This morning I saw Burt Reynolds on Good Morning America. His new face doesn’t look as harsh as it did a few months ago, but man, is that dude ever crazy.

Yesterday was punctuated with bizarre events. I had movers pick up some furniture from my parents’ house and bring it to my new place. That went well and quickly, thank goodness, because the cable guy was supposed to come between 3 and 6.

Around 4 or 4.30, I began to wonder where the cable guy was because Monday, when the first cable guy came by, he was two hours early. He called eventually and asked what the problem was–cable was working fine til the Monday guy futzed with something–and asked if I was at home. Well, of course, I was at home; I was waiting for him to show up. So he said he’d drop by.

A while later, I saw his van pull into my driveway. It looked like he was on the phone. He had one arm dangling outside the window and was sitting in the van. So I kept unpacking boxes. After 30 minutes or so, he still hadn’t come to the door. So I started wondering what the hell was going on. Then Ben called me and told me that he’d been asked to delete a comment off NashvilleZine.com that might have caused problems. I told Ben how to do that. A few minutes later, Ben called back. Another comment had appeared; this time, a fake one with Ben’s name on it. The cable guy still hadn’t come to the door.

Finally, after it seemed like he’d been in the driveway for an hour, he knocked. I let him in and he didn’t seem to ask the right questions. He didn’t really ask any questions just sort of walked in like he was going to another room in the house. I had to say: there’s only the one TV and it’s right here and here’s the problem. He plugged the cable into his little gizmo and I told him that the cable worked fine until the Monday guy fiddled with the box outside. The guy grabbed his gizmos and started heading towards the door before I could finish my sentence. “Let’s go take a look at it,” he said.

So, feeling very strange about the whole series of events, I followed him around to the back of the house where he fiddled in the box that is right under my neighbor’s bathroom window for God knows how long. The whole time, I was standing in the backyard wondering what I was supposed to be taking a look at. Maybe it was the hour he spent in my driveway, maybe it was the phone calls from Ben, but I was feeling kind of rattled and suspicious.

After he fixed it and we were walking back to the front of the house, he told me that he’d really hurt his back earlier in the day. I assumed this might account for him acting strangely and not talking a whole lot. We got back inside and the TV works fine and he said, “Let’s make sure your internet’s working.” So we walk in the other room and of course, my screensaver has pictures of Britney Spears in a bikini floating around–now I look like a pervert. I check a couple of sites and he leaves.

And sits in my driveway for another 20 minutes or more.

My girlfriend called me to tell me she’d be home around 7.30 and she could pick up some dinner on her way. She called again when she left work around 7.15. At almost 8 she arrived–way too late for a normal dinner pickup. “Sorry, I’m late,” she said. “I had to call the police.” I assumed she meant at work because they’ve always got to call the police for legitimate non-emergency legal functions–e.g. pick up this child and take him to DCS. Nope, she meant at the restaurant. There was a knife-fight going on in the parking lot.

I got up this morning to re-set the alarm to give me another half hour and there was a Japanese Fighting Cricket the size of my fist on the wall. I was not able to return to bed.