Brother Blue

It is no secret, I love international travel (especially for more than a week at a time). You find yourself in foreign places, with foreign sights, sounds, and language. There is no way to mistake where you are for where you live. No ESPN. No USAToday. No one to say, “I feel you dawg.” (Not that anyone in my life would say something like that, but at least it is a possibility.) No Simpson’s (at least not in your language). When I find myself this far away, it is very easy to get lost in the moment. I don’t have a routine for a Friday afternoon in Oslo, so it is easy to be spontaneous.
Because of the newness of the location, even the common cup of coffee tastes richer. The coffee is not richer, but for some reason my senses are just sharper. For some reason daily life has this way of dulling our senses. Not that we live dull lives, we just get use to them. I was standing with some friends in the thrown room of the Alhambra (a beautiful Moorish castle in the south of Spain). The Arabic wood and stone work covered the walls floor to ceiling (40 feet high). My friend said, “I don’t think I would want to live in the palace. I would be afraid this beautiful room would become common place.”
The other reason I love travel of this type is because it clears the decks of my mind. In the same way I get used to beautiful vistas of my home, I get use to my fears and dreams. They become wallpaper. The back ground of my life. Always there. Always seen. Never really thought to much about. At first blush, I would never compare a fear (or dream for that matter) to wallpaper, but I know it to be true. They become these stories we tell ourselves about our lives, that we have heard some many times, they just have to be true. Until one day they are not.
From the age of 12 till the age of 22 I knew was going to be a computer scientist. I wanted to be a computer scientist. Until one day I didn’t. I still loved computer science, I just no longer wanted to be a computer scientist. The change didn’t happen over night. I slowly grew and changed as a person. The realization came over night. I had a few experiences that made me realize that the stories I told about myself were no longer true. One day I changed the wall paper and only then did realized how much the old wallpaper wasn’t for me.
When I am out of the country for weeks at a time, it allows me to look at the wallpaper of my life. It is not like I sit in foreign cafes, dinking much too strong coffee, looking sullen, thinking deep thoughts about the meaning of my life. (I am no where near cool enough to pull that off without looking like I am trying way to hard.) Instead, because I am out of my element I am not allowed to rely on routine. I don’t make choices out of habit. I actually have to make choice, not just react. I find myself with people who know nothing about me. I get to explain myself from the start, without any baggage or history. I am with people I will never see again, so, for me at least, it is easier to tell the truth. It is a truth of who I think I am right now, not the truth of five years ago.
This most recent trip to Spain was no different. I have been back for more than two weeks now and I still feel out of sync. The world I have created around myself is humming along in the same rhythm it always has, but for some reason I am very much out of step. It is as if I am moving in a gear two or three speeds slower. My time in Spain was wonderful. I learned a lot about myself and the world, but I also know I was not radically transformed by the trip. I was simply given the chance to loose my routine, to see who I am right now.
Because of this my mind has been filled with all sorts of new questions/realizations that I want to explore in myself. 5:45am I was sitting on a plane to Detroit, and in a rare moment of early morning clarity I found myself scribbling topic I want to write on. (For me, one of the best ways I learn about myself is when I have to explain an idea (writing or talking). Often when I am done, I think, “I didn’t know I thought that.”) In a matter of moments I had five or six topics.
As I reread them I got a little depressed. It’s not that the topics where cynical, but they weren’t also filled with happiness and hope. They were reflections of, “So I have now lived this many years. 1) One what do I have to show for it? 2) I now have a good chunk of experience, what do I really want to become?”
A few years ago a book was published called “The Quarter Life Crisis” about the new identity questions that are asked at 25. For our parents generation they when to high school, maybe college, got married, bought a home, and had kids. Because of the responsibilities of family and home they weren’t give n the chance to ask the identity questions again (if they ever asked it) until the home was paid for and the kids where gone (or at least able to feed themselves, even if they were still living in the basement). My generation is marrying latter, having kids much latter, giving us opportunity to ask questions previous generation did have the luxury to ask at 25. In typical fashion of my social development I have showed up to the party a few years latter than my peers.
The simple fact that I get to even get to consider a QLC is decadent. Some people wake in the world and ask the question, “How I am going to find food today?” while I loose sleep over questions like, “Has my life turned in to a series of super cool beer commercial moments that is void of narrative?” Just knowing I have the luxury of considering that question makes me feel indulgent and slimy.
In these moments of question and doubt, it is important to note that I have not lost my dreamy sentimental soul. I am still the irrational optimist (and fear the day that I am not an irrational optimist). I still think anything and everything is possible. I know my life is richer when I act out of that belief. When I was a sr. in high school I answered a question in English class. Our teacher, Mr. Ring, who was revered by all, paused and ask, “Gene, are you really that much of a sentimental ass?” My answer then (as it is now) was “Yes!” I still jump out of bed in the morning longing to chase my dreams. I still love fighting to make those dreams come true. At this moment I am just not as sure as I have been at other points in my life what those dreams are.
The QLC and the irrational dreamer are not contradictions. They are not separate people. They both still reside in me. The QLC challenges the dreamer to ask hard questions about who I am. Forces him to not assume the dream he is currently chasing is the right dream to chase. The dreamer forces the QLC to not take himself so seriously. Forces him to not over think. Forces to act even when the numbers just don’t add up. Forces him to realize that it is just life and when he makes the wrong choice he gets to get up the next morning and try again.

Last night we ate at a wonderful sushi restaurant in Whistler, BC Canada called Sushi Village. Whistler is a ski village (and very nice at that). The restaurant was awesome. On the wall in the hallway to the bathroom was a bunch of autographs from famous people who had eaten there. One card was blank with this written along the bottom.
“Matt LaBlonc declined to sign this card during his 1999 visit.”

Not sure why we end up with summer reading list. I am much less likely to read in the summer, because I should be outside.
Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman A must read for any child of the eights who thinks too much. Just out in paperback.
The Pleasure of My Company: A Novel by Steve Martin (Yes, that Steve Martin) After reading this book I was humbled to the point of not wanting to get back up on stage. He is simply brilliant. As an actor. As a comedian. As a writer. With brilliant creatives like this, it is a crime that I steal oxygen and spot light. One of the funniest books I have ever read.
Generation X by Douglas Coupland An old favorite. It is not almost 15 years old and still holds up really well. A story of trying to live a genuine life.
High Fidelity by Nick Hornby If you liked the movie, you will love the book. Slightly darker ending and a great education in to British music. (book set in London, not Chicago)
The Fifth Mountain by Paulo Coelho Another old favorite which is on the top of my reading list right now.

This is something I could see my self spending weeks (or a life time) doing. It is project called Found Magazine. Davy Rothbart and Jason Bitner have a magazine which is nothing more than stuff found on the ground by people all over the world. Most of the pieces are notes or photos. Lots of samples on the web site.

More details on the trip to Mexico. We still have room if you want to come. Give it some thought and prayer.
Here are some estimates:
•Lodging in Mexico City, $10 per night, 5 nights, $50.00
•Breakfast at seminary, $3.00 per day, 4 days, $12.00
•Lunches and dinners on our own, approximately $15.00 per day (with drinks) 10 days, $150.00. (This would be eating really well).
•Bus trip to Teotihuacán and admission, $15.00 per person (estimate).
•Bus trip to Cuernavaca, $10.00 per person.
•Taxi to the Shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupé, $10.00 per person
•(These prices do not include souvenirs and I might be able to reduce the costs of the buses and taxis with Raúl’s assistance)
•Bus to orphanage in Colón Querétaro, $20.00 per person.
•Donation to orphanage $100.00 person.
•Gift to Raúl (our guide for the week) $100.00 per person.
Estimated total cost…..$467.00
I am sure that we could cut some corners on meals and bus tickets while we are there and please remind people that these are estimated costs – while traveling in a developing country it is better to overestimate and be prepared than to wind up with no cash.
Please let me know if you are planning on (or thinking of) joining us.

This is the weirdest thing I have seen in a really long time. It is part of a promotion by Burger King. It is all about getting chicken just the way you want it.
So far I have gotten these commands to work: sing, dance, punch wall, die, and kiss

I don’t have a tv (well I do, but it is storage). I don’t watch much TV (only a little Sportscenter on the road). If I did have a TV, this is what I would watch tonight: Monk Season Permire on USA.

Last few days in Spain looked something like this.
I ended up taking the night train from Barcelona to Madrid. I also ended up paying $30 extra dollars for the ticket. I ended up buying a round trip ticket. Once I realized this I went back to explain to the ticketing agent that I only needed “ida” (one way). He kept say back “You have 60 days to book your return trip.” So I have a first class sleeper car ticket from Madrid to Barcelona that any one can have for free just let me know.
I knew that I was on my way back home and would be heading off to work right after I got back to the States. The thought was I should be as rested as possible and that a sleeper car on the night train would help that process along. (How is that for masterful rationalization to spend more money?) My room not only had a bed, but a sink and a shower as well as a wake up call 45 min out of Madrid, which I handed masterfully in Spanish. (Yes very hard. Phone rings. I say talk to me. They tell me we are 45 min from Madrid. I say thank you. Yes I know you wish you had this grip of the Spanish language.) I dropped my bags in a locker and headed into Madrid.
The Prodad
My first stop was the Prodad, which is one of the finest art galleries in Europe. It was a good choice.
I was struck by things. One Busco’s paintings. If you didn’t know better you would think it was a Dalí. What was amazing what that all of his work was done in the 16th century (because that is when he lived). So not only was his painting of hell very beautiful (and very messed up), but they were done in a time when everyone else was doing this basic [I can't spell the word that goes here. The time after the dark ages. They discovered perspective as well as many other scientific discoveries. It starts with an R. You know the word] painting. Not only was he doing really cool stuff, but in a time when he was like no one else (almost 400 years ahead of his time).
The other thing that struck me was a painting of St. Benedict. I had taken notes on the time period and artist of this painting, but left my notes in my hostel room in Madrid. St. Benedict is kneeling before an alter, which has the Madonna hold child. Not too odd, but (and this is a big but) her right breast is exposed and with the hand which is not hold the baby Jesus, she is squeezing a stream of milk from her breast in to the mouth of St. Benedict. (You might want to re-read that line to get it full impact.) This is a painting in one of the finest art galleries in the world as high art. If someone were paint that today, religious zealots of all stripes would come unglued. To quote myself, standing in the Ufizi gallery in Florence, Italy, “You put a naked woman on a clam shell it is art. You put a naked woman on a motorcycle it pornography.” I just don’t get where people draw lines.
Real Castillo
(The royal palace) Okay, I don’t remember if it was called the Real Castillo (royal castle), but I don’t know the word for palace in Spanish off the top of my head so royal castle is going to have to work as the title of this section.
I had all day, so I walked across Madrid to the palace. Basically, at one point a French man was put in charge of Spain for 40 years. He never learned the Spanish language and you got the feeling he would much rather be ruling France, but sometimes you have to take what you can get. So he decided he needed his Versiec(like I have a clue how to spell that). So he built a 2000 room, opulent opulent opulent palace for himself. I walk up to the palace, take a picture, and realize that it cost $15 to get in. Now I was just in one of the best museums in the world and it cost $4. I decided that I didn’t need to see another thing. I had been looking at old things for a month now. With exception of missing the beer stein urinal, I don’t thing I would have had a religious experience walking around the palace. I had just spent the last 34 days being stretched in so many ways. I could live without seeing one more thing, so I went looking for lunch.
Walking Madrid
I spent the rest of the day just wondering Madrid. There were two times when it just struck me that I had been places before. A full month earlier, the first thing I did when I got to Spain was wonder around Madrid. Even though I had spent less than 24 hours in Madrid before, it felt so less foreign. It was amazing. I would walk along and remember being in one spot a month before. Remember what I was feeling. Realize how different the place was now. It might have been because I had a better grasp on the language. Or I recognized the sights and sound of Spain. Or that I was no longer filled with all the emotion of new place away from home. Who knows, but it was amazing to see the same place so differently. It is like going back to a place from your childhood. When you return the trees are so much small and the street is much less wide than the memeories you have.

Still trying to figure out which way is up. When I got home I was pleasantly surprised to find that one of my housemates has painted the top of my laptop computer (at my request). The painting is called “Please don’t pick this up off of the x-ray machine at the airport because this is not your computer.”
Larger Version

I am home from Spain. Safe, well, and tired.
Don’t think I am back from Deagoba.
Off to bed.