I am strange. I know. But I swear, I have been meaning to finally buy a TV. Like all the other good little citizens. Maybe that will finally cure me of these rebellious tendencies. Oh how I long to become one of these obedient, transparent people that sit. And watch. And watch.

These docile folks simply cannot understand why Bush does not get on with taking out this Saddam person, so the stock market can rebound. That way, everybody will be happy again. Even the Iraqis. Minus those that will be killed in the invasion, of course. But then, hardly anyone dies in wars anymore. If they did, the TV would report it. It would point out the death toll of invasion. That kind of news wouldn't be quieted because war will bring more eyeballs to The Screen? Would it? No, that cannot be true. Say it with me: TV is good, TV is right. TV is good, TV is always right.

Anyways. Believe it or not. I started this TV monologue to illustrate what I am up against in the TV department. And why I may again fail in buying myself a TV this year. It is not because I want to be orthodox. I do not find anything comfortable about being square. Especially when I try to squeeze through those round holes (BTW, there must be some square holes somewhere? Right?).

No, year after year I fail to buy a TV because I know I will be hooked. My eyes will become square - or round, as the case may be. And so, I try to find some ways to purchase the damn thing and still maintain a modicum of hope that, through the marvels of technology, I will be able to break away. Occasionally.

One such technological marvel has had me mesmerized for quite a while, now: TiVo. This wonderful machine promises to fill up on your favorite TV material, to be viewed at your leisure. So you will not have to run home to catch that detective flick at 7 pm sharp, and you will not have to worry about spending hours programming your video recorder to tape it. Just unleash your TiVo on the TV. Then, when you are overcome by TV-thirst, you can sit down and watch at your own leisure. And the best part? With the TiVo, you can skip the commercials! Just flip past them. Reduce "60 Minutes" to "45 Minutes" and still catch that splenetic Andy Rooney guy at the end of it.

So why haven't I made the plunge? Surely, this is a wonderful excuse to sail happily into la-la land and never look back? Well... The thing is, I keep hearing these weird horror stories about living with TiVo. And then there is always the Next Big Thing. I also have that syndrome. Bad.

You see? There really is nothing interesting about why I do not have a TV. I am just indecisive. Lazy. And square. But I will give in. Soon I will become just like all the other quiet souls, spending my life quivering under the orange alert on my TV.

Ahhhh.

Just had one of those totally relaxing weekends. You know. The ones when you just lounge around and hardly do anything at all. I swear, the greatest extravagance of all is to spend time. Just spend it. Literally.

The only thing that we did do, was have people over for dinner on Saturday. New people. They are these really nice, decent couple, with two small kids. I know it's probably just because we're pregnant, but I found the little critters simply adorable. And their parents, it turns out, are really interesting. And fun. We sat and talked for hours on end. I think we're going to be spending time with them. Once we get to know them better.

Good company. Good food. Good wine. C'est la vie!

I have discovered one definite advantage to living where the temperatures will go down to 20° below zero: You feel like it's summer when it crawls back up over 30°.

It's 44° today. Rejoice!

I have been wondering why Germany has been one of the few outspoken voices of reason against an invasion. The majority of Germans are strongly opposed to this aggression, and their chancellor, the pathetical populist Gerhard Schröder, has predictably followed along and voiced the nation's abhorrence on the international stage.

My conclusion is that this stems from the sensitivity of the Germans to being branded apathetic, when confronted with rhetoric that extolls the virtues of starting a war. Today's chant about "taking care of business" seems to have stirred the soul of this nation, which bowed its head in shame for decades after starting a devastating war which was preceded by a very similar rhetoric by its 'elected' leaders.

Long forgotten speeches, proclaiming a need for "Lebensraum" and for staving off an "immediate threat" from the east by means of "preemptive military actions", seem ominously close now.

But, since history is written by the victor, the likelihood of a similar moral lesson being learned by the agressor of our times is sadly slim.

Working like crazy can be fun. Seeing something really come together, especially after weeks of preparation and work. It is a really good feeling. Thrilling.

It is also strangely liberating when you are working on a big project with just one big deadline. Nothing else to dictate when you work, at what speed or for how long. So if I am having a hard time sleeping, for example if my wife is not at home, I might get up in the middle of the night and work into the afternoon of the next day. Or if I'm going nowhere I will just call it a day and continue the morning after.

I may not be the best person to explore this kind of working arrangement. You see, I do not seem to have any built-in sense of time. At all. So I will frequently burn the midnight oil the last few days before a deadline. Well, that's how I've always worked. It may be changing. Maybe.

But the thrill is fun.

Just saw Chicago. The movie. It was quite good. I like musicals. I really like Baz Luhrman's work, for example. His Moulin Rouge was great. But then I like Nicole Kidman.

Chicago's main premise is that a courtroom is a stage, which should be used to 'razzle and dazzle' a jury. That's probably as good a description as any of what goes on there. I have never quite seen the common law court system - being judged by twelve of your peers and all that - as the just way to go. I probably just like authority figures, like the omnipotent judge, too much. I guess.

We felt the baby move for the first time today.

Well, my wife did. She came running to me "Feel here, feel here" and put my hand on her stomach. But nothing. I guess it got scared from all the commotion. "Wait a minute, where is she running? I should maybe just stay still for now."

I continue to stay convinced that Alien was written by a woman. A pregnant woman. Remember that scene when something was visibly crawling around inside John Hurt, and then burst out of his stomach?

Exactly.