Metamorphosis

Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls! Welcome to one of the few wireless portals to my mind!

I've been up to quite a bit since my last post. Easter Break happened in April: I traveled around southern England a bit--stayed with Mary Cruse in Kent (basically the quintessential picture of what you imagine the English countryside to be) and with my friend Rachel in Dorset (the original palm tree-forested, beach surrounded San Diego, except with some wild horses and chalk mountains to boot (that's a terrific expression--really folksy--I think I might use it more often--and hyphens are wonderful too--take the place of other (like this one), more tiresome punctuation marks); then went to London with Rachel, where we had some pretty fantastic adventures. After that, Amie came to visit Edinburgh, which was a tubular time, of course. By then, classes had ended (they actually don't start up again after Easter Break, so in a way, your summer starts in March--but not in most ways (see how great the hyphens are--I was really stumped with what punctuation mark to put there (and there)) and exam period was well under way. Dun Dun Dun.

I had my first exam on April 27. On April 28, I, along with 3 friends (John, Ollie, and Jason (I still owe Jason money so don't let me forget about that)), stepped onto a plane bound for France. When we stepped off, we were in northern Slovakia.
No, I'm joking. We were in France. We spent a week there, camping and climbing in Fontainebleau forest, the bouldering Mecca of Western Europe. It was freaking amazing! No, honestly, I cannot describe how awesome it was in human words, and since I have never learned elvish or klingon (I even had to google the spelling of klingon) I won't say any more about it. I will say, however, that while I showed Fontainebleau the deepest love and respect, it, to me, was a rather abusive lover. We got back two weeks ago (6th of June) and my body is still broken--fingers still stiff and aching, arms still throbbing with a fairly excruciating pain when I climb (I've gotten back to it despite the pain--probably not healthy), and I've got a big toe that hurts whenever I move it in normal toe movement patterns (you know: up, down, up, down). All said, it was a good trip, only in small part due to my rediscovering a long-forgotten romance with French baguettes and fromage (I will never forget you, my sweet Camembert... nor you, my lovely Brie).

In the last two weeks, I took my last two exams, completing my formal education at the University of Edinburgh. With the end of school, the sun has risen, flowers blossomed, the birds are chirping (I still don't like them). A little sun and grass and there is revealed, not the dreary, dark city plagued with death and hopelessness which I have lately called my beloved home, but a magical kingdom where a thousand adventures await you and you no longer desire to stay home and watch Godfather 2 again (the first one is much better, anyway). Unfortunately, alongside the advent of this new dreamworld comes the departure of a great many good friends that I've made whilst (did you realize British people actually use that word in everyday conversation? seductive, I know) here. Such is life, I suppose: every white cloud has a dark lining, every baby born marks an old man dying; a wild turkey becomes a Thanksgiving dinner, and while we slurp the gravy a scorned coyote is crying.

(Whilst I researched the wild turkey's natural predators, one of whom is the coyote, I came across these fun facts: a turkey sees, in color, more than 10 times better than do people and they have a nearly 360 degree scope of vision, making them difficult to surprise; a young male turkey is called a jake and a young female turkey, a jenny; turkeys communicate with family and members of their flock by clucking, purring, "putt"-ing, and gobbling, each sound used in different situations (warning, mating, etc.). Pretty interesting stuff.)

I feel that I perhaps use hyphens and parentheses too much. They just are two of the rare things that one literally can't resist. A third is Sean Connery.

Life is like a fluorescent lightbulb

Good evening fellow drifters along life's winding wynds,

It has been quite some time since my last recording. This is partly because I've been busy, and partly because while blogina and I have attempted to deepen our relationship, she thinks I'm insensitive and insulting and I think she doesn't have much personality, not to mention looks.

Anyway, let me quickly update you with some highlights from the last couple of months: I visited my friend Rhoads Reynolds Cannon in Oxford, where I dined and discoursed with high society intellectuals (Rhoads not being the only one). I drove around the Scottish Highlands a couple of times--once just last weekend with my dad and once about a month ago with a very aggressive tartan-clad guide/bus driver who had a broadsword and insisted that the Scots rule the British empire (turns out the Queen is decendant from King James of Scotland, which is pretty interesting). Both trips took me to some really beautiful lochs and bens (lakes and mountains), as well as giving me a glimpse into small-town Scottish culture. It's exactly how I expected it to be, by the way--everyone wears blue face paint, bagpipes are constantly playing in the background, and there are frequent stone-throwing competitions (we men need some way to prove ourselves, you know). I've been climbing a lot, which makes me feel really good about life. A few weeks ago I climbed at the largest rock gym in the world (they call it an "arena"). I've also climbed outside a little bit and planned a 6-day climbing trip to Fountainebleau, France--probably the most famous bouldering area in the world--with some friends. I'm frighteningly excited about it. I've been way into mafia movies lately. I don't know why exactly, I guess there's just something about crime, murder, and mayhem that makes me feel really good.

I'm very happy about their having passed healthcare legislation back home. It could have been a better bill and the whole process over the past year has made me pretty sick to my stomach (for more specific reasons that I will refrain from elucidating at the moment, though I'd be happy to do so later), but Democrats needed to pass something and this will benefit the country. I'd really like to rant (I mean, calmly discuss) this topic for a few paragraphs, but I don't think this is the post for it. Suffice it to say, as of now healthcare costs are placing too large a burden on individuals and on the government (i.e. the conglomerate of voting taxpayers). As of 2007, 62% of all bankruptcies were due to unpayable healthcare costs (http://blogs.consumerreports.org/health/2009/06/health-care-bankruptcy-on-rise-medical-debt-medical-bills-how-to-avoid-bankruptcy.html). Though 40-50 million Americans don't have insurance, many of those bankrupt people had health insurance to begin with but lost it or faced costs way beyond what the insurance company would pay. The common practice of insurance companies is to deny insurance to people with existing health conditions who want to purchase it and to cut people's coverage when they get an illness which costs a lot to treat. I don't say this to villify insurance companies, only to present the basic fact of the matter--an insurance company stays in business and profits over other companies by insuring the healthiest people and avoiding as much risk as possible. What's good for an insurance company is not always what's good for the people it insures. For that reason, a lot of hardworking people can't afford insurance and a lot have insurance but still get dropped by their insurance company when they get sick--or have to pay huge sums over and above what the insurance will cover.
Some people argue that expanding healthcare coverage is bad because it would force people who work hard and responsibly purchase insurance to foot the bill for those who either don't work hard or aren't responsible enough to get insurance. Right now, though, people with insurance are already paying for people without insurance, because those uninsured still get sick, hurt, etc., and when they do, they have to go the emergency room. The emergency room takes the patients (doctors have this pesky commitment to saving people), and other people cover their costs through higher premiums and emergency room costs. Expanding coverage doesn't charge the insured taxpayer any more than he's already paying; if anything it will reduce that amount, by covering those now-uninsured people in an efficient way--through check-ups and medication prescriptions (preventative & long-term care) rather than expensive, last-minute E.R. surgeries.
This bill will cover 30 million Americans (it excludes illegal immigrants, for better or worse), it will end insurance company practices of discriminating on the basis of pre-existing condition and dropping coverage, and, by curbing long-term costs, it will reduce the federal budget deficit by $138 billion over the next 10 years ($1.2 trillion over the following 10 years), according to the non-partisan Congressional Budget Office, which works for both Democrats and Republicans. It's not a perfect bill (I could go over the things I dislike about it some other time), but its a good bill. And thank God at least something was passed!
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=123670612 (Here's a short article about the individual mandate)
The saddest thing about this long healthcare debate is how much it has been driven by blind ideology (on both sides) rather than reasoned examination and discussion of individual issues and pieces of legislation. Whether you're Republican or Democrat (I consider myself a very moderate democrat), we can all be pragmatic and judge specific health bills on their merits and deficiencies. That's what good legislators do, and as citizens in a democracy which demands our informed participation, we ought to do the same.

Okay, I guess I did end up ranting a little bit.

P.S.--Today I was walking to the climbing gym around 8 p.m., and I happened to look up. No joke, it was one of the most amazing things: the sky was blue. A deep, royal blue, it was probably the bluest blue I have ever seen. It was more blue than a blue jay, more blue than a blue crayon, more blue than the blue I see when I close my eyes and picture blue. I stared at it the rest of the walk to the gym--nearly got hit by two cars--and I haven't gotten the image out of my mind yet. It's haunting and beautiful and incomprehensible. Maybe I just don't look at the sky enough and in fact this is not such a rare thing, but I'm pretty sure the sky usually doesn't look like that. I mean the sky isn't really blue; isn't it more of a grey-ish, blue-ish clear? Not this time. This sky wasn't jokin around about its identity. It was Blue. and Blue was it.

Rupert, put down that cantaloupe!

If I ever have a daughter I want to name her Mrs. Wadsworth. Mrs. Wadsworth Brockway. She'll be the coolest girl in school.

The more we get together the happier we'll be

I haven't written in a while and, if you're madly in love with me, I know that that must have been hard for you. If you have only average affection for me, it probably didn't affect you too much, but now that you've read that presumptuously indirect apology to my imagined admirers, your feelings toward me and this blog have taken a distinctive turn south (toward Satan and Hell and overcooked cabbage, along with other unpleasant things). Anyway, I've been busy exploring the city and living in my head along with thoughts too serious or nonsensical or downright shameful (Oh to dare to dream a vision so sweet/ Of shoes on hands and hats on feet) for public broadcast.

I bought a throw-away camera the other day and have finally taken some pictures. I will post them soon in order to prove once and for all (to those who brandish overly imaginative suspicions--Rachel Percival, etc.) that I am in fact in Scotland.

As compensation for reading this post, I leave with you a Churchill quote that I quite like and a picture of a dog in sunglasses:

"Soon, very soon, our brief lives will be lived. Soon, very soon, we and our affairs will have passed away. Uncounted generations will trample heedlessly upon our tombs. What is the use of living, if it be not to strive for noble causes and to make this muddled world a better place for those who will live in it after we are gone? How else can we put ourselves in harmonious relation with the great verities and consolations of the infinite and eternal?"

Prayer in Schools, Scott Brown, Chicken McNuggets

Stream of Consciousness: Grasshopper door knob hanging from a tree of gilded horseradish touchtone nino chewbacca running from a talking lamppost incredible incroyable tomato milk porcupine she-bear wondering why it keeps going-me too-tree sap marmalade juice box phenomenological reduction correlated 1000 metres spiraling sideways a fork a chalkboard a black box with nothing in it but how would you know because it's locked monkeys dancing on a raft mesmerizing promulgating hope is a delusion: no hand can grasp a wave or a shadow-that's voltaire (i don't particularly agree) forklift green samurai Massachusetts fun to sumersault.

A week has passed since my last post, so I thought I owed it to my many readers (Hi Mom...) to post something. That (see above) is what came to mind. Forgive me.

I went to a ceilidh the other day. It's a gaelic dance event at which people (many of them in kilts) dance in big groups in a number of different arrangements accompanied by Scottish fiddle music. It was fantastic! I've never considered myself an impassioned lover of dance, but that may have all changed.


Here are some pictures of beautiful Edinburgh:

...taken from Google Images.

The one on top shows my favorite street. It's g-reat.

Being insane is one of those many things that seem romantic when you imagine them but are less so in reality, like growing up, having a career, and porridge. Sure you get to talk to yourself, write on whatever you want with whatever you want, and address people as your royal subjects, and that's seems great, but it takes a degree of sanity to enjoy it. I long maintained a boyhood dream of being an old, slightly insane polemic, and now I blame television, video games, and modern advertising techniques for making me want what only really disappoints. So much of our lives are spent in pursuit of that which we believe will make us happy--money, fame, sex, power, really soft hair, a goat (different strokes for different folks)--but it always falls short. "Vanity of vanities! All is vanity."

This was my first sunny day in Edinburgh. It wasn't really that sunny, but it didn't rain either. I hiked up a mountain in the center of the city, called Arthur's Seat. It was beautiful--both the mountain itself and the amazing view of the city the summit (one really should use that word as often as possible) offers. On the mountain's highest point--marked by a 3 1/2 foot white pedastal supporting (don't you love mankind) an ashtray--I stood and felt, for perhaps the first time, glad that I'd come to Edinburgh.

I've been on a steady diet of bread and nutella. Nutella is the spread of the gods. (I know for a fact that Morgan Freeman eats a jar a week.) I've been really hungry, too, so come 11 or 12 at night I typically toast myself 3 or 4 slices of bread with nutella and get ready for a good time. Something about having a toaster and the power to spread something on a slice of bread whenever he wants really makes a man feel like a man.

Now, I may have depressed whatever reader settled his or her mind upon the discussion which introduced this post, and that reader may now feel rather melancholy, having considered the notion that real life often falls short of our fantasies' grandeur, but let me end on a note of optimism. Not all things are worse than they seem. Not all our expectations presume too much. There are things in life--some great, some small--that are better than we could ever dream, imagine, or expect, and these are things that ought to make us stop and wonder at the world, to make us thankful for the short time we have on it. One of those things is meat pie. I really can't overemphasize this point: Meat pies are delicious. You wouldn't think it. Putting steaming stewed steak between layers of buttery crust, considered by our malformed Americans minds only fit to envelop fruit filling or chocolate, sounds disgusting. But it is heavenly.Truly heavenly. I think I'm going to make some toast.

Day 4 of 160

Recently, while in the back seat of a Chevy Suburban on its way to Colorado, I viewed the movie Julie and Julia, an endearing story of love, food, ambition, and feminity based on a novel of the same name. Needless to say, the film inspired me.

I've come to Edinburgh, Scotland to study abroad. In an attempt to document my experiences for posterity, to engage the 21st century world of Blogg and Interweb, and to mimic the actions of great men and women who have traveled and internetted before me, I start this journal.

As did Julie (see movie mentioned above), I now embark upon an adventure of culinary experimentation and independency, and, like her, I know not into what forest or down what valley my commitment will lead me. Essentially, I'm doing the same thing Julie did in the movie, except instead of cooking 524 Julia Child recipes in 365 days I'm going to do whatever I feel like doing for 160 days. It's quite the challenge, but I'm going to give it my all.

Whether I succeed or fail, I'm confident that the spirit of Julia Child will pretty much remain in whatever state it was in before I began. God bless you Julia. And God bless America.