It was brought to my attention that I'm still in Montana... on the blog I mean. For my own sake I should quickly make sure that changes, as I wouldn't want to spend any minute in Montana that I didn't absolutely have to. However, the mustard was quite nice up there.
See: 9 fingered Curt's Fine Yellow Mustard
Kansas came and went, and a huge thank you should be sent to the Renfro family for taking us in, feeding us, and ensuring that we had a good time in Lawrence. We saw KU's campus and some of their many state inspired street names, but the real story here is that we're home. I feel weird re-hashing things that happened so long ago.
It was an amazing ride. We've experienced more that we could've thought possible: city life, rural America, local breweries, countless parks, art-houses, restaurants, highways, backroads, you name it. People keep asking me my favorite parts of the trip, and honestly I don't have an answer. My mind is jumbled from all of the intake. I just know it was an amazing three week departure from normalcy.
Can this be a summary? No not really. I'm at the disadvantage of relaying through characters and scripts, and I'm nowhere near talented enough for that.
~The way I see in in my head is the way old maritime movies show nautical-types throwing out maps across a candle-lit tables and knocking off a hundred artifacts in the process~
Making an attempt:
The Caucasian race is a dying breed. The melting pot label was absolutely solidified, as we saw more and more Hispanic and Mexican culture the further we went west. Arizona Grant had informed us that they had made a legitimate attempt to change the official language of Phoenix to Spanish. Spanish radio stations dominated the waves, Taquerias blossomed in between street corners... The face of America is changing.
Along the same lines, Native Americans are absolutely exploited. Every billboard in the southwestern region related to Native American crafts, quilts, tools, jewelry, etc. hoping that the very idea of bottled culture will bring white folks and their billfolds running. Since we didn't stop, I can't really say how legitimate it all was. My hope is that it's separate from any kind of mass-produced arm of corporate America and showcases the skill and trade of a people. It's hard not to fall in love with the Native American model.
Fast food nation. Carls Junior, In and Out Burger, Jack in the Box, Del Taco, and all the familiars that come to mind with those two beautiful, alliterated words. You can get it anywhere, which is pretty alarming really. You realize it's a problem when you witness 40 McDonalds exits in a span of 10 hours.
The thing I had such a hard time getting out of was routine. The social-sphere of familiar faces, burger-joints, hang-outs, institutions... the whole of it vaporized not thirty minutes away. For every inch of freedom you get, a little bit of vulnerability comes with it. There's absolutely nothing quite like being out in the world. Most of it chalks up to some sense of self-discovery, the fear of the great unknown, the sheer uncertainty of it all... but some of it boils down to detachment. Sometimes we didn't know what city we'd land in, or what we'd see, or how long we'd remain in a box on wheels. Consciously it's a beautiful thing, but it's the subconscious you've gotta watch out for. Too much change isn't good for a man, thankfully I had two safety nets in friends.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
It crashes like waves. My mind comes to it from time to time unprovoked. It gets a little lighter, the chambers a little more forceful, and the pegs a little less reliable. I kind of drift places. It's what I wanted. I had every reason to believe the trip was going to be hellacious... braced myself for the bad, and hoped like hell the good would peak out in spells.
It wasn't perfect, but it's how it will be remembered. Things are like that, you know? Like when you say you hated high school, or how the summer between two educations was the best summer of your adolescent life. It's all got a feel to it. For me, that feel was monumental. Life changing. So joyous my heart wants to explode.
That's why we do it. That's why these things exist. Young and tanned and hopeful and desperate and teeming and alive and the potential to do something completely your own. We were the West Coast personified. Perfect? Yeah, if you ask me... it was.
Thanks for being a part of it with us
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Rocky Mountain Oysters / Bull Testes
I can’t keep up.
Where were we last? Montana? Seriously? No way. That was forever ago. Okay I’ll start there.
Yellowstone National Park costs 25 bucks to drive through, but hey we did get to see a few bison hanging by the road, some elk roaming in the distant fields, and Old Faithful blew her top while we drank Montana soda pop. The area was seriously insane. Paint pots gurgled in a creamy white paste, bacteria mats were plastered around the sulfurous geysers, and steam constantly spewed from cracks in the earth. Then, you drive for two minutes and you’re back in lush wilderness. It was like being on another planet.
Leaving Y-stone was the worst, as it dumped us out on this terribly tiny road that we were stuck on for seriously 4 hours. We drove through a town with population 47, no joke. Gas stations were shut down, there wasn’t any food in sight, and we had to grin and bear it until we found a Taco John’s by the University of Wyoming way down the road. We saw 6 deer during that drive, all of which were right by the highway, and three came out at the same time when a momma deer walked her two babies right in front of our car. We were going 75 and had to slam on the breaks to just miss the collision. Deer need to evolve and realize that pavement is a no-no.
Then came the real trouble. We started calling hotels in Casper, a town 100 miles away at the time, only to slowly figure out that every room in the entire area is booked because of a freaking rodeo fair. Apparently, as we understood it, this is Wyoming’s big rodeo week where all the hillbillies pile in their F-150’s, trailer hitch a steed, and zip on down for some good old fashioned fun in no-man’s-land Wyoming to out-redneck one another in competition. For this reason, every neighboring town west and north of the area had been booked for months. We were stranded.
We wanted to sleep at 11:30, we got to sleep at nearly 4. We drove all night until we reached a town called Chugwater, Wyoming, where we stayed at the Buffalo Inn & Grill. Signs along the walls of the entryway said things like “Cowboys”, “Cowgirls”, and “Cowkids”, which had Abby laughing for twenty minutes. Nobody was at the front desk, so we rang this bell forever until this mammoth woman emerged from her lair, squinting but not saying a word. She was able to check us in in one of the funniest moments we’re had on the trip so far. She was so mean to me, had gray-stubble on her chin from where she hadn’t shaved, and had the neck of her sleeping shirt drooping low over her left shoulder, which revived my number 8 taco combo from 4 ½ hours before back to the brim of my throat. She handed me a key with nothing on it, told me to check out room 206, and proceeded to hand me the TV remote to the room. We were so tired that all of us were delirious and thought it may have been a dream, but in the morning we were reminded that she in fact was a troll and that every bit of her disgust was retained.
We bounced on to Denver, CO, a place not previously charted on the AAA travel sheet. We thought it would be a huge bonus to see the city, but in actuality it was pretty lame. Granted we only spent 4 hours in the city, and at least 3 of them consisted of eating at Noodles & Company and walking through the Denver Art Museum (DAM). We grabbed a beer on the way out at a less than memorable tap-room called the Great Divide Brewing Company. The beer was mediocre and the room felt the way it does when you shower for twenty minutes in a small room, and the steam takes over your lungs and turns your legs to jelly. Hit some traffic on the way out, and we landed in Goodland, Kansas.
We’re currently staying at America’s Best Value Inn, which is seriously an amazing hotel. Best continental breakfast ever, with fresh self-made waffles, biscuits and gravy, oranges, the works. It's here that we watched Harry Potter and a program about America’s best steaks until we passed out from the traveling.
We’re off to do it again, next stop Lawrence Kansas to see the amazing Emily Renfro, one of Abby’s buds from school. Can’t wait to hang out with somebody.
Where were we last? Montana? Seriously? No way. That was forever ago. Okay I’ll start there.
Yellowstone National Park costs 25 bucks to drive through, but hey we did get to see a few bison hanging by the road, some elk roaming in the distant fields, and Old Faithful blew her top while we drank Montana soda pop. The area was seriously insane. Paint pots gurgled in a creamy white paste, bacteria mats were plastered around the sulfurous geysers, and steam constantly spewed from cracks in the earth. Then, you drive for two minutes and you’re back in lush wilderness. It was like being on another planet.
Leaving Y-stone was the worst, as it dumped us out on this terribly tiny road that we were stuck on for seriously 4 hours. We drove through a town with population 47, no joke. Gas stations were shut down, there wasn’t any food in sight, and we had to grin and bear it until we found a Taco John’s by the University of Wyoming way down the road. We saw 6 deer during that drive, all of which were right by the highway, and three came out at the same time when a momma deer walked her two babies right in front of our car. We were going 75 and had to slam on the breaks to just miss the collision. Deer need to evolve and realize that pavement is a no-no.
Then came the real trouble. We started calling hotels in Casper, a town 100 miles away at the time, only to slowly figure out that every room in the entire area is booked because of a freaking rodeo fair. Apparently, as we understood it, this is Wyoming’s big rodeo week where all the hillbillies pile in their F-150’s, trailer hitch a steed, and zip on down for some good old fashioned fun in no-man’s-land Wyoming to out-redneck one another in competition. For this reason, every neighboring town west and north of the area had been booked for months. We were stranded.
We wanted to sleep at 11:30, we got to sleep at nearly 4. We drove all night until we reached a town called Chugwater, Wyoming, where we stayed at the Buffalo Inn & Grill. Signs along the walls of the entryway said things like “Cowboys”, “Cowgirls”, and “Cowkids”, which had Abby laughing for twenty minutes. Nobody was at the front desk, so we rang this bell forever until this mammoth woman emerged from her lair, squinting but not saying a word. She was able to check us in in one of the funniest moments we’re had on the trip so far. She was so mean to me, had gray-stubble on her chin from where she hadn’t shaved, and had the neck of her sleeping shirt drooping low over her left shoulder, which revived my number 8 taco combo from 4 ½ hours before back to the brim of my throat. She handed me a key with nothing on it, told me to check out room 206, and proceeded to hand me the TV remote to the room. We were so tired that all of us were delirious and thought it may have been a dream, but in the morning we were reminded that she in fact was a troll and that every bit of her disgust was retained.
We bounced on to Denver, CO, a place not previously charted on the AAA travel sheet. We thought it would be a huge bonus to see the city, but in actuality it was pretty lame. Granted we only spent 4 hours in the city, and at least 3 of them consisted of eating at Noodles & Company and walking through the Denver Art Museum (DAM). We grabbed a beer on the way out at a less than memorable tap-room called the Great Divide Brewing Company. The beer was mediocre and the room felt the way it does when you shower for twenty minutes in a small room, and the steam takes over your lungs and turns your legs to jelly. Hit some traffic on the way out, and we landed in Goodland, Kansas.
We’re currently staying at America’s Best Value Inn, which is seriously an amazing hotel. Best continental breakfast ever, with fresh self-made waffles, biscuits and gravy, oranges, the works. It's here that we watched Harry Potter and a program about America’s best steaks until we passed out from the traveling.
We’re off to do it again, next stop Lawrence Kansas to see the amazing Emily Renfro, one of Abby’s buds from school. Can’t wait to hang out with somebody.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tic Tac Suppository
The laptop is fully charged, meaning I have about 40 minutes to type on the road. This is what I get for leaving it plugged in for days at a time, but hey, it’s nice to see a 100% when you get the chance. It’s why I buy juice.
92% now and we’re winding along highway 191 down to West Yellowstone. I’ve gotta say, this is all the inspiration I needed to get back on the horse (not literally of course, they’re all cows out here). We’ve been parallel with what are pretty much white water rapids for about a half hour, watching as fisherman wade waist deep while their lines bob and weave along the waves. We even saw one gent pull out a net and scoop a thrashing fish from the iey blue chaos.
I should also mention that we’ve had a lot of fun with the town Butte, Montana. Apparently it’s pronounced Bee-yute, but we’ve enjoyed butchering it to suit our jokes. We came up with mascots for Butte High, assuming there is such a place, to pass the time.
See: Munchers, Hole Surfers, Assailants, Pinchers (some type of crustacean will do),
I also can’t explain the nickname Big Sky Country from where we are. The sky is usually chopped off by huge mountains; they’re constantly battling one another for space. The mountains are winning.
I’m trying something new, asking Weis (driving) to say whatever he feels, to open up the flood gates of his heart, and I will do the service of turning them into prose.
Weis:
“Umm… haha… haha… don’t write down my laughs, those aren’t fun.
Okay. I’m feeling very cautious because the wind is beneath my wings. There’s a lot of green things. Green is a great color. The water is blue. It’s very very beautiful.”
He continued by singing the Timon & Pumba number from Lion King. I’m very lucky to accompany a man with this type of perspective.
He’s right though, there IS a lot of green things.
92% now and we’re winding along highway 191 down to West Yellowstone. I’ve gotta say, this is all the inspiration I needed to get back on the horse (not literally of course, they’re all cows out here). We’ve been parallel with what are pretty much white water rapids for about a half hour, watching as fisherman wade waist deep while their lines bob and weave along the waves. We even saw one gent pull out a net and scoop a thrashing fish from the iey blue chaos.
I should also mention that we’ve had a lot of fun with the town Butte, Montana. Apparently it’s pronounced Bee-yute, but we’ve enjoyed butchering it to suit our jokes. We came up with mascots for Butte High, assuming there is such a place, to pass the time.
See: Munchers, Hole Surfers, Assailants, Pinchers (some type of crustacean will do),
I also can’t explain the nickname Big Sky Country from where we are. The sky is usually chopped off by huge mountains; they’re constantly battling one another for space. The mountains are winning.
I’m trying something new, asking Weis (driving) to say whatever he feels, to open up the flood gates of his heart, and I will do the service of turning them into prose.
Weis:
“Umm… haha… haha… don’t write down my laughs, those aren’t fun.
Okay. I’m feeling very cautious because the wind is beneath my wings. There’s a lot of green things. Green is a great color. The water is blue. It’s very very beautiful.”
He continued by singing the Timon & Pumba number from Lion King. I’m very lucky to accompany a man with this type of perspective.
He’s right though, there IS a lot of green things.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Pictures Won't Load
Unlike the rest of the country, Washington has little outlines of George Washington around their highways instead of the usual white shield. This is cute.
We must've caught the only rainless twenty-four hour period in Seattle in a long time.
Seattle was blessed with an asian Wal-Mart/grocer named Uwajimaya, where we purchased chili pasta, creme-brulee flavored crackers, a strange asian bread roll, and a two-liter of oolong tea. We were seriously in there for an hour, and it was a good thing that we didn't stay longer because apparently it's so popular that in order to park, you're required to buy over 7 dollars per hour.
We saw some Hello-Kitty rice packets, some tube-juices, and this unbelievable drink that said "Banana flavored grass jelly". Only in an asian market, right?
Sadly we left Seattle on that note, with our last visual being a schmorgusboard of bizzare packaged foods. We drove all the way out to a Super-8 outside of Spokane. It was there that we continued our hotel ritual of watching Larry King's coverage on the Texas UFO sighting. It's the same thing every show, with nothing new to add ever, but the people they get to interview from Texas make it all worth the while. Driving through Spokane we stopped into "Spokane Subs" and peaked around the Gonzaga University, which I have to say suuuucckkkksss. The school looks pretty small, a little boring, and everything hinted that religion was the only thing to do. Huge signs adorned every street saying cheerful things like "Learn to live your faith!".
With help from...
-King Khan & The Shrines: What Is ?!
-Magnetic Fields: Get Lost
-The Flaming Lips: Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots
-Countless Singles
we got to Missoula, where we wanted to pick up a few new CD's for the drive. Weis typed in "Records" in the GPS, which took us to a place called Habbilis Records. The place looked like a barrack, or a bomb shelter, that was abandoned years ago. I think it was a recording studio at one time... not what we wanted, so we went to get some coffee. We tried the GPS again by typing in "Brew" and Blakc Horse Coffee Brewers came up. Of course that sounded killer so we searched for it... for too long really, only to see that it was this the result.
We grabbed some beer at the Iron Horse Brew Pub, I think they were
-Big Sky TroutSlayer (not recommended)
-Big Sky Moose Drool Brown Ale
-Kettle House Brewery Cold Smoke Scoth Ale (highly recommended)
More driving, yadda yadda, I feel like the posts are seriously all the same!
We must've caught the only rainless twenty-four hour period in Seattle in a long time.
Seattle was blessed with an asian Wal-Mart/grocer named Uwajimaya, where we purchased chili pasta, creme-brulee flavored crackers, a strange asian bread roll, and a two-liter of oolong tea. We were seriously in there for an hour, and it was a good thing that we didn't stay longer because apparently it's so popular that in order to park, you're required to buy over 7 dollars per hour.
We saw some Hello-Kitty rice packets, some tube-juices, and this unbelievable drink that said "Banana flavored grass jelly". Only in an asian market, right?
Sadly we left Seattle on that note, with our last visual being a schmorgusboard of bizzare packaged foods. We drove all the way out to a Super-8 outside of Spokane. It was there that we continued our hotel ritual of watching Larry King's coverage on the Texas UFO sighting. It's the same thing every show, with nothing new to add ever, but the people they get to interview from Texas make it all worth the while. Driving through Spokane we stopped into "Spokane Subs" and peaked around the Gonzaga University, which I have to say suuuucckkkksss. The school looks pretty small, a little boring, and everything hinted that religion was the only thing to do. Huge signs adorned every street saying cheerful things like "Learn to live your faith!".
With help from...
-King Khan & The Shrines: What Is ?!
-Magnetic Fields: Get Lost
-The Flaming Lips: Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots
-Countless Singles
we got to Missoula, where we wanted to pick up a few new CD's for the drive. Weis typed in "Records" in the GPS, which took us to a place called Habbilis Records. The place looked like a barrack, or a bomb shelter, that was abandoned years ago. I think it was a recording studio at one time... not what we wanted, so we went to get some coffee. We tried the GPS again by typing in "Brew" and Blakc Horse Coffee Brewers came up. Of course that sounded killer so we searched for it... for too long really, only to see that it was this the result.
We grabbed some beer at the Iron Horse Brew Pub, I think they were
-Big Sky TroutSlayer (not recommended)
-Big Sky Moose Drool Brown Ale
-Kettle House Brewery Cold Smoke Scoth Ale (highly recommended)
More driving, yadda yadda, I feel like the posts are seriously all the same!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Big Sky Country
I’m writing this on I-90, headed from Missoula, Montana to an unknown destination (likely Yellowstone). It’s beautiful here, but as expected that’s no fun anymore. We’ve camped, laid out on beaches, seen and scaled mountains, plummeted down valleys, and stood atop any available higher ground to scan our surroundings, wherever those may be. We alternate between greens, blues, and asphalt-gray… it’s time for something else. I miss sitting on a couch and not feeling guilty for not being motivated. It’s why I’m so excited to pass underneath the signs that say east.
I’ve yet to talk about Seattle, but what’s there to say though that hasn’t been said about every city before it? The skyline was unique and it felt surreal to personalize another city I’d often seen and read about. The parks in the city were full of interesting local art, the restaurants were all tremendous, and of course the homeless people were still relentless in their quest for money.
*Side story on the homeless people: We went to a restaurant our first night in Seattle called Ivar’s, an on-the-water fish place that had both fast food and fine dining under the same roof. Weis and I both for the fish and chips, and being the man I am I finished all of it, while Weis continued to satisfy his need for to-go boxes after every meal. A few blocks down one homeless guy goes, “Hey man, can you spare the leftovers?”, and Weis walks on by saying “Sorry man”. Moments later, another homeless guy approaches and goes into a spiel about how he doesn’t get paid until next week and needs money to eat. Weis, thinking Seattle's impoverished wants food, now hands him his box of 3 fish planks. The guy grabs it and goes, “What is this?”, to which Weis replies, “Fish”. After a few second pause the liar hands him back the box and is like, “Yeah I don’t even eat fish man” and leaves. To sum it up, he pissed off one homeless dude by not giving him food, and he pissed off ANOTHER homeless dude by giving him food. 0-2.
Anyways what I was getting that though, is that the novelty of an unfamiliar city is wearing thin. The thrill of walking through un-charted territory is stale, it’s just work now. We research what the town is known for, the best restaurants, the places to be, and we walk double digit miles every day getting to do it all. I love the memories it will leave, but we’re approaching our third week of it. It's not an easy thing by any means.
There will be another post shortly about what we’ve done, which is far from boring looking back on it, but the problem lies with the present. It’s an in-situ dilemma that is feeling more and more forced with every stop.
Today, Missoula. Three hours.
I just need less and more. Either sounds better, you know.
But zero complaints, there's no where else I'd rather be.
I’ve yet to talk about Seattle, but what’s there to say though that hasn’t been said about every city before it? The skyline was unique and it felt surreal to personalize another city I’d often seen and read about. The parks in the city were full of interesting local art, the restaurants were all tremendous, and of course the homeless people were still relentless in their quest for money.
*Side story on the homeless people: We went to a restaurant our first night in Seattle called Ivar’s, an on-the-water fish place that had both fast food and fine dining under the same roof. Weis and I both for the fish and chips, and being the man I am I finished all of it, while Weis continued to satisfy his need for to-go boxes after every meal. A few blocks down one homeless guy goes, “Hey man, can you spare the leftovers?”, and Weis walks on by saying “Sorry man”. Moments later, another homeless guy approaches and goes into a spiel about how he doesn’t get paid until next week and needs money to eat. Weis, thinking Seattle's impoverished wants food, now hands him his box of 3 fish planks. The guy grabs it and goes, “What is this?”, to which Weis replies, “Fish”. After a few second pause the liar hands him back the box and is like, “Yeah I don’t even eat fish man” and leaves. To sum it up, he pissed off one homeless dude by not giving him food, and he pissed off ANOTHER homeless dude by giving him food. 0-2.
Anyways what I was getting that though, is that the novelty of an unfamiliar city is wearing thin. The thrill of walking through un-charted territory is stale, it’s just work now. We research what the town is known for, the best restaurants, the places to be, and we walk double digit miles every day getting to do it all. I love the memories it will leave, but we’re approaching our third week of it. It's not an easy thing by any means.
There will be another post shortly about what we’ve done, which is far from boring looking back on it, but the problem lies with the present. It’s an in-situ dilemma that is feeling more and more forced with every stop.
Today, Missoula. Three hours.
I just need less and more. Either sounds better, you know.
But zero complaints, there's no where else I'd rather be.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
I'm Sorry Miss Adkins, I Am Forreal
Tattooed Indie Hipster Guy (TIHG): "Just need to see some ID's"
Me: "Here ya go"
TIHG: "Recite your address and hold out your right arm"
Me: "Ummm well I've moved since then I... it should be 425 Avenue of Champions but like I said I d..."
TIGH: "...Your right arm please"
Me: "Oh yeah, yeah here"
STAMPED
TIHG: (To Abby) "ID"
Abby: *Hands it over
TIHG: "This doesn't look like you"
a minute passes
TIHG: "Sign your name five times on this piece of paper"
Abby: *signs it, scratching out a few beginning letters here and there
he takes the paper to the back with him... and comes back out
TIHG: "This isn't you is it"
Abby: *says something along the lines of how it isn't
TIHG: "Ok well I legally have to take this from you..."
then turns to me and says, without actually looking at me, "Your girl can't come in"
And there we have it, the shot to the foot of any of the plans that may have developed as a team in P-town. We were turned away everywhere, even just to eat, because apparently being a citizen or a human being in Portland is only affirmed by a sideways state license. After a long trial and error period, Abby decided to head back for the hotel and Weis and I stayed out for a bit...
We went to a place called Tugboat Brewery, or something ship related, and began talking to an overweight, English-American, woven hat wearing gent named Linsel. He told us about how in the bar, he plays nature documentaries set to a soundtrack that he creates at home which best lay down the mood of say... alligators eating wilderbeasts. Crazy guy, but we had a blast. We each had a beer from the brewery (Copper Ale for me and something hoppy for Weis) and another local beer brewed from around the area.
Then, off to find food, which happened at a little Mexican trailer positioned on the street corner by the bars. A few people were tearing into burritos, so we hopped on-board. I gulped down a chorizo and egg burrito and thought it was amazing all the way up until the bathroom experience the next day, but that's a different story for a different blog.
We promised Abby we'd bring back donuts from the crazy donut shop we'd seen earlier in the day, so we scooped a Voodoo Dozen at Voodoo Donuts. This dozen is where you don't get to pick, they just throw random things into a pink box until they reach 12... I'll recite the ones I remember eating
Glazed with captain crunch on top
Glazed with fruit loops on top
Grape ape (grape kool-aid sprinkles)
Bubble gum, where a double bubble rests in the center
Butterscotch
M&M cakebread
They were insane, and we've been eating them for two days. I have added twenty pounds of pure donut weight to my torso.
We stopped in another bar right outside of our hotel, met some locals (easily since I was holding a pink box of 12 donuts at the bar), and had a Tecate with lime before coming back to see our third amigo and compadre. She looked healthier having not been around Weis and I for a bit, I think we wear people down.
We're posted up in the Silver Cloud Inn in Seattle, right across from Safeco Field and Pyramid brewery.... but it's time for checkout...
Until later ya'll
Me: "Here ya go"
TIHG: "Recite your address and hold out your right arm"
Me: "Ummm well I've moved since then I... it should be 425 Avenue of Champions but like I said I d..."
TIGH: "...Your right arm please"
Me: "Oh yeah, yeah here"
STAMPED
TIHG: (To Abby) "ID"
Abby: *Hands it over
TIHG: "This doesn't look like you"
a minute passes
TIHG: "Sign your name five times on this piece of paper"
Abby: *signs it, scratching out a few beginning letters here and there
he takes the paper to the back with him... and comes back out
TIHG: "This isn't you is it"
Abby: *says something along the lines of how it isn't
TIHG: "Ok well I legally have to take this from you..."
then turns to me and says, without actually looking at me, "Your girl can't come in"
And there we have it, the shot to the foot of any of the plans that may have developed as a team in P-town. We were turned away everywhere, even just to eat, because apparently being a citizen or a human being in Portland is only affirmed by a sideways state license. After a long trial and error period, Abby decided to head back for the hotel and Weis and I stayed out for a bit...
We went to a place called Tugboat Brewery, or something ship related, and began talking to an overweight, English-American, woven hat wearing gent named Linsel. He told us about how in the bar, he plays nature documentaries set to a soundtrack that he creates at home which best lay down the mood of say... alligators eating wilderbeasts. Crazy guy, but we had a blast. We each had a beer from the brewery (Copper Ale for me and something hoppy for Weis) and another local beer brewed from around the area.
Then, off to find food, which happened at a little Mexican trailer positioned on the street corner by the bars. A few people were tearing into burritos, so we hopped on-board. I gulped down a chorizo and egg burrito and thought it was amazing all the way up until the bathroom experience the next day, but that's a different story for a different blog.
We promised Abby we'd bring back donuts from the crazy donut shop we'd seen earlier in the day, so we scooped a Voodoo Dozen at Voodoo Donuts. This dozen is where you don't get to pick, they just throw random things into a pink box until they reach 12... I'll recite the ones I remember eating
Glazed with captain crunch on top
Glazed with fruit loops on top
Grape ape (grape kool-aid sprinkles)
Bubble gum, where a double bubble rests in the center
Butterscotch
M&M cakebread
They were insane, and we've been eating them for two days. I have added twenty pounds of pure donut weight to my torso.
We stopped in another bar right outside of our hotel, met some locals (easily since I was holding a pink box of 12 donuts at the bar), and had a Tecate with lime before coming back to see our third amigo and compadre. She looked healthier having not been around Weis and I for a bit, I think we wear people down.
We're posted up in the Silver Cloud Inn in Seattle, right across from Safeco Field and Pyramid brewery.... but it's time for checkout...
Until later ya'll
Friday, July 11, 2008
Land of Roses
Still playing catch up
Leaving Garbersville yesterday, we drove about an hour up the coast to a town (community may be a better word for it) called Trinidad. We pulled over to eat at one of the only restaurants in the area called the Trinidad cafe... clever I know... but the food was actually amazing. Weis and I both got the half and half tuna melt/clam chowder deal and promptly needed to lie down under the tremendous weight of an all gray-liquid based meal.
Off to the Redwood National Park system where we threw down our tent in an already occupied campsite within the Mill Creek grounds. After an hour and a half we solved the problem, carried our already pitched tent ten minutes across the grounds, and headed off to a somewhat private beach. There were only like 20 people around us, making the area WAY more secluded than the Venice beach experience we were used to. The sun was out, but the breeze kept our skin cool to the touch... Things quickly heated up though when Weis walked into a Safeway to purchase two heatlamp-warmed, honey glazed, CHICKEN corn dogs with mustard! BARF!
[We have a very funny picture of him eating it for when we get a chance to post pics again]
[That time is now]
Fast forward to the next day, yesterday now, where we left for Portland Oregon. We pulled in around 5pm into the Jupiter Motel. Hotel? Motel maybe. I'm not sure, but the place is an indie kids dream. There is a legitimate venue located INSIDE the building where the best acts in the area flock to. Spherical lights dangle over an outside fire pit and blue spot lighting splashes up against the voids between doors. Great to be out of the wilderness
Downtown Portland is insane though. Some scary people sleep along the bridge during the walk into the city, and it was nearly impossible to find a place to eat, but we had a good time exploring the sights. We came across the famous Rogue brewery, where we stopped in for an Irish Larger (Abby), a Smoke Frog (Weis), and a Hazelnut Brown Ale (Me). We shared some words with a kid from North Carolina who bike-taxi's the area, and later grabbed some food in a place called the Montage. Well now we know it's called that, but at the time Weis told me it was the Montag. I tell you this because after we couldn't find it, I asked a police officer where it was located and they laughed, telling me it was pronounced Montage. Three cops in Portland now think I'm unable to read and use the English language.
Jambalaya, Cajun Salad, and a Splod were the items purchased. The coolest part about the place was how they gave to-go bags... which consisted of wrapping up food into saran wrap and then covering it in a layer of aluminum foil... then FOLDING that aluminum foil into animal shapes. We made mine look like a gator, the girl next to us a crab, and the guy next to us a giant swan. I've decided foil animals beat balloon animals every day of the week. Sorry plastics.
It's 8:48 here and we're getting ready to go out... Until tomorrow friends!
Leaving Garbersville yesterday, we drove about an hour up the coast to a town (community may be a better word for it) called Trinidad. We pulled over to eat at one of the only restaurants in the area called the Trinidad cafe... clever I know... but the food was actually amazing. Weis and I both got the half and half tuna melt/clam chowder deal and promptly needed to lie down under the tremendous weight of an all gray-liquid based meal.
Off to the Redwood National Park system where we threw down our tent in an already occupied campsite within the Mill Creek grounds. After an hour and a half we solved the problem, carried our already pitched tent ten minutes across the grounds, and headed off to a somewhat private beach. There were only like 20 people around us, making the area WAY more secluded than the Venice beach experience we were used to. The sun was out, but the breeze kept our skin cool to the touch... Things quickly heated up though when Weis walked into a Safeway to purchase two heatlamp-warmed, honey glazed, CHICKEN corn dogs with mustard! BARF!
[We have a very funny picture of him eating it for when we get a chance to post pics again]
[That time is now]
Fast forward to the next day, yesterday now, where we left for Portland Oregon. We pulled in around 5pm into the Jupiter Motel. Hotel? Motel maybe. I'm not sure, but the place is an indie kids dream. There is a legitimate venue located INSIDE the building where the best acts in the area flock to. Spherical lights dangle over an outside fire pit and blue spot lighting splashes up against the voids between doors. Great to be out of the wilderness
Downtown Portland is insane though. Some scary people sleep along the bridge during the walk into the city, and it was nearly impossible to find a place to eat, but we had a good time exploring the sights. We came across the famous Rogue brewery, where we stopped in for an Irish Larger (Abby), a Smoke Frog (Weis), and a Hazelnut Brown Ale (Me). We shared some words with a kid from North Carolina who bike-taxi's the area, and later grabbed some food in a place called the Montage. Well now we know it's called that, but at the time Weis told me it was the Montag. I tell you this because after we couldn't find it, I asked a police officer where it was located and they laughed, telling me it was pronounced Montage. Three cops in Portland now think I'm unable to read and use the English language.
Jambalaya, Cajun Salad, and a Splod were the items purchased. The coolest part about the place was how they gave to-go bags... which consisted of wrapping up food into saran wrap and then covering it in a layer of aluminum foil... then FOLDING that aluminum foil into animal shapes. We made mine look like a gator, the girl next to us a crab, and the guy next to us a giant swan. I've decided foil animals beat balloon animals every day of the week. Sorry plastics.
It's 8:48 here and we're getting ready to go out... Until tomorrow friends!
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Flesh Eating Hill People Of West Virginia
Mendocino, California : Home of the Mendo Burger, Moody's organic coffee, and the starting point of arguably the oddest night of my life.
I last left you from the Wi-Fi access of the cutesy town (population approx. 900) and embarked upon what was meant to be an easy going night of zero driving, mass drinking, and passing out underneath the shore-line stars. None of those things actually happened.
We set out to hit up the Noth Coast Brewing Company, where we each drank a pint of Brother Thelonious (a tribute abbey "Monk" ale to the great musician) and tried a sampler of their other varieties. The beer was excellent, as were the gift shop items we all left with. Then McDonalds. Then Safeway. Then disappointment.
We pulled up to stop one, the largest campground in the area named MacKerricher, only to see that the camp sites we all full for the night. Nobody was working the gate, no lights were on, and a GIANT whalebone skeleton loomed eerily in the clearing of trees.
We bolted down to stop two, a smaller more coastal campround called Westport-Union Landing State Beach, where again we were foiled by a "Campground Full" sandwich sign. It had taken us roughly 40 minutes to get up to this point, so obviously there was no turning back. At 10:30pm, we set off into the darkness of highway 1 to find a place to sleep.
Zero Cars. Hairpin Turns. Towering Forest. We had on the Knife's Silent Shout CD to help match the creepiness that held in the air. It was fun for a moment, but the deeper we drove into the forest, the worse it got. The air was freezing and the turns were taking a huge toll on me. We stayed at about 25-30mph as we passed abandoned houses, chainsaw carving shacks, and other horrifying visuals. We started talking about what we would do if there was a person standing in the road, flashlights pouring over them as they side-stumbled with un-even appendages towards the window to try and lure us into taking him/her in. Then we talked about Wrong-Turn and the people who ate the passengers. Then about a mutant baby crawling rapidly across the street in front of the car. The cages the members would hold as they approached with torches incadescently growing in the darkness...
After two hours we emerged safely, trying three more campsites before giving in to an 89 dollar a night Motel in freaking Garbersville, California. The desk-clerk and his office smelled of Raman noodles, and we relunctantly forked over the cash and headed into room 126. Decent place, decent bed, decent nights sleep.
Check out was at 11, we peaced at 12:30. Sorry suckers.
More on things later, there's so much to tell. We're posted up in Portland, Oregon tonight and are ready to explore the nightlife.
Paz
I last left you from the Wi-Fi access of the cutesy town (population approx. 900) and embarked upon what was meant to be an easy going night of zero driving, mass drinking, and passing out underneath the shore-line stars. None of those things actually happened.
We set out to hit up the Noth Coast Brewing Company, where we each drank a pint of Brother Thelonious (a tribute abbey "Monk" ale to the great musician) and tried a sampler of their other varieties. The beer was excellent, as were the gift shop items we all left with. Then McDonalds. Then Safeway. Then disappointment.
We pulled up to stop one, the largest campground in the area named MacKerricher, only to see that the camp sites we all full for the night. Nobody was working the gate, no lights were on, and a GIANT whalebone skeleton loomed eerily in the clearing of trees.
We bolted down to stop two, a smaller more coastal campround called Westport-Union Landing State Beach, where again we were foiled by a "Campground Full" sandwich sign. It had taken us roughly 40 minutes to get up to this point, so obviously there was no turning back. At 10:30pm, we set off into the darkness of highway 1 to find a place to sleep.
Zero Cars. Hairpin Turns. Towering Forest. We had on the Knife's Silent Shout CD to help match the creepiness that held in the air. It was fun for a moment, but the deeper we drove into the forest, the worse it got. The air was freezing and the turns were taking a huge toll on me. We stayed at about 25-30mph as we passed abandoned houses, chainsaw carving shacks, and other horrifying visuals. We started talking about what we would do if there was a person standing in the road, flashlights pouring over them as they side-stumbled with un-even appendages towards the window to try and lure us into taking him/her in. Then we talked about Wrong-Turn and the people who ate the passengers. Then about a mutant baby crawling rapidly across the street in front of the car. The cages the members would hold as they approached with torches incadescently growing in the darkness...
After two hours we emerged safely, trying three more campsites before giving in to an 89 dollar a night Motel in freaking Garbersville, California. The desk-clerk and his office smelled of Raman noodles, and we relunctantly forked over the cash and headed into room 126. Decent place, decent bed, decent nights sleep.
Check out was at 11, we peaced at 12:30. Sorry suckers.
More on things later, there's so much to tell. We're posted up in Portland, Oregon tonight and are ready to explore the nightlife.
Paz
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
We Don't Belong In Wine Country
Well our dear friends Aunt Chuck and Gary "Half" Nelson have quietly pushed their birds from the nest this morning. We left San Fran at roughly noon (you know it's 4 dollars to leave the city in any direction?) and worked our way up to Napa Valley, the site where I first realized I know next to nothing about wine.
The welcoming center was in every right a center, but had little welcoming qualities, as there was only one attendant and he was nose deep into a pour of 2002 Syrah with two ladies whose heads were hard to see with them being so far up their butts. We thumbed through some literature on the area and decided the best plan of action was to be on the offensive and attack vineyard's recommended by mi madre.
Stop 1: Cakebread winery... Turned away at the gate by a acne scarred twenty-something because we need reservations. Ha. What are those?
Stop 2: Frogs Leap winery... Circled around the giant sign which explained that taste testing is by reservation only.
Stop 3: Elizabeth Spalding (in operation since 1998!) winery... We were met by a man named Mark, king of the snide smile. The room was tiny, and we were joined by only one couple in their thirties. Mark looked us up and down and properly assessed our lack of experience and asked for the ID's... Weis and I came first, and after a little awkward "This doesn't look like you" conversation, Abby's ID was green-lighted as well.
Weis ducked into the bathroom to avoid the intense awkwardness that had clouded around us and we inadvertently agreed to getting the 15$ tasting. It gets better though... to save money we SPLIT a tasting! The rookie moves kept coming as we used phrases like "Yeah this one's good!" and "I like red more than this white!". He gave us speeches on the grapes, the fermentation process, aging, legs... and we sat wide eyed throughout pretending we had a place in that awful county. We ended by throwing our cash down on the counter and back-peddling out into the parking lot, laughing hysterically at our own incompetence.
We're now stationed in Mendocino California getting ready to set up shop for the night. It's back to the parks for a while... time to get a six pack and watch the sun set.
G'nite
The welcoming center was in every right a center, but had little welcoming qualities, as there was only one attendant and he was nose deep into a pour of 2002 Syrah with two ladies whose heads were hard to see with them being so far up their butts. We thumbed through some literature on the area and decided the best plan of action was to be on the offensive and attack vineyard's recommended by mi madre.
Stop 1: Cakebread winery... Turned away at the gate by a acne scarred twenty-something because we need reservations. Ha. What are those?
Stop 2: Frogs Leap winery... Circled around the giant sign which explained that taste testing is by reservation only.
Stop 3: Elizabeth Spalding (in operation since 1998!) winery... We were met by a man named Mark, king of the snide smile. The room was tiny, and we were joined by only one couple in their thirties. Mark looked us up and down and properly assessed our lack of experience and asked for the ID's... Weis and I came first, and after a little awkward "This doesn't look like you" conversation, Abby's ID was green-lighted as well.
Weis ducked into the bathroom to avoid the intense awkwardness that had clouded around us and we inadvertently agreed to getting the 15$ tasting. It gets better though... to save money we SPLIT a tasting! The rookie moves kept coming as we used phrases like "Yeah this one's good!" and "I like red more than this white!". He gave us speeches on the grapes, the fermentation process, aging, legs... and we sat wide eyed throughout pretending we had a place in that awful county. We ended by throwing our cash down on the counter and back-peddling out into the parking lot, laughing hysterically at our own incompetence.
We're now stationed in Mendocino California getting ready to set up shop for the night. It's back to the parks for a while... time to get a six pack and watch the sun set.
G'nite
Monday, July 7, 2008
Homeless Woman Attacks Black Male On Bus
It's 11:30pm on my last night in San Francisco right now and I'm blogging. This is because my two trip mates are unable to rally themselves from the clutches of sleep to enjoy it properly, and probably for good reason.
Today kicked our asses.
At Approximately 9 this morning we suited up and took to the San Francisco pavement, met with beautiful weather and an immediate regret for wearing sandals. As we clipped and thundered up and down the wicked angles of the city, we stumbled upon Union Square, one of the main-drag shopping districts that house many of the 'mall-esque' stores.
Abby hit up H&M while Weis and I wandered through China town, where the only semblance of American culture was the way the Chinese went about setting up shop. Hoards of Chinese crap presented itself in true garage sale fashion, an endless display of worthless matter piled together with crossed-fingers that some moron may mistake it for a gem.
We burst off the scene, scoped out a nearby pier, and hopped on a bus to Haight Street. Haight was everything we wanted it to be and more. Hipsters and homeless meshed together in some kind of weird gritty heaven and mind-bending graffiti poured from every alley way. We snagged some lunch at a place whose awning said "noodle house", but whose real name was something having to do with Citrus (We didn't even realize the menu didn't match up to the building title until way after).
Abby piled on more clothes, I got a Rain Parade CD from Amoeba music, and Weis picked up a book he'd been looking for since the trip began. Smiles ear to ear. Golden Gate Park was kind to us and let us rest our heads by the flower beds of a botanical garden as distant flute melodies and hand-drum syncopation wafted about.
Back on the bus, over to Telegraph Hill, where we climbed some secretive Greenwich stairs to a hilltop community, twisting around through houses and gardens until we got dumped out on Grant street, where oddly enough we were set to have dinner for the night. Aunt Chuck and Gary treated us to an amazing beer and pizza dinner (clam pizza) before we got the grand tour of San Fran.
Drove past the trolley pick-up in the Warf, walked past the Buena Vista Cafe who first created the Irish Coffee in the 50's, saw the Golden Gate Bridge, drove through Lake St which houses the rich and famous, saw the Breakers and the tide coming in, checked out the Castro district (gay gay gay people), city hall, a transvestite, and home. It was a busy tour.
*Worth noting are some store names in the Castro district
- Does You Mama Know?
- Thick and Thin Pizza
- Squat and Gobble Cafe
- Moby Dick
- Rock Hard
- Sausage Factory
Today kicked our asses.
At Approximately 9 this morning we suited up and took to the San Francisco pavement, met with beautiful weather and an immediate regret for wearing sandals. As we clipped and thundered up and down the wicked angles of the city, we stumbled upon Union Square, one of the main-drag shopping districts that house many of the 'mall-esque' stores.
Abby hit up H&M while Weis and I wandered through China town, where the only semblance of American culture was the way the Chinese went about setting up shop. Hoards of Chinese crap presented itself in true garage sale fashion, an endless display of worthless matter piled together with crossed-fingers that some moron may mistake it for a gem.
We burst off the scene, scoped out a nearby pier, and hopped on a bus to Haight Street. Haight was everything we wanted it to be and more. Hipsters and homeless meshed together in some kind of weird gritty heaven and mind-bending graffiti poured from every alley way. We snagged some lunch at a place whose awning said "noodle house", but whose real name was something having to do with Citrus (We didn't even realize the menu didn't match up to the building title until way after).
Abby piled on more clothes, I got a Rain Parade CD from Amoeba music, and Weis picked up a book he'd been looking for since the trip began. Smiles ear to ear. Golden Gate Park was kind to us and let us rest our heads by the flower beds of a botanical garden as distant flute melodies and hand-drum syncopation wafted about.
Back on the bus, over to Telegraph Hill, where we climbed some secretive Greenwich stairs to a hilltop community, twisting around through houses and gardens until we got dumped out on Grant street, where oddly enough we were set to have dinner for the night. Aunt Chuck and Gary treated us to an amazing beer and pizza dinner (clam pizza) before we got the grand tour of San Fran.
Drove past the trolley pick-up in the Warf, walked past the Buena Vista Cafe who first created the Irish Coffee in the 50's, saw the Golden Gate Bridge, drove through Lake St which houses the rich and famous, saw the Breakers and the tide coming in, checked out the Castro district (gay gay gay people), city hall, a transvestite, and home. It was a busy tour.
*Worth noting are some store names in the Castro district
- Does You Mama Know?
- Thick and Thin Pizza
- Squat and Gobble Cafe
- Moby Dick
- Rock Hard
- Sausage Factory
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Velvet Blankets for Sleeping Giants
Exhaustion.
I'm on my last leg here after one of the most excruciating travel experiences of my life. We awoke in Haas' apartment at 730 am and packed up the goods. Like always, we played another rousing round of the stuffed-trunk puzzle game and again found a way to come out the victors.
Then came the traffic. Some moron had sent his car toppling off of an overpass and (engine first) plowed into the pavement of the Santa Monica Freeway, sending tens of firetrucks and police cars to smother the scene. And like that 6 lanes became one.
Forty-five minutes of bad morning radio and more flashing lights than a Kanye single left me feeling awful, picking right up where the dried fruit medley I called breakfast left off.
On the up-side though the pacific coast highway was gorgeous. Houses lined the shore, quaint (and not so quaintt really) restaurants filed into the empty spaces, and the rest was oceanic bliss. Pinpricked surfer outlines skimmed the whitest parts of the whole scene while the motorcyclist douchebag who cut me off was later spotted pulled over and ticketed. It was pretty great alright.
We hopped on the 101 for a bit and hit up an amazing mexican restaurant called Rose's Cafe. I put down a "Numero Seis", or a cheese enchilada and beef taco 'combinacion' for those not in the know. Abby even picked up the tab! : ) To put it in a festive 4th of July metaphor that was the firework send-off before the awful walk back to the car.
Things got ugly when we exited back to the P.C.H. and traded speeds of 20's and 30's to wind through purple and green mountains. Smeary clouds, as Abby called them, hung low over the car and we constantly battled the hairpin turns it helped to hide. We should've known something was up when the road was desolate and every national park along the way had huge CLOSED signs hanging over their entrances.
We hit a road block about 60 miles in where a police officer informed us that the only way to continue to San Fran was to backtrack the entire 60 miles to a town called Cambria, cut across highway 46 for an hour, and re-take our entire trip using the 101. The only thing that could make me frown heavier was the realization of the 4.99 per gallon gas station we were forced to use.
Anyways including traffic and all the insanity the trek that most people make in five hours was accomplished by our team in 12. Don't ever ask me to partner with you on the Amazing Race.
San Fran is beautiful though, much more will be divulged on that tomorrow. Oh and we're back to no pictures until the next decent computer comes along!
R&R
I'm on my last leg here after one of the most excruciating travel experiences of my life. We awoke in Haas' apartment at 730 am and packed up the goods. Like always, we played another rousing round of the stuffed-trunk puzzle game and again found a way to come out the victors.
Then came the traffic. Some moron had sent his car toppling off of an overpass and (engine first) plowed into the pavement of the Santa Monica Freeway, sending tens of firetrucks and police cars to smother the scene. And like that 6 lanes became one.
Forty-five minutes of bad morning radio and more flashing lights than a Kanye single left me feeling awful, picking right up where the dried fruit medley I called breakfast left off.
On the up-side though the pacific coast highway was gorgeous. Houses lined the shore, quaint (and not so quaintt really) restaurants filed into the empty spaces, and the rest was oceanic bliss. Pinpricked surfer outlines skimmed the whitest parts of the whole scene while the motorcyclist douchebag who cut me off was later spotted pulled over and ticketed. It was pretty great alright.
We hopped on the 101 for a bit and hit up an amazing mexican restaurant called Rose's Cafe. I put down a "Numero Seis", or a cheese enchilada and beef taco 'combinacion' for those not in the know. Abby even picked up the tab! : ) To put it in a festive 4th of July metaphor that was the firework send-off before the awful walk back to the car.
Things got ugly when we exited back to the P.C.H. and traded speeds of 20's and 30's to wind through purple and green mountains. Smeary clouds, as Abby called them, hung low over the car and we constantly battled the hairpin turns it helped to hide. We should've known something was up when the road was desolate and every national park along the way had huge CLOSED signs hanging over their entrances.
We hit a road block about 60 miles in where a police officer informed us that the only way to continue to San Fran was to backtrack the entire 60 miles to a town called Cambria, cut across highway 46 for an hour, and re-take our entire trip using the 101. The only thing that could make me frown heavier was the realization of the 4.99 per gallon gas station we were forced to use.
Anyways including traffic and all the insanity the trek that most people make in five hours was accomplished by our team in 12. Don't ever ask me to partner with you on the Amazing Race.
San Fran is beautiful though, much more will be divulged on that tomorrow. Oh and we're back to no pictures until the next decent computer comes along!
R&R
Pictures Are Working...
And also, here's just a quick recap of where Weis has laid his head during the trip
June 28th - Sleeping bag on couch
June 29th - Sleeping bag on wooden floor (egg crates)
June 30th - Sleeping bag in tent in Santa Fe
July 1st - Hotel bed
July 2nd - Sleeping bag on carpet
July 3rd - Sleeping bag on carpet
July 4th - Sleeping bag in strangers couch
July 5th - Sleeping bag on hardwood floor, three pillows
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Just Sat On There And Gurgled
Eat Wells didn't happen, but Togo's "Great Sandwiches" did. Six inch meatball and french mushroom soup to fill the belly.
Next stop was the Griffith Observatory, located atop one of the highest elevations in the L.A. area. Apparently it was built around the 1930's by a dude who had obtained all of his money from mexican silver mining, and now it's teeming with tourists all snapping away at the self-proclaimed 'most used telescope'. Something along that line anyways.
With that out, it was to Melrose and Fairfax for overly expensive hipster vintage gear and sneakers sneakers sneakers. Saw a Bently, bought a pomegranate tea, raised a few eyebrows in the direction of sales prices... probably the usual for a Kentucky lad in such an outing. In one particular store I got into conversation with the owner about an interesting pair of beat up cream and red Chuck Taylors which she said were first worn in the 60's. I cooly asked the price and she cooly responded with "600 dollars", to which the other clerk laughed out loud in my direction. I thought I was supposed to be the one laughing out loud there... I didn't know it was customary for people to laugh at prices they set.
Chuck taylors cost like 40 dollars new.
Beverly Hills was something alright. Huge houses with even more impressive landscapes... seriously... palm trees in every front yard lined up like grade-school lunch, only it looked like the entire class fell into the 'tallest' end of the spectrum.
We snagged dinner along the coast-line at a place called Thai Cuisine & Sushi. I had the best cheeseburger of my life. I'm kidding. I had the Red Killer, and I don't mean the murderous sun that has obviously attacked Weis recently. Spicy shrimp, seared tuna, and an ice cold Tsing Tao to boot. Delicious.
Drinking Fat Tire now, highly recommended, sleep soon, then to San Fran
Next stop was the Griffith Observatory, located atop one of the highest elevations in the L.A. area. Apparently it was built around the 1930's by a dude who had obtained all of his money from mexican silver mining, and now it's teeming with tourists all snapping away at the self-proclaimed 'most used telescope'. Something along that line anyways.
With that out, it was to Melrose and Fairfax for overly expensive hipster vintage gear and sneakers sneakers sneakers. Saw a Bently, bought a pomegranate tea, raised a few eyebrows in the direction of sales prices... probably the usual for a Kentucky lad in such an outing. In one particular store I got into conversation with the owner about an interesting pair of beat up cream and red Chuck Taylors which she said were first worn in the 60's. I cooly asked the price and she cooly responded with "600 dollars", to which the other clerk laughed out loud in my direction. I thought I was supposed to be the one laughing out loud there... I didn't know it was customary for people to laugh at prices they set.
Chuck taylors cost like 40 dollars new.
Beverly Hills was something alright. Huge houses with even more impressive landscapes... seriously... palm trees in every front yard lined up like grade-school lunch, only it looked like the entire class fell into the 'tallest' end of the spectrum.
We snagged dinner along the coast-line at a place called Thai Cuisine & Sushi. I had the best cheeseburger of my life. I'm kidding. I had the Red Killer, and I don't mean the murderous sun that has obviously attacked Weis recently. Spicy shrimp, seared tuna, and an ice cold Tsing Tao to boot. Delicious.
Drinking Fat Tire now, highly recommended, sleep soon, then to San Fran
Buttonland
Due to the high demand for pictures in our only comment on the blog, I'm forced to announce that sadly Abby Ruth's cammie is non-compatible with the apple fossil I use as a computer. In short, Abby and I have compatibility issues. We're working on it.
I'm cooped in an L.A. apartment right now checking out books on Japanese architecture, the apartment belonging to Micheal Haas, and the books belonging to his architectual roommate who also works at a firm here in the city. I'm trying to recall everything that's happened since we've entered the great western state so cutely referred to as "Cali".
We pulled in at 6:45PM on Thursday July 3rd to our Santa Monica destination, greeted by Allie's boyfriend Justin, a stranger in our eyes. The hospitality was incredible and we instantly felt welcomed, warmed by a Newcastle Brown Ale and a quick-play Guitar-Hero face-off. We checked out the downtown SM area, fell under the weight of the major shopping quadron, and scoped out the pier. Awful chicken taco's and distant carnival pleas (I NEED THREE MEMBERS FOR THE SHOOT OFF... A WINNER EVERY ROUND!) clogged our arteries and ears respectively.
More sleep, more life without cleanliness, more sweating, more salt, more sand, more insane people and homeless.
[picture added after camera situation resolved!]
Venice beach was a trash heap of styrofoam and immigration and after four hours of immersing myself in it I felt more polluted than the shoreline. People with leather bags for skin zig-zagged along with us along the sidewalk as we dodged character after character before calling it quits.
We're headed to a place called the eat-well... if we can make it. Apparently, like all things out in L.A., it is complicated
More on life later.
I'm cooped in an L.A. apartment right now checking out books on Japanese architecture, the apartment belonging to Micheal Haas, and the books belonging to his architectual roommate who also works at a firm here in the city. I'm trying to recall everything that's happened since we've entered the great western state so cutely referred to as "Cali".
We pulled in at 6:45PM on Thursday July 3rd to our Santa Monica destination, greeted by Allie's boyfriend Justin, a stranger in our eyes. The hospitality was incredible and we instantly felt welcomed, warmed by a Newcastle Brown Ale and a quick-play Guitar-Hero face-off. We checked out the downtown SM area, fell under the weight of the major shopping quadron, and scoped out the pier. Awful chicken taco's and distant carnival pleas (I NEED THREE MEMBERS FOR THE SHOOT OFF... A WINNER EVERY ROUND!) clogged our arteries and ears respectively.
More sleep, more life without cleanliness, more sweating, more salt, more sand, more insane people and homeless.
[picture added after camera situation resolved!]
Venice beach was a trash heap of styrofoam and immigration and after four hours of immersing myself in it I felt more polluted than the shoreline. People with leather bags for skin zig-zagged along with us along the sidewalk as we dodged character after character before calling it quits.
We're headed to a place called the eat-well... if we can make it. Apparently, like all things out in L.A., it is complicated
More on life later.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Reds and Browns Evvvvverywhere, No sports reference
If I’m being honest, blogging is nearly impossible on a trip like this. With the rock-star schedule of being in a different city every night (sometimes three a day like yesterday), we have such a difficult time getting ourselves together for long enough to properly regurgitate everything we’re seeing out here.
Latest Travel: Flagstaff to Sedona, Sedona to Grand Canyon, Grand Canyon To Phoenix
Distance: 320 miles total
Destination Phoenix, Arizona
Right now we’re at Corey’s buddy Grant’s house, where the weather is a stifling 115 degrees during the peak hours of the day. It’s so hot you can literally feel the sun pour over you the moment you walk outside and mute all of the nerve related senses on the skin. Blistering. Awful. I want water.
The Phoenix area is a miserable area to navigate as well. Everything is commercialized and complexed and each of the giant shopping centers lie at least 20 minutes from one another. The interstates are engorged with traffic and the drives are stale and visually blank. My mission has been to see a cactus that stands 30-40 feet tall, and so far the largest one we’ve seen was nearly 15. Maybe as we move further west these bad boys will beef up.
Just to have some detail in what we’ve done, we went to the hillbilliest sporting goods store I’ve ever seen called Cabela’s. Huge aquariums and lots of taxidermy went into the making of this place. They even sold boar and ostrich in a so called café. We ate at Pei Wei, a cheaper member of the royal P.F. Changs food family, experienced Tempe with some local (and not so local) shops, and walked a few miles around a man made lake out in the middle of the desert. I feel like everything I’ve seen though has been part of a country club, where plenty of manual labor and planning goes into anything you encounter.
Latest Travel: Flagstaff to Sedona, Sedona to Grand Canyon, Grand Canyon To Phoenix
Distance: 320 miles total
Destination Phoenix, Arizona
Right now we’re at Corey’s buddy Grant’s house, where the weather is a stifling 115 degrees during the peak hours of the day. It’s so hot you can literally feel the sun pour over you the moment you walk outside and mute all of the nerve related senses on the skin. Blistering. Awful. I want water.
The Phoenix area is a miserable area to navigate as well. Everything is commercialized and complexed and each of the giant shopping centers lie at least 20 minutes from one another. The interstates are engorged with traffic and the drives are stale and visually blank. My mission has been to see a cactus that stands 30-40 feet tall, and so far the largest one we’ve seen was nearly 15. Maybe as we move further west these bad boys will beef up.
Just to have some detail in what we’ve done, we went to the hillbilliest sporting goods store I’ve ever seen called Cabela’s. Huge aquariums and lots of taxidermy went into the making of this place. They even sold boar and ostrich in a so called café. We ate at Pei Wei, a cheaper member of the royal P.F. Changs food family, experienced Tempe with some local (and not so local) shops, and walked a few miles around a man made lake out in the middle of the desert. I feel like everything I’ve seen though has been part of a country club, where plenty of manual labor and planning goes into anything you encounter.
A-do-be Kind
Quick words on Santa Fe.
Adobe. Dry heat. Railway Runaway Cowboys. Smoky. Dustbowl. Canyon Street. Fine Art. Pork Burritos. Lamb Tacos. Religion. Three Deer. Pitch Black. Public Bathrooms. Gravel Pit. Wrong turns.
Santa Fe to Flagstaff: 383 miles
Flagstaff was a pleasant break. We stayed in a hotel called Little America and rubbed clean the stenches we’d been collecting from the airs of different towns. The hair is no longer oil soaked. My face is no longer scratchy with stubble. My thirsts for beer and hot tubs were each taken care of, regardless of the fact that it was raining at the time.
Tomorrow we see the Grand Canyon... I'm doing eye stretches to get ready for the sight
Adobe. Dry heat. Railway Runaway Cowboys. Smoky. Dustbowl. Canyon Street. Fine Art. Pork Burritos. Lamb Tacos. Religion. Three Deer. Pitch Black. Public Bathrooms. Gravel Pit. Wrong turns.
Santa Fe to Flagstaff: 383 miles
Flagstaff was a pleasant break. We stayed in a hotel called Little America and rubbed clean the stenches we’d been collecting from the airs of different towns. The hair is no longer oil soaked. My face is no longer scratchy with stubble. My thirsts for beer and hot tubs were each taken care of, regardless of the fact that it was raining at the time.
Tomorrow we see the Grand Canyon... I'm doing eye stretches to get ready for the sight
Weis 6:59 June 28th
Ross has been Mario-ing forever. He seems very into it. He keeps signing and talking about coins
Missouri’s only city is St Louis, based on the pathetic excuses for exits we’ve passed.
Tulsa is “Green Country” supposedly. On AAA’s preview page, Native American pow-wows and a 72 foot tall oiler statue are pictured. They say nothing of what to do if you arrive at 10pm. All of their restaurants will be closed!! Where will I dine? I can only eat nacho chips and Handi-Snacks for so long.
Missouri’s only city is St Louis, based on the pathetic excuses for exits we’ve passed.
Tulsa is “Green Country” supposedly. On AAA’s preview page, Native American pow-wows and a 72 foot tall oiler statue are pictured. They say nothing of what to do if you arrive at 10pm. All of their restaurants will be closed!! Where will I dine? I can only eat nacho chips and Handi-Snacks for so long.
Abby 6:03 June 28th
Weis is still driving. We almost went on the wrong road after getting gas from a pump that had ross stumped for a few good minutes. We passed Cuba about 5 minutes ago and now Weis is playing MMJ covering the Who from bonnaroo 2 years ago.
Ross and Weis are scared of my Dad’s salsa because it’s been through rough times in the car, but I think it will be fine and I plan to prove them wrong shortly. (I don’t want to attempt it before I take the wheel though)
*Noted: I’m the only one that can read or play video games in the car without getting sick or hot
The St. Louis arch was really cool; we had great weather with a refreshing breeze, AND our car didn’t get stolen parked by the river.
Ring Around The Poseyville
Day One is securely locked away in the constructs of three memory banks, assuredly a little different for each, but I have the pleasure of beginning the online dumpster that will help us keep tabs on the enormous amount of stimuli we’re about to encounter. Travelblog, you’re in charge of keeping these things clear. Here’s how mine unloads.
Miles Traveled: 590
Hours Driven: 12
Cities Landed: Saint Louis, Missouri / Tulsa, Oklahoma
In Saint Louis, the GPS system (nicknamed Andrea for companionship purposes) began leading us through the city to the Arch, only to take us to a road that was completely submerged in water. The banks of the river had swelled and engulfed the entire entryway to a nearby casino boat, leaving the highest signs and trees as little islands in the disaster.
The streets were cobblestone, the bars were both endless and unique, and the Arch itself was easily the colossus of the Midwest. The structure was so big and yet so unlikely shaped that it made it appear even larger than life. Standing under it was disorienting and I felt warped.
Then came the second and longer half of the expedition. Getting to Tulsa was our closest moment to living out a high-octane action film, what with dodging police vehicles going 83 and blowing past Tollways in the “Account Holders Lane”. I expect my arrest warrant to be passed around the area.
We arrived at Azra's workplace (The Tulsa World?) and scooped some keys to her place. It was then on to Cherry Street through an unbelievably difficult GPS direction sequence, where Weis and I mealed on four burgers called "Quarter Moons". I instantly felt the digestive power of such a meal.
We crashed on Azra's wooden kitchen floor and awoke just 6 hours later to hit up a quaint little coffee shop before it was on the road again. My back hurts, but Azra is a dear and I'm thankful we got to see/stay with her.
Miles Traveled: 590
Hours Driven: 12
Cities Landed: Saint Louis, Missouri / Tulsa, Oklahoma
In Saint Louis, the GPS system (nicknamed Andrea for companionship purposes) began leading us through the city to the Arch, only to take us to a road that was completely submerged in water. The banks of the river had swelled and engulfed the entire entryway to a nearby casino boat, leaving the highest signs and trees as little islands in the disaster.
The streets were cobblestone, the bars were both endless and unique, and the Arch itself was easily the colossus of the Midwest. The structure was so big and yet so unlikely shaped that it made it appear even larger than life. Standing under it was disorienting and I felt warped.
Then came the second and longer half of the expedition. Getting to Tulsa was our closest moment to living out a high-octane action film, what with dodging police vehicles going 83 and blowing past Tollways in the “Account Holders Lane”. I expect my arrest warrant to be passed around the area.
We arrived at Azra's workplace (The Tulsa World?) and scooped some keys to her place. It was then on to Cherry Street through an unbelievably difficult GPS direction sequence, where Weis and I mealed on four burgers called "Quarter Moons". I instantly felt the digestive power of such a meal.
We crashed on Azra's wooden kitchen floor and awoke just 6 hours later to hit up a quaint little coffee shop before it was on the road again. My back hurts, but Azra is a dear and I'm thankful we got to see/stay with her.
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