Almost enough to make you forget that sore knee.

Although now my shoulder is sore, too.

You people, always wanting more, more, more. And here I spent the morning trying to sleep carefully hand-crafting a video amusement for you.

After you watch that, a li’l bloggage:

One of the bright spots in an otherwise damp afternoon was catching this on one of my many trips up and down the Nautical Mile: Alix Spiegel’s fascinating look at two toddlers with gender-identification issues. From NPR/All Things Considered. Please don’t be put off by any ooh-ick feelings you might have; this is as intelligent and sensitive a look at the subject as you can ask for. You know all those transgendered people who say, “I’ve felt like I had the wrong body since I was very young?” These are those very young people.

A little past its sell-by date, my ol’ pal Lance Mannion’s sketch of his life in Indiana.

Fresh meat, thrown to the ravening herd! Tear it apart!

Go ahead, I can take it:

Had lunch with JohnC Friday. Oh, I was so smug — rode my bike down to his house, and from there we walked the three blocks to the Thai place in the Village. Look at me, I am Miss Fitness, a little creaky from a winter spent sitting on my spongy bum, but otherwise ready to start the outdoor exercise season.

On the way home, I tried something I’d been thinking about all winter — affixing the Flip video camera to my handlebars with the Gorillapod. Bikecam!

Well, it didn’t work. I post the video below, because it gives the lie to two things: One, that you can put a video camera on your handlebars without some sort of damping system and expect usable footage, and two, that I am merely “a little creaky.” Granted, I grabbed this piece at the top of a hill*, but its most alarming feature is not the sickmaking image, but the rasping sound of my breathing. God, I am out of shape.

Next try: Helmetcam.

* The hill in this case is Grosse Pointe Farms’ famous hill, which usually takes the definite article: The Hill. Anyone who lives in a place with real hills would laugh at the name, because it could more accurately be called The Lump. Danny, you are now free to deliver a lecture.

No, not my pups. But some wonderful dog faces, just the same. Music from one of Johnny Rivers’ “Live at the Whiskey A Go Go” albums:

Kate couldn’t stay awake for the eclipse the other night, so I taped it for her, lens flare and all. The Pink Floyd she just has to endure:

(It was about 10 degrees. I went inside between 30-second takes, and kept the battery charged with extra boob power.)

As for Friday night in the Fort, the plan is to meet in the bar at Catablu on Broadway around 6:30ish. Come if you’d like and don’t worry about the time; I expect we’ll be there for a couple-three hours at least. E-mail an RSVP if you get a chance and include a phone number, just so if the venue changes for any reason, we can alert you. Or call seven three four, five four eight, zero zero three three and get the update. Don’t abuse this information, although I’m sure somebody will. If disaster strikes, check this space.

Now I have to go write a big check for some Girl Scout cookies. Ah, parenthood. Have a good weekend.

For the making-of featurette* included with our student-film project, I shot a little video with my Flip:

I call your attention to our awesome camera dolly, a DIY project made from PVC pipe and skateboard wheels. Our director is friends with the folks at InZer0, a local sci-fi series/maybe-a-movie production, and borrowed it from them. It knocks together with a rubber mallet (or your shoes), and the stand slides noiselessly. With it, we were able to do a cool little tracking shot of our talent, Teresa, walking down a hallway, checking doors on either side, with nary a bobble.

As a compromise with the Hollywood version, it’s pretty adequate to our uses.

I have a memory of one of my showbiz-nerd friends telling me the first Steadicam rigs cost $100,000, so I went online in search of other cheap compromises for low-budget filmmakers. Not surprisingly, there are zillions. I think I know what the universe is trying to tell me: It’s time to indulge my long-held dream of producing pornography with real scripts, and a real story. Something to keep ‘em in the seats after, you know.

See the dolly shots and the dolly track — in Genesis’ “Invisible Touch” video. Not made from PVC, because it’s Genesis.

(*Note: There is no making-of featurette.)

Bloggage: Just the other day I asked Kate if she’d like to play hockey. Now, I’m thinking she might be better off playing, oh, chess. Oh, and in re: our earlier discussion about the relativity of luck? Check this out — a guy gets hit in the neck with a skate in a freakish accident, severs his carotid artery, leaves a red smear across the ice to remind everyone in the arena of their own mortality, and guess what his doctors say? This:

Vascular surgeon Richard Curl, who assisted Noor, said the cut was about an inch-and-a-half deep and also as wide. Doctors were astonished the skate blade did not hit any other arteries or veins or cause any further damage.

“Luck,” was a factor, according to Noor.

Thought for the day: Everything is relative.

Eric Zorn interviews his old college buddy Gerry Prokopowicz about the latter’s new book, “Did Lincoln Own Slaves?” A sample:

Q: Given that the Q&A format is often recognized by discerning readers as evidence of a lazy writer who doesn’t want to struggle with transitions, why did you choose that format for your book?

A: I got it from your columns.

You know how Michael Moore is, like, fat and evil and a propagandist and not interested in the truth at all? You know? I’m sure his ideological opponents will show the proper way to do things when “Expelled,” their documentary on intelligent design, debuts later this year. They sure got off to a good start with PZ Myers. What’s the ninth commandment again? I always forget.

Finally, Wireblogging continues over at The New Package. Come join the discussion.

More coffee, shower and work, in that order. Be still, heart.

How we do it in the D. (Belch.)

Guess who showed up at a local soldier’s funeral Saturday?