I’m in the midwest, I was going to fly to my home in the midwest via a stop in the midwest. I don’t know if you heard, but the midwest was a meteorological mess yesterday, so my flights were all cancelled, and I’m stranded at Skepticon. Which isn’t so bad, except for the part where I was on the phone, on hold, for over an hour with United, trying to rebook my flights. They play this short, twangy riff on the United jingle with electric guitars, over and over and over, while they make you wait for a real person. I would have preferred accordion music. It was raw torture, music that had to have been specifically selected to drive customers off the phone.

But otherwise, I just had an easy evening with the organizers and a few speakers who were also held over for another day, and now I get to wait for an airplane. Home and to work!

It all started with the wine last night — a dark red, with cherry and chocolate notes. The chocolate I can take or leave, but cherry…cherry is my flavor, and it reacted with the phlegmy mass building up in my sinuses to leach cherry dreams into my brain. This damned cold made my sleep fitful, as well, so unlike my usual nights, when I sleep deeply and blissfully so my dreams all dissipate before they pass into my awareness, I drifted shallowly in the Lethe, my head bobbing above the surface, and I remembered all, a rare experience.

Weird thing, most of the dreams I remember have salmon in them, as does this one. But it’s not got much salmon. It’s mostly about the cherry trees. OK, maybe a fair amount of salmon.

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Tauriq Moosa has a righteously indignant article on diamonds and engagement rings. Diamonds are rocks with industrial utility, but we’ve been fed this horrible line of propaganda that they’re essential geegaws for lining the bower to attract a mate; it’s an incredibly dumb myth, leading to much waste and obscene profits to a monopoly. Meanwhile, the whole engagement/wedding ring ritual is absurd: jewelers have unilaterally declared that the rule of thumb is that you should spend three month’s income on an engagement ring…and people actually fall for it. Why three months? I don’t know. Maybe because the jewelers thought it was the maximum they’d be able to bilk the rubes out of.

When my wife-to-be and I decided to get married, we went to the local jeweler and spent about $100 on plain gold bands, simple and adequately symbolic. We would not have spent more, because we were already committed to a freakin’ partnership, and sinking more into a pointless status symbol would have been a reckless waste of our mutual funds. I wasn’t buying her, I wasn’t trying to impress her into thinking I was rich (we knew exactly what we were each worth financially, and that didn’t matter), and tying up our limited capital in a useless rock was not part of the agenda.

Also, Moosa says he’s giving a man’s perspective — but it’s also a sensible woman’s perspective. My wife was even more insistent on keeping our little tokens appropriately priced than I was.

Stupid cat. Once again, its wanton destruction of our router leaves me throttled, my rhythm thrown off completely. Shortly, I’ll be immersing myself in a long day of work, but this evening, my wife and I are heading off to the exotic fleshpots and glittering wildness of the Big City, and there I shall capture myself a new router, and after this weekend I’ll be back in my groove.

I knew there was a reason I hated cats. The one we’ve got is a Luddite.

She’s been busily chewing through and clawing computer cables. Earlier this week, she destroyed the phone—while I was on it. She saw me talking to someone, there was this lovely dangling cord, so she leapt up, snagged it, tore the base from the wall and smashed it on the floor, and left me standing there holding a disconnected handset to my ear.

Last night was the final straw. She managed to discover our wireless router, climbed up to the high shelf where it was located, and threw it down to the ground. It looks OK superficially, the little green light comes on, but now none of our computers can find a signal from it, so it seems to be dead.

That’s right. This cat has been methodically demolishing all telecommunications from the Myers household. I’m using my iPad and its 3G connection to send out this last desperate plea for help…before she comes for it, too.

Anyway, this is a problem. I usually put up a series of blog posts before I head off to work, but that’s not an option today. Blame the cat.

I’m going off to the Twin Cities this weekend with my wife, who has a professional meeting there, and I’m going to pick up a new router while I’m there. Also, I think, a couple of squirt bottles. Anyone know if they make iron shackles that fit cats? Something crude and low-tech would be appropriate.

Anyone who lives in a log cabin and hates technology and doesn’t believe in phones and cables and wires want to adopt a cat?

On top of my usual horrible Wednesday class load, which means I don’t emerge from non-stop working with students until 5pm, my division has scheduled a major meeting for 3 hours from 6pm to 9pm. Goodbye 16 October, I think I’ll just deny your existence until the calendar rolls over to 17.

It would be nice if I could just go back to bed right now.

I’ve been distracted this morning — I had to put down a rebellion. Various bacteria have been staging a revolt and trying to bolt out of the confines of my gut by cunningly fleeing into the sewers; not cunningly enough, though, as I’ve dealt with the traitors by sending great chasers of hydrochloric acid after them. This is how a tyrant deals with betrayal and cowardice! Death to the disloyal! Painful slow burning death!

Now I have to go lie down.

Reminder: I’m going to be in Austin this weekend. On Saturday, I’m going to be giving a lecture on bat evolution (in a church!) followed by the always awesome bat cruise. One and a half million bats will darken the twilight skies, while a mob of atheists cheer them on. How can you miss this?

You know what, guys? I’m really worn out. Wednesdays I’ve just got back-to-back-to-back teaching — I talk and coax students into talking for about 3 hours straight — and I’m planning to vegetate for a while. Maybe a glass of wine and a really bad movie, and then early to bed.

You don’t need me for anything, do you? Just talk among yourselves, in your best Boris Karloff voices.