No Ann Ardor

Really, this is the same as Lawrence. The school is bigger, and there are a disturbing number of ice cream/custard shops here given the population, but it's basically the same as any Collegetown, USA. Restaurants and shops, shops and restaurants. A river.

It's not trashy, but it smells like it. For some reason - a bad one, I think - rubbish bins and dumpsters are located near the sidewalks.

A friend once said that she didn't really mind the smell of skunks, and I think I understood her, even agreed with her. The same cannot be said of garbage. Garbage is foul, awful, horrible - well deserving of its name. It's locked in a battle with rotting flesh and feces for a #1 ranking.

Ann Arbor: get it together, and put that stuff in the alley.

* * *

I'll be home tomorrow, and while my class hasn't taught me much...fuck. I should mention something about the class.

Shawn and Phil were in a class together in college - an English class, I think. All of the students were saying their names, their majors - you know how it is. Phil encouraged Shawn to spice up his introduction, and when it was Shawn's turn, he unleashed this nugget:

"I'm Shawn, I'm a sophomore, and I'm an architecture major. Oh yeah, and I'm a Pisces, for all you ladies out there."

I thought of Shawn's line this Monday when my fellow students were introducing themselves. It's a small room with only a dozen students. I'm nearly the last to go, and I mimic Shawn's line, substituting my job info and my own Zodiac sign, axing "for all you ladies out there".

I didn't see anyone smile.

I could have used a fun night out this week, and I considered making an announcement in class, inviting everyone to meet at the brewery for some good times. In the end, I decided the odds of enjoying myself around that group were too low to risk the effort. So, last night, I sampled 4 ounces each of 9 beers, ate two soft chicken tacos, and finished my book. There was a loud guy at the bar, talking at the unlucky man to his left about his career and so on. I feel like this trip has taught me something about That Guy. That Guy is in our bars, our coffee shops, our museums, our parks. He was at Borders today, asleep in a chair, snoring. He's out of place and he's strange, but it's important to know why he's there. He's got nowhere to be, and nowhere to go.