A Letter to my Sophmore Self.

First off...I know you think your hair makes you look rebellious and devil may care...but really. Just stop with the ponytail.

Now that that's out of the way, here's some advice for ya.

Pay more attention in french class.

Don't quit guitar.

Keep a clean room. Learn to do it now, so the habit will stick later.

Help mom cook dinner. And breakfast. In a few years you'll wish you had a lot more recipes memorised than scrambled eggs.

Don't be so quick to judge. Christian doesn't always mean Republican, Democrat doesn't always mean right.

You aren't always right. Yes, you do know a fair bit of stuff, but there is always more to know, and there is always someone more experienced. Moreover, you come off as a know it all and push away a lot of good people.

Listen before you speak.

Mom is wise. You can stop trying to fool her.

Don't care about your zits. Proper friends don't care what you look like.

Your life is not that hard and you certainly aren't some sort of cool tortutred dramatic person. You're quite lucky actually.

Stop wearing jean shorts...just stop.

Mr Felder is God. Hear his wisdom and know it to be true.

Don't quit tae kwon do.

Learn to properly tie a tie.

You're never too old for anything, no matter what people tell you. Except maybe a crib and diapers. Scooters and ball pits on the other hand are fair game.

Yes, Mr Montague actually is that terrifying.

There is more to music than the Beatles.

No, you can't rap. Don't try.

Yes, your camera actually was that awesome of a gift.

Talk to your grandfather, dang it.

Make an effort to keep clear memories of Kip, Joel, and Lester. They are magical fairies.

Wife beaters are not acceptable to wear to school.

Gifts are more important for other people than for yourself.

No that leather jacket really doesn't work on you.

Accept that your father's puns are actually fantastic.

Apple products will not always be the best.

Nor will John Hiatt.

Your opinion on the Lance Armstrong scandal is just flat out wrong.

Learn all the ways to cook tofu.

Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't a fabulous dancer. Especially someone who isn't dancing.

Seriously though: Don't take yourself too seriously. Your story is just starting; you're just figuring out who you are. Try weird stuff, cultivate wonder and amazement in every part of your life. The world is a wonderful place and you are going to see so much of it. Kiss the girl. Do it the hard way. Go through it, not around it. When you are so tired that you can't think of anything but bed, keep going. When you think its over, that's when it gets interesting. It's okay to lose. It's okay to get hurt. As long as you get up and try it again.

You are going to be amazing. You will make the best friends of your life. You are going to climb Angel's landing. You are going to canoe over a waterfall. You are going to go faster, and further, and harder than possible on you bike. You will get dirtier than you've ever been. You will learn poi, and do things with them that are absolutely beautiful. You will stay up later than you have in your life, and sleep longer than you ever have in your life. You will go swimming in a cave, it will make you colder than you ever have been and probably ever will be. You will save someones life. You will teach kids tae kwon do and mountain biking and canoeing and history and wisdom and literature. You will be the cool counselor. You will be awkward and weird sometimes and cool(ish) and hilarious others. You will learn to laugh at yourself. You'll get hurt a lot (A LOT), and you'll drop a lot (A LOT) of things. You will be the one that keeps running when everyone else is laying down. You will be the first to rise and that last to sleep. You will be sad, your heart will hurt, and it will seem like nothing could ever be okay again. But it will be. It will be wonderful.

You will fly a plane, you will drive a car all alone. You will kill a mailbox (oops!) You will listen to a ton of really loud music. You will accept that you are not the best. You will try to draw a lot, and you will fail. You will also discover sides of yourself you have never seen. You will try to fit in. You will then realize that a) fitting in is stupid, boring, hard, and no way to live and b) that you suck at it anyway. You will write a lot of embarrassing poetry that no one will ever be allowed to read. You will write a story that maybe someday someone will read. You will write a blog that people will tell you is pretty cool. You will take some sweet pictures. You will go to a party in an abandoned castle, and will know absolutely no one at said party. You will make some sweet Halloween decorations. You will wear some incredibly fly clothes. That used to belong to your father, who you will discover is also pretty fly.

You will be that kid.  You will weird a lot of people out. You will find people who are screwed up just like you, and you will be screwed up just like them. You will be the ONLY one dancing. You will never learn to throw a football. You will finally succeed at rolling your r's. You will get into a lot of arguments about stupid crap. You will get into a lot of arguments about important crap. You will cry.

You will finally learn to use an agenda. You will finally learn to type properly. You'll dig deep, and find out that there's quite a bit there. You'll also discover you're wrong about quite a bit. You will ski a double black diamond. You will be teased and mocked and hated on and you won't give a single crap. You will completely fail at making a camp fire. You will give a lot of advice. You'll eat a lot of shrimp, popcorn, and brownies. You will love sushi, even though now you think it's gross. You will love spinach, in the same fashion. You will learn to save, and to spend. You will learn how to pack a backpack and pitch a tent. You will learn how to tack a horse. You will learn how to change a tire. You will ride your bike a lot. You will bike commute woot. You will also, on said bike, get wetter than you have ever been in your life. You will learn to make jewelry. You will learn to take apart and fix quite a few parts of a bike. You will get quite greasy. You will also pwn at hide and seek. You will fight zombie-summer campers. You will spar with your girlfriend on a beach and feel like a badass. You will also fall on your face and feel not at all a badass.

You will be the last one to stop swimming in the fall. You will be the last one to stop swimming at night. You will go to a bonfire about as big across as your room. You will amaze californians with your family's skills at glow in the dark night frisbee. You will climb on cliffs in Big Sur, hike the Grand Canyon, and climb a mountain in Zion. You will bike through the desert in Arizona, and get over things that you previously thought impossible. You will also hit about fifty blasting down an Arizona highway, with 100 degree desert air slapping you in the face. You will jump off a waterfall in North Carolina. You will go to the hottest, and lowest place in North America. You will have a panic attack in a Las Vegas casino. You will climb, and run/fall down the tallest dune in the world in France. You will see trees growing in canyons in Bryce National Park. You will visit the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier under the Arc de Triomphe. You will visit the Eiffel Tower. You will walk the the Royal Gardens at the Chateau de Versailles. You will weather floods. You will stand up in a thirty-four mile per hour wind. You will walk a tightrope. You will explore a cave in Georgia. You will visit the Alamo. You walk through the Willard hotel, the hotel of the Ambassadors in Washington and one of the classiest places you've ever been, with a weird ponytail, crummy denim jacket and ripped jeans.  You will walk among the largest trees in the world in Sequoia. You will learn to skateboard. You will learn to bike in the rain without killing yourself. You will learn to pick locks. You will learn to pick friends. And then you will leave all of this behind and do the hardest thing of your life, you will live in France.

Your story is just starting, and it is going to be amazing.

No more silence.

"There is a war going on for your mind"

-Flobots. 

"When the sun goes out, we'll light the world with tiny glowing screens"

-Watsky

The information age. That's the age of my generation, the age where wars can be fought, economies and currencies ruined, and rumours and lies spread all with the touch of a few buttons. The greatest enemies of our time will be those who know how to through a monkey in the wrench of our code castles, who can look at a computer not as a magic box but as a system, a set of operations. This isn't all bad; we have the capacity to do amazing things with our technology: look at Wikipedia, Kickstarter, Google. Look at the Huffington Post, look at Facebook, look at email, look at Skype. But think about that phone or computer you're reading this on. You are holding in your hand a device that will let you access almost the entirety of human knowledge with just a few taps, yet we use them for cat videos. Not that there's anything wrong with cat videos. (IT'S SO FLUFFY I"M GONNA DIEEEEE) I just think we need to put this into perspective. Now you've probably heard this before...I'm pretty sure I'm quoting someone actually but whatever. It needs to be said again. 

There is a war going on for your mind. Every time you open of your laptop or look at your phone you are sucked into a world of people who want your money our your time or your attention, and you don't even notice. Constantly, constantly there are messages and ads flung at your eyeballs and bouncing around inside your brain, changing you. Wear Gucci. Smell like Robert Patterson. Vote for me. Apply to Kumquat University. We have no more peace, no more silence. Information itself has become a battleground. It throws itself against the walls of your mind, desperate for your notice. It even shapes us without us noticing. Ads and stories of muscled men and shapely women, promises of happiness and success if only you just buy this one thing. We have become quieted by a steady diet of fantasies, fantasies and handcuffs. The young are fed a stream of promises: don't worry, you are young and free, go to the club, go get drunk with your friends, you want to die young, you want to please yourself as much as possible with as little work.

Maybe what we are searching for isn't pleasure, but joy. It is an important distinction, if subtle. Pleasure flits across your brain like a firework, brilliant, bursting bright and then gone. I think the goal is joy, a lasting sense of satisfaction, of peace. A sense that life is going well. I don't really know how to explain it. I believe that life is about cultivating a sense of self, a soul, about cultivating peace. About enriching yourself. I feel at my best not when I'm playing videogames or eating or drinking, these are fleeting pleasures. I feel at my best when I'm on my bike, when I'm spinning poi, when I'm with proper friends, when I have done something in my life to make both my self and the world a little better, when I have done something amazing in the day. I can't properly explain it, there are times when I just know that no matter what may come tomorrow, no matter what came yesterday, at this moment I am where I should be, where I am at my best. 

And our constant connection and interaction with other people bizarrely, I think, blinds us and keeps us from that sense. Science has proven that humans can only really know another 120ish humans, yet I have 312 friends on facebook. I only probably talk to ten regularly, and it's probably only forty or so that know me enough to read this blog. We go through our lives collecting people like tokens and trophies, to convince others and ourselves that we are cool, popular, the one that everyone wants to know. Well I call foul. Friends on facebook only matter if they are actually friends. It's a vicious circle: We are constantly connected to our friends, so we get a fear of being alone, so we collect more "friends", so we are more connected, so we increase our fear of being alone, but at the same time a connection through a computer screen isn't proper friendship (trust me, I live it every day and it hurts, it isn't enough), and so despite it all we end up feeling lonely. But being alone and being lonely aren't the same thing. 

So I have a challenge for you. The next time you have to wait for a bus or a ride or whatever, just wait. No Plants vs Zombies, no Subway Surfer, no music, no Facebook, nothing but you and your thoughts. You might see what I'm talking about. Alone is not always lonely. 

Take some time to enjoy the silence. Give your mind a break from the constant noise it endures. Take a nap. Go sit under a tree, or on the roof. Just be at peace for a while. I can bet you'll go to bed a heck of a lot happier than if you watched tv or tumblrd for your day. 

Adrenaline and Heresy

Hello again! 

Sooooo I like writing blogs alot. So I decided to do it again! Yaaaaay. So today, I wanted to explain a thing that might assuage spme worries, or cause some. I dunno. Theres a simple fact that needs sharing, to begin. 

I like going fast. I like to feel the air in my hair and between my fingers, I like to feel it push against me and know that its there. I like to feel forces acting on my body, and I like to know what to do about them. I like wheels. I like sliding. And after a day of thinking, I think I know why. 

Heresy. A human is only really designed to go about fifteen miles an hour. We're pretty squishy, and a fall from that speed will rough you up a bit. Interesting side note: a cheetah can sprint at about 62 miles per hour, but a human actually has a higher endurance than a cheetah, because of our superior cooling system, aka sweat. So yea. But anyway, we were really only designed for fifteenish miles an hour. Except we can break that. It is a heresy against nature, against design. We are breaking the rules. People wonder why I like to bike to school, even though I arrive sweaty, stinky, and usally either too cold or hot. There are several factors: its good for the health, it lets me know I'm alive, but the main reason isn't quite as highbrow as those. Even on a bad day, when my gloves are too thin and my fingers don't really work anymore, and I have a sharp-edged history textbook stabbing me, there is a certain section of greenway where it all falls away. No matter how tired my legs are, or how cold I am, it is heaven. I'm riding it right now, in my mind, every bump and corner perfectly preserved. 

There is a speed limit on the greenway of ten miles per hour. I don't follow it. This section of greenway has long swooping turns, s-curves, and several 90° corners, and it is perfect. The world stops and adrenaline fills my blood and my legs are pistons and my chain is cranking and nuts and leaves are cracking under my wheels and it's like a grow fills my mind and the only thing there is is the determination to push a little harder. I don't think about my counter-steering and is my lean angle agressive enough for the next turn and what if my tire bursts in the middle of the corner and should I worry about that wet patch right there. I just know, just do what is needed. Sitting here on a very comfy sofa I know mentally what to do if i lose traction in a hard corner ( shift weight towards the wheel that still has traction, lift out of the lean and go straight, but don't brake, and get ready to fall. I can usually get it back though) but when it happens, I just act. I love it. And when I'm flying around corners I just act. If you stop to think about all the facets of riding a bike hard, you're too late and already running off the far side of the corner into a tree. You have to just act, and I love that. I pursue that feeling. I spend all day thinking and predicting and planning ahead and it is heaven to hve a task th only doesn't require planning, but does not permit it. I love feeling gravity and centrpetal force and accelertion and knowing exactly what to do with each nugget of info. And I love knowing that despite the fct that while in no way was I desgined to do this, it comes as easily to me as breathing. I love the fact that it is a heresy against nature, but at the same time I have the power with my pedals to warp time and space and leave the world behind. 

I took a hard fall on a bike recently. I was on an empty greenway, going downhill, out of the saddle, and pedaling hard. I was flying. Then my chain got stuck and I was left off balance, unable to move my feet, and probably touching thirty. And I went down. Hard, and fast. It was like pedal pedal BAM ground. Slide slide slide. Oh crap theres a wall there. (Yea didn't mention that earlier) And then I was getting up. Don't remeber hitting the wall. But anyway I got a hefty scrape up probably a quarter of my forearm, and one about the size of an apple on my shoulder. And I tore my favorite jeans. I got up nd was afraid I had popped a rib into my lung, cause I was having trouble breathing on my right side, where I fell. But ypu know what? I'd take that fall again. I don't take pleasure in it, I don't like hurting my self, but nothing can be accomplished without pain. And I was flying. Andrenline was pumping, thoughts were left behind, and all that was left behind was action, reaction, the bike under my feet and the wind in my face. It was clarity. It was enlightenment. Some of you have seen my on my bike at school. One thing I always notice, is that when going slow, when hopping curbs and manuvering around people biking gets a lot harder. I get clumsy, and awkward. But when I charge off, it all falls into place. I can concertrate well enough, but I have never been able to concentrate on one thing 100%. There's always a bit of me pondering some other random thing. But when I ride hard on a bike, my mind is the domain of one thought and one thought alone: Go. Fast.

So it may not be safe. It may not be smart. But all things I know, of this I am sure. It is good. And so help me, I'm gonna go fast. I am going to find my Adrenaline and my Heresy.

Tuesdays?

So when you uproot and transplant yourself like this, ya gotta be ready for some poopy to hit the fan. Bend your knees! Be ready to absorb shock! heehee. Anyway. There are good days, and bad days. And the foreignness of everything makes the good and the bad like...I don't even have the words...maybe euphoric and...despondent? I dunno. EXTREME. Back to the point. There are some days when every tiny little victory feels like a big bowl of popcorn, or a successfully landed bike jump, or a goal in quidditch. These are really awful analogies...a goal in quidditch? a tiny amount of people play quidditch...OH! I know: that feeling when you get home at seven o clock and take you socks off! They feel like that satisfaction and accomplishment and bliss and excitement all at once. Days when you got to school early, people laughed at your poorly constructed french joke, and that kid with the cool shirt and shoes and hair and no acne talked to you, and its just like ahhhhhhhhh yesssssssssssss I am in the right place and I am good at this, gosh darnit.

And then there are days where you leave three minutes late and have to haul ass to get to school on time and you can't get the door lock or the microwave to work and your jokes fall flat and you get cold shoulder and there are ideas beating a relentless drumbeat inside your head and you just know that if you could talk or write or listen or think properly then some of these people at least would like you, find you interesting, but they don't because they don't know the storm that is going on in your head and your shirt is boring and your jeans have holes and are they too baggy and oh no my shoes are dirty and your hair won't go where you want it to and you try to go up to the board to solve a problem and explain it but you trip and you're tongue tied and your words that were locked tight in your grasp a minute ago have suddenly grown wings and you go home and sit at a computer that sucks the life from you and feel like you're caught in a spiral of bouncy flowy noises that is tantalizingly close to comprehension and yet impossible and you think why on earth did I decide to come here.

And so you made plans, grand plans, I'm gonna go geocaching, and skateboarding, and write a blog, or a fanfic, and I'm gonna cook and when you're sitting there at that computer with three pages to write in FRENCH on an american keyboard and about a text that doesn't deserve half a page it all gets a bit...tough. Those plans get brushed aside by an invisible hand made out of uncertainty and doubt and you, in a moment, or a year of weakness decide to sit in your slightly messy room with blood on the sheets that never seems to come out and postpone exploration. Till tomorrow.

Then tomorrow.

Then tomorrow. And before you know it another week has flown by and I coulda sworn yesterday was friday how can it be friday again!? and another one of 40 (ish?) weeks here is gone and what did you do with yourself? Nothing hurts more than a refused opportunity.

The good days are usually tuesdays.

And all you can do is try your hardest, give your utmost to get out there and make something of your time. But sometimes you just have to crawl into bed. I dunno man.

You know that thing on facebook that I posted yesterday? I imagine you do if you're a personal friend of mine (40 likes and a lotta love, thanks guys!) but if you're reading this from russia (which has happened!) you probably don't. Unless you're crazy creepy.

So here it is:

Okay, I just wanna say something to you all real quick. As you apply to colleges, get good grades, and get ready to make your way out into the world, there is one thing you should never sacrifice, never forget in your quest for success. Don't forget, every so often, to take a little time to be awesome. Listen to loud music. I don't care what type, as long as you enjoy it, and it's loud. Dance a lot. Wear weird clothes. Even if you don't know if you like them, just to shake things up. Always try to be a bit better than you were yesterday. Never settle for the easy, safe option. Run, even when you could walk. Know what rules to break (the ones that are designed solely to make someone feel better, or make more money, or make really no sense at all) and then break them. A lot of things are way too similar in this world of ours, so remember to change something, and make it your own. Or even better, make something brand new. There is no one in the world exactly like you. Your stuff should reflect that. Also, always remember that there are a crazy number of coincidences that had to happen to make you, and this world you live in, so take advantage of your life. Break stuff occasionally. On purpose. And if it's an accident, don't worry about it. It's just a thing, and there are tons of things. Don't worry about pain either. Nothing great ever came about without a bit of pain in the process. As long as you don't screw yourself or your body up too bad, it'll heal. 'Sides, scars make great stories. Take risks. If you take the safe road, you may never screw up, but you'll also definitely never do something amazing. Do what makes you happy, but also know when to do what you hate. If people laugh at you, take solace in the fact that you were brave enough to do something to make them laugh. If people insult you, take solace in the fact that you were then better person and didn't insult them. Take sudden turns, follow unknown paths. It's a big world, you should try and see all of it. Or at least as much as possible. Really though, I don't care what you do. It is your life. I just don't want my friends to live the sort of life where you have to be sad when you are on your deathbed. There is nothing, NOTHING that hurts more than a lost opportunity. So don't lost them, take hold of them, and take advantage of those suckers like they'll be gone tomorrow. Cuz you know what? They most likely will be.

So please, please please, don't fall into a rut. SHAKE IT UP. GET DOWN. BE WEIRD. DO THE UNEXPECTED. And never ever stop BEING AWESOME.

That was just as much a kick in my own pants as it was a kick for you all as well. So today? 

Today, 

I was awesome.

The Lightbox is Open!!!

Hello all you internet slugs!


Just a quick little announcement! I am on flickr! After being simultaneously an old man who refuses to adopt anything that's new because "thats not the proper way to do it" and a hipster who is too cool for it, I have succumbed and am now sharing my photography with the world. I updated all of my computer stuff and switched to iOS 7 last night, and that spurred what was basically a complete revamp of my virtual organization system, and than that spurred a complete revamp of my photo organization system.  Sooo yeah. That's that. My mac is working its shiny sleek little silver butt of dumping a bit of my best work into the Lightbox right now, but it's older stuff, pre-France. As I was reorganizing I realized that after being here for a month I have a really taken pathetic amount of photos; my camera is probably quite fussy with me. oh well. So I'm gonna go work her out a little bit, and hopefully by the time all you teenagers wake up, I'll have something actually worth sharing. (It's about 8:20 there now), so frankly I'm impressed if you're awake to read this, but the great thing about the internet is that it'll be here waiting for you when you wake up!

I'll be back later with more photos and a proper, old-fashioned tom-style stream-of-consciousness dump onto paper. Spoiler alert: I have taken up LONGBOARDING, so come back to hear about all that! Also, at risk of sounding like I'm on youtube, you can now subscribe to the right both by RSS Feed and e-mail, so please do that, and also please share my stuff with people you think will enjoy it!

Sooooo see you all later! Well not see...you're going to read my words, but...you know what I mean. To get to my flickr, click the tab up above this post but below the title that says "The Lightbox"

And now it's real life. Also Party!

I did laundry for the frist time today. French laundry woooo.

Hello agai everyone. I hope m words find you all happy! Things are going pretty well here; I'm in a ridiculously comfy red couch, about to eat dinner after taking a sunday to relax and sleep and clean and...repose is a good word. I went to a party last night and it was...ummm intense I guess. Loud music.  The sort of dancing that is mostly just thrashing and jumping up and down (aka the best sort). Stayed up laaaateeee like three o'clock. And then they decided to go backdowstairs and restart the party. So was kept up a little longer. Some one blew a noise maker in my ear and for the next few minutes I took some guilty pleasure in enertaining thoughts of violence. But! I had a wonderful time.

It's odd though. In the States I'm generally the organizer of my own social things, and I take care of transport and everything but here I'm like a social baby. I didn't even know this party was happening till friday night (they had told me before but I had forgotten. I think a side effect of speaking and listening french is added forgetfulness.) and Louis just said yea these people are picking you up here at this time. I'm not sure how I feel about that it's a bit like I'm a parasite, he's taking care of everything for me. But at the same time my family tried our best to do it for him two years ago. I've made it a goal to take care of more stuff on my own now anyway though.

I'm also a bit frustrated. Thinking and living in a different language is very tiring and I'm often taking naps or sleeping late (till like noon) and I know it's necessary but at the same time I'm painfully aware of the fact that both my french clock and my life clock is ticking, and every moment spent sleeping, or relaxing, is one that I can never get back. It's a sad thing to think about. But at the same time it's not like you can realistically take maximum potential of each moment either. I can't go skydiving and then read a book and then go to portugal and then learn kendo everyday, I'd kill myself. It's difficult to see the potential of each moment, briefly, and look back and think that you wasted some, but also to be stuck in reality...I dunno. 

Sugar Cubes and Stoplights

Hello gang...I've never said that before and don't want to again...Anyway. Hi. It's been a while, as i've been busy busy. This new world of mine seems to flow by, like a river of hot wax, and tea and smells and strange words and sounds, and pens and pencils and flowers and wind. And then next thing you know its a week later, and your parents are gone.

There's nothing quite so humbling as to learn a language in a foreign country. One thing Louis, my french brother now who came to stay with us two years ago always said was that he was like a language baby and I never realized how right he was. Everything is different, what you need for school, who pays for lunch, stoplights, and sugar cubes. I bloody love sugar cubes. They're sugar, but you can make a house out of them at the same time. One of my things that I promised myself I'd work on while I'm here is humility and that definitely seems to be happening. I'm coming to realize that the world is huge. I grew up in a 300 mile equilateral triangle of D.C, Raleigh, and The Outer Banks. I occasionally left my little triangle on a quick dash where I desperately tried to soak up everything I could, to Have all the experiences I could, and I did. Rock hopping in Bar Harbor, Maine; Bouldering on the cliffs of Big Sur, California; Mountain biking and hill bombing in the Arizona desert. I have a good life. But it was a tiny life. I explored a corner of a country that is a corner of a continent that is a corner of a big wide wonderful world and because I had two french brothers I had the audacity, the gall to think of myself as wordly, as above the US of A. So I'm sorry, and to all of you that think I was full of it, you were right. Now, when I stop and think that I am on a different continent, looking at the other side of my ocean, it all makes me feel pretty small.

Even stoplights are different. You're probably thinking "What's he on about? A stoplight's a stoplight!" But it isn't really. Here sometimes there are two sets, one for bikes and one for cars, and then there's a light a cross the street to tell you when the lights for the cars coming the other way are red, and then there's another that flashes to tell you that if you're on a bike its okay to turn right on red. OH! And...actually context first: for those of you that don't live in the US, we don't have traffic circles, roundabouts. At all. There's one in my city, and it's a place of huge accidents because no one knows how to use it. There's writing on the road giving everyone directions and it's all very confusing. Here, on the other hand, if four roads, or three roads meet, pretty much a guaranteed roundabout. There are barely any stop signs. Though...the ones that there are are in English for some reason. It's pretty funny.

Also if anyone else does a year abroad, plan to sleep alot. I got by with six hours, or five in the US, but the mental effort required to speak and understand another language all day is incredible. And I, at least, need to take little zone out breaks. At a soirée or something I can't follow all the conversations for the whole thing or I'll just kill myself.

The other thinkg you need to plan on though, is everyone being crazy nice. The minute you talk to anyone, they ask where you're from, you say you're American, and they light up immediately. Everyone wants to show off their English, even if it's just "cool," "non-stop" and "ohkay!" Every one is very understanding and willing to explain things or talk slower. And so far, at least, no one has given me a dirty look. Let's hope it stays that way.

That's enough word sharing for now I think. Imma go get a haircut. Chez la coiffure!
I'll be back though!

I love walking but I really need a bike.

First thing that comes to mind today: In france the rules of the road are the opposite of those in America. Back home it's the job of the pedestrian to avoid the big fire pooping monster car and god help you if you don't because it totally isn't the driver's fault because even though he has brakes and an armored shell and he could walk or bike he chooses to destroy the planet he obviously loses all humanity the moment he vanishes behind a windshield he becomes a murderbot. In france, you can basically just walk where you want and the car had better avoid you. One doesn't even have to walk on the right side of the road. There are no real rules, you just glare at people who get in your way. Or dodge them with a mumbled pardon or excusez moi.

For some reason My mind is giving the day back to me in reverse order but whatever. We went in to a fancy store today, one of those with electronic music in the backround, and it was pretty cool until i saw a pair of boots that I was interested in and checked the pricetag. 250 euro. 250. For the Americans that is about $330. For one pair of boots. Or if you want a jacket for 450 euro or $600. Needless to say I panicked a bit but Louis quickly assured me this was a pricy store and it isn't awful. Because I wanna shop dawg. I worked and worked and made oddles of $$$ for buying the fancies in France.

We also hit up a fancy fancy beach town across the bay from St Malo, our homebase for the moment. The beaches and tides here are ridiculous. the beaches in America are pretty steep once you get into the water; you can only stand for a few yards. Here, I never found a place where I couldn't stand. And the beach...it's gotta be half a mile wide at low tide, and then at high tide the water has covered up the beach and is smashing against the bulkhead. According to my pop's little guidebook, St malo has the greatest difference in tides in Europe.

We also had drinks in a bar that was basically wallpapered in retro dolls. All over the ceiling and walls and floor and shelves. The bar proper instead of stools had swings. It rocked. I fell asleep though. And then they laughed and took pictures of me. I was tired because in the morning we rented three sets of windsurf gear and a surfboard and I tried to windsurf but basically paid to fall on my face continually and ram salty water up my nose, so I srufed instead. But a good time was had by all. oooooh what else happened...

I'm slowly learning that in Europe you don't just talk to people. Being raised in the south I'm used to being able to strike up a conversation with anyone who isn't really rude...but here, if one comments on the cuteness of a dog or the temperature of a pool or something you get ignored. HARD. It's like being punched with a fist made of ignorium. BOOM pchew pchew. It's very awkward.

I got to sleep at about two last night and got up at eight. During the school year that would be normal, but I've become accustomed to 12 or 14 hours a night. Which is stupid I know.

We're going to see Mont St Michel tomorrow (bonus points for those of you in Madame Huet's french classes. NORMANDIEEEEEEEEE)> it's about an hour's drive, so I'm goint to birng mes truc for photo uploading and drop a buncha photo bass on you all. Photodump wup wup wup wup wwagga wup wup....I'm getting loopy. My writing has been awful. I need to do this when I'm not tired for once. But i'm just so busyyyyyyy. I'm sorry everyone. Mom gave me drugs and I'm tired now sooo. Yay benadryl.

Au revoir-Tom. He of the sleepy constitution. and the sore feet

Finally arrived

Bonjour!

You find me now in a very very very comfy armchair in St. Malo, a lovely lovely lovely lovely beach town where every single house would be the most beautiful house back home. Me, my mother and the family we are staying with are discussing differences in healthcare and streaming entertainment. In a mix of French and English. Franglish. Franglais. Whatever. Anyway. Now windows surface. And now they're making fun of my clickety click noises on my ipad. Anyway. Ummm...this town is incredibly beautiful full of magnificent old houses. They told me that during the war it was completely bombed out by the americans (yay? Its bad but we were supposedly saving people.), and then we rebuilt it. (at least we clean up our mess) But you couldn't tell at all.  The town looks like it was built in thea middle ages. The city center is surrounded by walls, and is basically in the middle of the sea. The streets are filled with little cafés, and are paved in the sort of cobblestone that would make it really difficult to be handicapped. It's very funny, the size of the bills goes up with their worth, so blind people can use cash, but...the cobblestone streets are so bumpy that it would be very difficult to walk around...not to mention that these tiny streets are filled with french cars that've never seen before that look tiny on the highway but somehow in entering the city grow and grow till they are giant, loud smelly monsters with the potential to run anyone over. The magic of france!

I was jetlagged, so I woke up today at noon thinking that it was wednesday or something, had four croissant au chocolat, and then walked around downtown. And remeber downtown is really a castle village thingy. It was fascinating. I had my first experieance speaking in french to someone I didn't know personally, in ordering two waters, a beer (for papa) and a salmon sandwich. Eeek. Much sign language was involved. For those of you in language classes please please don't labor under the impression that you will remember any of it when challenged with an actual conversation. I've been chatting away with Louis and his family in french all day, but a stranger suddenly makes it all vanish and you just feel like a stupid american tourist. It's an awful feeling.

I missed my bike though. I saw lots of cyclists and waas jelly. We are going to be here a week and plan to rent bikes. We tried today, but apparently to my suprise today was sunday, soooo everything was closed. Except the casino. Duh. We're also trying to rent windsurfing gear. Though I son't windsurf, I kite board. I can sail, and know about the wind but I don't think I'll be able to...so yeah.

There was a point, before the flight to france, when I had been awake for 25 hours. So I slept hardcore on the plane. Dad at one point had to hold my head up...I'm a rock. Then I slept ont the van. Then I ate, and danced with my poi. Then I slept more.mand now I need to sleep again. More on languages and culture tomorrow!


Signing off, Tom

HELLO FROM IRELAND

Hello, Dear Readers.
You find me in a McDonalds, in the Dublin(ian) airport, at about 0:30 my time, 5:45 local time. I have now been awake for 19 hours. Yes, for those mathematically astute ones out there I did get up at 05:00. My reasons seemed wonderful at the time, but are looking mighty flimsy now. I have had a stomachache off and on all day, partially I suspect due to nerves, but more likely due to the cheese binge I went on last night while watching John Oliver. I must confess that this is probably the most beautiful airport I have ever been in. This lounge I'm sittting in is less reminiscent of a McDonalds from back home and closer to a hip newfangled innercity mall. Seriously though. you know those prefab benches back home that are the color of...hearing aids? Not a one of them here. Just brightly colored lounge chairs and an abundance of power outlets. And this is the terminal for cheapo bdget flights.

The plane was just as suprising. I've never been on an international, or transatlantic flight before this and I'm used to thinking of air travel as a very slow form of teleportation that requires you to trap yourself in a sardine can with a bunch of other smelly humans in a seat that is plainly not designed for a gangly six foot two teenager who packed enough to live in europe for a year. Then you emerge, an hour or two later from your teleportation pod with stiffness beyond the years of your joints and an irritable constitutuion in a completely different city with very little sensation of movement in the duration. the first leg of our journey was just that. I was in a three-wide airline which was honestly too short for me to stand up in, next to a raucously storing accountant who had the gall to not show up till the last minute. I was left for three quarters of an hour gazing at an empty seat next to me hoping, wishing with all of my soul, crossed fingers and toes that it would stay that way and after I got my hopes up I had to watch this rotund man who held us all up lumber in without a greeting and start snoring. Now some of you may be thinking that it's my fault for getting my hopes up but those of you who know me know that anything that goes wrong couldn't possibly be my fault and is always the fault of the asinine mortals who have the bare-faced cheek to incovenience me. Gosh. The nerve.

The Aer Lingus flight across the atlantic was completely different. I was seated directly in front of a bulkhead in a row of four seats behind a row of three, so I could basically use the aisle as my footroom! The crew were all incredibly courteous and charming Irish folk with a lovely lilt, and what a plane they staffed! it was eight seats abeam at the widest, with eight? bathrooms. I walked around and visited with people, and made friends around me and shared candy and stories and well-wishes. I emerged on the other side less feeling like a human six-two sarding and more like someone who had been pampered for eight hours.

Ireland. I feel I can't really pass judgement based on an hour and a half's worth of experience in an airport, but again those who know me will know that I always pass judgement no matter how little I know or how likely I am to be wrong. What a lovely country. I have yet to meet someone who isn't kind and helpful. The line in immigration was filled with jokes about my admittedly very dorky five fingers and conversation instead of noses in phones. Perhaps this has to do with it being five in the morning and the loopiness that comes with. The Guard in charge of Immigration stapmed our passport with a smile, and wished me well in France, and Customs (it was a little lax due to us Snowdening it in an airport for six hours and technically not being in ireland, but it looked this way for everyone) consisted of walking through a door while chatting to the the officers. If I ever need to run from the draft, I'm going from Canada to Ireland. Though with my high arches, bat-blindness (the technical term) and general dislike for uniformed men shouting at me I'm not sure I would be welcome anyway...rambling.

Anyway my passport looked thoroughly used now. It has my french visa, complete with very ugly mushot, an irish immigration stamp...and several bends souvenir of the French Consulate. Despite the verbage in the back that quite clearly declares "This document contains delicate electronic equipment. Do not bend or submit to extreme temperatures." I feel a bit silly but I must admit that I feel like a proper world traveler now. I'm surrounded by people from all over the world and I'm in a new country full of new things! And I haven't been outside the airport. And I immediately went to McDonalds. I might as well wear a flashing nametag that admits "AMERICAN!" Eh. Whatever. I couldn't really care, though I am curious to what the various reactions to America are. But I'll just hold my head high and get through...my incredibly long wait. I'm half tempted to go for a jog around the airport. I wish I had my bike. I had to leave Major Jake behind. No I didn't name him that, that is actually the model name. I got better things to do than pull your leg, pal. Like figure out what those things are. And if there are enough to fill a six hour wait.

Looking back at this entry it really isn't up to the standards of the last one. Maybe its longer. I'm going to blame it on travel fatigue and shock and yaddayadda. I need to find out what the french for yaddayadda is. Suprisingly it isn't in my dictionary. Madam Poirier, if you read this some help would rock.

Alrighty, I'm going to go explore, with my camera. I'll probably sign back on later with more photos. Or Rambling. Most likely both. I'm really tired man.

Tom Out-

ps Irish water is TOTALLY better than american water.
pps. Maybe I'll come back with caffeine and edits. That'd be smart.

You can't go home again.

I'm sitting in a Brueggers on Wendesday morning with the very strange sense that not a mile down the road, my school has moved on without me. For those of you who don't know about Raleigh Charter, it's a bit different. Millbrook, or Sanderson are easy to lose yourself in. That is still possible in charter, but it takes doing, a conscious effort to dodge the debates, conversations and laughter in the hallways, to choose clothes nondescript enough every morning. Not black, as one gets noticed in all black. I never tried to lose myself, I never could. i was the one in the trench coat that was out of fashion 20 years ago, or the golden lamé cape, or the ridiculously loud rainbow button down and ripped jeans. I always felt that my school was a part of me, and I a part of it, and now it has moved on. This summer has been a steady march of inevitability, a slow yet impending, onrushing wave of change and choice and this morning at 9:06 that wave crashed right on top of my fuzzy, brown and slightly dimwitted head. I was at the intersection of Glenwood and Peace, excited about the recent removal of my braces and exploring my new shiny mouth with a clumsy tongue when i looked down at the clock on the dash which innocently told me that six minutes ago there was no more choice. I was going, leaving. I was already gone. The box of clothes was sent, the suitcase packed, the goodbye party held, the hugs given. All these things had already happened and I knew what they meant but the significance hadn't quite arrived. I'm now simply floating along, waiting with a potent dreamy cocktail of something that is in between terror and thrill. All these wet and dark things fell on my head at 9:06 this morning. I drove down, looped around the school but all I saw was an army of strange-faced volunteers and cars, blockading all the parking bays, as if to tell me "you made your choice, and you no longer belong here. you can't call this place yours anymore."

So here I sit. With a strange mouth full of bagel seeds, surrounded by a city, my city, that seems to be looking at me out of the corner of its small, gritty, scarred and yet still stunning eye as if it is uncomfortable with my presence but it, out of some lingering fondness wishes to keep me from knowing. My conversations with strangers are all blighted by the notion that soon they will be taken from me, that I will be a stranger in a strange town, full of strange people. Perhaps I already am, and it is only the ghosts of memories of erstwhile familiar places that pass in front of my eyes, I don't know.

All I do is that at 8:00 on the morning of Friday the Sixteenth of August, I won't be able to go home again. Even after I return I will have slowly transformed, subtly, without taking notice of myself, into a different Tom. Words will fall from my mouth, perhaps with more care, but with a different cadence. My friends... Perhaps I will return to a party, to cake and friends who felt the loss of a scatterbrained, loud, large and colorful boy acutely in their lives. Perhaps I will return to strangers with familiar faces but who have moved on, with little connection left to the one I will have become. Perhaps they will look at me and see a boy who was their friend, who they don't know is dead, left behind in a moment that passed without their notice. Perhaps they will still see this future Tom as me as I am now, but he will only see ghosts in their faces as they will have gone. They as he knows them will have died in a moment that he agonized over.

8:00, Friday the Sixteenth of August, 2013. It marches towards me with tiny boots that tick down with force unimagineable every second that passes. Small ticks that resonate with a solemn and curious announcement: "We shall see. You will know yourself." Tick. Tick. Tick. We. Shall. See.