The most salient memory of today is this little incident where I SMASHED my HEAD into the edge of the desk. There are many different intensities of head-into-things smashing, and on a scale of 1 to 16.3 with 1 being a light tap and 16.3 caving in my skull, I'd say it rated somewhere around 8. At this magnitude, the impact is accompanied by a bright white flash visual, and a sensation of heat at the point of impact. It made me think about how ones body reacts to damage like that. Over the course of our evolution, did our ancestor creatures smash their heads into things by accident a lot? Or was it mostly hostilities from other creatures that resulted in ones ancestor creature head being jarred like a gong? I'm just not sure how the white flash is advantageous from a natural selection point of view. Maybe it just turns out that you get that when you hit the part of your body that contains the visual cortex. Maybe mom was right and I should wear a helmet all the fricken time. Or maybe I'll approach my desk from the side where the bottom sticks out farther than the top from now on.

Since my vehicle is insured once again, I took a little drive around Seattle, going to Ballard, Phinney Ridge, Northgate, and that square place kind of south of Ballard and near my house. Ah yeah, Eastlake. During this drive I found myself behind a van with "Olympic Torch Bearer" license plate protectors. Are they allowed to drive the torch around in vans now? I guess if they had to run the whole way between Athens and the site of the Olympics it would take too long. Plus, there's the issue of Oceans. Maybe they have to run around on the surface of a boat the whole time it makes the crossing? Isn't fire a really bad thing to have running around on a boat? There must be thousands of torch bearers. Especially if I'm getting stuck behind them in traffic all the time. Speaking of vans, last time I took the ferry, the van in front of me had a big logo on its spare tire cover that said "LA VAN". La Van was bouncing up and down amusingly during most of the crossing between Seattle and Bainbridge, pausing now and then to discharge large-panted youth. At one point, the seat of one pair of aforementioned big pants appeared in the unobscured right rear window (La Van also has CURTAINS) and bobbed around luridly before disappearing back into the inky depths of the mystery machine.

Yeah, I guess that's about all that's on my mind at the moment. Don't bash your head into things, keep the torch lit, and vans are funny.

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