Well, it's eight in the morning, which translates to about the middle of the night (3:00 AM or thereabouts) to you diurnal folk. Initially, I wasn't going to update for another few days or so. However, staying up this late has a tendency to cloud (or rather, to eliminate) my usual judgement, so here I am, ranting. Ranting why? Because in twenty-four hours, I could find myself in a barn outside of Sioux Falls, a compound near Denver, or a high school in Rapid City, and I'm not sure of where I should go. Hence, I am writing my thoughts down in an effort to ignore the problem for as long as possible and doing such a damned poor job of it, aren't I? At least this time, my sleep-deprived exploits in no way involve random intriguing young people of the opposite gender who have nothing to do with me, and thank God for that.

All right, unrelated business: some bank in town--First National or First Federal or something... first--is holding a parade for itself at 3:00 p.m.. Why? Because they're opening a new branch near a hardware store on a brilliantly nondescript street named 'Eglin' and need the free press. So they're loading a wagon--not a stagecoach, a wagon--up with "gold" and driving it to my side of town. This is tempting, sorely tempting. Were I to stay up for another seven hours and observe the ceremony in my current semi-deranged state, I'm not quite sure what I would do. More than take pictures, I'd wager. It's just so tempting...

I had something else to write about. I know I did... ah, yes. The Salmon of Doubt by Douglas Adams would have been a fantastic book were it ever completed. Unbelievably good. I'm not kidding, just read the draft summary:

Dirk Gently, hired by someone he never meets, to do a job that is never specified, starts following people at random. His investigations lead him to Los Angeles, through the nasal membranes of a rhinoceros, to a distant future dominated by estate agents and heavily armed kangaroos. Jokes, lightly poached fish, and the emergent properties of complex systems form the background to Dirk Gently's most baffling and incomprehensible case.

Most startling is that not only is that bizarre synopsis right on, it leaves out the extensive bits about a half-lost cat and Thor, Norse god of thunder. All the same, I did really like the chapter written from the nostrils of a rhino.

It's about 8:15, and I have an email to write before I go to bed, so!