Way back in June, I had the awesome experience of going to see a live taping of A Prairie Home Companion. It was nothing short of amazing; to be able to finally connect with my demographic of fellow public radio listeners was almost overwhelming. (What happens when you put a bunch of socially inept NPR fans in an enclosed space?) For those who listened to the show broadcast live on June 21st, it was the memorable show when the power went out for a few seconds at the climax of the freak thunderstorm roiling around Blossom Music Center (the interrupted segment was re-recorded later, so those who heard the encore broadcast on Sunday were none the wiser).

So it finally occurred to me today that I neglected to post the photos I had taken while there, and so here they are, in all their blurry, poorly-lit glory, for your enjoyment.

I think Russian is an awesome language.

In fact, I’ve been wanting to learn it for quite some time. So at Borders today I didn’t pass up the chance to leaf through Russian for Dummies. Granted, I didn’t retain much of it, except for this incredibly useful phrase: S lyogkim parom! or literally, Congratulations on a light steam!

Let me explain “incredibly useful,” all facetious undertones aside. The phrase is used in Russian culture toward anyone who leaves a shower, sauna, or any place where you can, let’s say, clean yourself. (This is where you brainstorm innumerable volumes of applications for this.) I think we need a phrase like this in English. I’m thinking perhaps of a national commercial hygiene initiative, in which a charismatic, well-to-do spokesperson bestows his congratulations on all for their impeccable cleaning habits. (Think Walt Frasier meets Cinema of Russia.) It would inspire national morale, boost the economy, and promote cleanliness in an otherwise repulsive population.

I’m standing in line at Akron-Canton, tapping away in Pocket IE to pass the time. Something like generic Beach Boys is wafting down from a speaker above our heads.

Today Steph is leaving for China for three months, essentially the whole summer. She will be flying to Chicago, and then thirteen hours and seventeen minutes later she will be arriving in Beijing. Assuming the government there hasn’t blocked Crunching Numbers, she might find an idle moment in which to provide updates via the blog.

My battery’s running low, and I don’t know how much more airport music I can stand.

I am now one year older.

There’s really nothing groundbreaking associated with being 17, except that you’re another year closer to being 18. The additional year doesn’t feel any different, as much as people keep asking how it feels to be another year older. Banalities have been spoken ad nauseum, among other birthday formalities I would very much like to avoid.

Tonight the family will dine at Olive Garden, a kind of safari in itself, like a bunch of rednecks at a science museum. We go nearly every year, and the experience doesn’t ever get any less awkward. I am always thankful for the waiters, the blessed patient people they are when it comes time to order. It’s already a stretch that we’re eating out (Mom: “Why pay money to go eat somewhere else when I can make the same thing better at home?”), and the parents don’t usually make a point of being all that gracious with the waiters; the scowl on their faces whenever anything extra is suggested (May I interest you in our desserts this evening?) is equally mortifying and amusing. And the waiters are awfully understanding and patient with them.

The great difficulty I have with birthdays, particularly my own, is due to my resolve to be as unremarkable as possible. Considering how inconvenient other peoples’ birthdays are to me, I figure the same is true for mine. It’s not humility so much as it is a dislike of scrutiny. Whatever critical interests people have are magnified ten-fold on a birthday, to the point where I am left in a sort of emotional limbo, trying to sustain a universally acceptable posture and facial expression. And then I’m told to relax and not be so tense.

Opening presents is always an adventure, especially this year since I didn’t request anything in particular. I can’t say I’ve ever really gotten a “bad gift” as defined by most normal people. Practicality is usually a plus when opposed to something nice but completely useless. As much as the giftee is scrutinized, the gifter is impressed upon immensely as well: a good indicator of what people think of you is what they get you on your birthday.

I don’t anticipate anything remarkable this year, just an occasion to mark another year of life. I also don’t plan to waste blog space and wax sentimental for those who crave sappy inspirational birthday memories. I’m going to eat Italian with Brazilians, that’s all the exciting it gets.

With all this talk about global warming, I wonder how people account for the fact that it’s mid-May and it’s still not spring.

I mean, I was out riding my bike today (yes, I do leave the house on rare occasions), and I was wondering why I was shivering in my zip-up band hoodie and cargo pants. Yes, we can always invoke Ohio as the epicenter of climactic irregularity, but this is ridiculous even for Ohio. If the penguins and polar bears are having such a hard time in the poles, they should just move to the mid-western United States.