I really like writing this blog, and I get pretty upset with myself when I miss a scheduled entry (yes, there is a schedule I like to keep. It's called the WIDWeP Method, as I find that's what works best for me). Barring travel, the only thing that keeps me from writing an entry on a scheduled day is the fact that sometimes, I just don't have anything to say (Close followers of the blog will want to note sometimes that doesn't even prevent an entry. Do me a favor and keep your smart aleck comments to yourself). The problem is never lack of events to write about - funny thing happen throughout the day; however I'm renowned world-wide for having the memory of a goldfish. As such, I keep a list of things to blog about in my Palm Pilot - whenever something strikes me, I like to jot a quick note for later reference.

The problem with this is that having a short note telling me what to write about does not translate to me knowing what the Hell I was thinking when I wrote it. For example - the last thing I wrote in my blog reminders is the phrase "Moby is a wuss." Which is something I really believe, but I have no recollection at all why I wanted to mention it here. Maybe I remembered the time he stopped in the middle of a show at Bailey Hall (a venue up in Ithaca where I used to work stage crew for CU) to ask the people in the front rows to please stop smoking. Although again, I don't know what happened that makes it relevant. However, consider yourself informed - Moby is a wuss, and if he wants to stay clear of trouble he should stay out of my path.

Been having more heat problems at the apartment. At least it's switched up a bit - before this week, the only heat problem we had was having too much. I assume the upstairs tenant kept the apartment at a comfortable 120 degrees because he is composed solely of molten rock. He's got to be pretty incomfortable this week, however, since it looks like (and by 'looks like', I mean 'feels like') there's something wrong with the heating. So the past few days I've been waking up with (and please skip to the next sentence if you are easily offended) nipples that could carve an image on a sheet of glass. Fortunately that's not an insurmountable obstacle for me, having grown up with my father controlling the temperature in the house (a man who, as far as I can tell, believes that warmth is for the weak. He has told me a number of times that being cold grows character. By the time I was 14, I had so much character I could have started my own alphabet). The problem was the fact that after my shower (oddly enough, a hot shower) but before my (badly needed) shave, the workers in the basement trying to fix the problem found it necessary to turn off the water. Which wouldn't have been a major issue either, had not my entire face and both of my hands been covered in shaving cream.

I will admit, I was flustered. I seriously considered just wiping off my hands and going to work to shave in the sinks on my floor. But I realized that I was going to have to put some clothes on, which was going to wipe off the shaving cream, which was what I was trying to prevent in the first place. I'm not sure what I ended up using to take it off, but I'm pretty sure it came from Sam's sock drawer (sorry about that Sammy). On the upside to the whole situation, this gives me an excuse to a) go to work without shaving (always a highlight of my week) and b) shave at the gym (which always kind of creeps people out, even though they provide razors and shaving gel. This may be the fact that no one understands why I'm shaving at 7PM. Or possibly the fact that I shave in the nude as a matter of habit). Another upside was me brushing my teeth with water from the Brita filter in the fridge. It was cold, but crisp and refreshing.