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Well, Nebraska, what can I say about you? As forsaken as that state sounds, it actually wasn’t too bad. I mean, at least they had a Buffalo Wild Wings and I was there with 12 other people who were at least almost as interested in sports and journalism as me. All in all, it was a very nice way to ease into a summer full of sitting in front of a computer screen editing stories for The Miami Herald. And I never thought I’d say it, but Lincoln, Neb., was a nice place for this all to happen.

I’ve had a few people comment since my last post about the fact that they did not think the room I was living in on campus was too bad. Please people. There’s only so much a person can get from a picture, and smell is not one of those things. I think we just about decided that the room was used to store the track team’s uniforms during the school year before they could be laundered. It was a smell that I could get used to, and at the same time, it was a smell I was afraid to become accustomed. After five or so minutes in the room it became an odorless toxin that I was afraid would smother me while I slept. But I survived—with most brain cells in tact.

Spur of the moment thought: This is the most disorganized I’ve ever seen an airport in the limited number of times I have used them in my life. I’m sitting here in the DFW Airport during a three-hour layover while I wait for my flight to Tyler. Two flights have been moved to other gates while I’ve sat here; two flights were overbooked and the crews were looking for two or three people on each flight to volunteer to take a later flight tomorrow; one plane sat at its gate well past its departure time; and the airline decided to stop one plane for maintenance, so its passengers were put on an entirely different flight. We’ll see what adventure they have in store for me on my flight to Tyler.

Speaking of layovers, I’ll be in Tyler in a couple of hours. I’ll be in town for a grand total of 31 hours in which time I must sort through all the things I took to Nebraska, sort through the things I brought back from college and pack up my Corolla with everything I want to take to Miami for the summer. Then there’s Lindsey’s graduation and a 4 a.m. departure time Sunday so my dad and I can get well down the road on our 20-hour drive to South Florida.

I was glad to see the good, old Tyler Independent School District moving its graduation ceremony back indoors to the Oil Palace after three years under the hot May sun at Rose Stadium. I seem to remember writing an editorial about how an outdoor graduation in Texas during May was a poor choice—an editorial that made me the voice for those against this plan on a television news story. Well three years later and scores of gallons of sweat from underneath graduation robes and shirts, ties and dresses, TISD has come to its senses. Why didn’t they just let me make all the decisions?