Backpedaling

Rather than sweeping this under the rug, I am going to say it here.

I thought I was taught that pinched nerves caused disease, but I wasn’t. I was taught that pinched nerves affect the immune system’s ability to prevent disease. Those are two different ideas. I’m not sure how I came up with the first one. It must have gotten twisted around in my mind.

I have a strong immune system. I have been exposed to some common diseases and not caught them despite not having been vaccinated for them.

I love my parents. As long as I’m dependent upon them, I will do as they say, including when it comes to my health. This is a decision I came to myself. I think it’s fair.

Walk, don’t run

I guess it started a couple of Mondays ago, when, standing at the bus stop, I noticed that I was starting to get sick. My condition deteriorated within a few hours, and I spent the next day and a half back at my apartment. I went back to school and work on Wednesday with nothing but a lingering sore throat, and I thought that was that.

Well, if that had been that, that wouldn’t be the first paragraph of this post, now would it?

Last Monday, my throat suddenly became much sorer, but I went to school and work anyway. It wasn’t till I got home that I suspected that my tonsils might be involved. Sure enough, I opened my mouth and there they were. I had never had any problems with them before, which is why I didn’t think about them right away. But there was no doubt; my tonsils were swollen.

I knew I had to see a doctor, but I hadn’t been to one since I was maybe four. My parents always took me to a chiropractor instead—several times a week, in fact. I’d been taught to believe that diseases were caused by pinched nerves in the spine, that vaccines caused autism, and that “Just Say No to Drugs” referred to all drugs. It’s a wonder that my friends didn’t fall over laughing as I told them all this. Fortunately, the subject never came up much, but I did live in fear of the question: “So, who’s your family doctor?”

Now I needed one, and I didn’t have one. But I figured I could go to the Student Health Care Center on campus, so the next morning, I called to make a same-day appointment. Each student is assigned a team of doctors, each with its own office in the Infirmary; I was given directions to mine and the instruction to come early so I could fill out some new-patient paperwork.

An hour later, there I was in the waiting room, filling out some forms. I was on the other side. My family had just moved and I couldn’t remember my new address, so I had to give my parents a call. I didn’t want to make a big deal about my situation, but I told them (in my strange, tonsilitic voice) what was up. I also took this opportunity to ask them whether the health insurance card I had in my wallet was still valid. And… it wasn’t. I had no health insurance.

They measured my height and weight (I’m officially 6’1″, you guys), and then I was directed to go into a small room, where I sat on some big table-looking thing. I don’t even know how I knew to sit on this; I must have just seen it on TV. Someone came in to take my pulse and blood pressure and asked me about my symptoms. She took my temperature: 101.3 degrees. A doctor came in and gave me a couple Tylenol and a can of Gatorade.

Then she took a swab from my tonsils, and after I sat around by myself for what seemed like an eternity, she came back with the results: I had an upper respiratory infection, both viral and bacterial in nature. This, she said, was unusual. She gave me a prescription for antibiotics, which would make me feel all better within 48 hours, and said I could get them for free at a local supermarket. On the prescription was the diagnosis: acute pharyngitis. Huh. Not so cute to me!

Antibiotics: a word only referred to in my family with derision and in hushed tones. I had been taught that if you take antibiotics, you might as well be killing yourself. They were basically the worst thing in the world other than vaccines. Outside the Infirmary, I called my parents to give them an update on the situation. Since they now live close by, my dad offered to pick me up and help me get the prescription. Fortunately, even though my parents don’t like antibiotics, they recognize when they are necessary.

So, we went to the supermarket, and while the prescription was being filled by a dude in a white lab coat, we went around and bought some stuff I would need to help me battle my illness: orange juice, Gatorade, canned soup, and a few other necessities (such as a couple of king-size Mexican Cokes from the Hispanic foods aisle). Then my dad dropped me off back at my apartment, where I proceeded to do very little. It was hard to eat, not only because I had difficulty swallowing but also because my appetite had been reduced to almost nothing.

The next day, my parents offered to pick me up and let me stay at the house. It took me all day to decide, but once I saw that I wasn’t getting better, I took them up on the offer. I had been concerned about getting them sick, but I followed the doctor’s advice of washing my hands a lot. It sure was nice to be away from everything and to be close to my family in their new forest abode. The home-cooked meals were good too.

I had been taking the antibiotics as prescribed, getting plenty of rest, drinking fluids, and gargling with hot salt water, but the 48-hour mark had passed, and my tonsils were just as swollen as ever, maybe even more so. The only consolation was that I was less queasy, although not many foods could fit through my mouth anyway. I was beginning to lose hope when my dad mentioned that I should stay positive. But why? I wondered. That doesn’t make any sense. This should work whether I think it will or not!

But then I started thinking about it. I started thinking about the placebo effect and other counterintuitive things science has revealed about the efficacy of treatments. And I thought about a teenage girl standing up in an Alabama science classroom, saying, “But it don’t make a lick of sense!”

Maybe it doesn’t, random kid. (I imagined her in more detail, by the way. She has three kids. They are addicted to Mountain Dew and all have different daddies.) Maybe it doesn’t make sense to you. But you’re not the researcher. You didn’t administer a double-blind study whose results were independently reproduced by others at a different time and place. And neither did I. But somebody did.

In short, all I had to do was be happy, and that would make me feel better. It made me happy that that was all I had to do. I had all the medicine, but I had just been missing this last piece of the puzzle. It was a vicious cycle of happiness, really, that I just had to jump into. I slept happily.

The next morning, my throat was even sorer, and my fever was still 101.3. I called the Student Health Care Center to make another same-day appointment. The receptionist told me that they were all booked for the day without even letting me get a word in edgewise, which, as you know, is the only way you can get words in most of the time. So I hung up without saying another word. I called the number on my doctor’s card with the hope that I could reach her directly, but I got the receptionist again. “Didn’t you just call?” Click. She must have been mad.

My dad decided to give them a call next. I was afraid he was going to give them an earful, but he explained the situation calmly and managed to get a nurse to talk to me on the phone. When I told the nurse that my medication wasn’t working, she urged me to come in for a visit immediately so that they could squeeze me in.

We got there as soon as we could. Apparently there had been nothing for the receptionist to get mad about; she thought that my cell phone service had been cutting out. My doctor was out that day (as was almost everyone else, apparently; no one gets sick on Fridays, I guess), but another doctor met with me. She suspected mono right away and set me upstairs to the lab for a blood test.

This was another new thing for me. I don’t give blood, and I haven’t been vaccinated for as long as I can remember, so the idea of needles penetrating my skin was something I wasn’t familiar with. Things like that don’t make me sick easily, but I was concerned about what it might feel like, so I asked the woman who was about to take a blood sample. She said it was just a prick, nothing to be worried about. I said yes, but some people pass out when they see needles. No need to worry about this one, she quipped, it’s never been used.

The needle hurt more than I thought it would. I didn’t want to look. But it was over quickly, and I made my way back downstairs to await the results of the test. After what seemed like forever, I was called back in to meet with the doctor. She came in with a copy of the lab report and said, “I was right!”

She showed me the numbers on the report and explained why I had mono, but I was too busy looking for my blood type to pay much attention. (I didn’t see it.) Apparently, I would have it for at least a few weeks. She also noted that I was “borderline” anemic, which I thought was odd since I thought I ate a lot of meat and enough green vegetables. This was almost too much for me to wrap my head around.

The doctor prescribed me some steroids, which I could pick up for a small fee at the pharmacy upstairs. As for further treatment, she said I should eat a good diet of fruits, vegetables, meat, grains, etc. (basically, not processed food); drink lots of water; sleep a lot; not drink alcohol; and avoid contact sports, which could cause me to rupture my spleen. In other words, the Rx was to relax. I could get behind that.

I picked up the drugs and went back to the house to recover. My tonsils started returning to their normal size later that day. The next morning, my fever was gone, and by Sunday, I was all better. The doctor had said I could get back to work and school when my fever was gone, so I went back yesterday. The only thing I’ve noticed is that I’m more tired than usual. Hopefully that’ll be my last symptom.

Today, I went to the Student Health Care Center for a follow-up just to make sure everything was okay. I’m very pleased that they were able to help me for free. Even though I didn’t have insurance, all I had to pay for was the steroids, which only cost $10 (actually $9.99—why?). And I’m glad that they were able to squeeze me in on a busy Friday when my medication wasn’t working. Best of all, I now have a good reason not to hate doctors.

The next phase of the treatment is in my own hands. The doctor said that if I take it easy and try not to overexert myself, I shouldn’t have to go back for another appointment… unless the whites of my eyes turn yellow. Then I should definitely get that checked out.

Coincidentally, this was next on my list of links to post: Darryl Cunningham Investigates: Homeopathy. It’s a brief run-down of homeopathy in comic book form, similar to the one about the MMR vaccination controversy that I linked to recently. (Via waxy.org)

Adventures with Kate, part seven

On Friday, August 13, Kate and I were at my family’s house. We didn’t do much that day; the five of us (my parents, my grandmother, Kate, and I) went out for a drive around the area that culminated in a trip to the bank. While the grown-ups were banking, Kate and I wandered up and down Main Street, taking pictures. As we were getting ready to leave, it started raining.

The next day, Kate wanted to go tubing on the Ichetucknee again, and this time, she wanted to go down more of the river. But despite our efforts to get there early, the upper entrances to the river had already closed, and we had to take the shortest route down the river, which was what we had done last time. There were also more people there. And it rained. But it was still fun.

Later, when we were back at the house, Kate and I took out a couple of bikes and rode down to the river to go swimming. Well, Kate swam for a few minutes, and that was it. We continued a little farther on our bikes, but there wasn’t much to see. I’m glad we did it, though. It was something she had wanted to do.

We went back to my apartment that night, and the next day, August 15, we decided to go to a concert on campus. Along the way, we checked out a fish store (taking pictures everywhere, of course) and then we each got a tiny carton of ice cream at the grocery store for us to eat during the concert.

We made it to campus, and it was empty, as I would expect it to be on a Sunday during the summer. We each got a copy of the program at the base of Century Tower, where the bells were. We sat on a bench nearby dug in to our ice cream during the opening number, “The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba“.

Right after that, it started to rain, so we headed for cover at Turlington Hall. We ended up sitting on a bench near a few other people. They were the only other people I saw who were there to listen to the concert. Poor carillonneur.

After about an hour, the concert was over. We returned home to make pancakes and more chicken salad. Actually, Kate made them, and she did a great job as usual.

The next day, August 16, started slowly. We had been planning to go to Key West, and we still weren’t sure if we wanted to go since our only real option would be to go by bus. Finally, we decided that a little bus ride shouldn’t get in the way of having some fun, and we bought tickets for the next bus to Key West. Then we started packing; we didn’t have much time.

Surprise? Playing classical music won’t make your baby smart! (Via mcgees.org)

Adventures with Kate, part six

On the evening of August 11, after Kate and I had gotten back from our visit to St. Augustine, we heard someone else in the apartment. Andy and I had been the only ones living there at the time, and Andy was out-of-state, so it wasn’t him. A month before, we had been told that our four-bedroom apartment would be getting two new roommates, both foreign grad students, immediately—but nothing had come of it. Finally, here was the first roommate.

I went over to the occupied room to say hello to the first new roommate. He had just come from Beijing, and he said that his friend, the other roommate, would be coming in a few days.

The next day, Thursday, August 12, I had to go in to work. Normally I would have the whole break off, but I’d had so much work that I couldn’t finish it all before the break, so I had chosen to go in on this day. I strolled in with Kate, both of us sunburned, and my boss commented on how I was clearly enjoying my break.

When I was done with work, my parents and grandmother picked us up; we would be spending a few days with them. The first thing we did was hit the post office. I had bought a guitar online for one of Kate’s friends, who had given me the money to buy it. Either they wouldn’t ship it to Russia or the Russian postal service isn’t trustworthy (or both), so Kate was going to take it back to Russia herself.

It was still pretty early once we had gotten the guitar, but we decided to have an early dinner at the one and only Satchel’s Pizza. Since it was so early, we didn’t have to wait for a table. We ordered two large pies, and after (mostly) finishing them, we walked around the junk shop/museum in the back. Kate enjoyed taking pictures (and a video) of the assortment of strange things.

After that, we went to the mall so Kate could buy some clothes. She had packed light, expecting to buy clothes stateside, but she was only getting around to it now. She headed right for Abercrombie & Fitch. I was pleased to see that they had made an improvement to the shopping experience by turning on the lights. All the better to see naked models with, my dear. I’m not holding out for them to cut the blaring music or annoying cologne smell, though.

We made a brief trip back to the apartment so we could pick up a chicken salad that Kate had made. She insisted that it was substandard because she had had to leave out or substitute some ingredients (including Andy’s vegan mayonnaise-like spread for actual mayonnaise), but we had eaten about half of it, and I found it to be delicious.

After that, we went home, and I was ready to spend a few days relaxing with Kate and my family.

Yesterday, The Consumerist posted an Updated List Of Airports With Full-Body Scanners. I saw one at Jacksonville International Airport in May, but fortunately, there were two security lines, and I picked the one that didn’t have one. I don’t fly much, but in the future I’ll avoid airports that use full-body scanners. And when all airports have them, it’ll be time for a judgment call. I’ll probably have to cave eventually, at which time I’ll feel (quite literally) like a whore.

Adventures with Kate, part two

Kate, Andy, and I got off to a slow start on Sunday, August 8. It was already the afternoon when we decided to go tubing. For those of you who don’t know, tubing is a popular pastime in the Gainesville area. Basically, you get yourself an inner tube; go to one of the slow, meandering rivers out in the country; and enjoy the ride.

If it sounds pretty dang halcyon (according to Google, no one has ever said that on the Internet), like the way you would imagine the young boys of yesteryear going down for a swim at the watering hole, it’s not really like that. People tend to go tubing down the Ichetucknee River at Ichetucknee Springs State Park, which may or may not be pretty crowded. And a whole cottage industry of tube rental companies has sprung up around the park so that you can stop at some little place on the side of the road, get a tube for $5, and, when you’re done, leave it at the park for Jimbo ‘n’ pals to pick up when you’re done. Not a bad setup.

The park contains several entrances to the river—on-ramps, if you will—that determine the length of time you’ll spend floating downstream (there being a single place for all tubers to get out). By the time we were all ready to go, only the entrance that was furthest downstream was still open, so our journey down the river would only last about an hour.

Aside: Do you know what makes rivers flow? Rivers are formed when water comes out of a hole in the ground—this is the source of the river—and then, thanks to gravity, all this water flows toward lower ground (downstream), like when water flows down the driveway when your dad is washing the car. The ground gets lower and lower till it reaches sea level, and, voila: the water enters the ocean. Fast rivers come from mountains and stuff because they’re high up, and slow, meandering rivers are found in flatter places. This is all extremely obvious, but most of it no one ever told me outright, and it only really hit me when I was in maybe high school. Because, you know, I don’t often sit around, thinking about rivers and stuff.

The drive to Ichetucknee Springs State Park was longer than I remembered, and we were even concerned about making it to the last river entrance on time. I realized that we’d be driving right by my parents’ new house. Kate and I had been planning to spend a few days there, so I decided to call the ‘rents and ask if the three of us could have dinner there on the way back from the river. Of course, they said it was fine.

We stopped at a place for some tubes. One of the good ol’ boys noted that I was wearing a Beatles shirt and said I looked like I could be one of them Beatles; he added that he just seen one of their movies the other day, great movie, the one where John Lennon has the ring stuck on his finger and the crazy Indian cult is after him tryin’ to kill him and all. Great band, they were.

There weren’t too many people at the park, and the three of us made our way to the entrance farthest downstream. I was the only one who had actually gone tubing before, so Kate and Andy probably didn’t know that getting in was the hardest part. We were standing a metal platform just above water level. The water was moving along pretty quickly, so it wouldn’t be too easy to lay down your tube and get yourself in. Andy went first. He slipped on the platform and fell into his tube. Kate got into hers awkwardly. I got into mine like a pro, but the water was really cold, so I wasn’t extremely pleased either.

Since the water was moving so swiftly, Andy hung on to a nearby tree branch to wait for me and Kate. After we all got together, he managed to help Kate reposition herself on the tube so that she would be more comfortable. And then we felt free to float along, enjoy the natural scenery, and relax.

In fact, you can’t spend too much time relaxing because you have to watch where you’re going. The river might not take you around turns so easily, and you can find yourself running into the edge where there are sticks and spider webs and who knows what. It helps a great deal to be able to steer yourself by rowing with your hands, even if it looks silly. So it was out of necessity that Andy and Kate picked up on the art and science of being a human rowboat.

After a while, we reached the end of the river. Well, not really, but we reached the point where we had to get off. The river was roped off and there was another platform off to the side where you had to go and get out. We left our tubes at the designated area and took a tram back to the section of the park where we had started. The trams came every few minutes, but they would be fairly full. Andy had the misfortune of sitting next to a chipper scout leader who was making jokes with everyone around him. Luckily, the ride didn’t last very long (although I’m sure for Andy it did).

Andy and Kate wanted to swim in the springs from which the river sprung, so we drove to the upstream part of the park. It was closed to tubing at this point, but the springs—halcyon swimming holes, if you will—would still be open for a while. I had never been to this part of the park, so it was new for me too. There were a few springs. The nearest one was filled with people, and Andy and Kate decided to swim for a minute or two before getting out. I didn’t go in because the water was too cold.

But Andy and Kate insisted that I swim, so we decided to go to the spring that was farther away. It was about a ten-minute walk through a wooded path, and only a few other people were there. We went into the water. It was extremely cold, and I swam around frantically, perhaps all the more frantically because I was still wearing my shoes. After a minute or two, I started to get used to it, but I still wanted out. So I got out, and I was afraid that I would be freezing since I didn’t have a towel. Surprisingly, I was just fine. I guess it was because there was no wind. It was always windy in South Florida, and I always dreaded getting out of the pool.

We dried off and headed toward my parents’ (and I guess also my) new house. I told Andy where to turn, but he missed the turn because he couldn’t see the driveway for the trees. Seriously, the entrance is pretty discreet. The mailbox by the side of the road is pretty much the only indication that anyone lives there. But Andy turned around and made his way down the dirt driveway that looks like it could be long but is actually pretty short. And then, standing amid the trees, the new house came into view.

I had only been there once, when my parents were still checking out the place. Now the place already looked like home even though they had just moved in. (The fact that we had most of the same furniture helped quite a bit.) I checked out my room, which had a new bed and was filled with boxes, most of which I didn’t have to pack (but I would have if I had had the time, honest). I felt at home pretty quickly. Andy and Kate chatted it up with my parents and grandmother.

Mindful of Andy’s vegetarianism, my parents made spaghetti for dinner, and everyone was pleased with how it came out. After dinner, we watched a little football on TV, it being the start of the preseason and all. But it was getting late, and we were all tired, so we decided to go back to the apartment.

But before we did that, we stopped at the Ben & Jerry’s on Archer Road to get a little ice cream. Andy had almost finished his ice cream before Kate decided what she wanted, and if you don’t know them, then you won’t be able to tell who I’m taking a jab at by mentioning that fact. After our dessert, Kate and Andy played a card game; apparently they just have decks of cards lying around for you to hang out and play. After that, we went home. Kate and I had a big day in store for us.

The Mohammed Image Archive is a collection of images of Mohammed, spanning the entire history of Islam, by Muslims and non-Muslims alike. (Via Atheist Revolution)

Have you ever heard the claim that the MMR vaccine causes autism? Here, in comic book form, is the story of the scientist whose bogus study set off a wave of fear, uncertainty, and doubt that has yet to die down. (Via waxy.org)

Adventures with Kate, part one

The only thing I got for my birthday—besides money—came unexpectedly in the mail the day before. I had no idea what could be in the box or who it could be from. I opened it, and inside was a book: Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham. A note came with the book: “Happy birthday, Jordon! Kisses, Kate.”

I felt terrible. The day before that, I had told her that I wanted us to be just friends. And since she would be coming to visit in less than a month, I didn’t know how she was going to feel about me. I really wasn’t sure whether we would have a good time at all. It was bad timing on my part, but is there ever a right time for that?

I started to read the book. It was a really large book, and I was worried that I wouldn’t finish it before she got here. But I read a little bit every day on the bus to and from class. At first I wasn’t sure how interested I would be in it, since it seemed to be just some guy’s life story. But it got more interesting, and I started chugging along.

Kate flew in to Miami on August 1 and spent the week making her way up through Florida. During that time, we texted each other with details of what we had been up to, and she told me how much she missed me. I was sorry. I missed her too. It hurts me to even think about what I said to her and how she must have felt.

I still hadn’t gotten close to finishing the book on Saturday, August 7, when Andy and I went to the Greyhound bus station to pick up Kate. This was where I had last seen her over six months ago. We (or, at least, I) had gotten emotional because I didn’t know when we would see each other again.

The bus arrived late, so I killed some time by reading the book. Finally, Kate’s bus arrived. She stepped off the bus, and Andy and I greeted her in Esperanto, the language we usually used with her. Soon she asked if we could switch to English, so English it was.

Before she arrived, she had asked us to take her out to lunch somewhere, and she wanted it to be a surprise. Andy and I had decided on Merlion, the quiet Singaporean restaurant where he had taken me after our abortive attempt to watch a Fourth of July firework show. It was quiet there indeed, but as we slowly worked away at our dishes, the place got more and more crowded—too crowded for the staff to handle.

It was a graduation day, and a number of people had decided to make Merlion the place to celebrate. Each of us tried the others’ dishes. With her dish, Kate got the “communist soup” (meat, potatoes, and not much else). Our waitress was busy with who knows how many tables, but eventually, she gave us the check.

It was already getting late, but Kate said that she wanted to go to the Kanapaha Botanical Gardens, so Andy dropped us off there and went home to take a nap. I had never been to the gardens before, so it was new for me too. The weather was getting terrible by this time, and it looked like it was going to start pouring rain any second. But we decided to set out and wander on (and sometimes off) the path, admiring the various plants all around.

Toward the end of our visit, not long before Andy was going to come back and pick us up, Kate asked if I was going to hold her hand. I did, and I felt more comfortable, like everything was right with the world again. We walked to a small gazebo and watched a fake waterfall for a little while. Then we headed back to the front of the park, where Andy was waiting to pick us up.

We got back to the apartment, where Andy had written (and I had helped sign) a greeting to Kate in Russian. She got a big kick out of it. Later, Kate and I watched Kurt Cobain About a Son on her computer. Soon after, it was night. It was a wonderful night.

And now, the links:

Icons of the Web is a huge graphic showing the favicons for a few hundred thousand of the most popular sites on the Internet. The size of each site’s icon is proportional to the site’s popularity. Yes, theworldofstuff.com is there—it’s one of the smallest icons, but it’s there.

The BBC talks to some guys who make cheesy knock-offs of popular movies.

Because once just isn’t enough

Big things are happening. My parents moved today; I no longer have a residence in Deerfield Beach, the city I’ve lived in my whole life. (Well, I haven’t really lived there for a while since I’m in college, but now it’s official.) They’ll be moving in to our new house on Monday (I think) and in the meantime are staying with my grandparents.

But here in this little college apartment I’ve come to call home, big things are happening too. Although I’m buried under a pile of homework and work and housework (or at least the threat of impending housework), I’d like to stick my head in briefly to say: Kate is coming back.

I met her last summer when I was in Europe, and in January, she paid me a visit that I detailed in 5 posts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

She’ll be leaving Russia this weekend and will spend a week meandering from Miami to Gainesville. Then she’ll be meeting up with me, and we’ll spend a few days in St. Augustine and Jacksonville. Then we’ll be back in the Gainesville area, where we’ll visit my parents at the new house. After that, we hope to make it down to Key West for a few days, and then Kate will have to be in Miami to catch her flight home.

It’s incredibly kind of her to travel halfway around the world twice in less than a year to visit me, and I’ll make sure she enjoys her visit.

In the meantime, I have all this work to catch up on.

Just one link today: An interactive chart showing The Evolution of Privacy on Facebook.

New house

I’m coming off the tail end of a long Fourth of July weekend. I guess I’ve never thought about it, but it seems that we get a long Fourth of July weekend more often than not: whenever the day falls on a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, or Monday. That’s a majority of days! (This is the first July I’ve ever gone to school, which is why I’ve never realized it before.)

On Saturday, Andy and I went to a fireworks show on campus. As we got there, it was drizzling, and the community orchestra had just started playing the national anthem. When they finished, it was raining harder, so we turned around and left. We had dinner at a Singaporean restaurant called Merlion before going back home. I hadn’t been to one since I was in Berlin last year. Good stuff!

This weekend, my parents were looking at houses in the area (since they’ve sold theirs). On Sunday, I met up with them, and they took me and my grandmother to see the one they liked the most. They called the real estate agent, who let us in to look around. It’s a portable, but it doesn’t look like one inside (or outside, for that matter). An enclosed porch has been added on in front. It’s sort of secluded, with tall trees and stuff all around. It’s near Fort White (pop. 531) and the Santa Fe River, so my dad would still be able to go boating.

Today, my parents told me that their offer on the house had been accepted. Within a month, the place will be ours. Well, I’ll have a room there, but I don’t know if I’ll make it my permanent residence after college or what. That’s something I’ve been trying to think about. I’m graduating in less than a year, but it seems like a long way off.

Vittana is similar to Kiva in that it allows you to make microloans to people around the world. The difference is that with Vittana, the loans are used to help people go to college. I can’t vouch for the service, but it’s a cool idea.

I wish all my lectures were as interesting as this April Fool’s Day prank. (via waxy.org)

Here are some fun facts about Nintendo in cheesy infographic form. (Via The Presurfer)

No direction home

South Florida is vast and crowded. For years and years, my parents have wanted to sell our house and move someplace quieter. A while back, for about a year, they had the house on the market, but no one bought it. They’ve spent a lot of time fixing things up and recently put it up for sale again. They gave me the news yesterday: there’s an official buyer. We have to move out by July 29.

Well, it’s more them, really. Since starting college, I’ve only spent about 20% of my time there. According to this year’s census, I don’t live there; I live here at my apartment in Gainesville. But I only intend to have this apartment for as long as I’m in college, and I’ve always considered my home in South Florida to be my permanent address. In my heart, I do live there, and I’ve already planned to go back at least a couple more times.

Since my parents have made their intentions known for so long, I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with the move. Still, I can’t help but feel a little sad that my permanent address will be no more.

We moved in on December 6, 1997. I was eight years old. We were only moving across town, and we were able to keep our phone number, but I was still pretty distraught. I had lived in our old house for my whole eight-year-old life, and it was everything I knew. My parents had taken my sister and me along on dozens or hundreds of “house hunting” trips. I remember seeing for the first time what would eventually be our new house. I remember seeing the old big-screen TV in the corner where we would later put our Christmas tree.

I remember us having a garage sale—the only garage sale I think we’ve ever had for as long as I’ve been alive. And I remember the last time I was in the old house, when it was completely empty. We had to get rid of our dog because our old house closed in October and we couldn’t move in to the new one till December, and we would be living in a condo in the meantime. Also, at the new house there wasn’t a fence around the backyard.

I’m going to miss that backyard. I was so excited to have a real pool, even though I take it for granted now. I remember jumping into it with my sister in February and then jumping right back out again. I remember my friends and I wandering around the backyard with our guitars, my sister supervising the photo shoot with a disposable camera I bought with some money I had somehow managed to scrounge up. I remember having birthday parties there. A pool party early on. Was that the one with pie fight? Well, whipped cream in pie tins. And later, the infamous birthday dance parties on the patio. I think we had them four years in a row.

I remember the band practices in the garage or sometimes in the living room, the Driveway-A-Thon, and our secret spot at a juncture of fences behind the house. I remember the lake across the street that’s not actually a lake but part of a canal. I remember getting pushed into the lake, and I remember getting other people to run into the lake. I remember playing video games with the neighbor with the two-story house, and my other neighbors’ mom leaving a pitcher of water on the front porch overnight to make it North Pole water.

I remember sitting at the old computer, my dad and I composing an e-mail to Geocities asking how to sign up for an account. I remember declaring my latest web site ready for the world on a Sunday. I remember being lighted by artificial light as I wrote a post for a camera. I remember the wall getting painted red and the computer moving to the opposite one.

Dishes broke. I dropped taco meat on the kitchen carpet. The tiles detached themselves from the living room floor; we moved out for a week. The house weathered more hurricanes than I can try to remember. Georges, Frances, Jeanne, Katrina, Wilma. My room was repainted. My sister’s room was repainted. More carpets were replaced. Our next dog made that necessary.

But there’s still a spot on the inside of the front door where I would place my greasy, pubescent nose as I tiptoed to look through the peephole. There are still lots of holes in my bedroom walls that my dad drilled so I could hang up random stuff. And there’s still the sad-looking concrete lawn flamingo with rebar legs that we found on moving in and that I for some reason find irresistibly charming.

I remember packing up and leaving for vacations and being thrilled to come back. I’ll miss the place.

The “someplace quieter” that my parents want to move to is the same general area I’m in now. But they still haven’t found the right house. In the meantime, they’ll be living with my grandmother in her house. And I’ll be changing my address for everything.

A fake movie trailer: Weird: The Al Yankovic Story. (Via waxy.org)

Another list: 7 Totally Awesome and Totally True Ways People Quit Their Jobs. (Via The Presurfer)

Kate’s visit, part four

Kate, Andy, and I got bus tickets to South Florida for Friday, January 15. My last class ended at 3:50, and the bus would leave from campus at 4:30, so I packed some clothes and other necessities in my backpack and carried them around with me throughout the day. After my class, Kate met up with me, and we found Andy at the parking lot where the buses were.

We got comfortable in the back row, which conveniently had three seats and inconveniently was next to the restroom. The bus got off to a late start, so we laughed and joked in Esperanto to pass the time. In fact, we spoke Esperanto during the whole bus ride, to the probable confusion of those who anyone who was trying to listen. (I doubt anyone was. Everyone turned on, tuned in, and dropped out.)

We got off at Pompano Beach, where my parents were waiting to pick up me and Kate. One of the first things we did when we got home was make some tea for Kate. I wasn’t even sure if my parents would have any tea, but they did, so that was good. It was already late by then, so after making plans for the weekend, we just went to bed. My sister had let Kate sleep in her room, which was very nice of her. (Thanks, Kristen!)

On Saturday, we got off to kind of a slow start, which was fine by me. But it was going to be kind of a big day. There’s a lighthouse near my home, and it’s only open to the public a few days a year. I had never been there. As it happened, they were giving tours on Saturday, so my mom took Kate and me to the waterfront hotel where tour boats were departing. Soon, we were heading down the Intracoastal, on our way to the lighthouse.

I thought there would be a guided tour, but after a guide talked about the statue of Ed Hamilton, the barefoot mailman of local lore, we were left to just wander around. There wasn’t a lot of space for wandering, though. There were a couple of cottages that were off-limits because they were being used as vacation homes for Coast Guardsmen and their families, apparently. That pretty much left the lighthouse.

Of course, we wanted to go up to the top, but the lighthouse had a maximum capacity of about twelve people, so we had to wait a while first. Finally, we were allowed to enter, and we made our way up the narrow spiral staircase. Soon, we were on the observation deck just below the light. It was extremely windy up there, but in spite of that, we managed to stay a little while and take some photos. I tried a couple of panoramas. This one turned out better (click for huge version). The boat in the corner is a nice touch, if I do say so myself.

After a while, we made our way down to the ground. One of the Coast Guard Reserve people hanging around the entrance saw that I was wearing a Beatles shirt, and we had a little conversation about the Beatles. The lighthouse people took our photo, and they said they’d put it in the next issue of their newsletter.

There wasn’t much left to do, so we planned to take the next tour boat back to the hotel. We asked one of the lighthouse people when the next one was coming, and he said it would come at 3:30. In the meantime, we sat on the beach. Although we tried to be early for the boat, we ended up missing it because it was even earlier. Instead of waiting an hour for the next one, we decided to walk to the nearest public beach.

Our walk took us through the ritzy community next to the lighthouse. It was filled with people playing golf, tennis, and yes, croquet. After that, it wasn’t a very long walk. It was cloudier and windier by the time we arrived. We had two beach towels with us; we sat on one and I covered myself up with the other. Kate didn’t think it was cold, so that worked out well enough.

After that, my mom picked us up and took us home. Kate gave my parents a gift; it was another calendar with some spectacular scenes of St. Petersburg. Kate then used Google Earth to show us some of the places she’s lived in and visited. After we had a dinner of steak, Kate took a dip in the pool while I watched from a safe distance. I’ve tried to go swimming in the winter, and it is just not fun. Again, Kate didn’t think it was very cold.

On Sunday morning, Kate got to experience a Kalilich Sunday brunch, complete with waffles, scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns, bagels, and probably other stuff (I think Kate had bread and cheese). It was a big meal for a big day. Kate had wanted to visit the Museum of Art and the Museum of Discovery and Science in Fort Lauderdale, and Andy had said that his aunts would treat him and us to dinner in the evening.

Before we left for our big day out, I tried to get my photos off my camera and onto my dad’s computer. “Tried” was the key word. My trusty memory card, the one I had used throughout most of my camera’s life, was corrupted and unreadable. I remembered Magic Rescue, which I reviewed here a year and a half ago, and installed it on my dad’s Ubuntu machine (I didn’t have my computer with me for once). Magic Rescue recovered 67 of the 72 files. After that, I resigned myself to using my last good memory card, capable of holding a whopping 8 (yes, eight) photos.

We went to the Museum of Art first. They happened to have an exhibition of Norman Rockwell‘s artwork, which I figured would be good for Kate to see: what could be more American? There were a lot of his earlier works, and also some well-known later works such as Triple Self-Portrait and The Problem We All Live With. There was also a huge wall with every one of his Saturday Evening Post covers.

We proceeded to the rest of the museum, which was more modern and less traditional, and after that, we went to the Museum of Discovery and Science, which was just a few blocks away. I had fond memories of going there as a little kid, so it was fun to go back. It was full of little kids running around everywhere, though.

Kate had wanted to go to the museum’s IMAX theater, but the showings were all sold out, so we just checked out the museum. They must change it up periodically because I hardly recognized anything at all. Still, it was fun to see all the exhibits about marine life, space, geology, and so on. There was a section of the museum devoted to brain teasers. I solved the Towers of Hanoi puzzle with six discs. I wouldn’t have known how to do it if I hadn’t learned about a recursive solution in one of my previous programming classes.

After going through two museums, we were pretty tired, so we sat by the New River and then went over to Riverwalk, a shopping area by the river. That’s when Andy came to pick us up. The three of us went to Lincoln Road in Miami Beach, where we would have dinner with two of Andy’s aunts. (The preceding statement should not be taken to imply that Andy has more than two aunts; in fact, I don’t know how many he has.)

We ate at an Italian restaurant called Da Leo Trattoria. One of Andy’s aunts, the one who lived in Miami, told me about how she and everyone in her office would read my blog over the summer to find out what Andy and I were up to in Europe. From the blog, she already knew about Kate, and she said she felt as if she already knew her.

The food was very good, and so was the dessert. I was actually the only one who didn’t order dessert, but after the waiter gave everyone else their desserts, he inexplicably had a slice of Key lime pie left over and asked if I wanted it. How do you say no to that?

After dinner, we thanked Andy’s aunts for treating us to dinner. Andy drove Kate and me to South Beach and then went to his aunt’s place for a little while. Kate and I pretty much spent the whole time sitting on the beach. It was pitch dark, and there weren’t many people around, but there were a lot of flickering lights from boats on the water.

Later, Andy picked us up took us home. Thanks, Andy!

On Monday, we got off to another late start, I think because I was taking a long time to pack my things (even though I had hardly brought anything). My mom drove us to Loxahatchee National Wildlife Refuge, where we had about twenty minutes to walk around and see the River of Grass before we had to go to the rest stop on the highway where the bus would pick us up.

At the rest stop, we met up with Andy. The bus came and whisked us away to Gainesville. It was a newer bus than the previous one; the back seat spanned the whole width of the bus, which was more than enough room for us all to be comfortable. The bus ride, of course, took forever, but it didn’t seem quite as long as before.

It was a national holiday, so there would be no local bus service to take us back to our apartment from the bus stop on campus. Andy called ahead for a cab, and it arrived right after we did. By the time we got back to the apartment, it wasn’t late, but I was tired, so I didn’t think we did very much.

Congratulations for reading this far. Here’s a link: The Same-Sex Marriage Debate, Greatly Simplified. It’s a sort of crazy flowchart.