I fucking hope not.

“So it’s a journal?” “I fucking hope not. I view it more as a guide to a minimalist way of living.” The three of us had been discussing what we do; he'd just finished his studies in Germany, she works as a language teacher. How do I express the desire to write down the debauchery that my life has succumbed to? I tell them of forestry, of making over 50 dollars an hour, of walking around with my dogs and being paid. Then I tell them of reading literature and the desiring to read, drink, and occasionally write. The subject tending to be myself and fucked encounters. I have a good living as a forester; I have no intention of being a writer – I will fail – you will fail – everyone will fail. Never attempt to succeed, only try to survive. I bought a bottle of wine, remembered my lack of a corkscrew, and pushed the cork in with my toothbrush. I opened it in a dead-end ally in Dublin on my last night in town. The ally was littered with needles and clothes were strewn about. I picked up a hoodie and used it to obscure the bottle as I walked down the road. When I reached the park and took a pull off the wine, I smelled the sweater was coated in piss.


There is nothing wrong with sobriety in moderation.
John Ciardi


Drinking through a hangover I find myself with a pint of porter in the men's room stall taking a worthy beer shit (attempting to write about the event between squeezes). The hardest part of traveling in cities is finding quality dive bars. If I hear California Gurls or Everyday I'm Hustling one more time, I’ll puke on the dance floor. I stand after my shit, turn to shake the dribble off my dick, and watch a drop land in my pint on the floor. I laugh.

I wanted you right when I saw your Bum Bag.

I had subtle plans to meet an Irish lass while traveling.  I didn't think it would happen in Liverpool, but when they're on holiday too...  

It was actually due to the charging situation with my Tablet.  I was left stranded not being able to search for things, or find where I was going as easily as before.  It also left me without a time piece for the first time in years.  I've always wanted to go without a Babylometer, but with cell phones, they're always at hand.  I found myself in Liverpool walking the streets looking for a Hostel, I bought some beer and drank it in some roadside bushes while changing my socks and putting new insoles in my boots.  Carlsburg Strong Ale, 9% gravity, it's basically European malt liquor.  I had finished a couple of cans and was heading back in the direction of where I thought I saw a Hostel on the map that morning when I came upon a karaoke bar.  The rest, let's say, didn't involve me finding a Hostel for the night, and I learned that Bum Bags are attractive to some women (they call them Bum Bags because a Fanny is on the other side in England).

I awoke still drunk, in the city of the Beatles, searching for something.  Normally, it's not known to me what I'm walking toward, and then I'm shown why.  I found what is called English breakfast; basically, it's a fried egg, sautéed mushrooms, baked beans, potatoes, blood pudding, British banger sausages, a steamed tomato, thin sliced ham, heavily buttered toast, and black coffee.  Later, I was told in the UK this is exactly what people eat when they're hung over; it's also what the English eat every day.  I learned this from an individual in Holyhead who was Welsh.  I traveled there by train that evening to catch a ferry to Dublin.  It's a small town on the coast surrounded by farms.  I had 6 hours to kill before the ferry left at 2:30 in the morning for a red eye.  I just started walking and eventually found a beach that looked exactly like Caspar in Mendocino.  I walked back to town in the dark and found a Pub.  The drinking age here is 18, and I'm still not quite used to it.  I ended up in a Pub where almost everyone was 18, and just getting out of Secondary School.  In school in Wales you have to learn the Welsh language, and in Pubs in Wales, they all want to teach it to you.  It sounds a lot like German, but less aggressive. 

I'll try to keep posting as I go along.  I actually resolved the credit card issues and charging situation on my Tablet today, so you should be seeing more from me.  I've been writing volumes in a notebook, and what I've written here actually doesn't do it justice.  You can pick up a copy of my other writings after they're published.

Preparing for Europe

Preparations have begun for my two month stint in Europe.  I will be traveling with only the clothes on my back and a fanny pack.  I'm coining this type of travel as Fanny Trekking.  I've traveled like this before during a visit to the southern U.S.  There wasn't a single problem that wasn't easily overcome, and the advantages outweighed the disadvantages 10 to 1.  Why even bother with extra pants, extra shirts, extra socks.  I rarely change my clothes; once a week or less anyway.  When things get too funky you can easily purchase a new pair of cheap cotton socks, (I know many backpack travelers who do this).  And unless your planning on attending a wedding, a banquet, an opera, or a royal wedding, you can get by without dress clothes.

The main essentials include a phone/camera/WIFI device (plus charger), a tooth brush, and some books – although my new Galaxy Tab will act as my e-reader.  You need space to store tickets, passport, and any postcards you might pick-up on your way to the Post Office.  A pen is good, and a small pair of cotton gloves.  Women often require some additional feminine products, but I'm going to ignore that for the sake of this blog.  You need a place to store some cigarettes and a lighter, a flask, and while in Europe hopefully some snuff.  What else does one need, and can't all these things fit in a fanny pack?

I'll be updating regularly while on the train, and my itinerary is extremely loose, consisting of a clockwise circle of Europe starting in London.