Summer is coming to an end. I know this because I paid a visit to the State Fair today. The Fair becomes much more tolerable when it isn’t oppressively hot and this evening was spectacular. I also discovered that the Fine Arts Building is a wonderful showcase of local artists while it also provides a refuge from the Fair’s more annoying patrons. Like the guy sitting on the sidewalk who, as I passed by, exhorted me to “check out the girls.”

I’ve always liked my first name. It’s short and resistant to any nicknaming conventions (very few people have ever called me Marky). It’s old-school but not antiquated. And it sounds really sexy when women whisper it in my ear (or so I imagine). But whenever I have to introduce myself, people usually can’t catch it the first time around. The peculiarities of my disability cause me to struggle a bit with the hard “k” sound, so I’ll say “Mark” and people will hear “Marv” or “Murray” or even “Mara”. My life would probably be incrementally easier if my parents had named me “Joe” or “Andy”, but I don’t think I look much like either one of those guys. Besides, I need to practice my enunciation so that everyone will understand my coronation speech on the day I’m crowned Emperor of Everything.

I need a wheelchair with booster rockets. In the past week, I’ve been invited to a couple events at friends’ homes–homes that were built in a previous era when people like me were expected to stay in the attic and not venture out to socialize with the neighbors. My friends, of course, are wonderful and are always quick to offer to move events outside or make other arrangements to accommodate me. But I feel awkward whenever situations like this come up. For all the noise I make about how the world needs to be more accessible, I don’t want my friends to apologize for living in houses with front steps or narrow doors. It’s certainly not their fault that the homebuilders of yesteryear weren’t schooled in the ways of universal design. Just give me a couple booster rockets that can elevate me a few feet over those pesky architectural barriers. Some kind of teleporter would be even better, but I’m trying to keep my expectations realistic.

What will the political blogosphere do now that it can’t speculate on Obama’s veep pick? Oh, sure, McCain still has his pick to make, but that’s like waiting to discover what’s on the clearance rack at JC Penney’s. I don’t think either veep candidate will do much to change the final outcome of the election, but Biden is a good choice. He’s brilliant, solidly progressive, and he might be able to teach Barack a thing or two about making one-on-one connections with voters. He just needs to keep his mouth in check.

Oops, Obama just introduced Biden as the next President of the United States. Way to feed into our subconscious jitters, Barack.

Recently, a McCain spokesman unfavorably compared the New York Times’ editors to Obama bloggers who live in their mother’s basements and “rant[] into the ether in between games of dungeons and dragons.”

Well, I don’t know who this guy included in his survey, but it wasn’t me. Now, he could have referenced any number of tabletop games. Risk? Played it for hours on end. Monopoly? Of course. Stratego? Can’t tell you the number of times I made my brother cry and scatter the pieces. But I’ve never so much as touched a twenty-sided die. And my parents’ basement is a few hundred miles away.

Stereotyping just makes me so…[inarticulate sigh of exasperation]. I need to unwind. Think I’ll load up some Titan Quest and try to level up my warrior.