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It was ironic, but I threw that line out just now, and my wife has promised to wake me up and make me sing the Bobby McFerrin song with her if the lyrics are running through her head in the middle of the night. Too bad she’s pregnant, or I’d suggest a drink to help her sleep better!

How disappointing that my mother-in-law didn’t continue her tradition of trying to bamboozle my wife. I didn’t try, either — the only ‘surprises’ I thought of were not funny, just scary. And that’s not clever… anyone can think of disasters.

Which is why the annual effort by TidBits is so appreciated. I hope they have as much fun writing their ‘news items’ as I do reading them.

The VPN at work is down. I rarely connect from home, since I can get my email in mobile fashion (thank you, RIM), but the people I work with need to get to the servers to make changes, and tonight, that connection just crapped out. Pointed reminder that despite thinking the network is Shirky’s permanet, at least here in the heart of San Francisco, working for an internet company… Internet Protocol (IP) isn’t a full utility yet.

I finished my mental candy last night, so it’s time to get some intellectual fiber again. I’ll see how a biography of Patrick O’Brian turns out. Author is Dean King, which means nothing to me now. I haven’t read all of the Aubrey and Maturin novels, but I’ve read enough to know they are masterpieces. O’Brian was notorious for avoiding publicity, so a tough one for the biographer. Maybe he wasn’t as invisible as Joseph Heller, but not exactly David Eggers, either.

I was drawn into O’Brian’s novels because I’d devoured (repeatedly) the Hornblower novels by C.S. Forester. I even wrote one of my college essays about Mr. Midshipman Hornblower! What does that say about me? Too late.

I received a notice that my current primary care physician (PCP… what a lovely acronym given the context) is moving to a new city, and therefore I’ll have to choose another doctor within my HMO. I’ve only seen my doctor three times in four years, so I don’t have a deep attachment here, but I realize I don’t have a good idea about how to find a new doctor. Why can I get dozens of reviews for a new digital camera but I cannot get any ratings (that I know of) for the services of a good doctor? Which decision is more important? For which do I have more information? Certainly not a new observation, but I feel like there is lot more to say over time. If this a problem that is worth solving as a business? Anyway, for now, any good doctors in San Francisco looking for healthy (knock on wood) patients? Yes, I’ll ask friends for recommendations… but few good doctors have spots available, especially if you are on an HMO plan.

What you read says a lot about you, so I’ve decided to emulate the ‘currently reading’ idea I’ve seen on several other sites. Of course, I’m not yet willing to set it up nicely, so I’ll just start by noting what I’m reading as normal posts, rather than anything more dramatic.

I’m (re)reading The Lost World by Michael Crichton. I needed some mental candy, and a movie screenplay in the form of a book was just the ticket. I couldn’t remember whether I’d read it or not when I was at the library, but I figured it wouldn’t take long either way. Crichton usually puts together a reasonably good story, and only sometimes does the writing get in the way of racing through to the (obvious) conclusion. Most noticeable glitch for me is all the “explanation by dialogue” he includes, but I keep reading.

A co-worker told me Friday afternoon that a weatherman had promised ‘the best weekend of the year.’ A different co-worker (a surfer) took a look at his favorite weather maps and seemed to agree. After enjoying the sun, blue sky, and very light winds of the last two days, I think the forecast was spot on. Wow. We may have nine months to go in the year, but hard to imagine that a San Francisco summer will offer such promise again. I wasn’t outside the whole time, but enough to think it was hot. At 75 degrees, I’m clearly Northern California soft now.

After burning his hand last week in Arizona, the boy continues to demonstrate the importance of infant healing powers. With the bonk above his eye, the scrape on his elbow, the pinched skin on his stomach, and assorted scratches, he’s altogether too much the little boy right now.

I’ve waited 25 minutes, listening to him ‘read’ to himself and give instructions to various of his stuffed animals… but I think it’s time to go get the boy out of his crib.

OK, I never thought I was. But Brent Simmons and I share a birthday. Not that we’ve met, but I’m a happy user of NetNewsWire (Lite, for now).