The Dirty Bird Flies Tomorrow

23 Mar

The Milanoski Road Trip Anthem *click*

The warm summer wind visits London in a similar fashion to its wayward wisps in West Lafayette. It comes surprisingly, to open arms, and gets pushed out by the intolerable rain that demarcates the beginning of Spring. Punxatawney Phil should learn from the prescient notes of the summer gusts, or we should delay Groundhog’s Day. What a great idea! Move Groundhog’s Day to the first nice day of the year. Of course, rules will be made, someone must sponsor the bill, it will be amended in committee, and eventually tabled indefinitely. The converse is everyone gets a day off work to roll the kegs out and set up the horseshoe pits. What will happen to the Bill Murray film’s status? How the mind wanders… The beautiful weather, which has been torn from me by the London Drizzle, is similar to the environment where my next adventure (by no loose definition) takes me. The southern coast of Portugal is a renowned area for surfing, cliff-diving, and being a worthless bum on the beach. I aim to be the most worthless, lazing hobo with occasional breaks between white russians to catch a few waves. The Dirty Bird (my well-named campervan) is making it’s maiden trek with a gaggle of travelers waiting to know her moods. Wednesday couldn’t come fast enough, but the speed at which it approaches is quick in it’s own rite with less than 24 hours to go. If you want to see where I am on an instant basis, check out Google Latitude, and add as a friend. You’ll be able to scope which sets I’m surfing, where I’m having some cheap French wine, or running with bulls (not really).

Classes ended last Friday, so what holds me here in London? I don’t have a exam until the end of April and with the Dirty Bird for shelter why am I bothering with an apartment? Nothing holds me back from floating on whimsical desires around Europe until a day before my exam when I can fly back and take it. It sounds crazy, even to me, but this thought has become subconscious and performs a subroutine all its own. I hope the calculations finish soon, I’d like to know where I’m gonna live in April. Oddly, this is the first time when something has held me back from making a definite decision. The thought belongs to me, but is uncharacteristic for someone who hops on a bike with no proper training to traverse the Northern US. It’s the last crack to reach the surface before the damn breaks, the last thin strand waiting to break between the mother and her kid-on-a-leash.

The culture of London has begun to grow stagnant, I do need to move. Why play in a puddle when the pool is a short distance away? Here’s hoping the pool speaks broken English. I hope that through my rambling phrases a few gems can be plucked by the reader. You may be in a similar state as me, just different physical location, and yearn for that change; that difference in scenery, in speech, and in romance. Remember the only barrier is your rationale and ambitions. Trick yourself into doing something profound, unique, or even dangerous just for a day. The only certainty in life is the past while the present binds us together, your future is a coveted possession. Don’t give it to anyone but yourself.

Your friends and family will be there when you get back


One Response to “The Dirty Bird Flies Tomorrow”

  1. Remy in Argentina March 26, 2010 at 8:01 pm #

    Hey Steve, I wanted to let you know that I really liked this post, especially the last paragraph on doing things completely out-of-your-element. I’m feeling the exact same way in Buenos Aires right now- to new and different experiences! Enjoy the rest of your stay, man!

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