Writer Stones' last waltz

Maybe you guessed it already, but I haven't written in a while because my travels have since ceased. For now anyway. We've settled in Pittsburgh, a place close to home, to work, live, and save up money for the next big move in our lives. Where that'll be, I can't say.

I would be lying, though, if I said we weren't going to travel anymore. For money and convenience's sake, this will be the year of America...or maybe just the year of the rust belt. Either way, I won't be using my passport for a while, I won't be away from home for months at a time, and I'll be using English 99% of the time. Thus, Writer Stones comes to an end, as it represented transience in my life that no longer exists.

I would also be lying, however, if I said I was going to stop writing. I'm going to try to get a Pittsburgh blog going pretty soon. Maybe do some creative writing and/or publishing now that I have a solid home base to work out of. I am working full time, so these projects may come slowly, but I have ideas and all it takes is a lazy weekend to make some headway.

Ciao, y'all. It's been fun.

Traveling with style

Have you ever purchased something, thinking it was really neat, and then never used it? That was me for about 2 years, up until San Fermín really. I mean, I used it maybe once or twice before that, but only recently did I discover how fucking GREAT the p-style really is.

Via www.thepstyle.com. Check it out and buy one online, or visit your local co-op/alternative 

storefront. I purchased mine at Mariposa Co-op in Philadelphia.

What the hell is a p-style you ask? Well, as you can see in the photo, it's a convenient little funnel that enables someone (like me!) without a penis to pee standing up.

And during a party like San Fermín, where the lines for the bathroom are miles long, and all the dudes pee in the streets anyway, it made my experience that much better.

Now, I carry it with me everywhere. Even when I'm in a bar, it serves in preventing me from having to actually sit on the piss-covered toilet.

An aside about toilets in bars in Pamplona: they suck. Many of them do not have toilet seats, and thus are uncomfortable and generally covered in pee. When you forget your p-style, you usually have to hover over the toilet, sometimes while also trying to keep the door shut because the lock is broken. I've asked myself a couple times, in that situation, if someone were to try to push open the door (because they're drunk and have to pee, not for any violent reasons), would I let them in to save myself from peeing all over my legs or would I do just that? And I decided that I would do the latter, just to prevent whoever from seeing me squatting over the toilet. Then I would go home because I have piss on my pants.

There are many FUNnel alternatives to the p-style. Rather than go on about them, I'll just give you the pros and cons of my model:

Pros: It's blue. And it's longer than other models I've seen so the pee stream runs away from my body and about six inches from my toes, unless I spread my legs a bit (which I've learned to do since getting sprayed a few times). I literally just unzip my pants, and stick it between my legs and pee on whatever wall or person I want to.

Con: There's only one. It's rigid plastic. I've seen others that are foldable, and thus easier to transport. But I think I'll eventually fix this problem by punching a hole in mine and putting it on my keychain.

I can't wait to take this newfound but long-time-coming habit back to the states. Forget holding it in on a car trip! Forget looking frantically for a place that's far enough away from peering eyes! Forget bushes and dumpsters! Forget toilet-hovering!

I've got it all now.

Nothin' to write home about

When I wake up, I have to climb over Elliot's huge (to me) sleepy body because my side of the bed is against the wall. I suppose I could stand straight up and walk forward until my feet drop off the bed, but that always seems a lot harder in the morning. It's worse when he's on his side; then it's practically like jumping a hurdle.

I walk into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes, to put some water on the stove for green tea. This gives me just enough time to grab my computer, my notebook, and a pen out of the bedroom, leaving Elliot to sleep peacefully without the tick-tack-ticking of my keyboard. By then the water is at a rolling boil; the burner I use gets too hot for rice cooking, but it's perfect for a quick cup of tea.

I finally sit down in the living room with the computer open in front of me on the coffee table, my notebook and pen on my left, and a steaming mug on my right. And I work.

Because, you know, that's what people do to make money and make a living. My job might not be ideal for some -- hell it's not even ideal for me -- but it does allow me to rent an apartment here in Pamplona, pay for local/organic/artisanal food, indulge in the occasional big night out, but work less than 25 hours per week.

Well, shit if this doesn't get old, too. I'm not yet ready to come home, but work is work. And work in Spain doesn't necessarily beat work in Philadelphia or anywhere else in the US, just because it's in Spain. I've finally achieved here the routine that I've had everywhere else that I've ever lived (i.e. Greensburg and Philadelphia).

Get up. Go to work.
Leave work. Eat. Drink with your friends.
Go on a trip. Forget about work 'til Sunday.
Get up on Monday. And go to work.


Part of me is conflicted. What benefit is there to living in Spain when you work/don't make quite enough money, which prevents you from exploring everything you came here to see?

The other part of me is like "Duh doofus, you knew that when you came here."

Damn it. She's right. I came here to learn a language, not to spend all my money waltzing through Europe. I just hope family and friends aren't too bummed out to hear upon our return that we never went to Amsterdam or Paris or Berlin or anywhere cool. (You know that Spain is always at the bottom of everyone's list of places to visit in Europe. You know it.)

Anyway, the routine always sparks another tendency in me: the fantasy of something to look forward to. So, all of a sudden, in the midst of my post-college exotic getaway, I'm starting to think about my next step. Where do we go after we leave Europe?

Believe me, the "plan" changes all the time. A few stellar examples...

1. The better place where they speak Spanish. Leave Spain in December to come home for the holidays. See family, friends, and "The Hobbit." Then hop a flight to Cancun in January to stay at hammock hostels in the Yucatan for 2 months or so. Basically avoid Pennsylvania winter at all costs.

2. The place that totally contradicts the reasoning for #1. Leave Spain in December to come home for the holidays. Find an internship for Elliot in Alaska. Spend 6 months writing and learning to fish and hunt. Embrace the cold by investing in super warm socks and long underwear.

3. The place where all our friends and family live. Leave Spain in December to come home. Stay in Pennsylvania for a year at most. Work a shit ton and save up money to achieve one of the above plans, or something better. Maybe go on a bike trip because we're due.

Is it because the grass just looks greener? Or because I'm at a point in my life where settling makes me restless? I'd like to think the latter, because there are times when I really, really like it here. When I don't want to leave in December. There are also times when I think I should return to a city I know, because I miss the people and places there so much. I just think I owe it to myself to see more before I stay put anywhere.

Doesn't mean train rides through southern France don't get fucking boring. Doesn't mean living in a city with people you love doesn't get fucking old.

We move around and we change our minds. Doesn't mean we're weak or not dedicated. But yeah, it definitely means I don't know what I want.

PS. To any concerned family members, Elliot and I have not made any decisions you don't know about, so no worries. Just humor us, I guess.

Adverse advances

Recently, I made a second wave of major technological purchases.

The first consisted of 1990's essentials: a laptop and a camera (both previously owned).

This last wave finally brought me into the 21st century -- at the very least to 2009: an iPod touch and a Kindle.

I bought all of these products with the intention of benefitting fully from them throughout my travels. They'll help me better communicate with friends and family, as well as condense the media I carry with me (books, music, movies, games, etc).

The extent to which these things make others obsolete, however, has left me with some interesting thoughts. And not just me, but the rest of the modern world. We're literally killing certain mediums in favor of their digital alternatives.

The Kindle caused me the most soul-searching. When I first heard of the "e-reader" I considered it incredibly excessive. Books aren't bulky, especially because I don't intend on lugging 3,000 of them around with me. Plus, I told myself, I really love the feel of a book.

I like flipping through the chapters, gripping the spine, dog-earring the corners, and smelling the pages. Why would I want to give up a true experience like reading a book? And for a product that alone costs nearly a hundred bucks?

Then I did. Rather, I didn't give up the experience, but I did buy the Kindle for a hundred bucks. Plus accessories. Now I can carry 3,000 books with me (although it will probably be closer to 30) and not weigh down my suitcase.

Moving on, researching these products really brought to light the issue I mentioned earlier: these things are designed to make other things unnecessary.

Music, for example, has gone through a few stages of consumption. Vinyl records were replaced by tapes and CDs, which were then obliterated by mp3 files. 

E-readers like the Kindle or the Nook are marketed as eco-friendly tools, saving paper and consumers' money, while they also make books, magazines, and newspapers seem less convenient. (Hell, the Internet has been devastating paper media for decades.)

I have access to probably thousands of pictures documenting my life -- more than my parents or grandparents could dream of -- and yet so few of them are on my wall, or in my wallet.

It seems like my life is really going to change -- and not because of my travels but because of incredibly transformational technology. The way we access and distribute information and media is so vastly different from 10 years ago, let alone 100 years ago. 

And yet, some changes are making me think we're moving backward. I was listening to the radio today (yes, the radio) and they were discussing, well, the radio.

One topic: With satellite radio systems, Pandora or Spotify, and mp3 players, what is the fate of local radio stations?

One panelist offered: The radio is a great place to showcase local bands.

I stopped. The radio...a venue for showcasing local bands?! A novel idea. Straight outta 2011.

Have we really gone full circle?

When I was comparing e-readers on the Internet, I read certain users' speculations on the fate of the physical book: Books will become collectable vintage luxury items, as vinyl records have. They'll increase in value. 

And to think, books were luxury items a century ago. To have a library was to be wealthy, educated, and cultured. 

Vinyl records have become huge obsessions for many young people. My dad was infinitely confused as to why contemporary bands would want to release their music on vinyl. Ask any vinyl wiener about their collection and they'll probably tell you all about the superior sound.

Even when I look at towns -- like my own Greensburg, PA -- I feel like we've gone backward. Downtown used to be bustling with department stores, specialized shops, and shoppers. And now, that scene has moved approximately 3 miles down the highway, where you have to drive to get there. It's not called downtown, however; it's called a shopping plaza.

It's as if when suburbs started developing, the developers thought: Hey, wouldn't it be great to have sort of a central hub where people can go to run errands, grab a bite, or socialize? 

No kidding! Main Street USA, man! You can even grow vegetables in your own goddamn backyard! Did you know that?

Do we do go backward because we feel sentimental about older systems, older technologies? Do we do this because the past is truly superior? 

I can't tell whether my 50th birthday will be celebrated on a farm, or in fuckin' outer space. Will I be driving a hovercraft or still riding a bike? 

Most likely, following the current pattern, I'll be riding a bike on board a hovercraft.