Yo! I'm blogging in a random, noninternet-y place, typing on Open Office right now. I know I haven't blogged lately (I missed June! I'm terribly sorry! I'l post two entries this month.), but I've been busy doing stuff like climbing mountains, driving in the middle of the night, being on facebook, taking pictures, and other such adventures. I'm on a big long vacationy trip, all over the place, so yeah. Busy. Also, typing has an amazing way of flattening time. This entry will most likely not be written all at once. Right now, I'm in a stuffed car, typing on my laptop.

I wouldn't even be blogging if I hadn't been inspired by Julie and Julia, a pretty good movie about food blogging. And more. In the movie (based on a true story), the main character had a billion followers on her blog. And she mostly wrote about cooking stuff. But I was thinking (also being inspired by Hyperbole and a Half, a part webcomic, part regular blog that is hilarious) that I might get more followers (not that I really care) if I was funny or something. Not something you can force, I suppose. I guess I could start with more frequent updates, and then work on the whole “be interesting” thing. So right now, I'll just spill super random stuf about the trip so far that needs to be spilled (as lately, I've been neglecting my blog and my diary equally).

The other day, we were driving towards Bryce Canyon National Park, and we drove through the Red Canyon area. The weather was in the eighties (felt awesome compared to the 100's in Vegas) and the beautiful red rock formations/cliffs/mountains were gorgeous, and there was a controlled burn/prescribed fire going on nearby, and I LOVE the smell of that. Like, I have an unnatural love for the smell of woodsmoke. One of the symptoms of pyromania, I suppose, but it's not like the smell of cigarettes or burning rubber or any other kind of burning. Like when there were (bad) wildfires going on in Georgia and North Florida, and the air smelled like smoke all the time (and ashes floated around all over the place), I loved it. I know it was bad and that they were huge, scary, uncontrollable fires ripping through the world, but it just smelled so good.

We've been at a much higher elevation than usual for this whole trip, and it is also very dry. Where I live, the elevation is a bit more than 100 feet, and it's super humid. Around here, we're usually between 6,000 and 10,000 feet, and we're in deserts and other craziness. As a result, my lips are the biggest victim of this trip. They burn. Plus, headaches and having to drink more than usual make my lips even drier, plus doing stuff when I'm mentally absent means I chew on my lips. In conclusion, ow. I need to get some chapstick. Also the air is thinner (less dense?) at higher elevations oo. Not sure how that fits in.

The days and nights are blending together (not with each other though, thank goodness) and it's very hard to keep track of where we were when. Besides looking at pictures, which clarifies things, it's all a blur of driving, sleeping in hotels and the car and the tent, letterboxing, and walking/hiking. Everywhere we go is so variegated. We've seen tons of mountains, but they're all different colors and shapes. Like the hoodoos in Bryce Canyon, and the plateaus in Texas, and the monoliths in Arizona, and the big craggy, waterfally ones in Yosemite. And as cities go, Phoenix and Las Vegas and Sacramento and Hollywood and San Francisco and Milpitas and Salida and Oakland and Loomis and Fairfield and so on were all so different from each other. Even with all the differences in landscape though, time is flying and blurring. I feel a bit homesick for boring, humid, flat land and a consistent place to sleep with internet and reliable food sources. On the other hand though, I don't want all the action to end either. Then the time will pass even sooner and the rest of the summer will be a crazed mess of summer reading, band camp and being lazy and nocturnal.

Right now I look like an idiot, wearing my geeky rectangular glasses and my shades resting on top of them covering my forehead. It's my version of transition lenses.