Vacation's over...

I had a cool 21 hours off and blew about a third of it getting some shuteye. Another several hours were spent taking care of some eBay purchases (I'm just used to the fact, now, that Galina buys stuff there on a regular basis for resale), and doing the sales tax return.

I exchanged calls with Feht; he was still in crunch mode, and will remain there until Sunday. I finally got in touch with Lee on AIM and we arranged to meet at the Borders books near her apartment. She took me out to a new Japanese place, called Taiko, on Westheimer. While Lee stuck to the more traditional cooked food, I opted for an octopus salad, a couple of rolls (dynamite and peppered tuna) and a selection of ordinary tuna, yellowtail, sea bass, and a couple of servings of flying fish roe. I thought it was very good, and probably overate a little.

Lee and I chatted for a while, and then realized that we'd be late for the movie we'd planned to see, Iron Monkey, a kung-fu flick that's apparently quite popular. We arrived at the theater a few minutes late for that film, however, and settled for a couple of tickets to Bandits, starring Bruce Willis, Billy Bob Thornton, and Cate Blanchett. A couple of minor spoilers follow.

I fidgeted through most of the film, although I have to admit there were times I laughed, and wondered why. The ending is sappy (something with which I have no problem) and appears well crafted, but it doesn't take too much imagination to think of the many holes in what we are asked to believe. The closest analogy I can think of here is a chess game where one side appears to win through a series of bold, dramatic moves, but where the beauty of the combination is marred by sloppy, indifferent defense.

Just as with Willis' Unbreakable, this film had a very interesting premise (here, a seemingly stable relationship involving two men and a woman) that is set up but then not allowed to play out to any significant extent in the story. On the other hand, Thornton does an excellent job of depicting a hypochondriac.

The film let out around 12:30 am. I drove Natalie back to the Borders, where she picked up her car. I drove directly to work, arriving just about in time for the start of this shift. In my excitement, when I left the house, I forgot the power supply for my laptop, but that's no big deal, as I wasn't going to do the cam tonight, anyway. (Still, I have a couple of files I could be reviewing while I've got the headphones on and during breaks, and I'll be working without recourse to my glossaries. Oh, well.)

Mark and I are here until 9:30 am, and then we're off until midnight tomorrow, when our last shift (for this trip) kicks off.

Cheers...

One more shift...

Those three words are echoing in my head to the tune of One More Night, and as a result, I am wondering if I have, perhaps, been going at this simultaneous air-to-ground thing a tad too long. I can also feel a sort of wild anticipation of playing the role of the man in the forest who explains his odd behavior by noting "It feels so good once the pain goes away." Ah, well... such thoughts cannot possibly be healthy, so let's turn our attention elsewhere.

Having formulated the thesis that the events of September 11 will be of greater import to the U.S. than was the launch of Sputnik (pronounced SPOOT-nik, and meaning "companion" in Russian), I decided to stop by the Barnes & Noble for a coffee and a browse before returning to Pearland to package the Colorado sales tax return for its journey up to Denver, courtesy of the U.S. Postal Service. I don't really remember the Sputnik era.

I found a book titled, appropriately, Sputnik, by one Paul Dickson, and bought it after browsing through the front, the back, and in a few pages in between. The coffee was inhaled on the way back to Pearland.

As it turned out, the only thing, really, standing between my sales tax return and a postage stamp was our store's tax account number, which I did not have with me. I went to the post office and proceeded to wait through a huge line, cell phone in hand. When I got to the head of the line, I started letting people go in front of me, as I was eagerly expecting a phone call from home with the required information.

This lasted for 20 minutes, which gave me an opportunity to banter a bit with the counter staff, as the line dried up after a while. Finally, my cell phone squawked, and I got the information I needed and sent the thing, certified mail with return receipt requested, if you please. The Colorado Department of Revenue, it is rumored, is hell on wheels in terms of assessing late fees, and come the 20th of the month, we at the store are inundated with fellow retailers who want to send their return via the same service.

Upon coming home, I happened to glance at the back cover of Sputnik and noticed a familiar name among those offering kudos for the book: Francis Gary Powers.

I do remember that name. Powers was the pilot of a U-2 reconnaissance aircraft that was shot down over the USSR in early 1960. He was later returned to the United States in exchange, I believe, for some Russian spy (Abel?), and came to an end flying a helicopter in California, if memory serves.

A long time ago.

So what was with the endorsement of the book? Had I neglected to note that it had been written, perhaps, 20 or more years ago? No. The book is new. I was starting to get that feeling...

...until I noticed that the quote was attributed to Francis Gary Powers, Jr.. Which, at least, is not outside the realm of possibility.

At any rate, it is after one in the afternoon, and my examine-the-inside-of-my-eyeballs session is overdue. I've taken some melatonin, and will go to sleep shortly.

Cheers...