A few notes:
-My posts will be fewer and further between because I am a very busy man. I'm taking 6 classes, working 30 hours a week, attempting to put together a portfolio of writing for grad school aps, and reading "Ulysses" which is a total bitch of a book. All this said, I am still going to attempt to write two posts a week. I'm formulating one based around the election- basically, I'm an Obama man myself, and to celebrate his victories last week, and in preview of the upcoming primary in Wisconsin, I wanted to write about the wonderful road trip possibilities of Maryland, Virginia, Washington D.C., and Wisconsin. I've spent a lot of time driving through all these places (family in Wisconsin, a best friend in Baltimore, and an ex-girlfriend in Virginia will do that to you), and they all offer up some fantastic opportunities for a long weekend drive.
-I want to respond briefly to two of Andrew's posts. I, too, want to drive through Montana. I'm not sure what the appeal is, but the words "big sky country" conjure in me images of vast, windblown plains beneath a lustrous, clear afternoon sky filled with languid cumulous clouds drifting past. It's a place that, to me, embodies the spirit of a road trip: nothing but open road in both directions, no one but you and your car and some good tunes. You roll your windows down, let in the sweet smelling, mild great plains air, and just cruise until you can't cruise anymore. So as you can see, my desire to drive through Montana is more cliche than Andrew's- I'm not one who drives for the sake of accomplishment, I drive for those token moments of American transcendence that have made "road travelogues" such an emblematic part of our culture.
The second post of Andrew's I'll address is the one about The College of New Jersey, also affectionately called the NGay. Yes, Andrew and I do have some mighty fond memories of our trips to the NGay. My experience at TCNJ can be summed up by a hungover me jolting awake in horror at around 8:30 am, fully clothed and sitting upright, a dull headache pulsing in my temples, wondering where in the fuck I am and how in the fuck I got here. It's not a terribly glorious legacy, or one that I would recommend anyone try to replicate, but it's what I've got. My latest sojourn to the NGay resulted in Joe cooking a shitload of pasta, the two of us pounding an entire bottle of rum in about 30 minutes, a spirited round of darts, me falling into a bush, and some wildly inappropriate facebook messaging (I apologize, Sarah Schachner...I hardly knew ye'). Needless to say, everything that took place after the bottle of rum is hazy at best in my memory. It was dangerously irresponsible, but also way, way, way too much fun. God bless the NGay.
-On a far more sobering and responsible note:
In lieu of the tragic shootings at Northern Illinois University, and as we near the one year anniversary of the Virgina Tech massacre, I want to reiterate a point I made a few months ago after the untimely and tragic death of Sean Taylor: this country has a serious, serious violence problem. Gun violence is the most extreme form of this epidemic, but violence is every where in America- from football to video games to the disturbing rise in popularity of the barbaric MMA fighting shows and their ilk. This is not a black problem nor a white problem. It's not a male problem or a female problem. It's an American problem. Until we pragmatically address these issues- by seriously analyzing why we're so drawn to the spectacle of two men beating each other to a pulp, by enacting real gun control legislation- tragic events like the ones in DeKalb, Illinois, and Blacksburg, Virginia, will continue to be a regular part of our news cycle. I'm aware this is not road trip-centric, but I did take a trip to Northern Illinois University in the fall of my junior year. I was working for the Temple football team, and we had a game in DeKalb. I was only there for a night, but the students I met went out of their way to be hospitable and kind. The campus seemed to be a vibrant community in the midst of a vast nothingness (oh the corn fields of the midwest...). I hope those students I met are safe and with their families. Our prayers go out to those students who were injured, and especially to the families of those who lost their lives.
13.2.08
I want to drive across Montana...
I think I remember hearing my parents talk about they'd like to retire there. They haven't. Im not sure how serious they were, but the idea stuck with me. I know nothing of the state. It has a few national parks, bears, and lots of room for a few people. Which is exactly why I want to go there.
Although I wouldn't oppose the idea of living there, in a different time in my life, right now I simply want to cruise, no speed across it's highways. And also stop for some food and drink. The same can be said for the Plains states. An open endless highway.
The appeal has nothing to do with the cliched reasons... freedom and possibilities, that doesn't enter into it. I like the mission. Like many things, it goes back to my parents, my dad. I remember driving with him, to New York, soccer tournaments, North Carolina, wherever. I should take this time to point out that my father is an excellent driver, a skill which I have also inherited. There is a natural sense of achievement that goes along with driving. Point A to Point B. Mission accomplished. Of course, the chance to see or do something outside the daily routine is nice as an experience in its own right, but for me, literally, the drive is enough.
Although I wouldn't oppose the idea of living there, in a different time in my life, right now I simply want to cruise, no speed across it's highways. And also stop for some food and drink. The same can be said for the Plains states. An open endless highway.
The appeal has nothing to do with the cliched reasons... freedom and possibilities, that doesn't enter into it. I like the mission. Like many things, it goes back to my parents, my dad. I remember driving with him, to New York, soccer tournaments, North Carolina, wherever. I should take this time to point out that my father is an excellent driver, a skill which I have also inherited. There is a natural sense of achievement that goes along with driving. Point A to Point B. Mission accomplished. Of course, the chance to see or do something outside the daily routine is nice as an experience in its own right, but for me, literally, the drive is enough.
6.2.08
Voodoo Recap: The drive
So hopefully you've read our previous posts about your trip to New Orleans and Voodoo Fest 2007. Hoosier's pre-trip outlook can be read here and pictures from the trip also up. So now, months later, it's time for my full recap and a few thoughts.
The way I see it the trip can be split into three chapters: The drive, the festival, and the city. Im going to do a post for each.
The drive was a long one, riddled with stupidity and stuttering from the start, which I take full responsibility for. We left my place heading the wrong direction, literally. I had to show Roc the bridge over the Savannah river. Besides being the source of a few good stories, it has traditionally marked the beginning or end of many a long drive. Also, on a nice foggy morning, I love driving up the bridge, as it rises into the nothingness, its the best way to begin a trip, but more on that later. After seeing the bridge, I put us back on course heading south, but not for long.
Only an hour or so later I was taking us on another detour, this time to see a friend in Brunswick. Alex, is one those people whose charm and childlike humility can only be found south of the Mason Dixon, and despite his bushy red beard and extensive tattoo collection, you instantly feel at ease and free to speak as if you've known each-other for several years. Add a few bowls,and you will end up babbling back and forth. I hadn't seen him much since he moved south of Savannah, so why not stop along the way?
So it was about 9, 10 at night now and Alex was busy convincing us how insane we were for planning on driving all the way to New Orleans that night, and I was still locked in a state of denial, saying "No. It won't be to bad. We'll pull over and sleep for a few hours on the side of the road and we'll be fine." Either way, it was time to get back on the road. And after popping our Whataburger cherries, and seeing proof that they like things bigger in Texas, we were back on 95 south. I would now like to say that there was no really good way to do this trip that would accommodate our schoolwork, wallets, and schedule. We had to be in New Orleans by Friday afternoonish and is at-least a 10+ hour drive from Savannah. Rather then waking at the earliest hours of the night and driving direct, I decided to take a more leisurely pace
Soon after, it was time to head west, and that means the Bible Beltway, I-10. For many young, liberal northerners, this would be the time to shit on the local Christians responsible for the billboards reminding us that their is only one white male God, whose politics seem to fall inline with American fascists like Curt Weldon. But these signs really don't bother me, because as fucked as they are, and as evil as the frauds are who promote and profit from spewing this bile, at-least their is a sort of honesty in them. Which is more then you can say for most, if not all, conglomerates who use their sock piles of reserve cash to create giant eye-sores of lies, false-promises, and general phonyism. This why I cant wait to drive across Montana and North Dakota, because I have this idea in my head of an open highway drive, where you can see the horizon in any direction, and no billboards for a hundred miles. Now that I have that out of my system, we'll get back to the trip.
Next stop was Tallahassee, to see another lost friend. Like Alex, Rush has those extra hospitality and easy going genes that don't seem to like cold temperatures. So, we chatted about this, that, and the third over a few beers, and not very slowly or subtly, sleep crept upon all of us. I think we got to his place around 1:45 or 2, and we planned on sleeping until 4. We were still about 6 hours from New Orleans, and about 8 into the trip. After we awoke and thanked our generous host, we were off, again. 6 AM stop at Waffle House (A Waffle House along a major highway, has to be one of the safest places ever. At the right times, its a though looking crowd in there. You'd have to be batshitcrazy to start trouble in a Waffle house.). Two hour nap at the road stop before the Louisiana boarder. Short controlled burst, think of the Halo 3 Battle rifle. Shot people in the head, take cover. Drive a few hundred miles, take a nap.
The coolest part of the drive is certainly driving along the causeways of Alabama/Mississippi/Louisiana. As I said before, theirs something bizarrely powerful about driving on a near transparent structure in the air over water; ... simply its like flying. At least it is to me. And with a low thick fog, you plunge into the clouds and you find yourself in a unfamiliar context. The last miles into New Orleans couldn't be more unnerving , and upsetting. Communities one after another in ruin, deserted, empty. But that is were I will pick up in the next part of this Voodoo 07 Recap.
Next, my time in New Orleans.
The way I see it the trip can be split into three chapters: The drive, the festival, and the city. Im going to do a post for each.
The drive was a long one, riddled with stupidity and stuttering from the start, which I take full responsibility for. We left my place heading the wrong direction, literally. I had to show Roc the bridge over the Savannah river. Besides being the source of a few good stories, it has traditionally marked the beginning or end of many a long drive. Also, on a nice foggy morning, I love driving up the bridge, as it rises into the nothingness, its the best way to begin a trip, but more on that later. After seeing the bridge, I put us back on course heading south, but not for long.
Only an hour or so later I was taking us on another detour, this time to see a friend in Brunswick. Alex, is one those people whose charm and childlike humility can only be found south of the Mason Dixon, and despite his bushy red beard and extensive tattoo collection, you instantly feel at ease and free to speak as if you've known each-other for several years. Add a few bowls,and you will end up babbling back and forth. I hadn't seen him much since he moved south of Savannah, so why not stop along the way?
So it was about 9, 10 at night now and Alex was busy convincing us how insane we were for planning on driving all the way to New Orleans that night, and I was still locked in a state of denial, saying "No. It won't be to bad. We'll pull over and sleep for a few hours on the side of the road and we'll be fine." Either way, it was time to get back on the road. And after popping our Whataburger cherries, and seeing proof that they like things bigger in Texas, we were back on 95 south. I would now like to say that there was no really good way to do this trip that would accommodate our schoolwork, wallets, and schedule. We had to be in New Orleans by Friday afternoonish and is at-least a 10+ hour drive from Savannah. Rather then waking at the earliest hours of the night and driving direct, I decided to take a more leisurely pace
Soon after, it was time to head west, and that means the Bible Beltway, I-10. For many young, liberal northerners, this would be the time to shit on the local Christians responsible for the billboards reminding us that their is only one white male God, whose politics seem to fall inline with American fascists like Curt Weldon. But these signs really don't bother me, because as fucked as they are, and as evil as the frauds are who promote and profit from spewing this bile, at-least their is a sort of honesty in them. Which is more then you can say for most, if not all, conglomerates who use their sock piles of reserve cash to create giant eye-sores of lies, false-promises, and general phonyism. This why I cant wait to drive across Montana and North Dakota, because I have this idea in my head of an open highway drive, where you can see the horizon in any direction, and no billboards for a hundred miles. Now that I have that out of my system, we'll get back to the trip.
Next stop was Tallahassee, to see another lost friend. Like Alex, Rush has those extra hospitality and easy going genes that don't seem to like cold temperatures. So, we chatted about this, that, and the third over a few beers, and not very slowly or subtly, sleep crept upon all of us. I think we got to his place around 1:45 or 2, and we planned on sleeping until 4. We were still about 6 hours from New Orleans, and about 8 into the trip. After we awoke and thanked our generous host, we were off, again. 6 AM stop at Waffle House (A Waffle House along a major highway, has to be one of the safest places ever. At the right times, its a though looking crowd in there. You'd have to be batshitcrazy to start trouble in a Waffle house.). Two hour nap at the road stop before the Louisiana boarder. Short controlled burst, think of the Halo 3 Battle rifle. Shot people in the head, take cover. Drive a few hundred miles, take a nap.
The coolest part of the drive is certainly driving along the causeways of Alabama/Mississippi/Louisiana. As I said before, theirs something bizarrely powerful about driving on a near transparent structure in the air over water; ... simply its like flying. At least it is to me. And with a low thick fog, you plunge into the clouds and you find yourself in a unfamiliar context. The last miles into New Orleans couldn't be more unnerving , and upsetting. Communities one after another in ruin, deserted, empty. But that is were I will pick up in the next part of this Voodoo 07 Recap.
Next, my time in New Orleans.
1.2.08
Its a small world, even with all this cyberspace.
This morning I woke up and read Hoosier's post, and thought to myself, "Good. My post worked, gota keep going." But I agreed we should return to the subject central to all of our thoughts... not how Mets still can't threaten the Phils, but how this road trip will proceed. I then decided to look around at our competition, to see if their was prominent road trip blog out there that was stealing our interested public. Well if there is I didn't find it yet because Google's top result for "road trip blog" was far better then I could have hoped. I found DriveAndAHalf.com and started reading. It looks like they more or less abandon the site two years ago after a mere six posts, so if nothing else we're doing better then them, but I kept reading.
After a little while it became apparent that the contributors where, like yours trurly, of college age. I guess the awe of the car wares off by age 30, or your life becomes overrun with "more important" issues that leave little time to drive for pleasure. Then after reading still further, I began to sense that they were from or traveling in the Philadelphia area, on roads I grew-up on. The Blue Route. Route 1. The PA Turnpike. Then my heart skipped a beat as it grew clear they went to school in New Jersey, "These schmucks go to TCNJ" I said out loud to my empty bedroom. I hadn't read it, but deep in my soul I knew it to be the truth. Now completely unconcerned with whatever pulp I was reading, they appear to like horses, I started scrolling through text and pictures, looking for conformation of their enrollment at "the NGay." Then three quarter of the way down the page, in a post over two years old, BAM! "We left TCNJ at around 7am." After a brief period of laughter, I knew what had to be done.
First I want to make it known that when our trip does begin, New Jersey will not be on the itinerary. Second I have been to The College Of New Jersey, and a dear friend of ours will soon be graduating from the college formally known as Trenton State, and he may or may not be joining us on our big adventure. After multiple visits to the school, I think I would feel as comfortable walking 5 city blocks in Camden as I do walking through the dorms of the NGay. Luckily the students their always provide the cure for my discomfort, alcohol. Entering the campus is like leaving reality, and during the drive their you saw logic, reason, and good judgement commit a group suicide by pushing each other off the Scudder Falls Bridge. Usually with in an hour off being trapped in confines of their, "we wish were Princeton" red brick, I've started drinking, and will not stop until the nightmare goes away and I pass out cold. I think it says something when one of my most secure moments their, was sharing a bottom bunk with Hoosier, and this was done soberly mind you.
I should now take a second to say that I do have fond memories of TCNJ, like returning to my friend BD's dorm room to find him in only his breifs, with his head hidden in the trash can he was vomiting into. I also laugh to hear all the ways I agitated, questioned, and even abused the students and their lifestyle during period of drunkenness I do no recall. Although, my crowing achievement is without question pissing in BD's roommate's bed. I feel completely justified in this, although a bit sorry for the Drake, for this is what happens when you put locks on the public (multi-stall) bathrooms, the only restroom on the floor. If there is ever a place that illustrates both the evils and necessity of booze, its that little school in Ewing... Trenton State, um, I mean... The College of New Jersey.
This post is dedicated to the memory of Joe "BD" D'Urso. A true patriot and bro who's friendship was ironically claimed by America's armpit in 2004.
After a little while it became apparent that the contributors where, like yours trurly, of college age. I guess the awe of the car wares off by age 30, or your life becomes overrun with "more important" issues that leave little time to drive for pleasure. Then after reading still further, I began to sense that they were from or traveling in the Philadelphia area, on roads I grew-up on. The Blue Route. Route 1. The PA Turnpike. Then my heart skipped a beat as it grew clear they went to school in New Jersey, "These schmucks go to TCNJ" I said out loud to my empty bedroom. I hadn't read it, but deep in my soul I knew it to be the truth. Now completely unconcerned with whatever pulp I was reading, they appear to like horses, I started scrolling through text and pictures, looking for conformation of their enrollment at "the NGay." Then three quarter of the way down the page, in a post over two years old, BAM! "We left TCNJ at around 7am." After a brief period of laughter, I knew what had to be done.
First I want to make it known that when our trip does begin, New Jersey will not be on the itinerary. Second I have been to The College Of New Jersey, and a dear friend of ours will soon be graduating from the college formally known as Trenton State, and he may or may not be joining us on our big adventure. After multiple visits to the school, I think I would feel as comfortable walking 5 city blocks in Camden as I do walking through the dorms of the NGay. Luckily the students their always provide the cure for my discomfort, alcohol. Entering the campus is like leaving reality, and during the drive their you saw logic, reason, and good judgement commit a group suicide by pushing each other off the Scudder Falls Bridge. Usually with in an hour off being trapped in confines of their, "we wish were Princeton" red brick, I've started drinking, and will not stop until the nightmare goes away and I pass out cold. I think it says something when one of my most secure moments their, was sharing a bottom bunk with Hoosier, and this was done soberly mind you.
I should now take a second to say that I do have fond memories of TCNJ, like returning to my friend BD's dorm room to find him in only his breifs, with his head hidden in the trash can he was vomiting into. I also laugh to hear all the ways I agitated, questioned, and even abused the students and their lifestyle during period of drunkenness I do no recall. Although, my crowing achievement is without question pissing in BD's roommate's bed. I feel completely justified in this, although a bit sorry for the Drake, for this is what happens when you put locks on the public (multi-stall) bathrooms, the only restroom on the floor. If there is ever a place that illustrates both the evils and necessity of booze, its that little school in Ewing... Trenton State, um, I mean... The College of New Jersey.
This post is dedicated to the memory of Joe "BD" D'Urso. A true patriot and bro who's friendship was ironically claimed by America's armpit in 2004.
So Andrew gets off his literary high horse
All right, all right. You want me to write, Andrew? I'll write. The man has questioned both my sexuality and, one too many times, my dedication as a writer. I would like to say that I have been writing- three short stories and, hopefully, a novel- so it's not a question of motivation. It's just been a question of priority (granted, no one reads my stories just like no one reads this blog) and a question of topicality: I haven't had any road trip things to add, and the one time I went off topic, Andrew chastised me. That said, I'll follow Andrew's lead and go slightly off topic here (with a little big of trip tid bits here and there).
First and foremost, as to the writing process, I can certainly understand Andrew's frustration. Obviously, I am a writing major, and aspire to someday be a writer myself. Really, writing is like any art: you have to be honest to yourself, and you have to realize that perfection isn't a legitimate possibility. It just isn't going to happen, so there's no use worrying about it. I know Andrew, and many writers, worry about choosing the right word, worry about sounding stupid or awkward, and because of this, either don't write or don't let people see their writing. I can vouch for myself, and I imagine Matt would agree: a majority of my writing sucks. That's how you get better as a writer- you write, and a lot of times it sucks, a lot of times you're convinced it's terrible, but that's how you improve: practice, trial and error, learning from your mistakes. The reason I write, other than my love for the written word, for creation, for hopefully illuminating what I think are the beauties of this world for other people, is for that moment when you write that sentence or paragraph of story where everything comes out exactly the way you imagined it would. Perfection, as I said earlier, isn't a sustainable goal in writing. It is possible in small doses, though, and those doses make it all so rewarding. Of course, the only way you reach that is by practice, practice, practice. So, Andrew- and anyone else who might stumble on this- don't get hung up, don't get discouraged. Writing isn't about perfection in the long term (hell, it's not even in the short term). It's about exploring yourself and the world around you. Just write, and keep writing.
As for Matthew. Yes, New Year's was pretty fucking incredible. Everyone was at the top of their game. Some moments of mine that were particular favorites:
-Andrew being Andrew. Namely, his stumbling and bumbling around the room, him putting up his dukes to fight Ben, and being an all around belligerent misanthrope for the latter half of the evening. Absolutely my favorite part of the night.
-Matthew's imaginary fight with Andrew.
-Everyone ganging up to tackle Ben. He certainly had it coming.
-Eric's four hot dogs.
-Above all, the rare occasion where we were able to get all six of us together in the same place.
Lastly, Ben and I took a kind of road trip (as Matt alluded to in his piece) to the beautiful United States Virgin Islands. While it was not a traditional road trip, we spent a lot of our time there in cars, although it was mostly hanging on for dear life while being flung around hair pin turns by sleazy, rip off cabbies. It was a wonderful trip- probably more eventful than I can recap here (and let's be honest, I've made sure you all heard the highlights already anyway...and if not, I'd be more than happy to enlighten you). I wanted to say that although it was not a tradtional road trip, it accomplished what I think any good trip hopes to accomplish- it brought people together who usually don't get to spend time together. It brought my entire extended family together for a week, and it brought Ben and Matt (Nate's friend) into the fold, too, and I know by the end of the week, they both felt like Pahls (for better or worse). Above all, it gave me, perhaps most pleasurably, a chance to grow closer with my brother. We've never been close, and I think everyone knows we aren't exactly similar beings, so to have a week where we spent a majority of our time together- and enjoyed that time- was a wonderful development. As I said, that is what I think any kind of trip is for: to bring people closer. So in that lens, both New York and the Virgin Islands were very successful trips.
Now Andrew can shut up, hopefully.
First and foremost, as to the writing process, I can certainly understand Andrew's frustration. Obviously, I am a writing major, and aspire to someday be a writer myself. Really, writing is like any art: you have to be honest to yourself, and you have to realize that perfection isn't a legitimate possibility. It just isn't going to happen, so there's no use worrying about it. I know Andrew, and many writers, worry about choosing the right word, worry about sounding stupid or awkward, and because of this, either don't write or don't let people see their writing. I can vouch for myself, and I imagine Matt would agree: a majority of my writing sucks. That's how you get better as a writer- you write, and a lot of times it sucks, a lot of times you're convinced it's terrible, but that's how you improve: practice, trial and error, learning from your mistakes. The reason I write, other than my love for the written word, for creation, for hopefully illuminating what I think are the beauties of this world for other people, is for that moment when you write that sentence or paragraph of story where everything comes out exactly the way you imagined it would. Perfection, as I said earlier, isn't a sustainable goal in writing. It is possible in small doses, though, and those doses make it all so rewarding. Of course, the only way you reach that is by practice, practice, practice. So, Andrew- and anyone else who might stumble on this- don't get hung up, don't get discouraged. Writing isn't about perfection in the long term (hell, it's not even in the short term). It's about exploring yourself and the world around you. Just write, and keep writing.
As for Matthew. Yes, New Year's was pretty fucking incredible. Everyone was at the top of their game. Some moments of mine that were particular favorites:
-Andrew being Andrew. Namely, his stumbling and bumbling around the room, him putting up his dukes to fight Ben, and being an all around belligerent misanthrope for the latter half of the evening. Absolutely my favorite part of the night.
-Matthew's imaginary fight with Andrew.
-Everyone ganging up to tackle Ben. He certainly had it coming.
-Eric's four hot dogs.
-Above all, the rare occasion where we were able to get all six of us together in the same place.
Lastly, Ben and I took a kind of road trip (as Matt alluded to in his piece) to the beautiful United States Virgin Islands. While it was not a traditional road trip, we spent a lot of our time there in cars, although it was mostly hanging on for dear life while being flung around hair pin turns by sleazy, rip off cabbies. It was a wonderful trip- probably more eventful than I can recap here (and let's be honest, I've made sure you all heard the highlights already anyway...and if not, I'd be more than happy to enlighten you). I wanted to say that although it was not a tradtional road trip, it accomplished what I think any good trip hopes to accomplish- it brought people together who usually don't get to spend time together. It brought my entire extended family together for a week, and it brought Ben and Matt (Nate's friend) into the fold, too, and I know by the end of the week, they both felt like Pahls (for better or worse). Above all, it gave me, perhaps most pleasurably, a chance to grow closer with my brother. We've never been close, and I think everyone knows we aren't exactly similar beings, so to have a week where we spent a majority of our time together- and enjoyed that time- was a wonderful development. As I said, that is what I think any kind of trip is for: to bring people closer. So in that lens, both New York and the Virgin Islands were very successful trips.
Now Andrew can shut up, hopefully.
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