After the university-wide commencement, I had another ceremony put on by the poli sci department to run to. Here I was one of the speakers, and I actually managed to get through forty-five seconds on Sigma Iota Rho relatively unscathed (as it turns out, the trend of apathy towards Sigma on the part of the student body also extends to their parents. This worked in my favor.) I had to run out early from the degree-granting ceremony, though — sorry, everybody I missed! — because my sister’s College of Engineering graduation was starting at the same time (I should note that, while we liberal artists didn’t get our reception running until twenty minutes after schedule, I’m told the engineers began right on time).

Following all the graduating, my entire family was exhausted, and it was all we could do to drive sufficiently far enough from campus to find a restaurant that hadn’t been booked solid years in advance. And it was early to bed, since the next morning we had to move Jessica and I out of our old apartment and into a summer sublet, then catch our breath and move my sister out of her coöp. By the time we finished, around ten that night, the family was exhausted anew.

On the whole, graduation was a lot of fun, though, and it’s making me reminisce about my time at Michigan and in Ann Arbor. I could definitely say the same about each of these: on the whole, it was a blast. As it hits me now that I’m leaving the institution and town that really did run my life for the past four years, I’m feeling a little more wistful, maybe, than I was even when I moved here from my hometown. It’s weird, I guess. Then again, I think I was probably thinking the same thoughts in 2003. A look into my old blog (long since removed from the internet) shows

“… The countdown is just reeling now, with 4 1/2 days left for seniors in high school. I really can’t believe that I’m almost out of school. Corunna school has been the unifying factor for just about all my life over which I have recollection, so it’s mighty powerful to think of it just ending on Friday. But I’m convinced that it’s been great, and I’m just as excited as I am nostalgic about it, even if it doesn’t show!”

I guess I don’t remember being that enthusiastic, but there it is. I’m in the same boat now. Michigan was fun, but it’s very cool to be moving on. I hope the next four years are as good as these last four.

Sweeeet!

I don’t know how many of my readers also follow Left Behind at the Fishbowl, the site where a mysterious author picks out the best documents he or she finds left on our many public printers, mocks them viciously, and posts them online, but I’m guessing a fair number do. You’ll be as chuffed as I was, then, to see the tantalizing artifact I picked up from a scanner today (with intrepid coworker Amy) while working at the site.

Today’s find, pictured at right, went up on AHFB two days ago. I note with satisfaction that apparently Mr. or Ms. Fishbowl scans his or her work right here at Angell Hall, not five feet from the front desk of what is certainly his or her most fanbase. My deducing skills aren’t revealing any more clues about the mysterious author, but I’ll keep the evidence just in case.

Actually, considering the (more or less) love that we Fishbowl consultants have for AHFB, maybe I’ll make a little trophy plaque and hang it in the break room…

EDIT: Immortalized.

Rawk.

In case they’re right, I’m trying to pass the word along. Myself, I’ll be leaving for the airport at about the time they arrive (wait, Weill Hall is a block away from me… this could make a very large problem…), but you should show up!

EDIT: I ran into a friend from the Daily this afternoon, who told me more about the potential visit. I’m not so sure it will happen, but I still do think the chances are good. The lovely Jessica and I are making alternate plans, just in case.

EDIT 2: I’ve just heard from my sister, who flew out of Detroit this morning (the Ray clan is pretty well-traveled lately), that her plane was delayed — first for snow, but then for “VIP aircraft.” Yikes? Yikes.

Dear, sweet Jessica and I both needed stamps. I was going into work the next day, so we decided I might as well walk to the post office and bring a book back. Sideling up to the vending machine, I discovered something terrifying posted just above the bill receptor:

This machine dispenses US dollar coins in change.

Oh no! There I was with a twenty dollar bill, ready to buy a book of stamps that cost $7.80. I hesitated, thinking how to avoid my onrushing misfortune. I could buy a second book of stamps! Of course, I’d probably lose it before I ever finished the first one. I could wait in line and buy at the counter! Of course, that would mean missing my lunch break. As I removed my booklet from the drawer at the machine’s base, I heard the machine spit out two dimes and twelve dollar coins.

Having twelve bucks’ worth is awful. It’s like having a pouch full of unusually large quarters in your back pocket, and it makes sitting uncomfortable. However, spending twelve gold dollars, if you’ve never had to, is even worse. No one has ever seen one before, and you are compelled to provide an explanation for why you’re wandering in here and depositing foreign scrip on the counter, fast. This happens everywhere.

I was able to drop two of the coins in two successive trips to the corner store, buying a pop. “Just came from the post office…,” I explained. “I was buying stamps,” I told the woman at Burger King, after handing her five coins. In truth, every transaction I made last week was colored by the horrible, substandard currency jingling in my pocket.

I have no problem accepting the government’s ability to improve society through monetary policy. I draw the line, however, at classifying the introduction of nasty, heavy, metal discs that are uniformly despised where they are recognized at all as “improving society.” I honestly believe that, valuing them in the real world, gold dollars are worth less than paper ones. Anyone who doubts me (and there are plenty of angry Libertarians who do) ought to take a couple in hand and go out on the street. Go ahead, bud. Buy something. As far as I’m concerned, the government can go forth, tax and spend; just leave our actual currency alone!

At any rate, I spent my last one last night at the Pita Pit. The total came to six bucks and some change, so I gave the girl at the counter a fiver, a dollar coin, and a few quarters. Responding to the now-customary “You’re still a dollar short,” I told her there was a dollar coin in her hand. “I was just at the post office and got a lot of them…” I trailed off.

The girl looked puzzled. “Awesome,” she said, and concluded that I was some kind of numismatist-cum-weirdo. God damn it.

As a friend of mine put it, “Yo La Tengo beat my ass severely.”

Sure enough, YLT really can put on a good show. Compared to the last time I saw them, this summer, the band was amazing. Ira mentioned during the encore that he wasn’t used to playing theaters with seats, but I thought the venue really worked well for them. It’s not so much the particular venue (though I’ll say I’m a fan of sitting at shows), but just that Yo La Tengo is not an outdoor festival act. Two hundred feet back in ninety-four degree heat, I think some of James’ delicate organ work was lost on me.

Last night, though, the band was in top form. In particular, Ira’s guitar playing really comes across live. I’ve said it before: Ira Kaplan is a desperately underrated guitarist, be it on brittle glass slide lines, brilliant hooks, or Thurston Moore-esque freakouts. He’s also just a lot of fun to watch.

The setlist was great, too. YLT opened with (let’s be honest) all the memorable songs from the new album, then reached way back in the catalog for several crowd-pleasers. We got “Barnaby, Hardly Working” from President Yo La Tengo, fer cryin’ out loud. My fervent hope to hear “Cherry Chapstick” was in vain, and I was a bit surprised they didn’t dig out “Sugarcube,” a song of the variety that got just enough airplay to work itself immovably into every setlist a lesser indie band would ever play. “Autumn Sweater” turned up, of course, and I didn’t expect “Big Day Coming.” Maybe the most fun, though, was the four minute raw, distorted mess that punctuated the first verse of the band’s brilliant cover of “Little Honda.”

Oh, covers? Again, Yo La Tengo did not disappoint. The Kinks’ “There Is No Life Without Love” was quiet and dreamy, while Alex Chilton’s “Can’t Seem to Make You Mine” was tasteful, though probably lost on most the audience. Not that I’m in any position to be snarky: I have no idea what their third cover was, and Google isn’t helping turn up anything for the few lyrics I remember. Anyone who was there help me out? The comments section awaits you.

• The Ann Arbor Art Fair came and went. Sure, it ain’t art. You’re danged right it ain’t fair. I’ll say nothing of the prices, the traffic, or the suburbanites-with-strollers theme that the event seems to have adopted for every year I’ve been part of it. But! the Art Fair does have two good points: sidewalk fairs and concession stands. I picked up a jacket, two shirts, a t-shirt, a pair of pants, Japanese fried noodles, pad thai, chicken on a stick, and probably more over the course of three days for somewhere south of $50. Note to insidious yuppie plotters: fifty bucks to keep me fat ‘n’ clothed for a year is all it takes to keep me quiet.
• Plus, my parents came down for one of the days.
• Just returned from Chicago with Jessica, where we attended the Pitchfork Music Festival. My take on it: I always say I’m too old and crabby for live music, and that’s largely because the live music I tend to take in considers itself too hip and detached for stage presence. Throw me into a two-day, 95-degree festival, though, and things change, for some reason. I did enjoy it, with special regard to Glenn Kotche, actually. Didn’t stick around for Os Mutantes, Sunday’s headliners, as I had to wake up at five the next morning to catch my train back home, and I’m just a half-assed music snob in the first place.
• Missed the Mountain Goats and Matmos. Crap.
• Best part of Yo La Tengo’s blah setlist: hearing tiny Ira Kaplan say his band’s new album’s title out loud.
• Okay, and the best news for last: I’ve got a second job now, tutoring the LSAT. Things are looking good!