I went home again this weekend, so instead of writing a "Going home is super cool" blog, I decided I was going to write a "Grandparents are super cool" blog. Hear me out.

Friday afternoon, my mom, aunt and grandfather came to pick me up from school. Once we got home, my aunt and grandfather stayed for dinner. My mom's mentality that food = love was quite alive and well, so I was stuffed silly. Despite that I managed to shovel in a piece of zucchini cake for dessert. What? You've never heard of zucchini cake? You come to my house, I make you some...

Thirsty from the cake, I went into the kitchen to get some tea and my grandfather followed me in to take his blood pressure pill.

"You still going to 'It-ly'? he asked. I said I was but that it wouldn't be until January. (If all goes according to plan, I hope to study abroad in Milan in the spring. My mom's family is Italian so to them it's kiiiind of a big deal.)

I expected my grandpa to tell me where in Italy I could find my relatives or how many gazillions of cousins I have that still live there.

"You should visit Germany," he said. "They are good people. Always treated me good."

Not the response I was expecting. My grandpa was in the army as a communications officer during WWII, so you can imagine my perplexity when he spoke kindly of Germany.

He proceeded to tell me that after the war was over, from May 7, 1945 until November 1945, he remained in Europe traveling all over Germany, France, Italy, Switzerland and Poland, and of all those places, he liked Germany the best.

He said most American soldiers (there were a few bad eggs, of course) were respected, revered almost, by the Germans. He told me how he'd turn in his ration cards for chocolate bars and give them to the German kids and how he'd wake up to find his clothes missing only to find that the neighbor lady had taken them to wash and iron them for him. He told me about the time he ate ice cream in an American-styled ice cream parlor in Berlin, where you had to bring your own sugar as payment, and that he bought a bowl for a little boy who was staring through the parlor window. (After eating, the little boy bowed up and down saying "danke, danke" over and over as he left...adorable.)

Of course it wasn't all sunshine and daisies. He remembers having a machine gun put to his belly by American soldiers when he was mistaken for a German soldier in an American uniform. And how he willingly traded places on watch with a man who had a cold because "if you coughed, you'd be shot at."

It made me realize how petty the things I worry about are. Get a nightlife? Please. More like, get a life. If my grandpa saw this blog, he'd think I'm a wimp. Been there, done that -- times a thousand.

Afterwards, he proceeded to finally take his blood pressure pill and it swiftly brought me back. It made me realize that he wasn't always old. Even though this is the only version of my grandfather that I know, at one point he was repairing communication lines during the Battle of the Bulge in a pitch black forest and exploring the classical cities of Europe.

Everything I've ever dreamed of doing, he's already done. He lived during the roaring 20's, the 30's and 40's -- the time periods I wish I would have lived in -- and suddenly I wished I could have there sat and talked with him until I got every memory of his documented.

When my grandpa got in the car to go home, he said "gute nacht" just like he's done every night he's ever left our house. When I was taking French I'd reply "bonne nuit" but now I echo "gute nacht" back. (He wasn't a big fan of the French, always asking for things he said -- "Cigarette for papa, chocolat for mama?" Right on, Grandpa.)

It seems a little displaced, but when you learn about your grandparents you're really learning about you, where you came from, what makes you who you are. It's your lineage, your genealogy, your life now and in the future too, when you really think about it.

Corny? Perchance...but suck it up soldier -- grandparents are super cool. Recognize.

- Erin

Oh, dear God. Where do I even begin.

Oh, wait, I know. Wiffleball.

So, we Collegianites are already pretty competitive. Nevermind that we have people from the rivaling cities of Pittsburgh and Philly cohabitating in a small basement, we'll lay the smack down at the sight of a dangling participle. Then we had to go and bring athletics into it.

We went to an end-of-the-semester picnic and ended up in a game of wiffleball with three adolescent brothers, who, pound for pound, have more competitive edge than we college kids did combined. Can you say bad idea? Oh, I think you can!

Bats were thrown in unfortunate places, charging the mound was an appropriate response to most pitches thrown and just like middle school, the girls were picked last for the teams. Lame.

No one could pitch the ball covered in electric tape, so one of the little boys took the mound. This put him at the center of the game, and he had a lot to say. He liked to tell our arts editor that..."You can't catch cuz you're stupid!" and that he was going to beat up his brothers for sucking. He also liked to ask me if I knew that I was, indeed, a girl, and if I knew that the plastic thing I was guarding was called second base. Precious...

But wait, it gets better. On a slide into third, one of the munckins said he was safe, when we said he was out. He held onto the base for dear life as our arts editor, perhaps getting a little payback from the "stupid" commets, picked him up, base and all and started yelling - "Oh no! He's stealing third! Oh nooo! Stop him!" He put him down eventually, but only to be tackled by his brothers for one hell of a pile up.

And P.S., my team - The Collegianiates - rallied a victory in the final inning with a 13-12 win over The Dinosaurs. Take that extinct over-sized reptiles.

Later that night, The Collegian held - "The Summer Semi-Formal of Amazingness" and we had a damn good time. Most wore their finest apparel. Some, and when I say some, I mean one person, and when I say one person I mean...TOOOOM BROLLEY... wore plaid shorts and a T-shirt. But damn it if he doesn't wear plaid well.

All sorts of things happened: A five hour game of pool, me dancing in a corner by myself, whiskey being mistaken for rum, an interpretative dance about page design, chain smoking. You know, the usual.

And on the eighth day - God created rock.

We got the bright idea to do it all again the next night, but instead we took turns playing Guitar Hero on co-op and duel. I was purely a spectator, but it was fanastic. Then I fell asleep (surprise). Supposedly after that, everyone watched Lady and the Tramp and made spaghetti and it went over so well that they're now considering a Disney power hour. Oh the humanity.

It was an excellent last weekend of the semester. True summer bliss all in one neat package. Here's to you summertime: Thanks for being you.

See, I told you there was enough summer nightlife to keep you busy. Just ask Megan Fox. ZING!

- Erin

Welcome to the Fall 07 Collegian "Get a Nightlife" Blog!

This semester we'll be having two bloggers and doing things a little differently.

I'm Lauren McCormack (LM) and I'm a sophomore majoring in journalism and a Collegian senior student government reporter. Though I'm only in my second year, I'd consider myself a veteran nightlifer. State College has taught me well.

And I'm Erin Prah (EP). You might remember me from the summer, when I headed this blog. Now I've got a partner in crime. When I'm not out getting my nightlife on, I'm a campus senior in-depth reporter.

For our inaugural two-person blog, we're going to share some of our favorite tips and suggestions for a successful, safe and fun nightlife.

LM: First, you need a good soundtrack. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT, begin your nightlife in silence. I myself am a 90's techno, Ace of Base kind of girl when it comes to blow-drying and straightening my hair and finding that perfect, come-hither outfit. You can stick with the mainstream rap, like 50 "Fiddy" Cent's "In Da Club" or Shop Boyz' "Party Like a Rock Star," but come on, Penn State, keep it classy. I say go for the old school, the kind of high-tempo music that will be pumping through your bloodstream all night long, alongside that Vladdy and/or Natty Lite.

EP: Freshmen -- don't go out in droves. I know, I know, you've heard this before, but keep your night-out group at five people max. And in most cases, you're probably taking beer out of a stranger's fridge, so remember what your momma taught ya -- say please and thank you.

LM: True enough, Erin. Freshies - watch out for that East Halls bus stop. You may be killed. And I am not exaggerating. I myself am a Bigler Hall alumna. But anyways, you obviously need to dress to impress. First impressions are essential to an amazing, socially pleasing nightlife. You can't go wrong with basic black, regardless of your gender, fashion taste or body type. Scoop necks, polos, spaghetti straps, muscle tees (or not . . .), it doesn't matter. Black is the epitome of sex appeal. Not to mention it helps those of us of Irish descent look like we don't live in an eternal night.

EP: You know what looks good in black? Stilettos. If you can walk in them, congrats, you're a stronger femme fatale than I, but if you can't you're going to bring your companions down. (You're killin me, Smalls!) So wear some "cute but cas" shoes. You'll thank me later when you can outrun a cop in your flats.

LM: Good call, Erin. For those of you who are not "straight-edge," plastic water bottles are trash-yyyyy. If you're going to pre-game and then bring some along as a precaution that you don't go home sober, invest in a flask. Seriously. As they say in Wedding Crashers, "Class. Class. Class."

EP: It's geeky, but LionCash is damn handy. Instead of fumbling with cash and coins, with a swipe of a card, downtown eateries are at your whim. It's easy enough to add cash on your Penn State ID, which you already had handy, right? Just go to a commons on campus and slap some cash on that sucker.

LM: Speaking of money, Erin, for those bar-hoppers out there. . . TIP YOUR BARTENDERS/WAITRESSES/SHOT GIRLS. Call this particular blog the confessions and admissions from a former nightclub shot girl, but if you don't tip, you will burn in hell. And before you succumb to those eternal flames, bartenders and waitresses and shot girls everywhere will sick those bouncers on you faster than you can say "Shot girl?? More like HOT GIRL!" (Yes, I did get this line on more than one occasion from piss-poor tippers who suffered my wrath.)

EP: Fellas, don't be a creeper. If you've got your eye on some lady fair, approach her in a non-cavemen like way. A "Hey, how are you" is soooo much better than "Be a flirt! Lift your shirt!" And ladies are kind of wary of that whole "Can I get you a drink?" thing unless they accompany you, so just stick to the small talk. At this point, small talk is a welcome thing.

LM: Every nightlifer out there is a budding model, so don't forget that camera, you Facebook frequenters and nightlife prowlers. But, at all costs, avoid that tacky, overrated kissy-face picture, ladies. You look like an extra in "Finding Nemo." You may think you look cute, but there is nothing more unattractive than a girl who has to air-kiss a camera to draw attention to her lips. There are other ways. Cherries, lollipops, Starburst wrappers, anyone?

EP: Safety first, partiers! Remember that a safe partier is a happy partier. Don't go out by yourself. Ladies, walk home with a buddy (that you know). Guys, leave the testosterone at home. Fightin' words and swift punches are just silly and usually end up causing a lot more trouble than it's all worth. And of course, know your limit. Alcohol poisoning is a serious thing, so don't go tooooo crazy. Party on, State College.

So, until next weekend, Penn State, remember -- after the show, it's the afterparty. And after the party, it's the hotel lobby. See you there.