Last weekend, I made a voyage to the land of my youth. The journey there started off with an amazingly sweet 45-minute traffic jam. Fortunately, I had already consumed a RedBull and a Doubleshot so I was thoroughly wired and displaying various signs of insanity, signing along to the tunes of a recently discovered phenomenal band: The Snake The Cross The Crown.

The madness and general joviality persisted until about the time I arrived in the city of Pittsburgh. I turned off the interstate on the North Shore, as I was planning to meet some friends at a Pirates game at PNC Park. However, I desperately needed to access a bathroom and an ATM machine. I entered a Seven Eleven. No bathroom. Busted ATM.

No big deal. The cashier tells me the McDonald's next door has a bathroom. Their sign also indicates the presence of an ATM. I enter, do my duty in the restroom, and proceed to the ATM. There is a sign posted on it: Out of Order. At this point, I became slightly frustrated and as I began to wonder what was with this city and busted ATM machines, I recalled that the sign on Seven Eleven's ATM had incorrect grammar. Something along the lines of 'ATM is broke'. Although it had not bothered me previously, I was now enraged by it.

I proceeded to drive around looking for an ATM for about thirty minutes. Finally I found one on the corner, but there was nowhere to park. I tried pulling a U-turn in the middle of the road, and I did, but there was not sufficient room for me to sneak into a parking spot on the side, so I had to hurriedly whip it into a fire lane, run over to the ATM, run back, and drive off before anyone noticed anything. I don't think anyone saw it because I am lightning fast.

The Pirate game was enjoyable, although they blew it when they had bases juiced in the bottom of the ninth with one out. Some guy came up and I yelled at him: "If you hit into a double play, I am going to destroy you." He struck out. Then Freddy Sanchez comes up. Strikes out on three pitches. Nice job, fellows.

Saturday and Sunday brought some good times. I spent both days working with my dad installing a fence for a guy we know. We did one for him about six or seven years ago, but he is back together with his wife now and they just bought a new house, so they went back to my dad for another fence. He and his wife are two of the nicest and most generous people I've ever met. They gave us keys to the house and unlimited access to any and all refrigerators and their contents. We didn't take much but I did destroy this white tea they had because it was so good.

Most of my work was of the 'grunt' variety: digging post holes, mixing cement, driving in wood screws, tearing old fence posts out of the ground, and my personal favorite: bashing things with a sledgehammer. At one point, my dad and I were trying to pry a fence post out of the ground, and the neighbor comes over and takes my digging bar and just starts going to town on it. I had been doing the same thing, but I suppose he thought I was incompetent because I am just a young whippersnapper.

In reflection on the work I did with my old man, I now realize how much I enjoy doing that sort of thing. Partly because I was helping my dad, who really appreciated it, and partly because there is something satisfying about getting out in the sun and doing some work by the sweat of your brow. I don't get the chance to do it much these days, as I am away at school, and I really wish I could tear into that stuff more often.

It was good spending some time with my dad ripping things out of the earth together. We had some good chats, too. At one point I started singing "Peceful, Easy Feeling" by the Eagles. In response he said, "That song reminds me of you, Ken. And women." I have no idea what in blazes he meant by that.

That being said, if anyone needs anything smashed with a sledgehammer, give me a call.