Today is the anniversary of the Great Chicago Fire. Today is also the anniversary of the Great Peshtigo Fire. If you are reading this, you probably know that I am not from Peshtigo, but rather from the Chicago area. However, I do not let geographical orientation bias my appreciation of history (except when I can't help it).

Today is also the date arbitrarily picked by Dave Barry in “Dave Barry Slept Here”, his made-up history of the United States, for all historical events. Events can happen in different years, but they all occur on October 8. This is due to the fact that it is his son's birthday.

I rode the bus to work this morning, as usual. The bus was extraordinarily full: people standing all over the place, packed tight. Annoying, maybe, but understandable — after all, this is public transportation. On top of that, the bus driver seemed to be going out of his way to accelerate and decelerate as often and as roughly as possible. Also understandable: I've never been a bus driver, and I can imagine it being difficult. However, he kept jerking to a halt at every stop, trying to let more people on. This I do not understand. There was no more room on the bus. At each stop, all potential passengers waved him away. Maybe there is a commission for getting lots of passengers or something.

David Johnson took his guitar to a street corner at lunchtime and played for half an hour. I tagged along. It was a great time. He and I talked about living freely, going for broke, doing things you've always wanted to do. I am excited about the way my life is going.

Got some fresh scallions, tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon, and cheddar and parmesan cheeses, and made some nifty omelets for Vic (who ate two), Eric, and Rob. Also I ate one (and a lot of bacon). Yummy. I want to learn how to cook other things, as I suspect I'd be rather good at it.