Might be time for a day off.    Maybe two.

      I feel okay, but recent events tell me that I'm not 100% between the ears.

     The first clue came Saturday morning.   My son, a college freshman, had just returned from a county swine flu clinic where he'd gotten a dose of the nasal vaccine.     It meant waiting for hours in the cold, but folks in his age group are considered high-risk so the hassle was well-worth it.     He came home cold but satisfied.   

      "How did it go?", I asked.

      "Fine," he said, "but now everything smells like bacon."

      "REALLY?!?" I sad, fearing some freaky, unknown side effect.

      "No, Dad.  It's a joke."

      Oh.  Funny.    And, who's paying for your second semester?

      So went clue number one.    The second came Monday night when my cellphone rang.    "Private Number" said my screen.    A mechanical voice told me that my debit card's security had been compromised and that the account was being canceled.    This came as a surprise to me, since I don't have a debit card.     Then I remembered that my son did.     The voice kept asking if I wanted to proceed, and if so, to produce an account number.    I didn't have one, kept pressing "0" in hopes of finding a human to talk to and finally hung up when I didn't get one.

      I told the family exchequer, also known as my wife, that we needed to call the boy to let him know his card might be compromised and thus, unusable the next time he goes out for a tasty sammich at the Union.       Wait a minute, she said--aren't you the least bit suspicious about the bank calling YOU on YOUR CELL instead of our son who's name is on the card?     Doesn't this sound like an obvious scheme in which the "Private Number" is trying to get us to go public with our sensitive digits?

      Of course it was.    And I never saw it coming.    Had I had a debit card, I would've sung like a canary and soon seen my balance crater.

      I don't think of myself as a dim bulb, but these are two warning shots across the bow.    Might be time to shut 'er down for a day or or so.   Take a long nap, as part of a long weekend.    Wake me in, let's say, April of 2010.

      And, don't wake me if the cell rings--especially if the screen reads "Private Number."

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