Wow, that was quite a hiatus!

Amazing how time can become fleeting. Drift away.

I have no idea why I haven't blogged in weeks. First, I thought it was because I've been busy preparing for my trip. But that hasn't stopped me in the past. In fact, I am one of these people that am best at getting things done when I am insanely busy.

Then, I thought I might be shellshocked from my wife having to have a second surgery last week, on a rather short notice. But it was nothing like last year. Actually, it was just a consequence of that. A "repair", as she called it. And she will need more. All minor.

No, I came to the conclusion that I just don't have anything profound to say. And then I realized that this 'conclusion' is so profoundly wrong that I must find a better one. You see, to stop blogging because I have nothing profound to say implies that this blog had until then been a fountain of profoundity (I know that's not a word, but it looks cool). And it would also imply that that's what blogs are for. Wrong again. After browsing through my favorite blogs today I realized that hardly any of them are profound, or even much more than mundane, in appearence. There are exceptions, like my neighbor's blog, which contains a daily wealth of information and profound thought. I am constantly in awe of the amount of work and heart that that blog is constantly filled to the brim with. But most of the blogs I visit often are my favorite, not because of how profound they are. The reverse is almost true. Some of them are written by people I know nothing of, some by people I hold dear. These are blogs that read like diaries, containing random thoughts and a recount of often mundane chores and events. A snapshot of how that person felt when he or she was writing that text. What is being conveyed is more mood than thought, more sentiment than sensibility.

And that is what appeals to me. That is in my opinion the ultimate power of this medium. It somehow manages to allow us to share thoughts and feelings with practically anyone, near and far, friend or stranger. In this world, each of us is pretty much pigeonholed from the rest of mankind, confined to this job place, that city, this ethnic group, that income bracket, this age, that family, this education, that whatever. Sure, you break across these boundaries, partly because they are there. But then you get sucked back into the same old way of thinking, the same groups of people you talk to, the same way of looking at life. It is simply a miracle to have a tool that actually lets me in on the thoughts of a college professor who, like me, just became a completely clueless dad, or a girl in Denmark, who, like me, has sometimes trouble knowing which way to turn a screw, or this boy in China, who is generally upbeat but sometimes wonders what it is all for, anyway.

So I still do not know why I have shied away from this blog lately. But I am back.

At least for today.

A book and a movie!

• Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
• Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

I can't wait!

Ladies and gentlemen.

I give you ... William Shatner!

Roughly half of my closest friends use some sort of Messenger software, mostly MSN. The guys are more often online, but the girls talk more.

A common theme with the guys, who I often talk with late in the evening, is that they will disappear offline as soon as their significant others say the word, throwing a "bye" and not even giving me a chance to reciprocate before the log off. In other words, my guys treat their girls well.

Come to think of it, that is no coincidence. I have always abhorred men who do not treat their women decently. Only one of my friends used to do that. So one day I knocked him cold. Suffice to say, we wouldn't be considered friends today. I just snap when women get mistreated. That's terribly old-fashioned, I know, but I can't help it. I cut women much more of a slack. I think I can somehow feel what a challenge it can be for women to put up with us guys. "After all, he's just a man", and all that jazz.

Despite all my rhetoric, I guess I'm just an old-fashioned fart after all.

I bought my ticket today.

Leaving on August 15. Not coming back until September 4. And flying alone.

*Sigh*

My daughter and I ended this day by walking around in a park. She would hold onto my thumbs, and I would slowly ease them out of her hands, thus leaving her to walk on her own. She realized that after taking a step or two by herself, and fell onto the grass laughing hysterically.

Then we went for pizza. Broccoli for her, anchovies for me.

Something woke me up in the middle of the night.

No, it wasn't a loud truck. Not the train. Nor a wild party in the neighborhood. Not the smell of something burning. But it was a smell. A foul, pugnant, offensive, overbearing smell.

It was a skunk!

Somewhere in the village, a skunk had sprayed its overbearing liquid. Possibly in defense when fronted with another animal. Or a car.

But as a result, everything smells like a skunk in here now. Including me. Gee, I can just imagine the looks on my fellow biker's faces when I show up for our 50 mile ride this morning. They'll probably leave me in a ditch enroute.

Hello. I will be your skunk for the day.