Various things.

How ‘bout those Tigers, eh?

The summer semester is nearly over; just one more day this week and then three more the next. Though things didn’t necessarily go swimmingly, per se, I think I got what I needed out of the experience. The credits are important and the grades are nice, but more than that I was trying to get myself back into the rhythms of a normal person.

No need to go into details, really – sufficient to say that I’ve worked out a few things.

On the tenth I’m heading out to Philadelphia – along with Pat, Bryan and Angela – to visit Darth and Sarra at their new place. I’ve been to the east coast a few times but never to Philly, so besides getting to see old friends I’m looking forward to exploring the sights of a new city. Given that this will probably be the last time I’m able to leave Michigan for eight months or so I intend to make the most of the short trip.

In other news, it seems that my second room mate has elected to bail on us at the absolute last second. It’s not the end of the world, I suppose, since no matter what he’s obligated to pay his part of the lease. However, Matt and I being the accommodating people we are, we’re (mostly Matt) trying to locate a replacement for him. A guy dropped by today that I can only describe as “barely aware of his surroundings.”

If his money is green, though, I’m not sure I’m in a position to be choosy.

Back from Philly.

Philadelphia was excellent. Mostly because I got to see Darth and Sarra (it’s been almost a year!) but no less because it was my first time traveling to this particular city.

It won’t come as any surprise that Philly looks more or less like every other east-coast city: nice, some interesting mixes of modern and classic architecture, and…dirty. Not so much in the sense that there are piles of trash lying around but more of a severely lived in feeling. Unlike the west-coast cities that I’ve been to (Seattle, San Jose, Santa Cruz, etc.) many of the buildings in Philly have been around for a few hundred years. Not a long time by the standards of my international friends, of course, but long enough to have accrued a decent amount of grime in the crevices.

Nonetheless, the parts of Philly we spent time in were surprisingly pleasant. I certainly wouldn’t want to head out to the west side without a powerful sidearm on my hip, but the downtown and university areas are both safe and entertaining.

An interesting note: apparently, people in Philadelphia don’t drink (or even attend establishments where one might look to drink) much past midnight. Without fail, every place we went started closing down at least a half hour before last call. What’s more, most of them had already been dead for a half-hour by then.

In other news, the site upgrades I promised more than a month ago are still in the works. I set it aside to focus on finishing up my summer classes, but on this little break downstate I’ve started up again. I doubt anything will be posted until I get back to Houghton (since internet access is so lousy here) but you never know.

Aloe be my angel.

There’s nothing better than being totally exhausted but unable to go to bed because you’ve cooked your skin to a nice even shade of red. It was worth it, though, because there aren’t that many things in life better than Tiger baseball on a gorgeous summer Sunday. Our seats were much crappier than the section I’m used to (150 or 151) but that was a necessary compromise for the size of the group. Always fun to hang out with old friends you haven’t seen in a while (some as long as three or four years) while meeting some potential new ones.

Toasted skin-cells aside, I’m also tired because I was up until five-thirty in the morning or so taking my brother to the emergency room.

Let me back up slightly. My brother has been working at Monkey Wrench Racing all summer and was kind enough to lend his facilities and expertise to making some routine repairs to my crappy car. Yesterday he spent twenty minutes or so welding my new muffler in place…without a face shield.

I think you can see where this is going.

Anyway, when I got home from Kim’s place (after Pat refused, as usual, to go to Denny’s) around three in the morning I found my brother in the bathroom looking a little worse for the wear and thinking that, perhaps, it might be a good idea to head to the hospital. A few minutes (and several moving violations) later we knew what we already suspected: flash blinding from the afternoon welding. Turns out you can actually burn the layers of skin that protect your cornea – who knew?

In his defense, the “close your eyes and turn your head slightly” welding technique probably works just fine when you’re welding on a workbench or something like that. Indeed, his boss does it all the time. However, when doing that underneath a car the UV light all gets reflected right back into your face. Lesson learned, intense pain endured, Vicodin proscribed.

Fun times.

Secret shame.

I have something of a love-hate relationship with physical bookstores. On the one hand, the mere thought of a large edifice devoted almost entirely to literature is delicious – one might even say dangerous – to me. I enjoy just walking through places like Borders to see if anything catches my eye. My finances are not such that I can usually buy these books, but they do usually get added to my list.

On the other hand, entering a bookstore means that you have to deal with the people inside it. For the most part the employees and shoppers are content to mind their own damn business, but every once in a while I get a cashier who feels compelled to comment on my purchases.

This is a problem because I have what I consider to be two guilty pleasures when it comes to reading: Love Hina and Star Wars trade paperbacks. The former isn’t a problem because I finished reading that series a long time ago (though the shame has never quite dissipated). The discomfort of the latter is largely internal – after all, an erudite sci-fi fan such as me shouldn’t stray into the realm of tawdry space fantasies.

Commentary on these legitimately embarrassing purchases is usually met with a kind of sheepish smile and a “we all have our stuff” shrug. Occasionally, however, a cashier will take exception to something from outside these genres.

On this occasion I was buying the new Penny Arcade book. It features a title and cover art that are completely non-sensical – over the top comedy that requires you to be familiar with the comic’s sense of humor. Of course, my elderly cashier new none of this but decided to stare at the cover, laugh condescendingly and ask me why the hell I was buying a book of this nature. I told her it was an illustrated history of erotic cartoons, and did so with a sardonic smile. Although, given the context, it probably just came off as creepy.

She proceeded to complete our transaction without another word.