I just re-read yesterday's post. As I wrote it, I was under the impression that I was completely conscious and ready to take on the world again. The weird typos and grammatical errors I made proved otherwise.

There's been a lot of brief, random little things I've been meaning to post recently, but I've lately been eschewing them for spontaneous long posts. So here's a bunch of stuff.

• I stopped by Iowa City a couple days ago. It's a great town, but driving sucks, thanks to shitty drivers and rule-breaking pedestrians. Parking is also a hassle. Don't even try to think about finding free parking in downtown Iowa City. Walking around, though, is pretty enjoyable. The area is not only pretty (but not quite Ames pretty - sorry, Hawkeyes) but the odds of running into someone you know are super-high. I am not exaggerating when I say just about every time I wondered if I'd see someone I recognized - poof! There they were.
• Another great thing about getting around the city on foot is the conversations one'll inevitably catch snippets of. One that comes to mind involved a guy and girl arguing about whether sports bras allowed for "bounce." Another was a one-sided conversation - at least to me, that is. It seemed that a girl was being told via cell phone that someone close to her died. Even after walking by her for a couple of minutes, I still had no idea. Her father? Her grandfather? As silly as it sounds, I somehow came to the conclusion that it was the family dog.
• I had the chance to say hi to Allison, a friend from Central. She and her roommate live in what used to be a janitor's closet. The room is plenty spacious, however, the door won't stay open on its own. You know those janitors. Industrial strength security must be applied to prevent unlawful use of drain cleaner, Windex, and that sawdust-y stuff they sprinkle on vomit.
• After seeing a myriad of dorms from Iowa State to Iowa City, I feel as if I'm temporarily living other people's college experiences since I don't have one of my own yet. The visits are all for fun and curiosity, and yet I continue to have this nagging feeling.
• I've made it through #300-100 of the RS 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. I feel obligated to mention this, since I've been blogging about it, but I don't really have anything exciting to say about it.
  
• Speaking of college/DePaul/Chicago: the always brilliant Improv Everywhere, responsible for stunts like Frozen Grand Central, plans to bring one of its annual pranks to Chicago. This one is called the MP3 Experiment. I'm not sure where it'll be, but I do know it's going to take place on September 28 - the day before my birthday. A chance to participate in one of Improv Everywhere's stunts? Dude. Birthday gifts don't get much better.
• And two sign off, two videos. One is of a talking dog, who manages to be both cute and annoying. (And creepy.) The other is of a newscaster who is either a psychopath or has trouble separating spoken paragraphs.
• Alright, I lied. Three videos. This one comes to you from a certain Tyler Stafford describing one of the most traumatizing experiences of his life.
  

I've had short days before. You probably know the kind - the days where you either have a lot of fun or a bunch of stuff going on. Before you know it the day's all done.

Today was the shortest day of my life, and I can summarize why in two words: wisdom teeth removal.

The procedure goes something like this:

1. Enter office. Wait for nurse to call your name.
2. Enter room with super-modern looking recliner. Avoid staring at the little screen meant to display your vital stats, because it looks more fitting on the set of a super-intense ER rather than in a place like this.
3. Nurse puts a little mask over your nose. She tells you to take a few deep breaths of someting called laughing gas. "Laughing gas," you might think. "This doesn't seem to be doing much for me." About three minutes later, you decide you were wrong about that.
4. The nurse turns the radio on. Bob Marley is playing. With little warning she puts in IV in your arm. In this case, I thought what pops into my mind ever time I have to deal with needles: "I would make such a shitty heroin addict."
5. You're asked if you want to keep the teeth. In this case, I decline. Somewhere the Tooth Fairy is weeping.
6. There is no step six. You have no memory of it. It might as well not exist.
7. Somehow you've ended up in a waiting room, wearing the jacket that you distinctly remember taking off at the beginning of the procedure. It doesn't take long to realize that this is not a normal waiting room. Normal waiting rooms are a bridge between the real world and the doctor's office. During a wisdom teeth procedure, the room's purpose flips around. There are other laughing gas/IV sedation zombies in the room with you, but you can't see them; everyone is divided by little walls like they're in a lifeless version of The Dating Game.
8. The nurse and your mom guide you to the car. Like step six, the car ride fuzzy, foggy, and dream-like.
9. Go home. Because of this awful dry feeling your throat, you attempt to fill a glass with water. Where filling the glass was difficult, drinking it is impossible, as you've just discovered you have no control over your tongue or lower lip. Your mother laughs at the puddle you've created. "Do you have a drinking problem?" she asks. You would like to respond, but unfortunately, your verbal skills are currently a step below those of Helen Keller.
10. At 11 AM: sleep. At 8 PM: wake up and wonder where the hell the day went. As an apology for eating a day of your life away, your body re-grants you the control of your tongue and lower lip.

So in conclusion: the procedure and its aftermath was not that strange - at least not as strange as other procedures I've heard about. The only thing that really blew my mind was the amount of time I spent in hibernation. It's like the Rip Van Winkle effect albeit on a much smaller scale.

This is the last post I'll ever be making with my wisdom teeth intact. So if this post has any wisdom in it, enjoy it, because it's the last you'll ever get from me.

Last night I logged on to Facebook and took a peek at everyone's recent status updates. It was a little surreal; about every other status update had to do with Obama's speech at the DNC. One person said they were "inspired". Someone else claimed they had "just watched one of the biggest events in American history." Another paid a little less attention to being articulate and just left it at "OMG OBAMA."

Curious by such a positive reception - and to a politician at that - I tracked down a video of Obama's speech on the DNC website.

And let me tell you: even after watching only a couple of minutes of the video, I was floored. I mean, Christ. The video quality was fantastic. It was near high definition. Streaming video technology has progressed lightyears in the last decade.

(Facetiousness aside, those actually were my thoughts that occurred here and there as I watched the video. I wish I was joking.)

In all honesty, Obama is a great public speaker. He's also got a great grip on his campaign and the direction he wants it to go in - unlike McCain, as the Senator proved in a tense interview with Time Magazine. (It's important to note that one's ability to campaign doesn't necessarily mean the world about how one would do as president, though I suppose it could drop hints here and there.)

Speaking of speakers: I saw writer Chuck Klosterman while I was in Iowa City. He gave a great lecture that ranged from insightful so-called "life lessons" to anecdotes that were borderline standup comedy.

One remark that stuck a chord with me, though, was Klosterman's remarks on the nature of confidence.

"Don't afraid to be wrong," Klosterman said. "And if someone you're talking to is really, really certain about something, there's a good chance they're wrong."

"For example," he said, "I want to see Obama be elected president. But am I sure that he's going to be a great president? No."

He went on to tell an anecdote about watching an Obama rally on TV.

"There were all these people in this crowd, and they were shouting 'O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma!' and they were hopping up and down holding signs that said 'CHANGE' in their hands. And I was just watching, wondering, 'How can you be that sure about something?'"

That was the other thought that kept popping in my head as I watched the crowd at Obama's speech. How can you be that sure about something? Again, he's a fantastic speaker, but I often have a difficult time putting purpose and motivation behind his words.

I believe this cynicism is born out of my experience with other politicians. Nancy Pelosi comes to mind. As the house speaker, she's talked and talked about righting wrongs the Bush administration has committed. And yes, many of the Democratic congress's attempts have been blocked by Bush's veto pen. But she hasn't exactly lived up to the promises she's made. The congress's approval rating of 14% reflects many Americans' attitudes.

"But Barack Obama isn't the average politician!" some may reply. Obama even alluded to this in his own speech at the convention. Perhaps I'm too cynical, but I'm not entirely convinced. An example that sticks out in my mind is Obama's stance against domestic wiretapping. He claims he doesn't think telecommunications companies deserve immunity from illegal wiretapping, but he's voted otherwise.

I've said it once and I'll say it again: I'm wary of politicians. I'm wary of Barack Obama, but I'm even warier of John McCain, thanks to his shifting persona/stances and reliance on his POW legacy. Chances are that I'll vote for Obama, but not because I like Obama - instead, because I dislike John McCain. I'll be the first person to tell you that I think this is a really shitty reason for voting for a candidate - voting for somebody because you don't like the other guy.

So there's the weird paradox: Obama may have my vote, but he doesn't necessarily have my support.

But, hypothetically speaking: what if he wanted more of me than a vote? What if he wanted my support too? What could he do to get that?

The answer lies in an old idiom: actions speak louder than words. If Obama wants my support, he'll have to earn it through his actions as senator (and perhaps president) rather than his speeches.

It's a common practice in journalism today to pre-prepare obituaries for "high risk" (a.k.a. old and ailing) public figures. Strangely, it's also a common practice for these obituaries to accidentally leak to the public accidentally. For example, here's a gallery of CNN obituaries that were published in 2001. (Figures with prepared obituaries who have actually died since then include Pope John Paul II, Ronald Reagan, Gerald Ford, and Bob Hope. Still living figures include Dick Cheney, Nelson Mandela, and Fidel Castro - though I guess no one but the Cuban government knows about that last one for sure.)

And it's happened again. The media's newest maybe-soon-to-die celebrity (as announced by Bloomberg) is Steve Jobs, CEO and co-founder of Apple Computer and Pixar. Jobs is only 53 years old. That's nothing compared to the Pope or Hope's old age. So why write an obituary for Steve Jobs?

A few years ago Jobs discovered he had a rare and fatal form of cancer that is typically untreatable. Jobs lucked out, however, and claimed he was cancer-free just months after an operation.

And yet speculation continues. Over the past few years, bloggers and other media hounds have theorized that Jobs' cancer may still exist, citing his thin frame and gaunt appearance. It got to the point where Apple, a comment-shy corporation, announced that their CEO was dealing with a "common bug" as an attempt to quell paranoid reporters. Steve Jobs later called a reporter at the New York times, and after calling the reporter a "slime bucket who gets most of his facts wrong", informed him that though his health problems were a little worse than a common bug, they were nowhere near cancerous in their scope.

Steve Jobs is known for his perfectionism and sense of style; hence Apple's beautiful, functional products and Jobs' reputation as a control freak. So here's the billion dollar question: what would happen to Apple if Jobs - its leader and core (no pun intended) - died?

This question freaks the hell out of analysts and stockholders. Here's Wall Street as proof. (Note Apple's stock around 2 PM today.) Apple's stock dropped fairly dramatically this afternoon as news of the obituary's leak spread. The stock seems to be rising to normal (for Apple) levels after this initial scare, but it exists as some pretty compelling evidence of shareholders's concerns.

Apple has a shareholders' meeting coming up soon. It'd be a great opportunity for Steve Jobs to come clean on his health to reassure the public and investors. And if for some reason he admitted he wasn't doing so great, perhaps now would be a good time to announce Apple's "backup plan", just as Microsoft did when Bill Gates announced he was retiring.

Again, Apple is a company known for its secrecy, so it's unlikely any major revelations will occur at the next meeting. But one truth still remains: Apple has some 'splaining to do.

I've been getting a lot of positive remarks about the little blurb ("I'm gonna beat you with McCain") over the last few days. I'm not responsible for the remark though - you can thank Rob for that. The moment he said it we all found it hilarious and I felt the urge to spread such entertaining words beyond the realm of Jane's apartment.

Speaking of McCain: here's a lovely video in which Leno asks McCain how many houses he has. If you don't feel like watching, here's a brief transcript:

LENO: Senator John McCain, for one million dollars: how many houses do you have?
(AUDIENCE, MCCAIN, and LENO all laugh.)
MCCAIN: You know, could I just mention to you Jay - in a moment of seriousness - I spent five and a half years in a prison cell. I didn't have a house. I didn't have a kitchen table...

To McCain's credit, he does list five of his houses; albeit he does so in such a convoluted way that it takes him a minute to reach that point.

To both candidates: whatever happened to a so-called respectful campaign? Whatever happened to the so-called straight talk? Did they even exist in the first place?

After a lovely discovery at Half Price Books, I'm re-reading The Giver. I've read it three or so times, but it's been a while - I don't think I've touched the book since 8th grade. I'm about halfway through and I'm happy to report it's just as good now - if not better - than it was five years ago.

For anyone in the Iowa City area: plans are preliminary at this stage, but there's a chance I'll be in town tomorrow. Call or text and we'll say hi.

I watched a documentary about Rod Serling a couple of nights ago. If you're unfamiliar with him, he's the guy who was responsible for The Twilight Zone.

Anyway, he was a television writer who wanted to address controversies of the day through social commentary - on primetime television, no less. Networks and sponsors were freaked out by this idea of his, so whenever he tried to address anything of significance (for instance, he wrote a teleplay about Emmit Till), they'd edit and censor his stories beyond recognition. This would prompt him to complain to newspapers about the corporations he had to work with - so Serling hated the sponsors and the sponsors hated Serling. The only reason either party stayed with each other was because of mutual need. Without sponsors, there'd be no shows, and without shows, there'd be no viewers.

Frustrated with the system he had to work with, he created his own show (the aformentioned Twilight Zone) which delivered social commentary and morality tales amidst a sci-fi backdrop. His network, CBS, thought they'd be getting a fairly disposable show with aliens and supernatural elements. What they ended up getting did indeed have supernatural elements - albeit with a modern-day Aesop's Fables twist. CBS was unhappy with the show, but it brought in viewers, so they let it be - at least until Serling canceled it, as he was afraid it was getting stale.

He wrote other scripts for television - really good scripts, too - but to make a long story short, networks didn't want to deal with any controversy the scripts (and Serling) might bring. He died not too long after The Twilight Zone's cancellation at the age of 50.

It's an interesting (and somewhat tragic) story. Serling created some fantastic stuff that was well received by the viewing public - but unfortunately, networks were hesitant to push the envelope. The weird thing is that a lot of this so-called "edgy" stuff he did is pretty standard stuff today. (See any "A Very Special Episode of [Insert Drama or Sitcom Here]" for less-than-stellar examples.) It's kind of a shame he died at such a young age. God knows what sort of stories he'd be crafting today.

I'm at the lake again. The neighbors two doors down are playing a game in which one tries to throw beanbags into a hole drilled in an angled plywood board. This game is called Cornhole. It's like a wimpier version of Horseshoes with a funnier name. You'd think it was an intense game of beach volleyball the way they whoop and holler.

The lack of activity clearly displays that school is back in session. Fewer boats populate the lake. The weather too seems to know a change's come. The sun is still hot, but a cool breeze has teamed alongside it.

Out here, Labor Day weekend signals summer's last hoorah, much like Memorial Day seems to signal its beginning. This year's Memorial Day, though, wasn't so much of a hoorah - it was more of a "oh, hi there." We had cool weather and debris from floodwaters to thank for that. Something tells me that the weather is only going to get cooler from here. Maybe summer's last hoorah will be subdued this year. Maybe summer's last hoorah will be more like a "see you later" instead.

Voting and College

I just came across a page that college students planning to vote might find useful. The page includes directions for registration regarding both students who still live in Iowa and students who have moved out of state.

Ames Visit and Faces

The Ames visit was nice. It was good to see everyone beginning to get acclimated to what will become their natural habitat.

Here is something useful for you: inanimate objects with faces. It's like a happier version of Om Nom Nom Nom.

I'm heading out for a visit to Ames, so here's a quick and simple post for you: behold! 'tis Ecstasy Cat.

RS Greatest Songs #400-300

I came across an article called "How To Be Creative" while stumbling and now I absolutely have to post it here. It's full of great advice that manages to be inspiring while still remaining realistic. I realize that it's a little over 15,000 words long and few of you will have the patience or time to read it, but seriously: about every word is worth reading. If this were in hardcover book form I'd buy it in a heartbeat.

And now I'm done with #400-300 of The Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. That's 6 hours and 17 minutes of music, which is just 5 minutes shorter than numbers 500 through 400. Combined that's 12 hours and 39 minutes of music, which is just a little over half a day.

Unsurprisingly, this section of the list flew by faster than the first hundred. You could thank the shorter runtime for this, of course, but I think I know the real reason (which isn't quite as scientific): the songs are just better. Time flies when you are etcetera etcetera.

Tonight I said goodbye to somebody that I might not see again for a while - the whole college thing. Of course the entire group that night had been talking about college for a good portion of the time, and this kind of talk has a way of making one all sentimental-like. So eventually goodbye hugs were had and the night came to a close and I made my way to my car.

And let me tell you: the RS 500 did not let me down. "Ruby Tuesday" by The Rolling Stones, a song I'm not typically too fond of, was particularly apt. ("Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday"..."Catch your dreams before you slip away"...and of course, "Still I'm gonna miss you.) And so was Willie Nelson's "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain", a song about a man bidding adieu to his lover. It wasn't lyrically appropriate in the least bit, but the general tone fit the night's vibes rather nicely.

And then came number 501, to ruin it all: Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?" Here's the thing about that song: it's like the clap. It may be catchy as hell, but that doesn't mean it's enjoyable.

And don't even get me started on Mr. Stewart's voice. It's part croon, part "shit-I-just-stubbed-my-toe" scream, and part death rattle. He's also got a weird percussive quality to his voice, which adds bizarre emphasis to his words every now and then. Take the chorus: "IF you want my bo-dy AND you think I'm sex-y COME on ba-by tell me soooooooo." It's a little like listening to a man from another country try to speak English; he understands certain words need emphasis, but he puts them in all the wrong places.

("Ah," you may be thinking now, "but you like Bob Dylan, don't you? You're dissing Rod Stewart's voice and yet you keep on listening to Dylan's llama-like yelping?"

Fair enough. But the thing about Bob Dylan is that he writes good songs. When his voice and the melodies fail, the words pick up the slack. But I understand why a lot of people might dislike Bob Dylan. But what I don't understand is why people would like Rod Stewart. Do you get what I'm saying?)

The RS article on the song does mention one good thing about one of Stewart's two(?!) contributions to the list; after a royalties dispute, all royalties "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?" garners go to UNICEF. I guess it works as a fucked up bizarro world sort of karma: torture the ears, aide the children.

There's one thing the article doesn't explain: why is this song on the RS 500? And to go even further, why are any of these songs on the RS 500? How were these songs selected? Was there some sort of criteria?

According to the Wikipedia article on the list, "it was chosen based on votes by 172 musicians, critics, and industry figures." Unfortunately, it doesn't say who these 172 people are. That's probably for the best. God forbid they get phone calls from angry music fans at 4 in the morning, demanding answers to questions like, "Are you responsible for number 301 on that list?!"

go [VERB] yourself Earnings

I've forgotten to mention this: the go [VERB] yourself show a little over a month ago raised 200 dollars and 25 cents for the Cedar Rapids chapter of the Iowa Red Cross. Thanks to everyone who attended and contributed.

And yes, those are actually two separate groups; a few latecomers actually didn't pay. That's cool, though. Except that when a water of body nearby you happens to overflow, don't expect me to show up and help you.

I swear that was a joke. Those sort of statements have a way of making themselves look incredibly spiteful when written.

Speaking of spiteful, here is the most bitter obituary ever written.

This summer has had its fair share of bizarre phrases, obscure media and inside jokes, but there's a particular meme I became aware of that's proved to be particularly endearing to me. The weird thing about it is that I'm not sure how I became aware of it. I don't remember anyone ever telling me about this, but I'm hesitant to say I thought of it.

It works like this: take titles of books, TV shows, and movies, and pretend they're porno titles. It's oddly addictive and works as a great boredom buster. Think of it as a very systematic variation of the "that's what she said" joke.

There have been more than a few spotlights. Fair warning: I didn't think of most of these.

Examples include:

• The Catcher in the Rye
• 12 Angry Men
• Beauty and the Beast
• Easy Rider
• Holes
• The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

To think I've graduated high school.

On a more somber note: I just had a conversation with a second grader about how one of her friends was moving away. I told her I kind of knew how she felt, except a whole bunch of my friends are moving away.

Google Street View

Note: this post might be old news, but it's still news to me.

One of my favorite things about the internet, Google Maps, just got a little bit cooler. And creepier.

Google Street View has been available for about a year now, but only in major cities (like New York and L.A). Google made it clear they were interested in expanding this service - and that's just what they've done. Des Moines (and a few nearby cities, including Ames) is now a part of Google Street View. For a better idea of what this encompasses: the highlighted blue area in this image is visible in Street View. Your house/friend's house/favorite restaraunt is probably on Street View, too. Just type in your address and see if there's an image of your house next to it.

There are still a handful of omissions. West Des Moines' Glenn Oaks is without Street View snapshots, thanks to the whole gated community thing.

While I do know that these images were added sometime this summer, I'm not so sure about when they were taken. My guess is sometime last summer; there are a few houses that have been built in our neighborhood that don't seem to exist at all. When's your guess?

Ken Lee & Tropic Thunder

Advice to anyone trying out for Bulgarian Idol - or anyone for that matter: avoid publicly singing songs in languages you are unfamiliar with. (By the way, here are the actyal lyrics to "Ken Lee".)

I saw Tropic Thunder last night. Jordan summed it up pretty well: if you go in anticipating a dumb but entertaining comedy, you'll be pleased.

Where Ben Stiller's first directorial effort, Zoolander, only used the modeling industry as a sort-of background for its jokes, Tropic Thunder takes its primary subject matter - the modern entertainment industry - and shreds the hell out of it. One particularly brilliant scene between Stiller and Robert Downey Jr. involves a dead-on discussion about how the Academy seems to love actors who play mentally-handicapped characters - but only to a certain extent.

And speaking of Robert Downey Jr: he's particularly brilliant as a method actor who dyes himself black to better slip into his role. Careful is not a word I'd use to describe his performance, but that's actually a good thing. Downey does a great job of making the actor he plays look like a fool rather than taking the blackface/Al Jolson route.

Jack Black is the other big name associated with Tropic Thunder, and he's surprisingly forgettable. His character is an actor who stars in lowest-common-denominator comedies. Oh, and by the way, he has a drug addiction too. Black tries to make the most of his bog-standard character, but unfortunately there's only so much someone playing a washed up heroin addict can do.

Oh, by the way: the last joke before the credits? It really sucks. It ends a pretty good comedy on kind of a sour note.

In conclusion: it's tasteless, goofy, and maybe a little offensive, but Tropic Thunder is an overall solid comedy. Occasionally it attempts to go into action movie/character analysis territory (and fails), but these moments are luckily overshadowed by great and often unpredictable comic moments. Keep great expectations (and maybe your taste) at the door and you'll be pleased.

Rolling Stone Top 500 (#500-#400)

Made it through #500 - #400 of the Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. That's 6 hours and 22 minutes of music, but that flies by pretty quickly when you're doing other things while you listen to music.

Though 20 or so of these songs were already in my iTunes library, I've made a few new discoveries this far into the list. For instance: I don't have any songs by The Eagles on my iPod. This will change.

There are a lot of songs from the 1950s in this part of the list. As someone who's a fan of punk and really good pop, I should love songs from the 50s; most of them are short, have very hummable choruses, and are catchy as hell. And yet I find something very cringeworthy about a lot of songs from the 50s. Whenever I listen to one, I can't shake the oddly eerie images of squeaky clean teens dancing around a jukebox whilst sipping milkshakes in a creepy-semi-utopian-Plesantville-black-and-white haze.

There have been more than a few surprises while listening to the list; most have been of the "oh, that song is on the list?" variety. Typically these surprises are pleasant (Buddy Holly by Weezer, Lola by The Kinks, Superfreak by Rick James), but occasionaly they stray into "Oh. That song is on the list?" territory (I Got You Babe by Sonny & Cher, I Want To Know What Love Is by Forigener). The best surprises so far have been a result of weird transitions; i.e. Nirvana followed by George Harrison followed by Guns N' Roses followed by Sam Cooke. It certainly keeps me on my toes as a listener. I try my best to not peek ahead and ruin the surprise, lest I be forewarned that NWA's "Fuck Tha' Police" will be blaring from my computer at 1 in the morning.

I use a free music service called Last.fm that tracks what you're listening to and compares this info to what friends and others are listening to. From there it can determine artists that it thinks you'll like. Thanks to this list I'm trying to get through, my recent listens resemble that of a schizophrenic. Reccomendations usually come out every week. I'm hoping that my playlist as of late will cause Last.fm to have a nervous breakdown.

Slashdotted

In the midst of attempting to clean out a few rooms of our house, I've been Slashdotted. The comments are pretty helpful.

New MacBook Pro

I'm writing this post on my new computer.

I've always wanted a laptop. In 4th grade my persuasive paper was "Why I Should Have a Laptop Computer". "You'll get one when you go off to college," my parents said.

And here it is. It's really kind of weird. It's like I'm staring college in the face.

Iowa State Fair 2008

Made my annual stop by the state fair today. Thoughts and observations, before I fall asleep.

• My mother always taught me that people who use curse words just aren't articulate enough to express how they're truly feeling. With that disclaimer aside, here is what I thought when I saw the butter sculpture of Shawn Johnson: "What the fuck?!" It's odd enough that she bears little remblence to Shawn. But it's even weirder that she's holding flowers and pledging allegiance to the American flag as the butter cow looks on behind her.
• Another butter note: one of the butter sculptures was missing its hands. It added a lovely morbid touch to the sculptures.
• Things I ate included a very tasty turkey sandwich smothered in barbecue sauce and a whole bunch of Dippin' Dots. To balance out all of the unhealthy things I ate, I decided to have some fried vegetables. This will probably never happen again.
• I saw a band called Envy Corps that played a great cover of The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony. It was so good I almost thought I was hearing a recording.
  

Some recent rumors have been buzzing around that Apple has suggested that its retailers "stock up" on MacBooks and MacBook Pros. Apple also typically holds its keynotes, where it introduces new products, every September. This and a few other rumors are indicating that Apple will introduce new laptops in a month's time.

At first I considered holding off on buying my Pro for college and just bringing a desktop with me for a week or two. But further consideration ("How am I going to load all of my data on a new computer if it's sitting miles away from here?") has made me think otherwise. I think I'll just pick up a MacBook Pro sometime this week. I'm already pretty certain that whatever new features the MacBooks have will be really neat, but for day-to-day use, video editing and light gaming, a current pro ought to do me fine.

Ah, technology. You know, I could have avoided all of this if I had just bought an eMachines computer years ago.

I have a weird, woozy headache as I write this. I think it's because my sleep schedule has been so weird lately.

I recently acquired Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Songs Of All Time. And I don't mean just the list - I mean all 500 songs. My goal's to listen to them all. If anyone reading this plans on getting a ride from me, fair warning: this is all I'll be listening to.

Like any good college-bound freshman, this summer I've been doing my fair share of reflecting and philosophying over the college experience/what I'll miss/etc. I think I got all of my "heavy" reflecting out of the way over the first half of the summer (friends, family, home) and now I'm contemplating the more obscure things I'll miss. Driving, for instance.

Don't get me wrong; I won't miss filling my car with $55 worth of gas when the tank runs dry. Nor will I miss assholes on the interstate or old people from Chickasaw County who drive at top speeds of 5 miles per hour.

But I will miss nighttime drives in rural Iowa. I will miss the shotgun-to-driver conversations that range from Seinfeldian to philosophical to downright bizarre. And (back to the Rolling Stone 500 Project) I will miss playing music while driving. My car stereo is by no means top of the line, but I've made the majority of my musical discoveries - may they be new bands or a harmony I'd never noticed before - while driving.

And, while we're on the subject of music: Last.fm has informed me that a bunch of artists I like (Ben Folds, Beck, Weezer, The Fratellis) will be performing shows in Chicago. Money being money, I'll only be able to go to one of those shows, and that show will be that of The Fratellis. Huzzah.

Some people from the Des Moines theater community that I know created and starred in a film for the 48 Hour Film festival called Looking Glass. I'm not sure how it placed, but I absolutely loved it.

I saw this commercial this morning and was inspired.

It's been a while, but here's a new video I made.

The thing I love about Waverly Films - this collective of filmmakers from New York - is that they manage to make stuff that is both super accessible and hilarious, while occasionally making dark, freaky videos that are still kind of funny.

I forgot to mention: last Sunday it rained a lot in Panora, causing the lake's spillway to go all crazy and the lake level to rise 11 inches. This caused our jet ski to float off of its lift and down the lake. Our jet ski wasn't the only boat affected, though; apparently, early last Sunday morning, a handful of boats had escaped from their lifts too and floated around the lake without drivers. I really wish I had been here to see it. No one is ever out on the lake Sunday morning, so to see a bunch of driverless boats floating around the lake would have been quite a sight. It'd be like the rapture had take place at Lake Panorama. But no. The rapture took place and I was stuck in Philadelphia.

Day 7
This was basically a downtime day. We hung around my Aunt and Uncle's house and alternated between cleaning and being lazy. Then we stopped by my Aunt Mary's house to have dinner. My Grandma came with us.

A common topic of discussion on this trip was where I was going to college, which would eventually lead to a discussion about Chicago and all the snazzy stuff that goes with that. This particular conversation was about a less-than-snazzy thing about Chicago: sales tax. My Mom lamented that sales tax in Chicago was 10% - kind of brutal compared to Philadelphia's complete lack of sales tax on clothes.

"I'll tell you why that is," my Grandmother said. "It's all because of that black girl."
The table was already silent, but somehow it went even silenter.
"That black girl?" my cousin Kathleen said.
"Yeah. That black girl. She gets everything she wants." I figured she was talking about a neighbor, but I couldn't be sure. "There are a lot of black girls," I nearly said, but before I had a chance to ask, she continued.
"You see, she has the city council there in the palm of her hand. She asks for whatever she wants and she gets it, just like that."

We were all baffled.
"Mother," my Aunt Kass said. She turned to the rest of us. "She's talking about Oprah."
"Yeah!" she said. "That black girl."

Day 8
This was another sight-seeing day, albeit not as conventional as our stop in downtown Philadelphia. Today's trip was to Allentown, the town where my Mom and Dad first lived after they got married. Also in Allentown was DeSales University, where my Dad went to college. We drove around a bit as he gave us a speech that was part tour guide, part "back-in-my-day".

Nearby was Bethlehem, which is home to LeHigh University, so we decided to drive around there as well. A sign we saw boasted that the college was over 140 years old, and the architecture stands testament to that. It's a very beautiful campus.

Bethlehem also happens to be a very hilly town. This makes for some interesting drives, tiring walks, and really pretty views.

We spent our last night having dinner with my Aunt, Uncle and cousin at a local restaurant. I stayed up late in an attempt to get me as tired as possible so I'd be able to easily sleep through our plane ride.

Day 9
This day was a series of sitting in a bunch of different vehicles.

A guard was looking at my ID during the always-messy screening process when he asked me a question.

"You from Iowa?"
"Yes sir."
"Are you going to vote in the election?"

What I thought was, "Probably so, but I'm torn. I'm not too happy with either of the candidates, for reasons that'd take a long time for me to discuss, but I guess that every election is just a matter of picking between the lesser of two evils, so nothing out of the ordinary there. What I do know is this: I dislike one candidate, but I really dislike the other candidate, so when I do vote, I'll probably be voting for the guy not because I like him, but because I dislike the other guy. And maybe it's just me, but that feels like a really shitty reason to vote for someone. Really, though. Chances are I'll vote for the one guy and if his party does a good job, I'll keep voting for their party. But if he or his successors screw up - which, let's face it, will happen at some point - I'll probably end up voting for the other party. I think that's called flip-flopping. Sometimes it's necessary for a candidate, but other times it just comes off as someone trying to appeal to the masses. Maybe that's what I'll just end up doing. Flip flopping. You get what I'm saying?"

Instead I said, "Maybe."
He smiled. "Good. I'm not gonna ask for who."
"Good," I thought. "Because that would be an even longer discussion."

Another plane ride, another dose of Valium. I woke up over Lake Michigan and didn't recognize what was below me as land, but it didn't look like water either. I felt like we were flying in a gigantic void.

The car ride home was fairly uneventful. I took the wheel from Iowa City to home. An hour or so later I saw a familiar black and yellow sign. It was the first landmark I'd seen in a while. It said "Adult Superstore".

"Is it wrong that whenever I see that sign," I asked no one in particular, "I feel like I'm almost home?"

Adult Superstore. Landmark for some, pilgrimage for others. And porn shop for everyone else.

We are back home again. We drove right out to our lakehouse. For the first time in years, I am making a post over dial-up.

Day 5
This day was comprised of two things: shopping and visiting my Grandma, only one of which I'm fond of.

I'm not much of a fan of malls. Whenever I need to buy something from one, I typically try to get in, get what I need, and get out as quickly as possible.
I'm doubly not a fan of malls when on vacation. Once you've seen a few malls, you've basically seen them all. There's not a lot of variation with malls when it comes to store selection/layout/general atmosphere. There may be a few unique stores that you don't have the chance to visit (i.e. Urban Outfitters), but as a get-in-get-out shopper these redeeming stores don't mean a whole lot in the long run.

So I employed a lesson I learned a long time ago: when all else fails, people watch. Malls are a fantastic place for people watching. Unfortunately, the malls we stopped by weren't exactly people watching prime. The only highlight I can think of was an old woman and her 40 something daughter standing in line at Macy's and the conversation they had.

MAN BEHIND COUNTER: Are you ready to check out, ma'am?
DAUGHTER: Yes, thank you.
MOTHER: (pointing at man behind counter) Is he checking you out?
DAUGHTER: Yes, he is.
MOTHER: Is he checking you out?!
DAUGHTER: Yes, mother, he is.
MOTHER: (as if realizing Soylent Green is people) IS HE CHECKING YOU OUT?!?!
DAUGHTER: Mother, yes, he is.
(Repeat 10-ish times, adding variation to Mother's delivery. Rearrange Daughter's four words accordingly - "Yes, mother, he is." "Yes. He is, mother." "He is mother, yes?")

I did get the chance to stop by a bookstore and pick up a few books - specifically, Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, White Noise by Don DeLillo, and About a Boy by Nick Hornby. I only managed to get through Siddhartha on the trip. I might say more about it later, but for now: what a beautiful book.

We then got to my Grandma's house and had cheesesteaks. This was relatively uneventful. She lives in a townhome-esque sort of place, not unlike the space Peter Parker and Aunt What's-her-name occupy. It's been 10 years since I've visited it and it hasn't changed a bit - the carpet, the lack of air conditioning, and the smell are all the same.

Day 6
We picked up my Grandma and dropped her off at Aunt Kass's house. Aunt Kass is my Grandma's sister, but she might as well be my second grandma.

Aunt Kass has lived in only two places her entire life. The first is next door to a bar and only a walk across the street from where she lives today. She was engaged to a man when she was young, but he died before they could marry. She's lived alone since then. She spent most of her life volunteering at one of the many Catholic churches nearby. Apparently she used to be a really good cook. These days she's too old to help the needy at her church. Instead the church helps her.

She spends a lot of time watching TV, since there's not much else to do. A favorite of her's is the Montel Williams show. As a result of living alone and lots of TV watching, she has her share of misconceptions about the world. For instance, she thought that if a girl ever got into a car with a boy, she'd become pregnant. And when the girl finally gave birth, the baby would come out of her belly button.

From Aunt Kass's we drove to downtown Philadelphia. On the way we passed a building labeled Liberty Storage Center. "Store your liberties here!" my Mom joked. "You might never see them again!"

We took a tour of Independence Hall and the new building where the Liberty Bell is housed. The last time we were there it was okay if you wanted to touch the bell, but today it's not allowed. There are a number of reasons for this: the bell's age, post 9/11 fears, a man recently attempted to whack it with a sledgehammer.

Independence Hall is pretty neat. It's even neater when your tour guide sounds like a bad JFK impersonator.

We took a trolley to the Art Museum, a beautiful and giant place with works ranging from authentic Japanese tea houses to Van Gogh's "Sunflowers". Many regard it to be one of the nation's best art museums. Everyone else regards it as the place where Rocky runs up the stairs and does a little victory hoppity-hop.

Seriously, though. If you're ever in the Philadelphia area, stop by the Art Museum there. It was definitely one of the highlights of our trip.

We headed back to Aunt Kass's to pick up my Grandma. Aunt Kass was trying to ask us if there was anything in her house that we wanted to take. Not as in when she died, but right there and right then. Did we want her little bird statue on her coffee table? What about some of the books on her shelf that she saw us admiring, don't try to convince me you weren't? We declined. My Dad noted that, as beautiful as her lamp was, there likely wasn't enough room in his carry-on for it.

"You should get your ears checked out," my Dad said to her.
"What?" she replied. The optimist in me believes she's really good at irony.