Not to get all bloggy on you, but it's past midnight local time and I'm in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, South Dakota after driving more than 550 miles... So, it doesn't take much to amuse me at this point and while trying to find today's Yankee score, I came across this:
Way to go Mariah Carey. You just officially made the second worst ceremonial pitch of all-time, behind only the Mayor of Cincinnati:
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Saleem The Taxi Driver
Part of the purpose of this trip is to try and figure out a little bit about myself, my life, and what's really important. I expect that these moments of Zen will come when I least expect them, and Monday afternoon in Chicago was no exception. My teacher for the day was a man named Saleem, and my classroom was the backseat of his taxi.
I actually wasn't even supposed to be in a cab on Monday. Steve and I had left Wrigley Field (to be covered in a separate post) and headed to the subway for the trip back to our hotel. The line to get to the platform was dishearteningly long, and the "shortcut" that a Chicago cop had helpfully suggested was moving just as slowly as the main entrance. With our bladders ready to burst, we hastily exited the cue for relief from the nearest toilet. Now three blocks from the subway, I figured we'd just walk south to the next stop and board there, sans lines. Alas, it was getting late and Steve needed to catch a plane back to NYC. A rare empty cab passed by and in my best New York tenor, I let out an impressive bellow of "TAXI!"
Enter Saleem.
I was actually a bit leery of the driver when we first got in the cab. Perhaps it's the skeptic in me, but I initially thought he was trying to take us on the long way back to our hotel. It was hard to understand him at first through his thick Pakistani accent, but I quickly realized that he was merely trying to avoid the post game traffic.
Saleem first piqued my interest as we drove through a gay neighborhood. Apparently there was a "leather convention" in town which he thought had ended the previous day but, based on a quick glance at pedestrian traffic, was still in full effect. He mentioned that he liked this annual event because "... the gays are good tippers. They don't have a traditional family system with kids, so they have more money." He didn't say this as an insult, but simply as an observation.
Steve was trying to catch a few minutes of some much needed sleep, so as he lapsed in and out of consciousness I continued the conversation with Saleem.
Born in Pakistan in the mid 1950s, Saleem came to Chicago in 1979, after having spent some time in Amsterdam first. He started driving a cab immediately, and continued for almost two decades. In that time, he managed to accumulate four medallions to lease to other drivers, in addition to driving on his own. In 1998, he sold his medallions and opened up a newstand/quickmart type of store. I can't say for sure if this was his life's dream, but I got the feeling that he definitely viewed it as a step up from driving. After September 11th, the economy took a turn for the worse. I never got the full details on why the business started to fail, but in 2004, after losing around $80,000, he closed shop and started driving cabs again.
Today, he works a 12 hour shift seven days a week. He splits the $650/week lease with another driver -- Saleem working 7 am to 7 pm and the other guy covering the remaining hours. He says he used to make a good living back in the day, around $1,000/week (not sure if that was gross or net). Today he says there are too many cabs for too few people, and he's lucky to pull in $500/week. On this particular day, he started around 7 am and says he didn't get his first fare until 9:30.
If I understood him correctly, Saleem got his green card years ago by marrying a woman he picked up in his cab. The story was a bit convoluted (and almost too mythical to be true), but I think he more or less helped her out financially in exchange for marriage. Even more surprisingly, I think it wasn't just a marriage of convenience -- I got the feeling like they actually lived as a married couple for quite some time. But she didn't want kids and he did, so sometime after he had earned his green card, they divorced and he found a Pakistani women who wanted a family. He now has three children, as American as you or I, two of whom are in college. Between tuition and normal expenses, times are tough. Interestingly, this wasn't always the case.
As a child, Saleem grew up in what he described as a fairly well-off environment. I didn't catch what the family business was, but apparently it had been lucrative. Not Buffet-lucrative, but enough so that he seemed to have grown up quite comfortably. Unfortunately, between constant warring with India and some poor management, the family business crumbled and the good life came to an end.
As I sat and listened to Saleem's story, I couldn't help but think of the contrast between his life and my own. Why is he where he is and I'm where I am? It's something I've contemplated many times before and will think about many times in the future. Saleem was merely the most recent instigator of introspection.
I believe in karma, and that what goes around comes around. But, the harsh reality is that life simply isn't fair. People may say otherwise, but they're being either naive or ignorant in doing so. So much of what we have in life is directly related to things that are completely out of our control. Who your parents are, where you were born, when you were born... These play an essential role in the development of our lives, and yet we're unable to choose any of the details.
It has been demonstrated countless times throughout human history that one can succeed in spite of long odds, and that one can fail despite being dealt a winning hand. But for the most part, I think the vast majority of people end up living the life they were born into, for better or for worse, fair or not. I'm a self-described optimist, so I really don't mean for that to sound as pessimistic as it does; it's just a general observation.
As it pertains to me, Saleem served as a reminder that, fairly or unfairly, I've been dealt a pretty strong hand in the poker game of life. In the past few years I've been so wrapped up and paralyzed by the thought of how to play that hand that I've missed much of the game.
My time with Saleem was brief, our conversation lasting no more than 10 or 15 minutes. I'm sure he thought I was just a polite tourist -- little did he know I was his student for the day.
I actually wasn't even supposed to be in a cab on Monday. Steve and I had left Wrigley Field (to be covered in a separate post) and headed to the subway for the trip back to our hotel. The line to get to the platform was dishearteningly long, and the "shortcut" that a Chicago cop had helpfully suggested was moving just as slowly as the main entrance. With our bladders ready to burst, we hastily exited the cue for relief from the nearest toilet. Now three blocks from the subway, I figured we'd just walk south to the next stop and board there, sans lines. Alas, it was getting late and Steve needed to catch a plane back to NYC. A rare empty cab passed by and in my best New York tenor, I let out an impressive bellow of "TAXI!"
Enter Saleem.
I was actually a bit leery of the driver when we first got in the cab. Perhaps it's the skeptic in me, but I initially thought he was trying to take us on the long way back to our hotel. It was hard to understand him at first through his thick Pakistani accent, but I quickly realized that he was merely trying to avoid the post game traffic.
Saleem first piqued my interest as we drove through a gay neighborhood. Apparently there was a "leather convention" in town which he thought had ended the previous day but, based on a quick glance at pedestrian traffic, was still in full effect. He mentioned that he liked this annual event because "... the gays are good tippers. They don't have a traditional family system with kids, so they have more money." He didn't say this as an insult, but simply as an observation.
Steve was trying to catch a few minutes of some much needed sleep, so as he lapsed in and out of consciousness I continued the conversation with Saleem.
Born in Pakistan in the mid 1950s, Saleem came to Chicago in 1979, after having spent some time in Amsterdam first. He started driving a cab immediately, and continued for almost two decades. In that time, he managed to accumulate four medallions to lease to other drivers, in addition to driving on his own. In 1998, he sold his medallions and opened up a newstand/quickmart type of store. I can't say for sure if this was his life's dream, but I got the feeling that he definitely viewed it as a step up from driving. After September 11th, the economy took a turn for the worse. I never got the full details on why the business started to fail, but in 2004, after losing around $80,000, he closed shop and started driving cabs again.
Today, he works a 12 hour shift seven days a week. He splits the $650/week lease with another driver -- Saleem working 7 am to 7 pm and the other guy covering the remaining hours. He says he used to make a good living back in the day, around $1,000/week (not sure if that was gross or net). Today he says there are too many cabs for too few people, and he's lucky to pull in $500/week. On this particular day, he started around 7 am and says he didn't get his first fare until 9:30.
If I understood him correctly, Saleem got his green card years ago by marrying a woman he picked up in his cab. The story was a bit convoluted (and almost too mythical to be true), but I think he more or less helped her out financially in exchange for marriage. Even more surprisingly, I think it wasn't just a marriage of convenience -- I got the feeling like they actually lived as a married couple for quite some time. But she didn't want kids and he did, so sometime after he had earned his green card, they divorced and he found a Pakistani women who wanted a family. He now has three children, as American as you or I, two of whom are in college. Between tuition and normal expenses, times are tough. Interestingly, this wasn't always the case.
As a child, Saleem grew up in what he described as a fairly well-off environment. I didn't catch what the family business was, but apparently it had been lucrative. Not Buffet-lucrative, but enough so that he seemed to have grown up quite comfortably. Unfortunately, between constant warring with India and some poor management, the family business crumbled and the good life came to an end.
As I sat and listened to Saleem's story, I couldn't help but think of the contrast between his life and my own. Why is he where he is and I'm where I am? It's something I've contemplated many times before and will think about many times in the future. Saleem was merely the most recent instigator of introspection.
I believe in karma, and that what goes around comes around. But, the harsh reality is that life simply isn't fair. People may say otherwise, but they're being either naive or ignorant in doing so. So much of what we have in life is directly related to things that are completely out of our control. Who your parents are, where you were born, when you were born... These play an essential role in the development of our lives, and yet we're unable to choose any of the details.
It has been demonstrated countless times throughout human history that one can succeed in spite of long odds, and that one can fail despite being dealt a winning hand. But for the most part, I think the vast majority of people end up living the life they were born into, for better or for worse, fair or not. I'm a self-described optimist, so I really don't mean for that to sound as pessimistic as it does; it's just a general observation.
As it pertains to me, Saleem served as a reminder that, fairly or unfairly, I've been dealt a pretty strong hand in the poker game of life. In the past few years I've been so wrapped up and paralyzed by the thought of how to play that hand that I've missed much of the game.
My time with Saleem was brief, our conversation lasting no more than 10 or 15 minutes. I'm sure he thought I was just a polite tourist -- little did he know I was his student for the day.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Field Of Dreams
"If you build it, he will come." -- The VoiceField Of Dreams is a fantastic movie. While on the surface it may appear to be about baseball, its true meaning is much deeper. The story deals with second chances, adventure, and purpose. In many ways, it's a great parallel for my trip. I've always wanted to visit the field (left intact as a tourist attraction) and availed myself of the opportunity on Tuesday afternoon. Located in Dyersville, IA, the field is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. But it was a detour I had to make.
As I made the drive from Davenport, IA, where I had spent the previous night, I couldn't help but think longingly of the film. I've seen it so many times I know almost all the lines. It was overcast with on and off rain, but I wasn't going to let that ruin the experience. I would run the bases like "Shoeless Joe" and have a catch with anyone else who had made the pilgrimage (I had specifically packed my baseball glove for this purpose).
As I pulled off the main road and saw the sign for the field, I was filled with a slight giddiness. Sure, this was a somewhat stupid and juvenile detour to make, but I had done it. I was going to visit the Field of Dreams. But when I made the left turn into the parking lot I quickly noticed something that tempered my excitement. It wasn't so much what I saw, but rather what I didn't see. How shall I put this succinctly?...
THERE WAS NO FUCKING CORN!!!
NOT ONE MOTHERFUCKING STALK OF CORN!!!
What I saw was not the beautiful slice of Americana so elegantly captured on celluloid almost 20 years ago, but rather a dumpy, decrepit excuse for a ball field that would have barely been acceptable for a high school frosh game.
These pictures actually make it look much nicer (and bigger) than it really is. I conservatively estimate the field dimensions as about 150' down the lines and 200' to center. Tops. That make it about the size of a little league field.
See the bleachers in the picture above? That's where The Field bent me over and raped me, without even the courtesy of using a condom or lube. It pounded me into submission as I screamed and cried and had the innocence of my youth violently ripped away from me.
My soul crushed, I made my way to the souvenir shack and encountered a women whose shirt was embroidered with the name "Marcia." I didn't know quite what to say, so I muttered something along the lines of "So, no corn, huh?" She responded cheerily "Oh, no. It's too cold for corn now -- it won't grow until around July!"
Slightly flabbergasted, I struggled with an appropriate response, finally settling on "Look, Marcia. I just fucking drove a third of the way across the fucking country to see this fucking ball field carved out a fucking corn field. I don't care if you have have to import plastic fucking stalks from fucking China, but I'm not fucking leaving until I see some motherfucking corn!"
I'm paraphrasing of course... I think it came out closer to "No corn until July, huh? Interesting." I then quickly handed over $15.47 for a magnet and a coffee mug and hobbled back to my car, still reeling from the reaming I had taken.
I suppose I knew going in that The Field would be a bit of a disappointment -- Hollywood fairy tales usually are when viewed under the harsh lighting of reality. But, c'est la vie. They built it, I came, I saw, it sucked. At least I can cross it off my list...
Monday, May 26, 2008
Don't Know What To Title This...
Argh! Another late night -- almost 4 am here in Chicago.
Wanted to get some substantive stuff down tonight, but unfortunately Steve and I have been having too much fun for me to find time to escape to the computer... As I wrote last night, my plans become less hectic starting in the middle of this week. As a preview of things to come, these are just a few of the characters we've encountered during the trip thus far, some of whom will figure prominently when I can finally sit down and write:
Goodnight from Chicago...
Wanted to get some substantive stuff down tonight, but unfortunately Steve and I have been having too much fun for me to find time to escape to the computer... As I wrote last night, my plans become less hectic starting in the middle of this week. As a preview of things to come, these are just a few of the characters we've encountered during the trip thus far, some of whom will figure prominently when I can finally sit down and write:
- John & Crew
- Crazy Roller Coaster Maintenance Guy
- Danish Guy
- Susan The Waitress
- River Girl
- Prom Kids
- Scalper Guy
- Ignorant Designated Driver Old Ladies
- Angry Security Guy
- Tom & Matt
- Crazy Drunken Driver Guy
- Crew-Cut Pirates Fan From Cleveland
- McDonald's Victim In Bathroom Stall Guy
- Kid Who Mocked Steve
- Basketball Court Guy
- Cottage Inn Pizza Guy
- Deaf Weiss
- Blocker Girl
- Ashley The Waitress
- Boulder Couple
- Big Nipple Women
- Mark & Christy-Ann (spelling?)
- Rob & Dana
Goodnight from Chicago...
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Day 2: Part I
It's 4:41 am and I'm coming to you live from the luxurious Ramada Cleveland Airport West.
Just to be clear, when I say "luxurious" I really mean "disgusting shit hole."
In the interest of getting some sleep, this will have to be continued tomorrow. Should have some downtime in Chicago during the evening...
p.s. Happy 30th birthdays to Hilary (Saturday) and Rahul (Sunday)! And happy unknown birthday to Nina C. (Sunday), although I don't think you're reading this...
Just to be clear, when I say "luxurious" I really mean "disgusting shit hole."
In the interest of getting some sleep, this will have to be continued tomorrow. Should have some downtime in Chicago during the evening...
p.s. Happy 30th birthdays to Hilary (Saturday) and Rahul (Sunday)! And happy unknown birthday to Nina C. (Sunday), although I don't think you're reading this...
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Day 1: On the road...
"I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain." -- Ellis Boyd Redding
Weiss stole my thunder a bit by referencing this quote in his comment on yesterday's post (screw you Jon!). But the reality is that I couldn't help but think of this line from my favorite movie (Shawshank Redemption if you don't know, and if that's the case, you MUST see it) as I prepared to hit the road today.
I woke up feeling terrible. I didn't sleep well, I was nauseous, I had no appetite... I hadn't finished (err, started) packing and was totally stressed out at the thought of leaving home for a month. I called Steve for inspiration and he told me what I mostly already knew -- I needed to get my shit together and get on the road. Once I did that, all would be good.
He was right.
As I hit the FDR heading north, I felt much like "Red" must have on that bus ride to Fort Hancock, Texas. As I glanced at the Manhattan skyline in my rear view mirror, my anxiousness quickly faded away. It was a beautiful spring day in NYC today, the kind of day that you would normally hate to spend in a car.
But I wasn't just in a car, I was on the road.
Was supposed to pick up Steve at 10:30 am, and I arrived promptly at... 1:21 pm. We loaded up, turned south, and headed to the only place I could think of to start a great adventure... Great Adventure!
This story actually begins in the summer of 2004, when Matt S., Steve, and I drove out to Cedar Point amusement park (aka The Roller Coaster Capital Of The World) in Sandusky, OH. We were drawn by "Top Thrill Dragster" -- at the time it was the tallest and fastest coaster in the world. We rode it not once, but twice that day, earning a little bit of street cred in the world of amusement park thrill seekers. Unfortunately, I later discovered that this was not effective conversation starter when talking to women.
Much to our shock and dismay, "Top Thrill" lost its claim as the biggest and baddest only nine months later. I felt like the roller coaster Gods had pushed me down the stairs and kicked me in the groin for good measure, and there was nothing I could do about it. Since then I've been consumed with finding an excuse to reclaim my bragging rights -- and today was that day.
Kingda Ka is a BEAST. 0-128 MPH in 3.5 seconds. A 456 foot (I'll say that again -- 456 FEET) straight vertical rise, followed by a 456 foot straight drop while doing a 270 degree corkscrew turn. And then, just for good measure, a quick scoot up and down a 129 foot "camel hump" that simulates weightlessness. This is to say nothing of the post-ride challenge of trying to hide the fact that you've soiled yourself.
I'm not sure you can fully appreciate going 128 MPH in an unenclosed vessel until you've experienced it. It's the equivalent to terminal velocity when skydiving. It's so fast your face changes shape and the wind blows your mouth open while peeling back your eyelids. I imagine it's much like having sex with Christina Aguilera, only less painful and without the risk of gonorrhea.
We conquered Kingda Ka (arguably the worst named coaster of all-time), and then went back a second time to sit in the first car and make it our bitch. It only got better.
Alas, I just read that a faster coaster is planned to open in Germany next year. Assuming I'm able to procure a hovercraft in time, who's in for an amphibious road trip???
I took a few pictures and a video, but just found this clip on YouTube that is far better than anything I have. It doesn't come close to doing the experience justice, but hopefully it'll give you a rough idea (I cannot fathom how this guy held his camera still):
Lots more to write and some pictures to post, but it's past 3:30 am and I have a long day tomorrow. I was actually going to put off writing until the morning, but I figured it would set a bad precedent would be too easy to oversleep and put it off again. Come hell or high water, if I have an Internet connection I'm going to write something every day. I figure I owe at least that much to you, my adoring public. And speaking of which...
I have been absolutely floored by the kind words that have been pouring in. In addition to the comments people posted, my inbox has been flooded with e-mails from people wishing me the best and, in at least two cases, offering me drugs. It really means a lot to me. I haven't been able to respond directly to everyone (and some the responses I did get out were much shorter than I would have liked), but rest assured, if you've sent or posted something, I've read it, and I'm very appreciative.
I have almost no downtime between now and Wednesday, so I'm a little worried that I won't be able to post as much as I'd like over the next few days. To be honest, between planning this trip and trying to update this blog, I already feel like I need a vacation. But if you bear with me, I'll eventually get the hang of it. Things will get less hectic by the middle of next week and I should be able to start cranking out some massive posts, along with pictures and video. I hope you'll keep reading in the interim.
So with that, goodnight from Harrisburg, PA. For any SHS grads who are reading this, tomorrow's blog will feature a top-secret special guest from the past... Stay tuned.
p.s. I'll be keeping a running tally of my total mileage in future posts, but I forgot to write down today's info before leaving the car. Roughly speaking, it was a pretty light day -- only about 260 miles.
Weiss stole my thunder a bit by referencing this quote in his comment on yesterday's post (screw you Jon!). But the reality is that I couldn't help but think of this line from my favorite movie (Shawshank Redemption if you don't know, and if that's the case, you MUST see it) as I prepared to hit the road today.
I woke up feeling terrible. I didn't sleep well, I was nauseous, I had no appetite... I hadn't finished (err, started) packing and was totally stressed out at the thought of leaving home for a month. I called Steve for inspiration and he told me what I mostly already knew -- I needed to get my shit together and get on the road. Once I did that, all would be good.
He was right.
As I hit the FDR heading north, I felt much like "Red" must have on that bus ride to Fort Hancock, Texas. As I glanced at the Manhattan skyline in my rear view mirror, my anxiousness quickly faded away. It was a beautiful spring day in NYC today, the kind of day that you would normally hate to spend in a car.
But I wasn't just in a car, I was on the road.
Was supposed to pick up Steve at 10:30 am, and I arrived promptly at... 1:21 pm. We loaded up, turned south, and headed to the only place I could think of to start a great adventure... Great Adventure!
This story actually begins in the summer of 2004, when Matt S., Steve, and I drove out to Cedar Point amusement park (aka The Roller Coaster Capital Of The World) in Sandusky, OH. We were drawn by "Top Thrill Dragster" -- at the time it was the tallest and fastest coaster in the world. We rode it not once, but twice that day, earning a little bit of street cred in the world of amusement park thrill seekers. Unfortunately, I later discovered that this was not effective conversation starter when talking to women.
Much to our shock and dismay, "Top Thrill" lost its claim as the biggest and baddest only nine months later. I felt like the roller coaster Gods had pushed me down the stairs and kicked me in the groin for good measure, and there was nothing I could do about it. Since then I've been consumed with finding an excuse to reclaim my bragging rights -- and today was that day.
Kingda Ka is a BEAST. 0-128 MPH in 3.5 seconds. A 456 foot (I'll say that again -- 456 FEET) straight vertical rise, followed by a 456 foot straight drop while doing a 270 degree corkscrew turn. And then, just for good measure, a quick scoot up and down a 129 foot "camel hump" that simulates weightlessness. This is to say nothing of the post-ride challenge of trying to hide the fact that you've soiled yourself.
I'm not sure you can fully appreciate going 128 MPH in an unenclosed vessel until you've experienced it. It's the equivalent to terminal velocity when skydiving. It's so fast your face changes shape and the wind blows your mouth open while peeling back your eyelids. I imagine it's much like having sex with Christina Aguilera, only less painful and without the risk of gonorrhea.
We conquered Kingda Ka (arguably the worst named coaster of all-time), and then went back a second time to sit in the first car and make it our bitch. It only got better.
Alas, I just read that a faster coaster is planned to open in Germany next year. Assuming I'm able to procure a hovercraft in time, who's in for an amphibious road trip???
I took a few pictures and a video, but just found this clip on YouTube that is far better than anything I have. It doesn't come close to doing the experience justice, but hopefully it'll give you a rough idea (I cannot fathom how this guy held his camera still):
Lots more to write and some pictures to post, but it's past 3:30 am and I have a long day tomorrow. I was actually going to put off writing until the morning, but I figured it would set a bad precedent would be too easy to oversleep and put it off again. Come hell or high water, if I have an Internet connection I'm going to write something every day. I figure I owe at least that much to you, my adoring public. And speaking of which...
I have been absolutely floored by the kind words that have been pouring in. In addition to the comments people posted, my inbox has been flooded with e-mails from people wishing me the best and, in at least two cases, offering me drugs. It really means a lot to me. I haven't been able to respond directly to everyone (and some the responses I did get out were much shorter than I would have liked), but rest assured, if you've sent or posted something, I've read it, and I'm very appreciative.
I have almost no downtime between now and Wednesday, so I'm a little worried that I won't be able to post as much as I'd like over the next few days. To be honest, between planning this trip and trying to update this blog, I already feel like I need a vacation. But if you bear with me, I'll eventually get the hang of it. Things will get less hectic by the middle of next week and I should be able to start cranking out some massive posts, along with pictures and video. I hope you'll keep reading in the interim.
So with that, goodnight from Harrisburg, PA. For any SHS grads who are reading this, tomorrow's blog will feature a top-secret special guest from the past... Stay tuned.
p.s. I'll be keeping a running tally of my total mileage in future posts, but I forgot to write down today's info before leaving the car. Roughly speaking, it was a pretty light day -- only about 260 miles.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Prologue
"Fear not that thy life shall come to an end, but rather fear that it shall never have a beginning." -- John Henry Newman
I'll be 30 next month, and while I wouldn't say I haven't had a "beginning," the past few years certainly haven't gone the way I expected.
To be clear, I'm not complaining. I'm healthy, financially secure, have great friends and family... In fact, it would hardly be a stretch to say I have more freedom and less responsibility than anyone I know. And therein lies the problem: It's likely too much of the former and to little of the latter. Jell-O has more structure than my life.
This has been evident to me (and others) for some time now. But as I find myself at the crossroads of an impending birthday that ends in a zero -- the kind that makes one reflect on the past, ponder the future, and generally question the daily existence that we so often take for granted -- I feel a renewed sense of urgency to get my life headed somewhere other than nowhere. I'm reminded of the inestimable Andy Dufresne's declaration: "Get busy living, or get busy dying."
So with that in mind, I'm hittin' the road.
Starting tomorrow, May 23, I'll spend 33 days traversing 10,000 miles across America. Yes, it's a somewhat hackneyed cliché of an attempt to find myself, heading from sea to shining sea and back in search of an epiphany that may or may not come. But it's something I've always wanted to do and the timing feels right. 30 strikes me as a line of demarcation; a break between acts one and two of the three-part drama we casually refer to as "life."
For four and a half weeks I'll be on a self-imposed journey of self-exploration. I'll be visiting old friends and making new ones. I'll see baseball games and ride roller coasters, go hiking and fire guns. I'll play Blackjack at midnight in Vegas and get drunk at midday in New Orleans. I'll cruise through the heights of the Rockies and the depths of the Mojave; under the canopies of the great redwoods of northern California and across the vast open ranges of western Texas. I'll watch the sun set over the Pacific and the moon rise over the Badlands, and I'll stand at the rim of the Grand Canyon and come to realize that I'm far more insignificant that I'd previously thought. I'll eat a wide variety of ridiculously unhealthy (but incredibly tasty) foodstuff, and will attempt semi-regular exercise so said foodstuff doesn't make me fat(ter) while I'm gone. And I'll meet my newborn nephew, Daniel, who will by then be 22 days old. His life is thoroughly uncomplicated at the moment, not yet afflicted by the mixed blessing that is self awareness. His daily regimen mostly follows the pattern of: eat, shit, sleep, repeat. It's an existence not too dissimilar from my own, though his is far more socially acceptable and I have to wipe my own ass.
My friend Steve will be joining me for the first three and a half days of the trip, and I can't think of a better companion to have along for the ride. Steve and I have logged thousands of miles together on multiple road trips over the years, dating back to our first one ever in the summer of 1995. As two wide-eyed 17 year olds, we headed to Boston for a long weekend with no particular purpose -- I remember thinking that the 200 mile trip seemed insurmountably far. This is to say nothing of the 15 years or so of countless good times we've shared that have been entirely unrelated to driving. I'm sure we'll get on each other's nerves by the end of Day 2, but I'm equally confident that it won't matter.
As for this blog, its purpose is two-fold. Whenever I've mentioned my plans for this trip to someone, they've asked that I send photos and keep them updated on my progress -- it seems like this is a good way to do both. Separately, after long days on the road I will undoubtedly need a creative and cathartic outlet for my thoughts. I've often imagined doing some writing and this appears to be as good an excuse as any to start. Pending both Internet access and sobriety, my plan is to recap each day on a nightly basis. I don't promise it'll be the most scintillating stuff you've ever read, but hopefully it'll serve as a pleasant distraction from whatever it is that normally keeps you busy. I encourage any and all to post comments -- it would be reassuring to know that people other than those who share my last name are reading this.
And with that, I'm out. Departure is less than 24 hours away and and I still have LOTS to do!
I'll be 30 next month, and while I wouldn't say I haven't had a "beginning," the past few years certainly haven't gone the way I expected.
To be clear, I'm not complaining. I'm healthy, financially secure, have great friends and family... In fact, it would hardly be a stretch to say I have more freedom and less responsibility than anyone I know. And therein lies the problem: It's likely too much of the former and to little of the latter. Jell-O has more structure than my life.
This has been evident to me (and others) for some time now. But as I find myself at the crossroads of an impending birthday that ends in a zero -- the kind that makes one reflect on the past, ponder the future, and generally question the daily existence that we so often take for granted -- I feel a renewed sense of urgency to get my life headed somewhere other than nowhere. I'm reminded of the inestimable Andy Dufresne's declaration: "Get busy living, or get busy dying."
So with that in mind, I'm hittin' the road.
Starting tomorrow, May 23, I'll spend 33 days traversing 10,000 miles across America. Yes, it's a somewhat hackneyed cliché of an attempt to find myself, heading from sea to shining sea and back in search of an epiphany that may or may not come. But it's something I've always wanted to do and the timing feels right. 30 strikes me as a line of demarcation; a break between acts one and two of the three-part drama we casually refer to as "life."
For four and a half weeks I'll be on a self-imposed journey of self-exploration. I'll be visiting old friends and making new ones. I'll see baseball games and ride roller coasters, go hiking and fire guns. I'll play Blackjack at midnight in Vegas and get drunk at midday in New Orleans. I'll cruise through the heights of the Rockies and the depths of the Mojave; under the canopies of the great redwoods of northern California and across the vast open ranges of western Texas. I'll watch the sun set over the Pacific and the moon rise over the Badlands, and I'll stand at the rim of the Grand Canyon and come to realize that I'm far more insignificant that I'd previously thought. I'll eat a wide variety of ridiculously unhealthy (but incredibly tasty) foodstuff, and will attempt semi-regular exercise so said foodstuff doesn't make me fat(ter) while I'm gone. And I'll meet my newborn nephew, Daniel, who will by then be 22 days old. His life is thoroughly uncomplicated at the moment, not yet afflicted by the mixed blessing that is self awareness. His daily regimen mostly follows the pattern of: eat, shit, sleep, repeat. It's an existence not too dissimilar from my own, though his is far more socially acceptable and I have to wipe my own ass.
My friend Steve will be joining me for the first three and a half days of the trip, and I can't think of a better companion to have along for the ride. Steve and I have logged thousands of miles together on multiple road trips over the years, dating back to our first one ever in the summer of 1995. As two wide-eyed 17 year olds, we headed to Boston for a long weekend with no particular purpose -- I remember thinking that the 200 mile trip seemed insurmountably far. This is to say nothing of the 15 years or so of countless good times we've shared that have been entirely unrelated to driving. I'm sure we'll get on each other's nerves by the end of Day 2, but I'm equally confident that it won't matter.
As for this blog, its purpose is two-fold. Whenever I've mentioned my plans for this trip to someone, they've asked that I send photos and keep them updated on my progress -- it seems like this is a good way to do both. Separately, after long days on the road I will undoubtedly need a creative and cathartic outlet for my thoughts. I've often imagined doing some writing and this appears to be as good an excuse as any to start. Pending both Internet access and sobriety, my plan is to recap each day on a nightly basis. I don't promise it'll be the most scintillating stuff you've ever read, but hopefully it'll serve as a pleasant distraction from whatever it is that normally keeps you busy. I encourage any and all to post comments -- it would be reassuring to know that people other than those who share my last name are reading this.
And with that, I'm out. Departure is less than 24 hours away and and I still have LOTS to do!
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