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M’ris & Us (Click to Enlarge)

That’s (obviously) Megan, myself, and M’ris right before Megan and I left Omaha for Iowa. Hopefully, I’ll have a picture of Danielle, Megan and I to post in a couple of days, but I figure I’ll let Dani get home first before I start pestering her. *g*

Things I did yesterday:

I figured out a new way to load skins via my PHP script, one which plays much more nicely with PDAs and browsers which restrict cookie use. I’d heard tell that my site wasn’t loading properly for some people (the browsers were stuck in an infinite redirect loop), so this change should take care of that.

I left my keys at work when I left yesterday afternoon, causing them to be locked in the office overnight. I didn’t notice until I got back to my apartment. This is one of the perils, I guess, of riding the bus: I go days without really using my keys for anything more than a reassuring weight in my pants. And you can leave your manhood jokes at home, thankyouverymuch. :)

I walked up over thirty flights of stairs. Not all at once, of course (there are no buildings in Ames with that many stories), but before noon. Yesterday, as I mentioned, was a stinkin’ busy day at work, and I try to stay away from the elevators here unless I’m taking something heavy or unwieldy up several flights of stairs. I need the exercise.

I went for a hike in Inis Grove Park with Megan. We followed a trail we’d never followed before, and ended up, after being tormented and eaten alive by swarms of mosquitoes along the Skunk River (though, judging by the name of the river, we could have had worser adversaries), at the pool southwest of the park. We followed the roads back, no longer in the mood to play with bugs, no matter how pretty the backdrop may be.

I contemplated what to do on my birthday. I didn’t come to any sort of conclusion. I hope to come to one tonight. :)

I started writing in my paper journal again. This marked the third entry in this paper journal. The second was from August 20, 2002. Let’s hope a do a better job at establishing a regular pattern this time. I’m hoping to use the journal to practice freewrite’s, etc, which I’ve never done before. Here’s to hoping. :)

This evening, I’m hoping to visit Gregories’ Coffeehouse (spelling and name are approximations), which is practically next door to my apartment, but I’ve never been to. Their sign advertises wireless internet access, so if the coffee’s any good, I might try and make the coffeehouse my own geeky little writer’s haunt. Everybody, or at least everybody who is like myself and who wants to be what I want to be, needs a geeky writer’s haunt to call their own.

It takes a while to get from my place of residence to Danielle’s family stead. Two and a half hours, at roughly eighty miles an hour, if you like to count by time and distance. Three CD’s, if you’re the sort that likes to listen to music as you drive. It took a bag of gummi bears and a 20 ounce cappuccino to get me back home again, if you measure nighttime driving with caffeine and sugar as I do. :)

Regardless of how you measure the path taken, it was worth it when we got there. It was great to see Danielle again. It wasn’t until I saw her again, that I remembered how much I’ve missed her being around this last year.

She showed us around the place (both inside and out). We grilled hamburgers (both beef and pork) that ended up looking more like ham balls and hot dogs that were thicker than many bratwurst I’ve encountered at countless cook-outs. We sat and talked, and I noticed that I did a lot of the talking this time. Maybe I was more comfortable talking with Dani (as I heard her calling herself), since we have a common history to rely upon to supply conversational fodder. Or maybe Danielle is just more of the quiet, reserved Midwestern sort than M’ris, and there were larger gaps in the conversation which I felt unconsciously obligated to fill. I’m voting for the former, though. :)

I met Danielle’s parents for the first time, which was interesting. Danielle definitely takes after her father in a lot of physical traits (yeah, obviously not ~all~ of them *g*), but I could see similarities between her and her mother in their foreheads, eyes, and cheekbones. Her dad reminded me a lot of my own, and even Megan agreed. They’re both younger than most of the fathers of Dani’s and my generation, they both work harder than most anyone else I know, and they both have great senses of humor not quite hidden by their stoic Iowan exteriors. Megan and I decided that Dani’s dad looks like a farmer, but a cool farmer. Neither of us were quite sure what that meant. :)

We talked and we laughed and we talked some more. We played a game of Scrabble while Ocean’s Eleven played in the background (Dani won solidly, I think. I came in an unhealthy third). When both were over, we watched Goldmember and laughed some more. When Goldmember ended, it was one in the morning, and time to head home. Dani offered to let us spend the night, to make the tiring drive in the morning when I’d had some sleep, but I declined. I really, truly wanted to stay the night, and I decided against it for one reason only: I knew that the only reason I wanted to stay was because I didn’t want to have to say goodbye again. Like it or not (and I was very much of the ‘not’ persuasion), I was going to have to say goodbye anyway, so I decided to do it and get it over with. We took a couple of pictures (again, as with M’ris, we used her digital camera and not ours, so we have to wait patiently for shots), and headed to the nearest gas station for petrol, caffeine, and gummi bears. I didn’t shed a tear as we left, but I won’t say that it wasn’t close.

I miss her already.

Before we left, Danielle (jokingly or not, I’m not sure) suggested Megan and I take a road trip in early August for my birthday, camping our way out to her area, staying with her, and camping our way back. And now, damned if Megan and I aren’t cautiously considering it. We don’t know what we’re doing yet for my birthday, or even if we’ll be doing anything at all, but Dani’s possibly joking suggestion has made the list of options. Of course, that would require me taking a couple of additional days off work, and that sounds like a really bad idea at this exact moment (I’m not yet sure how I’m going to afford to live and go to college at the same time with only one job this coming semester). Ah well, it’s just one more thing to think about.

Work is keeping me exceedingly busy this morning, so I’ll leave that at that and talk to you-all at a later date.

The weekend spent camping with the family was nice. Nicer than I expected, to be sure. Knowing my family and my past 21-year history of interaction with them, I expected two solid days of bickering back and forth between me and them, them and us, or wherever the dividing lines and alliances were drawn this time round. This was only true for the last 15 or so minutes of the weekend, when my grandfather told me that I and all of ‘us’ (I suppose meaning anyone in my generation, because I’m sure his generation was innocent and therefore exempt) sporting tattoos were trashy. I decided, at that point, that skipping lunch and heading home an hour early was probably the best thing I could do, so I did so.

But anyway, I’m focusing on the negative, which was truly an emotional minority this weekend. I had a great time. There was an abundance of good food to munch on, since my grandma was there, and she’s a good cook no matter what her geographical locale. After food-munching, there was also a bunch of stuff to do to work off all the accumulating calories. I swam, played croquet, ping-pong, pool, volleyball, and lounged in the sun, which may not burn off a lot of calories, but I’m sure my melanin appreciated the workout. I’ve been the same shade of off-pasty for the last couple of years, and I currently have a decent tan (and a sunburnt nose) to enjoy for the next few days before both fade back to my melaninotic state of rest.

So it was a good time. Days were spent in the sun, nights were spent huddled around the campfire with those of my generation (the older generations headed to bed come nightfall), and the early morning hours between 3am and 8am were spent catching a few hours sleep. My only real regret of the weekend is that I got invited out both Friday and Saturday nights by different groups of friends, one group whom I’ve only seen twice so far this summer, and I had to miss out on what I’m sure would have been a good time back here in Ames. But camping trips only come so often, the weather during the summer in Iowa is rarely as perfect, and I had plenty of fun both nights right where I was.

Now if only the weekend had lasted a few more weeks. *grin* Instead, I’m back at work, sipping a cup of coffee, rebuilding a couple of computers, and writing this entry to stave off the monotony. I’m leaving work early (yet again) to prepare for yet another mini road trip, this time to northern Iowa to see Danielle for the first time in far too long a span. Rumor (and the last entry’s comments) has it that it should be a good time, with more good things to eat that I’ll later regret having eaten so much of than I could ever hope for. *g* All I gotta say is, Danielle better be packin’ the food away, too. :)

The rest of the week looks to be pretty dull. There’s a couple of bills to pay, a couple of things to buy (such as admission to Gnomedex), and an apartment which could always use a good disinfecting, but probably won’t get it. I’ll play this weekend by ear, and next weekend will be Gnomedex, so the rest of my July will probably be bland in comparison to the first half.

And then, it’s August and my birthday. Megan and I don’t have anything planned yet, though the idea of yet another camping trip did come up, so we’ll have to see. I wouldn’t mind heading back to Maquoketa, methinks, even though I told Megan the opposite when she suggested it a week or two ago. Ah well. That’s why she reads this thing. *g*

Of course, a camping trip on my birthday would require even more time off work, and I’m starting to feel bad for all the time I’m spending ~not~ working. I rationalize it all by telling myself that this is possibly the last summer I’ll spend as a college student, meaning it’s probably the last summer I’ll have with more freedom than obligations. I should take advantage of it while I’ve got it, I tell myself. And I think I halfway believe me. :)

Do you?

Megan, my family, and I will be spending the weekend camping out in the wilderness. Assuming you classify wilderness in the loosest of ways, that being anything not distinctly urban and/or suburban. As such, you’ll probably be able to get ahold of me on my cell phone or via the Message Me option in the menu if you need to. Have a good weekend.

She’s taller than I thought. Or maybe she’s shorter. Regardless, somehow, she doesn’t quite look like she ever does in the pictures she posts online. It’s the eyes, mostly. Her eyes never seem as forthright in the photographs I’ve seen, never as full of life. She never looks me in the eye as she tells me about her day in her weblog.

She is not her weblog. There are similarities, of course, just as there would be between some famous administrator of government and their inevitable mocking caricature. Her weblog is a part of her, but her true substance lies in the omissions. She is more. I wonder, as we converse, how long I’ll be able to mentally maintain such a distinction.

She has truer emotions than her weblog. Or maybe I just notice them easier now, without the fog of textual communication. Her writing style opts more for pure-text storytelling, as such is her trade. Her entries are never littered, as mine inevitably are, with smilies and emotions bracketed by asterisks or tildes. As she smiles, I try and force an imprint of that smile into my mind, so that when I am reading her weblog a month from now, I can include the appropriate mental image.

She is REAL.

We talk. Mostly, she talks and I listen. It feels as if it shouldn’t or couldn’t be any other way. Our conversational styles reflect our weblog writing styles. She offers those who care to listen the bread, the meat, a multi-course meal, running the gamut of conversation from background information to analysis to thoughtful speculation. I offer mostly treats, the occasional factual tidbit and the intermittent introspective speculation, as the thought and the mood strike me.

Eventually, our conversation turns to weblogs: how could it not? I find it significant that the conversation stayed as far from the subject for as long as it did, nearly five hours, before flowing in that direction. It indicates to me that we could be friends outside of our writing, given the opportunity.

It also reminds me, as our conversation does move to discussing our corner of the blogosphere in the final few minutes we have to sit together face to face, being to being, that for a while again, our writing is all there will be.

Will I hear her voice, see her eyes, her smile, notice her substance and depth above and beyond her words? Will she hear the me that never puts in an appearance on this screen, that never exposes himself in this text? Will our digital rapport be changed, for better or for worse, by our newfound physical understanding? I don’t know. But for now, I suppose, it’s enough just to know that they’re there.