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It's getting hard to sleep in. Every morning at 6 AM sharp, a platoon of construction equipment thunders and beeps all over the former farm out behind my family's house. They say they are putting in a new housing development, but so far, all they have is a dusty field criscrossed with tracter treads and a hole filled with murky green water. Luckily, the hole will eventually become a retention pond located right behind our house. Dad and some of our other neighbors are already making plans to stock the pond with some bass fingerlings.

Not long ago, our house was solidly in the boondocks. The nearest grocery store was 20 minutes away down a small two-lane country road. Now, it seems urban sprawl has caught up with us. Housing developments like the one behind our house have sprung up all around, and that same country road has expanded to five lanes with four grocery stores spread across its length. I'm not really complaining; it is bound to happen and has been interesting to watch. Being at school and returning only on sporadic weekends and for summer vacation has given me a unique accelerated perspective on the changes. I can't imagine what it must seem like to my grandmother who has lived in this same county for about 30 years.

• On the drive to and from Purdue, I pass a farmhouse whose owner has converted the surrounding cornfields into five or six paintball courses. They are filled with obstacles— empty power line spools, giant black irrigation pipes, a plywood castle— and surrounded by black netting to keep stray shots from hitting bystanders and passing cars. The place has been full every time I have driven by, and I know the owner must be making a fortune.
• On the small reservoir near my house, there is a self-described yacht club. It doesn't pander to what most people would think of as yachts, but it does have a reasonably large dock filled with pontoon boats and jetskis. This summer, the club organized a sailing camp for children that, according to the sign, filled up within a week or two. Visualizing a group of hyperactive children piloting little sailboats around the lake always makes me laugh.
• A new strip mall sprung up down the road from my house. In it is a barbershop marketed heavily toward men, which means that the shop is decorated with all sorts of sports schwag and each cutting station has a TV tuned to ESPN. That alone isn't all that noteworthy; barbershops have been doing things like that since the dawn of time. Nor is the cut all that much better than any other franchised hair salon. What impressed me was that they offer free neck trims between cuts. Free! I have always wanted something like that because my hair invariably starts looking rough around the edges one or two weeks before I actually want it cut.

When I see things like these three examples, it tells me someone behind the scenes was thinking. He or she noticed a unique demand and found a creative way to bring it to the customer. Capitalism at its finest.

In keeping with the theme from the previous post, check out what I got my dad for his birthday:

Force feedback, baby!

And yes, I will admit it was a bit of a left-handed gift.

Some people buy their dads ties for Father's Day; I take mine to the US Grand Prix.

It was the first time either of us had gone even though we both wanted to for as long as F1 has been at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. I bought the tickets online a week earlier, and we arrived early Sunday morning. Unlike the traffic-choked 500 or Brickyard, Dad and I, to our pleasure and amazement, were able to drive straight in to the infield parking lot.

The day was beautiful; cloudless blue sky and unseasonably cool, springlike weather. We shouldered our seat pads and small coolers filled with drinks and set off across the noisy pedestrian bridge to our seats. The corner 6 terrace, where we sat, gave us a pristine view of seven turns, brought us closer to the track than anwhere else, and gave us a chance to walk along the back straightaway later in the day. We felt it was one of the best places to sit. After dropping off our baggage, we wandered around the infield. A small band played trite classics near the press pagoda while the manufacturer tents clustered around the racing museum. It took all of Dad's willpower to walk away from a $75 BMW F1 shirt.

At 9:40, the Porsche Michelin Supercup race began. The Carrera GTs served as a good precursor to the main event. That started at noon after the usual driver presentation, national anthem, and F16 flyby. (Why don't they race those things, I wonder?)

I had seen F1 cars on TV, but, like everyone says, it didn't do those machines justice. They shot around the turns effortlessly and, as they hit the straightaway, accelerated through five screaming gears in a few hundred yards. I could feel when they shifted. Amazing. Dad was in heaven.

We watched the first half of the race from our seats where we witnessed the first two crashes and a few interesting battles. At the halfway point we went walking along the back stretch. There the cars blurred by and attempted to set up for the sharp eighth turn. We returned to the grandstand in time to see Michael Schumacher win. Big surprise there.

I won't go through a point-by-point of the race (it's been done), but I will say I enjoyed it immensely. Dad and I are already planning for next year.

Here are all the pictures.

Update: And the requisite panorama.

I took a dip into Ebay selling this past week. I've sold stuff before through Sue, but this time was my first time selling through my own account. It was easier than I expected. Just take pictures, post the items, wait, pack, print shipping labels, and drop off the packages. I started off selling my old rollerblades and Garfield book collection, two of the "big-ticket items" I wasn't able to sell at the garage sale a few weeks back. The rollerblades went for a steal at $20, but I was surprised that the Garfield books went for almost $40. Maybe it has something to do with my perfect timing...

About two months ago I mentioned my friend Marc's Horizons database. He's been working on it steadily since I wrote about it, and it has grown to 405 items, 274 monsters, 353 non-playing characters, 190 quests, 127 spells, and 96 zones. That's an amazing 1445 hand-written records, most of which contain detailed descriptions, pictures, and cross-references. When I spoke to him yesterday, Marc commented that he gets more fun out of the database than the game itself. I found that rather amusing.

Here is a link to the database.

Benjamin Franklin's Goals of Virtue

• Temperance – Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.
• Silence – Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
• Order – Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
• Resolution – Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.
• Frugality – Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; that is, waste nothing.
• Industry – Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
• Sincerity – Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly; speak accordingly.
• Justice – Wrong none by doing injuries; or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
• Moderation – Avoid extremes; forebear resenting injuries so much as you think deserve.
• Cleanliness – Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, clothes, or habitation.
• Tranquility – Be not disturbed at trifles or at accidents common or unavoidable.
• Chastity – Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.
• Humility – Imitate Jesus and Socrates.

Lifted from here via here.

The deal was if I brought my guitar to Eric's Memorial Day party last Monday and played a bit, Eric's mom would let me drive her new, bright red Nissan 350Z. Granted, I probably got the better end of that bargain, but I wasn't about to complain.

We went driving after a traditional Memorial Day dinner; her in the passenger seat and me driving. I learned to drive a manual on my parents' SUVs, and I was pleasantly surprised how quickly I got used to a sports car clutch and accelerator. It took me only a lap around the neighborhood to get accustomed to the controls before heading out on the road where the real fun began.

I thought I owned a reasonably sporty car, but it has nothing on a modern sports car. I have never felt the road or seen such amazing response like I did that afternoon. At one point, Mrs. V. told me to really put my foot into it. No need to ask me twice.

It made me wish my car had a six-speed manual transmission and a V6 with about 180 more horsepower.

Such fun...