In thrall to the sirens of July

Every year, July finds some way to pull me outside for most of the day. No matter where I am, if I am indoors, I look outside jealously at the trees wishing I could be like them. The trees laugh at me and say, "We sure don't wish we were you."

Now this is not a product of sunstroke, but a product of my imagination. Of course I don't really hear the trees speaking to me.

My accommodations given to me while I am staying here in Minnesota are great, and I have been loaned a bike to fully immerse myself in the Minnesotan experience. So today I biked a whole hell of a lot. I avoided looking at my huge scar from a bad, bad fall of a bike in April 2000. I think of scars as little wisdom marks. There's a fine line of course, too many and you're just clumsy.

The one thing I love about language are accents. I love almost every variation of English that I hear. And the Minnesotan accent is one that I enjoy hearing. It's mostly a rural thing, so not everyone has it. Disappointing if you ask me. I try to start conversations with people that I have identified as carriers of the accent so that I can bask in the differences blessed upon us by geography. The Minnesotan accent sounds like -- at least to me a Marylander, like they take great care with each vowel that they come across -- so careful that the word itself becomes mainly vowel, and they rush through consonants. It's a stellar experience. Watch Fargo for extreme versions of this accent.