No toes up

I spent the summer of 2006 in Israel. I dug up stuff. See my shirt? I didn't dig that up, but it helps you get the idea. Bombs were flying, but they didn't hit me. I returned to the United States a bit buffer and not as tan as expected. Nothing could bring me down. Except a broken bottle neck at the bottom of a stair case right through my thin flip flops. This brought me down to four stitches and lots of crutch-walking. I was extremely enthused, as evidenced by this photo my father required me to pose for: