In no particular order

• Mirror martenblog mongodb on MongoLabs.
• Craigslist ad for my ex-room in fucking Brighton.
• Work on this site, of course.
• Talk to Tiit about the future of the radiotracking site.
• Write Madis.
• Go to the Zoo.

It’s 16.15 now and lethargy suffuses me. I feel hot, sticky and ill. I’m sitting on Lisa’s couch. I’m alone again in her place after seven months of absence. Yeah it is not the same physical place, but inhabits a similar spirit.

Why am I devoid of energy? The freshness of the morning has waned in waves over the last few hours. Now there is naught.

Sakra.

I feel I have used the word bleary much too often in my life. Fuck it, I shall use it again. I am bleary. International travel does that even to a small, skilled pine marten. I sit in a bar blearily at the moment in Montreal. The aeroport. So sexy. My memories of the last time passing through Canada on the way to the grand ol’ USA bids me calm to this time. I was detained for endless hours. Endless? Well, hyperbole is a perfect matter for this moment. Ugg. Anyhow, I skated unfaltering through this time.

Displacement has not really occured to me recently, but I am feeling a shadow of it now. There is the attractive woman in a custom hat sitting at the bar, now leaving to join an insecure American boy. Five television screen blare different greetings in two languages without restraint. I down a litre of beer. Not now, but during this whole process. I am utterly convinced that I dislike people.

Many exceptions flood my mind. They are of late. Boston brought a few, but they have grown stale and faded. Perhaps that is not true for Jeremy. We shall see. Madis and Asun (as well as Maribel) will linger for the rest of my days, I am happy (afraid) to say. The personality of people slink around me. The guests at bars, pretentious, ordering the driest wine in the house and then asking for Chardonnay. Hm. I’m not an expert, but I know she is not versed in this trade.

The extrovert at the table to my left has a voice which cuts through all others around him. His companions are speaking the same volume of words that he is, but I can only understand his. The angle of his mouth to my ear is not even very significant. I shy away from thinking of James. I don’t want to think of James. I want to like James.

Possibly the topic for this entry should be replacement instead of displacement since I am going back, for a short time, to Boston. I’m not sure what this weekend shall bring, but I find myself not caring. By this time next week, I shall be in Texas. Or, at least, with (or without?) Lisa in Nashville. Change is upon me and Logrono will find me very soon. I look forward to it. I shall do my best to encourage Christian to visit, though I should not hold my breath. He only visits friends when it is to his advantage. I suppose that is up to his extroverted personality. So it goes. DIE THE FLAME DEATH.

Cleaning personell swoop around, most thriving on irritation. This may just be an illusion. There is one available socket in the departure lounge (before the gates, of course, since it is far too early for me to go through) to power my shittypie. It is now powering my shittypie. I lay down on a bench earlier, but the swooping human on a cleaning machine made multiple elliptic passes. I may have imagined the grin on his face. Well, I may not have.

Three hours have passed since my arrival from San Sebastian via bus. Sure, I could have left later, but I was out of items to pursue. Regardless, I wasted a bit over sixteen euros on four pintxos and two sidras before deciding to clamber to my ex-hostel, grab my suitcase, and make my way to the bus station. Signs comment that from the area of my ex-hostel, the bus station is a thirty minute journey. I am quite sure I made it in less.

I grabbed a ticket and boarded the 18.00 bus all within the twelve or so minutes I had. The bus ride was uneventful sans multiple messages with the smaller one. I also read Quiet.

I finished Quiet at the bar that stubbornly shut down its serving facilities at 21.00.

So I sit adjacent the vending machines. I’ll watch this or that (you may be able to guess) to pass the time. To pass the circa seven hours of time.

I believe this bar is where I sat with some haggard cunt before traipsing across a street full of traffic, billowing wind and pattering rain to see Radiohead. The only comment I’ll make on the haggard cunt is that my current location elicits only disgust for her. All else here is fantastic, but no memory combining her and San Sebastian is pleasant.

So I sit at a table sipping Cafe con Leche. A pintxo of bageta + jamon serrano sit before me waiting to be consumed. If I did not feel I have a slight fever and my bowels are constantly threatening to explode forth gauts of prujem, I’d say it’s a fantastically pleasant morning.

I attempted to skirt Urgull in hopes of standing beneath one of the monstrous yet sublime sculptures by the Basque artist whose name I forget. A type of undisclosed mountain destruction thwarted me. I did get within a hundred metres of the thing, however, before turning back and clambering among cobblestones around a higher layer of the perimeter of the mount in order to get back to Parte Viejo. I found a souvenier shop to fulfill my part of my friendship with Michal then. Yup, a shot glass from San Sebastian.

Just outside the front of this bar/cafe, I see the sprawl of the Atlantic Ocean. Just out of sight to the left is Kursaal, where Radiohead played. It is a beautifully unsightly structure. Eleven fucking years ago, I used to sit on the contrete outcropping that marks the beginning of the Surf Beach (Zurriola) drinking cheap wine from a Lidl that no longer exists. Oh, and also smoking cigarettes. During the month of September, 2002, I performed this task innumerable times. My mind conjures up a gypsy like figure (he was surely not) who stopped by on his bicycle many times as I sat, contemplating the ocean and my drink. I’d always share wine with him. He’d either put a swig in the cap of the bottle or pour from the bottle into this maw without actually touching his lips with it. This is clear. At least, my mind thinks it is clear. For all I know, it is an illusion from a dream sometime during the interim. I hope not, though.

Bundled peasants (tourists?) pass by on the pavement beyond the glass which protects my shittypie from the elements. A jogger trots a weaving path across the street. Shittypie should be as resillient to the elements as the Basque folk.

Firstly, I shall return to the hostel (ex-hostel?) to retrieve the Harvard shot glass from my black bag. I want to mail both to Michal from here. And speaking of Michal, I enjoyed very much when he and Christian called the other night when I was still in Cihuri. Both were intoxicated. I don’t recall talking to Sing, but surely I said at least tergiversation to her.

I’m reading Quiet. Yes - I’ve been reading this book sporadically since April. I do love it. That is not an issue. My scattered thought patters and erratic behaviour is the cause. But I’m not particularly concerned about these causes or symptoms at the moment. See… I’m reading Quiet and I am on a muted train bound from Miranda de Ebro to San Sebastian. The mustelid brain is trusting of the future.

I quote Quiet.

The papers turned out to be chock-full of irregularities. If I’d been in the bankers’ shoes, this would have made me nervous, very nervous. But when our legal team summarized the risks in a caution-filled conference call, the bankers seemed utterly untroubled. They saw the potential profits of buying those loans at a discount, and they wanted to go ahead with the deal. Yet it was just this kind of risk-reward miscalculation that contributed to the failure of many banks during the Great Recession of 2008.

The topic is risk-reward. Well, no, the topics are Stonecrop, Quiet, Hedonism and Introversion, as anyone reading the top of this entry can clearly see.

I made the Stonecrop connection whilst reading this section of the book. The parallel is clear. It is unmuddled. Doug and Steve and Poggi are acting exactly like the bankers describe in the above quote. They are obsessed with immediate risk-reward. Any reward which is delayed, no matter quality of results, is not as important. Jeremy says they have hired an additional four Rails programmers. I suppose that brings it to five, including Fred. Jeremy continued to muse about them all buzzing (my word - not his) in the increasingly cramped office but never moving forward. I suspect he means never moving forward to my satisfaction, but the idea still holds.

I was brought on in May. This risk-reward seeking seemed evident from the first. Steve, especially, the epitome of extrovert, pushed. Undoubtedly, he was being psychologically kicked around by Doug. As Jeremy always claimed, Steve was led on by the golden carrot in front of his nose. I have no doubt that Jeremy was/is right.

Jeremy and I, both introverts, longed to create something over the long term which was quality, expandible and modular. This brought us nothing but misery. Ok - it wasn’t exactly misery, but close.

On our drive back to Cihuri from Logroño, I brought up that I had listened to two albums by the Beatles the night before. The two albums were Abbey Road and Revolver, in that order. I’d wanted to listen to the White Album, but Soulseek does not seem to work from here. IE, I have no copy of it. Our tired conversation drifted from one genre of music to another. Madis talked about Estonian folk. He named bands. I acknowledged knowing some. I named bands. He didn’t know many. I didn’t mention Anna Maasik. I am not sure why.

Then he started talking about ballads. There’s this guy who does an album of ballads. Something like that. He told me that Sidorovich drove around the fields of Belarus listening to it. The answer was Roger Waters. The album? Well, what else might apply? Which would entice a biologist (a disillusioned one, at that?)? Amused to Death.

It will take quite a bit to get this image from my mind. Possible, this is because I love it.

I just began listening to the album. It has been a while.

Can’t you see? It all makes perfect sense Expressed in dollars in cents Pounds, shillings and pence. Can’t you see? It all makes perfect sense.

I just finished my Spanish lesson for the day. Or for the double-day. That is, I did not do one yesterday, unfortunately. I spent yesterday, instead, working on the layout of this blog. The UI, vole. Yes. The part that this small pine marten hates. Overall, however, I have enjoyed my experience with ember.js and plan to continue its use with the new version of the radiotracking apparatus. I have big hopes for that project. If it falls by the wayside like many of my projects have in the past, I shall take it up with concierge in this special bed and breakfast in mustelid-land.

The plan now is to walk to the tiny shop (Alas!! The only shop the tiny town of Cihuri has!) and purchase some sort of alcoholic beverage. Tonight is Maribel’s very exciting presentation on her wildlife adventures in Canada. Yes, that means Madis and I shall drive to Logroño (a place to which I aim to move come February or March). I’m absolutely sure that I shall consume a great quantity of wine during the dinner we are being served. I mightily look forward to this hedonism.

Today was the last day of tracking. I am saddened, disturbed and partially astonished by the results. I came here knowing our aim was the European Mink (Martes Lutreola, vole), of course. I did not expect that we’d only (meaning not just Madis and I, but EVERYONE) capture one. In contrast, twelve American Minks (Neovison Vison - see the difference, vole?) were trapped.

I had also convinced myself we’d snag a Stone Marten (Martes Foina, old timer) or seven. Others did. I believe three were boxed in total, but none by anyone I was with at the time. I worked with Madis and Maribel, only. Perhaps I should stay away from humans with names beginning with nasal, labial fricatives.

So, off to the shop.

I wished to write every day in Spain, but I have slacked horribly. I am consumed by illness. Yes, it is only sinusitus, but it has taken me prisoner. Its cage is my bloated head. One three trap hike with Madis this morning destroyed me and I had to be returned to home. The last days have gone similarly.

I awaken early, judge whether it is practical for me to go help with the trap-checking, have discovered it practical both yesterday and today, and accompanied. I was wrong about my ablities today. Yesterday, I was spry and unweary. Like it or not, my nodding reader, I was proud of myself.

The afternoons have been spent learning EmberJs to create the front end of my blog. It is a frustrating process. One problem that I have noticed (and this is a problem that has a long history in all of my learning endeavours) is that I get to a point in the documentation where I want to experiment and I leave off reading it. I just start trying to make something work. When it does not immediately function, instead of going back to the documentation, I bash around with various hackey solutions until I give up in frustration. This method of work must change soon.

Madis summoned me to lunch (14.00 - this is Spain, vole) where I found Christina, Asun and a man I’d never seen before chatting in the living area of their flat. The man, whose name I do not recall, turned out to be very loud, talk-happy and generally annoying. That was my first impression. As anyone who knows me in the slightest might understand - I initially dislike loud, boisterous people. They grate on me. I’m a soft spoken dude, vole.

I realize once again that Spain is a very extroverted country. Or, mayhap, the culture forces even the introverts to act like extroverts. Spaniards gather in larger groups than I am normally used to and hurl words back and forth at one another, mostly not bothering to let anyone else finish a statement or question before voicing their own. I must get used to this behaviour to an extent, as I am planning to live in Logrono beginning in March (and perhaps earlier).

The cold, frozen landscape - personality - of the north calls me at times like this.

Madis expounds regularly about Esonia’s people. They are cold, closed and hard to get close to. He contrasts this with culture in Spain, where, as I have experienced both in my previous life in San Sebastian and in my current life in Cihuri, extroversion pervades. I am welcomed. I am pampered. I am endlessly given favours I never thought to even ask for. In Estonia, this was only true among those I called close friends (Tiit, Grisha?).

During our radiotracking week, Kairi told me she was all for gene sharing, ie, the interbreeding of different cultures. She, however, loves to travel, but always needs to return and spend most of her life in her home. A slight contradiction in her thoughts was her need to stay with an Estonian mate. All of this is in contrast to Maribel. Our conversation yesterday brought to light her fascination with living abroad, with learning parts of new cultures. She spoke of the peasant mentality (though she did not use that exact word) of humans who grow up, for example, in La Rioja and stay forever with no will to explore farther (further). This echoes a discussion I had with Christopher Bender decades ago concerning rooted and rootless people.

If we admit any ambiguity in the moral authority of nature, people worry that we’ll have no ability to recognize better or worse relationships to nature. All that will be left is whatever we want to do.

Oh? Does nature have moral authority? In my experience, most people think that it does not at all. I’ve heard humans expound on the beauty of nature and how they love being among it. Yet, they are still rabid consumers. There is a dichotomy in their minds. Perhaps they do recognize and appreciate the laws (lack of a better word) of nature and feel awe at how these laws shape the landscape. I think the landscape is all they perceive, however. The invisible forces are ones that I’d actually attribute to nature. Hello, multitudes of bacteria.

The quote puts man up against the dilemma of changing the world about him to fit his desires (see - capitalism) and allowing (in part) nature to run its course. Every species creates its niche in nature, so wouldn’t what humans are doing be only carving their own? Mass extinction says no. Environmental terrorism sounds better and better.

Madis asked me yesterday evening to read a paper he had received for review the night before. He wanted my opinion. I am trusted. Odd, but very welcome. I came to similar conclusions as Madis had. It was a gross simplification of data concerning American and European mink populations in Spain over the period of 2000 to 2011. Specific data were missing. Instead of mapping out how trapping was done in each river basin or even in each ten by ten kilometer block, a sweeping median throughout Spain was used. Therefore, the conclusions could not be remotely accurate. If he emails me the paper, I shall post quotes from it. I’ll query him this evening at the party.

The conclusion of the last paragraph is that the Italian chick seeking a PhD and using this paper as a ladder to climb to that goal will find it falls painfully short. Madis and Asun will ask to not have nothing to do with it. I wonder about the eventual conclusion.

I’m not a morning person. In fact, my mental capacities do not begin functioning at full capacity until circa eleven. Still, I conform.

Yesterday, we set thirty-four (?) traps over a course of many kliometers. The work was the most stenuous I have participated in for many a millenia. During the latter third of the process, my body was aching, I was having quite a hard time keeping up with Madis, and was overall rather miserable. And though my body still aches, I do not regret my decision to be a part of this.

Today, we shall check these traps for Mustelids, Genets, Rats, syphilitic toads, and like. The payoff of yesterday’s strain comes if a small, furry animal is waiting for release or testing.

I spend evenings with Madis and Asun. We talk about ecology. I throw out usually misunderstood sarcastic comments. I’m a fatalistic sort, as any reader knows. We consume wine and beer, but not in great quantity. Yesterday evening, a slight dinner of tomatoes topped with a soft cheese (I know not which kind) and anchoas accompanied by fried mushrooms (freshly picked in the wilderness) and garlic awaited me. It was delicious.

Now I shall prepare some sort of breafast for this hungry mustelid.

Five others arrive today. As usual, I am apprehensive. When in Estonia last year, it took days for me to even begin communicating with Grisha and Kaur. A portion of the reason was that I was in the middle of recovery days. A bigger portion was that I am an extreme introvert. First contact is difficult for me. It is if the other is a flame. I cannot get to close. I am afraid of pain - it is a hangover from my past - a hangover from rejection again and again. Surely Fort Stockton taught me a cruel and unnecessary lesson. For the remainder of the world is very unlike that cloistered community.

On the topic of workmates, I think of the email I received from Jeremy yesterday (was it yesterday?). He claimed he is getting used to California (Padeluma, in specific) and that the girls there are delightful to talk to. This was basically the extent of his message. A part of me wants to reply sarcastically, even bitterly. If the purpose of any place is to meet delightful women, wouldn’t any city with over 50 000 people work? Queue Still Life by VDGG. It is very nice to be around people whose idea of life is not centered around finding a mate. Of course, Madis already has a mate and two children, so the contrast is steep. It is telling, however, that he married a fellow Biologist. They share common interests and common work. Don’t get me wrong - I love Jeremy - but attempting to pick up random delightful girls in a bar seems a futility. Is a drinking establishment really a place to find a proper mate for oneself? Jeremy would surely argue that he’s only looking for a shag. Well, then, I could not argue. Perhaps a bar is the best place to find a floozy.

Stonecrop has increased Ryan’s salary to 60 000 USD / year because he claimed he needed resources to have a family. Right, Ryan. Right. I love that guy, as well, but he is either delusional or terribly naive.

Oh, and I am convinced that Doug is a psychopath. He lacks empathy. Self absorption is his key to the future. Fuck the little guy. You would not make a good conservation biologist, Doug.

Eggs and lentils squirm through my esophogas into digestion land. I contemplate my near future cleansing. I need more time to study. I need more time to work on the front end of this blog. Yesterday evening was the first time in (again) many millenia that I fell asleep within five minutes of tucking myself in.

Today will involve different adventures. I want a FOINA.