Waves make for sore legs.

The other weekend I was at the beach, and it was a beautiful day, but huge waves were just rolling in.

A few people waded out to the shallow part and would go dip in from over there, but overall they would mostly just stay in the shallow part and run into the waves and or wade in a bit further and jump up with them as they came in.

Mostly, it was adults, though it was a few kids as well.

After I read for a few hours and got hot, I got in there to go cool down, and I stayed in for a surprisingly long time, it was so much fun to play with the waves.

When I got out, though, it was tough to walk, since all my legs muscles were sore from having to constantly shift amidst the waves to keep me upright.

A German on capitalism.

An adjunct colleage is from Germany, and the other week I bumped into her at a unionization reception and we really had a chance to talk and get to know each other.

For one thing, she did a degree in Catholic theology, and she says she doesn't believe in miracles or anything, but it really has influenced her to go for unionization, to make things better for everyone.

"You know," she was like, "Growing up in Germany, we were taught that capitalism is hell.  And you know what, now I am in hell, and it is!".

(She was referring to the United States, and how awful it is to its citizens, which she's talked about before.)

So checked out.

I'm so checked out of teaching right now.

Since I made the decision not to pursue any academic jobs, I just feel like I don't care anymore and like I'm going through the motions, though I still am pretty darn conscientious...  It's almost like I'm there and just want to get the class done and leave, and I'm almost certain it must show on my face, since I'm not good at hiding what I think.

I wonder if the freshmen notice.

I mentioned I wasn't pursuing any academic jobs to the prof I work with, and she said that it made sense and she's throwing in the towel and becoming a yoga teacher if nothing pans out after this post-doc.

"Academia's going the way of the dodo," she was like.

My father on Trump:

"He's one sick f*cker, that's what he is."

He then went on to specifically mention Trump's calling his daughter Ivanka sexy.

"You know, he's got a long history of this," my dad was like, going back to the topic of discrimination.

"There's supposedly tapes out there of him saying the n-word," I was like.

"Well, there you go," my dad was like.

New bar story (2 of 2): Former bar bouncer.

At a different new bar the weekend before that, I was talking with a (young) (pleasant) (bright-eyed) (white) guy who used to be a bar bouncer in the big bro neighborhood near the major baseball stadium here.

One time, he saw a guy standing in the corner of the dance floor with a pint glass three-quarters full of vomit.

"That's impressive, man, and I appreciate not having to clean up the mess, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he told me he told the guy.

Another time he was working on the patio, and someone got thrown through the open window from the bar.

It was a drunk customer, and another bouncer came outside and through them over the fence!

"The owners know the police," he was like, "So if there's ever any questions, the bouncer shows them how his hand got hurt from punching the guy's face, and they haul the guy off for assault."

New bar story (1 of 2): Cuban immigrant.

The other week when I was at a bar in a Cuban restaurant, I talked a bit with the owner before I left.

He came to the U.S. in 2003 via Mexico.

Basically, he said bye to his family, took a plane to Mexico City, hopped a bus to the U.S. border, and then went up to a border guard and claimed political refugee status, and then gave them his various IDs to prove it.

They registered him and asked him where his family was, and he told them the name of an uncle in the city where we live, and he's been here ever since.

Momentary hammock horror.

I get home at like 2am and go to get my hammock off the back fire escape, and it's not there.

"Some motherfuckers stole my hammock," I think, and I suddenly realize it's expensive and I shouldn't have hung it out so blithely to dry after boiling it against bed bugs, it was a sitting duck for the heroin addicts who live here and there in the neighborhood.

As I stand there drunkenly and then start looking around the yard, I'm filled with horror on where I could sleep that night to avoid being bitten up by bed bugs, or to avoid having to lie in my current bed, which has some diatomaceous earth lying out on it, since some had fallen onto it simply weeks ago back when I was applying it elsewhere in the room.

Fortunately, I think to look in the yard next door, and I can see my hammock lying among some weeds, and I realize that when a quick storm came through, a gust of wind must have detached it and carried it off the fire escape.

The front gate to the next yard is unlatched, so I go get the hammock and shake it out, and then I go home and re-hang it and get in bed.

As I lie there and stretch, I find like 3 burrs attached to the nylon.