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I had some time to kill late this morning so I went down to the University of Florida campus, which was my second home growing up. I had after-school activities, my very first programming class, and of course my father all within a few blocks of each other there. I was lucky that the last day of final exams was Friday, so things hadn't completely shut down yet.
Dad used to take me bowling in the student union building, and sure enough, there's still a bowling alley in there somewhere according to the security people. I don't know where, though, because like the rest of campus, it's been heavily remodeled, added to, and spiffed up. I can't help but wonder where they got the money for that and what they're not spending that money on that they should be.
One thing they're not spending it on is the kids who work at the Starbuck's at the Science Library that my dad lobbied so hard for. Dude refused my tip, saying they weren't allowed to take it. I asked if they were getting paid any more to make up for that, and he said nope. Bullsheeut. My own hometown is turning me into a commie.
But just before that lovely exchange, I went to the undergrad library looking for the books about trans people, as I did so many times in my early teens. First of all they won't let you get at the catalog computers anymore without creds, and you can't get guest creds without giving them contact info. That's... creepy. I miss the early '80s mainframe terminals that anyone could walk up to.
I did, eventually, get the call number I wanted (HQ 77.9 - I can't believe I forgot it) and found it in the stacks on some nifty, space-saving motorized shelves. I had to move shelves to get at the books; I guess these days curious teens use the internet. I'm happy to say that there were about three times the number of books that there were fortyish years ago, and I didn't find any of the truly scary titles, written by chasers and TERFs, that used to be there.
Dinner was pizza & beer with Mom at a neighborhood pizza joint called Leonardo's, which opened in its current strip mall location in 1976. The place is a time capsule: Tiffany-esque panels over the fluorescent light fixtures, no music postdating 1980, and the exact. Same. Deep dish. Pizza. They serve pretty good local microbrews now, though.
On the way home Mom said my visits were too infrequent. Really, Mom? How long will it be before you're mad at your children for taking control of your life again? Or are those two things not mutually exclusive in her mind?
I don't have a lot to look forward to when I get home, but I'm pretty sure I'm done with Gainesville now. 79°F and a small-town Southern vibe only go so far.
Dad used to take me bowling in the student union building, and sure enough, there's still a bowling alley in there somewhere according to the security people. I don't know where, though, because like the rest of campus, it's been heavily remodeled, added to, and spiffed up. I can't help but wonder where they got the money for that and what they're not spending that money on that they should be.
One thing they're not spending it on is the kids who work at the Starbuck's at the Science Library that my dad lobbied so hard for. Dude refused my tip, saying they weren't allowed to take it. I asked if they were getting paid any more to make up for that, and he said nope. Bullsheeut. My own hometown is turning me into a commie.
But just before that lovely exchange, I went to the undergrad library looking for the books about trans people, as I did so many times in my early teens. First of all they won't let you get at the catalog computers anymore without creds, and you can't get guest creds without giving them contact info. That's... creepy. I miss the early '80s mainframe terminals that anyone could walk up to.
I did, eventually, get the call number I wanted (HQ 77.9 - I can't believe I forgot it) and found it in the stacks on some nifty, space-saving motorized shelves. I had to move shelves to get at the books; I guess these days curious teens use the internet. I'm happy to say that there were about three times the number of books that there were fortyish years ago, and I didn't find any of the truly scary titles, written by chasers and TERFs, that used to be there.
Dinner was pizza & beer with Mom at a neighborhood pizza joint called Leonardo's, which opened in its current strip mall location in 1976. The place is a time capsule: Tiffany-esque panels over the fluorescent light fixtures, no music postdating 1980, and the exact. Same. Deep dish. Pizza. They serve pretty good local microbrews now, though.
On the way home Mom said my visits were too infrequent. Really, Mom? How long will it be before you're mad at your children for taking control of your life again? Or are those two things not mutually exclusive in her mind?
I don't have a lot to look forward to when I get home, but I'm pretty sure I'm done with Gainesville now. 79°F and a small-town Southern vibe only go so far.
