Driving back from Cedar Point didn't present any particularly great challenges other than it being through Ohio, and bunny_hugger had her satellite navigator to help with the worst parts of that. We did have the chance to examine the westbound tickets and the similar count of crossed-off exits, but without an expert on Ohio toll road design goals we weren't going to understand all of that. We traded driving rolls at a gas station that's served her well for a long while as a midway point for driving back from Ohio destinations, and for a refreshing change the soda I picked up there didn't fizz over in her car. We've had incidents. We got home to the sad reality that I had to print out my airplane tickets and be ready to leave in the afternoon.
But that was the afternoon. We had time to sleep to our natural times, and then to look for lunch as we liked. I chose to go to the Kewpee Restaurant again, closing the visit with views of downtown Lansing all right, but also with some talk of that department store book which I'd already bought and had peeked around in (it turns out I remembered details of the Two Guys store wrong --- specifically, which town they were said to be Two Guys from --- but the rest was all right). Plus it gave us the chance to have olive burgers (or olive veggie burgers, specifically).
The Kewpee Restaurant has T-Shirts, and it struck me that might be a nice oddball gift for my brother-in-law, whose Twitter feed is about ninety percent talking about how awesome Carl's Junior is, how he'll drive out to the middle of Pennsylvania for a Hardee's run, and how lame Burger King's Twitter is. But I wasn't positive what size shirt he wears, so, we'll have to save that for a later trip. Don't tell him.
And despite lingering, this brought us to airport time. We held each other there, of course, as long as we could and give me a reasonable time to get to the gate. This was the signal for Airport Security to look very inquisitively at the plastic baggies in which I'd put my toothpaste and deodorant and all that. They wanted something else in a plastic baggie too, although at this point I don't remember what, or why. They supplied the baggie. I didn't miss my flight.
Despite a recent track record that made their schedule look somewhat hallucinatory, United got me back to Newark pretty near on the dot, and I caught my father just about as he drove up. I could reenter my normal life, to the extent it would be normal, since the next day would be my first day of classes.
Trivia: Records from a minor lawsuit in 1604 show that in that year William Shakespeare (writing all or parts of Measure For Measure, All's Well That Ends Well, and King Lear) lived above a French wig-maker's shop on the corder of Mugwell and Silver Streets in Cripplegate, at the northwest corner of London's city walls. Source: Will In The World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare, Stephen Greenblatt.
Currently Reading: The Dead Astronaut, The Editors of Playboy. No editor's name given, but I'm going to suppose it was Tom Batiuk because of the ten short stories here the first eight are each about astronauts dying in horrible ways. Seriously. One, sure, particularly as it's the title of J G Ballard's story, chosen to start the collection. Two, OK, it was a Space Race era book and astronauts were on the brain. But by the fifth tale of horrible astronaut death in a row the horrible astronaut deaths are provoking Bad Laughs. And even the Clarke piece, ninth in the series, is ``Maelstrom II'' and opens with an astronaut expecting to horribly die. Only Robert Sheckley's ``Spy Story'' goes without any suggestion that anyone has to die for any particular reason. Thank goodness there are Robert Sheckley stories.
PS: How To Recognize Multiples Of Ten From Quite A Long Way Away, and I apologize to bunny_hugger for putting it like that, but I felt kind of obliged.