The Summer So Far

As we enter the latter half of August, with fall so close I can almost smell the colorfully dead leaves, I feel the need to shamelessly reflect on my travels of this summer. In other words, I want to add back-stories to some awkward photos I have lying around.

In Dublin, Derek taught me the meaning of life. The Irish are known for their artful use of language, and his best advice was, "Your brain is nothing but a lump of jelly with electrical connections, so don't let it control you. Just be." Exactly what I had to say to bring on that line will be left ambiguous. This was before he slapped me in the face, exclaiming that emotions are for women and children... which probably had something to do with the fact that while this bar was busting at its rickety seams with pretty girls speaking in Irish accents, all of my attention was focused on this 41 year old man.

Cork felt like less of a tourist gathering than the Dublin I saw. Still, with a little persistence (translation: chain smoking until I asked the right crowd for a light) I was able to find a hopping pub in where I was the only yank. Despite my best efforts to blend in (see the Arizona Jeans baseball cap in this photo taken by my camera), I was eventually outed. Luckily, the Irish are a generous and fun-loving people, so rather than being harangued in an intimidating way, someone handed me this glass and told me to drink it. Upon downing it, I was laughed at for ingesting Goldschlager with a drop of Guinness; the quick-witted lad who got it called it a "black gold." I loved Cork... it felt authentic, and the most intimidating thing anyone did to me was to buy me a disgusting drink.

The glass box extending from the 103rd floor of the Sears Willis tower in Chicago is the only highlight to the two hour ordeal that is visiting Skydeck on a Saturday. For the first time, the obesity epidemic in our country struck me as quite worrisome; but only after a glance at the people standing beside me.

Within hours of being in that glass cube, I wound up in the ER receiving six stitches in my chin after what I'm going to call a "bowling accident." I can barely open an envelope using a letter opener, so I'm moderately proud of being able to deliver such a clean gash to my chin with only a hardwood floor and a dose of clumsy oafishness. A photo of the open wound is available upon request.


After looking back at what I've just written, my goals for the fall can be distilled into the following statements: (1) (...and I repeat) enjoy every sandwich, and (2) avoid blunt trauma to the face.