The days of nether region

Highlights of the last three days includes seeing a man being taken down by the police for being drunk. I use ˝taken down˝ seeing as how i was more of a passing out motion then police grabbing the man. I've bought dozens of Milka bars, bags of Softis, and lastly copati, which are ˝indoor shoes.˝ The chagral moments have been the heat which is causing severe friction in areas where fat touches one another. So far I've had a rash in my left armpit, on my arm where my watch is, and the last is past my perimiter and the safety kids taught me that I'm not to share that with anyone but I can tell them my number, my telephone number. Every night in the hostel I come home and just sit with my legs apart and curse my thighs. The people in the hostle are most likely offended but at this point in the trip I am far beyond caring if people think that.
So I have been on Elder watch since I arrived and I've only seen them once and wasn't able to ask them to let me in the new chapel. I want to see inside the new and only permanent LDS church in slovenia. They built it upon the rock, not on peter. But to no avail. Otherwise I have just been hanging out and detoxing from the theater group I have been with. Such negative energy do I feel whenever I was some of them. I need hits of seratonin when ever those people are around.

Things I miss about the States:

Not feeling like I was the largest man in the country
Earning Money
Best Buy Tuesday
My Family
Foriegn Film Thursday with Friends
Things being a resonable price

There is no place like home that's why I suggest you live everywhere

I often sit and listen to the mundane thoughts that go through my, I don't really have a choice. Last night I was having a terrible time breaching the fortress that is the Slovene border. Unfortunately, the train I was planning on taking from Venice to Ljubljana was sold out. I was a little surprised because Ljubljana isn't exactly what most people are looking for in their European experience. Turns out the trains final destination was not Slovenija but Hungary, Budapest (home of the baby arm incident) to be more precise, which based on lack of train tickets must be wildly popular (but only after the fiersome five visited ealier this year, did the divided city achieve such fame, I'm sure).
So I decide to go to Trieste, as it is 23 KM from Koper, which seems to be the only other way to sneak in. I figured I could catch a bus in Trieste and then grab a train to Ljubljana. If I don't I am stuck waiting in Venice until the next night anyway so I asked myself what could it hurt.
I just realized that Tom took this train the day I nearly went ballistic because I missed my plane to Klagenfurt. I had to pay (but really my Mother) an extra $100 dollars to fly into Salzburg, 8 hours after my scheduled flight. Poor Tom had no communication from me because I was without money seeing as how Ryan air had shot me with a bullet I paid for. Tom got in around 2 am and I was suppose to meet him so we could go to the hostel. Instead, I walked like a drone around Ljuljana until I saw through clear glass St. Thom the saint of blogs. That was one of those days I was told to go home early because I looked like...well you get the point (mlos). I should add that the reason I was late for my flight to Klaggenfurt was because my Flight into London was an hour late and I waited an additional 45 minutes for my bags to be unloaded from the plane. In my mind I pictured a little Slovenian running around the landing strips inorder to prevent and landings and then moving on to the baggage compartment to cast a disappearing spell on my luggage, Slovenians descend from the Leperchaun linage of Ireland.
So now I am sitting in Trieste, which happens to be one of my favorite cities, so any excuse to go is fine by me. I get there and realize that there isn't a bus until 6 AM the next morning. It's at this moment I solidify my belief that I am not the Victor Frankel of my generation. Perhaps I am his antithesis. I started to get these feelings of desperation and lonliness. I was stuck in Italy with no place to go, no place to stay, and no razor blade to call my own. I wondered why I travel alone, why I am always alone, why I worry that I don't feel as close to people as I would like. You know those moments of cheesiness that you assume will lead to a paradigm shift but are quickly forgotten about after you've gotten what you wanted. Twenty minutes of moping later, I decide this is a blessing because A)there is no way I'm going to find a place to sleep tonight which meansB) I don't have to pay for a place to sleep tonight. Ahhh, the joys of being homeless. I gently lay my bag down (as my mother would be offend if I treated her bag with disrespect). I unzip the lockings lips of the bag, the container of my only possessions at present and grab a sweater to use as a pillow. The transition is complete, I am officially a hobo. It is more simple than one assumes. To seal the deal tomorrow, I will jump onto a moving train, and then playsoulful tunes on my harmonica for hours telling people I used to give water to the elephants at the circus until everyone was killed in a freak tight rope fire.
The time is 11 PM and I decide to set my alarms for 6 AM. I am off to REMless bliss.
At about 1:15 I am tapped and told something that didn't fully register. I had enough sense to mutter ˝no comprehendo.˝ Which I am pretty sure is spanish but the guy got the message. He started to speak in English asking me all this questions. In my mind I thought, ˝Oh, great its my first day as a hobbo and I'm already being arrested for loitering. The nice Italian Police Man asked me where I was going, what time I planned on leaving, and if I had documentation. I had the suspision that he thought I was drunk. I don't blame him. He then tomld me that I couldn't sleep in that part of the train station and they moved me to a halway where I and 3 other people slept. I wondered who these people were, why there were no bars in this prison, and who would rape me first. I was so tired I had no time to worry about my safety but, as a precaution I strapped my bag around a pole connected to the floor. Mind you it was just a strap and I'm pretty sure it could have been stolen just as easily. At about 5:40, when I could sleep no longer because the sweat left from the previous day was turning into a rash around my groin, I found that the minimus security prison I was taken to was in serious need of gaurds. The jail break was quick.
As I arrive at the bus station, I change clothes, for fear pictures already are circulating Italy demanding my capture and also inorder to prevent more heat rash. I stepped onto a bus driving me to freedom, Koper, we are driving and I see a sign that states we had entered Slovenia, and my heart rang with pride I had learned a lesson, that any problem can be solved by sleeping on it. I then took a bus to Ljubljana, this was the slow bus but it was beautiful. It went through mountains and forests. As we descended into Ljubjana most my anxiety had disapeared and I remembered why I fought so hard to get here. I arrived and immediately went to the center of the town. As I sat below the statue of Preseren(Slovene hero and national anthem composure(which incidently and appropriately is also a drinking song)), this sense of familiarty overwhelmed me, In the morning sun I see people I had tried talking to before in this very spot, I see people I never had the courage to talk to, and I see people whom I couldn't have talked to, because they usually only conversed, with themsleves. Relief fills my soul and I am OK. I think I love Ljubljana so much because it feels like my home when I can't go to my other one. And I am the type of person that needs one of those.

Italy

Coming from England to Italy must be similar to going from Lincoln, Nebraska to New Orleans. It is a beautiful steaming mug decorated with ornate religious symbols which all spell out "God is our number one Dad!!" I am hoping to include more pictures and videos on this blog but have run into technological roadblocks of tron size proportions. All the computers at internet cafes seem to be 4 years old and without SD card readers. I guess you don't come to Europe for the overwhelming advances in computer science (big shout out to N-Shels).
Also a new goal is trying to be more positive about this trip because if Eleanor Roosevelt taught me one thing it was that only I can make myself feel inferior, oh and she did teach me that Lesbians can be the president of the United States by marrying a politician and giving him polio.
Well off to a Art Historians wet dream, the Uffizi.

The Inneptitude and Latitude of the crazy one

Wow, I think my experiences so far in England have proven to me that hindsight is really some chubby 5 year old boy sticking his tongue out at you and giving you the bird. I only say this because of the sour taste of disregarded intuition. Yes as I was getting myself involved with yet another study abroad I had the distinct thought that perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea to go however, my desire to get away prevailed over that pesky thought. Well after 5 days of lackadaisical organization and whip-induced acting I can say never ignore your old Intuition. I am so sick of being here that I feel like running away and finding the nearest flight home. Yet I have been to China and Ghana and have pleasant enough times. Even there when times got bad I never wanted to leave. Perhaps it is the nature of my study. We are doing about 7 hours of "class" a day and then required to do homework outside of class. This would be fine except the class is only 3 credits. I am just venting and no one likes this so I will describe with absurdity what is going on. Two days ago we went into London. To get there early for National Tickets we woke up at 5:40 AM. The only reason I am awake at this time normally is to save the nation from bad music. At about 6 we trecked over to the train station which is a good 3 miles from where we stay. On the way there our chaperone told us to go right with the pretext that it would save us walking time. 10 minutes later we were in a location 50 feet from were we had been told to turn right to save time. I would excuse the lack of directional orientation except it had happened many times during the first couple of days and this was like the 15th time she had been to Northampton. Secondly, I was expecting a phone call from a friend that lives in London and I told our chaperon that someone would be calling. Well I was a bit disappointed that on the day that we went into town I never heard from my friend. The next day we were trying to get in touch with a local actor in our production and the chaperon could not figure out how to see if he had called so I called the voice mail line and found one new message and whose voice should I hear but my London friend. After I hung up I said, "my friend called on the eighteenth (which was two days ago)." The Chaperone's response, "Yes, but did Simon leave a message." I was so infuriated with her cultural and for that matter emotional Lag. Thirdly I live with the top competitor for most bizarre and mundane inquirer. I promise I haven't heard such inane questions in my life. It's always ,"Where are we? When can we go above ground? Who am I? WHy is the sky blue? Are you going to kill yourself with a gun or this passing car? Which is more annoying my voice or my complete lack of knowledge of proxemics." You know things like that. Fourthly, I have real issue when people take extreme latitudes with my time. I understand that we haven't much time before our one performance but I hate not being told a start and stop time to rehearsals and being told 12 hours before hand that we are having a rehearsal. The lack of organization is killing me.
On a final note, I am starting the P with Mr. Horton. That man is evil. Only a sadist could construct a work-out so intense and long lasting. I believe plyometrics won this bout. I don't really have a schedule and there are like twelve different work outs so I'm kind of just trying them all. Moral of story my legs want to hurt me after all I did to them.

The Shoe Capital of England

I had just completed my trail of tears when a little one hung his window from the first floor of the Abbington Guest House run by a Ms. Spence. The spout, known as my forehead, was on rain and my clothes soaked. "What are you looking for?" hurled down the young lad. "The blanket infected with smallpox, please," I screamed in my mind but ended up muttering, "someone to check me in."
"Wha?"
"Someone to Check me in."
"Have you checked 127?"
I felt like I was boarding at an old school European establishment. I rang the bell at 127 and no one answered. "I stand at the door and Knock...I Stand at the door," Kept running through my brain. "Yeah they'll be sorry they didn't let the both of us in," I threatened cognitively then returned to my previous resting spot.
"Any Luck?" Asked the mini-face on the first floor.
"No," I answered.
"Did you go through the glass doors and knock on the next door?"
What was this kid, a senate inquiry council? "Yes, I did!!"
In a window three houses down I saw the familiar face of a classmate and he asked, "What are you doing?" I wanted to tell him I was waiting for Godot but it seemed existentially superior in tone, and that is not how I roll. I wonder how I must have looked holding the metal handle that was once used to pull my suitcase. This piece had broken off oh...about a mile ago on the "smooth" streets of Northampton. My clothes were soaked in sweat from the self-assured short journey from the train station to the B & B that ended up being 2 and a half miles in total. I must have looked pathetic dragging one bag while pushing the other broken in front of me saying various words that my mother has told me I can no longer type on this blog.because on my mournful sojourn an elderly gentleman took my bag and told me I was "struggling" in a most euphemistic tone. Oh well I suppose we all need help from our friends be they close or a random old man in England. He started pushing my bag and then asking my inflammatory questions about US policy (You know the typical European-American conversation). Then he started walking me in a direction away from the way I intended to go. Silently I followed but anxiety filled my gut. Who was this elderly Pakistani holding my suitcase leading me to a strange place. I began to picture a canvas bag over my face and my feet in water while I was being connected to a battery. About five times I almost grabbed my bag and told him this was my cross to bear, and mine alone. I would have sold Bush out just so long as I could live. Then we stopped at a corner and he asked me if I knew the rest of the way. He must have felt my fear. I said yes and began to march forward. I almost felt like crawling into the nearby park and finding a nice patch of trees and preparing myself to die. But I didn't, I continued remembering the proud heritage my pioneer ancestors. Pioneer Children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked. Funny enough that song mentions nothing about heat rash on their ever-rubbing thighs. Abington street was about a 1/2 mile from the attempted terrorist incident.
My classmate let me in and I entered my shangra-la. The place is wonderful. When I saw my begrudged Teacher she sayed, "Oh I sent you an email telling you to take a taxi. I sent it this morning was that to late." I told her no but inside I wanted go all french revolution on her Marie Antionette comment.

Melty Plastic People Making Fires

I have done it, I have done it. I made it to my destination without making a weepy phone call begging my parents for money. It helps when you don't miss your airplane and don't pay $100 dollars to get there.
Friends and Family I am staying in the one year calm of Belfast. Of course I refer to the age old religious riff of Cathi-s and Prote-s. As I type, there is a group of drunken Irishmen (that turned out to not be a cliche) bellowing out old military hymns about the bodies of catholics burning or something pleasantly similar to that motif. I saw one year calm because last year marks the incident of faith-based voilence. I guess you could call it Daddy-issues on a grander scale. "My God's better than your God."
"No my God is way better than your God."
"Oh yeah my God can clear an entire island of snakes."
"Oh yeah, my God can create printing and make literature available to people in any walk of life."
"You can't read."
"Well neither can you."
"Your Mom."
"Your Pa."
"I'm going to kill one of your leaders."
"Well I'm going to blow-up your children."
"I hate my Father..."
"I hate my priest too..."
With that slight detour concluded I will now explain how I was kicked for my God-given talent of snoring at, what I presume is, an illegal decibel. I went to sleep and attempted to plug in my CPAP machine otherwise known as the fighter pilot get-up. Well the piece of sleep saving device would not start. I tried for several seconds and it just wouldn't work. I want to bed offering a silent prayer to both the Protestant and Catholic God, not knowing which one worked at my current local, and asked that I wouldn't snore too loud, because I knew asking to not snore was a miracle too large to ask. I was awoken when a man kicked at my bed and told me know one could sleep because of my "racket." I told him I was sorry but that I couldn't get my machine to work. He told me to sleep on my side. I said fine but knew in my heart this jack-ass would probably kick on my bed. I called him a jack-ass because only moments before did he say I was F@cking ridiculous. This is when I prayed to both God's to give me the patience to not end the year of religious peace. I fell asleep. I again was woken by someone kicking me and verbally abusing me. This was turning into my worst hostel experience ever. I said I was sorry and tried to stay up so he could fall asleep before me. Again the familiar kick, it was at this point I started intentionally snoring. I blocked airways and slept on my stomach and even cupped my hand over my mouth to amplify my lung seizures. In my mind I thought if I can't sleep neither can you. He woke me up again, and again. Finally I moved into the hallway and slept on the floor. At about, 7 AM I woke back up and went into the room. He was just getting up so I thought what is the worst thing I could. It was snore as he packs up to leave. I gave him the best send off I could offer. I hope that he is punished by both Gods.
Today is the day before marching day. They celebrate by lighting a fire larger than Cuddles house. I will report more later.