Anyone who has read Douglas Adams’ work, or been forced to tolerate someone who has, is familiar with The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’s running joke about towels. To “know where one’s towel is” is to be a really, amazingly together guy.

It’s easy enough to guess that I am a fan of Douglas Adams. Just look at the evidence. I am an unapologetic nerd, and I throw around adverbs as though that was still allowed for writers on this side of the Atlantic. However, I am a long way from being a really, amazingly together guy.

I’m not expecting books, especially fiction books, especially a comedy/science-fiction series, to change my life or anything. But how can I go around dispensing advice from those books, and even believing that advice on occasion, without following it myself? I should know where my fucking towel is. Indeed, I should start carrying a towel with me whenever possible.

I am aware that this is just about the nerdiest thing I could possibly do. It’s on par with wearing a Star Trek uniform in public, except you’re paying tribute to something a bit more obscure, and a lot more British. Star Trek uniforms, though, serve no practical purpose beyond that served by more socially acceptable clothing. A towel is useful, and not just for the outlandish sci-fi situations outlined in the Hitchhiker’s Guide books. And while a Star Trek uniform (or a LARP costume, or whatever your geek-vice is) is on full display for anyone who cares to look, a towel can be folded up and stuffed into a backpack, far from the prying eyes of the dude who used to pants you in gym class.

Then again, maybe I’m just saying this because it rained today, which destroys my chances of finding a comfortable place to sit outdoors for the next 24 hours. A towel could fix that.