Supposedly there are a lot of protests in the city. Bike rides, marches, mass nudity (Where was I when THAT happened?), with more to come in the ensuing days. Not that I've noticed anything different at all. Not one thing. Well, besides the odd protest sign left on the subway (stupid litterbugs). It's quite a testament to the city that the city (the other 90% of the city that the TV cameras and hipsters don't deem glamorous enough to care about) is running as if it was just another normal day. Tonight, I'm going to go to a baseball game (go Cyclones!), and I'll leave the protests to the underemployed rich kids. :: For some odd reason I was thinking of scars. It seems to me that there are two types of scars. Stupid scars and sport scars. The former are something to be embarrassed about, like when you were peeling an apple and you forgot to follow your mother's advice to peel away from you, and never ever peel with soapy hands. The latter are those you get while committing the act of sport, like the time you were going for the interception and instead got a chest-full of sharp cleat. While sport scars can be stupid, they are still sport scars and are worn with a certain amount of pride, because you took a chance. Sometimes you have to take a chance or two, especially if you want to succeed at anything, and if you get scarred along the way, well that just makes success all that much sweeter. Stupid scars, however, are just stupid. And there's nothing too proud about being stupid. It occurs to me that I have too many of the former, and not enough of the latter. Maybe I'll take up base jumping, and if I'm lucky, I'll break a wrist or something. :: w00t! 300 posts! Didn't think this would last this long. I'll probably get bored with it tomorrow.