I know I haven't said, but I haven't been in the Port Huron area for the last couple of weeks. I had been trying to find a summer job to get some college funding, but for all the searching I did, I may as well have been trying to find employment inside of a box of Fruit Loops. You know, the free prize?

"Free employment opportunities inside!"

Ok...I know it's a stretch, but I do believe I had a better chance of finding a job laying on top of my breakfast.

Moving on...

During the course of my search, my father happened to drop me an e-mail, asking me for an update on life. We don't talk to each other as much as we should, but to be frank, there isn't much to be said when your daily routine consists of getting up, going to work/school, and coming back home again. It had been a while since we had last talked, so he sends me a note. Perfectly understandable. So I do what any loving nineteen-year-old son would do: I ignore it for a week.

After staring at this eyesore for several days, my conscience finally gets the better of me and I figure I should flag him down on MSN Messenger. I figure this was the easiest way to go, as responding to the e-mail at this point would be terribly awkward, considering how often I check the bloody thing. Besides, I usually find the dynamic flow that our conversations take to be an excellent source for entertainment. No matter what the initial topic is, we always seem to revert to some computer game that we've been playing. It's like Paul Morphy playing chess with a six-year-old. It's a foregone conclusion that Morphy will win, no matter what handicap he is given. But that isn't why anyone watches. The act of seeing it happen is entertainment in and of itself.

Yes, I realize Morphy has been dead for over a century. I just don't feel like typing the name Kasparov more than once. So there.

I manage to catch Dad online. We go through the usual rotuine of catching up with each other, and pretty much find out that little has changed in the last several months, which is typical and expected. (aside: I see why we usually wind up talking about Madden football so much) While we blabber, he happens to ask me what I was doing for the summer. My reply is simple: Blah blah blah...trying to find a job...blah blah blah...no success...blah blah blah. He does something unexpected here (God, I feel like I'm annotating a chess match). He asks if I would be interested in working at the grocery store he manages in Stanton. Without really taking it into consideration, I half-heartedly, but immediately, agree to the offer, not actually believing that my mother would ever consent to such a thing. She's starting to become rather overprotective of my "autism," so I didn't think there was a chance in hell of her ever allowing such a thing to occur.

Well, guess what? This entry is coming to you live from Stanton, Michigan.

Now that we've come full circle, I can actually begin the fun regarding Montcalm County.