I finished rereading Fight Club this last week, and for four out of the last five nights, I have woken up between 3:30 and 4:30 a.m. Even with twisting and repositioning, I wasn't able to get back to sleep much before dawn. This newfound awake time has jumbled me up, but it hasn't made me think any less. Sometimes, I wish I could just be switched off like C-3PO.

Tests came back from the scientists stating that sleeping less than eight hours might allow you to live longer. I wonder about the actual value of living longer, and if that is really the point of living. John Coltrane barely made it to his forties, and Strom Thurmond is still in the Senate in his late nineties. Whose life would you rather have lived? I'm still waiting for the scientists to do a study that proves less sleep makes you evil. The first rule of fight club is that you do not talk about fight club...

My Olympic moments this year have been few and far between. I heard about the Canadian figure skaters getting screwed and then rewarded. I saw a little bit of the Super G skiing competition, and skiing looks cold. I'm trying to figure out when a bobsled turned into a bobsleigh. Every time I see a picture of Michelle Kwan with an open mouth smile, my mind conjures up an oral sex fantasy. Yeah, it's perverted, but did I mention I've been waking up at 3:30 in the morning for no reason?

I saw two British plays about being out of love this weekend. It makes me think that there's a lot of people who don't know anything about staying in love. There are couples out there who have no clue what it takes to a have a real long term pleasurable relationship. There's the exciting beginning, the tolerable middle, and the settled upon rest of the time until they find someone new to do the same damn thing with. Scientists say that if you have relationships like that, you might live as long as Strom Thurmond.

I walk down a lonely street, and a shady character stands in front of me. As I pass him, I intentionally make eye contact with him and say "What's up, guy?" He says that nothing is going on, and I continue down the street. I hear his boots following about fifteen feet behind me until I make it to the bar and walk inside, never to see the man again. People talk about homeland security and safety and protecting American citizens from all the terrorists in the world, but all the money in the world isn't going to protect me from having a guy with heavy boots follow me if he wants. This world isn't safe, and we should never think we can make it that way. The second rule about fight club is that you do not talk about fight club...

Being the only man at a booth with four women, you learn a little about what the fairer sex considers good conversation. They talk about relationships-a little bit of theirs maybe, but usually about everyone else's. They talk about what everyone else is doing wrong with their lives, they talk about the past like it's the present, and they talk about future plans like they are destined and inevitable. Everywhere around America, guys are thinking how exciting it would be to be the only guy drinking in a booth at a bar with four attractive females (as if it's some Michelle Kwan fantasy), but the truth is you are outnumbered. It was only when one of them pulled me into a stall in the ladies restroom that I thought I had half a chance of holding my own.

There has been drinking, and smoking, and chatting, and talking, and shmoozing, and kissing, and groping, and slaps on shoulders, and good to see yous, and before I know it, I'm back on that lonely street, and the guy who was following me before is gone. Everyone is gone, and I have a hard time wondering what I'm supposed to appreciate, and what I should discard without a second thought.

So at 3:30 in the morning, my body wakes up as if there is more to do. Like there is a mathematical equation I have to figure out before the sun comes up, like there is a pop quiz when I get out of bed. Someone is going to ask me questions to everything I've been up to in the past couple weeks. Demanding an explanation for everything thing I've done. But no one does, and I don't say. And the world is full people who say lots of things and do next to nothing, and every now and again, you run into a person who does much and says little about it. Who will live longer? Which would you rather be? Does it matter one way or another? The first rule of Project Mayhem is that you do not ask questions...

Chris Jungle gets along with his alter-ego most of the time.