This week has been monumentally un-noteworthy. Not unpleasant, mind you. Just quiet and not too memorable.

I read some books James nicely allowed me to borrow. James has a living room full of books. Bookcases, piles, boxes - all filled to bursting with books. Mainly sci-fi and fantasy, which is cool. So the other day I'm up there and actually start looking at his collection and I'm saying, "oooh, I want to read this...and this...and I've always meant to read this..." I walked out with a handful of books. The best, in my opinion: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, I believe. Scary, scary stuff. It's been out over ten years, so I bet a lot of people have read it - but it was new to me. You see, these religious fanatics have taken over the country and made women into possessions - shut up, sit down and look pretty. And apparently there's a lot of sterility amongst the populace, 'cause there's a special group of women called Handmaids who are basically breeders for the elite of their society.

I make it sound stupid, but it's really cool. And frightening. Kind of like 1984 crossed with The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, but without all the orgasms.

And then I read an article this morning about the Baptist church and their whole "women should submit gracefully" thing. I immediately thought of this book. See, they started out subjugating the women by instituting a military takeover, then outlawing women from working and freezing their bank accounts, then rounding up the adulterers and folks on their second marriages...it was bad.

What's up with the Baptist church, anyway? It seems like every year they get together, say, "hmmmm, what pronouncement can we make that will make us the laughingstock of the nation?" and then make that pronouncement. Converting Jews, boycotting Disney, women submitting. Come on, guys, these are not media-friendly sound bites.

And I hate to say such things, 'cause I grew up (nominally) in the Southern Baptist church. My mom attends regularly. Honestly, some of my best friends (Hi, Christie!) are Southern Baptists.

But occasionally I do want a beer. Or I want to go dance. Or to have nonstandard sex with my wife. Or listen to rock and roll. Then I remember that you really can't do all of those things in any religion.

No matter which way you cut it, I'm a sinner.

I'm sittin' here trying to figure out the last time I went to church...do weddings count? How 'bout Catholic weddings? 'Cause they do a whole Mass at a Catholic wedding. If I can count that I last went to church in November.

Here's a question, and I'd be happy to have feedback from any members of the clergy who may be reading this. Supposing no members of the clergy read my ramblings, I'd like to hear from you laypeople. Anyway, here's the question: if you have premarital sex (fornication is the technical term) but you marry the person later, is it still a sin? Send your answer to saints@magibox.net. Can't wait to hear from ya!

I came home Wednesday afternoon, took the elevator up to my floor and stepped out into the hall. A was assaulted by a familiar-but-hard-to-name combination of smells. Baby powder...baby oil...Johnson's shampoo...baby lotion...it was that baby smell.

I looked all around the landing in front of the elevator, but I saw no infant in the corner or anything. Still, it smelled like someone had rubbed the walls and floors with a freshly-cleaned baby.

I went to the apartment, changed clothes, and took the dog out for a walk. When I stepped out of the apartment a new smell hit me.

Frying hamburger.

A terrified thought hit me for a second

...they cooked the baby!

and then I chuckled to myself all the way down to the lobby.

My building smells weird.

And just to keep you updated I went running again Wednesday afternoon. Walk a block, run a block, walk a block, run a block...I did good 'til I got to the Map Room. I tried to rev back up to run my last block when it felt like someone slipped a knife between my ribs.

I sat down on the low wall surrounding Court Square and waited for the pain to go away. It did, eventually.

Fitness is a bitch.

And in a homeless people update - Crazy-Ass Bald Woman is back! She reappeared a few days ago, wearing a stylish white skirt-and-top combo, having a loud, disjointed conversation with an invisible partner in front of the NBC building on Main Street. Since then I've seen her several times, wandering, loud and filthy.

Gather 'round, kids, it's time for...

On Sonya's birthday in 1997 we went down to Union Jax, a now defunct bar on Union, to see our friends in the Big Bang play. I'd called some folks over the week before her birthday, so we had a changing cast of characters coming and sitting in on the party. We had a big time and saw a lot of friends.

Through the course of the night Sonya was drinking heavily and saying vaguely dirty things to me. She was the birthday girl and all, so I was going to give her anything she wanted.

Right before we left I had a shot of tequila with Bill. Then me and Sonya and Angie (who was spending the night with us) caught the trolley home.

We got in the house and took off in three different directions. Sonya headed for the bedroom and crashed. Angie sat on the couch and started flipping channels. I went to the bathroom and puked - a mighty, roaring, tequila-induced puke. I think Angie came and checked on me, but I'm not real clear on that. I do remember thinking I needed to lie down...

"Harold, get up and come to bed."

"Mmmminbed."

"Harold, get up!"

I was getting annoyed. Why did Sonya want me to get up so bad? I was already in bed and snuggled against her. And why was I so cold?

I opened my eyes reluctantly.

I was spread out on the bathroom floor, one arm thrown over a suitcase, my shirt bunched up under my chin. Sonya had had to pee and discovered me there.

I got up and went to bed.

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