Break on Through

"I hope you find what you're looking for." Well, I found it.

  This entire trip, from day 2, I've felt awful, sick, poisoned with unhappiness. I've spent the last two months struggling to understand why I am unsatisfied with my life, adrift in doubt. I've never been so angry with myself (how ungrateful and unappreciative can you get, right?) I've had dozens of conversations about happiness and the quest for The Dream Life and no one seems to think how I feel is unusual. It's a long story and I'll share it with you someday.

  But here's the Breakthrough, hot of the grill:
I will no longer measure the value of anything by how happy it makes me. It leads to every sin and it is the rot I feel spreading inside me. Like measuring the quality of a meal by it's volume, I've been doing this all wrong. I've now faced the void of my gluttonous "unhappiness" and it needs to be sealed, not filled. For the first time in years I know the path I must walk. And knowing is half the battle.

Photo Drop: Denver to Jackson

Two young men in the Denver suburbs were very curious about my bike

Intimidating weather on the edge of Denver

Displaced wildlife on the streets of Boulder

Blueberry waffle love in Fort Collins

Brewing equipment at New Belgium

Hop on for a tour of New Belgium Brewing

Big plans

My accommodations in FoCo

The view from the cockpit

Our hero surveys the road ahead

The bike in front of a sign with the Tetons on it

What's cuter than a three-legged puppy?

Fully equipped

Climbing at the Beehive Buttress above Laramie

Enjoying a libation after a hard day of dirt-bagging

On the way to Saratoga

The Mayor of Longmont and co. celebrate the Forth with a picnic

Dinnertime!

Breakfast!

The approach to the Great Divide Basin

Camping illegally on the edge of ranchland

Oaklandish

PB&J, chocolate milk, and etymology FTW!

Strange-looking flowers at Wild Iris...

The Jackson crew at the 5.10 Wall at Wild Iris

The dizzying view from the top

Someone show this to Charlie!

The bike in front the actual Tetons

Flax seed pancakes and elk sausage in Jackson

Clif Shots and Ke$ha

A potent combination to be sure. It's like that scene is Down Periscope (a film I'm sure you haven't seen but really really should if you like 90's era 80's-throwback screwball comedies) where the grizzled old engine mechanic pores a bottle of whiskey into the fuel tank of a diesel submarine to get an extra kick of speed. The point being, use sparingly but to dramatic effect.
Wyoming is a weird-ass place to ride a bicycle. Well, let me be fair. The Great Divide Basin (the Bermuda Triangle of the Rockies) is a weird-ass place to ride a road bike in a straight line. The land is so empty, but not exactly flat- in fact it's filled with bluffs and ravines and buttes and brush fields- and the road snakes over and around big rolling hills that obstruct the view of the approaching terrain. The quality of the light and the clouds change so much throughout the day. This makes it extremely difficult to tell if I'm going uphill or down. I swear I was going 22 mph uphill on one stretch and mashing on my bottom gear to keep moving downhill on the next. Psychologically, it's very disturbing, like when you're screwing with electrical wires and you KNOW the power is off, but you still get shocked so you're sitting there fighting every instinct to notfuckingtouchthatwireagain , but you KNOW the power is off so maybe you should try again. Sometimes I understand why the cat gives me that look of pitying superiority.
And the Wind. O Jesus, the Wind. A tailwind can give me a significant boost in speed and energy conservation, but a headwind can cut my speed in half. Half is a lot when you're expecting to have gotten to Berkeley from Davis and you're still in Fairfield. If I ever get into drawing comic books, I'll create a supervillain with the power of Inertia. The Inertiaddow will be a lurking supernatural predator that invisably freezes things and wreaks mayhem. It'll be super educational with Captain Gravity, Professor Centrifugal, and the League of Forces fighting in the name of perpetual motion. Then Entropy comes in and fucks everything up. What a dick.

Jesus, ANYWAY,
It's hard to bike against the wind. Yes? OK, moving on. In the middle of nowhere, I pass a bike tourist going in the opposite direction. He is 23 years old, lives in Oakland, and has biked 2,000 miles from Portland with $100 worth of gear strapped to a 30-year-old bike. One set of clothes, no paniers, less than half the volume of my cargo. His handlebars don't have tape. It takes me an hour to stop feeling embarrassed about my rig and realize that some people, like animals, have an extremely high tollerance for discomfort.
After pedaling for 60 miles, having done 70 the day before and 90 the day before that, I hit my first emotional breakdown. Six hours of direct sunlight, in 95 degree heat, at 6,500 ft, charging into a strong headwind after two long days and barely enough water has left me a little fragile. It's time. I slurp the syrupy caffienated Clif Shot, find the playlist I made for the winter climbing comp, and strip down to just my chamy (Chamois. Padded bike shorts?- we've been over this: turn on the Tour and listen to Phil Ligget talk about sweaty Frenchmen. You'll love it.) With Ke$ha blasting in my ear about poor life choices, I crush out the last 15 miles to Lander. If I have a limit, I still haven't found it.

Up, Over, and Through

I was ready to be bored and alienated in Laramie. I couldn't have been more pleasantly surprised. Like bracing yourself for Mos Eisley and getting picked up in a T-16 to go blast womp rats. I met my host, Evan, downtown and we biked together up the hill to his house. Evan is employed by the university there and lives with his wife and three bassett hounds* in a beautiful home on the edge of town. He's very involved with the bike community and personally organized a public cycling event in the city park on the 4th of July. He drives an Outback with a bumper sticker proclaiming the local bike shop's slogan: "We still hang bike thieves in Wyoming". He also seems to really love hosting bike tourists. I'm one of many, many guests in his home as evidenced by the well used guestbook on the nightstand.
I doubt I will meet a more generous host on any trip ever. He fed me tons of tasty food, insisting I take the biggest portions. One of the dogs got into a bag with some of my snack food AFTER HE WARNED ME not to leave food where the dogs could get it and he still replaced it. He took me climbing with his coworkers on my rest day and set me up with a place to stay in Lander. His house has a generous basement and I had a guest room and bathroom to myself. It was freakin' sweet. Also, the food co-op there is amazing. I've never seen such a concentration of tasty food.
I spent the next day summiting Snowy Mountain (still snowy, probably from last year because God knows it snowed enough then and not nearly enough this past winter) and relishing the descent into Saratoga. I met a group of six cyclists from a small town between Boulder and Fort Collins on a four day, 350 mile loop around northern Colorado and southern Wyoming. The group included the mayor of Longmont and a woman driving a SAG wagon (Support And Gear (come on people, it's Tour d' France season- get with it!)). They passed me just as they were pulling over for lunch and I got invited to join their picnic: a red and white checkered affair alongside a babbling stream. Delightful. I stopped in Saratoga after 60 miles of riding and took a nap in the town square. When I came to, I noticed a strong tailwind and decided to continue on. I pedaled another 30 miles and made camp at a rest stop beside highway 80. I bathed in a nearby river and passed out on the southern boarder of Nowhere, WY.

_{*So the Basset hounds were pretty ridiculous. I guess I haven't spent much time around that breed, but they look super weird- like awkward oversized dachshunds. That there were three of them at once was especially odd; my brain couldn't handle the repeated image the way it can with common things like pens or chairs.}

Beer Preasure

On the second of three nights in Boulder, I had dreams of chasing and being chased. I awoke with the sense that it was the perfect day to pedal to Fort Collins. So I gathered my maps, made a huge pile of pancakes, and snuck out a day early. In just two days of riding I've rolled through gravel, dirt, grass, rain, and mud. I'm glad I kept the beefy tires and slapped on some fenders. My gear would be dirrrrty!
The approach to Fort Collins required navigating the suburban sprawl of gated communities and golf courses that has crept ever southward since "FoCo"- I'm not kidding, they actually call it that- has been consistently ranked one of the best towns to live in, apparently by some creepy conservative publication. I had anticipated something like South Davis, but South Fort Collins is it's own community of 50,000 people. I had to bike 12 miles to get to Old Town!
For those of you keeping track at home, the ride to Boulder was 40 miles, to Fort Collins was 50, and to scenic Laramie at the foot of whose antiquated and prestigious university I am now collapsed was 65. More on pace data later.
I really loved Fort Collins. I'm already excited to go back. The people are super friendly, the bike shops are super cool, and the bars are super nice. In general, I don't enjoy going out to drink; too expensive, too noisy, too many assholes. I sat at five bars in three days and had a blast at all of them. Good, cheap beer and good, stimulating conversation. Cute girls, hip parents, the works. There are two really cool, open bike shops that have approachable mechanics. One of them is part of a bar/ coffeehouse where you can ride your bike onto the sidewalk, into the open garage door, past the bar, and back into the shop. Hipster heaven, except I didn't see any hipsters! You can see why I'm excited.
For the first two nights I stayed with an awesome family I found on Warmshowers.com, a couchsurfing site for bike tourists. Such nice people! The mother, Julie, (who I cannot describe better than her friend at the food co-op:) "a delicious snack of a lady", was incredibly kind and gave me list of places to go and people to meet and she made smoothies from local fruit and yogurt and she told me all about the tour she had done a few years ago. Her husband, Bob, graduated from Cal and seems to be something of bike nerd/woodsman/distracted parent. I found a full clip of bullets between the fair trade brown sugar and rainbow sprinkles- and I've played enough Goldeneye to know they were for something much larger than a handgun.
I slept in a camping trailer in the backyard. I hope I never own a car, but if I do, it'll be a Tacoma with a camper in the back. I've seen too many dirtbag rigs in the Valley to think I'd want a Westfalia. Anyway, this camper was so cute and the screen windows let the breeze in and the sunrise woke me up each morning and the backyard was so beautiful with it's veg garden and chicken coop. Wow. Blueberry waffles for breakfast and a slow ride along the very elaborate bike path network to downtown. The bike paths follow the numerous creeks that wind West to East, going through tunnels under major streets. Julie was quick to point out that the surface streets are faster, but Bob only wanted to know which sections I hadn't had a chance to explore yet.
Maybe it's Bozeman this Winter then FC in the spring and through to the fall. We shall see.

Supplemental: The Tablet

Before I get started I just want to share with you that I don't know how to spell "supplemental", my spellchecker does. All I can think when I look at that word is, if I ever start an acid jazz punk band, it will be called Supple Pup and the Mental Kittens. God, did Patrick Stewart struggle with this? Ugh. ANYWAY,
I love my tablet sooo much. At the moment, it's a little limiting for posts. Take a look at my older posts from last year and you'll see the difference in formatting, but I want to talk about travel utility. Every morning at breakfast I load my itinerary into the Google Maps app. The bicycle directions feature highlights the most scenic and pleasant route, which is rarely the most direct. Major streets are always faster and so obvious on the map as to be self evident. I can optimize the route on the fly and refer back to the map throughout the day. The initial route is saved by archiving screen shots of each section. If I get too far off, there is usually wifi near most major intersections. Some of you have been riding with GPS for some time, so this may seen a little stale. I think this system is more pure. Once I'm out the door, the images I'm using are static. I still get to squint at the tiny writing and spin the thing around trying to get oriented. It feels like fumbling with a very thick, glowing map.
I also use it to read during downtime. I just finished the Hunger Games and am already hooked on Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson, the author of my absolute favorite book Snowcrash. Reading with this thing is great if only because you don't need to hold it open while you eat. It also lets me network with people I meet or stay with along the way. There might not be much more to say about it, but this thing is my companion, my onboard navigation computer, my little chunk of the future keeping me company out on the road. The inside flap of the case is accumulating the handwritten notes I've been making about routes and phone numbers, so the whole package is begining to resemble a travel log.
For anyone curious about the tablet itself, it is a basic Nook Color booting off a micro SD card with Cyanogen Mod 7 to make it behave as an Android tablet. This doesn't void any warrenties as it's fully reversible and requires no hardware manipulation.

Urbane Adventure

Riding out of Denver towards Boulder in 94 degree heat was what I imagine it must be like to do Bikram yoga in a steelmill. Fumes and noise and the constant threat of being runover by someone in an improbably large truck. Navigation was a headache with so many turns and streets and cars. So many cars! I'm reminded of a standup bit about noticing two logging trucks pass eachother on the highway. "If they need logs over here and they need logs over there, one phone call could save these people a lot of trouble!" Apparently landscaping is a big deal out here; I've never seen so many weedwhackers in one day.
Boulder itself is a pleasant blend of weedwhackers and, well, weed. There is clearly a lot of money in this town, but the kids on "The Hill"- the local name for the student ghetto- keep things real for everybody. The downtown pedestrian mall reminds me of Burlington quite a bit, but the Colorado spirit of dangerous outdoor hobbies is pervasive. I would love to live here as a teenager or financially solvent 30-something, but alas there is no relief from a quarter-life crisis to be found here. I visited a friend from Crested Butte who teaches kids mountain biking at a terrain park on the edge of town. The afternoon thunderstorm rolled in and I took cover with the grounds staff in a garage. I joined them in a wordplay game to pass the time and ended up with a couch to stay on for the night. This seat-pant-flying thing seems to be working alright.
The riding has been easy, with no mechanical issues to speak of. My knees are holding up, but each time I rip out of my clipless pedals I wonder if that will be the last time. The air is hot and thin and I can't drink enough water. Maybe it's all the beer.

Hurry up and wait

I am clean. For the next 11 weeks, I have no more material possessions than I can carry in my arms. I am free of an unhealthy addiction to the internet, free of drawers full of clothes I never wear, and free of a bedroom to hide in. The bike may have taken months of steady prep, but the clense happened all at once.
For the sake of tradition I stayed up all night packing and watched the last local sunrise of the season. Suzanna made me breakfast as I made the final arrangements to leave my computer behind. My God, am I attatched to that chunk of plastic! I could feel my hair standing on end at the anticipation of losing my library of music and bookmarked websites and ultimate source of instant gratification. It was like breaking up with a crazy artist: all that creativity and passion we shared that felt so enriching at the time now seems so exhausting and empty. To step inside her world is intoxicating, but to step out is deeply liberating. Moral of the story is don't stick your dick in Reddit.
It's not just technology that suffocates me when I'm sedentary. The rythm of consistency is so insular. (Are you with me here? Rythm arrises from a beat, but there can be a constant beat that is not musical, yet we make it musical anyway. It's human nature to identify with our experience.) It's very easy for me to lose perspective and take little things waaay too seriously. On the road, without the resources to fight these battles, I become ultra fluid. I flow around obstacles like water and wash them clean as I go.
I arrived at the train station an hour early to pack my bike in a box and check my bags. After I was done, I learned that the train was running two hours late. So there I was, still in Davis, but with only my wallet and toothbrush. Those two hours were unlike any I've spent in Davis in years. So odd to start a 3000 mile bike trip with a 2 mile walk around town.

Is this thing on?

Annnnd... we're back! Coming to you live from my new Nook tablet. I don't quite have the hang of typing on this tiny keyboard, but Android is also the first operating system I've had to learn in, like, 15 years. This should help keep things short and sweet for now.
As you all know, the big trip is coming up. This is the place to find my updates, pictures, diatribes, and cathartic ranting. Nothing interesting to say yet, but stay tuned!

Photogoblog

"Every camera, every phone, all the music that you own/ 

won't change the fact you're all alone!"

- from Sick of You, by Cake

I took a whirlwind trip down to Santa Cruz and biked around for a bit. I took pictures of stuff:

(For your listening pleasure while you browse)

The background is the west side of the Barbie Dream House Co-Op

I really love the pattern of the grease stains on my tape.

That's it for now while I revert to couch surfing. I'm trying to get back to where I was last May. 

Can You Find the Hypocrisy?

"There's a pre-meeting meeting after the meeting."

- Chris, clarifying the schedule of house, Board, and community meetings

Biking back from Winters, 12 miles outside of Davis

Working at Peet's Coffee involves a lot of trouble shooting when it comes to customers' needs. I have to translate what they want into what we can do. Most of the time this is straightforward and only a matter of negotiation  Yesterday, however, I had three people come in with some real brain teasers. First, a man asked for a plain cup of iced coffee with sweetener. Alright, dude, you can't have both plain and sweetened coffee and even if you could, I don't know what you mean by "sweetener", since we have literally 13 kinds of sugar and syrup.
Another customer asked for an empty cup of ice. I actually hesitated before scooping the ice, afraid I was doing something... stupid. Finally, a woman came in an asked if we put water in our iced tea. Well you see, Miss, we— by which I mean the entire world— actually use water twice: once when we BREW THE TEA and then once more when we PUT ICE IN IT. Since you seem to struggle with the concept of  tea, perhaps I should also explain the difference between ice and water.

I am way too excited about Premium Rush!

The social implications of this are, of course, huge. If being a fixie bike messenger is cool enough to be the subject of $100+ million blockbuster, then it's undeniably too mainstream. What will you hipsters do now? Bwahahaha!

Last week, midway through one the most jubilant and rejuvenatingly playful days of my life, I received a text message from my brother:

"Do you ever feel like this is the most enriched and free you'll ever be in your life?" 

I've arriving at a realization that I'm at this crucial nexus in my life where I've very recently experienced the peak of my youth, but with every passing day I grow more appreciative of what I have left. If youth is wasted on the young, when does youth end and hindsight begin? Now that school is in, I'm surrounded by truly young people just beginning to step into adulthood. I recently overheard someone defending the Freshmen, saying that the forest needs the saplings. (To cross metaphors) when I was 19 I missed that forest for the trees. I felt lost and helpless— disconnected from the community. Now I can see that I was the forest. I still am, but my role is evolving. We need the saplings and they need us.
Is this the most enriched I'll ever be? Ultimately, yes, but the less I have to get from my community, the more I have to give.

Truth in Advertising

"(There is) a good dose of prejudice based on your age and status as an itinerant uninstitutionalized heart-throb."
- a concern raised while discussing whether or not I am "boyfriend material"

Sandwiches from the Food Co-Op are incredible.  Ted (in the red shirt) always gets all the free extras available, while I go for the classic lettuce-tomato-onion combo. Either way, as you can see, salivation is unavoidable.

These Boxes is totally the name of my new Indie Aleatoric Funk band.

I moved into a new house and now must stock my cupboard with staples and my bathroom with toiletries. With less and less time in my day to work up a good lather, I've decided to revisit body wash as a medium for expeditious general hygiene. In the past I've used an Adidas brand body wash which, in retrospect, seems like using Kraft toilet paper. Yesterday I stood before an 8ft shelf of scented varieties for men and slowly narrowed my options to select the scent that best represents Me (a marketing rep for any of these companies would have creamed their jeans to observe this process outside of a focus group):

The first consideration was cost, so my choices were limited to what was on sale. I didn't even look at the labeling of the other brands.

So far so good: my frugalness is my core value here.

The next consideration was finding a mild scent: not too strong and not too soapy. My brother once brought my attention to the malodorous combination of fruit and B.O.

Apparently, I value subtlety over style. I don't want to wear the scent like an expensive watch.

The final stage was repeatedly sniffing 3 different scents, trying to identify with the smell: Is this what I want to smell like? I was trying very hard to ignore the associations of the labeling, but still walked away with Old Spice Denali which smells, according to the label, "like wilderness, open air and freedom". I wonder whether this is the result of very precise marketing or simply the power of suggestion... probably a little of both. Or maybe the Universe is trying to sell tell me something.

Played during the intermission of A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Arboretum:

The Road to Hell

"Oh, it's you. Is anyone of consequence home?"
- Jessi to me, finding me on the couch reading the Hobbit

I love running at sunset. Everything starts to glow. The temp drops from superfucking hot down to very warm. I've taken to bringing my camera along to try to catch the little jems I pass on my loop around campus. 

Oh my dear sweet lord, what a mess I've made. I have so thoroughly deluded myself in so many respects that, while I'm beginning to understand the current state of things, I have no idea how it has come this far. Perhaps I could be more vague? The last two weeks have been filled with self reflection regarding my romantic machinations, more specifically the ethos that has informed my decision-making before, during, and after my relationships. All of them. There is a number equal to the amount of people I have slept with. Like your weight or maybe your age, it's a number that I've been rounding down for so long that I'd lost track of the real thing. This number, as it turns out, is very large relative to anyone I know. While I'm not surprised, I'm suddenly a little uncomfortable.
It wasn't my goal to end up here. I've never identified as a ladies man and I've never felt particularly confident as a suitor. I'm not saying I'm not a scoundrel; I just thought that all my good intentions might make up for my flights-of-fancy. Apparently not. So now what? I'm still me and there's nothing to be done about that— but I can use this new clarity to move forward with more... discipline. Already, I feel less pressure to pursue every opportunity that comes up. Which is to say I'm enjoying not feeling the need to, you know, hump every cute girl that comes within arms' reach.

Fucking mynocks, right?* Always chewing on power cables. What's that about?

*obligatory Star Wars reference of the week

Interim

"Würfeln!"
-German for Roll the dice! (pronounced "voorfln")

Co-op dinner: awww yeah!

Let's talk about this. The tortilla at the top was hand made. The pickle was pickled at a pickle party*. The grapes were grown in a house garden. And all of it vegan.

I'm    w  a  i  t  i  n  g.  

For Burning Man 
To start work at ROCKNASIUM
       To move into my new house 
                   To catch up one-on-one with so many people
                                                        To watch Davis explode back into life 

When will then be now?

  *less dirty than it sounds

Homecoming

 Excerpted from a New Yorker article on Internet dating, by Nick Paumgarten:

"The cutting edge is in mobile and location-based technology, such as Grindr, a smart-phone app for gay men that tells subscribers when there are other willing subscribers in their vicinity. Many Internet dating companies are trying to make this kind of thing work for straight people, which means making it work for straight women, who may not need an app to know that they are surrounded by willing straight men."

"Men want someone who will take care of them, make them look good, and have sex with them— not necessarily in that order. It may be that this is all women really want, too, but they are better at disguising or obscuring it. They deal in calculus, while men, for the most part, traffic in simple sums."

"Most bad dates are just awkward or excruciating. One woman likened them to airplane crashes: the trouble usually occurs during the takeoff and landing— the minute you meet and the minute you leave. You can often tell right away if this person who's been so charming in his e-mails is a creep or a bore. If not, it becomes clear at the end of the evening, when he sticks his tongue down your throat. Or doesn't. One women told me that she maintains a chart, both to keep the men straight and to try to discern patterns— as though there might be a unified-field theory of why men are dogs."

"...the question 'Do you like the taste of beer?' is more predicative than any other of whether you're willing to have sex on the first date. (That is, ...people who have answered yes to one are likely to have answered yes to the other.)" 

"It is an axiom of Internet dating that everyone allegedly has a sense of humor, even if evidence of it is infrequently on display. ...if you say you are funny, then you should probably show it. Demonstrating funniness can be fraught. Irony isn't for everyone. But everyone isn't for everyone, either"

Colorado wildflowers are great, but check out the succulents growing in the yards of 

Berkeley residents. 

This is a series of time-lapse videos taken of Bay Area fog. I've never seen my gray home look so beautiful.

View on ExposureRoom

Nerdier Than Usual

"It's so stupid. First of all, how do they understand that walking bear they hang around with all the time? It goes '*GRROWWW*' and they're all like 'That's a good point, Bear. Let's try that.'"

- a review of Star Wars from How I Met Your Mother

"Go away. I can't pollinate with you looking at me."

Last weekend was Comic Con, which means that lots of people dressed up as sexy anthropomorphic animals, listened to nerdcore, and watched the trailer for the new Spiderman reboot. The first-person sequence at the end is pretty sweet, right? Well, the world has seen something like that before. In a video game. Mirror's Edge came out in 2008 and presented revolutionary gameplay coupled with gorgeous effects. You play a courrier, running across rooftops parkour-style, delivering illegal goods. Check this out:

I think it's awesome that there's this kind of cinematic cross-over happening with experiential storytelling. Immersive 3D movies like Avatar and the fluid storytelling and cinematic gameplay in video games like Unchartered represent a convergence of media, moving towards virtual reality. It's exciting to watch it happening from both ends and I think too many people refuse to acknowledge that video games are carrying the greater load. In terms of the development of complex, interactive storytelling, games like Mass Effect (which will use vocal cues by the player to steer dialogue) and L.A. Noir (a detective game in which the player must interpret the subtle facial expressions of suspects) are pushing boundaries faster than POV web-slinging. That said, I've never felt anything onscreen as viscerally as Jake in his avatar taking flight for the first time— and I know kung fu.

I said I was writing a song about thunderstorms (one word; look it up!) and I did. I know I posted it to Facebook, meaning you've already had a chance to listen to it, but I'm posting it here for archival purposes. With a little discipline, I should have a more polished version of this and all my other songs up soon.

Summer Thunderstorm by Good for Hummingbirds

Sailing Trains

"She wants to be the center of attention, which is impossible around me because I'm so articulate and funny."
- Bonnie, a sassy hipster friend, sizing up her competition

Here's a riddle: Two young men were on a zip line tour with me today. They looked almost identical. They said they weren't twins, neither identical nor fraternal, but they were brothers born to the same mother and of the same father on the same day. They were born one minute apart. But they weren't twins. So what gives? Here's a BIG hint. They had the rest of us stumped for 20 minutes before they spilled the beans.

Got some disappointing news today. An affaire de couer, as per uzh. You know that feeling when you're leaving the house and you're sure you've forgotten something, but you don't know what?  Like, it wasn't a problem because you were in the house with the thing, but now you're leaving and suddenly it's your last chance. You don't need it, which is why you can't remember what it is, but you know you might and kills you to think you'll be caught unprepared. Like it was something that could have been taken care of— a packed lunch, an overdue book, a special key— but now you're walking out the door and it hasn't been and now it's too late. And, really, what I'm talking about is that moment after you've closed the door, as you're walking to your car bike, when you're waiting for the thing to pop back into your head (always, of course, of it's own volition) and you want to know if it'll be important enough to go back for. Will it be worth being late to work because this nameless thing on the edge of your consciousness is so critical that you're doomed without it? Every second spent continuing to leave grows more excruciating because you know there's something. You're poised, on edge— ready to spring back up the stairs the moment it clicks... but it's hopeless. The thought won't come because there was never anything to remember. All that's left is the sinking fear of a missed opportunity. Well, I had a moment like that the other day getting on train. I just remembered what I forgot.

Someone is going to have to tell me if the new Death Cab for Cutie album is good or bad, or if they've sold out or come back, or what. I've listened to it twice and I don't know what's going on. I think I'm thinking of the Postal Service. Anyway, I kind of like it, which is probably a bad sign for them.

Positive Mental Attitude

"The world is way too small to feel like nothing"

- "Trashcan" by Delta Spirit

It's fucking monsoon season out here. It's 80 degrees at noon, dumps rain from 3 to 7, clears for a gorgeous sunset, then dumps from midnight to 4. I'm writing a song about it.

For all the hardcore bums out here, I've met a few Davis-quality people. One of them is a warm-hearted, Chaco-wearing, queer girl who works for Adaptive Sports (the adventure Non-Profit for disabled bad-asses). She actually hugs me when we say hello and goodbye. No one fucking hugs anybody around here. It's tragic. I was having a shitty day and she gave me a hug and now I feel better. I thanked her again via text just now: "Thanks for the hug. It meant a lot." and she texts back "You mean a lot." And it hit me. Goddamn, I miss physical contact. I'm stoked to be headed back to a place where hugs are like handshakes and handshakes are like rain on your wedding day.

(Speaking of irony) Discussion topic of the day: Is Hipsterporn actually porn? (NSFW, unless you're killing time at your Portland bike kitchen shift, in which case go for it.) Is it, in fact, a social commentary on modern sexuality and media? Is it Art if it's not generating income because everyone's coke habits are already fully supported by trust funds? Or is it just porn for people who find Playboy too mainstream?

Reblogged from FenestraVitae 
(who has more suggested reading for hipsterporn enthusiasts in the comments section)

I've been giving a lot of high-fives, but no one seems as interested in leveraging their thund'rous power for enthusiasm and camaraderie as I do. My boss gave me one once out of acute gratitude, but he did it the way a Texan might say "grah-see-ahs" to a waiter at a mexican restaurant. Like, "This is how you show appreciation where you're from, right?" I'm amazed at how Californian— how socially frivolous and ideologically irresponsible— I feel out here.

LISTEN. You'll be happy you did.

Hwirlwind

"According to Peter, you should only ride the zip line if you're prepared to stare a tiger in the eyes and slap it in the face."
-Trippe, my coworker, after I suggested to a guest that the zip line required the same athletic ability as jumping off a trashcan

The Red Lady Quartet performs in a poorly lit room. (quality of photo is somewhat intentional)

Woah. Crazy busy 10 days:

I spent four 10-hour days training to be a Zip Line guide. It was super sketchy to be working out the kinks in the 5-zip course as we learned how to navigate it and guide people through. The longest zip is 400 ft. long and you clock in at 30 mph. It's safe (...now). Basically, I have to catch people as they come in to land without getting knocked off a platform 40 ft. off the ground. I'm tied in on a safety rope, but still.

The 4th of July is a mad house here. Like Picnic Day, things go from mellow to absolute pande-fucking-monium for a day and a half. Crowds of clueless goobers— tourists— (supercomma!) flood the town and throw money around. Friends made $200 busking with a banjo and mandolin on Sunday and Monday. All the locals work double shifts and party the night before instead.

Danica's family visited for the weekend so I went couch surfing to give them their space. On the third day of being out of the house, I came in to the coffee shop to hang out before going to work on the mountain and Arvin informed me that I wasn't "clicking" at the shop and that it would be best if I just worked full time at the Zip Line. I'll rephrase that in case it was too passively worded: they fired me. I'm fired from the coffee shop I came back to CB to work at. To be fair, I was showing up late and asking for days off to work more on the mountain (they're short-staffed and it pays better). I've gleaned that this lead Danica to question my "loyalty and attention to detail". That's like having Stephen Colbert question your Patriotism. But it is for the best. I'm super happy as a guide and I wasn't stoked on my coffee shop shifts. I served coffee for 2 hours, did nothing for 4, then cleaned for 2. I will totally admit to not being a good janitor. So fuck it. Don't tell anybody, but I'm looking at coming home a smidge early. There's a change in the wind and it's blowing West.

For now, the Zip Line gig is fucking awesome. I lead three trips over the course of each day and the last big zip always gets my adrenalin up. Catching people, especially kids who barely make it, is exhilarating. The daily rush has definitely upped my mood and makes me giddy in the evenings. It might be addicting, we'll see. I'm making good money and I've got great coworkers. It's a blast and I love it, but work isn't everything and I'm feeling a little thin in every other department, if only for a lack of free time. I'm going on a wildflower hike on Tuesday (with a girl!), so we'll see how that goes.

Also, I know that Deathly Hallows pt. 2 is coming out and we're all excited or whatever but, Jesus people, pull yourselves together!