Three hundred miles. With the ferry departing Grand Portage at 8:00 a.m., I had little choice but to make the long drive at night.

I left my house at 1:00 a.m., wired after two hours of sleep.  Few people were on the freeway so early on a Wednesday morning. I enjoyed the solitude.

Suddenly, the sky grew brighter. Dawn? Not at 3:30 a.m.

A brilliant aurora soon danced in the heavens, framed by the tree tops and the Big Dipper.  Minutes later, it vanished.

A private little show for me, alone as I drove on.

(This post is part of the 100/100/100 challenge)

I’m off to have an adventure.  Regular blog service will resume Monday.

How old do you look?

I got carded last weekend in the process of falling off the wagon at Canterbury, something that has been legal for me for the last seven years. I blame it on my then-new haircut.

Some people look far younger than their years, while others look far older. That’s what makes The Age Project interesting. I’m using it to find out how many years I shaved off my appearance with my Photoshop job.

(This post is part of the 100/100/100 challenge)

Ever since we were little, we have been taught that talking about money is uncouth. Don’t ask how much it cost. Don’t talk about your salary.

Why is the subject taboo? What would happen if everybody knew everybody else’s compensation? Would chaos ensue? Would employees use the knowledge to their employers’ disadvantage? Would it increase real wages?

Instead, we’re stuck guessing about fair salaries using abysmal tools like salary.com. We’re left wondering whether the conspicuous consumption exhibited by our peers is in a indication of true wealth or heavy debt.

Maybe it shouldn’t matter. Maybe I’m shallow for wondering. But wonder, I do.

(This post is part of the 100/100/100 challenge)

The festival of San Fermin has begun in Pamplona, and this morning saw the first running of the bulls. I’m amused by the risk calculator on the excellent fiesta web site: when is it ever not risky to run with the bulls?

Just one week until the running of the public bus. Until then, it’ll be a non-stop party.

Ah, memories.

(This post is part of the 100/100/100 challenge)