Bike ride in the Swedish twilight

I just came back from a bike ride east of Delphi. I left with Marta just before the sun started setting, but in Skåne and around this time of year that means you've still got three hours of light left.

Me and Marta lost each other after ten minutes biking through the forested paths, but I kept on.

The paths behind Delphi are very special. They weave between small housing complexes, and when I'm there I can't help but imagine raising a family there. Everything is so peaceful. The houses aren't too big, there's plenty of trees and grass.

Birdsong was everywhere, and the warm air felt as if it was caressing me as I rushed through it.

Expressionless

When I was young, people would periodically say things like, "Smile more!" or, "You look angry, you aren't smiling." Of course, they weren't seeing anger or sadness, just the expressionless face of youth. (Although, perhaps I maintained it for a few more years than most.)

I followed their advice, and now I'm always using my face to communicate with and reassure the people around me.

I think I liked it better the way it was before.

Tower of Babel

I know! In order to rescue ourselves with the horrible post-tower-of-babel language-confusion we now find our world mired in, let's create a new lingua franca! I'll be called English 2, and it'll just be a *radical* simplification of English!

Tenses:
did go
will go
am go
have go

Fuck this went and going shit!

Onward to London

What can I say about London?

London is big, and London also *sprawls*. Many buildings don't have single addresses, but ranges of addresses: 4-6 Old Queen St., 77-79 Horse Guards Rd., etc. Everything is old, history is everywhere. The street and town names are different. But, not just different names, they belong to a whole different category. So many things were named so long ago, in old or middle English, that they have ceased to become words. They have now fully become names, as Edwin used to mean "rich friend", but now means only "Edwin".

Some British place names:
  Bradninch
  Dagenham
  Dunnington
  Morpeth
  London

Some American place names:
  Oakland
  Beverly Hills
  King's Point
  Laurel Hollow
  Bullhead City

When British people come to the US, the names sound like they belong to the towns and roads of Disneyland.

The flight to London wasn't bad at all. I didn't check any luggage, so I was able to get out of the airport quickly.

Leaving Heathrow:


I loved the tube. Unlike the raised, set apart, and distant BART of the Bay Area, it really seemed to be a part of the city.


There were buskers in the underground paths between platforms, which gave them the feeling of lively subterranean cities.


I especially enjoyed paying for things in pounds, even though everything was terrifically expensive. My first purchase was a 500ml bottle of current juice. Amusingly, the clerk asked me if I would like a glass with it. Ha! Little did she know that we Americans are quite used to consuming *huge* amounts of sugared liquid directly from grotesquely sized bottles. I drank the whole thing in about 20 seconds, and was enthused by the authenticity of the experience, and the confirmation of a negative stereotype about my culture.

Soon afterwards I got some fish and chips at a pub. It was heavenly.


I passed out pretty at the hostel pretty early that night. The next day I took a big bus tour of the city.


There were cranes, which I quite enjoyed.


Big Ben happened to be backlit that day, which was a pity.


Part of the tour was by boat.


On the bus, you could see into offices. The guys in one office were all smiling and talking together.


And that was that! I was only there for ~30 hours, but it was a great. I left as I came, on a mechanized conveyance. This one is taking me to St. Pancras Station, where the Eurostar leaves for Paris.

Okay, so, moving on: Packing & Departure

A couple nights before I left, Eric, Daniel and I found the carcass of a huge beast in the volleyball court behind Soda Hall.


We weren't sure what it was, and I was loathe to go nearer. Was it dead, or merely slumb'ring? Would it wake and violently seek to sate some dark hunger?

Eric insisted we press on...


It turned out to be a Sun Blackbox. Phew!


The next day, there was nothing to do but pack.


I don't think there is anything more stressful than moving. That night was no exception. Here's a nice picture of my bed, from the ceiling, before everything was dismantled:


I had to abandon my dance mirror in a park, which made me a little sad:


It took all night, which is a little pathetic, since I don't have much stuff. Pretty much everything I have fit in my car.


I don't do many thinks like my father. For instance, he thinks that practicality is worth nearly any amount of aesthetic degradation. I don't. But I do agree that marking ones luggage is a pretty good idea. Unlike my father, I put a bit of effort and thought into my mark--a strong yellow X, painted in the Soda Hall volleyball court.

My bag, almost ready to go:


My home at Amador Ave. was almost certainly the nicest I have ever had. I was very sad to leave it, and especially sad to leave Joseph and Elizabeth, my wonderful landlords.

The backyard, right before I left:


After I finished up, I said goodbye to Joseph and Elizabeth. Joseph told me about how much he hated the french when he was in NATO flight school right before the Korean War. Elizabeth was incredibly sweet as always.

And that was that. All that was left was to visit with dad, and then mom, and then drive to the airport. But, I won't speak of my family in such a public place.

Mixed feelings:


Then it was the airport:



Waiting...


The airport was nice. I met a woman who turned out to be the technology columnist for the London Telegraph, and we talked about London and how airport security is complete shit. Looking back on it, I'm really glad that I have this transitional memory of sitting in the airport, waiting for my flight. It's a punctuation mark in the paragraph that has been the last 25 years of my life.

Finally... Flight!

haiku for blemished flowers

magnolia trees
blossoms always imperfect
like rusty tin cans

Fortune Cookie: A slightly widened blog format paves the way for bigger pics and incompatibility with screens at 1024x768px

So, after the going away party came my packing marathon. To break the monotony I put on some sweet shutter shades that Davide gave me, and a mask that Ben brought me from Peru. I also wrote a poem.

Three Pairs for the Elven-kings under the sky,


Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,


Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,


One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne


In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.


One Pair to rule them all, One Pair to find them,


One Pair to bring them all and in the darkness bind them


In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.


I'm thinking that I'll adapt it to a novel. Who knows, maybe it'll be a trilogy if I can come up with enough material!

Fortune Cookie: A custom URL paves the way to fortune and glory

Now that I'm a big time blogger, you can access this page at http://blog.rodarmor.com.

Going Away Party

I would really like to just pick up with the present, with right now. But I don't think that's possible. If we started now, I would be in Sweden. Living in my nice room in Delphi, surrounded by Swedes, slowly and painfully picking up Swedish, and generally having a pretty great time. But, that would mean skipping a lot of stuff: I had an awesome going away party, packed up all my junk, flew to London, and traveled across Europe. I've also had some small adventures, both along the way and in Sweden.

So, let's go in chronological order and start at the start. Which I guess means that we need to begin with my going away party. There isn't much to say, except that it was awesome. Lots of my favorite people came. Meat was grilled, basketball and ping-pong were played, I took some photos, and the weather was beautiful.



Thanks so much to everybody who came! (And even to people like Eugene, who didn't come, and is a jerk.) I've had a great time at Cal these last two years, and the party was the perfect exclamation point.

(I put all the pictures up on flickr.)

PS Just kidding Eugene!