It's commonly stated that travel changes you. I couldn't agree more. I can't decide if I've learned more about the world or about myself, but I want more. The world is big and life is far, far too short.

In three days I will be on a plane to Australia. (Well, on a plane to Chicago with Australia as the eventual destination. But you get the idea.)

My three most recent machines have been happycat, partyvan and waffleiron. I think I see a trend.

"Is He Dead": Hilarious
"Young Frankenstein": Amazing
New York City: Un-fucking-believable

Since there was a heavy snowstorm today, I mysteriously decided it would be a good time to try out my camera by the lighthouse pier. I don't know if that was a good decision, but I do know that it was very cold, very wet and that my hands ended up very numb.

On the way back to my car, I met another man out walking. I remarked that I was surprised to see anybody else around. "This is the best time of year," he replied, "No traffic, no tourists." I must be becoming a local, because I could see his point.

I woke up this morning around 3AM to frantic pounding on my door. One of the buildings in my apartment complex was on fire. I'm situated pretty far away from it, but a couple friends of mine are living in the adjacent building and had to evacuate.

Fortunately, the fire was quickly contained and everybody (and their pets) made it out ok.

A great thing about being an adult is nobody can tell you you can't ride your shopping cart like a scooter through the parking lot.

I had a fun experience this weekend (aside from an unexpected detour into the east side of Detroit).

It's Saturday afternoon and R and I are on the way out to head to Detroit. We're already running a bit late. There is a no-fee ATM in the dorm and as we pass by I, in my infinite wisdom, decide I should have some cash on hand "just in case". I slide my card in and wait for the PIN prompt. I wait a bit more. I start hitting cancel in a futile effort to convince the machine that I changed my mind and it really doesn't need to be hanging onto my card anymore. R checks at the front desk and is told that yes, this machine has somewhat of a kleptomaniacal past. We procure a set of pliers but the card slot is just too narrow. Realizing we have no choice but to restort to outside help, R phones the service number on the front of the ATM and is greeted with a recording stating the bank is closed. She leaves a message but we're fairly certain I'm not going to be seeing that card again anytime soon. After a couple uncomfortable minutes of pondering, R has the idea to phone the card in as lost, which I do.

Fin.

In the end, the ATM was fixed when we got back the next night and the card was left at the front desk. So I had the pleasure of shredding my ATM card last night. It made neat little crunchy noises.