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It was a dark and stormy night. Wait. No. It wasn’t stormy. It was dark, however. And a little snowy. Not actually stormy per se.

Right. Where was I? Oh, yes… It was a dark and not especially stormy night (I bet that killed the mood)

I was just returning from trygve’s (that would be a link, but someone doesn’t have website there anymore – I won’t mention any names, though). I was all set to go home and sleep early. Upon arriving I noticed my bike was not where it usually was. I did what any sane person would do: I walked around thinking “maybe somebody moved it” for about 20 minutes.

I finally realized I was right. Someone had moved my bike. Unfortunately, they moved it out of the building. Well, after using some impolite words for a bit (on AIM no less – not a family service, I guess), I called the police.

Eventually (actually, within like 15 minutes) an officer arrived at my place. He took my statement, and then I took him down to the garage so he could look at stuff. He found a bike which looked out of place (it was on the floor instead of hung on the wall, like the rest). On a hunch, he called in the serial number off of the bike. Lo and behold: it was stolen. The theory at this point is that he rode in on this brokeass stolen bike, and then stole my bike. Now, while my bike isn’t what I’d call “brokeass,” it is in need of some basic maintenance. You know, like air in the tires.

Then, the officer decides we should circle the building and see if we can find tracks. I go one way, he goes the other. We meet at the front of the building where we find (you guessed it!) tracks! Snow is a wonderful, wonderful thing. We start following them, since they’re right there (it’s like an online comic that way – you can’t stop – and then you’re all sad when there’s no more). We go for about a mile, when I have a sudden realization: It’s freezing outside. And me in my t-shirt and my soaked through dock martin’s are not so much enjoying it. The Officer called a squad car, which I then rode in as we followed the cop who was following the tracks (get that?).

Now, for those of you following along at home, this is the 2nd time I’ve ridden in the back of a squad car (though, only a few of my readers are able to guess when that was).

We tracked the bike to a gas station where apparently our quarry stopped to put air in the tires. An officer even saw him do it – maybe 20 minutes before we got there (hot on the trail!). By this point, we’ve involved more of the SHPD – we’ve got 3 cars and 6 cops as we cross from Shaker Heights into Cleveland. That’s when this became an interagency affair – Shaker Heights is communicating with Cleveland Police – officers are running amok (you think I’m kidding, I’m not!). We trace the bike trails all the way to a house. Which houses a guy with a criminal record. Some officers bang on the door. Others take pictures of the bike tracks.

After pounding on the door for like 30 minutes, we give up. a cleveland cop stakes out the house, though. The SHPD takes me back home, and tells me they’ll likely call in the morning.

The cops sent a guy out right before I went to bed – he was from S.W.A.T. and was there to take finger prints off of the other stolen bike. Unfortunately, his tape froze together, and he promised to send a forensics guy out in the morning.

Finally, I went to sleep.

This is where we put the commercial break. between the first half of Law & Order and the second. See, that was the police half. It continued while I slept, with the police getting a warrant, finding the bike, returning it, and getting a confession out of the perp.

I can only imagine what the second half is like. I imagine there was a court appearance where ADA Carmichael is arguing that the defendant be held without bail.

Also, former ADA Claire Kincaid returns to visit. Mostly because I like her too. Wait. Shit. Claire died in her last episode. OK… (thinkfast). umm. damn.

The defendant is a flight risk, your honor. He’s an admitted bicycle thief with a record. He may flee the country. On a bicycle. A stolen bicycle.

And then the defense attorney will be all, “Your Honor, my client is not a flight risk. He’s an upstanding member of society who… umm. cleans bikes. Yes.

Finally the judge puts the smack (or is that gavel?) down and says, “Bail is set at $100,000!”

During trial, the defense tries to say that I forced him to steal the bike by storing it in a locked garage. In the end, McCoy prevails and the remorseless bike thief is sentenced to 20 years in prison.

OK, well. Clearly at somepoint we deviated from reality. I leave where as an exercise to the reader.

Funny thing is, the week really didn’t get better after that.

tomorrow, I’ll update about my bike being stolen and me getting it back. That, really, is the highlight of my week. In the meantime, I’m going to sleep – and hope I don’t start gibbering like an idiot.

I took the Myers Briggs Test over at similarminds.com, and was surprised at the results. Basically, Extrovert & Introvert were 50%, and the tie between the two is broken randomly – I read that to mean I’m either both of the following, or either is likely (maybe it depends on what side of the bed I wake up?).

INFP – “Questor”. High capacity for caring. Emotional face to the world. High sense of honor derived from internal values. 4.4% of total population

That, clearly, was Introvert – the following is Extrovert.

ENFP – “Journalist”. Uncanny sense of the motivations of others. Life is an exciting drama. 8.1% of total population.

Whatever side of the bed I got up on this morning, it was the wrong one. It doesn’t feel like the semester has started, except… it has: and so far all the things I’d like to change won’t get changed. Not this year. Maybe not next year.

see title.

Merry Christmas, my gentle readers!

I hope Christmas is as restful for y’all as it is for me!

I just found “Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Total Body Workout” on Apple iTunes. It’s basically an Arnold work out tape, where he exhorts you to “concentrate on that tricep,” “squeeze! crunch! crunch,” “and make your thighs burn!” to such classics as “Don’t Stop Believin’,” “867-5309,” “Let Your Body Rock,” and (my personal favorite) “It’s Raining Men.”

Luckily, I was able to restrain myself from buying it (only $9.99!)

About every other week I realize I know about 1% of everything I want to know, and I’ve been to about 1% of all the places I’d like to go.

On occasions such as these, I ponder dropping everything I’m doing and becoming a wandering historian. Except, I probably don’t have anything to say but what’s been said. It is, I’m gathering, something of a pipedream – a very attractive pipe dream. My other dream of owning a used bookstore/cafe/hangout in canada is midly more realistic.

Mildly. This is not to say that I’m not enjoying what I’m doing (when you take away the stress, and not inconsiderable amounts of sleeplessness) – I am. If I were to be doing one of those other things, I’d certainly bemoan the fact that I wouldn’t have any time to catch up on the things going on in the field.

That leaves me at something of an impasse, I’d say.

I was in Heinen’s today doing some grocery shopping, when my eye was caught by a plain looking bottle of eggnog. I stopped to look at it, when a passing employee said, “That’s really good eggnog! If you ask me, it’s the Posrche of eggnogs! Though his statement didn’t include a hyperlink, I couldn’t help wondering what type of Porsche. This, I could deal with. Or maybe even these or (dare I say it) that! on the other hand, I’d be less impressed if it was an SUV. Anyway, here’s a link to the eggnog I bought that was a wee bit on the expensive side, and apparently very fast. Or.. Umm. quality. Or… something.

You’re probably wondering what the eggnog tastes like, aren’t you? Well… it’s certainly tasty eggnog. Probably more of a 911 than anything else. What, you ask, does that mean? I have no earthly idea. Let’s just say it’s damn tasty eggnog.

That just leaves one question: In ohio, is it pronounced “Wooster” or “Woostah?” One of my Ohioan readers might be able to tell me that. At least, I’m figuring that since I’ve been corrected on the pronunciation of places like Lebanon and… umm. Other places. Cleveland? No… that’s pretty easy to pronounce.

Right. So, I went grocery shopping (if you hadn’t guessed it already) and primarily bought beverages. Lots of beverages. Like, a shitload of juice, some tea, some gatorade. I had been through three different beverage aisles before I thought, “I should buy food, too!” This is all Becky’s fault, really: She’s always telling me, “when you’re sick you should be peeing every twenty minutes!” When we were undergrads, she’d check too:

me: I’m sick
becky: are you peeing every twenty minutes?
me: checks watch… more like 25, I think
becky: you’re not getting enough fluids!

OK, I’m pretty sure that’s a mild exaggeration, but it’s mostly true. So, now, I’m sick and thinking “I need fluids!” But, water gets boring after a while, right? So I spice it up with tea! and gatorade! and juice (it’s got vitamins! and minerals!)! And I bought soup (but only one can). Anyway who knew me back in ’97 or ’98 knows how much it pains me to buy soup when I’m sick. And, if you haven’t, just understand: it’s a lot.

Which brings me to item #3 (is it… 1. eggnog, 2. grocery shopping, 3… yeah – that works): I’m sick! That’s probably not entirely worthy of an exclamation point exactly. Still, I’m sick. I hate it. My best guess is I got it by sitting next to 9 for 2.5 hours during a final a few days ago. This observation has provoked a few snide remarks from unnamed parties, but we’ll let that go for now.

It just hit me that apparently when I’m sick, I write lots in my blog. That leads me to one of two things:

1. That’s actually only a single datapoint, you’ll need more to prove your hypothesis.
2. It’s kind of like giving a program the “-v” option.

OK. I’m heading to bed now, before I say anything else that confirms that I’m a dork.