A Long Expected Journey - Day 2 - Identity

2/15/15

Carlsbad, New Mexico

Well, this is it, the big one.  My readers who are familiar with Aristotle’s Three Laws of Thought will now which one is missing, and it’s the most important one: The Law of Identity.  “A is A, and A is not not A.”  “A thing is what it is and not what is not.”  “I am who I am, not anyone else.”  It should be clear that I will be focusing on that last statement in my philosophy section, in keeping with the more casual approach I have been taking to exploring these laws and giving them practical applications.  The philosophy will come later.  Today was a very important day for my new suit and water bottle.  It was their first (and second) National Park, and I think they enjoyed it very much.  Today, I did something that I will never do again in my life.  I checked off two new US National Parks in the same day, and it was epic and Official.  I am freezing out here.  Actually, I think the logical thing to do would be to finish this entry in my car.  That is exactly what I am going to do.

I am not quite sure how to compare recovering from my New Year’s in Quebec or realizing on the ship that I loved Vanessa like a sister to the night in Ephesus before I headed to see the ruins of Artemis’s Temple or tonight, after my two National Parks, about to head to a World Heritage Site in the morning.  What do they all have in common?  The 2012 Christmas Pipe of course.  Sitting here in my car is hardly the same as, wait, my coat’s in the trunk, I can put it on and then return to the bench outside.  Guess I need to pause again.

This bowl is going to be done even before I finish recalling the events of the day, isn’t it?  It seems like a lifetime ago that I left my hotel in El Paso, stopping for gas, coffee, and 7-11 on the way to the first stop, Guadalupe Mountains National Park.  I put on “Speak Now,” which is an all-around solid album, not a bad song into the entire album, but, excluding maybe the title track, no great songs, either.  During my Eurotrip, I learned that the best way to make sure the highlights of the day were recorded was to frequent smaller entries throughout the day.  That was not an option today, not on this schedule.  I got my stamp and pin at the VC before I headed to the hiking area.  I had the whole area to myself, so I knew that I would have no trouble making it Official.  I lit up my Montecristo [correction, H. Upmann] and prepared for a 2.3 mile loop.  Okay, this wind is ridiculous.  The bowl is done, and I haven’t even made my first site Official yet.  It took less than 15 minutes to smoke that bowl.  Indoors, it would have been close to an hour.  Guess I’m going to have to pause once more to go back to my room now.

That was pure fulfillment value, no enjoyment value.  I should have just risked the fine and smoked in my room.  With no further ado, the events of today.  Smoking my H. Upmann and blaring Speak Now from my pocket, I got on the trail.  2.3 miles should have taken me 46 minutes, but with the elevation and stopping for pictures, it would be much longer, and I knew the wind would kill the cigar long before that.  I said to my suit and water bottle something like, “Guys, this is your first National Park.  It’s a big day for you guys.”  I did not expect a response, nor did I receive one.  A suit is a suit, and a water bottle is a water bottle.  It is not part of the nature of a suit or a water bottle to be able to respond to a statement like that.  In yesterday’s entry, I wrote how there are three people I text every day.  Today, knowing that I would be off the grid for most of the day and on too tight of a schedule to have a proper conversation when I was on the grid, I only texted one of them, and I only texted him in the following manner: a picture of each Official Uer I used, along with a number, just as I did yesterday.

When I texted him a picture of a landscape with the next number, the meaning was obvious.  I could Officially check off Guadalupe Mountains National Park.  I continued on the trail until I came to a natural stopping point and did not think I had the energy or time to go any further.  With the rest of my cigar, I turned around and headed back to the car.  The views during the hike were breathtaking, the elevation even more so.  When I got back to the car, I grabbed an Ashton VSG, took care of some other business that I couldn’t do on the trail, smoking the VSG and continuing to blare Speak Now as I did so.  When I was done, I saw the first person I had seen since I left the VC, and I was quite tired of Speak Now by that point.  I switched to RED, probably her best album since the 2006 one, the one I listened to for 100 hours in Europe and then for all the rest of my trips for the next few months.

As I was driving, I saw a sign that made my heart stop: ENTERING CENTRAL TIME ZONE.  No, no, no, no.  How did I forget about that?!?  My tight schedule had me arriving at the first VC in the second NP an hour before it closed, the same for the second VC.  That was thinking it was on Mountain Time.  On Central Time it would become a true Kotzebue Run.  I did not leave myself any time for food, either.  Would I have to cut out my second stop?  No, that would not do.  There would be no reason for me to ever visit Fort Davis NHS if I visited all the surrounding units.  This was a disaster.  Well, I made up lots of time on the road, having more than enough time to pick up some chicken nuggets at a Wendy’s and get to the fort almost half an hour ahead of schedule.  As I was driving, I had a very scary moment.  My GPS was a little unclear about what to do at a T in the road, a T that I did not even realize existed until I was about 15 feet from crashing into something.  I slammed on the breaks, managing to safely make the turn after a moment of confusion and panic.

I got to the Fort, and my phone had lit up with notifications.  I was far more interested in being back on the grid than I was with this old fort.  I got my stamp and pin and took some pictures while I smoked the rest of the La Duena that I had lit up on the road, but I spent most of the time on social media.  Checking my updates and posting statuses caused me to go a little over budget on time, but I was still half an hour ahead of schedule (technically half an hour behind, due to the time zone).  On the plus side, it meant that I would get to the hotel an hour earlier, an hour that I wound up losing to Dutch time once I arrived, but I’ll get to that later.  I plugged in the first VC into the GPS, and it showed a driving time of 30 minutes less than I had calculated, which would completely negate the time zone difference.

It was a boring drive until I was about 10 miles from the entrance, and my car started making a very strange sound every time I braked.  I know nothing about cars, so I would not have been able to fix anything other than a flat tire, and I didn’t like my chances of fixing even that, though I theoretically know how to do it, in principle at least.  I am dead tired after my exhausting day, 15 hours of nonstop driving and hiking.  I might even take a little nap before I do the philosophy part, but I need to wrap the adventures first.

I got to the National Park sign, and I checked all the tires.  They looked fine.  Oh, did I mention I was almost out of gas?  Well, apparently there was gas inside the park, along with food.  I was starving.  My readers know how hunger makes me tired and cranky and even depressed sometimes.  Today, I learned that it also makes me unable to make a decision.  Tiredness or drunkenness might prevent me from making a rational decision, but hunger prevents me from making any decision at all.  I stopped at the first VC and got my stamp and a pin.  I learned that it might actually be doable to get a third VC in, but it might have meant almost an extra hour of driving just for the stamp, and there was no guarantee I would make it in time.  I found myself hoping that I would get stuck behind a slow car so that my decision was made for me.  It was a crap shoot.  If the VC was opened 5-10 minutes past close, I might have made it.

I didn’t go for it, instead going straight into the main VC’s parking lot.  Reader, recall that strange noise?  It didn’t go away.  I looked under the car, nothing there that might be making that noise.  Then I saw it, some plastic thingy hanging down from the front bumper.  I had somehow managed to dislodge it while doing no other visible damage to the car, probably from when I went onto the side of the road to take a picture at a sign.  I pushed it back into place, enough to stop the noise, but it still looked kind of funny.  Why is this a problem?  Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona have something called Border Patrol Interior Checkpoints, places where CBP stop all cars and ask them a few questions.  They are looking for drugs and illegal immigrants.  Reader, if you were a CBP Officer and saw a car with the plastic underneath the bumper dislodge, might you not think that there were drugs hidden in there?  Might you not want to search the car?  I had nothing to hide, but it would be a long and nerve-wrecking process.  I did my best to make it look normal.

I then went into the VC, getting pins, a keychain, and a t-shirt.  I asked about the hiking options.  He gave me a bunch of different options, but I was too hungry to decide.  One option had the best views, but it would be too crowded to make it Official.  Another, by the north entrance, didn’t have great views, but it would be empty.  The third one, the furthest away, would have good views and not be too crowded.  I couldn’t decide.  I just kept looking at the map and asking more questions.  The longer I tarried, the less of an option the third one would become.  The gas station had frozen burritos to heat up.  I was too hungry to even decide which one I wanted, so I got two, along with a Coke Zero.

With my first bite, my strength returned, and I decided instantly without even thinking about it, without even consciously realizing I had made my decision until I saw that I was on the road to the third one.  The park is called Big Bend National Park, named after the big bend in the Rio Grande River, which forms the border with Mexico.  The third one was the one that afforded the best views of the Rio Grande, and it was closest to Mexico.  How could I not do that?  That is what this park is.  There were two places I wanted to stop, the Rio Grande River Overlook, and the Boquillas Canyon trail.

When I got to the overlook, there was little trail, and it was empty.  I would be able to make it Official overlooking the Rio Grande River.  I lit up my Montecristo and started hiking up the trail to the overlook.  That was when I saw another car pulling up.  If I wanted to make it Official, I would need to make all due course to get to the top before they were within view.  Well, once I got to the top, it was possibly to keep walking down a bit, so I had no problem making it Official, and the views there were great.

Once I finished the cigar, I would be able to check the National Park off of my list, so I decided to go the Boquillas Canyon trail to do a little more hiking with the rest of the cigar.  Just one problem.  There is the Boquillas Canyon trail, the Boquillas Canyon overlook, and the Boquillas Crossing.  The last one takes you into Mexico.  I did not have my passport, and I did not see any way of bringing a lit Cuban cigar back into the United States.  “I don’t want to accidentally wind up in Mexico,” I kept telling myself.  Cognizant of this possibility, I carefully made my way to Boquillas Canyon, but I found myself at the overlook, not the trail.  I took some pictures and continued to the trail.

I did as much hiking as I had cigar left.  When it was time to turn around, I asked my new suit and water bottle if they had a good day, saying that it was a very big day for them.  I told them that there weren’t that many National Parks left to see but that I would be taking them to see the rest.  Again, since a suit is a suit, and a water bottle is a water, I did not get a response.  That was it.  I put my hotel into the GPS, changed the music to 1989, and prepared to make my way to the hotel with all due haste.  It was looking like a 9 PM arrival, 9:30 PM if I stopped for dinner.  I probably should have stopped for dinner instead of driving nonstop for almost 4 hours.  I am now hungry again, having eaten nothing but crap all day.

I soon noticed a familiar green vehicle behind me.  I was going a little under 60.  The speed limit in the park was 45.  Was it CBP or a Park Ranger?  If it was CBP, they couldn’t care less how fast I was going.  If I was a Park Ranger, they might give me a ticket.  I slowed down to about 50.  The vehicle started tailgating me.  Seriously?  It passed me, and I saw that it was a Park Ranger.  They probably just wanted to get back to headquarters or go home, it being 5 PM on a Sunday.  The vehicle then sped up to 60, so I kept pace with it, only for it to slow down to about 30 and put its siren on.  Wait, was it going to pull me over for keeping pace with it?  I realized that he was warning me he would do exactly that.  I slowed down to 50 and never saw him again.

Okay, I really need to wrap up if I want to get a nap and still wake up before midnight.  I picked up another Coke Zero, an ice cream bar, and some snacks at the gas station.  I then headed to my hotel without stopping, other than at the Interior Border Checkpoint, which I passed with no hassle once the dog sniffed my car, getting to the hotel by 9 PM, smoking a Tatuaje and an Aroma de Cuba en route.  When I got to the hotel, I got caught up my social media even before I got out of the car.  Then my brother called me to discuss some details about his bachelor party.  That whole process took me to 9:30 PM.  Getting situated and filling my pipe brought me to 10 PM.  All the hubabaloo with switching spots while I smoked my Christmas Pipe meant that it was 10:30 PM by the time I got back up to my room, where I proceeded to write this entry.  Instead of being an hour ahead of schedule, the hour of Dutch Time put me write back on my original schedule.  I will now pause for a few minutes to rest my eyes before I continue with the philosophy section.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I heard a voice (I won’t say whose) ask me why I couldn’t just finish this in the morning.  “Because I am who I am.”  That is the crux of tonight’s entry.  A thing is what it is and is not what it is not.  My pipe is a pipe, and it will never be a suit.  No matter what, there is no way that I could wear that pipe as a suit.  It just wouldn’t work.  While I can use the pipe in other purposes, it is nothing other than a pipe.  I could put water in the bowl and drink from it, but that does not mean it is a water bottle.  Likewise, a water bottle is not a pipe, even if I could figure out how to smoke tobacco from my water bottle.

A pipe is not a water bottle.  To claim that my pipe is a water bottle is a contradiction.  To claim that my pipe is anything other than a pipe is a contradiction.  There are no contradictions.  Point to any object in this hotel room, and I can say that is either my pipe, or it is not.  There is no excluded middle.  What is it that prevents contradictions and the excluded middle?  The Identity Law.

When people hear the word identity, they think of who they are, how they define themselves.  Good.  “I am who I am.”  That is a statement that will make sense to people who have never read a page of Aristotle.  A person’s identity is comprised of all their attributes, their strengths and weaknesses, their virtues and flaws.  “I am who I am.”  That means not only that I am the person who is comprised of those attributes, but also all the paths that led to this point.  If you are happy with the person you are, you cannot regret the bad things in life that brought you to that point.  If you are not happy with the person you are, change it, and do not dwell on the past.  There is no excluded middle.

The pipe will never be a suit.  It cannot turn itself from briar into wool, but humans can change themselves.  If there is a flaw you have that bothers you, change it.  Otherwise, you must accept yourself for exactly who you are and make no attempt to hide it.  That does not mean that you should go shouting every attribute of yourself from the rooftops.  That does not mean you have an obligation to reveal every detail about yourself to someone you’ve just met.

Reader, imagine I go on a first date.  I sit down at the table and say, “I’m Steven.  I smoke 3-5 cigars a day, I don’t care about strangers’ feelings, and I think abortion and gay marriage is wrong from a moral standpoint (though I support it absolutely as a legal right).”  That would be a supremely stupid idea.  Unless the woman sitting across from me happened to be Dagny Taggart wrought flesh, she would probably walk away, or, if she stayed, it would only be out of curiosity.  If I were asked for my position on gay marriage, I would not hide it.  I would not say what I thought my date wanted to hear.  I am who I am, and I would make no attempt to hide it.  Anyone who does so is a fraud.

To be dishonest is to commit an abdication of self.  You do not want need to be totally honest with someone.  If she asked my ATM PIN, I would not lie, but I would not give it to her either.  Now, reader, imagine that she was wearing a hideous pair of glasses.  There is no need for me to say, “I hate your glasses.”  If she asked what I thought of the glasses, my first response would be something noncommittal like, “They’re certainly unique.”  If she asked for a straight answer, whether or not I liked them, no excluded middle, I would have no choice but to honestly tell her that I hated the glasses.  To do otherwise is an abdication of self.  Once you starting lying to someone because you think it’s what they want hear, you have taken when step towards the destruction of self.  However, if you lie about yourself because you don’t think they would accept an attribute of yourself that you accept, you are committing a complete abdication of self.  If you accept yourself for who you are, there is no need to ever deny it.  You don’t have to volunteer it, but you should not hide it either.

Continuing down this path, I have long ago accepted myself as I am, but, other than my few close friends and family, I have had trouble finding people who accept me as I am.  When I found a girl who accepted me for exactly who I was, was it any doubt that I fell in love with her?  I did not love her for her virtues, and that was my mistake.  The fact that I loved someone merely because they accepted me for exactly who I was was as deep as an abdication of self as tricking someone into loving me by being someone I’m not.  Once she no longer accepted me for who I was, I stopped loving her.  I thought that I would love anyone who accepted me for who I was.  Three weeks later, I found someone who accepted me for exactly who I was.  Why have I not seen her since then?  One simple reason.  I did not respect her, and I could not have respected myself if I continued to date her.  I am who I am.  Despite the advice of my brother and the guys at the cigar store, I would have forever regretted going through with it.

Instead, I found my Objectivist values again.  That is who I am, the consummate Objectivist.  The flaws I see in myself are the ways that I do not live up to the ideal of John Galt, not the ways I embody his what might be perceived as “cold-heartedness.”  Those nine people I mentioned in last night’s entry, if some genie came up to me and said that I had to choose between saving one of their lives versus a billion strangers, I would not hesitate so much as a second to save the life of the person I loved versus 15% of the world’s population.  Each one of those nine people provide me more value than a billion strangers ever could.  That is probably an unpopular opinion.

Reader, think of the person, other than yourself, you love most in the world.  (I will not say which member of my family gets that title.)  Would you trade his or her life if it meant the cure for cancer?  If it meant you could save a billion lives?  For many people it would be a tough question to answer.  For me, there is no hesitation, not for the nine people I have mentioned.  I am who I am.  That does not mean I should say that to every stranger I meet.  I do not view that apparent lack of compassion for strangers as a flaw.  I view as a virtue the love I feel for the people who have earned my love, the people who provide value to my life.

That said, I am not without flaws.  I do not need to broadcast all of my flaws in a public blog, but those flaws are things I want to change about myself.  The things I view as my virtues I do not want to change.  Someone else might categorize my flaws and virtues differently, but that doesn’t matter.  They are not me, and I am not them.  They are who they are, and I am who I am, and that is why I planned this trip exactly the way I did, not the way anyone else told me to.  On that note, I will close.  Tomorrow I will be heading to the World Heritage Site where I will tie these past three entries together.

A Long Expected Journey - Day 1 - The Excluded Middle

2/14/15 ("The Excluded Middle")

El Paso, Texas

Reader, I have traveled around the world and been to some of the most exotic and unlikely locations that are possible to visit.  El Paso, Texas hardly seems worthy of mention, yet, when I woke up from my nap, I realized that I was looking at a site unlike any I had ever seen.  “The Borderland,” the two cities of El Paso, Texas and Juarez, Juarez are called collectively, and it is one of the busiest border crossings in the world, two sprawling metropolises as far as the eye could see.  Mexico in one direction, Texas in the other.  I knew that I would need to write this entry before it got dark so that I could have a proper opening photo.  I will save the philosophy for after dinner, but I can tease it out a bit.  The second of Aristotle’s Laws of Thought, and my favorite, is The Law of the Excluded Middle (TLotEM).  It states quite simply that either something is or it is not, there is no excluded middle.  I have written pages of formal discourse on this topic, but I will take a more casual approach tonight.

While people might reluctantly accept “No Contradictions,” TLotEM seems a harder pill to swallow.  The reason being is the all too familiar “Fallacy of the Excluded Middle” (FotEM), which is “You’re either with me, or you’re against me” “Love me or hate me.”  You can be neutral, or you can like someone without loving him or her.  On this Valentine’s Day, I will focus on the latter.  The statement should be “Either love me or don’t.”  Either you believe someone is worth loving, or you don’t.  I will explore that in tonight’s entry, but, for now, I will recall the events of the day.

I had no appetite for breakfast and literally forced myself to eat, not knowing when my next chance to eat would be.  I hardly ate, and I was not willing to count it as my first Official meal in New Mexico.  My first stop was Petroglyph NM, but they had neither the Official pins nor the Official stamp.  It was the excluded middle all over again, either they had it or they didn’t, and no amount of arguing with the clerk would produce a different stamp.  She insisted that it was the Official stamp, and it was quite similar and had all the relevant information.  “You don’t have the Eastern National stamper?”  She reminded me that we were in the West.  “It’s just the name of the company that makes the stamps.”  There was really no point to continue this discussion.  I had to use the stamp that they had.

She pointed me in the direction of the best hiking, which was a trail up a steep grade to the top of a rock canyon, perfect.  I had lit my Liga Privada after I left the hotel, and I had more than enough to continue on the hike.  It was the first Official hike with the new suit and the new water bottle.  I was very excited.  With much difficulty due to the elevation (over a mile), I got to the top, and, after waiting to make sure there was no one in view, I made it Official.  I headed back down and put in my next destination, White Sands NM, into the GPS.  I put on Taylor Swift’s 2006 album.  While I can never get tired of the first three tracks, I was starting to get bored of it by the time I got to my destination.

I lit up my Nic Toro and had no trouble breaking 100 in a 75 zone.  After my Nic Toro, I lit up an ESG.  Throughout the drive, I was emotionally distraught, and I felt a clawing at my stomach.  Could emotional pain manifest itself as physical?  I didn’t think so, but, every time “Just Another Picture to Burn” came on. the pain went away.  It took me a while to realize that what I was feeling was hunger.  I stopped for Tex-Mex and asked if I could smoke inside.  No.  Could I smoke outside if I ate something?  I could smoke outside even if I didn’t eat anything.  I was starving, of course I wanted to eat.  I ordered the combination plate and a Diet Coke.  Yes, it was just hunger.  The pain went away as I started to eat, the ESG the perfect accompaniment to the meal.

Have I mentioned how much I love the Southwest, how it is one of my favorite places in the country, how beautiful the mountainous desert is?  It was a great drive, and, if it weren't my emotional distraught, I would have been in heaven.  I made it to White Sands NM, in the heart of the missile range.  There were signs on the road to expect delays of an hour during missile testing.  There was no testing today.

White Sands was exactly what it sounded like, dunes of white sand.  The ranger said that it would be like nothing I had ever seen.  Silly girl, did she really expect it to compare to Great Sand Dunes NP or Kobuk Valley NP, the two previous sand dunes I had visited?  I put on Fearless through the Bluetooth in the car, which worked even better than the CDs.  That is an album that I really love.  “Marry me Juliet, you’ll never have to be alone” practically brings a tear to my eye every time I hear that line from “Love Story,” and, despite what Kanye says, “You Belong with Me” is a masterpiece.  I got to a good spot to hike the dunes and lit up an Opus.  As I hiked up in my suit, I got a questioning look from a couple dressed in shorts.  I had my answer all prepared if they commented on my suit.  “You don’t know who I am?  You’ve never read Where is John Galt, the premiere travel blog of our time?  Surely you recognize this pose?”  I would have then done my trademark water bottle and cigar selfie pose.  They didn’t say anything.  I got lots of great pictures.

It was under two hours to Chamizal NMem, and it was a big cigar.  It was also the last non-Cuban I had budgeted for today, and I was saving the Cuban, for well, that’s another story.  The wind cut my cigar short, so I lit up an E.P. Carrillo, which would cause me to have to swap some cigars for the next two days, but it’s a hell of a cigar.  I got to Chamizal NMem, in the heart of El Paso, at the site of the old border with Mexico.  I got the Official stamp and pin, finished my cigar as I pondered life and love, and headed to my hotel.

There was a happening downtown that I passed by, and I will probably walk by as I seek out my dinner after I close.  I’m thinking Church’s Chicken.  I checked in and headed to my room.  I needed to take a nap.  If I’m asleep I wouldn’t have to be in pain, I told myself.  I was awoken by a text from the one girl who can brighten even my darkest of moods, who has brightened more of my days in the past three years than I can count.  My mood elevated, I knew that my appetite would soon return, but I also knew that I needed to write this entry first.  I headed down to the outside terrace, took some pictures, sat down by the fire pit, lit up an Ardor, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close since my pipe is almost done and my appetite has returned.

While this evening in El Paso, Texas cannot come close to comparing New Year’s Eve in Quebec or aboard the Corinthian, it is not without its merits.  As I am sitting by the fire pit in my pajamas, watching the happy couples getting drunk enough before they peel off to their rooms to consummate the evenings, smoking my 2011 Christmas Pipe, the only other single person out here just said to me, “You look comfortable.”  “I am.”  I meant it, and I meant it in more ways than one.  After I closed, I headed out and lit up my Bolivar, being content to be alone, and went to Church’s where I got a delicious meal.

After dinner, I grabbed the rest of my cigar and walked back, stopping on a bench to blare some Taylor Swift from my cell phone (mostly “Love Story” and the first three tracks from the 2006 album).  It must have been quite a sight to see me on that bench, alone, in my suit, blaring my Taylor Swift, smoking my Bolivar.  She was definitely my Valentine this year.  I went back to my room and took a nap, being awoken by a call from my best friend.  I had slept far longer than intended, which will fuck up the rest of my plans for the evening or cause me to oversleep.  We (including his girlfriend) had a very humorous Official conversation about Official Uing.  “No, I need an hour to recharge.”  “We’re still talking about Uing, right?”  After the conversation, I headed down to the terrace to smoke my pipe, and I proceeded to write this entry.

Alright, now for the philosophy that I teasted earlier.  Either you love someone or you don’t.  There is no excluded middle.  If you love someone, you love them because of who they are.  If you love someone, you love them unconditionally, so long as they don’t stop being the person you loved or you don’t change your values.  There is no excluded middle.  If you love someone, you want their happiness, unconditionally, so long as it does not come at your forceful or fraudulent expense.  (“There are no conflicts of interest among honest men.”)  It returns to my point from last night, that, if you love someone, the “If I can’t have him/her, no one can” mentality.

Okay, so to put this together.  A happily married couple, one partner cheats because it makes him/her happy.  The other partner should then say, “Well, I want him/her to be happy even if it’s not with me.”  No, absolutely not.  Fraud was committed.  The faithful partner should not be happy for the fraudulent unfaithful one.  Second scenario, one partner says, “This isn’t working.  We need a divorce.”  If the other partner agrees, and that’s usually the case, they can either walk away no longer loving each other, or they can be happy for each other to find new partners.  There is now excluded middle.

For the record, I hate my ex’s guts.  I should have never loved her according to my Objectivist values, but I hate myself even more for abandoning my Objectivist values for irrational happiness.  I do not wish her any sort of happiness, and I no longer love her.  Once she chose that she did not wish to be happy with me, the main reason that I loved her disappeared, so there is no contradiction.  According to Objectivism, a man of unbreached self-esteem would not be capable of unrequited love.  The reasoning is quite simple.  Objectivism holds that love is based on mutual respect and shared values.  If a woman does not love such a man whom she respects, the shared values are not there.  There is no excluded middle.  If she were to hold to that Objectivist view of love, she would have the shared values, and, if the mutual respect was there, the love must needs follows.

Reader, feel free to attack this view of love or to argue that emotions play a stronger role than rationality.  I am just explaining what Objectivism holds.  John Galt will always love Dagny Taggart because she is Dagny Taggart, and, if Dagny Taggart is Dagny Taggart, she will always love John Galt.  If Dagny does not love Galt, she is no longer Dagny, and Galt will no longer love her.  There is no excluded middle, and there is no unrequited love.  Tell that to a man who fancies himself to be in love with someone who reminds him of someone he thought he was in love with when he was 15.  “Cuteness” is not a value.  It is an element of “Style.”

This returns to my point from my last NPS trip.  Love is not all you need.  Dagny Taggart was a chain smoker.  What if John Galt couldn’t stand the smell of smoke?  What if John Galt was a doctor who couldn’t bear the thought of being with someone who would constantly smoke cigarettes?  However, I am not talking about compatibility.  I am talking about love.  I would allow the argument that shared values and mutual respect is insufficient to make a relationship work.  I would also allow the argument that no relationship could fail if it has shared values and mutual respect.  However, I would ask my reader to choose one argument or the other.  There is no excluded middle.

In my entire life, I have only met one women with whom I have such shared values and mutual respect.  I love her very much, and view her as “the perfect woman,” except for one small problem: she’s gay.  Rand viewed homosexuality as unnatural and immoral, but that’s neither here nor there.  If Dagny was gay, she and Galt would not have compatibility. Returning to my theme of irrational happiness, I previously asked why question irrational happiness, unless it is to avoid decreasing total happiness.  I will explore that in my personal journal, since I do have the answer.

Of the twenty to thirty people in the world that I love, I love each of them, friends, family, former classmates, shipmates and tripmates, for one simple reason: they make me happy.  They make me happy from the value they currently provide to my life.  They make me happy from the memories of the time we shared.  They make happy every time I see their name or picture on my phone.  It might be irrational happiness in some cases, and I am by no means a perfect Objectivist, nor am I about to abandon my irrational happiness.

It is certainly not a list of the people in the world who share my values or the people I most respect.  Yes, some people are on the list for that reason, but not all of them.  The rest are on that list because it makes me happy to see me happy.  No, they are not the people whose company I enjoy, the people who make me happy only by us having fun together.  They are the people at whose funerals I would cry.  They are the people I would be happy if I saw them post their engagement on Facebook.  They are the people whom I would want to be happy even at my expense.

On this Valentine’s Day, I am quite happy to be alone romantically, so long as I have my friends and my family, the people I love most.  Including myself, the top nine names on that list are the six closest members of my family and the three people whom I text every day, who are like siblings to me.  They are the nine people for whom, if they were in need, I would do almost anything with the only regard to my self-interest being the happiness they provide me.  On that note, I will close so that I can get a much needed Diet Coke (I think I have an addiction) and publish before I continue with my evening.

A Long Expected Journey - Day 0 - No Contradictions

2/13/15

Aboard B6 65, En route JFK-ABQ

Over the past six months, my Day 0 entries have focused on what I immodestly consider some of my best new philosophy while glossing over the actually events of Day 0.  However, the events of Day 0 actually make for quite the tale today, and I do not have enough battery to properly explore this crucial bit of philosophy I have developed this past week.  Over those past six months, I pretty much abandoned my Objectivist philosophy.  Over the past week, I have reclaimed my Objectivst values, and the philosophical theme of this trip will be a return to Objectivism.  “No Contradictions” is the title of Day 0, and, when I get to Albuquerque and light up my 2010 Christmas Pipe, just as I did in Quebec and Istanbul and Belmopan, just as I did after I fell in love with Beth on the ship, I will write about a huge contradiction that most people utter without a single second thought, and I will write about why that is a contradiction and how to resolve that contradiction because contradictions do not exist.

I was going to write about Beth that an Objectivist would not fall in love with someone else while he was in a committed relationship, but that is wrong.  Hank Rearden was married when he fell in love with Dagny, and Rand did not vilify him for it.  If I maintained my Objectivist values, I would have never started that relationship in August.  I would have stayed with the girl I was dating at that time.  I consciously knew that I would be abandoning my Objectivist values if I began that relationship.  My personal journals from that time mentioned how irrational it would be to begin that relationship.  (I really don’t care if she reads this.)

I gave in to what I perceived as “irrational happiness” and went to see where that led me.  It was a big mistake, but it’s a mistake that I would make every time because I gained knowledge and experience (experience in the way Hume would mean, not the common use of the term).  This past week, I have once again pursued “irrational happiness,” and, just like the last time, I had to push away someone I cared about.  (That sentence, and the sentences that follow, should be cryptic enough to only make sense to the author and the person whom I had to push away.)  However, unlike last time, the person whom I pushed away knew exactly what was going on and understood and said that he would be there for me once I figured it all out.

Well, I figured it out, and my return to Objectivism has signified that I have found myself again, the self that I lost over the past six months.  The girl I left six months ago in pursuit of “irrational happiness” would not understand, or would she?  If I texted her, would she give me a second chance?  Cue Taylor Swift’s, “I Almost Do” to answer why I haven’t texted her yet.  I should, though.  My New Year’s resolution this year was to return to my old self, the pinnacle of self that I had achieved in June.  I am finally starting to keep that resolution.

When I threw away my Objectivist beliefs in August, it should have come as no surprise that my Objectivist work ethic followed.  Well, it’s back, and, like the rest of the week, I had a very productive Day 0.  The office closed at 3:30 PM, and my flight was at 8 PM, so there should have been plenty of time to run a few errands and have my cigar and still make my light easily, right?  Well, let’s find out.  I had class at 12:45 PM, which meant that I would not get back until 2:30 PM.  That posed a couple of problems.  First, it meant that I would only be able to get about 4 hours of work done, and I made it my mission to get 8 hours of work done in those 4 hours.  The second problem was that I needed to get my pre-departure lunch at Hop Won, and my lunch break gets absorbed into the time I take for class.

I made a deal with one of my coworkers, a deal we have made our Friday tradition.  “I buy, you fly,” a term originated by our former design engineer, someone whom I had occasion to speak with this week for the first time in years, a man I have always admired and respected, and my first real boss at the company.  It was good catching up with him, but he was unable to help us with the project.  In fact, no one can, but that’s another story.  I provide my coworker with the money for both of our lunches, and she picks it up with enough time for me to scarf it down before I have to leave for class.  It was a perfect solution.

I woke up with what I calculated to be enough time to get ready and get to the cigar store with enough time to finish my cigar at the cigar store by 8:30 AM.  There was a problem with that, too.  It was freezing in my apartment, my space heater not being able to hold back the single digit temperature outside.  Eventually, my bladder overcame the cold, and I grabbed a cigar from my box of the new Avo line on the way back to bed, smoking it in bed.  Eventually I forced myself out of bed, and took my shower, leaving the Avo for afterwards.  Next on the agenda was a shave.  I grabbed the Avo and my razor, but my legs were still freezing.  I calculated that I could aim the water at my legs without getting the cigar too wet and be able to use the steam to get a good shave.  I was right, except for one small problem: bits of hair got on my cigar.

Once I was clean-shaven, I got dressed, and I was well behind schedule.  I would not have enough time to walk to work, not even enough time to take the subway.  I had time to neither stop at the cigar store nor pick up breakfast.  I would have to take the bike, not a fun activity with the temperature in the single digits.  I got to the office, storing the cigar in the cigar saver, saving it for my bike ride to class after lunch.  My morning was extremely productive, and I got my traditional Friday pre-departure lunch.  After I dropped off my bike, I got the text that I knew I would be getting at some point today: the link to the new Taylor Swift “Style” music video.  I had actually already watched the video in the morning, and I had mixed feelings about it, but the girl who sent it to me, my dearest and closest female friend, loved it.  (Girls like her definitely “never go out of style.”)  She then sent me a link to the Harry Style references in the video, but, when I went to click on the link, my data service stopped working.

I tried everything to fix it, and it took an hour to do so.  Sure enough, it crapped out again almost as soon as I fixed it.  This was disaster-level.  Going to New Mexico without data service would not work too well.  It is working fine now, but it cut into my focus at class and my afternoon productivity.  It’s working fine now, I think.  At 3:30 PM, I finalized my itinerary, printed out a copy and went to pick up my suit, buy myself a new suitcase, and have a cigar with the gang before I left.  I also got a few extras for the trip.  It was 5:30 PM by the time I got on my bus.  My flight was at 8 PM, so I should have been fine, right?

The dateline gives away any suspense, but it still makes for a good story, though I will have to wrap up, since my battery is almost dead.  Actually, it might crash at any minute.  Well, he hit bad traffic, but it cleared up, and we got to the terminal by 7 PM.  I would have to be at my gate by 7:45 PM, which should have been no problem, but the line for security was very long and slow moving.  I calculated that based on the rate it was moving and the length of it there was no way I would make my flight.  I started to panic.  What would I do?  Well, I’m sure my reader is familiar with how the rows cross.  When I got to the point with the most overlap I said to the person standing there,

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Pipe cleaners and my Fearless CD.  I always forget something or some things.  Anyway, that dateline kills any remaining suspense, so I want to talk about the title of this trip.  My trip to DC last weekend was an unexpected journey.  The Hobbit begins with “An Unexpected Party,” where Bilbo is suddenly joined by Gandalf and 13 Dwarves.  He then embarks on an unexpected journey, hence the title of the first film and the matching title of my trip last weekend.  In contrast, The Lord of the Rings begins with “A Long Expected Party,” namely Bilbo’s 111^th birthday party, his life having been unnaturally extended by the ring.

Anyway, this trip to New Mexico has been over a decade in the making.  I like to talk about how I had been in love with my high school crush for a decade.  In fact, it wasn’t until 2014 that I got over her.  From January 2004 to January 2014 I was in love with her, even though I had only seen once, for a split second before I ran away, since 2006.  She was there, at my parent’s house when we discussed the trip of the “three Plaques.”  We went to Greece instead, where we got 6 Plaques.  By “we,” I mean my parents and I.  October 2013, I was finally going to do it, an 11-day tour of the Southwest, an epic Stamp and Plaque run.  Everything was good to go, all the hotels booked, the flight booked, the vacation time approved.  What happened?  The government shut down, which meant no Stamps.  I rescheduled for February 2015.  Three days, just in New Mexico, maybe the National Park on the border in Texas, too.  I had plenty of time to get the three plaques without taking off any vacation time.  I have been so busy the past, well, few months, that I never got around to properly planning it.  I had the flight, nothing else.  I went to check the operating hours for Taos Pueblos.  It was closed for six weeks.

Fuck!!!  I almost cancelled the whole trip.  I composed myself.  I would rearrange the trip to get the last National Park in Texas.  I would get the Plaque at Carlsbad.  I would go back in a few months to get the Plaques at Chaco Culture and Taos Pueblos.  That would still allow me to say “Mainland US Complete” when I went to Yellowstone and Glacier with my mother in July.  I told Young the other day that this would be the first time that I would Officially visit New Mexico.  He asked what I meant.  I told him that I had set foot in New Mexico at Four Corners, but I didn’t have a cigar or a meal.  I sure as hell didn’t take an Official U.  “You have a definition of what it means to Officially visit a place?  And it includes all of those things?”  He then insisted that even airports counts.  That’s not Official!  However, I have a vague memory of eating some type of food item from a vendor at Four Corners.  Since I am who I am, I am quite sure that that was on the New Mexico side.  The Official U and the Cuban were not part of the definition at the time, so I guess I can count it.  Delaware, now that’s another story.  Well, my long expected journey has once more been thwarted, but I shall return!

Okay, now back to the story at hand.  Where my story left off when my computer died, I was saying something to the guy in the row in front of me, something that would save me ten minutes that could make the difference between catching my flight and missing it.  “My flight is in 20 minutes, would you mind if I joined you?”  Technically, I should have had to ask everyone on line.  “Ours in 5 minutes.”  I went through the dividers, eliciting many stares, but no one had the nerve to say anything other than that guy.  “I didn’t say you could.”  It was too late at that point.  I had done it.  I had saved the ten minutes.  I would make my flight.  After I cleared security, as I was putting on my shoes, preparing to sprint to my gate, I said, “Just like Kotzebue.”  I got to the gate ten minutes before my flight was due to depart.  The gate is supposed to close fifteen minutes beforehand.  There were still people by the gate, but the door was closed.  Was I too late?  I ran up to the counter, and they smiled at me.  Did I make the flight?  It was delayed due to issues with the inbound aircraft.

I literally collapsed in laughter.  “At least you got your exercise.”  When we finally got on the plane, the pilot mumbled something about Customs having to search the plane, which was coming for Turks and Caicos.  I then wrote the first part of this entry, but I couldn’t sleep, so I listened to Fearless on my phone, finally falling asleep as we made our descent, waking up as we got to the gate.  That few minutes of sleep was enough to leave me feeling refreshed.  I made my way to the rental car, and the hotel was a mile from the airport.  I suppose that it would have been a better view and a better entry and all around more Official if I stayed in town, but I am technically within Albuquerque city limits, so it counts. I went to my room, took what Bella would call “a few human minutes,” made some popcorn, lit up my 2010 Christmas Pipe, and proceeded to write this entry.

Alright, now for that bit of philosophy that I promised, the contradiction that so many people so casually utter.  Reader, how many times have you heard someone say, “No, he/she is just a friend.  I don’t think of him/her that way.”  Bullshit!  Whenever I hear that, I jump on the person speaking the words.  “Why not?” I’ll ask.  “Is he/she not attractive?  Do you not think that he/she will make a good father/mother to your children?”  Invariably, the person will not criticize his or her friend in that manner.

There is an old joke that goes, “Can a guy and a girl be just friends?  Sure, if one of them is gay.”  Reader, I maintain that it is an absolute contradiction to say “I don’t think of him/her that way.”  Maybe it’s just an issue of semantics, but it should be, “It could never work.  I thought of what it would be like to be with him/her, and I know that it couldn’t work.”  Those are facts and circumstances.  There are so many reasons why a relationship would not work, but to know those reasons, you must first think of him or her in that manner and then reject him or her because of facts and circumstances.

In the second half of 2014, I had four female friends, all of whom I loved very dearly.  All of whom I thought about “in that way.”  To do otherwise would have been irrational.  I dated one of them, and she is now just somebody that I used to know.  Another is halfway around the world, and the other two are still very close and dear friends, the two women that I still text every day.   The facts and circumstances for each of them are as follows: the one I dated was at a different point in her life, the one whom I saw as the perfect woman was gay, the two whom I still text every day, one is engaged to a great guy, the other, the one I love the most and have known the longest, lives 1000 miles away.

The first woman I dated, the second I asked out.  The other two were never really an option due to facts and circumstances.  It is tempting to say that they got “friend zoned,” but I believe the “friend zone” is a contradiction.  My point is that, at one point or another, I thought of all four of them in that manner.  Two are practically out of my life.  The other two, I no longer think of them that way, but that is because of facts and circumstances.  If the facts and circumstances were different, I would sure as hell think of them differently.

However, I want them to be happy.  That brings me to the second contradiction, people who think, “If I can’t have him/her, no one can.”  If you claim to love someone, that is a contradiction.  If you claim to love someone, you must think, “I want him/her to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”  Otherwise, it’s not love, it’s lust.  Returning to my earlier point, last semester, I was in love with four women.  I do not deny that, nor do I deny the emotional infidelity contained in that statement.

I only told two people, my male philosophy classmate and my best friend.  I suppose that the female classmate knew I was in love with her, but she didn’t really care.  Nothing could ever happen, so it was a non-issue.  My girlfriend certainly knew.  The other two didn’t know.  (I hope they’re not reading this, but I’m pretty sure they are not among my readers.)  When I told my best friend he said that, if I was in love with my girlfriend, I should not be able to think of anyone else in that manner.  That was when we started to drift apart.  I explained that I was in love with those women before I started dating my girlfriend, and I was in love with them for who they were.  They didn’t change, and I didn’t change, so why would I have fallen out of love with them.

My male classmate, he had a different take, and leave it to the philosopher to provide a simple rational answer.  “It doesn’t matter,” he told me, “there is a difference between feelings and actionable feelings.”  We talked about this a lot throughout the semester.  We made a joke that will be hilarious to anyone familiar with Hume, not so funny to anyone who is not.  “Those are all matters of facts,” he said in reference to the reasons why my feelings for the other three women were not actionable, “You can imagine a universe where they are not true.”  I agreed with him, but I said that I could not imagine a universe where I successfully dated all four at that same time.  “That is a relation of ideas,” I said in reference to the fact that I was only dating one girl.  We shared a good laugh over that.

The other thing we discussed was that I said that I loved all of them like sisters.  His response was to ask me what romantic love was other than sisterly love plus physical attraction.  Barring facts and circumstances, that’s all it is.  If you love someone as a friend, as a brother/sister, and are physically attracted to him/her, it is a contradiction if you do not think of him/her “in that way.”  Sure, you can dismiss the thoughts because of facts and circumstances, but the thoughts must first be formed.

There is often a very rational answer to these questions: “I don’t want to risk the friendship.”  I will explore that theme more in tomorrow’s entry, but saying that you value the actuality of a deep friendship over the possibility of a romantic relationship, one that could “go down in flames,” is a rational judgment that one can make, but only after thinking of him/her “in that way” first.

Where am I going with all of this?  To quote Rand, “To arrive at a contradiction is to confess an error in one’s thinking; to maintain a contradiction is to abdicate one’s mind and to evict oneself from the realm of reality.”  That is something that I refuse to do, but it is something that I find people are too willing to so casually do, but it is not something that I would allow myself to do, and I would encourage my readers not to, either.  On that note, I close.  Ironically, it will be Valentine’s Day when my readers see this entry, quite fitting.

An Unexpected Journey - Days 1, 2 - There and Back Again

The Tobacconist, Or There and Back Again

Day 1: An Unexpected Journey

2/7/15

Greenbelt, Maryland

Ottawa, Canada.  Budapest, Hungary.  London, England.  Kingston, Jamaica.  The Beagle Channel.  Greenbelt, Maryland.  Wait, that last location hardly seems a worthy inclusion on that list of world capitals and my first night on the boat to Antarctica.  However, like all of those other locations, it is where I am smoking my 2007 Christmas Pipe.  What am I doing in Greenbelt, Maryland?  Well, like the adventure that brought Bilbo Baggins to Erebor, it was very much “An Unexpected Journey.”

I suppose a full recap of Day 1 would be in order.  It started with a very curious email from my mother, what I would even call a “disaster-level” mistake.  They forgot to pay their reciprocity fee before leaving, and I forgot to remind them.  To her, I imagine she was in a total panic.  My response was to tell her the simplest workaround, get breakfast, and text my former coworker in a way that I knew would crack her up.  “My parents are stuck in an Argentine immigration office, unable to enter the country, and it’s pretty much entirely my fault…”  The response that I got an hour later let me know that the joke was well landed.

Meanwhile, my kinda sorta not really a date for tonight got cancelled.  This is the “brown-eyed girl” I had so excitedly written about in Lincoln.  What had changed?  Objectivism says that shared values and mutual respect are the basis of any relationship.  We had neither.  Further, we had nothing to talk about, no shared interests or hobbies, so I basically did a stand-up comedy routine.  She thought that was hilarious, and she asked if we could see each other again.  I had not yet re-found my Objectivist values, and I was still reeling from my breakup, so I said that we would.  When I woke up the next morning, I was torn if I wanted to see her again.  I had given her my word, and my word is my bond.

By the end of the week, I realized that didn’t want to continue dating, that I could not claim to be an Objectivist if I did so.  I found my values, and I messaged her saying that it would have to be as friends.  “I do not want to be friends.”  Fine by me.  I deleted her from phone and erased our messages.  I made other plans for Saturday, which was supposed to be our second date.  Later in the evening, she apologized for overreacting and said that she still wanted to be friends.  Okay, fine, whatever, I didn’t care.  I told her that she could tag along with me to the movies the next week.  No, she gets too tired during the week.  Could we do Saturday?  Sure.  That Saturday was today.  No, she is not in Greenbelt, Maryland with me.  I messaged her last night, saying that I looked forward to seeing her today.  No, she wasn’t free today.  Could we reschedule?  I invited her to watch the Grammys with me tomorrow.  No, she had plans.  I really didn’t care.  During the week?  How about Thursday?  7 PM.  That worked for both us.

My plan for today was a brilliant one.  I’d do an all-day Hobbit marathon.  Last night, I went on a binge at Best Buy, getting way too many Blu-rays, including the ones I needed for the technical categories for the Oscars.  The third Hobbit movie got nominated for, I think, Sound Mixing, and I was not going to watch that without watching the first two.  I watched the first two movies, along with 6 or 7 pipes.  The third one would be playing in 3D in Times Square at 3:05 PM.  Perfect.  I would be home around 6 PM and either work or watch some more movies.

I had actually a little bit of time before the movie, so I stopped at the cigar shop.  That was when Raymond told me to come to DC with him tonight so that we could go to his grandfather’s birthday party in Maryland tomorrow.  It would really fuck up my schedule for the rest of the weekend, but he basically said to me, “I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.”  In the end, I decided to go.  I tried to buy my bus ticket as we were walking there, but it was too late.  Fortunately, they took cash on the bus.  As we drove, we watched How to Train Your Dragon, the original and 2, the one that will probably win Best Animated Feature.

I was starving, and, like the Dwarves, we needed to eat, drink, and smoke.  Shelly’s Back Room by the White House would allow us to do all three.  It was 2 AM by the time we were done with our meals, our cigars (I had a Colorado Claro and a Siglo II), and our drinks (rye whiskey for me).  After I finished my third drink, I told the “pot” story.  “It is a story that can only be told in all male company, after midnight, with at least three drinks in me.”  All the criteria were met.  It went over quite well.

We walked to the car, talking about how Official all the sites we saw were.  As we drove to Greenbelt, Raymond’s brother (our host for the weekend), told us we were being followed.  Was he serious?  I went along with it, suggesting ways we could lose the guy.  Eventually, we stopped at a gas station (he actually needed gas), and the guy that was “following” us kept going.  I was kind of hungry again, more thirsty, though.  The shop at the gas station was locked, and we had to just look through the window and tell the guy what we wanted.  It has hard to see the full selection.  “What kind of diet sodas do you have?”  He didn’t know.  “Can I come in and look.”  I couldn’t.  “You won’t let me in to see it, and you won’t tell me what you have.  What kind of way is that to make a sale?”  I was ready to walk out in disgust, but Raymond bought me a Diet Pepsi along with whatever he got for himself.

We got to Pete’s apartment, and Raymond, being a frequent reader of my Travelogue, wasted no time in teasing me about the “Greenbelt, Maryland” dateline he knew was coming.  We shot the shit while I rested my eyes for a bit.  I then went outside, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, it being past 4 AM.

Day 2: The Return Journey

2/8/15

New York, New York

While we did not have to fend off any Goblins or Orcs or sneak into a Dragon’s lair, we wound up spending most of our time much the same way Bilbo and his company of Dwarves did: eating, drinking, and smoking (usually at the same time), sleeping, and travelling.  The return journey was quite unadventurous, though we shared in quite a few adventures that brought us to our bus back to New York.  Around 11 AM I was woken by a dog that would not stop licking my face.  It went on for quite some time before his owner called him off.  The owner, my friend’s brother’s roommate was from Australia.  Raymond said that Australia was the one place I hadn’t visited.  “And Africa,” I added.  “Well, now you can cross Greenbelt, Maryland off your checklist.”  It was a joke that he had his brother repeated quite a few times.

We quickly got ready and headed out to brunch in DC.  Again, we just wanted a place where we could eat, drink, and smoke.  Our bus was going to be at 715 H St NW, so went to H Street and 7^th Street in search of our brunch place.  A German restaurant with outdoor seating did the trick.  Raymond considered ordering a strawberry omelet and a bran muffin.  “That’s one option,” I deadpanned, “Or you could order a man’s breakfast.”  I go the King’s feast.  It consisted of eggs, potatoes, fried pork.  We all got beers to go with our meal.  I lit up an E.P. Carrillo, Raymond a Santana, his brother a pipe.  When Raymond ordered his strawberry omelet, the waiter said that he had never seen anyone order it before.  Raymond changed his order.  He also opted out of the bran muffin since it had raisins, getting a blueberry muffin instead.

My beer was Gaffel Kolsch, the first beer I had ever drank in Europe.  With my first sip, I was transported back two years and the houses transformed themselves to the Cologne Cathedral in my mind’s eye.  They brought the food, and it truly was a feast fit for Dwarves.  They did not bring Raymond’s muffin.  As we ate, they kept promising to bring Raymond his muffin.  Pete thought the waiter was pranking us and that he was not going to be getting a muffin.  In the end, he was almost right.  The waiter finally came back and said that all they had were bran and apple muffins, both of which had raisins.  He explained that they own the coffee shop next door and that that was where they get their muffins, so they were usually almost sold out by noon.  I asked how the coffee was next door.  He said I would get better coffee across the street and that they had donuts there, too.  Perfect.  I still had some cigar left, so I would enjoy the coffee with the rest of my cigar.

We walked by the coffee shop owned by the restaurant, and I looked in the window.  Raymond asked if they had blueberry muffins.  I said that they did.  We all cracked up.  I asked if we should go in and get one.  No, he wanted to do the donuts.  We did just that, a much better choice.  Pete drove us to 7^th Street, and we said our goodbyes.  I lit up a Partagas, figuring that I could finish it in the 40 minutes we had before our bus left.  We went to the address marked 715.  It certainly didn’t look like a place to catch a bus to New York.  I had the cigar, so I told Raymond to go and ask if there was a bus there, while I double checked the address on my phone.

Almost simultaneously we learned our mistake.  We were at 715 H Street NE.  The bus was at 715 H Street NW, a mile and a half away, too far to walk and still make our bus.  We need to take a cab.  I did not want to ditch my cigar, so I opened the window and held my had with the cigar out the window.  This was definitely where to catch the bus.  We had to go inside to get our boarding passes.  Well, needless to say, I was not able to finish my cigar, and I lamented having to throw out half of a Cuban.  Raymond told me that I needed to put this in my blog, and I assured him that I would, along with the muffin saga.

The bus was much more crowded than the one last night.  I sat all the way in the back and did some work while sat in front of me and flirted with the girl next to him.  I also listened to the rest of the Grammy-nominated songs that I wanted to hear before the Ceremony tonight.  My laptop was almost dead and there were no outlets in either of our rows.  Thwarted, I listened to the rest of the music on my phone so that I might have enough battery left to write “The Return Journey.”

After I listened to all the music, I took my computer out and prepared to write my entry, starting with a dateline that included the verbiage “I-95 N.”  Then I saw that we were pulling into a rest plaza.  I was thwarted once more.  I wasn’t really hungry, but I knew that this would really be my last chance to get real food tonight, so I got some Popeye’s, along with a coffee.  While we getting dinner, I noticed that they had blueberry muffins.  I asked Raymond if he wanted one.  No, he was too traumatized by the experience this morning.  There would not be enough battery for a Travelogue entry, hence the New York, New York dateline.

We got back to New York shortly enough, and Raymond walked with me until we got to his friend’s place.  I told him that if I wanted to count another cigar as part of my trip, I would need to light it up before I got home.  One problem, the lighter wasn’t working.  Ever the tobacconist, Raymond fixed the lighter as we walked.  I just thought of something that made me laugh out loud hysterically.  Throughout the Lord of the Rings, whenever Frodo would introduce Sam, he would always refer to him as his gardener.  Likewise, I always refer to Raymond as “my tobacconist.”  While we did not become best friends during our journey like Frodo and Sam did, that title still belonging to my best friend of 20 years, Raymond has certainly become the person I hang out with the most.

We parted ways, and I headed back to my apartment, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish it before the Grammys.  Bilbo’s Unexpected Journey ended with him handing Gandalf a jar of tobacco.  Well, my Unexpected Journey will end with me grabbing a tin of tobacco as the Grammys start.  My tale has come to an end.  Next stop: my long-expected journey to New Mexico, a trip I have been dreaming about for over a decade, but I have once more been thwarted, and it will not play out the way I had been planning.