Last Day of Summer 2012

Congratulations on making it to This Blog and You’s “Last Day of Summer” issue, volume 7.

What makes a summer a summer? Is it the axial tilt of the earth in relation to the sun? Of course it is. Anybody who tells you anything else is absolutely wrongheaded and probably smelly. But I think that what makes a summer a summer are the unique experiences that you can craft during that season that are untenable the rest of the year due to the architecture of professional and academic pursuits. For me, the summer of 2012 was buttressed by trips to Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, and Costa Rica even. Costa Rica would have easily been the best were it not for all the foreigners there. And by foreigners I mean people from AU.

One of the many awful things about going for a run out in public is that folks sometimes find themselves inspired to shout reflexive hecklings at you that sometime take the form of a movie quote, prejudicial slur, or boorish come-on. Being the 230-pound specter of destruction that I am, I tend to garner relatively few such discomfiting remarks, but that trend was recently challenged by an ornery codger who was armed with a one-liner as razor-sharp as it was incomprehensible.

The encounter transpired on Park Avenue, just a scant few blocks from my destination. I had just worked my way through a mild abdominal cramp and I was pleased to be finishing my run feeling so well. As I rounded the corner from 10th Street, I noticed a little old man slowly shuffling south on Park as I was plodding confidently north. Though we were at this point still some thirty yards apart, I could feel him eyeing me suspiciously from underneath the brim of his faded IMI trucker’s hat and I felt as though I should extend a gesture of goodwill so as to cultivate within him the same sense of wellbeing that was presently welling up within me. With that goal in mind, I availed myself of the time-honored social protocol of the smile and nod, complemented by a slight gesture with my index finger, as though I were attempting to doff an imaginary cap.

My sign of solidarity worked! My wayfaring companion smiled broadly in my direction and I felt assured that an utterly human connection had been forged at right around mile three! Unfortunately, my sense of magnanimity was relatively short lived because the overall-clad gentleman’s smile blossomed into a shameless, toothy grin and he spake unto me the following: “Hey, if you get tired of runnin’, you can always piss in your shoe and float the rest of the way! Hyah! Hyah! Hahaha!”

My face fell as all my synaptic activity was brought to a standstill. “Wh-what does that mean? Did he just insult me? Is that a common old-guy joke? Should I laugh?” Ultimately, I elected to do nothing except stare blankly down the road as my raconteur’s cackling faded into the background. Of the few persons with whom I have shared this account, no one has been able to advise me on what would have been a more appropriate response. And people wonder why I say running's the worst.

Classes start in just a little more than eight hours. This truly is the last day of summer.

May God bless you and keep you, cause his face to shine upon you.

Jonny Wilkinson is 3-0 on the season so far.

Also, happy Labor Dabor Day.

-Ryan