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So some dickwad hit my car as it was parked at Evil B's last night, severely denting things around the driver-side front wheelwell. I left their place a bit after midnight to find that the door wouldn't quite open... at first I thought it might be frozen shut, but no.

So to whomever did this, without leaving any kind of contact information: screw you. I wish you a long and prosperous life in the long run, but in the short run I hope you get an odd crick in the neck as a direct result of this incident, a short-term but troubling rash that the doctor can't diagnose, because GUILT and TERRIBLE KARMA aren't easily diagnosable, and a mysterious string of flat tires.

(At some point in the evening we had heard a car having trouble getting a grip on some ice, though at this point I almost wonder if it could have been one of the sanding/salting trucks or something.)

It was almost like the universe was trying to make it up to me, though, when it slipped me a 10 from the sidewalk this morning. Sorry universe, too little too late. Or at least too little, in this world of insurance deductibles.

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Sport of the Moment

--So my high school buddy Jeff is (I think) one of the founders of trampleball, a backyard sport of sorts, involving three guys on a trampoline jumping for a football thrown in their midst. more videos on Youtube.