Guess what? I’ve been re-watching the Holy Trilogy (Hexology?) on rainy days. That’s what. I clearly remember queueing in the rain for Episode IV, watching Episode V twice in a row in England, and then skipping school all day to be 100th in line for the opening of Episode VI.

The forecast that greeted me this morning:

...and an atmospheric pressure of 33888241107 dynes per square fathom.

So, the temperature is just above freezing, but the wind is blowing at some unknown Roman legionary speed.

It’s things like this that cause spaceships to crash.

somewhere along the line i decided that my little company‘s title would also be little, and so i always spell it in lowercase. that makes it especially difficult to begin a sentence with.

anyway, geof harries just posted a profile of yukon dude on his blog. thanks, geof.

boy, it’s high time that i updated the company’s site. especially now that i’ve dropped the “software” part from the name.

Under the couch in a far corner of a small university pub, four 20-something fellows find an unlocked briefcase containing:

• one paperback thriller novel,
• one crossword puzzle printed on a sheet of 8-1/2 by 11 paper, and
• one 1/2-pound solid milk chocolate Easter rabbit, intact.

The lads think themselves honest, so close the lid and tuck the briefcase back under the couch to wait for its owner’s return.

“Let’s have another look at that puzzle.”

The clues seem unusually difficult, and so back goes the briefcase. Somehow the ears of the bunny fall off along the way.

“Let’s see if the novel’s any good.”

Critiques are offered, and the briefcase returns again, the rabbit slightly decapitated.

“Let’s just eat the damned bunny already.”

At the end of the evening, the briefcase is handed in trust to the barkeep containing:

• one paperback thriller novel, and
• one crossword puzzle printed on a sheet of 8-1/2 by 11 paper.

The events as I have described them occurred some twenty-three years ago this week. The mystery of the briefcase’s contents and owner remains unsolved.

I was dating a woman with Dutch parents for a short while in the late ’90s. Her father had served in the Dutch military and had been shipped to one of the former colonies in Indonesia. As part of their jungle training, the soldiers had been taught not to use soap on their skin as it would strip the body’s natural oils that defend against infection and parasites.

And the jungles of Indonesia contain some terrifying pathogens and parasitic creatures indeed.

After returning to the Netherlands, I guess he had reverted to the common — yet not stereotypically European — custom of washing with soap. However, on that particular autumn day in 1997, in the midst of a large family gathering, he decided to inform me that he had once again given it up. I remember scooching ever-so-imperceptibly away.

On New Year’s Eve of last year, I happened upon an online discussion of going without soap or shampoo. “Now there’s a resolution for 2010,” I thought.

And so, I have gone soapless and shampooless for the past three months. It was only after two months had elapsed that I revealed all to my wife. She didn’t seem the least bit bothered. No one else seems to have noticed either. About the only difference I’ve found is that my hair is a bit frizzy, so I’ll have to keep it cut short — you’d think it would get greasy, but it doesn’t.

Now, I do wash my hands with soap or antiseptic quite regularly: I spent a good chunk of this winter in hospitals and didn’t want to catch or transmit anything. Otherwise, I credit my invisible shield of oil for keeping me healthy all this time.

Take that, Proctor & Gamble.