaving. During those 20 minutes, Jenn and I are in the same room (the bedroom) getting our respective selves dressed and so forth. After that, I pack up and leave, Jenn shutting the door behind me.

I just now went into the bathroom at work. Took a leak, washed my hands, washed my face and…

WHY DIDN’T I COMB MY HAIR TODAY???

I’ve got hair running all over the place. It looks a lot like it does when I get up in the morning, but now it’s conveniently gelled into place. Fucking great. Permanent bed head.

Now, I’m not shirking the responsibility for this hair debacle. I’m sure I just got sidetracked stopping the cat from destroying something. But there was another human in the room who could have said something. Is my hair that messy all the time that it’s not noticeable when I comb it and when I don’t? Shit, people, say something.

I don’t have a comb at work. The best I can do is try to wet it and sort of beat it down with my hands. Dammit! Now what?

Okay, here’s a sidetrack for you: In the event you want to send pizza and Pepsi to a patrol, section, or entire platoon of Israeli soldiers, you can do so at PizzaIDF.org. You can also send ice cream or burgers. Apparently there’s a web site for everything nowadays. To be honest, sending pizza to Israelis never even crossed my mind before. Where’s the site to send pizza and Pepsi to me? (Actually, I guess this is it. But it doesn’t directly advertise the opportunity to send me food. Maybe I should step that up a bit.)

I called the Portland Winter Hawks office this morning and paid for the remaining balance on my two front-row season tickets. $468 each! Unbelieveable. I suppose I’d be really hurting if they were NHL tickets. Oh, well. Jenn and I have a ton of fun at the Hawks games, so it’s worth it. Besides, it keeps me out of trouble. I think.

Plus, I sit next to this guy, Jerry, and his wife Deona (I think that’s how you spell it) at the games. Jerry’s a kick in the pants. This guy has so many screwed up stories. My favorite one is the one where he sets himself on fire while cleaning out his motor home. Too much.

This weekend I realized, yet again, that I really need one of those voice-activated recorders so I can just say what I’m thinking and later transcribe it into blog form. Better still, play it back to voice recognition software and have the software transcribe it for me. Then I could go back and just proof it. See, I think most of my more “deep” (reads: entertaining) thoughts occur while I’m in the car, in the shower, taking a leak, etc., because I’m just zoning out. The blog misses out on those because I’ve forgotten them by the time I’m done doing whatever it is I was doing.

For example: I have noticed from my past experience that if you wear glasses out in the rain, regardless of how you orient your head or attempt to cover your glasses, the rain will always get on them. Always. This leads me to believe that water droplets and plastic lenses must have some sort of magnetic attraction to each other. If we could somehow harness the magnetism between water droplets and plastic lenses, we’d have abundant free, clean energy. I’m still working on how to do that. Keep watch for it in the news; I’m sure I’ll figure it out soon.

Then again, I realize too that if I had one of those voice recorder things then the blog would not only probably be waaaaay more random, but it would also have a lot more cussing in it. Maybe it would read like an Eddie Murphy sketch? I dunno.

I’m reading the book The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum because I really enjoyed the movie and my friend Brad from work (who was in the theater at the same time I was) mentioned that the book was really good. So, anyway, I’m reading this book and am realizing that the movie is almost a completely different story than the book. I mean, the names of the characters are the same (so far as I can tell; I’m not too far into the book) and the general plotline is roughly the same, but other than that… woo! Not even close. The book has so much that the movie just sort of skipped over, it’s amazing.

That said, I really did enjoy the movie. I’m glad I saw it before reading the book, but I’ll probably get it when it comes out on DVD.

Oh, and I watched Iron Monkey again this weekend - the first movie we’ve watched since we got the DVD player back from being cleaned. Something about Kung Fu movies makes me want to watch more Kung Fu movies. Like a slow growing, subtle addiction. Spy movies make me feel the same - if I watch a spy movie, I feel compelled to watch more spy movies. I go through month-or-two long stints where I’ll binge on spy movies, slow that down, slip in a Kung Fu movie, then binge on Kung Fu. I wonder why that is…

The title on this entry is even more appropriate than I’d like, since I started writing it, got really frickin’ far in it, then somehow lost it all - the admin page where I enter my stuff reloaded and, just like Keiser Soze, it was gone.

What it really implies, though, is that Jenn and I are almost back to where we were a month ago before this smoke-damage-soot-epidemic thing hit us.

Wednesday afternoon, my electronics (TV, DVD player, PS2, turntable, tape deck, VCR, speakers) all returned to me. The down side is that when the cleaning company took the digital pictures of where I had everything placed and how it was all set up, the pictures didn’t come out. So I got to spend three hours that night unhooking everything, rearranging it all, then plugging it all back together and testing it. What a huge pain. I don’t mind hooking up stereo equipment, but it wasn’t on my list of things to do that night.

Then Wednesday night Horizon Restoration came by for their final walkthrough and we signed them out because all was well. With any luck, we won’t have to see them again. I do recommend Horizon, though - they do great work. If you’re ever in a crappy situation like we were, give ‘em a call.

Jenn and I put our DVDs and videotapes on one of our two bookshelves, books on the other. That, along with our new effort to box up videos and books we don’t use very often, is conserving vast quantities of space in our living room, allowing us to spread out the chairs and such and just overall improving the space utilization issue.

Where we’re going to put the boxes is a whole other story.

Last night I got my new coffee table delivered! I found it in the SkyMall catalog while on the trip to Vegas and then bought it from a local retailer, Shleifer Furniture. The table itself totally rocks. I’m surprised nobody else I know has a clock-table. It’s just very cool. The only issue I can see, which really isn’t an issue for me, is that you can’t put a lot of junk on the table because it obstructs the view of the clock and just looks bad. Well, shucks; I guess that means I have to be organized.

The table goes well with the Moulin Rouge! theme that we have going on in our living room. It has sort of an antique crackle finish to it; the wrought iron with a rusty patina. I love it.

Speaking of the Moulin Rouge! theme, ever since we redecorated, I’ve really gotten into Henri De Toulouse-Lautrec and Alphonse Maria Mucha art. Especially the Mucha. Something about the simplicity of it appeals to me. Simple elegance. I’m actually sort of addicted to the Mucha stuff; if I go in a store and pass through their art section, I have to look and see if they have Mucha art… and then I usually end up buying some. I really need to watch that. I’m going to go broke buying art.

On a whole other note, my company is having their yearly “Water World” party. That’s where everyone has a big water gun fight. It’s pretty fun. There’s also a dunk tank that management folks get into so the employees can dunk them. My boss, Greg, is getting in this time, so I’ll be sticking around to do a little Greg-dunking. Should be fun.

This morning I went in to my local Target store to see if they had any little cast-iron bistro sets that I could put on my apartment deck (they didn’t). While there, I witnessed something I’m not sure I was supposed to see.

Upon trying to check out, I approached the cash register area… and no one was there. Looking closer, I saw that every Target employee on duty was in the customer service area.

There were probably 30 of them, standing in a large circle, all of them doing Tai-Chi-like exercises, all in perfect unison. When I approached, the entire group stopped and their apparent leader turned to look me right in the eye, and in a monotone voice declared, “It looks like we have a guest.”

One of the employees broke off long enough to scan my item, take my money, and send me on my way. As I walked out the door, I could see her returning to (what I’ve decided to call) “The Pod.”

Let me tell you, it was weird. It wouldn’t have been any more weird had they been standing around a pentagram in goatskin chaps. It makes me wonder if these morning rituals have anything to do with the success of the store. Hmmm. I wonder if other stores take part in such things. Anyone out there know?

Before I get this going, a quick note: I saw both Minorty Report and The Sum of All Fears yesterday, and both were quite good. I’ll have to work up a review for them when I get a chance.

Now, on with the show.

My commute this morning was like a gift that God Himself created special for me, wrapped up in a little package, and handed to me in my car. My normal commute takes about 45 minutes, give or take, in the morning and close to 60 minutes returning home in the evening. My commute to work this morning took 15 minutes. Unbelieveable. I almost cried.

This brought to mind a theory I’ve been working on that I thought I might share. Folks who know me have probably already heard this, but let me enlighten those who haven’t. I call it “The Theory of Indefinite Commute.” Let me explain.

If I leave really early in the morning, I can get to work pretty quickly (this happens on holidays, too, but we’ll consider those anomalies for the time being). The later I leave from my house, the longer the commute takes. In fact, it increases at a nearly exponential rate. Once a certain point in the morning is reached, the commute starts taking less time because, of course, rush hour is ending. What happens right in the middle of those two times? That’s where the theory comes in.

The Theory of Indefinite Commute: There is a time in the morning that, were I to leave and attempt to commute to work at that time, would result in me commuting to work indefinitely.

Here’s a graph that illustrates the principle:

Fig. 1: The Theory of Indefinite Commute, Illustrated

The time I leave my apartment is represented by the X axis; the time it takes me to get to work is represented by the Y axis. The blue lines indicate how the commute normally functions. The red line is what the theory revolves around. That’s the point that, were I to leave at that time, I would commute for time and all eternity.

I’m not sure what, exactly, I’ve discovered. It may be a hole in the time-space continuum that opens up at exactly that time, sort of like in Time Bandits. Who knows? At times I wonder if I would simply commute until I died or if I would actually commute eternally, immortal. Someday, maybe, I’ll attempt to locate exactly what time that is and try it… but I’m afraid of what might happen. Maybe it’s got something to do with the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe it’s got something to do with how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. I suppose, as Mr. Owl says, “The world may never know.”