Say What You Mean

SAY WHAT YOU MEAN
SAY WHAT YOU MEAN
SAY WHAT YOU MEAN

My friends. My enemies. Whoever is reading this blog in the year of our Lord Common Era 2025 (or beyond). For the love of communication, for the love of language, for the love of the poor sap who is stuck trying to puzzle out what the hell those fourteen pages of jargony buzzwords actually said in any kind of concrete sense whatsoever... just say what you actually mean. In as few words as possible.

Hiding everything behind six shades of pretense is on purpose, I know. Sometimes you can't outright say what you mean because there are Consequences. The people who don't say what they mean will sense weakness. I get it.

But maybe...

Maybe it's worth it anyway? Maybe it's time we actually start getting things done instead of running in the hamster wheel of the simulacrum. How many layers deep are we now?

Please tell me it isn't too late.

Things I learned while deleting facebook

 Deleting all my Facebook activity proved to be a real chore.

Facebook has this option, in the Activity Log, where you can ostensibly select "all" activity and hit the "Remove" button. Great win for data privacy, right? Now you can bulk delete Facebook stuff. Awesome.

However, that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Truth is, if you're trying to delete more than about 250 posts, Facebook will just throw you a "Something went wrong. Please try again." error message. Over and over and over. It simply cannot handle deleting everything at once. And sometimes it will throw that error message randomly even if you keep it below 250, or the "Remove" button will disappear, and there's no way around it other than logging out of Facebook, logging back in after clearing browsing history (or using a Private window), and trying again.

Also, sometimes stuff just... reappears after being deleted. My timeline posts deleted pretty easily, but other things seem to be stickier. After timeline posts, I worked my way through comments, deleting them year by year, 100-200 posts at a time. Some of them did seem to be actually deleted. But these "ghost comments" kept coming back, where it says like, "JamEverywhere commented on a post," or "JamEverywhere replied to a comment," and has a date associated with it, but no link and no content. Just a shell saying, "you cannot erase that you were here. We will not let you." I managed to delete all my "likes" except Adventure Time, stuck in the purgatory of a trash bin I can no longer manually empty. I could delete all my Life Events except one of the high schools I went to for some reason. And on and on it goes.

Facebook wants it to seem like deleting all your data is only a click away, but it isn't, and it never was. They won't let go so easily.

I also noticed some things about my own use patterns. Early in my use of Facebook--from 2007 through about 2010--I would only make something like 200 comments/posts per year. Less than a post a day... not too bad. This slowly ramps up until 2014, when I'm suddenly looking at 200 posts per month. It's kind of sad to watch. Especially the frantic posting in groups and discussion threads featuring people I'd never met in real life, and never would. It's stark, contrasting it to the early days of Facebook, when the point of the whole thing was to interact with friends you already had and arrange for face-to-face activities or share photos. 

There's something insidious about social media, and we all know it, right? We've all seen news reports of weird Twitter wars, even if we haven't observed them first-hand. We've heard that body dysmorphia and social anxiety are getting worse in the youth. We've seen our own capacity to do mundane things like wait in line without our phones turn into torture... we've seen the number of books we read per year dwindle from 24 to 12 to 6 to 3 to maybe half of one...

Or maybe we haven't. Maybe it's just me.

Anyway, I deactivated Facebook today. I left Twitter a long time ago, and I nuked my entire Reddit history a few weeks ago. Now this blog, which I don't even think anyone checks anymore--not even my mom, who always followed the links here that I posted on Facebook--is my only voice on the internet.

That's okay; I think it's better that way. Maybe someday even this space will vanish into the aether. But for now, this is what I want. My daily life will be mostly free from social media and internet bullshittery. On the weekends I will indulge in a lil Discord discourse with randos, if I want. I'm reading books again, though. And doing art. And writing in my journal almost every morning.

I'm resetting. Back to pre-2007 internet use levels. Wish me luck.

Cyril and Methodius

This is probably the coolest boquet I've ever seen. The large African flower in the center seems like it's from some sort of alien planet.

There's no way to predict what memory will make of us, of our choices, of our selves. All we have is now. All we have is each other. And it can be so impossibly painful to hold one's heart open--because the heart does what it does, and one can't control it, not even kind of. But nevertheless. I hope mine never closes.

just a silly thing I spent way too long on

A post from someone's tumblr has been circulating on facebook--and, while it's a cute idea in theory, I think it kinda failed in the execution. Source is here: http://phony-time-traveler.tumblr.com/post/158270493442/jk-rowling-suddenly-light-started-shining (quoted below)

• JK Rowling: Suddenly, light started shining through the window!
• J.R.R. Tolkien: The window, which hanged on the wall, softly letting its curtains dance around the room, suddenly brought a bright light into the house.
• Douglass Adams: Quite unexpectedly, light shined through the window in the room, which was less surprising when you think about the fact that's what windows are for.
• Lemony Snicket: Light shined through the window abruptly. abruptly, usually means unexpected, or sudden. For instance, if your mother picked you up from school after telling you twice about doing that, it would not be abruptly. However, if someone were to tell you your house burned down and your parents were dead without telling you to sit down first, it would very much be called, abruptly.

My primary issue with the above is the preponderance of grammatical errors and poor diction--while the four authors had divergent styles, they all had a very good grasp of grammar and mechanics. To me the most egregious error (ascribed to Tolkien) is confusing the words "hung" and "hanged"...

So, rather than simply complaining, I decided to give it a go myself. Here's my stab at more or less the same thing...

--

JK Rowling: Then, through the window, came a sudden blaze of light.

JRR Tolkien: There came a light through the window: it was unexpected, a torrent of ethereal gold pouring through the glass, as though the warmth of fair Lothlorien had followed them hither, spreading open its gilded arms to beckon them away from their rising despair.

Douglas Adams: Suddenly, light shone through the window--or, rather, it would have done, had the window survived the series of shockwaves proceeding said shining light. Although some might argue that photons passing through a pile of shattered window fragments is more or less the same thing, and that is ultimately what happened.

Lemony Snicket: Light poured through the window suddenly. Or, to be precise, this seemed sudden to the Baudelaires. For something to seem sudden, it would have to surprise you, or to have been somehow unexpected, meaning you did not see signs warning that it was coming. A flash of lightning would seem sudden to most people, but might be completely expected by a researcher conducting an electrical experiment. You may think that your friend's decision to move to France and study the mating habits of the Greater Scaup was sudden--but to your friend it was the natural conclusion of many hours spent considering the possibility. When my beloved Beatrice broke off our engagement, to me it seemed sudden. But the time she spent writing a two-hundred-page treatise on why we should not marry would suggest that this decision was, from her perspective, anything but sudden.

Post-cycling funk

So, what have I been up to since returning to Colorado from Kentucky so suddenly?

Not much.

It took me about two weeks to work up the energy to do anything besides watching Netflix/DVDs or faffing about on the internet. I think the medication I was taking made me feel weird and my body needed the time to just heal my infection and my contusion without cycling 50 - 70 mile days, y'know?

Ten days after the accident, I got my elbow X-rayed again to check for the kinds of fractures that show up again after swelling goes down, but, thankfully, nothing showed up. Soft tissue injury only. Still, I had to wear the splint for two weeks and the sling for three, and tho' my arm is mostly healed by now, if I use it normally all day it starts hurting before bedtime. Sigh.

I ultimately decided against joining the Handlebarbarians when they come thru Colorado--which is July 2nd, actually; we're going down to Pueblo to see them soon. Reasons? A big one is that I'm simply not ready to face traffic again for a little while. Even driving in a car frightens me now; I can't imagine being on a bicycle again. After taking my first spill on a bit of loose gravel (see the video in my previous post), I took every downhill after that slower than Jenn, even, because it was frightening. I just kept seeing my bicycle, in my head, flying out from under me and dropping me to the asphalt again. It just happens after you get hurt--you don't want to get hurt again. Same thing used to happen with skiing: I'd be fine, going fast, having fun, then I'd have a fall, and even if it wasn't that bad I'd still be slow all day, and not get up to speed again until my next trip. I know my injuries from this car accident weren't that bad... no broken bones, no head injuries, nothing serious or scary... but, still, I was hit by a car. I didn't slow down fast enough, I hit an obstacle, I spilled off my bike, and WHAM I felt a car slam into my shoulder and I felt the rubber of the tire hit my elbow and I got up and I just couldn't do it anymore. Now, if I tried to keep going, I know that every time a car passed me I would just have a flashback of falling down in front of one. Big trucks passing me in the Kansas wind? No. I need some time to build my strength and my courage back up before facing that, and if that makes me a coward, well then, that's what I am.

Another reason I'm not joining the trip again is a conflict of interest. I love my family and I love Ben and Dan too, and I had some genuinely good times on the 920 miles of trip that I managed to go on. Nevertheless, I had some really, really bad times as well. Bad times that go beyond mere physical exhaustion, and which I'm not sure anyone can properly understand, what with my celiac disease and personal demons and getting that skin infection in my arm and all the swelling that was in it and various aches and pains that go along with having the body I have. This trip started out as something I wanted to do because I had so much fun cycling in Ireland, and because cycling there saved me from a lot of funk and depression that I otherwise would have been wallowing in. I was genuinely excited for this TransAmerica thing. But, once the other five cyclists joined on, it wasn't my trip anymore. Slowly and surely a lot of my plans and ideas got outvoted--this, because of differing budgets; that, because of differing time schedules; the other, because of differing fitness levels; yet another because of differing personalities and interests. Maybe this is selfish, but it got to a point where I didn't feel like the trip I was on was a nice vacation anymore, because it wasn't MY vacation. It was work. It was someone else's project, someone else's adventure; someone else was calling the shots. Since I wasn't fully equipped on my own and didn't have my own set of maps, I had little choice but to follow along. Many times along the road I seriously considered breaking off and going at my own pace, but that lack of maps and lack of certain communal items (first aid, food, cooking supplies) kept me from being so drastic.

Yeah, we had some personality conflicts in the group. Conflicts that may have been resolved over time, but never got resolved because I had to come home before they could be. And I don't have the mental or emotional energy to face unresolved issues right now. I simply don't. I have a lot of emotions to work thru, old bad habits of laziness coming back, health problems that involves super low energy levels, muscle pains, awful digestion, nonstop headaches. I have a tendency toward both depression and sloth, and I'm trying to fight it back. I've started with some professional counseling. My relationship with my parents is a bit rocky at the moment and I feel isolated from old friends by so much distance and I hate living in Colorado Springs but every place I've lived that I liked living in is closed off to me now, for one reason or another.

I can't stop comparing that 920 miles to what I did in Ireland and the small trips I took in England. I'd give all 920 miles back to time if I could just ride the 25 miles from York to Rievaulx and back, in England, by myself, the way I did in August 2012. If I could re-live my Irish cycle trip in July 2012 I would do it every summer in the exact same way without changing a thing (except maybe bringing an effing mosquito net or a proper tent for the midges, yikes--oh, and without burning my leg in Doolin, haha). America has a lot of promise in certain areas, but you have to go thru a lot of crappy areas to see the promise, and that's another part of it, too. I wasn't super happy with the route, and tho' cycling across America is an impressive achievement, I feel like a shorter route, say along the west coast, along the east coast, or simply starting in Colorado thru to Oregon would end up being a nicer trek overall with less doldrums to suffer thru to get to the nice bits.

I'm trying to start job hunting and start working on creative projects that I'd been putting on a backburner for far to long, now that I'm back. I'm reconnecting with friends in Denver and I've decided I'm going to a convention in the first week of August so that I can wear an elaborate costume I commissioned for that very purpose two years ago. I've been cooking with dad (more on that in a later post, I think), and I went to the Pride Parade in Denver and the Ren Faire in Larkspur. I'd rather be spending my time doing these things right now. I want to get a job and get out of here and be on my own again and it's just too much to try and put all that on hold a second time to get out there on the bike for another month and a half.

So I haven't even taken my bike out of her box and put her back together again. Even if I wanted to go, I wouldn't be in the shape for it, not when the other Handlebarbarians have been cycling 100 mile days and the most exercise I've gotten is one 4 mile walk since I've been back.

I'm going to reconnect with the Handlebarbarians soon, just for a day, and I'll write about that I'm sure, and then I will bid them farewell as they continue on to dip their front wheels in the Pacific Ocean--the Handlebarbarians, minus one. I'm happy for them and that they're able to do this and that they're having fun and that no one else has been injured on the way. I'm also a little jealous, a little angry, and a lot sad about it. But there's no point in dwelling on the negative, is there? Especially not when they're doing such an adventurous, exciting, and difficult thing. I do wish them all the best.

That pretty much covers it, I suppose.

pax.

Intelligence in the Google Era

Random musings of a headachey mind.

Intelligence seems, to me, to be made up of two discrete parts: memory and critical thinking. Without a good memory, one's critical thinking will never have enough data to make accurate deductions; without critical thinking, one cannot make sense of what's stored in the memory.

I've always had a pretty good memory, just naturally, which I'm thankful for. I think my personal intelligence is built primarily on that--while I'm fairly good with basic logic (so my performance on geometry proofs in high school would seem to testify), and always did well with things like reading comprehension, mostly I just remember a lot of things. So when a topic comes up, there's something related I remember that I can bring to the table. I also could, in school, pick up languages' vocab without tons of specific studying, provided I practice enough, and could memorize text fairly quickly.

But more and more those skills are fading in me--in the world, too. Google is becoming our memory. With my android phone in my pocket, what need do I have to remember random facts or dates or exact quotes of things when I can just look them up right away?

Some people will say google is making us dumber. I'm not sure about that, though. I do think the cloud can impair our memories, as we grow more comfortable forgetting what can easily be recalled later, externally. But critical thinking? Figuring out what search terms to use to pull something up can be an example thereof. Googling a problem and finding people with similar-but-slightly-different problems and parsing through the results for a unique solution...? Critical thinking. Piecing together various blog narratives and arguments into one cohesive whole? Trying to separate fact from fiction, deal from scam, exaggeration from understatement, in a world where every voice has its own slice of cyberspace to shout in? Requires critical thinking.

Intelligence is becoming less and less about who can memorize the biggest swathes of Shakespeare or Homer and more about who can better sort through a flood of information, fishing out the valuable and ignoring the rest.
Just some thoughts. Memory is, of course, an invaluable asset, and I've got it in mind to try new techniques to improve mine as I see it slipping into disrepair. But memory is not the only important aspect to intelligence.

Pax.

tranquilitas

So, why aren't you guys yelling at me for not blogging at least once a week? Seriously guys, seriously. All two of you.

I was just reading this post on Sociological Images about how still, silent, and empty London is on Christmas morning. I've been to the places pictured, and seeing them without scads of tourists toting cameras and umbrellas--well, it's surreal.

It reminds me of Dublin. I wasn't out and about on Christmas, of course--that day I had a friend over, who had to spend the night twice because there is literally no public transport on Christmas in Dublin, as all the train and bus drivers get the day off... so we didn't go anywhere on Christmas day but church (we got a ride from the priest), and then we went home and ate and drank and were merry for a while.

I'm thinking about the morning of January 1st. Back up a bit: For New Year's, I went to a party with the same friend I spent Christmas with. She was born in Uganda, raised in Sweden, and all her friends at the party were from France. I think she knew them all from work? At least, she knew the hosts from work. They all spoke in thick accents, were unabashedly sweet, and stayed up all night drinking something like 15 bottles of champagne between the six of them. I think my drinks of choice were cider, gin and tonic, and pina coladas (hand mixed by the party host!). We all got quite drunk. You couldn't NOT at a party like that. But it was a very safe and laid-back atmosphere. I was offered someone's bed and slept in it, relatively undisturbed, all night (when I finally went to bed--at something like 3 am--I got a few hours of sleep before another girl came in to share the bed. The girls and guys stayed separate like that, I think it was a two- or three-bedroom place, and it was fine). I think my friend went home with someone she met in a pub next door and kissed at midnight. Later, they started dating.

Anyway, I got up in the morning and decided I wanted to go to church (I think it was a Sunday morning). I bid farewell to everyone as they continued drinking champagne and began cooking breakfast. They offered me some, but I declined. I was in a really melancholy mood for some reason. I was pretty close to church, already south of the Liffey, so I went walking through the back streets and alleys, making my way to the Lantern Centre.

It was dead still. Not a soul stirred--even the birds seemed hungover, lurching about on the sidewalks or huddling in their perches, hiding their reddened eyes from the world. There was hardly any traffic. I felt like I had the entire city to myself. All the shops were shut; most of them would be anyway, on Sunday morning, but even the ones that never closed were closed. It was very peaceful, and probably one of my favorite walks I've ever taken in that town. I reached the church very early and sat near a heater for a while, reading a book about icons. The Lantern Centre was open, unlocked, but empty. There was something wonderful about that. Something wonderful about entering this warm, inviting building, and being alone, being trusted to take care of things, to be honest, to sit and read until the others arrived.

I miss Dublin very much. I know the streets so well, either by foot or bike or bus. Remembering this small moment we shared, I feel like, maybe, well... maybe Dublin misses me, too.

Pax.

exasperatione

Today seems like the kind of day doing its best to make me cry.
I don't want December, and I don't want Christmas. I'm angry at myself for procrastinating away November and for all the mistakes I make at work. Everything is confusing these days. I don't know what I believe in and feel disingenuous for how fervently I used to believe things that I don't believe anymore. Work is more stressful than it needs to be because I actually care about doing a good job and my perfectionism here kills me.
Christmas isn't going to be "the same" this year. I want to be left alone for Christmas. I want to give presents at New Year's instead and just hide away on Christmas day and be alone. is that mean or miserly to want that? 
I'm sure I'll be over it soon enough.
Pax.

looking back: best/worst of my Irish cycle trip

So, I was writing this post in the week after my July cycle trip 'round Ireland was over, but the draft got lost and I never finished it. Now's as good a time to dust it off as ever.

If you haven't already, you can start reading from the beginning of my cycle trip, Day 1, here. Or, navigate in the sidebar over here to July 2012, and have a gander at those posts ----->

I think my cycle trip around Ireland was one of the defining moments in my so-far-still-short life. It taught me a lot of things. Self-reliance. Independence. How strangers can be genuinely friendly (but also genuinely creepy--so trust your instincts). I got to know myself in a way I hadn't yet, simply by spending so much time alone with myself. I started swearing like a sailor (cycling in traffic for many hours a day will do that to anybody). I was immersed for an entire month in what very well might be the most beautiful country on Earth. I broke free of a reliance on cars, petrol, and public transport, and was essentially homeless for almost 30 days, never knowing where I would lay my head the next night--but never being worried about it, because I had all the essentials for life (except food, which was always plentiful in each town) strapped to the back of my bicycle.

Even though I haven't really gotten on my bike for more than short trips since I've moved back to the States, I will never forget how important it is to me, how it makes me feel, how amazing it is to be pedaling into the magnificent unknown. I'm planning on doing a much longer trip across America this summer. And I plan on blogging daily for that, too!

Speaking of blogging... I also learned a lot about writing, storytelling, and self-discipline as I wrote one blog entry per day on this trip. I'm really sad at how I've let my blogging lapse since then, at how lazy I got almost immediately upon my return. But I'm really proud of the posts I did make. It maybe got a little repetitive, starting with breakfast each day etc., but I got some really great sentences and paragraphs out, some nice poetry and some nice stream-of-consciousness moment captures, so that makes me happy.

I've grown soft and complacent since returning to America, but I haven't forgotten what it means to Jam Everywhere, and I certainly don't intend to settle back and watch the rest of my life spool out behind me into oblivion while I sit on my arse and do nothing with it.

Without further ado.

----

Here is my Awards Ceremony for the various aspects of the trip itself...!

Best day's cycle: either Westport to North Mayo (most peaceful), or when I was cycling on country roads thru Co. Sligo. Runner up is cycling from Sneem thru the Black Valley to Killarney, in the brilliant sunshine.

Worst day's cycle: Tralee to Kilrush. Shite weather, hardly anything worth seeing along the way, busy gross road the whole time, cold foggy ferry ride.

Most dangerous stretch: whenever I was going downhill on day three in the lashing rain

Favourite stretch of road, if there had been no traffic on it: coastal road into Larne in Northern Ireland. Starts somewhere after Cushendall.

Favourite stretch of road, as is: Sneem to Killarney via the Black Valley. Altho' of course it would be nicer without ANY cars on it, the cars were few and far between.

Best detour: Guagan Barra national forest.

Best rest day: Probably the extra day I spent in Killarney. Rode on a horse and cart thru the National Forest there, which is pretty awesome. Hostel was super cheap but decent, and I got plenty of good sleep.

Best overnight: (see below for accommodation synopsis)

Worst overnight: wild camping in woods outside Dungloe. Was literally breathing midges.

Piece of gear I was most grateful for: Pearl Izumi droptail bib shorts. I've gone on a weekend tour using cycling tights with an elasticated waist, and bib shorts are WAY more comfortable; I'd never go without them, now. The droptail bit makes it possible to go potty without having to take off all my clothes first, which was the handiest thing ever.

Gear I never used and shouldn't have brought to begin with: extra warmth sleeping bag liner (it was too warm for it); all the extra base layers (my one merino one was fine).

Gear I never used but wouldn't have gone without: bike and puncture repair stuff, most things inside the first aid kit.

Gear I had to buy along the way which I should have brought to begin with: insect repellent; tea tree oil for first aid kit; small bottle of chain lube.

Mechanical failures along the way: had to replace rear brake pads about halfway thru. Other than that, nothing! Not even a single puncture!

Worst injury: pouring boiling water all over my ankle outside Doolin on accident D:  . Funnily enough, I never fell off the bike or had an accident while cycling.

Accommodation Review!

best hostel: Kilcommon Lodge, North Mayo. 16 euro. Clearly the cleanest, friendliest, best run, best value-for-money hostel of all of them.

cheapest hostel: Paddy's Palace, Killarney. 8 euro.

most expensive hostel: Old Convent Hostel in Castletownbere at 19 euro, except I only paid 15 euro; otherwise, Old Mill Hostel in Westport at 18 euro for a mixed room. Old Convent is better value tho', because the rooms are only two person rooms and you get it to yourself if it's not full up.

best B&B: Rivervale Lodge, Mallow. Was cleanest, best rooms, AND had an awesome giant bathtub downstairs that I could use to soak my tired muscles! Turned out to be the only bathtub I came across during the entire trip. Sorely needed (pun intended), as I came across this place on day two.

friendliest B&B owners: tie between Sea Villa on the Ring of Beara, and Croninn's in Ballingeary.

And that's all I've got for now!

weird things brains do

Do you ever have really strange thought processes that come out of nowhere?

Like, putting on deodorant in the morning. My deodorant is on my dresser, next to a spray can of chain lube for my bicycle.

Hmm, I wonder if I could use that when I ran out of deodorant.

...No, that would be stupid because it would stain my shirts and get them all greasy.

...Also it's not... deodorant. And doesn't have any deodorising properties whatsoever.

...WTF BRAIN

Also, I'll be walking around or whatever and there will just be a thought that pops into my head, like, FRANKLY--DINOSAURS. or THREE THOUSAND MILES GIVE OR TAKE. which come from absolutely nowhere, aren't quotes from anything, don't relate to anything I'm doing or looking at... they just show up briefly as audio-thoughts and fade out after a while.

Or I'll just have snippets of cliche cinematic sentences run around in my head sometimes, like, I know what you really are, or What... What am I doing here? Usually accompanied by SUBTLE YET DRAMATIC FACIAL EXPRESSION TO NO ONE because I guess my face gets bored sometimes. The sentences aren't movie quotes either. They just seem like lines that would sound good in a voiceover or the climax of a scene.

It's mostly my aural thoughts that have these weird hiccups. Words out of nowhere, sentences that aren't related to anything. Internal conversations with a crazy person who sees chain grease and thinks, ARMPITS.

Please tell me I'm not alone in this.

pax.

2nd UK trip, day one

With this dawn comes responsibility. Pre-booked tickets and interconnected plans, a fabric of preconceived direction unlike anything my past self has ever really given me before. The morning air is already bright with warmth. I cycle alongside vans and articulated trucks to the Dublin port, entering the industry-heavy realm of twisted coloured metal, stacks of aging shipping crates, petrol fumes. I am boarded onto the lower deck of the ferry with all the HGVs. There is a three-bicycle rack there by the gangway, where BK will wait patiently for me to return to her, bracing herself by one wheel against the rolling of the sea. I say goodbye and make my way upstairs.

The sea is smooth and clean as silver. I stare out over it, this ethereal reflection of the air. Three hours of sleep is hardly enough to keep me going past this point. Food first, then rest, curled up in a booth with my bag between my legs like some kind of canvas egg. I awaken when we approach the other shore. The water glitters violently as we forge ahead to dock, and I disembark after the biggest truck, a guppy swept up in the slipstream of a shark.

Two trains follow close after one another and I hardly register either one. Marshmallows and peanut butter and a ribbon of land unspooling rapidly behind. Ill-behaved children and ill-tempered parents. Fits of sleep stolen before muscles relax into the rattling panes.

--

Every city has its own unique character. It is etched into the street signs, spattered in graffiti, lurking in each grubby corner. To be understood it must be seen, smelled--felt, boiling off the concrete in the sweltering heat of a midsummer's day. Manchester is its own self. A wizened old man, hunching over his meagre river with a shifty smile.

reflections off the road: back into bad habits

Well, here I am back in Dublin, and slipping immediately back into all the bad habits I thought I put behind me when I set off on my grand cycle. Watching youtube videos all day, after being youtube-free for almost 30 days. Sitting around refreshing pages over and over waiting for updates. Getting hardly anything done. I'll run an errand or two, then sit down at the computer for hours. Wash a few dishes, put a few things away, then sit down again.

I really need to start having dedicated Internet-Free Days. I think I will start with one day a week: Friday. Every Friday I will do no internet except email on my phone, and research if necessary. I will try to do more creative things. I will restart my non-cycling workout routine. I will start a new comics project. I will sketch or write in my journals more often. I will make a blog entry twice a week and a youtube video once every other week.

I'm putting these goals in public now so you guys can get on my case if I don't follow thru. If you see me on the internet on Friday, say, GET OFF THE 'NET, WOMAN. If I don't post a blog entry once every three or four days you can email me, WHAT ARE YOU DOING. WRITE STUFF.

--

Tomorrow morning I'm getting up at the crack of dawn to take a ferry, with my bicycle, to the UK. I'll disembark in Wales at Holyhead and then take a series of trains to Manchester. I will kill zombies again at an abandoned manor house out there, go visit Holmfirth and take pictures/video for my grandmamma (it seems to be the #1 place she would visit were she to come to the UK), then take a train to York and cycle up to see an abbey that my mother absolutely adored when she was here. Then I'm going to Cardiff to do the Doctor Who Experience that just opened down there, and will probably return home after that, altho' I haven't bought my return ticket yet just in case I would like to stay a bit longer. The trip will only be 7 or 8 days total, and I'll come back just in time to prepare for my sister to come visit me on the 21st - 29th!!

I will write blog posts from the road possibly, but may not post them until a few days later. I have some "reflections off the road" blog posts that are only half finished right now that I've been procrastinating on... haha, good going, me. I had a wonderful 27-day streak of being more creative and I went and blew it on the internet once I got back to my flat. I was gone so long I forgot that my carpet was red and was literally surprised by it when I returned home. Now it's been days since I've properly left this tiny little room.

My time abroad is rapidly coming to a close. It's up to me to make the most of it from now on.

Pax.

cold turkey

I am having insomnia right now, so I just bought my train tickets for the beginning of my cycling journey. I will board the 7:20 train from Dublin Heuston station for Waterford, and change trains there for Carrick-on-Suir, where I will begin my cycle. While the first day of cycling from Dublin to Glendalough is supposed to be fantastic, the journey from Glendalough all the way to Carrick-on-Suir is reportedly pretty boring, so I've decided to cut the first 4 days of the 35 day tour and get started just past Waterford. I'll arrive around noon.

My plan is then to follow roughly the route laid out in the Irish Cycling Guide grand tour, penned by Brendan Walsh in 1991--it came highly recommended by Irish cyclists; here's hoping its not hopelessly outdated!

I will skip the Dingle peninsula, shaving 3 further days off the trip, and Achill island (I've already been, and camped, there!), saving another day. Hopefully I can have a rest day once a week from doing this in order to keep from injuring my weakened knees. I also have physio tape, a bike fitted to me, and will be forgoing my typical clipless pedals in favour of regular shoes that won't lock the knee in place and cause strain if even slightly maladjusted. (I will take plenty of time to find clipless pedals that work for me before cycling across America in 2013, however, as I prefer using them.)

According to the bike fit guy I saw today, who also fits people for custom orthotics, my knee problems are caused by walking, not cycling. I think he's right; my knees only HURT after a 10 day vacation from the bike that involved a lot of walking. Before, it was only strain from overuse. Unfortunately, this means that I will require more physio, and custom insoles for my shoes in the meantime, when I return to the U.S. (as I won't have time for that between now and then... arrrrgh).

Anyway, I'll cycle clockwise around Ireland and then go up thru Donegal and into Northern Ireland. I hope to make it as far as Belfast, then take it easy there for a day or two and take a train home from there.

I may not be able to keep up with an average of 40 miles a day--I may not make it as far as Belfast, or I may feel the need to take shortcuts via train or bus along the way. I'll listen to my body, and my knees, but will not let my weaknesses prevent me from dreaming big and living large.

And my biggest weakness right now? Internet addiction.

Recently I've been consistently staying up till 2 or 3 am faffing about on the internet, usually watching youtube videos or compulsively checking facebook and forums. While there are cool, inspiring people on youtube (if it weren't for wheezywaiter and the vlogbrothers I wouldn't be making videos or blogging nearly as often, for example)--I usually run out of cool people to watch really quickly and degenerate into watching random clips from the "recommended videos" sidebar, jumping from clip to clip looking for my next fix. I'm such a junkie it's giving me headaches, blurred vision--I haven't cleaned my kitchen in ages, I've stopped doing my pushups/situps routine, and my sleep schedule has imploded.

I intend to quit the internet cold turkey on this trip, except for email and blogging.

I might get on facebook once or twice a week, but if it starts to be a daily thing I'll uninstall the app or give it up completely.

Having email on my phone means you can, theoretically, reach me on the road if you would like, either by leaving a comment on my blog posts or emailing me directly (jameverywhere at gmail).

I will be able to post short blog entries via phone as well, and intend to do so every-other-daily at the least.

I think nervousness for the fact that I'm leaving on Monday is part of my insomnia. The lazy me wants to put it off, but I just paid for my tickets, so I can't. I'm in it to win it now.

The sun is rising outside. I'm going to try to sleep again.

Peace.

purchasing pain

I think camping and athletics are fascinating. Essentially, human beings participating in activities that hurt them, and paying for the privilege. I just came back from the sporting goods store. I spent over 300 euro there, getting the last bits and bobs for my trip I want to take in a few days (altho 100 of that was provided as a gift from my workplace--thanks so much you guys!!).

(Also, 150 euro of that was an investment in a new goretex rain jacket, since the cheap knockoff I originally bought ceased being waterproof about, oh, three months after I bought it. This is not cycling- or camping-specific gear; it's just for rain.)

Anyway, discussions of my rapidly dwindling funds aside, I think it's funny that I'm paying so much (don't forget the hundreds of euro of gear I've already bought, and my expensive bike to boot) for the chance to live for 30 days deprived of all but the most basic necessities of life--food, water, and the most minimal of shelter. And a bicycle. I include a bicycle as a necessity of life for me.

That's what I want to do. Thirty to thirty-five days of cycling the Irish countryside, camping as much as possible. I intend to leave on Monday. I need this, because over the course of my recent gluten-induced sickness I have increased my dependency on the internet to a fully-fledged addiction, which is lowering my quality of life. I spend countless hours sitting on my ass checking about four different sites for updates constantly. I stop doing useful things in the middle to take an internet break. Like a rat in one of Skinner's cages, I've learned that by pressing the lever constantly, I receive intermittent rewards. Obviously the best choice is to press the lever constantly till something happens (?!)

The sites I can't tear myself away from are mostly facebook (obviously), youtube, google reader (where I read all the blogs I follow), and gmail.

And when I run out of things to do online I go crazy and start manufacturing things to do (or playing offline computer games) so that I don't have to, say, get up, or go to bed, or clean my damn flat for once seriously this is gross what is your problem.

I want to give these things up but I find that I can't until I lose access, such as when I went to the UK. Internet costing 1 to 2 pounds an hour in internet cafes, I was forced to use my internet time for more productive things, such as researching things I wanted to do, securing tickets to plays, or actually communicating with people... allowing my last 15 minutes or whatever for entertainment.

I just realised that "internet costing 1 to 2 pounds an hour in internet cafes" is a really strange modifier and is probably in violation of some grammatical rule or other. eww.

At any rate, my knees take to the bike much more than to walking, so I'm doin' this thang. I will be able to check facebook and email on my phone, as networks are available, but will try to keep that to a minimum. Mostly I just want to update my blog daily or every-other-daily with a sentence or two about my progress and experiences. I want to EARN any internet I use by cycling like a maniac. Getting physically fit. Seeing more of this lovely country I have come to live in for a little while.

And when my thighs burn and back aches and knees complain and so on etc, it reminds me that I'm human, that life is good, that I'm still alive and fighting.

In a few days, once I've packed, I'll post a list of kit I've decided to include. This will be a runner-up to cycling across America in 2013. Hopefully I will learn a lot.

pax.

i'm too zen for this

in which Jam explains why vacations make her anxious.

seriously. for a nomad, the idea of spending two weeks in a foreign country makes me all kinds of nervous.

it's not the "foreign country" part that gets me, though. it's the "two weeks" part.

what I like to do is live somewhere different. have some time to settle in. I hate feeling rushed, y'know? and while I like to make plans, making tons of plans to stick into a short span of time is too much for me. so, I loved moving to Ireland for 12 months, and later on I'm gonna try to do the same in New Zealand. but when I'm visiting places, I prefer to go with people (say, mama and daddy for example) who know what they want to do, when they want to do it, and I can just follow along.

tomorrow I leave for the UK with some friends. I'll be with them till the 11th, when they'll go home and I'll venture forward into London on my own. I have absolutely nothing planned except one event on the 15th, and an early flight out of Glasgow on the 21st. Everything between now and then is completely up in the air. . .

so, this is what I'm going to do. I'm bringing a backpack full of clothes, my wallet, and my camera. I'll buy a map or something once I alight, and each morning when I get up, I'll decide what I want to do that day or the next day. I'm gonna be as low maintenance as possible, and take each day as it comes. if I hardly get to do anything cool, or if I accidentally end up missing something I wanted to do, I can plan a proper trip later, in August.

i like to move slowly. i'm much more of a backpacking/camping kinda person than a busy city girl. large crowds of people make me feel strange and out of place. like a fish flopping about in the bottom of a boat.

i don't get back to Ireland until the 21st, so you may not hear from me until then, although i will probably find and get on the internet periodically to research things i want to do or how to get to places i want to go. when i get back, all my energy will go into planning for my cycle tour and making it a reality.

right now i'm just barely getting over my headcold, and walking outside, it's like everything is covered in a layer of molten glass, turned slightly sideways and pushed out farther from me than it used to be. i don't think i'm even mentally capable of making plans at the moment. i'm not even capable of capitalisation any more apparently.

peace out and i'll see y'all on the flipside.

spring cleaning

Today is the sort of day when Mama used to open all of our windows and doors, letting fresh, sun-soaked air filter through the house. Birdsong echoed in the corridors; the sounds of cars, neighbours, children playing, settled in the rooms. Then she'd break out the vacuum, the mops, the dusters, the toilet bowl cleaners, some music and an apron, and get to work.

She'd put us to work too, of course. She'd write up a list of chores what needed to get done and my sister and I would divide the list in half according to type of chore and get going. I hated dusting the most. I'm not sure what Jenn always tried to avoid.

The only reason my flat is in a halfway-presentable state right now is because my friend Aisling is coming over for the weekend. Otherwise, I'd still be living in a pretty terrible mess--the carpet covered in little bits of crumbs and other detritus, every available surface covered in clothing or clutter, the bathroom layered in soap scum and spiderwebs. The kitchen... haha. Pretty much the only time I wash dishes nowadays is when I need to use one that is already dirty. Luckily, all the dishes I own fit in the sink with room to spare, so it doesn't get TOO gross. You can only make so much of a mess with three bowls, six spoons, two pots, one pan...

Mama might not believe this, but when I was in university I was actually a pretty clean person. When I had a kitchen, I cleaned it either every day or every other day, and was extremely intolerant of dishes festering in or near the sink. I'd tidy my clutter fairly often, and even wash my bedsheets and pillowcases from time to time. I'd even clean up after my roommates or apartment mates if they didn't clean up after themselves.

Nowadays, I don't clean jack. I keep things hygienic (no mould, mice, or bugs plz), but that's about it. I think that when I was in school, cleaning was a type of procrastination for me. It was much easier to potter around in my room organising my piles of clutter than it was to sit down and read a boring textbook or start writing an essay or something. And washing dishes is something that I tend to do a lot when I'm depressed or otherwise lacking in mental energy... something mindless that doesn't tax the brain but at the same time is productive and necessary.

I'd like to say that my excuse for not cleaning often is because I'm so busy doing awesome things and hardly spend any time in this flat. I am working full time and go out on the bike a lot, but I spend most of time here, on my computer, watching youtube or whatever. Sitting in my mess.

Ah, well. I've got the window open and I can hear the birds and it smells like spring. Summer, even. Too bad the minute I open my window my room fills with directionally-challenged flies.


pax.

letting inspiration die

I've been doing a lot of that lately.

One of my biggest vices is definitely sloth. I used to be rather sickly, with constant headaches, unexplained fatigue, and really crappy sleep--so being lazy was a survival instinct. Now that I have more energy than ever before, I so easily and quickly sap it away by watching youtube constantly or reading blogs and comics or otherwise consuming other people's creativity while sitting on my ass doing nothing myself. And the laziness, which was a learned behaviour, continues.

One thing I am doing more of, which is good, is exercise. I'm out on the bike for long spins two or three times a week, and do a mini workout two or three times a week targeting the arms and back along with the physiotherapy exercises for my knees. My pushup count is slowly but steadily improving, and I am piling the miles up behind my new bike--easily throwing down thirty kilometres in less than two hours and still feeling up for more afterwards. My charity cycle is this Saturday and I've decided that I'll cycle to and from the event, as well, turning the 70 km loop into a 100 km journey total (15 km each way to get to Dunboyne and back). I have exercise goals and while it took a really long time for me to actually exercise on a consistent, regular basis, I'm almost there.

That's not enough for me, however. I keep sitting around watching and reading about the cool things other people are doing and then getting super inspired--ready to write something of my own, or draw something or at least make a blog post about my travelling in Ireland--but then... I don't. I just keep reading what these cool people write or watching what they make. Feeling jealous and wishing I was as awesome as they are.

I read Wil Wheaton's blog and follow him on tumblr. He's always talking about people getting excited and making things. I need to get excited and make things, too!

I also watch Wheezy Waiter on youtube. Not only is he a hilarious dude, with these inexplicably gorgeous brown eyes, but he makes videos like three times a week--and is pretty inspiring, really. For example, one day he decided he wanted to be able to do a handstand, so he started doing handstands against a wall every day, working toward his goal of doing a proper one. He also just MAKES stuff and DOES stuff and puts it out there.

I also fell in love with Platoon of Power Squadron by Pineappleboy Films. There's only five episodes out, but they get better and better from the first one and it's just someone's project that he went out and did.

These people are all, like, my age, roughly. Well, Wil Wheaton's like halfway between me and my parents, and Wheezy Waiter's got like eight years on me (...what is it with me and these W. W. dudes? I don't even know), but still. I know I'm in Ireland and all that but I'm hardly writing anything. I've taken shittons of pictures and have barely put any up anywhere.

I want an audience. But I don't have anything to give to an audience.

So here, I'm going to make some creative goals right now.

- At least one blog post every two weeks. Once a month, it must include pictures and be about travelling somewhere or doing something cool.

- Thirty minutes of writing a day. Or, at the very least, staring at a blank page/computer screen with the blinkety text cursor on it. Doesn't matter if it's a new project, old project, poem, or blog post. But thirty minutes of it.

- One bike ride out somewhere new per week, with camera or videocamera in tow.

- Stop being afraid of sounding dumb or long-winded and just WRITE. You can edit it later. Or not. But you can't edit nothing.


We'll see how well I do with this bare minimum of stuff. I have a LOT of projects on the back burner right now. That's okay since I'm in Ireland and all, but I should at least make documenting my travels a priority.

One thing I did do is buy a small video camera that's on its way in the mail now. Probably because I've been watching all these cool youtubers do their thing... I don't know jack about filming or editing things, but I thought I might be more likely to create video travelogues rather than text 'n' pictures ones. At any rate, it's one of those small, indestructible sports kinds that attach to bikes 'n' helmets 'n' stuff. I realised after cycling from Westport to Achill that when you're going at a good 25kph clip on the bike, you don't really want to stop and get out of your groove to take pictures... so if I could just press a button and start filming the scenery from the bike, it might be more convenient. idk. Also, can become a skiing cam when I get back to Colorado :D

So yeah, if I can't hack it as a vlogger or a blogger, then, whatever. You have to try and just put stuff out there. So that's what I want to do from now on.

Peace.

BABY HORSES

Here are some pictures of baby horses for my mother. (I have more, but these are the best.)

The pictures were taken on a lovely spring day at the National Stud in Kildare, Ireland.

 

[picture depicting a light-brown foal nursing from her dark-brown mother]

[ picture depicting a gangly grey foal chomping on some grass while his mother keeps a close eye on him nearby]

 

[closeup of the knobby-kneed light brown foal focused on something out of frame on the left, ears perked up in attention while her mother feeds in the background]

pax.

arrrrrgh

I think that my internet addiction is killing my ability to write. I spend too much time checking facebook, google reader, and various forums for updates. I find myself losing interest halfway thru articles I'm reading or anything particularly long. My attention span is shrinking. Most of the stuff on Google Reader is from people posting on tumblr.

I need to start writing again. I've had several adventures I meant to post about ages ago but, well, never did.

I'm losing interest in this blog post and am about to delete it and start over. HELP I HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN OF A DRAGONFLY

photography

I'm not a very good photographer. My pictures are often blurry, taken at awkward angles, or generally snapped at inopportune moments. I haven't gotten the hang of proper focus or zoom, and my equipment is pretty basic.

But I really like taking pictures like this:

[picture showing an old outdoor toilet, overgrown with ivy and thickets and obviously unused for decades, with a cute green door decorated with three little hearts]



...don't ask me why.


pax.