Summer Days
Those Lazy - Hazy - Crazy Days Of by Nat King Cole
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It's 10:22AM, and something is stirring. It's something about the way the room is. The way the blinds are shut and light seeps in from its cracks. The way that the room is illuminated in a soft morning glow. The hum of the distant highway. The silent courtyard.
It's odd to say that I feel as though I've just come here. It's almost a lie to say it feels as though I just moved in yesterday. It's difficult to think to myself that the next four days will mark the end of something special. An experience beyond words and images, but of memories. When I drive home with my parents, I will wonder to myself what I will be coming home to - if it is indeed home at all. I then will wonder where my home is.
Is that what has happened? I remember early on, when we (as high school students) still had close ties, we would all talk about that empty feeling we had. That feeling somewhat akin to homesickness - but not quite. It wasn't remorse, it wasn't despair. It was just that feeling that something was stirring within our psyche that we couldn't quite place. And then the classes started, and then the exams set in, and everyone minded their own business - trying to stay afloat amongst the sea of to-do's and obligations. Thoughts about home faded to the background, and we began to meet new people. Do different things. Become different people. Express and experience a multiplicity of emotions and anxieties.
And then, at the end of our high, just when we thought we were finding our place, our happy zone, we've to finish one last set of hurdles and then we're back in our home town. Say goodbye to the people you met. Lock away those memories you made for the summer. Go back to the home you're not sure is yours anymore because you've seen what your life can be. Back to the rules of your home, back to the competition of the workplace, back back back....
It's 10:3AM. I want to sit here forever and savor this moment. Savor the sounds, and the lights, and the quietness of a Sunday morning, here in Davis. God, I wish life was this beautiful everyday.
When I saw this bike, the inner hipster stirred a little. Sent an email out to this guy to see if there's any way to get one of these out here in the states.
I did some more research into these bikes. Information is pretty scant on them. We do know that these bikes appeared around 1988 in London. They were made of Magnesium with certain areas having steel embedded within. While no one really talked directly about it, apparent there was some catastrophic failure with these bikes where the frame would crack, or snap, or something like that. Anyways, after that, these 25 pound fatasses pretty much fell into bike history and weren't heard from again.
Out here in Davis there are a lot of hipster cyclists on their beloved fixies and trispoke bullshit. From a practical standpoint I laugh at their tears when they smash into mountain bikes (brakes are tabook eh?). From an aesthetic point of view I appreciate what some of these guys have done to old frames. I think that this frame falls into realm of aethetically pleasing.
Albeit, my friend Kevin thinks it looks like milk. Whatever that means.
Maybe I'll have to rethink this "next bike" thing...Here's a quote I pulled
"I am not in the least bit embarrassed to say that when I pulled the frame from the box, my first inclination was to lube up the seat tube and make sweet love to it, but being a married man, I resisted. It was that sexy."
Let us sit and ponder our own motality, shall we? Now where does my journey with motality begin....lets see...well, I woke up this morning awfully early. Thought, eh, maybe get some work done. By afternoon I was being taught how to swim. A little after that I was trying to tread water. Then I was trying to tread water with the water polo ball as a floatational device. Then I gave it to Peter. Then I started to drift off into the deeper end....Well, then I started to panic and wave my arms around in the water as I'm at 7 feet water. Waving frantically at my friends for help. I inhale a little bit of water and now I've really flipped a shit, but drowning I am.
I sort of wonder the number of things that could have gone wrong today. What if Sarah wasn't there to see me frantically wave my arms? What if I hadn't touched the bottom and conciously pushed off. What if I didn't break the water and call for help? What if no one had heard me? What if the lifeguard was shitty (which they are as today's event shows)?
At the time, all I could do is laugh at it all. At how I dodged a real close call. That's still my first reaction. But now, as I write, it's pretty downright scary to think about it. Today could have been a real bad day...well, for me anyways. The thought that all my work would be left incomplete. Sorta disturbing.
On Road Bikes and Cruisers:
One's reckless and the other's inept, it's no wonder there are tons of accidents.
-T My Kitten
Not God, but bikes.
Well, not really bikes, but they're a good example. I've been having one of those days - actually, one of those weeks. Well, they've been turning into weeks. But I've generally been getting sicker and sicker of consumption.
I mean, think about it. From the time you wake up to the time you go to sleep, what are you doing? You're consuming one thing or another. You're eating, you're watching TV, you're on the internet, you watching youtube, you're listening to music, you're playing games, you're listening to the radio, you're reading the newspaper, you're doing this you're doing that - but generally consuming something someone else created. You consume something of worth that someone else created.
Lately I've been getting pretty sick of this consumption. And yet I am surrounded by it and by those who partake in it. By 11pm, I'm usually thinking to myself what can I create? What can I make? What can I do?
This feeling has manifested itself in a number of ways. One of which is writing. Hence this little website. Another is related to bikes. I want to tinker with them more. Take them apart, build them up. That sort of thing. As much as I disdain fixed gear bikes/single speed bikes - I sort of want to make one, just to do it (of course, I'd sell it for double soon afterwards). I also have a resurging desire to learn how to program, and also make web sites. Actually, I want to combine the three of them - and as of late I've been trying to learn Java in the hopes of making a program that would crawl website and pull text from them...I also feel like to study more. Weird huh?
In any case, I'm bored of consumption. Lets move to creationalism.
I've reviewed (more like re-learned) Chemistry for an hour out here at the library now, but my computer began running out of power. So in my frustration at having to break my progress in order to look for a new plug outlet, I pack up my things and set out to scour the library for the highly sought after study corral+plug outlet. It's all about location - I want just the right amount of light, just the right amount of quietness, and just the right amount of privacy.
With my notebook in hand I began wandering around, following the trails of study corrals lined against the wall. The weary eyes of half asleep students glance at me as I pass. I come upon the reading room.
I go through glass double doors to a room filled with natural light - not the harsh flourescent light all over the place. It's odd in that you feel warmth but are fully aware of the air conditioning. You are warm, but not hot. Cool, but not cold. That lovely inbetween. You walk in and you hear the hushed and distance voices that echo in the room. It's crowded, but not packed. Just the right amount to feel productive, but not stifled.
On the walls there are shelves and shelves of books that hug the walls. Lamps hang from the high ceilings over the tables of students. People with laptops out, people with textbooks and papers a flurry. There is energy in the air. Not of crazed, untempered energy - but the quiet energy of learning.
As you make your way down the rows of tables, you look out the window and can see trees. You can see the soft yellow light, the blues of the sky. The clouds. It's picturesque. The students look, but they do not see you. While you are there in the middle of the room, you are in your own bubble set apart from everyone else's. Far different and far better than any study lounge in the dorms, and much better than the gloomy engineering library.
There have been few moments out here that I truly felt like I was in college. I always knew I was, but never quite felt it. Never quite felt what I had for so long imagined feeling. The energy of learning, the feeling of quiet empowerment. But for a few minutes in that room, I felt it. I felt the energy of being on the cusp of something awesome. Something so totally beyond myself, but in another way so completely part of who I was and am and will be. It was a room beyond that I've ever experienced.
I am glad that I am here.
i'm the dude who comments on your posts at 3:00am in the morning.
