Bent Rim: The Diary of a Drunken Cyclist

Slingin' the Sauce

2006-10-16T21:56:00.000-04:00

I made a ton of money at work this week, or rather, I made a ton of money compared to what I was making before. On Saturday, I tended bar for nine hours and then had to cover a wait shift for a girl who came in, started crying and went home. I made out, but Erin and I didn't get to spend the evening together like we were planning, which was a huge disappointment, as we only have one weekend night to stay out late. I was so exhausted when I got home, after midnight, that I nearly cried. Vodka made that problem go away.

Sunday was a good day, regardless. Erin and I picked out a pair of pumpkins and carved them while watching the Steelers game. I think mine is way cooler look than her design, but I pursued a more traditional carving. I found it odd, because (as a kid) I never used to like doing "childish" activities, but now that I'm older I'm a lot more comfortable with it. If I ever get my camera repaired, I'll put up a picture. We were thinking about Halloween costumes, but it seems kind of pointless without a party to attend. Currently, we're contemplating dressing up as the Blues Brothers and getting drunk downtown. It makes me wish I were back in college; I really miss Pittsburgh.

I'm reminded of the time I spent in towns like Kansas City, Colorado Springs, Boise, Spokane and Seattle. Am I supposed to forget all the good times I've had? Are none of these places special? I hope that I can contine to travel to more interesting places and continue to have wild stories. Who could ask for more?

Falls Creek Falls

2006-10-10T11:18:00.000-04:00

The only travel lately was to Eastern Tennessee, to see Falls Creek Falls, the biggest mother-fucking waterfall east of the continental divide. It was a beautiful drive and the park itself was well worth the time spent driving. The picture doesn't really do it much justice; it's a very tall waterfall coming over a shear cliff in a steep-sloped ravine; the leaves were just starting to change, and it smelled like Fall, which always makes me think of pressing cider in long bygone Octobers. Erin and I had a mini-picnic on a log that consisted of oranges, water from a nalgene and trail mix. The only downer was that there were people everywhere clogging the trail, climbing on things, holding screaming children, etc. but I'm a people too, so it's not really fair to complain.

On Monday, Erin and I helped some of her friends paint. If I recall, I only worked for about an hour or two, but this was enough to nearly incapacitate me by the next day. The bad news is that I appear to be getting older and should probably remember to stretch more frequently. The good news is that I got to take some of Erin's Vicoden, and had the most pleasant dreams. It almost makes me look forward to my next injury...

At work, Jarod went to his girlfriend's brother's wedding back in Akron, Ohio, I think. This means I get to tend bar by myself all week, so this should be a big chance for me to cash in and further ingratiate myself to my superiors. I asked for ten days off over Thanksgiving break, and was told that I could have it - much to my surprise. I was expecting to have to quit and take a Greyhound back to Pittsburgh.

Now, it appears as though I'll have money for my trip and I won't have to worry about finding employment upon returning. This is a huge weight off my mind, obviously. The biggest problem I'm currently working on is how to transport a bike from Pittsburgh to Nashville. I could ship my gear: lock, tools, bag, helmet, etc. but I'm not sure how to ship a bike - assuming it will be too cold and take much too long to ride it back. Without buying a trailer, I'm pretty sure the logistics would be near impossible anyway. I'm pretty sure I can strip down the bars, pedals and wheels and get it packed, but this would require buying a box, purchasing or borrowing a pedal wrench and I'd probably have to pay at least $4o for shipping on Greyhound (I'm assuming much more if I fly). I called the guys at Iron City Bikes, and was assured that they could take care of packaging for me, if I return.

Life in Nashville is good. It seems like Erin and I are getting more tense, but we're both working hard and being asked to do more at each of our jobs, although I'm sure my position is much less stressful. I think we're both looking forward to vacation. Otherwise, I'm reading Moby Dick, learning how to mix drinks and trying to get some miniature roses to bloom before the first frost hits. I've noticed that I've been talking to people from Allentown more and more and people from Pittsburgh less and less. I wonder what this means in terms of my conception of "home," but at the same time, I know I really miss Pittsburgh as a whole. I don't know how important it is that most of my shit is sitting back there, but I'll admit that it does cross my mind often.

Fall Descends

2006-09-30T09:52:00.000-04:00

I've been placed behind the bar without a bit of training, which makes it a very exciting and slightly stressful experience. All in all, I think it's a pretty easy job, though. The hardest thing to do is tolerate lone assholes who sit and babble with their face in a beer. I have one day off this week, but I don't have any friends here, so it's not that big an inconvenience. I do, however, get very, very tired as soon as I get home.

Erin and I saw "All the King's Men" in Green Hills. I continue to hunt for a bike. The weather gets cooler, but not cold; we have yet to experience our first frost of the year. Erin wants to move to Washington, D.C. and I want palm trees or Pittsburgh, so there's contention there. It's getting more and more distressing to live without a bike, a stereo, guitar, etc. but I it's certainly not unbearable. I plan on taking a week off or so and getting back to Pittsburgh in order to hitch a ride home for Thanksgiving. We shall see how well that works out. I can't seem to save any money with my shitty income so flying might be out of the question. I loathe the prospect of traveling by bus, but I may not have a choice.

No Money, No Problems?

2006-09-22T10:40:00.000-04:00

After working all week, I haven't made anything worth mentioning. I still haven't recieved a paycheck - not that it matters, because I'm sure the federal and state governments will have confiscated my wages before I get to touch them. I'm hoping to get fired and start collecting unemployment or get some food stamps or something; I've been fucked by the system long enough; I figure I'm owed a few free meals. I applied at a few other places after work yesterday, but my spirits are sinking. Of course, this was before my keys fell out of my pocket on the bus, leaving me stranded outside of the grocery store for two hours. It was a bad day, with the exception of the six pack that Erin brought me.

At Past Perfect, the boss offered to let me tend bar during the day, but that would just be more work for the same amount of money. I also pointed out that I have no relevant experience, but he said "you'll figure it out." The training program here strikes me as woefully subpar. I've been here almost a month and I don't have enough money to fly anywhere yet, even without paying rent! The situation grows intolerable.

Meanwhile, Jen(n) explores Portland, which I neglected to do while in Seattle. She promises that my bike is in good condition back in Pittsburgh, but I worry. I'm starting to miss my meager, but cool, possessions. I've been dreaming about riding a bike and pruning plants, so obviously I'm 1) lame, and 2) starting to miss my old ways. The incomparable Ed mentioned to me that he rides everywhere, writes letters to the editor and has several house plants now. I feel my identity being usurped in my absence. Perhaps it's time to line up a job in Pittsburgh and buy shelter? Erin is starting to hate her job and we're both looking forward to getting out of the south, I think, but I have trouble picturing anything in the future more than a month from now.

Woe and Lamentations

2006-09-19T17:55:00.000-04:00

Tuesday yields barely any money again. Tuesday shall also be known forever as the first time that I ever waited on a table and receieved no tip; two old farts with their belts in their armpits ordered two "sah-wheat tays" and left. Now, seriously, what the fuck is up with you, old people?

I try, you know? I fucking brought you two iced teas. I brewed it myself, added your sweet-southern-sugar water and even garnished it with a lemon to let you know how much I cared. Thanks for making me change a twenty for your precious tea and then walking out in front of me without leaving so much as your pocket change behind. Fuck you, old people; fuck you and your kind! You are eating up all of my social security, you have enough money to tour downtown Nashville for fun on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, and your generation fucked everything under the sun twice before I was even born - cut me some fucking slack and leave me a god-damned quarter so I can take the fucking bus home, assholes! Viagra can't be that expensive when you have Medicare and a pension to take of your withering bodies - how about a buck for the listening to you babble for ten minutes about how everything on the menu was unappealing?

In addition, it occurs to me that I still don't have a bike here. This is absolute bullshit! I have dreams about buying a bike at K-mart and riding it around the city. This shit is not right and it's become obvious that relying on the bus is just about the saddest thing ever. That kind of nonesense is for rainy days and hangovers. I need a pair of wheels. I don't even think I need gears here. Any bike will do. Lord, send me a bicycle in order to spread faith and peace o'er the land.

Also, Tuesday, you are the worst day of the nasty week. I fucking hate you. Remember what day September 11th fell on in 2001? I'm fucking on to you, Tuesday. You aren't even a fucking midpoint, especially considering that your supposedly rough buddy, Monday, is my day off every week.

I'm tired of making nothing, tolerating old people, Tuesday mornings and rolling silverware for closers. I am getting the proverbial shaft. This restaurant is stupid, and the new job hunt officially begins today. I am a professional when it comes to working shitty restaurant jobs and I demand recognition.

Waiting

2006-09-17T10:02:00.000-04:00

Past Perfect got a horrible review in one of Nashville's free weekly newspapers. My boss was dejected for more than a day, but, strangely, this has only increased business and made our regulars more loyal. He engineered a particularly bitter cocktail and named it after the woman who wrote the article. I love the character of this place.

I made almost nothing until Thursday, but the last few days were busy and the boss had me help him do some catering, for which I made, "a few extra bones." One of the owners insisted that I was doing a wonderful job and offered me shifts behind the bar because they don't want me to look for work elsewhere. All in all, it's a nice situation. I could be making much more money, but I get to choose my shifts and some of my coworkers are hanging out with me outside of work. It's very nice to have a few friends around again, although they don't come close to the Pittsburgh or expatriated Center Valley crew, obviously.

Things continue to go well with Erin, but both our families seem a bit skeptical, apparently. I can't speak for her, but I know my family wishes I was living closer to home - ironic considering I hardly ever see them anyway. I'm feeling a lot less stressed now that I have a job and can buy meals and drinks, unlike the poverty-stricken lad I've been for the last couple weeks. I have lot's of strange stories about work, but bitching about how people are stupid in restaurants is just too easy. Ask me about it in person sometime.

The In Sound From Way Out

2006-09-11T11:22:00.000-04:00

As expected, I make little money working lunch shifts, but my coworkers are very cool, I listen to the blues all day long and I get to test out all my boss's various new shot mixtures when it's slow. I've only been here for three weeks and I'm already starting to resent tourists, despite the fact that they are responsible for my cash flow. I don't if it's the girl, the weather, the easy job, the omnipresent music, the warm bed and good food, the Yazoo Lager, or the new city, but I am starting to love it here. This place is surprisingly more cosmopolitan and interesting than I expected, even after having spent two days here earlier. Everyone here greets you with a smile and a few kind words - being from the Northeast, this still surprises me everyday. My stereotypes concerning Nashville have turned out to be completely false, for the most part. The locals are friendly and tip well, but most everyone you meet here is not from the south, which makes me feel infinitely more welcome and at home.

For example, I waited on three different couples from eastern Pennsylvania yesterday. They all yelled about how Yuengling was the greatest beer ever once I got them started (Jarod, the bartender who got me the job has never tried it despite being from Cleveland). The band that played on Thursday was from Pittsburgh. My boss, the cook and our busser are all from Chicago. I had to fake like I liked Seattle for a couple from Washington yesterday. It's very odd.

The tax on food strikes me as a little odd and cruel, but I think it only exists to exploit tourists, and that's fine with me. The only problem I really seem to have is that when I start drinking I tend to harass southerners, telling them how awesome the north is in comparison. This hasn't landed me in any trouble yet, but I'm sure it's bound to if I don't learn to stop bragging about Pittsburgh when I go out. However, I usually hang out with other transplants, so it might not be an issue, or if it becomes one, we'll have a big ol' fashioned southern bar brawl. Participating in such an event has been a goal of mine for a long time.

Glorious Employment

2006-09-07T11:57:00.001-04:00

Being a bartender off of Broadway in downtown Nashville would've been an awesome premise for a story, or possible murder mystery, but it looks like I'll have to settle on waiting tables instead. This is just a temporary thing, until a recording executive helps me start my professional harmonica career, anyway. I feel there is hope for the future, as I am a quick lad at an under-staffed restaurant that straddles the convention center, the symphony, Broadway and the pedestrian route to the stadium. Working days will be slow, and probably not that profitable, but this way I have an hour or so to kill by reading the newspaper on the banks of the Cumberland before work, and I'll get a pocket full of cash and be done in time to get home for dinner. It seems like a good way to dig deep into Nashville and meet interesting people - the irony being that only one person on staff that I've met is even from the south. At any rate, it'll be much more laid back and I won't be required to work until 4am. Oh yeah, and free food. Free food is fucking awesome.

My first day was rather uneventful. A strange woman gave me her card and insisted that I start volunteering to lead tour groups in the Country Music Hall of Fame. The shitty thing about being a servant is that I have to lean on a chair and nod intently with a broad grin instead of telling this woman that I have no intention of even visiting said establishment, let alone donating my precious time to it for free. She rattled off a list of anonymous musicians who hang out there all the time, and I had to act very impressed, even though I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about. She also mentioned that I should talk to her pastor, on account of he is from Pittsburgh. (I think I'm going to start lying to people and telling them that I'm a Jew, or a radical Islamic extremist.) I find myself fantasizing about someone asking me "How you likin' Nashville?" and I respond by telling them that everything south of the Mason-Dixon Line should be systematicall depopulated and recolonized by people capable of rational thought. It's something to think about when it's time to leave this place, I guess.

Also, with the first Steelers game of the season being tonight, I'm full of a homesickness that's hard to describe. It feels like a crime not to be in my beloved 'burgh for a football game. I want so desperately to ride my bike through downtown when the leaves are changing colors, or just ride the 54C to the Southside. Ironically, there are at least 2 Steelers bars downtown, which makes me miss my adopted home all the more, I think. Incidentally, I had a 15 minute conversation with my boss explaining the Primanti Brothers sandwich yesterday. Perhaps I'll be done with work in time to catch the second half, but I doubt it'll feel the same. I mean, seriously, if rivers are indicative of awesomeness, then Pittsburgh is at least 3 times more awesome than Nashville. (Ex. 3x > 1x where x is a positive integer greater than zero)

Musin' in Music City

2006-09-01T13:17:00.000-04:00

In the course of my daily wanderings, I found a neat paved trail that winds down to the Cumberland River close to Erin's apartment. We went over there after she was done with work; I had spent an entire day filling out applications and sweating under the Tennessee sun. People were wake boarding, which I haven't done for at least 2 years. The overlook was a nice vantage point, and shady, but offered no glimpse of the sunset, unfortunately. Tragically, a sign advertised that most of the region will be developed into condos. People never learn, I guess.

In other news, the job hunt continues. I've gotten good at taking the bus downtown and finding my way back, or calling Erin and begging for a ride home. After filling out half a dozen applications at a variety of places, I stopped in a place off of Broadway (that'd be the street with all the free live music and boot stores and such) for a beer and some lunch. I complained to the bartender, who was from Akron, Ohio, that my wrist hurt from filling out employment histories. He suggested that I apply there, but no one could find me any applications. Being a pragmatic individual, I wrote my name, number, and a few descriptive adjectives on a scrap of paper and gave it to the manager. Ironically, he was the only person who called me the next day and asked me to come in for an interview.

Once there, I realized I was getting involved in a chaotic situation. The manager was acting as the cook and dishwasher, and made me come into the kitchen to talk to him while he made an open-faced chicken sandwich. He asked if I had any bartending experience - this frustrated me as I'd outlined all the jobs I'd held in the past on my scrap of paper/resume - but I just said no. He then asked if I wanted any. Being in no position to disagree I told him I'd work whenever and where ever he wanted me to, as I just got into town. He told me to hang out til the other manager arrived, but once that guy came he told me he'd call me tomorrow. Everyone introduced themselves and shook my hand, but it still wasn't clear what I would be doing... if anything. Thoroughly confused, but hopeful, I grabbed my pack and left. It rained on me on the way to Erin's office and we drove home in the middle of a cool thunderstorm, so instead of playing tennis, as we had planned, we curled up on the couch and watched the U.S. Open.

The South Lite

2006-08-29T19:29:00.001-04:00

I have figured out how to use the MTA bus system here, but Nashville's idea of mass transit is woefully sub par. First, bus stops are marked by a six-inch blue sign on a metal post. No information about routes, scheduling or bus numbers is provided; one is left to stand and contemplate a small metal sign amidst a sea of traffic on its way to Wal-Mart. My closest stop is nearly a mile away, there is no sidewalk for half the distance and the stop itself consists of aforementioned blue sign on a sloping patch of wet grass in front of parking lot for a funeral home with no shelter or shade. Second, it is impossible to get a transfer. You pay $1.25 each time you get on the bus, no matter what. In Pittsburgh there is no comparison because I ride for free, but in Seattle, one could pay this same price and ride for free all day afterwards and use your transfer to take water taxis. Third, the bus itself is full of elderly rednecks who try to engage in rambling, toothless conversation with who, or whatever is nearest them. To the system's credit, however, ever bus I saw arrived once every twenty minutes, had a bike rack on the front and was fitted to handle handicapped passengers. Ah, bless you, Nashville transit.

Anyway, I got off in midtown and applied for a few jobs, none of which were particularly appealing, but my funds are nearly exhausted at this point. Beggars cannot be choosers, as the old proverb goes. Erin called to say that she'd talked about getting me work with some of her contacts, and the prospect of not working in the service industry fills me with hope. I bought a book on the history of Davidson County (Did you know that former President Polk died of cholera right here in Nashville?) in a used book shop and had to cut the job search off early on account of a thunderstorm.

On my mile-long walk home in the rain, I bought a 12 pack of Amber-Boch at Wal-Mart (I know, I know, but the bus dropped me off there and I had no where else to go!). Here, a 12 pack of Pabst costs $5.84 - this is awesome, but does little to offset my feelings towards southern culture and shitty mass transit. This was the first rain I'd seen since being in Colorado, so I didn't mind getting wet.

So far, I've noticed that nobody here is impressed with my kindness or conversation. Everyone in the south is kind, here I am just someone who obviously isn't from here. I've learned that in order to make allies it is imperative to fake a love of Nashville. People here seem to think this is the greatest place on Earth. Granted, I feel this way about Pittsburgh, and nobody I've met on my travels has bashed the city they live in, but here it seems that people have three loves: Jesus, Nashville, and asking if you've accepted Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior (or barring that, asking how much you love Nashville). In that order. Perhaps these folks need to get out more often; perhaps my easternly ways will forever force me to associate southern hospitality with mind-numbing ignorance, poor grammar and an inexplicable pride in an inexplicably backward culture; perhaps there really is no place like home, and everywhere else one goes feels like strange imitation in comparison. Time will surely tell.

Arrival in Nash-Vegas

2006-08-27T15:35:00.000-04:00

After attending Seattle's famous underground tour and realizing that I messed up my hostel reservations, I packed my things and had a pair of pints at the Pike Place Pub. Therein, a Swiss pilot told me that I was a very cool American and that I should never listen to anyone in regards to travel. He claims to have gone on a 51 week backpacking tour around the world when he was my age. When he left, I decided it was time to go to the airport and wait 18 hours for my flight at noon the next day.

Finishing off my liquid courage, I headed to Seatac on my beloved 194 bus. I passed out sitting up in the main terminal around 11 pm with my legs wrapped around my duffel bag and my backpack padlocked to my sweatshirt. Security gaurds woke me up every hour until 4 am to check my ID and fight number; I reassured them that I just wanted to sleep and harbored no terroristic intentions. It really felt a lot like that boring movie where Tom Hanks plays the guy stuck inside the airport, except my experience was even more boring. At around 6 am, I gave up on sleep and read a novel in its entirety. 12 hours of sleep in 3 days made me feel like crying whenever I had to do anything more complicated than wait in line. I had my last cup of Seattle coffee, passed through security and, after a few more hours of waiting, boarded a Boeing 737 to Nashville.

I touched down on time after a nap on the plane. It still strikes me as amazing that one can travel almost the whole length of the country in a few hours, while it took us a week to drive the same distance. God bless Southwest Airlines. I also got to discuss the prospects of investment in Latin America with a bald dentist who sat next to me.

I was greeted by a beautiful girl at BNA and I got a hot (private) shower, a salmon dinner and more than eight hours of sleep. I haven't felt so relaxed and composed in weeks. Yesterday, we went on a five mile hike in a huge park that rivals any I've seen thus far. I'm really excited to continue to see and do new things, even if I am in the South.

While I'm sure my adventures will continue, I definitely feel like I've found a port in the storm - and, hopefully, a wonderful traveling companion. Now, my goals include finding a way to get around an auto-dependent city in a sustainable manner and landing a job in order to earn my keep and repudiate my bum status. I also have a new city to explore, which is always a treat.

Last Day in Seattle

2006-08-24T11:59:00.000-04:00

Ugh. I haven't gotten eight hours of sleep in a night since I've arrived. Last night was particularly awful, as several old men started a loud symphony of snores that lasted for hours. Imagine trying to sleep while someone uses a radial saw on the other side of the room. This noise prompted the Asians in the other bunks to swear repeatedly in a language that sounded quite venomous. It was one of the most frustrating experiences of my life. My next hosteling experience will be sure to include earplugs.

However, I am excited for my flight tomorrow. I've been killing time here by riding my bicycle along the trails, playing harmonica on the pier, and attendinag the touristy attractions that I usually try to avoid. Seal pups at the aquarium were pretty awesome, and orca skeletons were neat. Today, I suppose a good traveler would do the tours that I haven't and explore a few of the parks that I've missed, but it's 50 degrees and grey outside, and I want nothing to do with any more people.

I've gotten good at riding the bus here, so my mobility has increased. I hung out with Brad and a bunch of chemistry graduate students on the campus of the University of Washington. A strange girl who advertised that she hadn't had sex in two years gave me a book for free and said that I should buy her a drink if I was smart. I declined, so apparently I'm dumb. Brad has left the city by now and I have lost interest in investing in strangers if I'm to leave tomorrow. Can't wait for warm weather again!

Making Myself

2006-08-22T12:21:00.000-04:00

I have decided that Seattle is not for me. My father told me that he was proud of my wandering and that I shouldn't be ashamed to ask for money. In response, I booked a ticket to Nashville for Friday on the credit card that has its bills sent to his house; I'm gonna buy a cowboy hat and do the southern thing. You might think that I'm upset, but I'm very excited and I can't wait to travel more. I hung out with a bunch of graduate students in northern Seattle a few days ago, and they all agreed that Seattle is touristy and weird.

Lately, I've been living my life like I'm a fictional character in a book. I get in strange situations and just imagine what other people are doing and laugh out loud. For example, I smoked a joint on the shores of the Sound at Hemp Fest. Old people said, "Thank you for pot smoking!" or "Don't smoke pot; you'll wake up old and not know what happened!" At 4:20, people threw handfulls of joints into the air and there was a haze of weed smoke everywhere. I remained relatively sober, but, culturally speaking, it was one of the most incredible experiences that I've ever had.

Yesterday, I, and a mate o' mine, visited the first Starbucks ever and rode the water taxi to west Seattle. We dipped our toes in the water at Alki beach and had lunch before coming back late. Kelvin (a guy I met at the hostel) has blisters all over his feet from walking, and I'm not much better, but I've also got blisters on my hands from bicycling. When we got back, we waited in line for a Wolf Parade show for an hour, only to find that it was sold out. He is 20, so he was nervous about going to a bar, but I told him to sit and be cool. I mentioned the bartender's name from a Thursday night, and after a smile and a few kind words we got free shots and no exchange of ID took place. We wound up downing a pint, a pitcher, and 2 free shots of gin each. We stumbled a block back to the hostel and pledged eternal allegiance to each other. My memory is hazy, but I lost and found my wallet, slept in my clothing with my glasses by my side, and inexplicably skinned a knee.

My life is awesome.

Chillin' in the Emerald City

2006-08-19T23:20:00.000-04:00

Well, Seattle is much as I expected it. The weather is awesome, surprisingly. I've watched a sunset over the Sound, walked dozens of miles through strange terrain, bought a bike from an old dude who lived on a boat that was covered in bikes, flown over the handlebars of said bike, gotten lost at least 3 times, attended Hemp Fest, and (ironically) been asked for directions 5 times in 12 hours. I'm actually shocked that I haven't really met anyone at the hostel or be-friended any locals yet. I thought that meeting people would be the least of my worries, but tragically, our hero remains very much alone nearly all the time. Being a social individual, this is extremely disturbing for me.

As a result, I've been debating whether or not to forge a new life here in Seattle. While many people in Pittsburgh want me to (mostly so I can lead a chain migration, I think) I don't think I can hack it on my own. Or perhaps, I am capable of dealing with isolation and poverty, but I'd just plain rather not. Not knowing where I will sleep next week, or if I'll have enough money to do anything but attempt to avoid starvation is one of the most stressful feelings I've ever endured. Compound this with intriguing offers from south of the Mason-Dixon Line, and you can see how a boy would feel torn. At any rate, I'll be here at least til Thursday, if not longer.

Sleepy in Seattle

2006-08-18T12:40:00.000-04:00

I flew over the beautiful Cascade Range into a sea of clouds and fog, where the temperature was a mild 58 degrees. I clutched my ticket to North Carolina after touchdown in Seatac, and contemplated hitch-hiking to the Outer Banks, instead of doing the Seattle thing. My desire to explore overpowered my fear, though, and I got on a 194 bus to downtown.

The city is absolutely gorgeous. It's huge, relative to Pittsburgh, and diverse. There's a coffee shop every few steps, and hipsters, suits, vagrants and tourists all coexist in a weird mosiac of awesomeness. (Incidentally, people here make fun of the way I say the word awesome.) My hostel overlooks the Sound, and I got to play guitar for the first time in over 3 weeks. I did the tourist thing and checked out Pike Place Market, the Space Needle and Freeway Park. All very cool, but the Space Needle is kinda stupid, and I wasn't about to pay to ride an elevator.

Feeling lonely and a little afraid, I went to a local pub to eat and wash away my fear. I met an older couple from Boise, and I mentioned that I had been to the Shakespeare festival (see earlier post). They had seen both the plays I had. The guy to my left was talking about Hemp Fest and mentioned that he was from Reading, PA (A mere 45 minute drive from my hometown). It is truly a small world.

After too much beer and too many strange coincidences, I walked back to the hostel. I ran into a small, ex-navy guy named "Brock" (aged 21 years) on the street. Before I had time to say, "Jesus, Seattle-ites are strange!" I was standing in his bachelor-ravaged apartment with a California king snake draped around my neck. We drank more and he offered my an aerobed and a job at a doggy day care. I'm pretty sure he was just shitfaced, but I took him up on the aerobed. I left this morning without waking him or writing a note. It seems like a good adventure for a first day, though. I am much more confident about my ability to survive, given that I've already been offered a room.

Airports Blow!

2006-08-18T12:37:00.000-04:00

Everytime I fly it seems to get worse. Apparently, ripping apart the contents of my backpack and duffle bag, unfolding all my clothing and stuffing everything back in a wrinkled mass was not enough for airport security. Thanks, though, for throwing away my deodorant, toothpaste and contact lense solution. I'm sure that I and my fellows won't mind it if I stink and can't see. Also, I totally understand the need for poor dental health in the fight against terrorism. I don't mind wasting my dwindling dollars on necessary expenses that threaten God, liberty, freedom and the power of the Department of Homeland security. I'm sure when I can't afford to eat, I'll be thanking you guys for protecting me from those horrible, horrible evil-doers. Was taking away my water really essential, though? You know, I have a lot of it inside me already. Do you want me to remove my urine, spittle and snot from my body as well? Really, it's fine, guys. Keep joking to each other while you fumble through my underwear. Did you guys need to go to college to get these rockin' jobs? You did really good, questioning me about the small compartment containing my passport, and ignoring the assortment of pills I was carrying. I could have walked through the checkpoint with a nine-inch-long ceramic blade, any amount of illegal drugs, and a hand grenade up my ass, but not water in a nalgene. That makes sense. I feel so much more secure!

That was almost as bad as listening to a recorded voice issue orders from the facists at the TSA, and the Department of Homeland Security over the loudspeakers. It feels like I slipped into a time warp, and Hitler is going to start barking jagged German commands at me. It seems odd that people wonder why individuals flip out on airplanes and cause problems after dealing with all this shit.

Perhaps I'm just a little peeved that my friend, Jen, got fired from her job as a conservation educator for wearing a "Santorum Stinks" button. I thought this was America, but I must be mistaken. Freedom of speech? I thought that was written down somewhere; I could be wrong though. Jesus, I can't wait until I get drafted and have to go to fight in Iran, or our colony in Afghaniraqistan. We are so fucked, America, and no one seems to give a damn.

Countdown to Seattle

2006-08-16T01:33:00.000-04:00

Scott begins his law schooling. I spend my days sitting in Scott's apartment surfing the internet and using the 3 hour time difference to talk to friends back on the east coast. I outlined our adventure and respective stops on a neat digital map, in case anyone is interested. It serves to remind me how awesome we are, and I feel it's very important to have pictures in a blog. Pictures are sweet, especially maps.

Alex and Scott's Bitch (AKA America)

Nothing really exciting has been going on in Spokane. We went to a park with a huge rose garden and conservatory. The Japanese courtyard was pretty relaxing. They really appear to enjoy their waterfalls out here.
Seattle seems like it must be uber-expensive, as baristas and bus boys get paid at least $8 an hour to start. It makes me scared that my cash stash won't last. My hostel will give me a bed, sheets and breakfast everyday, which is more than I've had in over ten days. It seems like an infinitely longer time than that, though. Thinking about all the people and places we've seen in such a short time makes me feel strangely.
Incidentally, today is the day that the lease on my apartment expired. I hope my roommate wasn't too stoned to forget to move out. I also hope he had fun cleaning that crap shack by himself and moving all my furniture out. Thanks for being so stupid and inconsiderate, because you actually helped make leaving that much easier.

Spokane Remains Awesome

2006-08-14T20:23:00.000-04:00

Scott bought a new GT mountain bike from a shop downtown, so we spent yesterday riding all over the place. I rented a commuter for the adventure. It felt fantastic to get a chance to ride through traffic and piss off motorists again; it's been a long time since I got to pedal. Spokane is definitely built in a more sane manner than Pittsburgh. There are bike lanes all over the place connecting parks and the universities to a hundred-mile-long trail that goes into Idaho and runs along the Spokane River, which I swam in today. It, the river, is a beautiful aqua-marine color, and Spokane Falls are right next to the central business district. Fucking waterfalls next to downtown! It's insane.
Oh, and Pittsburgh crew, Scott and I got drunk and watched Superbowl XL in its entirety last night; rock on city of steel!
As far as my cross-continental drift is concerned, I have learned that I will be in Seattle in time for Hemp Fest, August 19-20. This excites me very much, for obvious reasons. My fear of the future is fading quickly. I think as long as I find work I will be able to survive for a while. Housing may be a problem after my hostel reservation expires, but something should present itself. It's a big city. I am so excited I could hit a 3-year-old.

Kickin' it in Spokane

2006-08-13T05:48:00.000-04:00

Our roadtrip has come to end. Scott and I struggle to gather enough furnature to make him a home amidst strange west-coasty people. It has become clear that my fast-paced, quick-talkin' ways are very different here.

In Idaho, we saw a firestorm with strong winds ignite a mountain on the horizon. The full moon rose right behind the blaze. None of the natives seemed concerned, but Scott and I were convinced that we were seeing something special, if not The Rapture itself. I had never seen a whole hillside ablaze before.

Spokane seems like an cool city. Eastern Washington is a waste. It's just high desert with nothng to distinguish itself, but Spokane valley has green mountains and a river. It's like another gem in an otherwise desolate landscape. I long to see Seattle; I feel like this is a city that will speak to me. Out here, people recycle, they seem to care about their surroundings. Water is important. No one wastes anything; it is nothing like Pittsburgh, and her windy streets full of narrow minds. I'll continue to update. Right now, I am overwhelmed... and drunk... always drunk.

Why go home?

2006-08-09T19:15:00.000-04:00

Currently kickin' it in Boise, Idaho with Scott. We have free tickets to see Romeo and Juliet in an outdoor theater tonight, courtesy of his wonderful sister. The drive today was long, and rather tedious, but we got to do a scenic cruise along the Snake River Gorge on Route 30. I'll try to post some pictures in these posts when I get a chance.

The Rockies were cool, but nothing is worth driving through Kansas. Kansas just sucks. It sucks so hard it defies explanation. Scott describes it as, "unspeakably awful." A woman in Limon, Colorado (eastern Colorado is just as bad as Kansas) told me to come back soon, and I balked at her and said, "No fucking way!" I totally understand why it was referred to as "The Great American Desert" when it was colonized. Scott and I stopped at the sight of the world's largest prarie dog, which broke the monotany and was quite freaky.

Wyoming was lame as well. There were really cool red cliffs against blue sky in the west though. Utah is neat. We drank Polygamy Porter and chilled in a crappy motel in Ogden last night. Moral remains high. I have reservations in downtown Seattle until August 24, and we'll be in Spokane - the last leg of our journey together - the day after tomorrow for about a week. Keep posted for pictures and more action-packed-Alex-travel!

On the Road

2006-08-06T16:36:00.000-04:00

Nashville is a hell of a town. Music and rednecks everywhere. Good microbrews, friendly people, gorgeous girls who entertain Scott and myself. There hasn't been any drama on the road to speak of. We are making excellent time and are currently taking a day off in Kansas City, and while you wouldn't think it, this is a beautiful and well-planned town. Plus, the bars are open til 3am like in other normal states! The south is odd because people embrace and mock their own stereotypes at the same time. I get a kick out of it, but it makes me vociferously pro-Pittsburgh. I can't stop talking about home where ever I go, but people are capivated by stories from the road and like to buy me drinks. I think doing this bitch (and by bitch, I mean America) is something everyone dreams of, but few people do. I am fucking doing it; living the dream; it feels really weird, but it fills me with this crazy energy that I haven't known until now. I'm a little too high on wanderlust to keep this up. Email me with questions or topics. I want to write, but there's so much to cover I don't know where to begin. Stay classy, friends.

Back to the 'Burgh

2006-08-01T11:24:00.000-04:00

OK, so I'm trapped in Pittsburgh for a few days with no wallet, a passport, a semi-working laptop, a backpack and a duffel bag full of clothes. For my first few hours here the weather was cool and the air was charged, but a huge thunderstorm ripped through the city and it is so fucking hot and wet as to be nearly intolerable once more. I'm going to turn in my apartment keys today and couch surf for a while, I guess.

I drove back to Pittsburgh early Sunday morning with a rented van full of police officers who were on there way to a Fraternal Order of Police convention, which happens to be right here... in Pittsburgh. It was a strange experience but, fortunately for our hero, they were drinking Coors Light in order to "make the Turnpike more fun." Halfway to Harisburg, Dave called me from the next-day remnants Adrian's crazy farm rager to say that I had left my wallet at the party, and to ask if he had done anything embarassing the night before. I lied and said no. Now, I say, "Fuck it. It is too fucking hot and this narrative is going nowhere." I really need to shower and get outisde, in some shade. Shadyside seems like a cool place, given its name, and Walnut Capital is there, so I can turn in my keys. Then it's off to Oakland to look for my wallet! Perhaps I'll edit later, perhaps I'll just sweat to death. STAY TUNED!

Center Valley and Such

2006-07-28T13:50:00.000-04:00

The uber-computer-genius, Spencer (may his beard grow ever longer), has determined that the less than uber-computer-genius, Henry, did indeed infect my laptop with a virus while opening random email attachments on it. This explains why it won't find wireless networks anymore, and it should be in a better state in time for my trip. I recently drove a car for the first time in eight months or so. It was OK, I guess. I really miss my bicycle, though. I've been riding my little sister's around a bit, but it's really not as much fun when people fly past you doing 55 mph on country roads with no shoulder. I found plenty of cheap bikes and crappy jobs available on craigslist in Seattle, which is very promising. It makes me wonder if I'll ever return, or just wander the Earth forever, in Cain-like excommunication. We've been spending time at the Copperhead Grill, which has some of the worst service of any place I've ever seen. I've run into a lot of people from high school there, but I find I have little to say to anyone that I haven't kept in touch with. I know I used Adrian's farewell party as an excuse to come home, but tensions are such that I don't even really want to go. Part of me really wants to get back to Pittsburgh and spend my last few days with my friends there. Holly offered me a ride to the Jersey shore, and, while I hate the dirty Jerz, the symbolic value of a journey straight from east coast to west coast is very attractive. Oh well, today it's off to the AT for more hiking.

You CAN Go Back Home

2006-07-25T14:41:00.000-04:00

All appears to be well in Center Valley. My family's lush, green gardens are more beautiful every time I return. It's very refreshing to be surrounded by Applebutter hill and South Mountain again. This area always give me a very secure feeling, and while it sucks to choke on nostalgia and the remnants of my childhood, it's still comforting to fall asleep to the sound of crickets. Suburbia and shitty, ill-planned development is all around my house on Hopewell hill, so my parents have started fencing in the yard and planting large hedges to keep the outside world at bay. Nate, Holly and I hiked some of the Appalachian Trail yesterday and it reminded me of the summer I spent hiking the ridge between Bake Oven Knob and Route 309. We have been hanging out in my yard after dark, drinking beers by campfire light and discussing our respective situations and the bleak path our species seems to be following. My parents seem thoroughly happy to see me after a long absence, and I've been doing lots of yard work in an attempt to further ingratiate myself. The trip out to Penn State on a bus was less than exciting, and I had to walk in the pouring rain through uptown and Duquesne's campus to get to the station. State College is as sad and soulless a place as I've seen in a long time. If you don't want to feel like vommiting on undergrads who all look like clones of each other, I don't suggest you go there. Comparisons between that region and the city of Pittsburgh are absolutely ridiculous. The ride home with Spencer and Nate was long, but the weather was perfect. Right now, I'm preparing for my road trip and saying goodbye to friends and family. I'm starting to get anxious to get on the road, but I'm really enjoying myself here in the Lehigh Valley, possibly just because it's so familiar, and not because it's that unique or cool. Keep posted, as excitement brews with each passing day.

Movin' n'at

2006-07-20T12:20:00.000-04:00

Jose Luis and I had an awesome day trip to Ohiopyle. It was great way to beat the heat, and I like being a tour guide. We got to do a lot of hiking and river sitting. The pictures Jose took can be viewed on his website.
There are lots of pictures of me, and one blurred shot of Jose's foot, as I recall. Anyway, it's very pretty there; you should take a look and admire the area. Other than that, Henry and I saw Xavier Rudd down at the Rex Theatre. We were particularly excited because the concert last year had been cancelled and we were still holding tickets from that show. It was definitely worth the wait. Apparently, we enjoyed the show so much that we decided to deny ourselves the pleasure of sleep and run around town until noon the next day. This rather fuzzy period involved a road trip (legality questionable) to South Park to watch the sun rise, but we missed it. The ordeal was made even odder by the fact that I was hiking through the woods with one hand clutching my laptop for music. Now I'm waiting for the puds at Bike Tek to finish working on the bike I dropped off four days ago at the library in Squirrel Hill. I should be moving out of my apartment tonight and couch surfing for a few days before finding a way back to the Lehigh Valley!

Goodbye Wi-Fi

2006-07-14T17:49:00.000-04:00

So my laptop has decided to no longer recognize any wireless internet connections. This has made it difficult to learn about the outside world, email and, of course, update my precious blog. Lately, I've been packing all my crap after a nasty confrontation with my less-than-brilliant roommate. My friends have all been very supportive during this trying time, mainly because those who've met Andrew understand my plight very well. I've been picking up hours as a clerk at the Quick Stop, and I got a gig distributing Pepsi products at the All-Star Game for some cash. The bike riding has been steady, but not as intense as I would like; most of my friends don't ride anymore and claim that the days of riding around the city with a messenger bag full of beer have passed long ago. I remain enamored of the old ways, however. Scott and I have been planning his move out west. It appears as though I will be able to spend some time in Seattle, and have an opportunity to explore the Pacific Northwest; this is very exciting stuff. I plan on getting back to the Lehigh Valley in the next week or so to meet up with old friends and do some thinking. I'll have a lot of work to do with moving and such before I can run away though. I really feel like I'm being pulled in too many directions at once, and when this happens, I have a tendency to cut and run, leaving all my problems far behind. I've found that you can run from issues, but they'll catch up to you if you stop moving. We'll see what happens; keep checking back, as I plan on updating from the road, provided my fucking laptop doesn't crap out on me.

How I Feel About the City of Steel

2006-06-29T08:58:00.000-04:00

Scott and I have been beginning to discuss the details of his move to Spokane. It should prove to be an epic journey that defies explanation, comprehension and the power of human imagination. I get to climb over the Rocky Mountains, for fuck's sake. I flew over them once, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying as breathing the thin air will be. Apparently, I will be returning to Pittsburgh after a few days, and this prospect has me feeling a little frustrated. I've already quit my job, broken most of my possessions, arranged for storage for my intact possessions, served out the lease on my shitty Oakland digs, and so on. There is nothing keeping me in Pittsburgh, and the thought of another winter here makes me want to vomit in abject terror.

At the same time, cruising downtown, weaving in and out of traffic between skyscrapers, I start to wonder how I could ever leave for long. Pittsburgh is the closest thing to a home I have. My blood and sweat have oozed their way into many a crack in crappy pavement. The trains whistle through Panther Hollow, behind my apartment, and I can close my eyes and be back in Center Valley as a kid, listening to the same sound. Granted, the people here can't think past the next Steelers game, soda is called "pop" and the air is so bad I can see a halo of ozone on all horizons, but there's something comforting about this region. Where else could you find so unique a topography? What urban environment has sunlight shining off of three rivers or winding green valleys and vistas around every bend in the road? Where else could I get drunk for $7 and then get rained on? What town can claim a similar industrial legacy, or revolutionary history? Everyone I bring here comments on the 'burgh's charm, and I'm sure it has something to do with my infectious love of the city, but there has to be more to it. All the way to the Outer Banks and back, and I couldn't find a skyline that compares. Cities on the coast are flat and uninspired. Here, there's so little level land that it's hard to find an angle that doesn't offer an interesting view; it's like having an extra dimension added to my urban landscape.

But I've accomplished my goals here. I came to get an education, and succeeded. Most of my friends have gone home or, like Scott, are going off to see exotic places and faces. I understand that it's the people that make a place familiar, and it seems wrong to leave a place that I've poured so much of myself into, but when else will I have so little responsibility? I want adventure. I want volcanoes, foreign languages, sparkling coastline and the rush that comes with venturing into the unknown. I need an escape. I love you, Pittsburgh, but maybe we should think about seeing other people... or cities, as it were.

The War Haul: A Lesson in Humility

2006-06-26T11:50:00.000-04:00

I thought I was tough. I thought I was lean and fast. After a winter of riding through snow and rain I thought I could handle anything. I thought that 100 miles a week was solid training. I was wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for an alley cat. Now I understand why my mechanic, Bob the Blob, just gave me a wry smile when I announced that I was going to race. It is a story of pain, shame, sweat and defeat, which I shall relate presently.

Saturday afternoon was bright and hot. I arrived at the Warhol museum for the Bike Fest swap meet hours before the "War Haul," but none of my friends were there and nobody I knew would team up with me for the race. Perhaps they were the wise ones. I was so excited I was the first person to register; it was $5 for entry and a manifest if you rode with a helmet. I pulled out my laminated Pittsburgh map and sketched a rough route, but the sheer scope of the ride left me feeling like I was getting in over my head. The checkpoints included a stop at the North Side, the end of Washington's Landing, Point State Park, Mission and 18th Street on the South Side slopes, the end of the Riverfront Trail in Baldwin and Free Ride in Homewood, where you received directions to the finish line. To boot, this was the "War Haul" meaning that you needed to pick up a piece of a bicycle at every checkpoint in order to compete. The heavier the object, the higher the point value. We started a little after 5, with everyone pulling off in different directions at break-neck speed. I stood up on the pedals from the Warhol to the North Side and picked up a wheel. My messenger bag wouldn't fit an entire wheel, so I strapped it to the outside and flew through traffic to the trail to Washington's Landing. I have never rode so recklessly in my life. I watched as long-haired hipsters tore through red lights and swung around trucks only to weave around a PAT bus. I followed as closely (I was too scared to draft off anyone in traffic) as I could and my heart felt like in was in my stomach every time I crossed an intersection. Apparently, alley cats are meant to simulate the messenger experience, and usually take place in heavy traffic.
After running up and down a flight of steps at the next checkpoint I rocketed across the Allegheny to the Point, but by now the wheel on my back and my frenetic pace were getting to me. I don't think I'd ever felt a side sticker straight through to my back before. I was more than a little discouraged by the fact that the hardest part of the ride was going to be the end, and I wasn't even half way there. From the Point, I crossed the Mon and climbed the slopes. At this point I was so exhausted I had to concentrate in order to avoid vomitting. I flew down the hill and rode to the next checkpoint - which wasn't even in Pittsburgh! Sweat was dripping off my nose and burning my eyes, my shoulder burned from the load, and my legs were screaming for precious oxygen, but I couldn't seem to breath deep enough or fast enough to make the pain go away. This was at about mile 20, and I had to cross the Mon, climb off the flood plain and get to Free Ride in order to learn the location of the finish line. I hadn't planned on riding more than 15 miles, and had realized that I was proper fucked. After climbing Bates Street I realized I was only a few blocks from home so I chucked all the shit I was hauling in frustration and bought a Gatorade. I came home with barely enough strength to carry my Raleigh up the stairs, and couldn't stop coughing up lung butter. I had no wounds to speak of, but the bike definitely got abused from jumping; the grey mud covering it looks a bit badass. So in conclusion, my first alley cat was one of the hardest things I've ever attempted and it turns out that I was too weak to finish, and quit like a loser. People looked at me like I was crazy when I described my afternoon, but I didn't want to talk about it on account of my failure. I yelled at Ed loudly for not meeting me at the swap as we had planned; he liberated me an old ten speed Schwinn for compensation, which I plan on stripping and converting to a single speed or fixed gear to build up my skinny calves. I will be back to compete, you smelly, greasy, god-damned, elitist bike messenger motherfuckers! You may be twenty years older than me, half-drunk and still able to burn me without thinking twice, but I will ride again!

Free and Easy

2006-06-22T13:45:00.000-04:00

I've been riding constantly in an attempt to toughen up for the "War Haul" alley cat race that kicks off bike fest. I grow stronger with every pedal stroke, while the indolent masses try to pass me sitting on their fat asses. The house I found in Spring Hill is absolutely beautiful, costs less than a new car, and has an enormous yard for all my horticultural endeavors. Unfortunately, I've decided that I can't buy a house in a location that is too remote to be reached effectively by bicycle or bus. It's a shame, but I think it's best not to jump into a mortgage and property ownership, particularly when considering that I'm still blissfully unemployed.

I haven't been going to the bar at all, oddly. I actually left one last night without getting a drink because it was so crowded, and I had the misfortune of meeting people I don't know well enough to relate to but know to well to ignore without seeming like an asshole. Bragging about not having a job never gets old, though. It was funny because I always get a lot of phone calls after 11pm and it's rare that I go to sleep so early. I dreamt for the first time in weeks, and decided to embrace this by meditating for a while today (again, being unemployed = awesome). I've made it my mission to learn more about energy fields, "vibes," expanding understanding, awareness and such. Chrichton's "Travels" has rekindled my interest in the oft-mocked hippie studies. At any rate, today, I'm going to be receptive and empathetic to everyone and see how it goes. As long as I don't have a job, I'm just going to listen to people complain attentively and smile. I wonder how difficult it is to go a day without saying something negative and useless? If I have time to sit around and read all day while contemplating the growth of my basil, I don't see what I have to be angry or upset about.

"Grandma wears a Depends G-String"

2006-06-19T11:26:00.000-04:00

Holy-fucking-shit! So I had an awesome weekend, the details of which are far too numerous and incredible to discribe, so I won't. I'm sorry; I'm a lazy writer and this is a hobby - not a job. I'm keeping the emphasis on Pittsburgh. The aforementioned baseball game was:

Free (thanks, Tracey!)
A loss, 6-5. Way to suck, buccos.
Gotten to via downtown bike ride with Jon.
Viewed from a very cool section (thanks 96.1 FM, too bad your station sucks, the staff in your section were assholes and the music you play blows! FUCK YOU CLEAR CHANNEL!)
Accompanied by a $6 Coors Light in a plastic bottle during the stretch.

It was a good experience, but I was fairly exhausted from the ride and sitting in the sun all afternoon. The KISS DJ's repeatedly yelled: "GRANDMA WEARS A DEPENDS G-STRING!" It was odd. I love making old people and families uncomfortable too, but why at such a public place? Also, my sunglasses helped to shape an interesting "Rudolph" style sunburn on my nose.
I went to REI and am thinking about attending a workshop on Wednesday for hikers, in an attempt to hike the Rachel Carson trail - 30+ mile one day sort of deal. I've only ever done a little over twenty miles on foot in a day, so this prospect, along with crazy elevation changes, makes this seem like a good unemployed challenge. I recently hit 120 miles on the bike since June 3rd or so, with a top speed of 32.6, so I've got that going for me on two wheels. Today, I'm meeting Eric in the Northside to look at some properties that suite my interests. I don't think I'll tell him that I quit my job. I doubt it's the sort of thing real estate agents like to hear, but the property he is particularly interested in showing me is $29,000, and I'm very, very curious. Time to run errands; sorry for taking the weekend off for all those readers who contemplated suicide when faced with prospect of no new entries from Alex; more to come soon!

Plants and Shoulder Pain

2006-06-15T10:42:00.000-04:00

Jose and I went to the Conservatory on Tuesday, since he had never been there. I was very happy to plant myself a baby basil plant, so the herb garden grows ever larger and more potent. We came back and had a beer at Pamela's house in Schenley Heights (Yes, THE Pamela). On the way to my place we stopped at the Cathedral, which I hadn't been inside after my last final. Jose enjoyed the gothic theme, but I had to yell at him to stop taking so many pictures. Lunch was had at the Spice Cafe, and I took a nice nap until late afternoon. I met aforementioned girl at the Point, and we did some Arts Festival browsing. Jose and Henry gave us a ride back to my flat wherein we proceded to get drunk.

Wednesday was another good day. I think everyday is awesome if you don't have to go to work; it feels just like a vacation. I like to joke now that I've officially retired at 22. I made an appointment to look at some property on the North Side next week and checked out my site in Schenley Park. After some reading and a stop at the bike shop I hung out with Ed for a while and got some wine. I was about to go for my first bike ride in 24 hours or so, but I got a call from Chris in Shadyside and rode over there to receive free Pirates tickets for Thursday at noon. His girlfriend won them in a radio contest, but neither of them could take the day off to go; the unemployed win again!

Recovering

2006-06-13T11:18:00.000-04:00

Sunday, Jen(n) and I went down to Luca's in the Strip and walked around there for a while. I talked myself out of buying yet another plant, but I did get her to agree to store my shit in her basement while I tirelessly wander the world. Henry stopped by at my house and introduced me to Bridgette of Avalon, who works at the second hand clothing shop. Hence the nickname. He and I had dinner at the chinese food buffet and he headed back to Bloomfield. My shoulder was still all fucked up so I came home and read until about midnight.

I slept til almost noon on Monday, just because I can. Henry called to tell me that Big Ben flew off his motorcycle into a windshield and concrete. I was able to relate to his position, but my vehicle has no motor, and I still wear a helmet so I had little sympathy. I hope his brain still works OK so he can enjoy his newfound fame. We shopped at a market on Liberty and made some eggs before walking through the cemetery on our way to Lawrenceville. Afterwards, we talked to crazy Mr. Kraynik and got pieces for Henry's bike, and walked back through Garfield. On the way back, we stopped at Carly the Red Bull distributor's house and we watched some History Channel about the guy who killed a bunch of people from the tower in Austin. TV was fun in a small dose, I reckon. She invited us back, but Henry wouldn't go, so I met her at Logan's on Centre and rode back to her house after dark. Therein, a girl actually talked to me, which doesn't happen that often, so I was a bit bewildered, but messed up enough that I didn't think much of it. Todd, formerly a co-worker, met me with Julie at the Spice Cafe. I was amused to learn that my old boss at the Elbow Room wants to deck me apparently. Julie used some sort of super power to soothe my shoulder and I fell asleep listening to DUQ at around 2:30 am.

Over the Top

2006-06-11T12:10:00.000-04:00

Saturday was another awesome day. I hung out around the apartment and cleaned for a long time. Did a few loads of laundry and such. Ed came over and we had a pair of beers at the Pittsburgh Cafe before biking down to the Point. The Eels rocked my world, even though I didn't know much of their music, and chicken on a stick was delicious as expected. On the ride back I dumped my skinny road tire into a ravine on Liberty and took a trip over the handlebars. While lying on the pavement amidst speeding cars I had time to gather my components, but not my wits, and Ed and I stood on the curb while I waited for my hands to stop shaking. Thumbs up to the nice foreign man who crossed the street to ask if I was OK. Incidentally, what do you think he would've done if I had said no? Maybe he was a medical doctor specializing in bicycle related trauma? The odd thing was that even though I was scared shitless, adrenaline and shock made me wear a broad grin through the whole deal; I'm sure all the pedestrians and motorists who witnessed the incident thought that I was thoroughly insane. Anyway, we decided to bike to Bloomfield to liberate my six pack of Pabst (for medicinal purposes, of course) that had been abandoned there days ago. Upon arriving, Henry's roommates gave me some vodka-soaked watermellon, but there were only two beers remaining. We rode back via Matilda to Oakland, where a white Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows came within a few inches of smacking my handlebars. I swore a lot and, according to Ed, lost all color in my face. All in all, it was a bad day for bicycling, but being unemployed, I wasn't about to let it bring me down.
Scott came over with six packs of Sam Adams and I was feeling pretty good by the time I went to bed, unfortunately, today my arm won't move. I figure it's a good thing you don't need arms to ride.

Glorious Freedom

2006-06-10T10:25:00.000-04:00

So, I woke up around noon and helped Chris move his furniture from Polish Hill to his new apartment in classy Shadyside. It didn't take long, and I always enjoy helping to create beginnings, so it was a good experience. Plus, I got a good beer and chicken wrap and the Deli Company for my efforts. After walking back to Oakland, I met up with Henry and Trevor, the ex-messenger. We hung out at my place and jammed for a while; it turns out Trevor is awesome at guitar and is in a band called "Local Honey," which he likes a lot more than his last band, "Balls Deep."

Trevor and I rode out to Frick Park with Bob from Iron City Bikes, or rather, we tried to ride out to Frick with Bob, but he flew threw a red light and we lost him on the way, got angry and turned around once we were deep into Squirrel Hill. I had some Vera Cruz and had a beer with Little Nate, who is visiting from eastern PA. I had a few Yuenglings at the Pittsburgh Cafe, but I was tired from mountain biking so I went home and passed out at about 1am. The people who called to party after that were all very surprised that I was out so early, but it was awesome to catch up on sleep, and wake up before 10am.

Hump Day

2006-06-09T02:56:00.000-04:00

Wednesday was awesome. After waking up confused and inexplicably located on Chesterfield, I collected myself and had a strawberry covered belgian waffle at Pamela's. I was going to get a Tarot reading from the freaky dude at the goth shop, but it didn't open til noon. After a bike ride to the Point with Jon we rode up Liberty Ave. to Henry's house in Bloomfield. When buying six packs of precious, precious Pabst pounders, two middle-aged yinzer women bought me a drink and hit on me for a while. They espoused many slurred curses against the city for not having the Bloomfield pool open on such a hot day. Feeling sexy and excited by the prospect of owning beer, I whistled back to Henry's, wherein we watched the news and proceeded to get angry and buzzed. Bill decided that Iran was his "most favorite country ever," and I promised to read the last few chapters of Black Elk Speaks Jon and I would have biked back to Oakland, but his front tire was flat, and instead of stashing it at Henry's house and using my mountain bike (which, oddly, is in Henry's kitchen) we walked back to North Oakland. I biked out to Elsworth and the Elbow Room to pick up my pay check. I demanded a raise for washing dishes from the owner and received it. On the ride back I found myself feeling sad that I hadn't quit, but I decided that one needed to be employed to have a meaningful existence. Jon and I met at Vera Cruz for delicious, nutritious and cheap food, and he went to work while I went for another bike ride back to the Point. I made an ass of myself speeding up to a hot chick on a road bike and having nothing clever to say, much to the amusement of the riding crew.
The music at the Arts Festival was awesome. I remembered last year and Citizen Cope when I first started working at Pamela's. However, all nostalgia was forgotten with chicken on a stick and lo mein - again: Festival = awesome. We rode back at sunset and watched King Kong on Flagstaff hill. King Kong sucked and the original is definitely more wholesome, but I was impressed to see that CGI was able to kick the shit out of three Tyrannosaurus Rexs. That is something. I wish I could approach people and casually relate my awesomeness in terms of Tryannosaurs I can kill with my bare hands.
At home I showered and went to Spice Cafe with Mike and Courtney. I decided that it was not a good thing, but certainly interesting that the whole staff said hello to me by name when I walked in. After pita and hummus we got a few beers and I resolved to get shit-faced. Jameson was drank-ed. Later, when I had a neighbor playing guitar on my porch and dawn was breaking on the horizon as I clutched a Steel Reserve, I decided that my earlier resolution was carried out with zeal. I slept until 2, realized I was still drunk and then slept til 5. I went to work at 5:30, had a tuna melt for breakfast and started re-hydrating. There was little business and I made the decision to quit after I finished my shift.
Shaun was less than pleased. I told him as he and the barmaid were on the serving side of the bar and I on the other. They were drinking wine and I had a beer. Shaun asked for a week and I said that I didn't need the reference and that I wanted to go to the Arts Festival this weekend. He was about as angry as I've ever seen him, but we were both polite to each other, I guess. I'm not really sure because, being gay, he left the room with his glass of wine in hand after I apologized for ending my employment so abruptly. I know it was a Judas-like thing to do to a nice guy, but he gets paid to make the restaurant run, and I cannot shut my mind off to the fact that I was washing dishes as a college graduate. The result being that now I am an unemployed college graduate, which suits me infinitely better I think.
Tomorrow will kick more Tyrannosaur ass than a dozen King Kongs on steroids. I'm going to bicycle and read and hike and run and maybe push a toddler into a muddy puddle. I want to take ten days off and chill out. Find myself, man, re-evaluate and plan. I should look for a new job, I suppose. I don't really want another restaurant job, and I certainly don't want to have to sit at a bar until 2 in the morning waiting for customers to leave anymore. I think activism is the way to go. Hopefully, Clean Water Action will hire me and I could ride my bike downtown to work for an activist organization everyday. That'd be pretty hip. I like words like "action, grassroots, community, etc." to describe my job as opposed to "I pick shit up and set it in down in different places depending on what it is, oh, and I change kegs." I haven't been excited for a tomorrow in a while. I feel oddly free despite being very tired and hungry. Also, dear rain gods, please grant me sunshine to revel in tomorrow as it makes me feel happy.

Park Sittin' and Dish Doin'

2006-06-07T12:37:00.000-04:00

Tuesday was spent lying in the sun in Schenley Park, finishing my book from yesterday. It was surprising that no one was hanging out considering the awesome weather. A whole gang of friends was over at my apartment as soon as I got home. They wanted to go for a ride and spend the evening at the Arts Festival, but I now have the pleasure of washing dishes twice a week in order to earn the priviledge of bussing tables for three days a week. The situation has me quite beside myself, so I wore my "Wage Slaves No Longer" t-shirt to work, but no one seemed to care. I got ridiculously stoned before my shift, so I enjoyed myself for an hour or two. After my mood grew sour I took it upon myself to beer-batter and deep fry a cucumber for experimentation purposes. The results were less than encouraging.
I left early because washing dishes sucks and rode home as fast as my feet would pedal. Once the bike was safely stashed I drank tequila at Mad Mex - liquor seemed appropriate for "Devil's Night." I went up to Scott's house in Chesterfield with a six pack after a stop at Uncle Jimmy's and played Street Fighter II on his Super Nintendo, but I was so shitty that I couldn't even master Ehonda's infamous thousand hand slap.

Needless to say, I was a bit confused when I woke up in an unfamiliar room with the sun filtering through the bamboo blinds.

Mission Statement

2006-06-06T15:15:00.000-04:00

OK, so I haven't written more than a sentence since my uneventful graduation, and I don't want my prose to wither for lack of practice. I don't know who would be interested in my thoughts, but voyeurism is fun and everybody else is doing it. Plus, my life is probably way more unusual - or at least much less sedentary than most. At any rate, feedback and material for discussion would be greatly appreciated because, like most projects, it's starting that's the most difficult aspect of creation.
Being stuck in Pittsburgh, which is not necessarily a bad thing, I've decided I'll try and make regional issues and their impacts on people that I know prevalent topics; my friends and I spend most of our time drunkenly cursing local, state and federal legislatures anyway, so it shouldn't be too hard to spew out a few political rants on a regular basis. Anti-motorist manifestos and vivid recollections of bicycle adventures are sure to be frequently mentioned, as I regularly cheat death at the hands of inept drivers during my daily travels. Also, I've somehow become a bit of an eco-freak over the course of my college career, so environmentalism will certainly rear is majestic head from time to time. I'm not sure why a hopeless cynic like myself bothers to be active for such a cause, but it's very possible that my activism contributes to my cynicism.
Anyway, here's how my life works: yesterday I woke and read in bed for an hour or so (Carson McCullers's The Heart is a Lonely Hunter). I was bummed to learn that Ms. McCullers published this distinguished work at the tender age of 23, making me feel quite unaccomplished and lame. But, realistically, who knows anything at 23? I'm 22 and I don't know shit. All the same, I found her understanding of the human condition fascinating, so perhaps age is irrelevant when it comes to understanding and awareness. It's an awesome book, regardless; I see why Opera reccomended it to her devoted legions.
Later, I rode the new bike downtown and back, then over to Henry's house in Bloomfield, (hitting a new top speed of 31.0 MPH crossing the Bloomfield Bridge) where we discussed the necessity of escaping Pittsburgh over cold Pabst pounders. He's fresh off a trip to Colorado, so he's still full of wanderlust. This combined with his normal manic disposition made for quite an interesting conversation and I was still thinking about the Rockies when I rode to work.
At the Elbow Room, I picked things up, handed them to the dishwasher and returned them to their respective destinations for several hours. I have decided that I need to quit, but a certain sense of professionalism and fear of poverty keeps me from walking out in the middle of a busy shift. I fantasize about the scenario often, though. After work was through and the place closed, I rode home.