SOFTLY PERPLEXED. I awaken with a question. It does not pertain to my future greatness, the state of the economy, world peace or speculation about the state of Brad and Angelina's relationship. It does not relate to my curiosity about what sexual position the downstairs neighbor would have to be in to utter such sounds of primal ecstacy. It is not about my origin, which I have concluded cannot be biologically linked to my family (they must be aliens). It is about technology. I am not speaking of the wonders of the internet, the magic of TIVO, the splendor of DVD and the freedom of the cellular phone. I am talking about grass roots innovation--the kind of invention that is so brilliant that it escapes your conscious adoration. With each load of laundry, it serves me without applause and exceeds my every expectation. It will persevere under the harsh skepticism of my doubting eyes. Yes, in the assault of freshness from my newly laundered pillowcase, I am bathed in admiration. The Downy Ball--how does it know when to release the softner? How does it do that? If we live in a society that can create that, can't we do anything?

SOFA SIGHS. I think the sofa is angry. I am certain that I heard it sigh as I made myself comfortable in my customary spot. Some might suggest that it was the air escaping from a yet undisclosed hole in the cushion; I beg to differ. That couch has tired of the presence of my ass and it is making it known. My first reaction was one of anger and resentment. I pictured myself chopping each piece of the sectional into tiny, little wood pieces and then throwing them into a fire. Naturally, I would roast s'mores or something to ensure complete and total revenge. Then I realized that I cannot burn a fire in a fake fireplace. In those quiet moments that followed, as my dreams faded into the abyss, I experienced an awakening. It seemed almost spiritual, but it was more likely an "ah-ha" seasoned with a little gas (beans for dinner again). My couch loves me. The anger is an act of love. Somewhere down deep, below the foam, it knows of my talent and potential and wonders why I am sedentary on a couch on a Friday night in one of America's greatest cities. How could I have missed the love eminating from the comforts of my couch? Why could I not sense the truth in the solace of the butt-groove? I feel so close to it again. What's a little anger amongst life partners? Tomorrow, I will treat him with Extra Strength Febreze; I will turn the cushions. I may even leave the house.