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I intently read two books while I studied in London in the summer of 2009: Barbara Tuchman's The March of Folly and The Things They Carried, a Pulitzer Prize finalist written by Tim O'Brien. O'Brien, a veteran of the Vietnam War, wrote about the psychological trials of war in a way I hadn't seen since I read Slaughterhouse-Five for AP English class (although he was much more concrete and less, uh, Tralfamadorian). I didn't think about that great Kurt Vonnegut book as I read The Things They Carried; in fact, the thing I remember most about reading Tim's book is that I spent a day alone in Clapton Pond, in the north-east of London, overhearing a conversation in Spanish in a pizzeria and sitting on a park bench and intently reading in between bouts of taking pictures of the pigeons. I simply thought it was a very good book, and I recommend it every chance I get.

Last night, I covered the Timequake Clambake, the final event of VonnegutFest. The weekend series of events, which occurred just before the Indianapolis native's birthday, Armistice Day (he called it that rather than Veterans Day), featured a panel discussing on veterans reclaiming the holiday, and the panelists included NPR Morning Edition anchor Steve Inskeep and none other than Tim O'Brien. O'Brien also attended the Clambake, and as I began my assignment, one of the organizers told me he had just stepped outside to have a smoke. I figured, "I should get a photo of him," and so people brought me out to him. They introduced me to him, and I immediately gushed. "I adored The Things They Carried!" I said, being completely fanboy about it. "I read it while I was studying abroad in London, and it was wonderful!"

Then they offered to take a picture of me with him. Of course.

As an Armistice Day baby (just like Kurt), this was a pretty flippin' cool event to attend. I wish I could have sat in on that panel discussion, or gotten pictures of the Kurt Vonnegut look-a-like contest, or talked to Tim for longer than 30 seconds. Meeting a guy who could write about war and its troubles as skillfully as Kurt Vonnegut, though, was a real pleasure all its own.

Happy Armistice Day, everybody.

Comedian Gary Gulman (right) gets a picture with author Dan Wakefield at VonnegutFest's Timequake Clambake at Indiana Landmarks' Cook Theater, Saturday, Nov. 9, 2013. Wakefield, a friend of Kurt Vonnegut 10 years his junior, wrote the introduction for "Kurt Vonnegut: Letters."

I remember a few nights of star-gazing very well. One night in 1997 (for a great many nights, really), I could look out my west-facing bedroom window and see Comet Hale-Bopp, its white and blue tails of Sun-smoked ice and dust dazzling me to no end. The star-spangled sky over the Boundary Waters, of course, scared me back into my tent for four days before I could spend half of my last night there marveling at its vastness. And one very early morning in elementary school, my dad and I (I don't remember if my brother was there) watched the space shuttle chase the International Space Station across the sky before docking with it.

The memories have been embellished, of course, as all memories have been; but still, I smile when I remember those nights. The reminders that we live, as Carl Sagan put it, on "a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena," have stuck with me and help me to cherish our existence here while keeping me from giving it galactic import. Every chance I get, I look up and marvel at how much we've explored and how startlingly much we still have left to explore.

Last week, my attention turned to the International Space Station. I had watched Gravity on its opening weekend with my dad and sister, so the orbiting global cooperative was already on my mind. My dad had found its path over our speck of Earth on a NASA website (still functioning on what was day two of the partial shutdown). I set my camera on top of my car, steadied it with my rigid camera bag, and took the six 30-second exposures you see below (presented as both a flattened .jpg file and as an animated GIF).

Keep looking up.

The International Space Station travels for three minutes over Indianapolis in six 30-second exposures.

I finished at the Journal & Courier on April 13, and by the looks of the blog I haven't done anything since. Not true, though: I did three freelance assignments for the Star, one freelance assignment for the J&C, one contract private birthday party and a quick actor headshot for my uncle in between then and now. I must also add that a lot of my free time recently has been spent, not on updating the blog, but on reading Salman Rushdie's The Satanic Verses and E.O. Wilson's On Human Nature, both of which I highly recommend if you ever want to fill your mind with profundity. On Human Nature especially appeals to my science-minded self, and it surprisingly holds up considering its publish date of 1978. It's certainly worthy of its 1979 Pulitzer Prize for General Non-Fiction.

Seriously, you should buy or rent it the first chance you get. You won't be sorry.

For more photos, head to these Star links for the Christamore House Guild event, the Vacant art show and Perry Meridian High School's prom, and the J&C's EyeSpy gallery of the Grand Prix Breakfast Club.

Students reach for money thrown into the air during Perry Meridian High School's prom, themed "Moonlit Memories," on Saturday, May 4, 2013, at the Indiana History Museum in Indianapolis. (Alex Farris / For The Star)