Sleeping Jellyfish

I was asked by a friend to post more pictures.  Particularly of transportation related things as she says they are some of my best (even though all my pictures are crap).  So, here are a few pictures from the last few months with meager descriptions.

I hope these are enjoyed.  I’m not very adept, skillful, or reliable at taking quality pictures, but it is nice to have something besides fleeting memories to remember your life by.

Really, no place on Earth is as magical as Winona, Minnesota.  As far as I know, the city as it exists now is almost completely artificial.  It is the product of the Mississippi being dregged out by the Army Corps. of Engineers.  Originally, there was a logging post or town a bit south of the current city, which then developed into the current city. But, as it stands, I would be hard pressed to find a city that holds its weight per citizen for quality.  The perfect combination of old working class-manufacturing town with the current student-arts-music vibe has really created something magnificent that cannot be looked over.  I’ve played Cub, Kickball, and had several world-class beers, all before a bonfire to top the night off.  That was before someone mistook Ed’s Cub set for kindling, but nonetheless, my history represents itself.

So, Michal and I, we were holed up in Winona for days.  Seems like a death sentence for scenester kids who can’t do anything but go to bullshit shows for the hottest new band who nobody gives a crap about.  Luckily we were in the good company of good friends and accepting floors and couches.  With rooftop barbeques, punk shows, and the endless supply of good times offered by the dual team of Old Man River and Ed’s (No Name) Bar, we weren’t in short supply of friends and fun things to do.  Michal got to see a bit of what Winona had to offer, and a fine bike ride across to the Wisconsin side, up to Fortunata’s Café.  I got to relive some of my former years in the middle of the gorgeous (and oppressive) Midwest summer.  Some Mississippi swimming was involved, a spell at the Airport Lake, there was a soccer game, and plenty of other shenanigans along the Upper Mississippi River Valley (Michal, please comment on anything I missed).

And this is when we banded with the other miscreants from Winona; the biking troupe of traveling troubadours, Michael, Jim, and Daniel.  To be fair, they are all trained baristas, Michal included, I was the only odd espresso man out.  After agreeing to transport them in my (previously) trusty wagon, we decided we needed another course of action once my car exploded on the side of the highway.  It was a rash decision, but we loaded up Michael’s (from here on termed Miguel) wooded wagon to face the open road up to his parents house in  Maple Grove, MN (citation needed).  Turkeys were encountered.  Turkeys were triumphed over. Nothing could stop the Fellowship from reaching the far reaches of Rivendell (Maple Grove).

Dormant for nearly a year, the sleeping jellyfish has once again returned.  A new adventure is well underway with plenty of back stories to be told, current adventures to be spilt out as they unfold, and future endeavors I haven’t even thought of yet that are just waiting for their chance to be etched into the digital tablet.  And so it begins, The Third Era of sleeping jellyfish, complete with all the thrills, monotony, and absolute nonsense that inspired it before, but with a bit more experience, a sliver of worldly experience, and a really bad cut on the authors finger that keeps staining the keyboard.

Where did we leave off?  Ah, yes, we were following our two young travelers, Michal and Jonathan, brazing the wilderlands of Western Wisconsin in their less than trusty steed (RIP Red Rocket) when they were rescued by a saint in jeans and a flannel, THE Zach Wormwood.  While hanging about Jonathan’s old haunts in Winona, they were able to meet other like minded travelers and organize a rental-car wagon train to transport the young lads out west in search of their fortune and fame.  They were joined by the Winona wood elf, Michael Ahmann, the cornerstone of Blue Heron Coffehouse, Jim “Twigz” McGuire, and the most common recipient of ladies under pants ever to grace Ed’s (No Name) Bar, Dan(iel) Edmonds.  The Fellowship had been summoned, and never shall it be broke.  At least till they get to Seattle then they all went off and did whatever.  But that chapter is for next time.

After collecting Jim from his Mom’s house, the Fellowship was united, in camaraderie, in their hopes and dreams, and in already starting to smell bad.  As they saddled up in Michael’s wood paneled behemoth, gear efficiently packed in the trunk and bicycles unsightly though securely strapped to the trunk, they all fell to the same solemn understanding.  Watching Mrs. McGuire recede into the suburban horizon, the knew.  This isn’t the last mother they would worry on this trip.  I still remember the horror on her face.

*     *     *

Currently I’m living in Ansan, South Korea.  It’s a newer city and was only developed a few decades ago so it’s a lot of newer families, which means children, which means English teachers, which means me.  I’ve been here since March and it’s going well so far.  My school’s name is Little Fox which can be mispronounced to accurately and vulgarly described what the children are some of the time.  But really, I love the teaching part, the kids are wonderful and endlessly entertaining, and at the end of the day when I realize that I get payed to hang out, do some lessons, and banter with kids for 6 hours a day, it turns out pretty great.  The downside is dealing the procedure, administrative shenanigans, and endless meetings and work shops.

The staff is fantastic though, very friendly, and almost annoyingly helpful.  My independent nature leads me to not ask for help unless I absolutely need to, and the constant barrage of offers for helping with the smallest thing makes me feel like a jerk for not accepting their help.  I’m seriously with a lack pictures lately as I’ve been going through some heavy and steady mental and emotional realignment and have not even bothered to stop and click things that would normally amuse me.  And that’s my lame excuse for the day.  But it’s pretty true, so I’m not even going to bother justifying it.  You know when you realize, without ever seeing the end of the path, you know exactly where the trail ends, and not wanting it to end there you wrack you’re brain for all the reasons, possibilities, scenarios; anything that might provide a solution or  a way to change the course, all the while steadily moving your feet in the prescribed direction because there’s nothing else you actually can do?  Yeah, it’s like that. I hope that was vague enough for everyone.

Stayed tuned with a harpoon.