To my great surprise, Houghton isn't not such a bad little town, either: there's more snow, but it's not as cold as Brainerd, the school is curiously "un-P.C." to borrow my father's heavily connotative term, and there seems to be an abundance of cheap, amusingly-decorated restaurants. Here's a picture from one of those restaurants, a shot of Our Bold Hero with Matt and his other little brother, Josh.
This is the fake smiles picture, the first one didn't turn out. Nor did my pictures of the awe-inspiring gnome murals which covered the walls. They were brewing beer!
The term "little" has long since become metaphorical, as I'm the shortest of the three brothers. Matt's Mexi-friend Steve — who as expected did remind me somewhat of Jubb, if only with his alcohol tolerance and filthy mouth — cut me deep with the observation that I also look younger than Matt.
For my part, it amuses me that we both graduated in the class of 2005. It's as if our personalities have finally diverged to the point where a mere age difference is irrelevant.
Though we still have roughly the same sense of humor. O, the crazily obscure references! I'm out of practice, compared to Matt.
Saturday night was spent, enjoyably if somewhat anticlimacticly, playing Halo 2 and half-watching various shows with Matt and his Michigan Tech friends, a good group.
I'm out of practice at Halo 2 but I'd like to think I caught on to the night's other main activity: mocking the inebriated Mexican. For his part, Steve spent much of the night savaging other players on Xbox Live, his nonsensical insults inviting such obvious, humorous comments that I'd classify all the trash talk as a kind of performance art.
