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August 22, 2006
It's been some time since that last mile of our trip, but the memory of roads traveled, places explored, and people met has yet to fade. Whenever I get the chance, I retell those stories of the trip to curious listeners. It's great to see their faces and hear their reactions as I get to relive those 'glory days' of the Fall of 2005.
Currently, I am living and working in Washington D.C. I like what I am doing and I am learning a great deal. It's no roadtrip though. Nothing really is. However, if you can't be travelling at your whim and have to settle in one place for a little bit, D.C. is a good place to be. A leaf in the wind has to fall down somewhere, I guess. Well, for however long it may be, I am enjoying this first chance at making a home away from home.
Whenever I get the opportunity, I try to take in the intricacies of our nation's capital. I often walk along some State-named Avenue like Pennsylvania, Florida or Wisconsin, and think back to all the places we went to and all the experiences we had. That always brings a smile to my face and a lot of times a good chuckle, and for that I am forever grateful.
Sometime in the not too distant future, I look forward to catching another sunrise at Cadillac Mountain in Maine, and taking the first step into another adventure. The wind will pick up again. I am sure of that.
good joss
Oh yeah, I'm off to Alaska in in three weeks. That'll make 50.
January 3, 2006
Adventures never truly end. They just keep growing larger in the memory bank. I'm sure going to enjoy retelling our tales for all who want to hear. Thank you to everyone who has helped along the way. Though I might not remember you're name, I'll remember your face and I'll remember your place. America truly is textured beautifully, filled with all sorts of interesting people. I encourage everyone to go out and explore it. Take to the road.
--------------------------
I've been asked a couple of times what ‘good joss' means. Well, I really can't articulately define it. I've intended for it to be a good luck/cheers/karma type word but also something else. Technically, I think ‘joss' is a Chinese idol of sorts, but it doesn't really mean that to me. There's more of a story behind it. When I was born out in California , we had a boat named Joss and chocolate lab named Joss . It's largely because my Dad took a liking to James Clavelle's book Taipan and ‘joss' is mentioned in it.
So one day up in some port of the Pacific Northwest my Dad came across an old, salty wood-carver. My Dad thought that a wood carving emblazoned with the boat's name would be a good ornament up on the captain's deck. He asked the woodcarver the price and he replied $10. My Dad thought that was a good deal (probably priced too modestly for such hand-crafted work), so he proposed a deal. They'd flip a coin. If it came up heads, the woodblock would be $20 and if it landed tails, it would be free. They flipped and it landed tails. Now the whole time my Dad never intended to get this carving for free, he just wanted to make the day more interesting. So he reached in his pocket to offer $20 to the carver. The man refused and said that his word is well more valuable than any money. With that, he gladly carved the woodblock and gave it away for free. We still have the block to this day.
Long story short, it's people like the salty woodcarver who we've been fortunate enough to meet along our way. To me, good joss is kind of a salute to all those people and the places they live.
It's been a grand adventure.
good joss
December 16, 2005
Yesterday morning at around 12:30 am, we drove from Charlotte to
Durham. Three uneventful hours later, we pulled into a large wooded
RV park and tried to find a place to park. That probably took another
half-hour. When I finally went to bed, it was raining hard and cold.
I woke up a few hours later and it was still raining and cold. In
my gut, I got the feeling that it was just going to be one of those
days.
Because we got in so late, we hadn’t paid for our stay yet,
so we drove up to the front office of the park to settle our balance.
Standing outside in the pouring rain was a man of Asian descent.
He had big workman’s boots on and was fully decked out in
camouflage gear. He was barely pushing five feet and sported a mustache
and a wide grin. I walked up to him, hopping from puddle to puddle,
and asked where I could pay. He told me he’d take care of
it. That’s how I met Pham, the owner of the RV park. He was
a gregarious fellow, with a heavy Vietnamese accent who laughed
aloud a lot. I was sure if I just spent a little time with him,
I’d get a good story or two.
In between paying for our stay and getting Harvey filled up with
propane and water, I learned a decent amount about Pham. His papa
started the RV park and handed it down to him. Pham told me that
a great many of the more permanent residents at the park are Duke
Hospital patients waiting for a transplant or in between cancer
treatments. That quickly put the rainy day in perspective.
After graduating from high school, Pham served as a sniper in the
Vietnam War. He told me he fought with the Americans and killed
thousands of men. All the while, he mimicked throwing a hand grenade
in a hole or jumping out of a plane. He then explained how after
the war, he left Vietnam on a packed boat. Pham suffered through
no food or water for three weeks just to reach America. That definitely
put things in perspective.
Pham told me that he’s traveled a fair deal around America,
but his favorite place to have good cheap fun is Mexico. He also
likes Bourbon Street. I asked him if he was a fan of Duke basketball.
He laughed and replied, “no. It’s just a game.”
Sopping wet, I thanked Pham, and boarded Harvey. I won’t
soon forget him.
-----------------------------------
When we reached Duke, we decided to play some hoops. We found an
open court next to Cameron Indoor Stadium and played some two on
two. All through the game, the Duke men’s basketball players
walked in and out. I’m sure they got a kick out of our unique
playing styles and hopefully maybe even learned a thing or two.
After the game Coach K himself walked by. We exchanged mutual head
nods and then I walked outside.
It was rainy and cold and just one of those days, but it wasn’t
that bad at all.
good joss
December 12, 2005
I woke up in the Buckhead section of Atlanta, not having gotten
much sleep the night before. I pulled myself out of bed and plugged
in the address for the Georgia Aquarium into Harvey’s GPS
system. The aquarium, which opened on November 23rd has received
high acclaim. After waiting in line, then going through metal detector
security checkpoints I entered the aquarium solo, eager to get a
glimpse at the 120,000 fish or so. I walked past the information
center, around a turn and stepped into a great cavernous hall filled
with people of all ages, sizes and colors. At the far end was a
huge dining hall, and the sides were flanked by exhibits named ‘Walk
with the Giants,’ ‘Tropical Diver,’ and ‘Georgia’s
Sea Coast.’ I explored all the exhibits and saw some of the
biggest (Whale shark) and smallest fish in the ocean. There were
also Beluga whales, sea otters, penguins, Nemo-eqsue fish, an octopus,
huge Japanese spider crabs and a lot more. Did you know that of
the 600 fresh water fish species in America, 450 can be found in
the Mississippi River. Huck Finn had quite the assortment to thrown
a line at.
Overall, I was impressed but not awed by the aquarium. No matter
how well funded or how well it mimics natural habitat, feeding schedule
and water temperature, there is just something more powerful about
seeing a creature in nature.
----------------------------
We left Atlanta and drove north to Nashville, Tennessee. We slipped
slightly west, went back in time and crossed into the Central Time
Zone. A couple of hours later, we explored Downtown Nashville. The
first thing I noticed was that the skyline is dominated by a building
(The Bell South) that looks straight out of Gotham. It has such
a strong resemblance that local Vanderbilt students refer to it
as the Batman Building. That’s something I didn’t expect
to see in the country music capital of the world.
At Robert’s, we took front row seats for the Don Kelley Band.
They played an assortment of country and blue grass. We heard some
good tunes and some great country music lyrics. Something like:
‘My right foot is dry and my left foot is soggy with dew because
my boot has a hole in it’ and other great lines like that.
I especially enjoyed the upright bass player who simultaneously
smacked away at his strings and bobbed his head.
At one musical interlude, I overheard a conversation in which a
girl said, ‘I really like it here.’ I thought hard for
a moment about that statement, then completely blanked because I
couldn’t remember where ‘here’ was. I guess that’s
what happens when it’s your 43rd state in a row. Traveling
around the country from state to state you kind of throw aside the
sense of place that one feels in a familiar town and you embrace
the unfamiliar as the only constant. For that brief blanked-out
moment, for all I knew we could have been in Anywhere, U.S.A. I
guess to expand, America is a great and diverse nation, regionally
specific for sure, but every once in awhile if you let your mind
slip, all you know is that you’re in America and nowhere else,
but other than that, you have no clue. I think that’s a good
thing. That’s the underlying pulse of America.
-------------------------
Oh yeah, and the Giants won in overtime. So long from NashVegas.
good joss
December 8, 2005
Warning: This entry does not contain any
sexually explicit references. It does however contain some big vocabulary
words.
Warning: These words aren’t necessarily
in my lexicon, but instead are words that I am studying because
I have to take the GRE’s December 29, 2005. As you will probably
be able to tell, I’m a little behind and only on ‘a’
words for now.
---------------------
We left New Smyra Beach, Florida around noon with great alacrity
to reach Savannah, Georgia- a well-spoken of historic Southern city.
The drive was hardly arduous and we were
there in no time flat.
I had done some research on the city and found out that one thing
that it’s known for is its ghostly inhabitants. Feeling audacious,
I booked a ghost walk tour of Savannah for three of us (Adam
did not come). Normally, I prefer to let the super-natural do its
own thing, so one could consider this an aberrant
move, but then again I’m always up for a new adventure, so
I guess the latter helped abate the former
and assuage the situation even more.
At historic Johnson Square, in front of an obelisk dedicated to
Revolutionary War Hero Nathaniel Greene, under which he and his
son are buried, we met our tour guide. He was an austere
fellow with a scrappy beard, plain leather jacket, slacks, and sneakers.
He warned us that unlike other tour companies that drive people
around in hearses and have actors jump out of the bushes for spook
effect, if someone on our tour were to jump out of the bushes and
grab us, we were to use our own acumen and
do what we must to free ourselves from the situation.
The tour started with the question, ‘what are the five most
haunted American cities?’ Collectively, we were able to come
up with the right answer. Can you?
1. ?
2. ?
3. ?
4. ?
5. ?
Our tour guide, I forget his name, spoke softly and not once raised
his voice, yet his spookiness factor aggrandized
as the walk progressed. The further we walked from the streetlights
of downtown Savannah, from square to historic square, the better
the tour got. We heard stories of devastating outbreaks of yellow
fever and malaria, Revolutionary War slaughters, hangings, a giant,
an unwelcome preacher’s curse, haunted honeymoon suites and
much more. We learned that the reason that the city of Savannah
is so haunted is because it is basically one big mass grave- the
citizens of Savannah didn’t always take great care to properly
bury their dead. Standing anywhere within the city limits, there
is a good chance not more than ten feet below your feet lay the
remains of someone or another. That fact alone was probably the
spookiest part of it all. Halfway through the tour Matt absconded
and Wigs and I were left alonewith the tour guide. We headed towards
the cemetery.
The entire tour, while listening to Savannah stories, my eyes darted
to and fro, keenly looking for some sign of a ghostly presence.
Unfortunately/fortunately, I didn’t see any substantial evidence.
The closest I came was a felled No Parking sign. In light of all
the stories I heard, I figured that some guy had been issued a parking
ticket back in his day and got pretty upset about it. Now, to this
day his ghost haunts the spot. I can imagine our tour guide with
this low and spooky voice whispering, ‘Savannah drivers beware,
many a flat tire has gone inexplicably flat at this very spot.’
When the tour concluded, we thanked the tour guide and left to
go back to Harvey, which to my dismay, was probably parked over
some mass grave or something along those lines. I began to question
whether ghosts really do exist? Are ghosts anomalies?
After little thought, I concluded that although I don’t aver
that ghosts do exist, I also don’t see why they couldn’t.
That’s where I stand with the whole ghost issue- at least
for now.
good joss
Vocabulary
Order in which words appear in journal.
a•lac•ri•ty n
promptness or eager and speedy readiness
ar•du•ous adj
1. requiring hard work or continuous strenuous effort
2. very difficult to traverse, endure, or overcome
au•da•cious adj
bold, daring, or fearless, especially in challenging assumptions
or conventions
Ad•am n
1. in the Bible, the first man, created by God
2. one, who despite claiming to be a macho man, refuses to go on
ghost tours with his buddies.
ab•er•rant adj
deviating from what is normal or desirable
a•bate v
1. to lessen or make something lessen gradually (formal or literary)
2. to suppress or end a nuisance, act, or writ
3. to lower the amount or rate of something such as a tax (formal)
as•suage vt
to provide relief from something distressing or painful.
aus•tere adj
1. plain and simple, without luxury or self-indulgence
2. severely plain in design or lines, without distractions or decoration
a•cu•men n
quick insight, or the ability to make quick accurate judgments of
people or situations
ag•gran•dize vt
1. to increase the size or scope of something
2. to increase or improve the power, wealth, influence, or status
of somebody or something, especially by deliberate plan
3. to make somebody or something seem bigger or better than is actually
the case, especially through exaggerated praise (formal disapproving)
ab•scond v
1. to run away secretly, especially in order to avoid arrest or
prosecution
2. to escape from a place of detention
a•nom•a•ly n
1. something that deviates from the norm or from expectations
2. something strange and difficult to identify or classify
a•ver vt
1. to assert or allege something confidently (formal)
2. to state or allege that something is true
-----------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------
American Haunted City Knowledge Pop Quiz (AHCKPQ) Scoring:
5/5 Bloodcurdling best
4/5 Terrifyingly terrific
3/5 Ghoulishly good
2/5 Spookily satisfactory
1/5 Wretchedly weak
0/5 Unacceptably uninformed
in no particular order
1. Salem, MA
2. St. Augustine, FL
3. Gettysburg, PA
4. Charleston, SC
5. Savannah, GA
December 4, 2005
Tiger Yellow Apple Pear- those are the four words I use to clarify
the call letters of our website, www.tyap.com. Why these specific
words, I don’t really know. They just kind of stuck.
-----------------------------------
We left Hattiesburg, Mississippi and drove south and east along
route 49. Our next port of call: Mobile, Alabama. Along the way
we made a couple of stops.
Our first stop was the Route 49 Flea Market. I thought maybe we
could find a cool southern trinket to take back with us to the northeast.
However, once I stepped inside, I wasn’t too impressed with
what was for sale. One thing did catch my attention though. Somewhere,
down a nearby aisle, were the yelps of dogs. From the sounds of
it, they were little dogs. I didn’t know why so many dogs
would be in such a concentrated area of the flea market, so I followed
the noise. I didn’t expect to see what I saw, but then again,
we were at a flea market in Mississippi. Next to a hunting knife
booth and t-shirts that exclaimed ‘Southern by the grace of
GOD’ were small cages that housed little puppy Chihuahuas.
One in particular caught my eye. He was grey, but according to the
lady, he was a rare ‘blue’ Chihuahua. She took him out
of the cage and handed him to me. The little fella clung on to my
shirt and wouldn’t let go. Now I have never really wanted
a Chihuahua nor did I stop at the market with the intention of getting
a dog, but I just have a hard time seeing dogs caged up like that.
I think most people do. So, I came awfully close to buying that
guy and taking him with us, but eventually cooler heads prevailed.
I think it was the right decision at the time. We’ll see if
any more needy dogs come along the way before we get home.
Our second stop was the town of Wiggins, Mississippi. We didn’t
stay too long, but we did eat at the Whistle Stop Café right
in front of the train station. When leaving the restaurant, I called
back to Wiggins (Matt) for the keys to Harvey, and nearly half the
restaurant turned around. I got a kick out of that.
Our last stop before Mobile was Biloxi, Mississippi. We parked
Harvey at a local church and walked toward the shore. We were greeted
by a gentle off shore gulf breeze that made it difficult to truly
understand the rubble and debris that lay before us lining the coast.
Biloxi was one of the worst hit places by Katrina. What once were
gulf-front casinos and apartment buildings were now hardly recognizable.
The Hard Rock Café guitar was unplayable- all of its strings
were broken. One dilapidated, yet accessible, building warned in
spray paint: Danger. Enter At Own Risk.
I walked inside and heard the clink of what sounded
like wind chimes that turned out to be broken metal pipes hanging
from the ceiling. I then walked out onto pier and interrupted a
gathering of some seagulls and pelicans. I wonder whether they were
talking about what had happened to their town over these last couple
of months. I’m sure they’ve noticed the impacts. I left
the birds alone and headed back to Harvey. We left Biloxi and were
again in awe of the power of Mother Nature.
We arrived in Mobile with a couple of hours of daylight to spare.
(side note: Alabama has my favorite license plates in the Nation.
Their motto is ‘Stars Fell On’ and then underneath is
says Alabama). We dropped Adam off at a local law firm to profile
Will Grayson, a young, southern, defense attorney and left to drive
around town. We drove under old, and large overhanging live oak
trees wrapped in some kind of moss. We passed wide-open antebellum
porches complete with rocking chairs and swinging benches. We ate
fried seafood baskets at the Original Oyster House and took in a
gentle southern breeze. All in all, we were in no rush to leave
Mobile.
Tiger Yellow Apple Pear enjoyed itself in Sweet Home Alabama.
good joss
November 30, 2005
I woke up in Houston, Texas sore. The night before, just before
midnight, I had gone to the gym for first time all trip. I worked
out with Mike Castillo, a stout U.S. marine who was recently back
from Iraq. While I was profiling Mike, he put me through a good
military regimented lift. It was quite tough and my body felt the
worse/better for it. In the locker room after the lift, my arms
shook so much that I could hardly take my shirt off. As I write
this now, my arms are still sore and typing is less than ideal.
That workout was one I won’t soon forget. I feel like now
I don’t have to workout until 2009.
--------------------------------
We left Houston and headed east. Soon we left Texas behind and
crossed the border into Louisiana. In light of Katrina, I stared
intently out the window for signs of her/its devastation. As we
approached New Orleans, I spotted numerous indications from the
roadside that hinted at the storm. There were piles of woody debris
strewn about in bunches, green highway exit signs twisted and contorted
in all kinds of ways and billboards were, well, missing boards
In New Orleans on I-10 East there were noticeable signs that something
was amiss. The SuperDome, the bubble that dominates the New Orleans
skyline, had a huge white patch on its gray exterior shell. Brick
apartment buildings had severely damaged roofs, palm-like trees
were uprooted and tilting at unnatural angles.
We finally parked Harvey in the Warehouse District and took to
walking the streets. We walked down to the French Quarter and along
Bourbon Street. I saw shirts on sale that exclaimed “I survived
Katrina and all I got was this lousy shirt.” Or one with a
picture of a bull on the toilet captioned by big bold letters that
spelled FEMA. It was only 6:30 pm, and despite all the hotels, shops,
bars, and restaurants, Bourbon was eerily empty. Of the few people
we did pass by, many donned police uniforms. Walking down a street
notorious for debauchery, we didn’t see anyone else our age.
As for the pastel painted French influenced buildings, there wasn’t
too much noticeable damage. But then again, I knew the French Quarter
was one of the least hit parts of the Big Easy.
We finished the night by eating a good burger at a famous local
establishment called The Port of Call. We then listened to some
jazz at the Maple Leaf Club and then called it a night.
I went to bed confused. I knew this city just had a major catastrophe,
but I hadn’t seen it yet. I only saw some signs here and there.
Little did I know that I hadn’t even scratched the surface.
I was looking in all the wrong places.
The next day, what I saw in East New Orleans, and especially the
Lower Ninth Ward would prove to be unimaginable.
That said, the people of New Orleans are awful friendly and have
already proven resilient.
good joss
November 26, 2005
Yesterday, we woke up in Amarillo, Texas and drove east towards
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. The drive was quite flat and for the first
time in awhile, the sky was gray. Nevertheless, I was excited to
get to see Oklahoma. All I knew of it was either written in The
Grapes of Wrath, performed in the namesake musical, or from
watching the Sooner football team.
Our first stop in Oklahoma City was The Cowboy and Western Heritage
Museum. This year, marks its 50th anniversary. The architecturally
elaborate museum houses paintings, sculptures and all sorts of artifacts
from cowboy and Native American culture. With wing upon exhibition
wing, the museum is the ultimate artistic introduction to the Wild
West. For us though, it served as a conclusion, for we were coming
back from west and had our own experience with which to compare.
It was still a worthwhile stop.
I wish I had more time to explore all the wings, but we got to
the museum only 45 minutes before closing time. Rather than spread
myself too thin trying to take it all in, I focused the majority
of my time on a temporary exhibit featuring Gene Zesch’s clay
cowboy caricatures. Each miniature clay sculpture depicts the way
of the cowboy and his ranch life. Zesch though, sculpts with a humorous
touch. For example, one caricature has a cowboy speaking with a
bank loan officer. The cowboy is holding five spade playing cards
representing a royal flush. The caption reads, ‘Collateral.’
Another has two unhappy and underfed cowboy/horsepackers huddled
together, shivering under a cold dark sky. They’re reading
a magazine about vacation getaways. The caption has one cowboy saying
to the other, ‘Says here, people pay money to do this.’
Lastly, my favorite has a rancher out in an open grassy field standing
next to his horse . The horse happens to be tangled up in barbed
wire fence. The caption below has the cowboy asking, ‘See,
is the grass that much greener?’
One museum piece that left a lasting memory was a wall-hanging
of a traditional Navajo quilt. The quilt was knitted in Navajo pattern
and colors but had at its centerpiece, the Twin Towers. The quilt
was knit by a Navajo lady in memory of 9/11. If any American city
could possibly relate to the enormous tragedy that was September
11th, 2001, it would be Oklahoma City. On April 19th, 1995 at 9:02
am, the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building was bombed and 168 people
lost their lives. The Oklahoma City National Memorial, located where
the Federal Building formerly stood, is designed with a simple elegance.
Much of the granite used in the Memorial was salvaged from the wreckage.
The entrances to Memorial on the east and west end are called the
Gates of Time. The East Gate represents 9:01 am (a time of innocence),
while the West Gate represents 9:03 am (a changed time forever).
Between the Gates is a shallow running reflection pool that reflects
much of the Memorial. As a tribute, people often dip their hands
in the water and leave their handprints on one of the gates. Neighboring
the pool, on the exact spot where the Federal Building used to stand
are 168 bronze, stone, and glass empty chairs. The chairs represent
those that were killed and each has someone’s name etched
on it. There are 149 large chairs and 19 smaller chairs. The smaller
chairs represent children. The chairs glow and seem float above
the ground. If you catch them at the right time, you can see them
reflect in the pool.
The Memorial allows visitors to pay tribute, reflect, be educated
yet still wonder why. It serves a great purpose in that it’s
soothing. It also serves a great purpose in that it is frightening
reminder. By being built on the same spot that ten years ago was
the site of complete devastation and horror, one can never forget.
Here are the words of the Memorial Mission Statement that were
the cornerstone in shaping the design and development of the Memorial:
WE COME HERE TO REMEMBER THOSE WHO WERE
KILLED,
THOSE WHO SURVIVED AND THOSE CHANGED FOREVER.
MAY ALL WHO LEAVE HERE KNOW THE IMPACT OF VIOLENCE.
MAY THIIS MEMORIAL OFFER COMFORT,
STRENGTH, PEACE, HOPE AND SERENITY.
That it did.
good joss
November 22, 2005
In light of the recent release of the fourth Harry Potter movie,
here is an interesting observation from the road. It occurred in
San Diego. We parked Harvey on a side street and lo and behold,
smack dab in middle of the bumper of the car in front of us was
a sticker that said “Voldemort: Republican for Senate.”
I immediately laughed. I wasn’t sure if this was a serious
campaign sticker or a joke. If anyone is familiar with Harry Potter,
I'm sure that you see the humor in this. If you don’t get
the reference, read the books.
---------------------
This past Monday, we rolled out of bed and drove among snow-covered
peaks to downtown Aspen, Colorado. We were going there to be interviewed
by a local television station. We met the production team at a coffee
shop and started filming. We were asked all sorts of questions about
the project. Here's one I remember: “Is being a photojournalist
comparable to being a fly-fishing guide?” I replied yes,
but didn’t have a completely lucid explanation. I said something
about patience and adaptability or something. It caught me off guard.
The camera guy then made us walk across the street as naturally
as possible back and forth a couple of times. All in all, it was
definitely interesting being the interviewee as opposed to the interviewer.
It provided good perspective. For now though, I prefer to be behind
the camera.
We left Aspen and headed east on I-70 across northern Colorado.
We turned off the interstate and jumped on Route 6, and then Route
93. 6 and 93 were darker, steeper, and more fun than the interstate.
Just around 7 pm we arrived in Boulder and met our good buddy Parker.
He took us to a local microbrew where I ordered burritos that were
huge, packed with all sorts of stuff, and smothered in green chile.
They were definitely concocted to dominate human stomachs.
Later that night we interviewed Parker’s buddy Alan. He's
asuper-laid back kid who clearly beats to his own drum. Very intelligent,
very informed, and very into meditation. Parker calls him a 21st
century merry prankster.
That's about it. Before I go, I’d just like to reiterate
how thankful I am for the opportunity to have seen so much of the
country and to have met so many Americans. It’s already been
a trip well worth it. 1 more month/16 more states to go.
Happy Thanksgiving.
good joss
November 19, 2005
Happy birthday to my Pops. Also, happy birthday two days late
to little Max.
Two days ago, we woke up in San Diego and jumped into the Pacific
Ocean blue. The water was flat and chilly but felt great. Half an
hour later, we hopped in Harvey, destination: Las Vegas. The drive
wasn’t the breeze we planned it to be. Traffic somewhere between
the sprawl of San Diego and L.A. forced us to inch northeast at
a snail’s clip. What should have been a five-hour trip, took
us probably double. We at last reached the dark Nevada desert, and
after a ten-day stay, left California (the homeland) behind.
------------------
Although, I had already been to Las Vegas once before, it was still
hard to imagine a city thriving in such terrain. Soon though, those
infamous neon lights beckoned from the horizon. The Luxor
pyramid beamed its blue light up toward the heavens, and various
flickering bulbs danced this way and that. The most notorious man-made
oasis in the world was ready for us.
We drove Harvey down Las Vegas Boulevard, known more commonly as
The Strip. We passed legendary casinos like Caesar’s
Palace, MGM Grand, Mandalay Bay and The Bellagio.
Near Circus Circus we found a good parking spot backlit
by neon luminosity. Like the swingers we wished we were, we dressed
our finest, fixed our hair best we could, and strolled chests puffed
out toward the strip.
For such a renowned city, Vegas seemed pretty quiet, or maybe I
was just expecting it to be louder. Most everyone must have been
inside gambling, drinking, eating or possibly watching mud wrestling
and/or bikini bull riding.
From afar, the casinos look magnificent, but once you got up close,
you realize that they’re not particularly... real. The lagoon
rocks in front of Treasure Island are plastic, the pillars
adorning the entrance to Caesar’s Palace are hollow,
and just about everything else is fantasy fake. I guess that’s
part of the appeal of it. Walking the strip you transcend place
and time, just not authenticity. You can walk under the Eiffel Tower
at Paris, then cross the street and salute the Statue of
Liberty at New York New York. You can visit Camelot at
Excalibur, walk with pharaohs at Luxor, or experience
the Wild West at Binions Horseshoe. No matter
if you like Vegas or hate it, you can’t deny that there is
no other place in the world like it.
It was a most mystical night
True story. Before leaving Harvey, I reached into my pocket and
realized I had a single quarter. I was about to drop it into the
change drawer, when for some reason I decided not to. I walked toward
the strip and forgot about it. At our first casino while I was waiting
outside the bathroom for the guys, I noticed a miniature racetrack,
with miniature mechanical horses. Being a fan of horseracing, I
did some further investigation. Basically, you put a quarter in
and then pick which two horses, out of five, will come in first
and second. It’s called a quinella. Now the odds of getting
it right are 2/5 for the first horse to come in 1st or 2nd and a
1/4 for the second horse to come in either 1st or 2nd. If you do
the math the combined odds are 10 to 1. That didn’t bother
me and for some unknown reason I picked the 1 and 5 horse. The 1
horse jumped out to a good start, but the 5 horse lagged far behind
the pack. I saw my odds falling with every mechanical gallop. Suddenly,
in one of the best comebacks in racing history, the 5 horse, swift
as the wind, stormed back and finished a solid second behind the
1 horse. I had won. I had won in Vegas. I hit the pay me button
and the machine spit out two quarters. What? I had 10 to 1 odds
and all I got was a lousy quarter. I put it in my pocket and forgot
about it.
A couple of hours later, while walking around The Tropicana
I spotted this one corner slot machine that was red, white and blue
and called something like The Great American Slot Machine.
I had never played slots in my life but for some unknown reason
decided I should give it a shot. I remembered the quarter in my
pocket and dropped it in the machine. I pulled the lever and when
it finished spinning wild, 7, wild came up. I didn’t
know what that meant but soon quarters started spilling, clickity
clank, out of the machine. When I left to redeem my quarters, the
lady gave me $50.25. Not bad for one quarter. True story.
Triple 7's
We stayed up the rest of the night and went to bed just as the
sun was rising. The Vegas sunrise was far different from our first
at Acadia. All in all, I experienced nearly all the casinos on the
strip and had a good time. Come morning though, I was ready to leave.
I needed a shower. I still do have some quarters left in my pocket
but I feel like they could be better spent in a new place.
good joss
November 14, 2005
Last night I hung out with my good ol’ childhood buddy Jason.
We recounted tales of memorable basketball games, lake exploration,
weeklong snow days and everything else that the kid in every man
holds dear. It’s great to be back in touch with Jason because
we had slowly drifted apart since he left to go to a different high
school. A good friendship lost and regained is a blessing. Jason
is living in San Jose with his girlfriend Annie. Her parents have
a nice place way up on a high hill in San Francisco. They let me
crash on the couch and the next morning I woke up to a panoramic
view of San Francisco. After breakfast and saying goodbye, I drove
out to Alamo to meet up with the guys at Matt’s grandfather’s
house. Thank you to the Turner/Russell family for their gracious
and warm hospitality.
-----------------------
We left Alamo around mid-day destination: Salinas. I was excited.
Salinas is one of the places in America that I checked off early
in the project.’ John Steinbeck is one of my favorite authors
and Salinas and neighboring Monterey are his hometown stomping grounds
that he forever immortalized. His vivid imagery is taken directly
from the features of this place. When we reached downtown Salinas,
I asked the first guy I saw if he liked Steinbeck. The guy was from
Salinas and told me, “Not really. I don’t enjoy Steinbeck’s
‘doom and gloom’ style or his symbolism. The house he
grew up in is two blocks down though.”
Just after arriving, we were met by a nice lady named Shelly, who
was a friend of a friend of a friend. Shelly took us to he took
us to the National Steinbeck Center. The Center is divided into
two parts. One half is on Steinbeck, his life, and his works. The
other half is on the agriculture of Salinas Valley. Both were interesting,
but I spent the majority of time on the Steinbeck side. However,
if Steinbeck himself were at the museum, I probably wouldn’t
have seen him. There is little doubt in my mind which side Steinbeck
would have visited.
In 1962 Steinbeck won the Nobel Prize for Literature. As a result,
he was inevitably highly criticized this way and that. Unfortunately,
after 1962, he wrote no more fiction.
The criticism didn’t stop Steinbeck entirely from writing.
Travels With Charley is one of his most adored works. It’s
about Steinbeck and his poodle Charley’s adventures across
American during the Civil Rights era. They traveled in a converted
truck named Rocinante (after Don Quixote’s horse).
Travels, along with a couple of others books, was great
inspiration for doing this project. The last exhibit on the Steinbeck
side was a Dartmouth green painted Rocinante. I stood in
awe. It wasn’t a replica, it was the actual truck. Steinbeck
drove, slept and ate in this. I asked a fellow onlooker what he
thought the truck was made of. I asked, just so I could reach over
the protective glass and touch Rocinante without drawing
attention to myself. I then walked around the back and peered in.
The bed Steinbeck used was a fold down table, the same kind we have
in Harvey.
Before leaving, I bought a paperback version of Steinbeck’s:
America and American’s. I am excited to see what
the man has to say.
---------------------------
We left Salinas and drove down Coastal Route 1. It was breathtaking.
Everyone should do it once, if they can. It reminded me of our first
drive to Acadia, except with barbed wire and steep cliffs.
Harvey and Rocinante should hang out sometime.
good joss
November 11, 2005
You know when you go to the ice cream shop and you're not sure what
type of ice cream to get and you ask for a little spoon to take
a taste. Well, that's kind of like us with the places we've been.
We're only getting a tiny spoonful, but still a good taste. Sometimes
though, when no one is looking, we help ourselves to a couple of
extra spoonfuls.
-------------------------
This journal entry is about November 9th in Davis, California.
That day, Adam and I sat at the Davis Arboretum in front of our
computers and did work from early to late. It wasn't a completely
eventful day, but it was productive nonetheless. Arboretums are
enchanting places that smell good. Every city should have one. As
for Wigs and Matt, they drove to inner city Sacramento and did some
street interviews. After the first couple of people declined interviews,
soon they found welcoming people all with stories to tell. They
got some good footage.
More next time.
good joss
November 6, 2005
Our backs are no longer turned to the East coast. Now it's our
left side.
For the fourth consecutive day since returning from the everyday
aloha sunshine of Hawaii, I woke up to the patter of Pacific Northwest
weather against Harvey. This morning was especially memorable because
Harvey was taking on water. Water is not a welcome presence in an
R.V. that is already dank from the close quarters of its four male
inhabitants, not to mention the valuable technical equipment and
logged footage that could easily get ruined. Knowing this, I grabbed
an empty one-gallon water jug, cut off the top and began bailing.
However, the source of the leak was not caused by the rain outside,
but rather an internal plumbing problem. Harvey’s black water
(the water from the john) was completely full. Unwisely, I tried
one last desperate flush. SPLASH was what happened, and my face
was wet to show for it. GROSS. System overload. Like a caveman who
would club himself to death to swat away at flies, I kept flushing
the toilet because I thought I could beat it. WRONG. That’s
when we began taking on yellowish-hued water. Stoically though,
instead of bailing, like a stalwart sailor or maybe just one low
in ranks, I bailed.
--------------------------------
For the rest of the day, we prepared for the fundraising dinner
that we were having that night at Family Supper and The Gotham Building
Tavern in Portland. It was cool to be behind the scenes of a major
restaurant. You’d be surprised all the effort that goes into
bringing your plate to the table. Since Matt already gave Michael
the credit he deserves, I’m not going to talk too much about
it. All that I’ll say is it was a great time with great food,
good loud music and nice, curious folk. After dinner, we gave a
little presentation complete with pictures and video and then even
fielded some questions. A guy with an Australian accent (who actually
turned out to be a guitarist for one of the bands) asked whether
false hope exists in our generation. That’s a tough question,
and it baffled me a little. The more I think about it though, the
more I think the phrase false hope doesn’t make any sense,
especially in the present. I can kind of understand how saying that
the 85 years or so of Red Sox fans rooting for a World Series was
false hope, but than again, that hope only became false hope in
retrospect after the season. Even then though, that hope was never
really false, but rather unfulfilled. In my first and maybe last
ever posit, I posit that false hope is an oxymoron. Can hope ever
be false? In hindsight, instead of bumbling with the question, I
should have said, ‘hope is hope. There’s nothing false
about it. The Red Sox won the World Series. NEXT question.’
-------------------------------
Back in the days before the project launched, whenever I’d
be driving around an unfamiliar town, I’d always be fascinated
by the notion of just ‘passing through’. It amazed me
that the places I would pass by only momentarily such as local high
schools, small shops, and all sorts of homes, people live their
entire lives in and around. This feeling can be illustrated by my
high school. The distance between the entrance and exit is only
a couple of hundred yards, so for the passerby, that equated to
only two or three seconds. For me though, that distance was four
years with some unforgettable (both good and bad) memories.
Thanks to this project though, I’ve been able to get a little
better glimpse into these often passed by places-albeit still only
a spoonful. It’s been great to go into those stores, visit
those high schools and be invited into strangers’ homes. I’m
very appreciative. To me, easily the most demanding part about the
project is the perpetual motion of it. The impermanent stays and
constant leaving of a good places and people is tough, but that
is what the project requires. We’re trying to see as much
of the country as possible in a set amount of time.
One last anecdote. There’s this guy who lives a town over
from me just over the border in Connecticut. He is sort of a local
legend that I have known about for the last couple of years. What
has made him well known is commitment, endurance and time. According
to lore, this fellow has been standing in front of the same house
everyday for the last forty years. My buddy’s dad who grew
up in our town has told us that he remembers the guy when he was
just a kid and was standing out there. Supposedly, as the story
goes, he has some sort of mental impairment, but that’s only
what I have heard second-hand. This past summer, I would always
pass by him on way home from work. I’d honk and he’d
always wave back. I’d think about the amazing things he must
have seen just standing there watching the same place for so long.
Countless stories. I’m sure he could testify that you don’t
have to travel far to see some pretty cool stuff. I’d love
to know his story.
With this project I’m seeing as many places as possible and
not spending a great deal of time at each one. What he’s doing
is the complete opposite-spending a great deal of time in one place.
No one-way is better than the other, and both have their merits.
I’m pointing him out to show the different approaches one
can take to experience life. It’s interesting to me.
Last word. From my travels so far, I’ve experienced that
American’s are a friendly bunch. You can just go up and talk
to someone. Nine and a half out of ten times it will be worth your
while. You’ll hear some good stories and might even get a
meal out of it. So I guess this leads to the next time that I’m
home, I’m going to pull over and ask this local legend his
story. Hopefully, he is one of the 9 ½. I bet he is.
good joss
November 1, 2005
This past Thursday morning I forked my way through a stack of syrupy
apple pancakes at Shari’s in Portland. That same afternoon,
I fork-chopped spider rolls on multi-colored plates at Run’s
Sushi in downtown Waikiki.
Thanks to the sport of lacrosse, I was able to hop a flight across
the Pacific Ocean blue to the Island of Oahu in Hawaii. This was
the furthest west (or east depending on your perspective) I have
ever traveled. I was in Hawaii to play for Seattle-based Wimmer
Solutions in the 15th Annual Hawaiian Invitational Lacrosse Tournament.
Just two days before taking off for TYAP, Wimmer called me up and
offered to pay for my stay at the Park Shore Hotel (across the street
from the ocean) and also to give me a stipend to cover other expenses.
Realizing that such an opportunity is rare and that Hawaii would
be a most welcome addition to our project, I decided to take them
up on the offer.
---------------------------
When you fly into Honolulu Airport baggage claim signs immediately
whisk you outside. Walking along a palm tree dotted path, you can’t
help but enjoy the near perfect climate complete with island breeze
and big blue sky. My sweatshirt was no longer necessary. Not many
airports around the world can so confidently build an airport with
outdoor sections like this, but Hawaii can. In fact, much of what
I saw of Hawaii is designed to please.
Tourism in Hawaii is like corn in Iowa, potatoes in Idaho (had
to use it Oppy) or movies in California- big-time industry, especially
in Waikiki. Waikiki is different than how I imagined Hawaii would
be. It’s heavily developed. Across the street from our hotel
was the ocean. In order to get there though, you have to cross a
wide avenue congested with cars, mopeds, tour buses and mobs of
people of all different ethnicities- there is a good blend of East
and West in Waikiki. Walking to the beach with so many other people
made it feel like I was heading to a ballpark for a big game. Once
you cross the street, you get to a main walkway that parallels the
shore. It is lined with bronzed statues of surfers, queens, and
other well-known Hawaiians, all adorned with fresh leis. My personal
favorite was of a wiry, spectacle wearing, cane-bearing Mohandas
Gandhi. I didn’t really get the whole story of why Gandhi
was in Hawaii, but regardless, he looked great with a lei on.
Take two steps of the walkway and your feet hit sand. You immediately
see a huge movie screen to your left. This weekend the movie showing
was Ghostbusters. Looking down the beach to your right, hotels of
pink, white, and yellow awnings overhang the Pacific.
If movies on the beach are not your cup of tea, or you prefer relaxing
on more remote beaches, there are still other options in Waikiki.
You can shop…. a lot. Waikiki boasts dozens of designer brand
retail stores, nearly every kind of chain fast-food restaurant,
and most any other consumer desire/need imaginable. For a serious
shopper, Waikiki is a shopping paradise in a tropical paradise.
However, I am not a particularly serious shopper and I’ve
already seen Ghostbusters, so I sought other options. I ended up
renting a moped to further explore the island.
The moped rental place was quite a unique establishment. Located
in a side alley with only a big yellow sun umbrella as its roof,
the place emanated transience. If you wanted to, you could probably
pack up shop and leave in a total of five minutes. The guy running
the place preferred using the pocket of his board shorts rather
than a cash register for storing the revenues from rentals. I unwillingly
gave him my credit card information to cover any incidentals and
signed all the liability contracts. Scooting away, I wondered if
the place would still be around when I came back.
I scooted up and down highways that hugged cliffs overlooking the
Pacific. Note to future moped riders-it is much more pleasurable
to scooter sans hat than with one. The wind refreshes. Once you
get out of Waikiki, Hawaii is Hawaii. I saw a great lighthouse at
sunset. I stopped at a local beach called Sandy Beach where I was
heckled by locals about my sunburned back. They shouted in native
surfer accent, “Yo bro that looks like it really hurts bro,
yo you get slapped or something bro.” I acknowledged their
concern and ran down to the water for a swim. The waves were absolutely
huge and I got tossed and turned like I was a dirty sock in the
wash. I was completely at the mercy of nature and it was groovy,
but the sand that collected down my pants was less than ideal for
the ride back. Oh well.
As for lacrosse, Wimmer was made up of a bunch of good guys. We
played teams from Japan and some other American club teams too.
There were flags from all over the world and there was also a Maryland
flag, which seemed kind of out of place next to the Japanese, Canadian,
Australian and American ones. The competition wasn’t super
tough, but we were in Hawaii and it didn’t matter because
as my local heckler friends might say ‘it’s all good,
bro.’ On Sunday, we reached the tournament championship, but
due to badly sprained and swollen ankle, I was sidelined to the
role of spectator. We won the game easily and I limped over to the
first full ice water jug I saw and dumped it on Matt’s head
to celebrate. (Matt is the guy from Wimmer Solutions who paid my
way out to Hawaii).
----------------------------------
Just before grabbing a taxi back to the airport, I took a quick
stroll back down to the beach. I planned on finishing my book at
the ocean. Instead, on my walk down I saw two older gentlemen, one
American, one Japanese, playing chess. Instantly, I became a spectator.
Although their hands shook a little while they moved the pieces,
it was clear that it was not because of any hesitation in their
piece placement. They were expert players. After they finished their
game, the older American asked if I wanted to play him. “Love
to”, I replied. It wasn’t a quick match, but it didn’t
take too long either. He ended up beating me, but rusty as I am,
I put up a good battle. Before leaving, I asked him how long he
had been playing and he replied with a blink, “one hundred
years.” He was of the age where that’s not a great hyperbole.
I told him it was a pleasure, shook his hand and he returned it
with a great firm grip. He was a lighthouse of wisdom. That’s
my last memory of Hawaii.
Mahalo Hawaii
good joss
October 23, 2005
You’d be surprised how hard it is to find a place to sit
down and watch a football game in Jackson, Wyoming. The only place
I came across was a good mile walk from historic downtown. It was
worth it though. The fine establishment, Sidewinders, had around
fifty televisions, ranging from small index card-sized ones that
were placed above the urinals, to gigantic flat screens that would
probably be better served in a small town, red curtain and balcony,
movie theater.
I was the first patron of the day to Sidewinders, and I came clad
in full Tiki Barber #21 jersey. Uniform on, I took a prime seat
right in the middle of the place. From my perch, I needed only to
rotate my head from one shoulder to the other, to take in all the
days’ games. The scene was overwhelming, but I needed a football
fix. For the last two weeks, I had spent too much time reading,
writing, meeting new people and taking in beautiful scenery. I was
ready for some football. So from 11 am to 5 pm (mountain time zone)
I sat contently, eyes agape, jaw open, with the occasional upward
fist pump.
What might seem like a casual fist pump was actually a carefully
executed strategy. I firmly believe that the harder you root for
your team, the better your team does. For example, take one of the
later games of the day (2:15 pm MT). The Giants (my team) were playing
the Denver Broncos. The Broncos had won five straight games and
were favored to win. The guy sitting directly in front of me happened
to be a Bronco fan, so I convinced myself that the outcome of the
game was largely dependent on which of us could root better. From
the first whistle, I knew it was going to be a dogfight, similar
in intensity to the infamous Zoolander-Hansel walk off. We both
had our different styles. He was louder and more in your face, and
I was more laid back, but no less interested. I have to give him
some credit-he was a true fan. He out-rooted me for the first three
and a half quarters (Broncos 23-Giants 10) and had all the momentum
going into a Denver game clinching field goal (Broncos 23-Giants
17 that would have made the game out of reach at 26-17). From out
of nowhere though, I had a rooting comeback. The Broncos missed
their field goal, and then the Giants won with a last second touchdown
pass (Giants 24-Broncos 23). I stood up triumphantly and in doing
so, knocked my chair over. Chess metaphor: My chair was his king.
After picking up the fallen furniture/piece, I looked over at him.
His head, slightly shaking from side to side, was cupped in his
hands in disbelief. I felt bad for him because he had put $300 on
the Broncos to win. I guess he should have rooted harder or bet
less money.
---------------------
Sidewinders made up the majority of my day and there are no pictures
to adorn this entry with. I’ll leave you with a couple of
observations though:
1) Montana is a great state, with great people and great scenery.
It put on a good show and deserves to be the 4th largest state in
the Nation. Over the past week, Montana really did a number on me
(in a good way). Wyoming is still to be determined.
2) The movie The Beautiful Country is a gut-wrenching must-see.
I’m not going to tell you what it is about, but trust me it’s
worth it. You’ll probably cry, but it has a good ending.
3) If you want, you can call me ¼ Roy. Let me explain. Before
going to bed, I flipped through the pages of Rolling Stone magazine.
On nearly every page, a performer was mentioned who was known primarily
by his/her stage name. For example, I was surprised to find out
that 50 Cent, Xhibit, Eminem, Snoop Dogg, and Lil’ Kim were
not really their names. I determined that someday I might needy
a catchy alias. After a little thinking, I decided that I would
be ¼ Roy (It’s fitting because I have a couple ¼
Roy jackets and some ¼ Roy pairs of pants too).
I hope for your sake that my next entry will be more interesting
and relevant (that is, as long as it doesn’t happen to be
a football Sunday).
good joss
p.s. and by the way, whoever goes by the email tyapislame@gmail.com,
your comment, “hey Grinnell, Shakespeare/Hemingway/Steinbeck/Twain
called and said they want their literary style back,” was
hurtful.
¼ Roy@tyap.com
October 22, 2005
Short and sweet is the goal of this one, but I’d also be
happy with one or the other.
We woke up at 10,000 feet in Big Sky, Montana and descended acutely
angled switchbacks to the flatter ground of the Gallatin Valley.
The night before, a friendly bartender named Jim, told us that his
hour commute from Bozeman through the valley is his spiritual, reflection
time. He enjoys his commute. I can see why. It’s a great drive,
especially this time of year. Groves of bright yellow trees (I wish
I knew what kind they were) swayed in the foreground and snow-capped
peaks towered behind. All under a big sky. Looking skyward in Montana
is panoramic experience. If you’ve never been out to this
part of the country, the sky really is bigger. It’s tough
to explain though. Come out and see for yourself.
After slicing through the valley, we arrived in Bozeman for the
second time in three days. It’s a quaint, but still gritty,
mountain town, inhabited by real, healthy-looking people. You could
talk to anyone. Lying down on a bench on Main Street reading my
book, multiple people walked by, gave a head nod or wink and said
hello to me. A few even commented on how comfortable I looked. They
were right on. I was comfortable. I could easily move to Bozeman.
Its only fault in my eyes is that it isn’t on the ocean. Oh
well, maybe someday.
We spent the late afternoon and early evening at The Pour House
profiling Casey, a bartender/waitress. It was 25-cent wing night
and Casey recommended the Dragon Wings. We challenged ourselves
to see if collectively we could eat 100. Heap upon heap came out
and we took to our task one bite at a time. Grimacing the last couple
down, with fingers completely covered in greasy wing sauce, we at
last reached triple digits. Taming the dragon wings probably took
25 minutes. It wasn’t a breeze though.
Going to bed that night, I tried to imagine how much 100 wings
really are. After some hard thinking, I concluded that what we ate
probably equates to somewhere around 3.5 entire buffalo. Sounds
about right. I contently dozed off.
The next morning, I woke up and stepped outside Harvey, into the
parking lot. I was immediately slapped free from my slumbered state
by the crisp mountain air. It felt good to be surrounded by mountains.
Pulling out of the parking lot, we saw what looked to be a parking
ticket on Harvey’s windshield. Upon closer inspection though,
it wasn’t exactly what it seemed. It was a Bozeman Parking
courtesy notice that read: “This is a monitored parking lot
and security has noticed this vehicle as not one that belongs here.
If you are associated with this building please call 123-4567. If
not please do not use this lot as it is reserved for employees and
customers. Thank You.”
Now, that’s my kind of town.
good joss
October 16, 2005
 
Great faces, Great places. That could be a tagline
for what we' re doing, but alas, it' s already taken. South Dakota
claims it.
We left Omaha and followed a bunch of highways north and west in
search of Bob' s Diner in Sioux Falls. Along the highway were
brown and white signs with a picture of two guys on it, one of them
pointing off into the distance. These signs designated that
we were on the Lewis and Clark Trail. With Harvey kind
of like our Sacagawea, we were traveling the same route Meriwether
Lewis and William Clark did more than two centuries ago. However,
we traveled a completely different landscape than the Corps of Discovery
did. Now could be an appropriate time to bring up the epidemic of
sprawl and how it is slowly destroying the American landscape, but
I' ll put that off for now. I' m going to wait until after
enjoying the wide-open spaces of Montana and Wyoming, so I have
some more leverage.
---------------------------
You' d be surprised how many things you observe when driving from
Nebraska to South Dakota. Here' s a short list.
Item: A huge tree branch fell with a thud to the ground,
from no apparent cause. If a tree branch falls on the interstate
in South Dakota and nobody knows why, how did it happen?
The answer came when we drove by and saw a guy in a fluorescent
hunting cap holding a smoking chainsaw.
Item: Wall Drug Billboard. (Wall Drug only 300
miles away)
Item: The sight of CasinOmaha got me thinking
about names and origins. Here was my line of thought. Does
the city of Omaha, Nebraska (which voted against gambling) not like
the fact that an Indian casino in Onawa, Iowa is using the name
Omaha to promote gambling? Not sure, maybe Omaha sued CasinOmaha.
Then again, how could Omaha sue? Isn' t Omaha
originally a Native American word that the settlers stole?
And, couldn' t there still be Native Americans in Iowa whose lineage
came up with the word Omaha? I think it' s possible.
Therefore, I guess it makes sense to have a CasinOmaha
in Owasa, Iowa. After all this thinking, I then looked up
Omaha in the dictionary and it means: "a member of an American
Indian people of northeastern Nebraska.” So now I am
thoroughly confused, and probably you as well. Sorry.
Item: Another Wall Drug Billboard. (Only 240 miles
away)
Item: We stopped to pump gas. At the station, there
was also a liquor store and casino with an elderly gentlemen gambler
with some gaps in his smile and neatly combed hair.
He chuckled when I walked in. I chuckled back. Fifty yards
from the casino was a fireworks depot. Alcohol, gambling,
and fireworks- all-in-one shopping.
Item: There was a flattened, run-over dog/fox/something
on the road. Driving by, at first I hoped it wasn' t a dog,
but then I also hoped it wasn' t a fox. I hoped it wasn' t
anything and there wasn' t really any animal that I hoped it was.
Hoping didn' t do much though. Whatever it was, it was dead-
a casualty of the road.
Item: The 17th Wall Drug Billboard. (Only 190
miles away)
---------------------------------------
We finally arrived at Bob' s Diner. Great place. Great
faces. There were two local couples to my right at the counter.
The four local faces (great places, great faces)
entertained us with facts and stories about Sioux Falls
and the state of South Dakota. They told us about the history
of Bob' s, the actual Sioux Falls waterfalls, Tom Brokaw Boulevard,
named after South Dakota's famous native son, and the impoverished
condition of South Dakota Indian Reservations.
In between the countertop talk, I took a look at the local Sioux
Falls paper, The Argus Leader. One
of the front-page stories was about a moose roaming the streets
of Sioux Falls. The first line was, “A moose is
loose and looking for love.” I laughed and then
thought about it for a second. What an attention grabber.
This line is a great opening to any matter or subject. For
example, if you' re applying for a job you could use:
A moose is loose and looking for love, and I' m really interested
in Acme Corporation. I think that I would be a solid employee.
Please see my attached resume. Thanks.
Or,
A moose is loose and looking for love, and you are cordially
invited to the wedding of Tom and Sue.
I wanted to write all this down, but I didn' t have a pen.
I asked Adam if he had one, and one of the four friendly locals
to my right must have heard me, because he said, “Get the
kid a pen.” Soon the whole diner was reaching into their
pockets for a pen. Needless to say, I finally got one.
Before leaving Bob' s, the two couples forewarned us about the
danger to our west in the Indian Reservations. They told us to keep
on moving and not to stay too late- it could get pretty rowdy, and
there could be a lot of drunkenness, this being a Saturday and all.
They said the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) was the only law out
there and that was a different type of law. They kept reiterating
all of this. We finished lunch, thanked everyone and headed
out on our way to Crow Creek Sioux Indian Reservation to look for
Maria Kirkie.
------------------------------------
Around 6 pm we pulled into the DakotaMart in Fort Thompson.
As we were to learn later, this is one of the poorest counties in
America. Inside the store, I bought two Charleston Chew bars
for a dollar and happily ate them for dinner. That was a mistake.
Stomach grumbling, we walked across to the Lode Star Casino
and asked if anyone knew Maria Kirkie. Everyone did,
and they pointed us in the direction of her house.
When we pulled up, Maria invited us in to watch the last two-minutes
of the Notre Dame-USC football game. Good game. Too
bad for the Irish. There' s always next year though.
After the game, Matt and Adam profiled Maria. She is an amazing
person- valedictorian of her high school class and MVP of her basketball
team. For the last four years, she has been pursuing a degree
in Special Education, while at the same time raising a son as a
single mother. She is a wholly positive person and extremely
candid. Her story is a great one and you' ll hear more about
it soon.
While Maria was getting profiled, her aunt, Auntie, took me on
a trip to the Missouri River. She brought me to a Crow Creek
Monument that must have had at least twenty flagpoles, each with
a flag that was either red, yellow, black or white. The sun
was setting on the river and the natural light accentuated the flag
colors. Auntie told me that the flags were the sacred colors
of the Crew Creek Sioux. She didn' t explain what each color
represented, but rather said that each color could be applied to
all aspects of life in harmony. That was cool. Also,
Auntie told me Dakota means “friend” in Sioux.
So, long story short, in our brief vist to the state, we made a
lot of Dakotas in Dakota.
good joss
.
October 11, 2005
“A rule of the blue road: Be careful going
in search of adventure- it' s ridiculously easy to find."
-Blue Highways. William Least Heat-Moon
We' re on our way to Grinnell from Spam™ Town USA, and I'
m cleaning corn dust off my camera.
The day started this morning in Austin, Minnesota. We were
staying with Wig' s family friends the Wagner' s (thank you
to them). For the most part, it was a typical beginning
of the day. We ate French toast and did some work. Then Adam and
I went outside to toss the football around. We ran slants
around the playground and Hail Mary' s through the trees.
It was a good workout. On fourth and long with one second
left in overtime I threw the ball into the neighboring Turtle
Creek. So for the third time of the morning, I rolled up my
jeans, stepped into the creek and fished the ball out with a long
stick.
------------------------------
Austin is the home of the Hormel Factory, the inventors and manufacturers
of Spiced Ham (Spam™). First, let me make it clear that by
no means is what I am about to write a condemnation of Hormel, but
rather a recount of last night' s experience. As Upton Sinclair
already pointed out, the production end of the meat packing process
is quite different from the consumption end. Last night I
witnessed that first hand.
At around 11 p.m. last night, we drove through the front gate of
Hormel and around the back to the unloading docks. What was
illuminated in our headlights was unsettling: truckloads of pigs
were being prodded up a ramp into the “kill” room.
The sight was shocking, the smells pungent, and the squeals
desperate. Seeing all this instantly made me reconsider
my carnivorous ways. When we turned around to leave, we almost ran
over a dead pig sprawled out in the middle of the parking lot.
We were told that he died from stress. Can' t really blame
him.
On Austin' s Main Street, blue banners with big white letters proclaim
“Austin, Minnesota: Spam™ Town USA” (trademark
sign included). Austin also has the official Spam™ Museum.
Did you know that a can of Spam™ is consumed every 3.6 seconds?
I didn' t. Also, did you know Commander-in-Chief Dwight D.
Eisenhower attributed the Allied victory in WWII in large part to
nourishing and shelf-stable powers of Spam™?
The museum is filled with all sorts of exhibits and even has a
fully stocked gift shop filled with Spam™ shirts, shorts,
hats, and nearly everything else. I almost bought Spam™
flip-flops, but I didn' t. They reminded me too much
of our drive around the Hormel Factory the night before. The scene
still echoes in my head.
-------------------------------------------------
We took Highway 218 south out of Austin, Minnesota. Destination:
Grinnell, Iowa. The ride was a treat. The
45-minute window of time just before dusk has the best light of
day to take in the scenery. The scenery was consuming; fields of
corn, barns, and farmhouses were all backlit by a light blue and
red sky. In hardly any time, we were in Iowa.
A couple of minutes past the border, windturbines appeared on the
horizon. Using Wild Winds Buffalo Preserve
as precedent, we pulled-over, and with Don Quixote-like sincerity
sought out some windmills.
Once off the highway, we put aside the GPS and headed toward the
turbines. With each passing mile, they got bigger and more
distinct. Like a dog, I hung my head out the window and started
to take pictures. Then, all of a sudden, the wind blew my
dangling lens cap free from my camera and out the window.
Cap-less and confused, we backed Harvey up. After a brief
search, I found the cap at the foot of an expansive cornfield. Looking
up, I realized I had never run through a cornfield and now was probably
an ideal time. Windturbines and Cornfields. Two birds.
One stone.
I didn' t really see the No Trespassing
sign, so I stepped into the field and soon disappeared from sight.
It was great. I could have spent a whole day there.
Maybe even two if I had a book. I recommend walking through
a cornfield once in your life. The rustle of stalks and the
sensation of virtual invisibility are calming. For some of
the time however, I entertained the possibility that an angry shotgun-toting
farmer might jump out from behind a stalk. So I planned my
escape route. Run as fast in the opposite direction as possible.
It' s much easier to move parallel in a cornfield than perpendicular.
I was going perpendicular to get to the windmill, so it took awhile.
A couple of times I thought about turning around. My camera had
few shots left. It was getting dark. The windmill was
not getting any closer. It seemed to be always a little further
away, just out of reach. Every couple of steps, I convinced myself
not to turn around.
Eventually, I came to an opening in the cornfield where the turbine
stood. It was a circle of gravel about the size of a helicopter
landing pad. In the middle, a turbine towered above, rotating
its blades slowly, almost hypnotically. It reminded me of
a Ferris wheel. I looked around for the farmer and shotgun, but
didn't see them, so I burst free of the corn and ran up and touched
its sleek metal. I turned and looked back at the fields I
had traversed. It was beautiful- an endless landscape of cornfields,
windturbines, telephone poles, and an early moon to boot.
After a couple of minutes of standing in awe, I was surprised to
see a path lead out from the turbine. I followed it and it
took me to the road where Harvey was waiting. What took forty
minutes to get to, took hardly a minute to get back from.
As I sat in Harvey reflecting, I was glad I went the way that I
did-I wouldn' t have wanted to travel to my first wind turbine any
way other than through a cornfield. Just another instance
where I was reminded that the journey is everything and the path
less traveled is usually worth it.
William Least Heat-Moon was right. It' s so easy to find
adventure on the road. If my lens cap hadn' t fallen off I
probably wouldn' t have had that short adventure. As a keepsake,
I now have that No Trespassing sign that I had
neglected to see earlier. On the back of it I labeled the
date and our latitude (43˚ 2X” 26”) and longitude
(4X˚ 24” 36”). I had the guys initial it
for verification. Next to that I drew a windmill in a cornfield
with the only two colored markers on board Harvey: blue and red.
good keepsake.
good joss
October 9, 2005
This past Thursday at noon I left Chicago, Harvey, and the other
guys and hopped on a flight to St. Louis. Due to lack of foresight
on someone' s part, TYAP was not able to make its planned stop in
Missouri. As a result, we drew straws to see who would venture
south, solo. I drew the short straw. At first, I was hesitant,
but the guys really wanted me to go and did a good job of twisting
my arm, so I booked a flight on short notice. An hour after
taking off from Chicago-Midway, I landed in St. Louis. After
getting my bags, I walked out into the colder-than-Illinois Missouri
air and was greeted with a warm smile from my girlfriend Sarah.
Funny how things work.
------------------------------------
Thursday night I decided I would try to make dinner, so Sarah and
I went grocery shopping at Schnuck' s, the local Mega-grocery market.
Grocery shopping is always a good time, unless there' s somewhere
else you' d prefer to be, in which case it can be a bit of a burden.
I was happy where I was though, and it wasn' t a burden at all.
Grocery bags in hand, we walked up two flights of stairs to Sarah'
s apartment. After 45 minutes of pretending that I was in
the Kitchen Arena of Iron Chef, I cooked something.
It consisted of tomatoes and mozzarella salad, cream corn, and spiral-shaped
pasta with a mix of alfredo and tomato sauce. (Because the
secret ingredient was tomato, I also added sun-dried tomatoes).
Dinner turned out pretty good and I was fairly proud of myself.
I made plenty and we had leftovers (which we brought to school for
lunch the next day).
--------------------------------------
I woke around 6 am on Friday and got dressed for school.
I was going with Sarah to Vashon High School to see her teach and
also to profile another young teacher, Ron Gubitz. Vashon is a modern
looking school. If it floated in outer space, it could be
a school for kids in The Jetsons.
Vashon has metal detectors at its front. The security guards didn'
t make Sarah or me go through them though, only the students.
That made me think a little bit. Through the school day, I
got to sit in on and experience two 100-minute classes. In
the first class, I learned about paragraph structure and acted out
some of Arthur Miller' s The Crucible (I played Mercy,
a woman servant). In the second class, I heard the most unbelievably
true stories. The ongoing project for the second class is
for all students to write a book about their life and for students
to occasionally read excerpts aloud. What I heard was moving
and powerfully written.
All the stories were about subjects that kids in high school should
not have had to experience yet. Many told of truths that you didn'
t necessarily want to hear. For example, one excerpt was read
by a girl student who wrote about how her mother placed her in a
juvenile-detention house for two weeks and what it was like to be
all by oneself in a strange place. She concluded by stating
how that experience made her appreciate what she has more now.
A male student, who I met the night before (he works the ticket
booth at the movie theater) wrote about the importance of role models.
Michael Jordan was his ‘famous person' role model because
of more or less obvious reasons. His Mom, because of her devotion,
hard work, endless encouragement and all the other things good moms
do, was his real life role model. Lastly, he poignantly stated
that sometimes it is equally important to have people you don' t
look up to as much as it is to have people you do. He used his Dad,
who left his mom and him when he was born and came back twelve years
later, as an example of exactly who he didn' t want to become.
A third excerpt was read by another student who described witnessing
first-hand a point blank shooting at his Uncle' s house. He
went into detail about all the blood and how he had to escape the
house.
The grammar might not have been perfect but the messages were clear.
The stories were harrowing, eloquent and powerful all at the same
time. What was written was straight from the heart and the
complete, honest truth. The kids didn' t add unnecessary sentences
to embellish or glorify nor did they use fancy words to mislead
or impress. Sitting in the back of the class and listening,
I couldn' t believe that high school kids could have so many real,
hard-knock life stories to tell. Looking back, I don' t know
what' s more grounding- the details of the stories I heard, or the
fact that every kid has at least one or two of these stories to
tell.
----------------------------------------
The weekend was great. Weather was near perfect. Sarah
and I walked around town, ate at some tasty restaurants, went to
hip-hop night in the Duck Room at Blueberry Hill and just plain
hung out. Before heading to the airport for my flight back
to Harvey, we chased some squirrels in the park, then Sarah watched
some football and I folded laundry. All in all, Sarah and
St. Louis took good care of me.
----------------------------------------
I' m on the plane now flying to Minneapolis. Probably somewhere
over Wisconsin I' m guessing. The flight was delayed a couple
of hours at the layover in Chicago and I' m not getting in until
tomorrow. Right now, I' m snugly positioned in the middle
seat and it is difficult to type with my elbows squeezed in like
they are now. The flight attendant is now telling me to turn
off my computer, so until next time…
good joss from 35,000 feet.
October 3, 2005
Wild Winds Buffalo Preserve in Fremont, Indiana was a
great impromptu stop. When the roadside sign with the
bison painted on it beckoned from the highway, I knew we had to
stop. It was well worth it. The buffalo were all friendly
and majestic. Many Native American tribes believe that the buffalo
are cultural cornerstones. The thought is that if buffalo go extinct,
soon too will all life after. Upon leaving, a hanging sign read
"A cold wind blew across the praire, the day all the buffalo
died." So, for that reason and many more, I' m glad buffalo
numbers are once again on the rise.
----------------------------------
It was already dark but still thick and humid for October when
we rode into Nappanee, Indiana. Wigs and I were up front in
Harvey with the windows open listening to some good music when all
of a sudden Harvey ate our CD. All was silent. Then
a heavy rain began to fall and lightning illuminated the sky. From
what I could gather of the northern Indiana landscape were cornfields,
a good amount of open space, some low-rise billboards, and even
a car dealership with a horse and buggy sign.
A couple of minutes after passing the dealership, we rumbled to
a stop at a blinking red light. The rain and humidity made
it hard to see out of the windshield and all we could hear out of
the windows other than the rain was the wind. Then from afar
something got louder with every passing second. Clip. Clop.
Clip. Clop. Clip.
Clop. Clip. Clop. Suddenly,
out of nowhere, a horse-pulled buggy carrying a whole family of
people streamed in front of Harvey. The family was garbed in antiquated,
almost gothic-like, clothing. This seemingly bizarre sight,
enhanced significantly by the lightning flashes, was an intense
visual jolt. It felt like Halloween was happening at the wrong
end of the month. Soon though, I realized what was going on.
We were in Elkhart County, Indiana. Amish country.
----------------------------------
We woke up the next morning and headed to Amish Acres.
There we were treated to two short documentary films on Amish culture
and a tour of an original Amish farm site. Our tour guide
was a nice lady named Kathy, who wore a nametag that read, “Hi,
I' m Kathy, and yes, I am Amish.” Here are some pictures from
the tour. I was a big fan of the paints that were used (interestingly,
they were used because they were the cheapest).
 
 
On the tour I learned quite a bit about Amish people and their
culture, but still only tip-of-the-iceberg-like knowledge.
Here' s a brief summary. Amish religion is originally a part
of Anabaptism, which came about at the time of Martin Luther' s
Reformation. Anabaptists, believed in a return to the true
teachings of Christianity, adult baptism, and a shunning of the
indulgences of the ever-modernizing world. Eventually, a split
happened in Anabaptism over the direction that it was headed in
and those who followed Swiss Priest Joseph Amman became Amish people.
Because Amish culture is difficult to understand and different
from the norm the Amish have been persecuted all throughout their
history. The Martyr' s Mirror catalogues a plentitude
of the injustices suffered by the Amish over time in Europe.
Even when the Amish fled to the religiously tolerant American colonies,
they were not completely free from persecution. Their beards
(signifies a married man), clothes, and overall way of life made
them an easy target. However, they bought up the cheapest/worst
farming lands, made them fertile, and flourished.
The Amish life is one of simplicity and shunning. All community
rules are set by a randomly assigned, for life bishop. Each
Amish district (the amount of families that can fit in and get to
an average Amish person' s house for a Sunday service) has slightly
different rules and guidelines. Some are consistent throughout
all Amish communities. One is adult baptism. Up until you are sixteen
one lives in the Amish community but is not truly part of it until
he/she is baptized. Before baptism, for a window of two years
of so, Amish adolescents are permitted to “sow their wild
oats” and experience the outside world. Some smoke cigarettes,
drive cars, go to cities, and then come back and get baptized.
Others never return.
Because of the high birthrate (average 8 kids per family) the Amish
religion is growing exponentially. With growth, certain obstacles
have emerged. In Nappanee, land is limited and Amish landowners
can' t efficiently divide the land evenly among their offspring.
Therefore, many Nappanee Amish have adapted by pursuing other occupations.
Kathy is a walky-talky yielding tour guide. Some of her brothers
work at the local RV manufacturing plant.
------------------------
Elkhart Country is America' s leading manufacturer of recreational
vehicles. One company in town, Gulfstream, is making units
for FEMA to aide Hurricane Katrina victims. Another company, Newmar
Corp., makes high-end luxury RV' s. Newmar is owned by an
Amish multi-millionaire and employs many Amish people in its factory.
By watching the introductory video and taking the walking tour complete
with headset and safety goggles, I saw first-hand how an RV is made.
More interesting though, I saw Amish people working and using the
most cutting edge power-tools. At first, the contrast was
staggering. RV' s are as luxurious and indulgent as they get.
Why are Amish people working on them? I couldn' t understand.
It seemed to go against all they believe in.
By the end of the tour, I came up with a quasi-answer. The
Amish working in an RV factory was a “means justifying ends”
type deal. In order to survive over the years, Amish have
had to remain practical and dynamic. This is in stark contrast
to the image of the Amish as a stagnant culture with static traditions.
In reality, Amish are pragmatists and have realized that in order
to remain faithful to their Amish lifestyle they have to adapt,
and make certain sacrifices. As a result, the Amish RV workers
live two lives. One at work, enveloped with technology and
indulgant RV's and the other at home where Amish rules reign supreme.
Driving away from the factory, I saw quite a memorable scene. A
horse and buggy was pulling out of the RV manufacturing plant.
The Amish worker, after a hard days work, was heading home to a
home grown candle-lit dinner at the farm. Just goes to show,
the world is a complex or simple place I guess.
good joss.
September 30, 2005
Happy 3rd birthday to Sam “the Man” Roseman.
Before I describe our time in Cleveland, I would briefly like to
write about Columbus, Ohio. First off, thank you to the Oberlin
for your hospitality. Columbus is a great city, and when I
say city, I actually mean it. For some reason I never had
any connotation of what Columbus was like until I got there.
Needless to say, I never imagined it to have skyscrapers, but it
does. It' s also a very clean city, with a great big college
and the people are all very willing to help you out (except maybe
for that tow guy character). While walking around the Ohio State
oval, I met a guy named Keith, who was getting his masters in languages
of antiquity and was also the head of a medieval martial arts club.
In between sword thrusts, we talked for a while about his thesis,
which deals with how everyone is more or less a mutt, and that nationality
is a bogus manmade concoction. We also talked about his club, and
the similarities between Eastern martial arts and the fighting styles
of medieval knights. Regardless of the subject he was speaking
of, it was refreshing to hear Keith talk so passionately about his
interests and be completely true to himself. If there were
a word that described the opposite of a hypocrite, that word would
best describe Keith. Anyway, I got the impression that Columbus
is a place full of Keith' s and therefore I would like to return
someday.
So we headed due north to Cleveland. People sometimes refer to
Cleveland as the ‘mistake on the lake' but the overall
impression I got was quite the contrary. We parked Harvey
in a big open parking lot near the Cleveland Port Authority and
walked around the Erie Lakefront. We were treated to a fiery
red sunset. The new Cleveland Browns stadium is there, as
well as a science museum and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is quite a spectacle. Designed
by I.M. Pei and overlooking Lake Erie, it is an architectural gem.
We were able to get free passes into the museum and were immediately
overwhelmed by all it has to offer. Unless you have days on
end to spend there, the best way to navigate the museum is to accept
the fact that you can' t take in everything but you can get a good
overall feel.
Knowing that I didn' t have time to dance at two weddings, I chose
to walk through the museum at a fairly good canter. Four things
come to mind when I reflect on the museum.
1) I know very little about Rock and Roll. Maybe I will someday
though.
2) There is an entire wall dedicated to the drawings that Jimi
Hendrix made when he was a kid. There is a birthday card he made
for his father that looks like any other birthday card made by a
nine-year-old for their father. It was so normal-looking that
you wouldn' t look twice if you saw it up on your neighbor' s refrigerator.
There are also pictures of Pac 10 football teams, such as Oregon
and UCLA with players in football poses in their respective game
jerseys and colors. I remember drawing the same pictures of
New York Giants when I was that age too. It' s amazing how
boys' drawings of field goal posts and football players all look
nearly the same. Coincidence? Not really. I think
it just shows that young Jim Hendrix was into football too.
The most striking Hendrix drawing on the wall was that of a shepherd
and his flock. The shepherd is standing in the forefront up
on a hill and all the sheep are out in the distance. If you
look carefully you can spot one lone black sheep. Did
Jimi accidentally fill this one sheep in with too much black crayon
or did he color it in on purpose? I prefer to think he knew
what he was doing, but then again, even if it was an accident, maybe
that black crayon was destined to fill in the sheep so it could
someday hang on the wall of the Rock and Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
3) It was cool seeing all the signatures of the Hall of Fame inductees.
I made sure I saw Clapton, Dylan, Lennon, Taylor and all the other
must see signatories, but the one that left the biggest impression
was Stevie Wonder' s. His hancock literally looked like it
was signed by a 5-year-old, but once I thought about it a little
more, it made sense to me. I looked for Ray Charles' and his
looked no different than the rest. Interesting.
4) Of all the great stuff in the Hall of Fame, the documentary
on the architecture of the building and how Cleveland planned for
it was the most interesting to me so I guess I have a long way to
go until I become a full fledged rock star.
Keep on rocking.
good joss.
September 26th
This blog goes out to my sister Kate. It was her birthday
yesterday. She' s like 30 or something. Happy Birthday
Kate! When you going to settle down?
A lot of people don' t enjoy the drop in temperature that tags
along with fall' s arrival. I, on the other hand, do, if not for
the selfish reason that I can wear knit hats all day long.
On my first road trip across the country I picked up this gray hat
that was knit to fit my head. I wore it as much as I could
the last three years of college. It accompanied me wherever
I went - if it wasn' t on my head it was in my back pocket, if it
wasn' t on my head or in my back pocket, I was in the shower.
Anyway, a couple of weeks before graduation, I lost my hat.
I looked everywhere, but to no avail. The feeling I had was like
how Tom Hanks must have felt in Cast Away when his only
friend (a volleyball named Wilson) falls overboard and is lost forever.
I could never really relate to Hanks. Now that my hat has
gone a missing, I guess I can relate a little more now. But then
again, I never liked Wilson in the first place.
-------------------------------------------
Last night we drove from Providence, Rhode Island to Saratoga Springs,
New York. For those of you who are yappies (TYAP
version of groupies), you know Saratoga is one of the best places
in America. It' s a beautiful town that seems have it all:
a nice wide main-street, quaint homes, good restaurants and bars,
friendly folk, a small college, natural spas, a great outdoor music
venue at the Performing Arts Center and…
The Grateful Dead once sang, “don' t tell me this town ain'
t got no heart, you just got to poke around.” Well,
we didn' t have to poke around long to find Saratoga' s slumbering
pulse-The Historic Saratoga Racetrack. Established in 1864, the
track has been pumping blood through the streets and arteries of
Saratoga every summer for 141 years. Paint-chipped pastel Victorian
houses adorned with horse banners that flap in the wind, exotically
designed horse sculptures sprinkled along Broadway and restaurants
named Bookmakers and The Horseshoe Inn & Bar
all in their own way show appreciation for the gem of a racetrack
that makes Saratoga grand.
I' ve been lucky enough to have Saratoga in my life for quite some
time now. I' ve gone to concerts there, visited my sister
there, taken lacrosse road trips through there, but what really
lays the foundation for my love affair with Saratoga are the times
I' ve gone to the racetrack there with my Dad. We don' t go
to win money. We neglect the ‘right stats' and pink cheat
sheets and bet on horses by name (i.e. Joss, Rosebuddy,
or Samtheman), number (i.e. 9 or 14) and color (i.e.
blue, sometimes green). The betting usually isn' t profitable, but
no matter how much we lose, it' s always a good investment. This
tradition will always hold a special place in my heart.
Travel Plug: For a good summer weekend, I' d strongly consider
going to the Saratoga. Place a couple exactas at the track,
take in a concert, eat at the Mexican Connection and drink at Gaffney'
s. It's a solid bet. You won' t be disappointed. I guarantee
it.
----------------------------------------
If the racetrack makes the town tick, it' s the horses that make
the track tock. On our way out of Saratoga, we decided to stop by
Skidmore Stables for a closer look. For a guy like myself
who likes horses, this was great. I tried to profile a large
warm-blooded mare, but he was from Europe and that eliminated him
immediately. Oh, well. He also was kind of busy getting a haircut.
It seems like everyone we meet is either getting their hair cut
or in the process of going to get a haircut. He and I still
talked for sometime, and eventually one thing let to another.
His name is Gladiator. Macho name, right?
Well, guess what the trainers call him. Fluffy.
Hah. Gladiator has fluffy hair and that' s why he' s getting
a haircut. Pretty funny when you think about it. Imagine
in the movie Gladiator, if instead of “Maximus”,
Russell Crowe was “Fluffy.” Hah.
Okay, enough laughs. Here' s a life lesson I learned from Gladiator
the Fluffy Horse. Every horse, kind of like every dog
(holla Calloway), has a special spot on their flank right
behind where the front leg meets the neck. If you rub this spot
with a currycomb (device used for grooming horses) the horse starts
to tilt his head to the side, shake and neigh. Turns out,
this isn' t just some sort of horse G-spot, but rather a function
of evolutionary “I' ll scratch your back if you scratch mine”
processes. Back in the days when all horses ran wild they
used to line up in open pastures side by side, overlapped head to
flank to head, etc. Picture this. Funny Cide, The Black
Stallion, Secreteriat, and Seabiscuit all lined up
in a green pasture so that their heads line up at each others' flanks.
Kind of like a horse conga line. Okay, now Funny Cide
starts to do his whole headshake thing right on The Black Stallions
flank, then The Black Stallion starts nodding and neighing
on Secreteriat' s special spot and all of a sudden Secreteriat
starts doing his thing and is now scratching Seabiscuit.I
hope you see how this chain works. We did. Adam, Gladiator,
and I tried our best to make it work too. I currycombed Gladiator
as best I could and Gladiator scratched and nipped away
at Adam and his sweatshirt as best he could, and Adam giggled as
best he could. We all kind of liked it.
That said, it would be great if humans had: 1) this spot, and 2)
a penchant to help others take advantage of this spot. For example,
if we lined up George Bush, Michael Moore, Kenneth Lay and Martha
Berk in such a manner and pasture, America could be a much better
place.
------------------------------------
We arrived at Uncle Tony' s in Binghamton around 4 p.m. For
the next eight hours we watched football, ate wings, battled sobriety,
ate nachos and whittled away at our laptops. We were interrupted
occasionally- the only other Pats fan in the bar gave Adam a hug
after Vinatieri' s game-winning kick. A top-hat and suit wearing
drifter from Arkansas asked me about the greater Binghamton real
estate market, and a bunch Binghamton Senators of the American Hockey
League came in after their game next door. It' s amazing how
many people you can meet by just planting yourself at the local
watering-hole and keeping your mouth shut.
Okay, that' s all. Go currycomb someone you love..
good joss
September 21st
This first entry goes out to America. “I really love
your peaches want to shake your tree. Ladi dadi ladi dadi
ladi dadi all the time…”
August has come and gone and nearly September too. Fall is
officially here, and the weather in the Northeast is slowly turning
to that “where' s my flannel shirt”-like crispness.
It' s early in the morning, well before the break of day, and under
the steady smile of good ol' Captain Hank, the U.S.S. Harvey
(the RV) sits patiently on Cottage Point Road in Damariscotta,
Maine. At roughly 3:20 am Harvey sets out on her
maiden voyage and heads north hugging the coast along Route 1, destination:
Cadillac Mountain, Acadia National Park. The trip is a jaunt through
a quiet night and the twists and turns in the road make the seemingly
close distance that much longer. Definitely be faster
if we had a boat. Knowing that the ocean is only a few hundred
yards to the right constantly plays in my mind. We' re not going
to have the Atlantic for a handrail that much longer, maybe we should
take a quick dip or at least a look? I decide not to make the turn
though, and we plod on. We' re on a mission to catch a glimpse
of the day' s first sunrise (roughly 6:18 am). Notable highlights
along the way are the lit up barns and farmhouses (the lesser known
Maine lighthouse) signifying the incredibly early hours farmers
rise to do their work- thank you to them. Also, the
sleepy main streets of Thomaston, Rockland, and Camden are all seemingly
quintessential and worthy of further investigation when the time
is right. But it is 4:38 am, and now is not the time.
A little while later at 5:25 am, the gentleman at the gas station
greets me with good morning. I ask him “how far?” and
he tells me we' re only 45 minutes away. We talk a little more about
RV' ing, 24-hour businesses, and coffee. I look at my watch,
it' s 5:32 am and now we' re cutting it close. I grab my coffee,
say goodbye, and start Harvey. I' m not a coffee
drinker but the road might make me one. Soon, the coffee kicks.
Steve Miller and I do an unplugged version of The Joker to an audience
of three sleeping buddies. It' s 6:08 am, ten minutes
to sunrise and we' ve just entered Acadia.
The eastern horizon is aglow painted the color of a nectarine,
and the winding ascent up Cadillac allows a peek every switchback
or so. At 6:16 am we reach the summit and sprint to greet
the sun. Words don' t really do justice to what we see, but
I' ll tell you anyway. It was pretty damn cool and I couldn'
t have asked for a better way to say hello to the Atlantic.
At roughly 2:18 pm we leave Maine, “The Way Life Should
Be,” and head up route 89 to Hanover, NH. Unlike
the early morning trip, this leg is fraught with trucks, people
and light.
Only a few hours away from the college on the hill, this will be
the first trip back to Dartmouth since graduation. I' m excited
to see this familiar port of call and great friends, but adventure
beckons and we can' t stay long. I know I' ll be back again.
Mark Twain once said, “I never let my schooling get in the
way of my education.' ' As for that, I' m so appreciative
for my education, but now it' s time to get my schooling.
So for now, “Two roads, diverged”…and I' ll
save the rest for a later time.
good joss.
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