A Sojourn: Part 1 continued (again)

The last installment of the first part of our exodous to the West was probably the most interesting for me personally. I had never seen much of the desert, let alone driven through it. I was actually pretty excited to see the landscape because it was so different from what I was accustomed to in the Midwest. The scenery didn't really start to change into a "traditional" desert landscape until we were about half-way through New Mexico. For whatever reason, the ride from Amarillo through Albuquerque reminded me of the movie No Country For Old Men. I was hoping we wouldn't encounter a Javier Bardem-esque person (the psychotic hitman in the movie) carrying a compressed air container along the road. Much to my chagrin, my friend suggested we help some of them, while each hitch-hiker we encountered reminded me of such a possibility from the movie. I vetoed such inquiries with an iron fist.
We arrived, weary and beaten, in Albuquerque to indulge in some local cuisine. We stopped at a local diner that was apparently famous along the old Route 66 for many years. It was your typical 1950's looking diner, similar to what a Steak and Shake might look like (for all of you Ohio people). Having erased my hunger pangs with cheez-its and granola bars for most of the trip, I felt something more substantial would be in line. Examining the list, I was debating which might clog my arteries first. I decided that the chili burger would, but the chicken fried chicken was a close second. My co-pilot was not a fan of the town, and admittedly it was a little peculiar. Since Area 51 is a popular destination in the state, the city decided to dedicate an entire three block radius to shops that sold memorabilia or propaganda to the famous destination. I guess people walking around in alien suits and promising anal probes isn't for everybody.
One of the most interesting things in the region was a natural phenomena that occurred while driving through New Mexico and Arizona. After we left the restaraunt, it began to rain quite a bit which, as we later discovered, was from a hurricane that had gone through Texas. After driving a while, we saw dark skies and lightning, but no rain. I had never seen this before and was fascinated. We even saw lighting strike a cactus, which promptly set ablaze in the distance. I asked my friend living in Phoenix about it and he said it was something known as "heat lightning". I had never heard of such a thing, but I'll take his word for it. In any case, it was oddly beautiful. At this point in the trip, though, my friend was clearly irritated and angry from lack of sleep. I learned that a lack of food and sleep would turn her into a she-wolf. My attempts to talk while she drove in the early morning hours were, shall we say, rebuffed harshly. The tunnel vision had set in and all she was looking for was a bed to sleep in. For my own self-preservation, I was silent until finally finding a room in Arizona.
One thing that I noticed in the West was the false advertising that hotels and gas stations frequently used. The hotel in Arizona that we had looked into had advertised on their billboard that their cheapest room was $40 dollars. I ask the woman working the front desk for THAT room and she viciously told me that it would be $60 dollars. At that point in the night I ponied up the money, but where is the integrity? And on a side note, don't mess with an Indian woman who clearly has no interest in negotiating. You will feel the wrath and white hot heat of a thousand suns poured upon you.
Similar to the hotel in Oklahoma, this room smelled like there was a chain-smoking convention held there. Further, the roaches in the bathroom were still twitching from whomever tried to kill them last. The next morning as we departed, there were two very large statues of dinosaurs (one mauling the other) in the desert across the street. There was no rhyme or reason to this, and there was nothing around them. I had seen no signs for a dinosaur park or anything of the sort. I began to wonder if the road was taking its toll on my mind. We later found out that the funding had run out on a potential dinosaur themed park in the area. It still would be a cool tourist destination by itself I think.
The first major site to see on our list was the Grand Canyon. It was only slightly off of our route, and we both wanted to see it for the first time. Before getting to the main attraction, we stopped at the Little Colorado viewing area. There are Navajo men and women that sell their crafts there (as well as other places along the route to the Grand Canyon) and they were all quite friendly. Though, I have to wonder how much of it is actually a facade, and how much bitter resentment actually boils beneath the surface at the "gringos" that come through. You could tell to a degree, so I simply kept to myself. I knew I would be a little bitter. On the opposite side of the market were some portable restrooms. Feeling the need, I went over. Much to my surprise, when I opened the door, I saw a Navajo man sitting in the bathroom drinking peppermint schnops. He casually asked if I would like some as if this scenario was an everyday occurance or had happened before: I declined. The Grand Canyon itself was (is) a beautiful site. I had never really felt the enormity of the place through photos, but being there was breathtaking. Anybody who has not been should go before it erodes through natural process or man made. End of Part 1.

Orwell joins the blogosphere

Much to my surprise and pleasure, the diary entries of George Orwell will be posted on a blog exactly 70 years after they were originally entered by Orwell beginning in 1938. The entries will allow you to follow his recuperation in Morocco, his eventual return to England, and his opinions on the European continent's plunge into World War II among other things. These entries will allow you to examine Orwell for yourself.

I personally am interested in this because Orwell has had some influence on my own political and social perceptions, as well as human nature in general. Orwell's perceptive eye on a wide spectrum of things and his disgust for the "gramaphone mind" have inspired generations to think more critically about themselves and their surroundings. I hope that you readers will join me in embracing this unique experience.

A Sojourn: Part 1 continued

Having escaped Oklahoma relatively unscathed, the journey continued through the Texas panhandle. I was interested to see what Texas had to offer since I had heard good and bad stories about the state. I was not really impressed with the wasteland I saw, but I also realized that this was probably not a good representation of the state judging from what the locals call the "asshole" end. We had yet to stop at any of the unique sites along Route 66, so we decided to explore a little museum in McClean, Texas that claimed to have World's largest collection of barbed wire. It's not that we had any passionate desire to see the many varieties of barbed wire, it just happened to be free. Just to give you an idea about this town, McClean is one of those places that probably began with its founders banking on the prospect of striking it rich in the oil fields, but failed miserably. Now all of the relatives of those founders currently populate the town and each building proudly displays remnants of its pre-Depression era glory days. The little town did not disappoint, though, and proved it's distinction to be quite accurate. It did make me wonder how anybody could be possessed to consider creating such a museum, but judging from the photos on the wall of founders, to them, barbed wire was probably more exciting than an orgy with beautiful women and livestock (to make them feel more at home).
Mercifully, we left the forsaken town only to find several miles later that one of our tires had blown. We never knew what caused it, but I have a suspicion the little old lady at the counter of the museum stuck some barbed wire under our tire. We weren't far from Amarillo, so I thought we would have had somebody stop or help would arrive in some fashion once we called. Alas, no such luck. Two hours passed by as we withered under the Texas sun. Apparently the adage that "Everything is bigger in Texas" also applies to assholes. A mechanic from Clarendon, Texas did eventually help us put the temporary tire on, and we proceeded to follow him to his shop. The man's shop had an interesting juxtaposition of culture as the decor. One side consisted of what one might think of in a traditional small Texas town, with gun racks, American flags, and sports garb, while the front of the store had framed albums from the 70's and 80's of Elton John and Huey Lewis & The News.
Amarillo was the last major place to go through in Texas before going into New Mexico. Because of our brief detour at the hands of our tire, we opted not to stop to see anything. But this didn't stop me from reflecting on one thing in particular. The city is famous for what they call "The Big Texan". This, so the story has it, is a 72 ounce behemoth steak that, if eaten in under and hour, will be paid for. I would hope that they would pay for my medical bills as well along with the cost of the meal. I had heard about this from a friend and was keenly interested in seeing such a monstrosity and monument to American excess. One of these days I will have to go back and see for myself, perhaps even slay the beast. If I do, pray for me. To be continued.....

A Sojourn: Part 1---To The West

I recently returned from a cross-country road trip to California with a friend of mine that encompassed roughly 6000 miles, 14 states, several hundred dollars in gas, and many an endless hour of music. I don't know what I was expecting to gain from the experience other than some interesting stories and a new perspective on this nation we live in; I received both.
Coming into the experience, there had always been a mystique about the west coast that I had in my mind. I don't know if I expected the people to look or be any different than those in my native Ohio (or any other state for that matter). Rather, I think it was simply a different attitude in the regions that was the mysterious part. I had always heard about the "West Coast Cool" kind of thinking, and that is certainly appealing. Seeing as how it was my first real experience into the West besides Seattle (Vegas doesn't count), it was finally time to put my curiosity to the test.
I had heard from friends who had taken the trip previously that it was not going to be easy. I didn't doubt their sincerity on the issue because I was certain it would be a draining experience. Steinbeck even wrote about the physical and mental demands that such an ordeal takes. With that said, I took everything one day (and one moment) at a time. The first part of our trip took us from Columbus, Ohio to El Reno, Oklahoma. This portion of the ride took nearly 15 hours to drive, most of which was at night. I can't say that I complained because there really isn't much to see along the way aside from the many road-side oddities that seem to be merely exaggerations to make a buck. Most of the ride consisted of bad jokes, an array of music that fluctuated with the mood in the car, several angry looks, and a steady diet of cheez-its.
Once our energy was spent, we stopped at a local motel to catch a few hours of sleep, and also because I didn't want to have my eyes clawed out from my weary co-pilot. I didn't really have high standards for any road-side motel and, in-fact, I was expecting to find a Norman Bates-esque attendant working the front desk. I didn't find such a person, mainly because I was asleep in the car. But for a business that claims they'll "leave the light on for ya", they apparently leave plenty more "for ya" too. We finally arrived into the temporary hovel and scrambled to get our things ready for a few hours rest. Anxiously awaiting the embrace of my body-length pillow, I pulled the bed sheets down and, to my horror, found a crusty white stain that would make a porn star blush. I can't say that I was surprised that something like this would occur, but my initial shock and disgust made me want to go demand a refund. I mean, how was I supposed to sleep in the Exxon-Valdez of manly "essence"? I eventually opted to simply pull the sheets back up and sleep on top over the covers. While this cured one problem, another arose not long after.
Apparently this particular chain of motels invests in air conditioners with jet engines that can never be turned off. Ever. I felt (and looked) like I should be sky-diving, with my fair blowing back and my face being smashed and pressed by the force. Angrily, I looked over at my friend who was, by that time, sound asleep. My frustration was palpable and I simply tried to block the air with whatever I could use. Finally, I could get a little rest.
The next morning, still de-frosting from the night before, we decided to grab some food at the local Denny's. I hadn't been to this fine establishment in quite some time, and was a little excited to reacquaint myself. I was torn between the famous "Grand Slam" breakfast and a new promotional skillet meal. We both chose the skillets, much to the frustration of our waitress, because it might have been an Oklahoma "thing" that could not be found anywhere else. During our wait, two men sat in the booth behind my friend. We both eavesdropped a little on their conversation which ranged from Biblical quotes, the new Batman movie, Sooner football, and the intricacies of "dick do" disease. Apparently it is a disease where "my stomach sticks out farther than my dick do." Alarmed and amused at the same time, our food finally arrived thoroughly burnt. We didn't say anything for fear that there would seek reprisal in our food similar to what we found under the covers the previous night. I wasn't sure if these initial experiences should be an ominous sign of things to come, but in a state that had a billboard stating "Come to our Buffalo Petting Zoo!" followed a short hundred yards later by another stating "Then come try our Buffalo Burgers!", I should not have been surprised. To be continued.....

A Beginning

I once tried to navigate my way through the blogosphere several years ago, only to find that I was not ready to do much except point out relevent events, thoughts, and memories that only made sense to me and those that would (maybe) read my entries. After a while, it grew trite and I moved on because I wasn't really offering anything beneficial. Further, my writing style was, in my opinion, piss-poor. Now, I believe I have more perspective on an array of subjects that could be of some potential importance to somebody.
At this point in life, I've reached a proverbial "fork in the road" moment. My best friends are moving away (with the exception of one who is actually moving back) to pursue their happiness in life. I'm joining the mass exodous in several months when I make my sojourn to the great Northwest's Emerald City: Seattle. But in the mean time, I have a lot to think about. Why did I decide to leave in the first place? What is so bad about Columbus? I don't believe it really has to do with whether Columbus is a good or bad place to be. I've loved my time here, but it's time to move on. Further, and maybe more abstractly, I have too many memories here. Seemingly everywhere I go, there is a memory of one thing or another that reminds me of what I once had in one place. With the departute of so many deeply loved people at one time, it's like being left at a gas station while the car you were in drives off.
One might ask, wouldn't you have those memories regardless of whether your friends were in town or not? Yes, of course. But the difference is now there is no time to reminisce, and only time to reflect; to reflect on what once was, and what may be again someday. And honestly, it's depressing. I know that I'll talk to all of these people again, and probably fairly often. But it's the access to them that I will miss. The ability to capriciously decide something to do on any given day. Now things need to be planned in advance and it's just not what I am used to. I'm sure, given time, the currently held feelings will subside, but the feelings that won't vanish are those that I've always held for all of my--for all intents and purposes-- brothers and sisters. Ben, Brian, Kishore, Stephen, Dean, Rosou, Steph, AV, and Gert. I love you all.