A new life of fun and dumb

It seems I've found myself at the genesis of a new stage of my life. And I like it, so I might as well be creative about writing the story of it, rather than giving some wordy, overly descriptive version of the true facts, I think its better to embellish the truth first, and then overly wordify/describify the process by which I've arrived at the step which I'm about to take.... So to begin.

Naturally the night was dark and stormy, the gods throwing down their merciless wrath to strike down human and hobbit alike, allowing no creature to stir from the twisted leaf strewn world of the dreaded land of Boston. I ventured out into the maelstrom, dedicated to bringing back a grizzly bear for dinner, or at least some McDonald's fries. Walking and walking, past tortured forests and gnarly trees bent beyond ordinary belief into the weird, Poe-shapes often seen during figure skating competitions. No one knew my intent, nor really did I, but as a living breathing procrastinator of great ingenuitity and honest deception, I refused to let the lack of planning and followthrough hamper my quest. Shortly after hopping over a plague stricken child and narrowly avoiding a couple dueling zombies, I arrived at the summit of my journey. Of course, now being here, I realized I forgot to bring all money, change, credit, and was forced to barter with the elf standing behind the counter. I ended up relieving myself of an old 4lb wad of granite I found while invading Mongolia. Long story.

Truly, I must admit, it is only after I left with my choice selection of overprocessed fat when I discovered myself in a new land. Only a second ago, Ronald was high fiving me and I was skipping down the street, now, I'm thinking. Totally unprepared for this revelation, I stop eating the fries in order to see if these were the catalyst forcing such an epidemic pox upon my brain.

Soon after, three days later, I decided to compete in the Kentucky Ironman next August, where I will test my command of random idea exposure against people who only want to swim, run, and smoke the rubber my tires leave in their wake.

112 miles of biking, but at least thats after the 2.4 miles of swimming. And luckily I can finish all that before the 26.2 mile full marathon. Ha, craziness is for fools with chicken wings. Lunacy will get you in far more trouble.

A new life of fun and dumb

It seems I've found myself at the genesis of a new stage of my life. And I like it, so I might as well be creative about writing the story of it, rather than giving some wordy, overly descriptive version of the true facts, I think its better to embellish the truth first, and then overly wordify/describify the process by which I've arrived at the step which I'm about to take.... So to begin.

Naturally the night was dark and stormy, the gods throwing down their merciless wrath to strike down human and hobbit alike, allowing no creature to stir from the twisted leaf strewn world of the dreaded land of Boston. I ventured out into the maelstrom, dedicated to bringing back a grizzly bear for dinner, or at least some McDonald's fries. Walking and walking, past tortured forests and gnarly trees bent beyond ordinary belief into the weird, Poe-shapes often seen during figure skating competitions. No one knew my intent, nor really did I, but as a living breathing procrastinator of great ingenuitity and honest deception, I refused to let the lack of planning and followthrough hamper my quest. Shortly after hopping over a plague stricken child and narrowly avoiding a couple dueling zombies, I arrived at the summit of my journey. Of course, now being here, I realized I forgot to bring all money, change, credit, and was forced to barter with the elf standing behind the counter. I ended up relieving myself of an old 4lb wad of granite I found while invading Mongolia. Long story.

Truly, I must admit, it is only after I left with my choice selection of overprocessed fat when I discovered myself in a new land. Only a second ago, Ronald was high fiving me and I was skipping down the street, now, I'm thinking. Totally unprepared for this revelation, I stop eating the fries in order to see if these were the catalyst forcing such an epidemic pox upon my brain.

Soon after, three days later, I decided to compete in the Kentucky Ironman next August, where I will test my command of random idea exposure against people who only want to swim, run, and smoke the rubber my tires leave in their wake.

112 miles of biking, but at least thats after the 2.4 miles of swimming. And luckily I can finish all that before the 26.2 mile full marathon. Ha, craziness is for fools with chicken wings. Lunacy will get you in far more trouble.

A new goal

Time flies by in its many intricate patterns and each second leaves the heavy imprint of a weightless barrier never to return. I’ve found the goals in my life, reemerging once again from the static confusion of my indefinable choices. Yet now I’ve chosen, and to follow these to the end will require the willpower I’ve always desired.

So the real reason I've started writing this is to put my goals and choices in the public eye, at least relatively so, and to keep track of my progress and thoughts until I can complete it, while at the same time writing and loosening the stream of thought which seems to be blocked up with inordinate amounts of flotsam for whatever particular reason.

I'm going to compete in an Ironman in 303 days. I haven't swam in years, 2.4 miles of that, the most I've run is 8 miles probably, I'll have to run 26.2. And while I've done a century, a couple in fact, its been 2 years and I have 112 miles to go on that weekday. I'll need to drop weight and then drop more weight, and then drop even more weight. And the problem is, a lot of the weight I need to drop is now muscle, so I basically have to shed muscle, the non core ones, which may mean under nutrition and over work to get some of the muscles to eat themselves and rebuild harder. That will probably be the most difficult, but I want to get to 165 and right now I'm at 205. And I want to do it by my birthday. I need to save 5 grand, for hotel, for a new tri bike, for a wetsuit, and probably by then, some new running shoes, and all the appropriate gear in between. But I will prevail, for this is my goal, contingent solely upon me. All the way in, no backing out. This is my goal

Time flies by in its many intricate patterns and each second leaves the heavy imprint of a weightless barrier never to return. I’ve found the goals in my life, reemerging once again from the static confusion of my indefinable choices. Yet now I’ve chosen, and to follow these to the end will require the willpower I’ve always desired.

So the real reason I've started writing this is to put my goals and choices in the public eye, at least relatively so, and to keep track of my progress and thoughts until I can complete it, while at the same time writing and loosening the stream of thought which seems to be blocked up with inordinate amounts of flotsam for whatever particular reason.

I'm going to compete in an Ironman in 303 days. I haven't swam in years, 2.4 miles of that, the most I've run is 8 miles probably, I'll have to run 26.2. And while I've done a century, a couple in fact, its been 2 years and I have 112 miles to go on that weekday. I'll need to drop weight and then drop more weight, and then drop even more weight. And the problem is, a lot of the weight I need to drop is now muscle, so I basically have to shed muscle, the non core ones, which may mean under nutrition and over work to get some of the muscles to eat themselves and rebuild harder. That will probably be the most difficult, but I want to get to 165 and right now I'm at 205. And I want to do it by my birthday. I need to save 5 grand, for hotel, for a new tri bike, for a wetsuit, and probably by then, some new running shoes, and all the appropriate gear in between. But I will prevail, for this is my goal, contingent solely upon me. All the way in, no backing out. This is my goal

Time flies by in its many intricate patterns and each second leaves the heavy imprint of a weightless barrier never to return. I’ve found the goals in my life, reemerging once again from the static confusion of my indefinable choices. Yet now I’ve chosen, and to follow these to the end will require the willpower I’ve always desired.

So the real reason I've started writing this is to put my goals and choices in the public eye, at least relatively so, and to keep track of my progress and thoughts until I can complete it, while at the same time writing and loosening the stream of thought which seems to be blocked up with inordinate amounts of flotsam for whatever particular reason.

I'm going to compete in an Ironman in 303 days. I haven't swam in years, 2.4 miles of that, the most I've run is 8 miles probably, I'll have to run 26.2. And while I've done a century, a couple in fact, its been 2 years and I have 112 miles to go on that weekday. I'll need to drop weight and then drop more weight, and then drop even more weight. And the problem is, a lot of the weight I need to drop is now muscle, so I basically have to shed muscle, the non core ones, which may mean under nutrition and over work to get some of the muscles to eat themselves and rebuild harder. That will probably be the most difficult, but I want to get to 165 and right now I'm at 205. And I want to do it by my birthday. I need to save 5 grand, for hotel, for a new tri bike, for a wetsuit, and probably by then, some new running shoes, and all the appropriate gear in between. But I will prevail, for this is my goal, contingent solely upon me. All the way in, no backing out. This is my goal

Almost ready

Seems all the time spent thinking inbetween thoughts finally may come to fruition in a unswervingly violent explosion of applause and yells of "encore." What could I mean, well, you'd have to be further inside my head than I am to figure that out, but at least I have a path with feet to walk on... and at least a few steps visible from my angle.

Life is good

The new big thing

So I got my LSAT tomorrow, I couldn't sleep last night, but I woke up late today and I think I'm back on track, but forget about all that, it'll come as it comes and I'm going for the relaxed approach (except for the slightly tightening features of my chest).

Erica and I have decided to train for a triathlon (or ironman) by the same time next year, with the intent of getting back in shape after two months of good living but sloppy body management. So we decided to get back on track and kill ourselves with exercise. My new heart rate monitor is the shit, although it only confirms my out of shape speculations, but whats interesting, is that even though I'm in the lowest shape on their internal software program, I don't feel that bad and my heart rate stayed reasonable while working out yesterday. Still, I'm a far cry from my boxing/yoga days. Just gives me a pretty good goal. Drop 30-40lbs in a year, and transform the rest into lean muscle. WHy not... Need to get back in the blog writing zone, maybe that will help as a... yeah, stimulant or something.

I think I'm the worst at returning calls

Its bad because I want to, briefly, return a few calls everyday. But I don't. The thing about returning calls is its a process that's made easier and easier by these goddamn cell phone companies until finally its become a worthless endeavor that means virtually nothing. It used to be you had to first have someone there to answer the phone in the first place, then write down the number, then lose the slip of paper, then find the slip of paper, then try and get the rotary spots in the right positions, or find a pay phone, for which you would need a quarter, not to mention everytime you tried it'd be pouring down rain or someone would be already standing in the booth, then you'd have to refind the number, attempt to make sense of the now smeared numberline, guess at a couple and talk to two to three strangers before actually getting a hold of the person you wanted to. And that's just to let them know you're coming home for dinner.

Now, the msg waits for you, then you have the option to hit a clearly marked number to return the phone call without ever hanging up, after which crystal clear reception no matter where you are lets you connect instantaneously. It sickens me and makes me want to start a revolution. Again

Setting up the new life

Just had this awesome idea... well now it can be nothing but a letdown when further explored and put into some sort of critiqueable form, but here goes. Taking a online recipe site like epicurious and then putting the recipes into a weekly file that are also crossreferenced by type of food or something, although this may not be necessary with the advances in harddrive search engines, but I guess the question should be if I should be writing this by hand and putting it into a circular deck just for ease of access or should I go full digital. The nice thing about the digital is that I could put it on a palm pilot and then use it whereever I am, but the roller deck preserves antiquited, kind of nice methods of cooking and is probably easier to use, not to mention more safe in a recipe flashing, food flying sort of area. To ponder to ponder

maybe I'm not quite sober...

Well, after India ended, I broke down and found that I love Seattle perhaps a little bit more than I ever thought possible. And I'm leaving Tuesday. But thats ok, because all I have are good thoughts for the future being helped with thoughts by my friend Dave, who may or may not be the coolest dude out of Wyoming...ever. THERE'S NO FUCKING COWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In any case, don't read this if you shouldn't be reading this.

Something to tlak about

Well, given the crappy job I've done keeping my blog updated, and the general mishmash of material floating around in my head, I figured I'd try and dissect and defragment it through a long email recapping the various adventures I may or may not have had for the past one month. As I'm leaving in just a couple days, now seems as good a time as ever.

One month ago, after tearfully waving goodbye to the children who have added sunshine to my life for the past 10 months, I hopped on a train alone to that fantastic paradise of beaches and (even brighter) sunshine. I arrived in the Goa region and promptly got ripped off by a motorcycle taxi who dropped me off at the bus stand... the completely opposite bus stand from where I needed to be, before jumping back on his bike, a fairly significant feat given his size and the bike's size, and speeding away before I could hit him. This anger was only inflamed when I remember the previous warnings I had told my friend Norm (arriving soon) to not trust anyone, ever, especially when they speak english. Luckily anger and stubbornness guided me past dark alleys through which in the flickering light drunken indian men, bastard rickshaw drivers (also drunk) and the normal cow and packs of stray dogs could be seen... a few feet away. I finally find another motorcycle taxi willing to take me to the nearest beach, negotiate a cheap room and leave only asking for a little extra baksheesh. Dinner was fairly bad, but edible and conversation was good, so I consider my time at Benaulim well spent.

Finally arriving in Palolem after a short 2 hour bus ride, I begin searching for my friends through marginally skin frying sand, slipping and sliding up the beach with my 40lb rucksack and a nice "home" feeling. They spot me, we get together, start drinking, Norm comes up behind me, taps me on the shoulder, manly pats on the back, more drinks ordered, tapped glasses, repeated realizations of the fact its been over two years, friendly and then pleasantly violent bickering begins (he's leaving soon so hopefully it will end). I'm happy.

We hang out listening to music played by my new friend Karl, always a very good name for a new friend, on his classical guitar while Norm bumped his fingers against a taut canvas sheet shaped like a drum, well. This went on and on while we lazed in the sun, until finally people started dropping off like flies for their own separate adventures, until just Norm and I were left, walking through the sand at another beach, Anjuna, at 4am after having failed to find the rumored rave hyped up earlier in the day. While walking, the wind shifts and my party spider sense picks up the faintest whisper of a heavy trance beat, somewhere to the left. Naturally I turn away from the well lit beach, well lit streets and rather comfortable surroundings of a quiet beach town, to begin my trek through rather dense fields, past dimly lit houses and the occasional vicious looking barking dog, following that deeper and deeper bass note. Norm angrily follows, I smile to myself, but keep a couple extra feet in between the two of us knowing that he's carrying a rather wicked looking sickle knife and was still angry over talking to one of the most ignorant people in the world earlier that night. Low and behold, after only 6km of barefoot walking through every terrain you could possibly imagine, we arrive at a scene from a Jennifer Lopez or Madonna video, with orange and green laser lights flickering against silhouetted trees, 100-200 people laying around carpeted flat areas smoking who knows what while another 2-300 danced to a deep deep bass that as you know, could be heard from the beach, quite a ways away. As we arrived at 4am, we had to put our good faith time in, I danced while norm flirted, and by the time we left, the 8am sun was beating down on our heads with a rather frenetic energy, only matched by the crowd of undulated half naked people dancing to the beat of a song that showed no signs of slowing.

Enter Recovery for two days.

After finding our way up to Mumbai (bombay) we ate mcdonalds, watched Syriana, went to some TGIFriday's ripoff, and got on a train later that night. It was ok.

A pretty short 7 hours later we departed the train, barged into a hotel lobby at 4am after fending off rickshaw mosquitoes (risquitoes), and then I was denied the chance to barter for the room by Norm's inconvenient collapsing onto the bed, probably for the best as it was only 5$ a night and the guys actually let us into this place.

From this town, Aurangabad, we went to these ancient, 2-3000 years old caves which we climbed on, profaned to a small degree, and then found that if you go up a river bank, you leave settled areas and have trouble finding your way back in the dark. This email is testament to our finding our way back, not being slowly eaten by bandits, and not having offended the gods too much with missplaced feet. To our dismay, the caves we were heading to the next day were closed, and so the first of many travel plan changes went into effect. There were no direct buses to our next destination, so we got on an 9 hour suspensionless sleeper bus ride to Indore (allowing us to bounce higher and for longer times than any well tensioned trampoline), which broke down at 5am, from there we transferred to an already crowded much smaller bus which we sat on for 20 min Indian Standard Time (2 1/2 hours in the rest of the world). This was fun. Then we jumped on another bus for only 4 hours and we were in Bhopal, where we promptly found out you couldn't leave because it was one of the holiest days in the Indian calendar (Holi, a week or so of multicolored hand grenades being thrown at anything that moves, only slightly toxic). So we're stuck, we go to the zoo, check out some tigers (not as big as you'd think, though still hungry looking), walk around, begin another period of unabridged laziness, finally get to Sanchi the next day, the stated reason for stopping in Bhopal, enjoy a thunderstorm in a leaking bus, go back to sleep, leave Bhopal on our way to Khajaruho.

If you have trouble imagining a city of temples totally dedicated to the act of wild orgiastic sex, then you should visit this town and complex of history. Internet sites get shut down for some of the stuff they prettily carved on those walls, as there are discerning readers on this list, I wont go into details, but man o man...

From there we went to Varanasi on a 15 hour public government bus. To describe this ride would take far more energy than I could possibly exhume from my body. To describe it with the sick stomach I had from eating too much fried food, might kill me. The town of Varanasi is nice, if you like cows (and their byproducts) shoved into spaces only wide enough for the cows (and their byproducts), or if you don't mind the occasional burning (or not so burning) body floating down the most disgusting water you've ever seen, which the average citizen of Varanasi is frolicking around in. Otherwise you may have problems.

Then we went to the mountains, those being the Himalayas of great fame and fortune, of which neither is enough to possibly describe their beauty and splendor. Absolutely amazing. Naturally our plans didn't work out exactly as planned. After another 12 hour sleeper bus ride in which no sleep was had because of the continual precipice-lined roads we were swinging around at much greater than safe speeds, we arrive in Manali, or in translation, Paradise. I'll leave the description of that and the Dalai Lama for later, because I have to go meet friends, but I'll be home soon and I hope anybody worried about me stops, because it looks like I'm making it through this here trip all right (finding my peice of wood to knock on).

Something to tlak about

Another one

As anyone who may know me may know (I've confused myself and just started), I am now thinking about virtually nothing, meaning I have emptied out all meaningful thought into a blog description that will undoubtedly leave you unsatisfied yet craving no more.

Anyone who has been praying for me, I thank you very much and appreciate it. I went to these amazing cliffs a couple days ago, and was planning to go to another set the next day. But then I found out those ones were closed on Mondays. So we had to change plans a teensy weensy, and ended up taking a direct bus past the place we were going to stay that night. We get to the new place, find out the next day is a national holiday and we can't go anywhere and nothing is open. We proceed to sleep through it, but, we also managed to notice that the place we were going to stay the night before, (when the bus broke down after failing to roll us down a cliff) happened to have been quarantined for bird flu after some blood tests got checked out. We missed that. And just in case you're wondering, Erica got me some Tamiflu (thank you!) which will prove to almost certainly be unuseful for any mutations, but will definitely be better than sticking a leaf in one ear while munching on my fingernail (the standard ayuverdic/indian way).

Long story short, narrow miss, but we got past it, no bird flu for the evmeister. Saw some more temples today, great, nice, whoopdeedoo, (actually quite impressive buddhist monasteries from the 3rd century BC), wow, like totally rad...not, super, cowabunga... anyway, getting worn out on the temple trip, gonna start making it interesting, lighting fires, eating monkeys, that sorta thing... yeah, before you think I caught some other indian bug, I'm not crazy, no more than the average person confronted with psychotic fatalism every other few minutes. Must stop.

On and off the road again

Imagining i'm floating again... waking up... still floating... realizing bus has hit a bump the size of a small cow... still in the air... gently knock the wind out of me as I return to the mattress... fall back asleep... repeat

No more bumps... heavenly sleep... abruptly woken up... bus is broken... grab gear... file into crowded bus 1/4 the size already half full of people... others from my bus join... stand for awhile... sit for awhile... get off the bus... get on another bus... sit for awhile... begin praying for accident... sit for awhile... repeat

Walk around town... see tiger... blink... tiger still there... notice wiremesh cage... sigh happily... stick out tongue... begin running almost immediately after tiger charges... repeat

Sit in Internet cafe... watch mosquitoes feast... try to kill them... miss... repeat

Trials of another sort

Delving back into my mind I slip past Tuesday and enter into Monday in my attempt to find a valued experience worth relating... I'm sure a couple exist.

The hour has passed and the moon begins its silver arc down the bottom half of the sky. Norm, Karl, Robin and I sit uncomfortably on the wooden sunbed firmly planted in the silky soft sand shifting beneath our feet. Norm's hands beat out an irregular, yet steady beat as the drum speaks to the wind and mingles with the crashing surf. There is no doubt who will win in that contest of endurance and power, yet his hands continue their path through the seams of music and the contest endures. Karl compliments the setting, more weary than in previous nights, but his classical guitar streams out flamenco as bright and pure as the silver arrows flickering on the crests of those slightly surging waves. With my head falling between the notes of nature and experienced fingers, I rest my mind and relax my soul.

We left Palolem Wednesday morning on a voyage up the world to another beach, Anjuna, land of the forgotten salesman. That sorrowful face who reappears every wednesday to try his fate against the horde of callous moneyholders who don't realize how little time he has to win bread for his family's survival in the next lowseason. I do realize, and yet retain my callousness proudly. Sticking to my firm conviction that you should never wear shoes within a kilometer of the beach I wander through the rainbow colored stalls, 4olb sack biting into my shoulders as my attention wanders and returns, searching for those items which flit from consciousness to reality, brushing past Kashmiri hawkers, bikini clad adventurers and Tibetan silversmiths. Each irregular stone bites into my beleaguered feet but stubborness does wonders for endurance. Finally finding my way to a Canadian hippie's leather stall, I fortuitously find the leather hip satchels I'd been searching for the past few months and make my one nonconsumable purchase for the next few weeks. After a spirited discussion regarding the "police states" of America and Canada we part our ways and I rejoin my slightly annoyed companions, who deigned to show up 15 minutes early at the ordinated time. Obviously they did not understand how Indian time works and chose to use their watches rather than their internal organs and the sun to dictate their timetables. Having found potential parties, Norma and I part ways with our erstwhile companions, wishining them well and begin our solo journey to find accomadation down even more pebble strewn paths.

The party never appeared... wandering from bar to bar, club to club, meeting other unfortunate Magellans, we begin our trek home down the moonlit beach. All of a sudden my abnormal, and slightly psychic senses pick up a taste of bass over the crashing of the waves. Stopping on the beach at the head of a short trail from which only fields and trees could be seen, my ears tune to the sound, du du du du... silence... a whisper in the night, one which my exasperated comrade wants to ignore in his search for the peace of sleep. Luckily, I am far less "wimpy" and choose to follow the thrumings of the earth to their source. Perhaps in kindness but more likely in fear for my life, Norm decides to join in my quest. "Do you know how far sound can travel at night?" should have been a question I paid more attention to when we began, yet after the first few steps and the definite retrieval of those deep frequency waves from the atmosphere, my heart was set and my soul in motion. Still barefoot we set off, down darkened lanes, beneath shadowed trees, across moony fields of snakes and cow manure, up stony paths of pain and misery, our travails finally paid off, finally bore fruit, when all of a sudden, the sounds, so promising from afar, grew and encompassed us. In eden they talk of nice apples and the occasional scantily clad female depending on how many times you wanted to turn 360 degrees. In front of us blossomed a scene from another eden. One which expanded and contrasted with the glow of laser lights against the canopy of the jungle, where the red sand of the dirt mixed with the sweat of undulating bodies crisp in the darkness of the fallen moon. Where the relentless pounding of the speakers bounced waves of music to crash against those more natural brethren of the ocean 6 km distant. Our journey complete, we settled into the hilarity of our arrival upon this rave of indefinite proportions, where beautiful women danced in spheres of isolation next to the ironclad bodies of those tan conquerers of the sun.

Success.

Falling into the pounding of the Earth, I barely noticed when the sun clipped the edge of the trees from their anonymity, or when the clouds spoke in tones of red and blue. Only the beat preached to me, its rythym carrying me in turns and circles, beyond dimensions of sanity and rationality. I danced, and was free. Well, until Norm tapped me on the shoulder, reminded me it'd been 30 hours since we'd last slept, and guided me to the taxi we bartered to fit 8 people into, and led me home. Dawn arrived, and left, and arrived again, or so I believe.

Somehow, with some people, the cycle reoccurs and hangs out, then says see you later, only to stop by again... So it is with the two of us. Somehow we always end up on buses 10 minutes from breaking down, heading down hills with no brakes on the wrong side of the road, glimpsing magnificent forts on hills and eating food made to tempt man from the realm of healthiness. To say I do such things on my own would not be a lie, but when I continually end up with my life above my hands, out of reach, clambering of the cliffs of riverbeds while surrounded by some God's creations, whether manmade or natural, I begin to think there may be a similarity of motive and of presence. So it is.

With pictures I might elaborate, adding a thousand words for every captured moment, but then, I don't have any of those, except in my head. I wish I could relate to you a sunset in Hampi, where dozens of those of us who enjoy watching the sun slip behind its own shadow listened to a lonely Indian girl find her friends through the power of her voice as she sang to the gods who darkened the cliffs and spires of temple and monolithic statue. I don't think I can express to you laying on a marble surface as the guitar sings and the drum beats to the crash of the relentless surf while the sun lends its heat to the warmth of the cool beer sliding impatiently down a throat wet with the insignificance of time. Its not possible to give you a dance that pulsed and streamed through countless hearts from dusk until dawn and beyond, with feet red from the earth, and eyes black, blue and red from the sky. Who can describe a temple stolen from the pitch black of a mountain to form slender curves and squares of overwhelming complexity and outstanding quality. Can you see the bats as they stream away from the light of my torch, screaming in their voices of tiny fury as they echolocate past our placid and flinching heads. Unless you've been there you won't understand sleeping in a compartment of six elderly indians, waking and finding one leaning over you and your bag and watching nervously as he scratches his head and deciphers incredulity from the chaos of his beleagured thoughts while deciding whether to kick his wife out of his bed or not.

I have no pictures, and can not give you these images, but maybe these words will help.

When laziness becomes an issue

When in Rome...

[Here is where the imagination should be used]

Actually nothing that interesting will be said that I haven't already said numberous times before on blogs, I'm in a beautfiul place, sand keeps on getting under my toenails, and beers refuse to cost more than a dollar, so I guess I could end it right there and you would have the short boring version that lets you know practically nothing of whats been going on in my life recently.

To broaden the horizons a little... I refuse to wear shoes, and I haven't worn them for the past 4 days. There's no need. As the air conditioner other people know as "wind" erased all traces of other people's passage, Norm and I look at each other and with a simple glance, agree not to move for another 2 hours, bringing our grand total lack of acceleration in any direction to 5 hours for the afternoon. The beach stretches out in a perfect crescent shape that many people have tried to capture but sthat pictures simply don't do justice to for the unfathomable reason that when youre here, you lack the energy even to think about taking the pictures and when you do they are so inferior to the setting that you feel the need to destroy the camera, run out screaming and send a bomb to Nikon, Canon or whatever affilated camera brand created such a shoddy product. Shortly hfter bashing your head into the coconut you just drank, you realize its better just to sit down at a bar, drink a beer, and plan for the next meal while eating the one in front of you. Other people can expend the necessary energy to effect revenge upon those filthy light catching companies.

A coconut could have fallen on my head yesterday while I sat in the sand.

But it didn't.

Can't tell you what its like to see one of your best friend's after 2 years and just fall back into the routine like yesterday you were riding next to him on some DC street. Laughter is there, as normal.

It seems that to try and describe something, my vocabulary has shrunk to the average Bangalorians descriptions or affirmations. For instance, if you want to describe the most delicious meal you've ever eaten, with such savoury tastes and hints of taste that your mind boggles at the attempt to recall it once its been consumed, you remark, "good is there" and while noone understands what just passed, a longer description is frowned upon. As far as the beach goes, good is there...

Next up, old stuff, that man made, because when it comes down to it, everything around us is pretty antique, its just how long its been in the shape its been.

I'm now deleting the disclaimer I added at the beginning because as I think back on the past couple nights, it hasn't been so bad, feel free to use your imagination to fill in the blank I will leave in its place.

Super 8

The reason why I don't normally listen to myself is because the advice I so often give is obviously too good to be taken serious and inevitably lands me in less of a hotspot than if I ignore my opinions and logical reasoning and simply let the winds guide my feet. Which is harder than you might suspect considering the size of my feet.

In any case, don't trust Indians who approach. Case in point, walking several kilometers after one takes you on his motorcycle, drops you at the "bus stand," gives a vague explanation leading you to think this city may exist on the map, and then driving off... If I EVER see that guy again... Rocks and Tomatoes baby, Rocks and Tomatoes...

But then again, now I'm on the beach, eating everything, well no, because my stomach has this weird affliction that every time I get to Goa, it decides to turn inside out, hence this morning. Grr, if I ever see that guy again, Rocks...

Life on the run

Amazing this internet connection, I overheard them talking about updating to a 14.4k modem soon, so hopefully if I ever come back, I'll be able to send a message in under an hour.

Hampi is absolutely beautiful, but inordinately hard to explain. I will however try, as this may be the only time I give myself the motivation required to try and extract the various alchemical essences that pervade the atmosphere here.

I've done my best to acheive a sunburnt state of being, and by all accounts I've succeeded. I wouldn't be surprised if Vogue called and tried to line me up for their cherry fall line. While piggybacking on my poor knees up endless winding 2 ft stairs, I fell into wondering how it it is you could have massive piles of boulders stacked up on top of each other in the middle of a otherwise flat terrain. The answer I came up with was surpisingly simple... magnificent, extraordinary, giant gophers! Why else put goliath temples in the middle of nowhere if not to celebrate the extreme digging skills of those beautiful rodents.

There, solved it, no need for you to come all the way out to India and ponder this question anymore, case closed. However, if you were still looking for a challenge, I could pose you this one, how come the culture that came up with KamaSutra is one of the most conservative sexually, morally, polically, etc., in the whole world. I've been wondering, wondering and wondering.

I already miss my children and the Robertson House (home of iniquity and good people), but I'm meeting up with one badass dude in a couple days and life will be good! Ok, time to go broker a peace deal with Pakistan.

First goodbyes

Nohting like seeing utter dismay on a 10 year old's face to spark up your day. Its wonderful to know they care so much, heartbreaking to see their sadness as they all rush to say goodbye, to hug you, or to ask when you are coming back...

I doubt I am, maybe someday when all these children are in their late teens and will only remember me as the crazy american who was "super cool and super strict." But I've been having fun these past few days in Bangalore, ready for the next adventure/s whereever they may come from. I only hope I don't meet any more children as cute as the ones I"m saying goodbye to.

On another note, my empty weeknights could have been taken up by volunteering at this orphanage for the mentally disabled that is literally 3 minutes from my school. And almost exactly the opposite. Run by a family from some city in Andra Pradesh, all 11 of them have dedicated themselves to caring for children who have fallen from the grace of men. With beautiful smiles and their own sacrificed lives these wonderful people are giving to these children everything they have, hoping for the scraps that people might donate to their 3 room orphanage, hoping to help a child of eight with Cystic Fybrosis, mentally disabled women who are 28 with the maturity level of a 10 year old, every single kind of case you might imagine... in three rooms and nothing but their bare hands and halting english to ask for aid. And I've been sitting in my fancy dancy school high and dry, never realizing their plight. Never realizing that I might be doing something to help. Not that its my fault, but I wish I had known this place I walked past almost everyday... well, I wish I could have done my part. This image of the child with CB keeps coming back to me, his inability to comprehend the world beyond the pain, his bones and body literally falling apart, legs thinner than any two of my fingers held together.

On another note... well I guess right now there are no other notes.

Bird in a tree

Metallic bees slinging violently past me,
In peace I rest hidden by this long-shadowed tree,
Examining every noisy passerby,
I notice everything with a chirp not quite wry.

Darkened branches warn me of impending night,
And rightfully soon to take to flight,
For when you come back and search the sky,
Only a a brilliant smile may teach me how to fly.

The pavement skids beneath each sullied foot,
While pedals pass and narrowly miss the arbor's root,
Easier this way it must always seem,
For below in the chaos only the critters team.

Prisms' fodder will come again,
And with it you will hear me preach and prim,
Until then my friend, silent company must be kept,
Be ware the stones beneath Solomon's sept.

Following an extreme dosage of sleep

Free and clear at last, or so I hope, of all those school obligations, on cruise control until I pop a squat on some Indian train engine. Goa is coming towards me at... well right now, no real speed, but if I were on the train it'd be a steady 40kmh. About as fast as my bike moves at top speed.

What happens when you're jealous in a dream? What does it mean? How about when you wake up due to the jealousy and promptly kill a mosquito? Is that aggression the dream's fault, or simply an innate desire to live another day without malaria. Speaking of, I don't have it, I'm too strong (and knocking on wood right now), the shit can't get me down.

Magic exists in this world...

Sound cascades into my sun-abused ears as we settle down to watch as the 1000 year old monolithic statue refuses to sabotage the 100ft high scaffolding on which hundreds of saffron robed monks and brightly colored sari wearing volunteers scamper to and fro. Remaining calm throughout this obvious itchcrazy routine, his silent eyes peer out across a landscape dominated by his tendrils of stone reaching down into the kilometer high hill.

The sun's heat matches my heartbeat, every wave increasing intensity.

We watch, waiting for his holiness to lift his hands and swat away the sycophants, to brust past les ascetiques, to lift a toe and squash the naked gurus prostrating themselves at his feet.

But he doesn't

The music increases in volume, the ushers pushing invited guests (which we were not) to the ground, clearing the viewing area among the press and VIP area (which we were not supposed to be in), squeezing knees into groins, feet into hips, arms into laps as intimate knowledge became common understanding.

The drums pick up their pace.

Everyone around us claps, and the last of the 1008 coconuts is spilled over his head, obviously stinging his eyes, but he refuses to close them.

And then it begins.

First milk, flying from two handed buckets held by honored guests and ecstatic sweating volunteers, soaking his wind softened skin, peeking into crevices, sliding down the channels formed by countless ceremonies. Then blue, then pink, then flour, then red, and white, and orange, yellow and green. Each color washing the previous away, sliding the molecules to the side so the preeminence of each color could be attained. Silver chalices emptied past his weary eyes, yet when flowers pushed by the wind fell upon his stone shoulders, carpeting his neck and torso, flowing down the streams of his long arms and legs.

And I looked again.

And he smiled.

Getting better

At riding my motorcycle... I'll need to get a picture of the beast before I leave here and post it up somwhere I can look at it later. The thing is insane, 50cc, 6, maybe 7 horsepower, and its got to lug my fat ass around this stupid city at silly ridiculous speeds approaching 45kmh. Luckily the lack of a working battery cell keeps me from having to worry about using the turn signals although the total disregard by other knights of the road for those annoying little blinkers rendered them insignifcant in the first place.

Tomorrow I go to see an enormous phallic object attached to an even bigger statue, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of other fetish lovers. Can't wait, although I can think of better things to do with my time, like sitting around procrastinating for a project I'm supposed to deliver Sunday for my school. A project every teacher feels is a "slight" waste of time, which may be better used getting the kids to "enjoy" learning, something hard to do when all they do is play. And I'm tired, after firmly establishing Thursday american drinking games night in the pantheon of weekly chores by remaining awake until 4:30 in the morning probing friends' and acquitances' increasingly ductile minds for clues as to why their eyes were spinning in opposite, illogical, and ultimately physically impossible positions. After hours of this, we came to the conclusive that we simply did not know, with a minority opinion that we could be drunk.

In any case, 2200 pages into this goliath of a short-term self-inflicted doozy of an epic has slightly worn me out to imagining the 17-18th centuries. Neal Stephenson is... probably insane, but someone has to be so I can read their stuff. Maybe someone will say the same about me someday.

Some of us having fun at a ittybitty beach party

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Originally uploaded by indiaevan.

Geena had some drunk problems so I tried to scare her into some sense

Brief recap because the lengthy one would require surgery

It seems that in order to get me to write a long email or blog update, I have to sleep for an amount of time that could be misinterpreted as a coma.

In that case, lets begin with a recap that will help me bring all the memories of less than a month ago to the forefront so I can easier salvage them on more lengthy forays into the miracles of writing.

Miss Erica Raber came into town around the 10th of December, well it should have been the 10th, but unfortunately she was delayed in London after British Airways decided to perform midflight brainfarts, followed by mental collapses while on the ground, and a serious hiccup in neuron transfers while talking to the pretty lady. Luckily her intelligent, wonderful personality managed to convince them to let her come to India still, where she expected to find me waiting patiently by the exit gate... consider this a foreshadow of a longer story to come later...

I had rented a house for the two of us for her two weeks in Bangalore. Houses without nonfunctioning plumbing.... smell. More on Bangalore later...

Attempting to get your visa extended/registered, I'm not sure which, I just know I am one of the few who managed to do it without a bribe (although with the amount of running around they made me do it probably would have been cheaper to hand over the mulah, but I've got standards!), can be difficult in India. Letting it be difficult so you can spend more time with your best friend helps the stress level...

We got on a bus to Madurai, where we spent Christmas, chilled out with Gandhi's sandals and had super clothes made, then went late night to Thekkady, where we had a horrible time trying to hunt down elephants, although with the proximity to their watering hole, size of their footprints, and fear our guide was showing as we pushed our way through leech infested jungle, I think we may have been worse off if we had found them. Sore disappointment over our failure to find them was tempered by the excellent banana pancakes at the Coffee Lodge near the national park. All I know is Erica is a PIMP for handling all the walking we did that day!

Heading West we stopped by Kumily where we searched for a medicine she had found as the only cure for a skin rash that had been plaguing her for the past decade. While we didn't find it, we did find an alternate that was similar and didn't work at all. Afterwards a restaurant tried to poison, and then place the blame on...us. I'm still not sure how that worked, but when I explain it more, maybe you can help me understand.

Varkala has been described as a beautiful wonderful place...it is more, think palm trees, beaches, fresh fish, kind people who openly admit they're trying to rip you off, nice drinks, and all the Coconut, papaya, banana, you could imagine. Erica petted her first elephant while evan could tell you a couple things about having not enough cushioning on the elephant spine... or hairs...wear pants...and bike shorts... The only regret i have is that we didn't do Varkala last, that way the north would have seemed nicer after some days on the beach to reflect...

Heading north to Kochi, everything was free, except for rooms, food, and walking expenses... everything else was free!!! Young Indian men should come equipped with one of those electric dog collars that only activate when they get to close to Foreigners, especially foreign women...

Coimbature- smelliest place on earth, worse when you're freezing in a trainstation

Mumbai- the cab tried to cheat us, the tea shop cost twice as much and we walked 6 km in the hot sun, but there was good pizza and even if the indian tourists wanted to take pictures of themseleves with us, WE DIDN"T LET THEM!!

Ahmedabad- There is nothing like a long train ride in your own special bed with nobody else in it to make you feel special, then you get out of the train and are assualted by Rickshaw taxi drivers of whom you can imagine and hoping for spontaneous combustion to occur to, walking, and finally out of the seeming mist but actually smog, comes trotting a camel with enormous super crazy big feet. And we saw the world's largest incense stick, and smoked hookah in a cool bar that redeemed the whole city in our eyes. And...

Jodhpur - The sleep bus was fun, the fear in the eyes of our rickshaw driver when we told him our destination was fun, meeting and instantly despising the host of our hostel...not so fun. But we manage to find the two most comfortable shawls imaginable...agoorra-rabbit's wool, and ah ve some great conversations with a bunch of people while climbing and getting lost in market after market, fort after fort... I guess I could write more on this too

Jaipur - I think the reason I didn't like the city was because it was pink, but the Ice cream was delicious, rhe rooms comfy and warm, and life almost good.

Bharatpur and Keoladeo National Park - Its surprising that Erica would rather be in a large smelly city wandering around lost, than a hot, silent jungle riding with no clue as to where we were. Luckily the bicycles had no natural balance points so rather than worry about tigers or finding humanity we simply tried not to fall over... but yeah the city sucked, who else can say they saw 100's of different bird species in a single day... not me!

Agra - A description of Fatehpur Sigri warrants placement here, but I won't. We saw everything in Agra, and wandered around for far too long, but the Taj was worth it, oh was it worth it... there was some other things you could say about it, but... you'll have to wait.

Delhi - We left from there

Bangalore - As a simple southern city, i can not tell you how much I did not respect its wonderfulness, yet after dealing with the pollution, sheer humanity, and disgusting personalities found to the north of Mumbai, I can tell you that I have deleted a lot of emotion where I might have been attempting to swear at those rotten bastards...weelll I've restrained myself well until now, lets keep it down. Bangalore was nice.

Obviously, more to come

Here I am

Well, I said I'd update this, so here it is, only its been procrastinated until tomorrow, because now I'm tired of sitting in front of this damn computer screen, and the amount of material I have to put on here daunts even my incredibly small and shrinking brain. So if you were excited about reading about elephant rides, treks into abandoned mines, the scaling of massive temples, and sightings of the most beautiful buildings in the world, you'll just have to find another blog, or wait until tomorrow.

I live a crazy life, and I'm about to walk outside into a crazier one. Feel free to wish me luck