Mount Argyle

Tea: Jasmine Vanilla

Music: Beaver Nelson, "Minute Man"

Time: Night.

I don't always wear matched socks. Sometimes, I deliberately choose not to match. I do like to have the option, though.

And for several weeks ... okay, months ... my choices have been shrinking for no apparent reason. I put socks in the laundry. Sometimes I do the laundry -- and it still happens. My dryer is like the Thunderdome: Two socks enter, one sock leaves.

Today, I'd had enough. I rounded up every bag of unmatched socks I could find. (There were, for the record, five. There are five people in the house, but the unmatched socks were not divided by member. That would have been way too efficient.)

It started while the kids were at school and Mrs. Steep was at work. I made a pile in the living room and started pairing. As the others arrived home, they joined in.

I didn't count how many pairs we managed to get together. All I know is that I still have dozens of unmatched socks in what's now "my" sock bag.

Maybe I'm not meant to get them all paired off. Maybe my sock pile is some sort of cosmic trigger, a textile version of the monks' quest in Arthur C. Clarke's "The Nine Billion Names of God."

Then again, maybe the whole sock thing was just a cheesy way to set up giving you two stories tonight. No ghosties or monsters in the Clarke, I know. But the story is its own (albeit peaceful) brand of spooky, wouldn't you say?

You didn't read it? Go back and finish it. Right now. Or no literary dessert for you.

All done? Good job. Now you can move on to A.M. Burrage and "The Green Bungalow."

Cup XX: If I Had a Million Dollars, I Would Buy a Lot of Kleenex

Tea: Blood Orange, ginger added, with honey (but no Dijon ketchup)

Music: Barenaked Ladies, "If I Had $1,000,000"

Time: Afternoon

Stupid allergies. My head's all full of junk, and tonight's First Friday. Can't miss that. Well, I could. But I'd miss the art -- even if there's not likely to be a Picasso (or a Garfunkel) on hand --and the chance to make contacts.

I'm turning into a schmoozer. Oh, well.

And on top of things, my tendinitis is back for its semiannual visit. Left heel, this time. So I'm using the tea to wash down a couple of ibuprofen, too.

Here's hoping everything kicks in by the time I head down to the Crossroads. If not, I'll be easy to spot (or hear) from a couple of blocks away. Just watch for the limping, listen for the sniffling. But if everything goes right, I'll be unstuffed and fully bipedal. In which case, you'll just have to look for the mismatched socks.

Today's creepy story, selected in haste because the annoyingly law-abiding junior daughter needs the computer for homework. (Doesn't she know Friday afternoons are for slacking?)

M.R. James, "The Mezzotint"

Cup X: One Down, One to Go, Another Town and One Game Show

Tea: Vanilla Jasmine

Music: Threshold, "Mission Profile"

Time: Night, after a long day

So here I am, overnighting in Springfield, Mo., which means that yes, I passed the first round of the Jeopardy test. Next up, the 50-question test. That's at 9 a.m., which means I have precious little time to go on Wikipedia and change every answer in the known universe to "Latvia."

I got to the testing site two and a half hours early, anticipating a gigantic line. I was No. 33. So I read and listened to music. I worked on the novel and talked to a fellow word guy and met his girlfriend, both very cool people. (Matthew and Melissa, that's you. You have the contact info. Call me next time you're in Kansas City.)

Oh, and my socks were not only unmatched, but gloriously so. Left foot, orange and black with narrow stripes. Right foot, green and black with wide stripes.

I didn't ace the test (locked up on "Lean Cuisine"), but nine out of 10 turned out to be good enough.

None of the answers, by the way, was "Latvia."

Give me time, though ... just give me time.