Howdy! So I'm still trying to figure out what to do with this blarg, but self-promotion will always do in a pinch! Last night JJ and I trekked out to Riverside to watch the Wilson Bruins (defending national champs) out-swing the Norco Cougars, earning a berth in Friday's CIF Championship at Dodger Stadium, which I'm going to be lucky enough to get to cover.

The story is here (along with an ever-expanding volume of Mike Across America columns), and the video, conveniently, is right here:



Wilson's done an amazing job and the game was a blast, as was talking to the surprisingly humble Aaron Hicks (I say surprising because the kid's in ESPN the Mag and fielding calls from probably damn near every major league team in the country right now, while studying for his high school finals).

Labels: Generalness, LB Post Sports

Triumph! In honor of my honorable return, I have added the shiny, new Podomatic player to my sidebar as a permanent addition. Please download, subscribe in iTunes, or visit sportsnight.podomatic.com, or LBPostSports.com early and often! We're selling ads now, and the traffic is much appreciated.

The next few weeks are going to see us trying to take the podcast to new levels, starting this Sunday with sponsorship! Yes, Riley's on Anaheim (and Ximeno-ish) is going to have us record there live, and we're hoping to bring a few heads, so let me know if you want something to do this Sunday evening. I'm sure I'll bug you more about it in the future.

Labels: Generalness

Taken as I came out of the bathroom about a half hour after our arrival.

So we're home. There've been the good things: our couch, our television, our friends, our shower(!), our life, etc, and the bad things: …actually, I can't think of a single bad thing about being home. It's great. So here we are, 11,300 miles and change later. When you read that, please keep in mind that it's about 2,600 miles from our door to DC, which means we did the equivalent of that round trip, TWICE, and then some. My car needs to go into the shop, since we got an oil change right before we left, and somewhere around Denver it started politely notifying me that it needs another one.

The trip was a smashing success, in every level. My pantry stock of people and places to write about has multiplied by a hundred, and its showing right now in all the things I'm cooking up. We're out of money, which is a bummer, but it just means we're going to have to bust our asses for a few months to get back on solid ground—we knew that was coming, anyway, and had (rightly) decided that it was worth it. Shar and I have probably never been closer or happier with each other, as friends or partners, and that makes every other thing in my life so much better. It's not that we were on the rocks or something before we left, but spending 7 weeks together no more than a yard apart is kind of a marital baptism by fire, and I'm happy to say we're not cooked to a crisp.

Since I got back I've been telling people that I've needed this trip since my Dad died, two and a half-ish years ago. It's true, though I didn't realize it before we left. It's also our dream honeymoon, which we were lucky enough to get to take a few months after our wedding, when we could appreciate it as its own experience. Plus, Hawaii was nothing to sniff at.

I feel better about life and work and my goals than I have in a long time. I have my focus back. Until my Dad died, I had always lived my life in one way: I'd make a decision, and then I'd get it done. I'd set a goal, and achieve it. Since then, my confidence and my drive have been faltering. 11,000 miles of road was enough to get everything back in order, reprioritized, and to get the fires stoked back up. I'm ready to go right now, and Shar and I had a number of great talks about our goals and how we're going to help each other achieve them. It's an exciting time, and we're doing our best to forge new routines and habits off of our post-trip buzz, that will hopefully keep our momentum going long after this initial high wears off.

But, if it doesn't, there's always the road.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

"Now I'm coming home again, I'm coming home again—maybe we could start again."
---Kanye West, "Homecoming"

On waking, we immediately decided that the idea of going to San Francisco was pretty much ridiculous. We had almost no money left, we hadn't had our things unpacked in our own home for nearly two months, and, more than all that, we were running on nothing but fumes. I woke up feeling like I had my ass kicked the night before, sore all over with a jaw that clicked. Getting ready for and heading to breakfast, we were already a little excited at the idea of going home that night, after a nice day spent with Val and Whitney and their friends at the Aquarium. We followed their van to Whole Foods for breakfast, where people were getting breakfast and lunch foods to bring to eat in front of the fishies.

We were last in line for sandwiches, so by the time we brought our pastries and sack of roast beef sandwiches to the eating area, everyone had sat down and completely filled two tables. We slumped into a table by ourselves behind them, and started inelegantly shoveling croissant flakes into our mouths. I called JJ to tell him we were coming home that night—since JJ had been petitioning me, near daily, to come home early since we left ("You're gonna hit Seattle and turn around," he told me confidently before we left)—and he told me enthusiastically (meaning that I could barely understand him over happy laughing) that he'd been planning on recording Sports Night by himself. I hung up and told Shar, and JJ's enthusiasm seeped into our bones, until we could barely sit still—it's the kind of feast or famine energy we'd grown accustomed to on the road, and we had to use it.

So, sitting there, with a bag full of gourmet sandwiches, looking out the window at the 72-and-sunny California weather, we came to a decision: Fuck the Aquarium. We explained to Val and Whitney, who were understanding and (thankfully) not too bummed at our decision. We literally danced across the parking lot as we called JJ and Dan and let them know, and then, for the last time on our road trip, we hopped into the car with a day's trip ahead of us.

I don't want to oversell this, but I feel I have to articulate it somehow: running across the parking lot, and the first three hours driving home, I was happier than I've maybe ever been. We laughed and screamed, and Shar told me she felt like we just got married again. It was an apt comparison. We took a windy mountain road to get to the 101, which was nice, and then shot off like a rocket once we hit the highway, our hood pointed, actually, finally, towards home.



We ran into Sunday afternoon traffic coming through Santa Barbara and Ventura, and then our scariest driving moment happened as we were getting back up to full speed just south. The car in front of us (and fortunately I leave a healthy following distance) lost its front right wheel. The whole thing came bouncing up over it towards us. My first though was, "Huh, that's weird." Then I realized that hitting a full tired would totally fuck us, and I swerved into the right lane (we were in the center). I swerved back so as not to rear end anyone, then realized the guy who's lost his tire was losing control in our lane, so I checked over my shoulder and swerved quickly into the left lane around him, then back into the center again when I'd passed him. It took all of five seconds, and it took a good thirty seconds for me to look at Shar, calmly, and ask, "Whoa, that was scary as shit, wasn't it?"



The rest of the drive went smoothly, us whooping at each landmark that marked our passage closer, LA County Line, UCLA, and then Shar broke down as we crossed back into Long Beach. Home. Home. Home.



Walking into our apartment, I felt like a ghost. Everything was dark, and I had to stop myself from carrying out our usual routine: toss the toiletry bag on the sink, toss my laptop bag and backpack on the bed, pass out. This wasn't a hotel: this was ours. We walked around aimlessly for maybe a half hour, because we had no idea what to do. There were no unfamiliar parks or sports teams or museums or sculptures to get to, nowhere to go, and nothing to do. So we started unpacking.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

"We've got more bounce in California/ than all y'all combined
We've got more bounce in California/ we like to party all the time
We've got more bounce in California/ where the hustlers all reside
We've got more bounce in California/ rolling easy when we ride."
---Song From the Q

Day 39 started out much calmer than day 38 ended—and thank God for that. We hadn't brought clothes up from the car, so at around 7am I trekked out to the garage to get underwear and shirts for us, since we'd long since stopped changing pants. It was nice and chill, the blackjack tables in front of the elevators occupied by classy, sober ladies and gents, Sinatra playing on the speakers, and reasonable weather outside. I think I could probably really love Vegas between the hours of five and eight in the morning. The vomit in the parking garage was even dried and easy to avoid! A ha ha.

We hit the California Hotel to meet Shar's dad for a happy surprise breakfast buffet. That place is amazing: Shar had told me it's basically an all-Hawaiian hotel in Vegas, which of course I didn't really believe. Well, past me, believe it: they offer discounts to people from Hawaii, and as we walked through the front doors, I saw that they take advantage of it. Standing in the buffet line, Shar's dad (who was actually quite tall compared to the rest of the hotel's patrons) elbowed me and said, "Now you're the minority, eh?" It was great to see Papa Higa in his element, gregariously walking up to groups of twenty-somethings and booming, "So, you're all from Hawaii?" He was in town for his 55th high school reunion, so Shar and I got to meet a lot of his old friends, most of whom had been proudly informed of our travels long before we arrived.



After a nice, relaxed start to the day, we headed southwest on the 15, crossed the California border, rejoiced at the crossing of said border, proceeded to painfully turn right at Barstow, opting for the Sacramento side of the Sacramento/Los Angeles freeway split. It was the probably the hardest thing we did on the trip, honestly. Eventually we got into Monterey about a half hour before our friend Val's birthday dinner was going to start. Its always great to see Val and Whitney, even through bleary eyes, and Angie was there too! It was a regular RVunion. Dinner was a gas, as we struggled to stay awake and (I think) ended up being entertaining to the three people we knew and the seven or eight we didn't. After dinner there was a White Elephant gift exchange, where our car refuse ended up being a big hit (again, I think, I don't really remember much or any of this night).





Then there was only sleep. Sweet, beautiful sleep. The plan was to wake up the next day, go to breakfast and the Aquarium with everyone, then drive north to San Francisco for a few days. But, unable to form complete sentences, we told ourselves we'd see about that in the morning.

----

California, you're beautiful. I wish that every time someone had seen our license plate and scoffed that I'd gotten into a fistfight for you, even if that meant I'd been locked up in a dozen states.

----

I found the smartest person I'd ever met, and married her despite the fact that she's as talented (or more) than I at my life's calling, all so that you'd be able to read her brilliant blogs, friends and family.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

If Nike has given me nothing else, it's given me Saul Williams, via the amazing Sparq commercials. This song doesn't exactly match Nike's image, but I love it so much I really couldn't care less.

I don't know what "it" is, but this is what it's all about.

Labels: Generalness

"Vegas, baby. Vegas." and "Look at all the beautiful babies."
---Literally everyone I eavesdropped on in Vegas. We get it, Vegas, Swingers was rad. Maybe you should quote Casino for variety's sake.



A quick bowl of Reese's Puffs and we were out the door, headed west and south towards Las Vegas, that glittering sore on the puckered face of the Nevada desert. On the way, we crossed through the Rockies, where it was snowing lightly, the vast nothingness of central and northern Utah, the beautiful cliffs and rock formations of southern Utah, and plenty of desert. When we got off the freeway in Las Vegas, we found ourselves at the busiest intersection in the world, Tropicana and Las Vegas Blvd., after driving nearly nonstop for 11 and a half hours. I got dizzy and lightheaded at the intersection, a feeling not unlike the first time I went into shock after dislocating my shoulder.

It passed, and we made it into the parking lot and then into the lobby of the Tropicana, where we stayed. The night we spent there was great: heady, spinning, and exhausted. I hate Las Vegas with all the passion of a Catholic atheist. It's everything that's wrong with America and with the world and with people whose skin looks like mine, but it's impossible not to gape at it, to stare and shake your head and write everything down, which is of course exactly what I did, from the elevator full of twenty year old skin heads smoking cigars and telling black jokes to the forty year old woman who was walking around in a hiked up skirt with no underwear on. Everyone wishes each other "Good luck" there, and they seem to think they're talking about the gambling.

Also, we lost forty dollars, which is no more or less than we were prepared to lose. My grandpa always told me to have a certain amount of money you know you'll lose, and to treat gambling like you're paying admission to a show, if that makes sense. We also watched the Lakers beat the Jazz (barely) with a hundred people in the MGM Grand Sportsbook. They were all from Southern California, and we were all ecstatic. That night I went to bed with a headache, a nose full of cigarette and cigar smoke—incidentally, Vegas is by far the worst smelling city in the country to a sober nose—and a satisfied smile on my face. This was a day full of everything we'd gone across the country to find and to sneer at and to revel in.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

I'd write about tonight but i'm too tired.  Jet lagged tired.  Won't remember most of today tomorrow tired but still so tired i'm going to bed tired.  Tomorrow we go to Monterey for Val's birhtday, along with rad junk and stuff.  i'll post about today tomorrow.  today.  tomorrow.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

"The nights in Denver are cool, and I slept like a log."
---Kerouac, On the Road

Ahhhhhh Denver! Why are you so great? We slept in as late as we're capable of sleeping now (around nine), and then sprang up, lay around for an hour, and went to breakfast with Cassie, our lovely host. After that, we plotted a few routes and drove the length of the western Denver suburbs to Mile High Comics, which is like Comic-Con in a bottle. It's enormous, with every comic ever, every trade ever, every random shirt and poster and toy you ever had as a kid. The kind of place, like Once Read or Amoeba, where if you can't find something the only logical conclusion to draw is that you haven't looked hard enough yet. Plus, the staff was helpful, friendly, smart, and cognizant of how ridiculous their store is. A great time.

Then we drove into the heart of downtown for our this Mongolian place we ate at on the way to Holly's in 2004, one of the best restaurants in the country probably, and browsed Tattered Cover, a wonderful Denver bookstore, where we tried but were unable to resist purchasing McSweeney's newest book, Maps & Legends, Michael Chabon's first collected book of nonfiction. It's the best-designed McSwy's book I've ever seen, which is saying something; the dust jacket has four layers. And the first essay in the book will, if we'll let it, revolutionize literature. It's the manifesto I've been waiting for (it's also the third time he's written this essay, and the best).

Then we cruised around downtown Denver—after Indy, the most drivable downtown in America, since we cruised comfortably at rush hour—and then headed back to Cassie's. We also took in some Beat scenery, parking outside of Kerouac's Denver home to snap a few photos, and drove Larimer Street, whose curbs Neal Cassidy was raised on. We had a nice Thai dinner with Cassie, and now we're lounging about the living room, not looking forward to getting back into the car and leaving yet another comfy house. But we'll be seeing family and friends in Vegas, and then, on Saturday, finally crossing into California again, which I can't wait to do. We got the news about the gay marriage ban overturn in the Mongolian place, and we jumped around and high-fived and felt very proud of our state, which has just leapt in front of not only every other state but Massachusetts, but is now poised to jump in front of most of the world in terms of COMMON SENSE about gay marriage. We miss you, California, and I wish now that I'd gotten into a fistfight with all three dozen people we've run into who've badmouthed you.

Next up: What will happen tomorrow will stay tomorrow.

Labels: Road Trip

"I don't think we're in Kansas, Toto."
---Dorothy

No, Dorothy, we're not; we're in Colorado as I told you, though we were in Kansas for much of the day. Also, stop calling me Toto.

This was the longest day of driving of the trip, at around thirteen hours. We woke up near the Missouri/Illinois border, and when we pass out in our chairs in a few minutes, it will be a mile up in Denver, staying with Shar's old friend Cassie (who is awesome) in her comfortable basement (and when I say comfortable I mean I'm sitting in a leather recliner watching the Lakers game on a big screen TV, about two feet from a comfy mattress on the floor). The drive was exactly as you'd imagine a thirteen hour drive across the whole of Missouri and Kansas would be: long and boring, occasionally interrupted by gorgeous clouds or landscape, and the odd roadside attraction. Most interesting moment would have to be sneaking in the handicap door of the Cathedral of the Plains, and having a century-old mid-western church, with gorgeous architecture and art, all to ourselves.

We finished Gatsby, Shar got her first driving time (about three hours from western Kansas into Colorado), and we logged somewhere over 800 miles on the day. The Blue Hornet is an absolute champ (by the way, in case I didn't mention this; the Blue Hornet was randomly what my grandma thought I should call my car, so at least for the duration of the trip, that's been her name).

Coming into Denver, our mission was clear: we needed a well-earned trip after an arduous day of traveling. We needed Casa Bonita. After some texted directions from Cassie, we arrived, and partook of cliff divers, gun fights, caves, three separate arcades, a man in a gorilla suit, painfully mediocre food, and a delicious Chocolate Bandito. Also, cliff divers. We'd heard it was mostly a tourist trap, which makes sense with its outlandish attractions and South Park fame, so we were pleasantly surprised to find that it was half local little kids, and half drunken University of Colorado students there to heckle the cliff divers. My heart and eyeballs were happy to be there, even if my stomach is still pretty bummed about it.

Now I'm in the aforementioned comfy basement, and the game is getting interesting, so I'm going to go. We'll be in Denver all day tomorrow, and then (I am pretty sure) off to Vegas to meet a few friends on Friday, make a few weird bets, and breakfast with Shar's dad the next morning. Can you feel it? We're closing in on home…

Next up: Denvah!

Labels: Road Trip

NOTE: No photos today due to a camera malfunction, but be sure to ask about the Zoo photos when you see us next. They're pretty awesome. I may figure out how to get them up tomorrow or something.

"Everything changes."
---One of, Or Possibly The Buddha(s)

The original plan was to get up early this morning and head west towards good ol' Denver, stopping somewhere along the way in Kansas for the night, in the hopes that wherever we stopped would not also be a tornado. But, with our dirty clothes coffers full, our minds weary, and our eyes sagging, we came to a decision: fuck it. So we left our bags unpacked and lay around iChatting with people we missed for a few hours, and decided to leave the whole of the twelve hour drive to Denver for tomorrow, when we wouldn't have to spend the money/time in a Kansas hotel, and when there would be (hopefully) less tornadoes.

As a result, we had one of the most relaxing days of the trip. We took our time getting ready, then strolled down the college-y street (think Westwood without chains) and had a leisurely noodle lunch, then went to Star Clipper, the awesome comics store here and got caught up. Then we went to the zoo (free!), to see the DinoROARus exhibit. It. Was. Rad. There were fourteen robotic dinos there, that followed you with their eyes and heads, and roared/spit at you. I got pretty hosed by the Dilophosaur, who thankfully wasn't spitting poisonous neurotoxin! A haha! Then we went and took in the culmination of the special dino area: a 3-D dino movie called Escape From Dino Island 2.

The Godfather Part One or Part Two. Goodfellas or the Departed. Debates about movie superiority have raged for as long as the medium has existed, but I can definitely say that Escape From Dino Island 2 is the greatest film of all time. It's a ride/movie experience (think Star Tours technology advanced 65 million years) where you strap into a seat, grab onto the handles, and are shaken, swooped, and swerved around the now-famous Dino Island. Shar and I had the whole theater to ourselves, which was perfect, because that way nobody else heard me shout with delight as pterodactyls snapped at us, the T-Rex burst through the screen to bite at us, and we got caught in a whirlpool towards the end, right before the dramatic (SPOILER ALERT) rescue. I could give away more of the plot, but let's just say it's amazing, and yes, they did hint at a sequel (!!!) in the offing.

After that we came home, went out for a nice Mexican dinner with Holly, and then relaxed on a familiar couch in front of a basketball game. Actually I'm still relaxing on a familiar couch in front of a basketball game, as the Hornets are currently twelve points up on the hated Spurs. We also got the laundry done, and the rough route for the rest of the trip done (Denver, Vegas, Monterey, San Francisco, HOME). So basically, it was a perfect day. We've probably paid for it with a shitty day tomorrow, but hey, them's the breaks.

Also: Don't forget to read SharBlarg!

Next up: twelve hours across rural Missouri, the whole of Kansas, and half of Colorado, hopefully sans snow and tornadoes.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

"I'll be deep in the cold, cold ground before I recognize Missourah!"
---Grampa Simpson

Well, to get the shitty stuff out of the way, here's the bad parts of today, all lumped together like some kind of Delaware breakfast special. This morning, we got snagged in an unmarked construction zone and I had to do a U-Turn in the middle of a crowded (and angry) intersection; Shar's camera broke; we got very lost on the way back to Holly's; we were tailed for three miles by an angry looking country sheriff; which was made all the more terrifying by the fact that a state trooper had just pulled me over and given us a ticket. The unfortunate and inevitable byproduct of driving (by the time we're done) over ten thousand miles across America, with a California license plate. When he pulled me over, we were doing 79 in a 65, on a two lane country state road with no one else around. When he left he slapped my car and told us, "Slow down and drive safe." Give me a fucking break.

Missouri, with their state troopers and their Rams football, clearly does not deserve my aunt Holly, who, if she were dead, and not a member of my family, would probably have to be my top pick in the Which Non-Familial Dead Person Would You Have Dinner With game we all played over dinner tonight, at an amazing Italian place Holly dug up. Once again, we find ourselves somewhere comfortable, secure, and happy, and once again, we're headed out the door tomorrow to face YET MORE tornado and thunderstorm warnings as we make our way across Kansas. Watch Twister and pray for us, please, friends.

But now to the fun parts of today: we went to Hannibal, Missouri, also known as Mark Twain Disneyland, a description that was happily apt. Our afternoon started with a leisurely cruise up and down the muddy Mississip on board the Mark Twain Riverboat, which was exactly as epic as expected. At first I was really excited, and then, really, really sleepy, which is generally how I like my travel experiences. After that it was a trip through the surprisingly well put together museums and interpretive centers, which included the historically preserved childhood home of Twain. For those who don't know, Hannibal was where he spent the first 13 or so years of his life, and Adventures of Tom Sawyer and the first parts of Huck Finn are basically just written about Hannibal, with a few names changed. The landmarks, famous buildings, caves, and parks are all still there, waiting be toured. After all that, we stopped at Becky Thatcher's Ice Cream Parlour and I had Huckleberry Cream (a-hyuck hyuck), and we relaxed and read before heading home.




All in all, exactly the nice relaxing literary perfectly sunny day that we needed before heading into Tornado Zones in Kansas tomorrow. So, you know…yikes. We're working out our root thereafter, and one of the options may be Vegas on Friday, so holler at me if you're down to meet up. I know a really great juice bar there. Kidding.



Next up: Twister, the Reality Show

Also, here's a picture of Ricky, my favorite cat. I'd post pictures of the other cats but they won't let me take any pictures of them. So they have nothing to complain about:

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

"What you don't have you don't need it now, you don't need it now, you don't need it now…It's a beautiful day!"
---U2

A ha. A haha. Ahahahaha. No, Bono, today was not a beautiful day, today was yet another day of hoping our car wouldn't be blown away by an insane storm system (that one you heard about that killed all those folk in Missouri and Kansas? That one). We woke up this morning east of Indianapolis to an insane thunderstorm, with full on no visibility and lighting every five seconds, out-insaned only by the sheer horizontiality of the rain. It was such an enormous storm, it scrambled my English into its current deroded state. Downstairs, over our complimentary breakfast, the hotel manager told us Hoosiers were famous for driving with no headlights in the rain, and that they QUOTE "Don't particularly care if they hit someone or get hit." "Well," we thought. "Shit."

We'd loved Indy the last time we were there, on our way to Holly's in Nashville, and we'd been looking forward to spending a day there. This did not sound like a good day. Still, we tossed our soggy luggage into the soggy car, and sogged our soggy selves in as well, and started sogging West, towards the city. Miraculously, as we neared it, we came out the other end of the crazy part of the storm, allowing us a bonus few hours to explore Indianapolis before heading all the way west to St. Louis.

Thanks to some nifty Sharresearch, we had a number of unique Vonnegutian sites to visit, none of them historic (yet) or a stopping point on a group tour. Private places, like the house he grew up in (which was for sale, so we snuck all around the outside—unfortunately it's several hundred thousand dollars out of our price range, though we did look), the high school he attended, his family plot (where he himself is not buried, though there was a memorial tree, which I left my pen stuck in the mud beneath), and one of his father's most famous building designs (the Vonneguts designed half the buildings in Indy). If you're familiar with Vonnegut's writings on his family and his home life, and his daily high school newspaper's importance to his style, you know how enormous those places were.




Then we cruised around and took in the parks, the new Colts stadium, and the general radness of Indy, one of the nation's most underrated cities—we also drove by the Indy Speedway, to see if we could find any blood from Danica Patricks' hit and run victim. Alas, not. I really do want to spend more time there, though—there's never traffic downtown, the streets are actually logically laid out, parking is plentiful, and the people are friendly. The rest of the drive was unremarkable, except for that we listened to my Essential Vonnegut Interviews disc on the way, and mourned the great man once more (as well as the fact that we ALMOST met him)…



Now we are in St. Louis, in Holly's amazing house with my favorite aunt and my favorite cat, as well as the two lesser cats, one of whom has developed quite a taste for my sandals. We shall see how this plays out…

Next up: Hannibal, Missouri, which will be either amazing or horrifying, with absolutely no room in between.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

NOTE: This would have gone up earlier but the hotel last night didn't have internet.  Or rather it was supposed to but it were broked.

"In my opinion, baseball is America's pastime, but football is truly America's passion."
---Howie Long

Amen, Howie Long. And if football is the passion of the nation, or as Hunter S. Thompson said, its religion, then Canton, Ohio is Mecca. Now, I've been looking forward to the Pro Football Hall of Fame since day one, but if I had known when we started our trip just how amazing it is, I may have argued for skipping the rest of the country, and staying there for a month. Really, the idea that there are football fans who haven't been there is crazy: the NFL should give stipends to every fan so they can go and visit. I'll say it one more way and then leave it alone: if you're planning on seeing America, skip it and go to the Hall of Fame.

Part of why I'm so hyped on the Hall is that, once again, Shar and I had timing on our side. The night before our trip down to Canton from Cleveland (where Rise and Lebron posters were ubiquitous and the tide of anti-Celtic sentiment was even stronger than in the Hawks-loving car I'm driving), I checked the Hall's website, to find that Saturday May 10, the day we were going to be there, they were opening two brand new exhibits, which cost over three and a half million dollars to build.

So we got down there early, expecting to see a long line, and instead finding two very cheerful old ladies at the entrance. When they heard we were from California, and hadn't planned to show up on unveiling day but rather stumbled into it, they smiled and one of them said, "We're so happy you're here." They were so glad I was there? It was hard not to take off running through the place. Then they ushered us inside, where we were handed a free gift bag with a commemorative newspaper, a free commemorative Hall of Fame guidebook, and a trivia card which we could fill out in order to enter into a contest for tons of prizes. Upstairs, the Cleveland Sports Show was broadcasting live, and cheerily calling to fans as they walked by.


Yep, that's me and Barry Sanders and Dan Marino and Steve Young.  They say hi.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

"The sun was shining bright and I walked barefoot down the road/ Started thinking about my old man/ Seems that all men/ Wanna get into a car and drive/ Anywhere"
---Ben Folds Five, "Evaporated"

We were pessimistic about today when we woke up. Yesterday was so beautiful, with such a relaxed pace, that our long drive through potentially crappy stops was wholly unappealing. First up was to be the Niagara Falls, which we both envisioned as kind of a tourist trap shithole, with a big waterfall surrounded by concrete and astronomical parking. After an uneventful and semi-drab drive through upstate New York, we were pleasantly surprised. Turns out, Niagara is amazing, provided that you go (as we did) off-season. There were very few people there, and we parked in an empty lot about a minute's walk from the falls for five dollars.

The falls themselves are humbling, in that way that enormous natural phenomenon always are, and the clear blue quality of the water made me want to strip down and dive in. Which I didn't.


Horseshoe Falls, the biggest waterfall in North America, is about fifty yards off to the right edge of the photo. There were no guard rails or anything in the area we were hanging out in.

We spent a long time walking around the parks at water's edge, and then left a few hours later, pointed towards Buffalo, and more specifically the University of Buffalo, home to nearly every extant piece of Joyce-abilia on the planet. They have his report cards, all his handwritten manuscripts, his library, a death mask, the portraits his father kept of everyone in their family, etc. I didn't have an appointment, but we went anyway, hoping there would be a few things on display, but figuring that chances were pretty slim, since they're hosting the North American Joyce Conference this July, a big event that would require intense preparation.

Another pleasant surprise! Obviously we couldn't get into the Joyce Archives themselves, since that requires a ton of lead time, special permission, etc. But it turns out they did have a little exhibit out, with Joyce's glasses (I took mine off and pressed my face to the glass exhibit case to look through them), the handwritten manuscript of the last page of the next-to-final draft of Ulysses, the famous Tuohy portrait of Joyce's dad and the even more famous Budgen portrait of Nora (both paintings I've seen hundreds of times, but never in person), and even Nora's first edition of Ulysses, with Joyce's inscription to her. Sigh. I also found out that the University has scanned and digitized most of the million-page Archive, with the handwritten-and-revised manuscripts available to look over on their in-library computer (they want to make them available on the interweb but Joyce's grandson continues to be an ass).



All in all, another great moment. No writer has so much of his life and work collected in one place as Joyce does at Buffalo (despite his never setting foot in America), and today I got to sit in the same room as it. Which must mean it was a pretty cool day.

But now, I'm guessing, as cool as tomorrow will be…

Next up: Our perfect timing strikes again. It's going to be epic. Also, a surprise to everyone but JJ.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

"Live every week like it's Shark Week."
---Finlandia Scribble

Leaving this morning sucked, no doubt about it. We were really settled in at Finlandia, and we had to shuffle cars around (five cars in a two car driveway) to get out. After a leisurely breakfast at Seven Stars Bakery with Stephen—it's his, and now my, favorite bakery—we hit the road, with the best bread and pastries I've ever eated in my belly. The morning was pretty uneventful, outside the window, and pretty damn eventful between my ears. After not writing any fiction for two or three days (the first time that had happened in a few years), and after sticking more or less to one location, something in my chest was hungry, was ravenous. I realized it's this hunger that makes me finish writing the chapter of a novel when it's three in the morning, and that was making me get up at five in the morning to write for an hour when I was at Bobit. It's what drove me to finish projects I was writing in high school, and at the Union, and as a freelancer. It's everything I like about myself.

But it's also what made me once eat a bag of sour candy strips, until my gums bled, and what makes it nearly impossible for me to stop chewing gum until everything in the package is gone. It's a hunger that I think killed my father, and that on some level I've always been afraid will kill me. I'm happy to be out on the road, and writing for a few hours each night (usually, as now, with a great basketball game on in the hotel), feeding that hunger in a positive, constructive way. Having felt it for what it is more clearly today than ever before, I'm not so afraid of it.






Our only real stop of the day was at the Ben and Jerry's factory in Vermont, which is a definite highlight. The tour was great, it was the best gift shop I've ever been in, and hey, I ate like three free scoops while talking to the tour guide about Obama since she approached me to tell me she was a fan of my shirt (alas, they had no Yes, Pecan! Flavor, but we made do with our free Strawberry Cheesecake). Given that she's a middle-aged farmer, I found this heartening. Vermont, by the way, is fucking cool—it's old and historic, but there are solar panels on the roofs of crumbling barns, and some of the signs have the mileage posted in ONLY kilometers. It is also, outside of California, the most beautiful scenery we've had all day, a day so amazing that we had to pull over and play football for fifteen minutes. These pictures don't do it justice, but what can you do?





Leaving Ben & Jerry's, "Carry On My Wayward Son" started playing on their stereo, and we got a little emotional. In addition to the Happiness Capitol of the World, Ben & Jerry's also marked the beginning of our return trip, as it's the farthest north and east that we were going to reach. Pulling out, for the first time in over seven thousand miles, we got on a highway labeled West, and pointed our car at the setting sun. Right now we're in Rome, New York, preparing to get some rest after a ten-plus hour day that took us through five states, including gorgeous Vermont and the Adirondacks. Tomorrow we head for the Erie Canal, Buffalo University, Niagara Falls (maybe) and Cleveland.

Tomorrow: Go west, young man!

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

"Home is where your mom is."
---Finalandia Wall Writing

On most days of my life, I'd agree with that little piece of graffiti; for the last four nights, however, home was where my brother-in-law is. Namely, the Finlandia co-op near Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. Finlandia is basically the Hole from PCU, but more co-opy. There's graffiti all over the walls, stickers and art and memorable quotes…it reminded me a lot of the first time I walked into the Union. It was really awesome, and we were lucky enough to get a little room to ourselves, basically an attic on the third floor, which we shared with the most tame of Finlandia's small, be-tailed residents.



We got in early on Sunday (after a drive through Gatsby Country in Long Island and Stamford, Connecticut (if you know why we went to Stamford, you're an enormous nerd), in order to post up at Spat's Pub around the corner and watch the Celtics demolish the Hawks in Game 7. Something of a low point. Have I mentioned Boston fans disgust me? For the rest of that day, we sat at this place called Tealuxe, sucked down about three pots of tea each (there are over 100 kinds of tea there) and talked about grand plans for the future. Then the next day we slept in and were layabouts, spending another several hours at Tealuxe, visiting Stephen at his work, and then walking with him to a cemetery, where we visited Lovecraft's grave (which I ended up having to pee behind). On the way there Stephen picked edible plants for us to snack on. They were delicious, and planty.



Day 28 was a biggie. We got up with the plan of taking a Greyhound to Boston, with the hopes that we'd made it back to Providence by 8 for a concert of Stephen's. First we got some coffee and tea from Coffee King by the station, and met a guy from Long Beach (Bixby Knolls area, where I went to middle school) who was in town because he's a roadie for Third Eye Blind, who was playing Lupo's that night. WEIRD. The trip to Boston was stunningly smooth, and we got in, had a leisurely lunch with our long-lost UCLA friend Tina, and saw everything we wanted to see (American history sites, and various visual references from the Departed and National Treasure) in a nice relaxing amount of time. We were both very impressed with Boston, which was surprisingly clean, and easy to walk. All the cool stuff is within about a three mile radius, so we did a lot of history-taking in. We also visited the Mapparium, which must me described in person, though I'll give you this taste: it's a three story tall stained-glass globe that you stand inside of. The acoustics alone are worth the trip; walking through it is like being Professor X (plus the ability to walk, of course). Because it's a globe, and because it's glass, sound reflects from all angles, so you catch the whispers of random families as you go. If you stand under the North Pole, you can hear your teeth clack deafeningly loud. Then we made it back in time for a cup of tea, and Stephen's concert was totally amazing, but again, has to be described in person. Most of our Providence trip does, actually…





Nonetheless, onward! Day 29 was cool, and horrible, and then alright, and then cool. We started with a drive to Concord, Mass.—birthplace of American literature—and Walden. Concord was really quaint and pretty, as most of New England in the Spring seems to be, and Walden was less populated and developed than we'd been led to believe, so we actually got to walk alongside it by ourselves. Then we went to Salem. Do not ever go to Salem. It's…Jesus, it's weird. And not in a cool way, in a fucking weird weird weird way. Half the witch landmarks deal with the historical seriousness of the fact that 20 people, none of whom were witches, were murdered because of religious superstition. The other half of the businesses offer palm readings. There are weirdo meth freaks doing tarot cards everywhere, and a Build-a-Witch-Bear stand. Yeah. The (only) highlight was being stopped by an 85 year old man, who saw us looking around in disgust. "It didn't used to be like this," he told us, pleading with us to believe him. We exchanged life stories, he congratulated us on getting married and then, in a weirdly insightful moment, he told us, "Do it now, while you have the time and the energy." He and his wife had been married for 65 years, and he seemed so sad when he told us: "The time goes so fast." Then we went to Plymouth, and looked at all that, which was alright. Arriving back at Finlandia, we felt like we were coming home, which was nice. But then it sucked, because we knew we were leaving (for a long day) in the morning.





These were three of the most eventful days in the trip, and I'm trying to boil them down to as much time as I have devoted to the Atlanta Hawks, so forgive me for skimming. It was a transformative three days, living in a new kind of home with a new kind of people, making more new friends in a short period of time than I maybe ever have, and I couldn't be happier with that leg of the trip. Providence itself is interesting too, incredibly liberal and the most gay-friendly city I've ever been to that wasn't San Francisco (they have way worse drivers than Boston, incidentally). I've got a ton more great photos, too, and lots of great co-op stories to share. But that's for another time. I should also mention that I did not often shower.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

That was a lovely three days of not writing anything (except copious people watching and novel notes in my notebook). Tomorrow I'll get back to A Well Traveled Year, and get these days caught up. We're leaving Rhode Island, where we've been happily leaving with Shar's brother for the last four nights, at 8 in the morning. Wish us luck.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

Well, this is it. End of the road. A lot of people have lobbied for me to keep going with A Storied Year, and I greatly appreciate it, but it's time to end it. Since I decided to be a writer, I've constantly set goals for myself and then tried to hit them, and I did this one. Believe me, it hasn't been as easy as I hope it looked most of the time. This blog is has taken a half hour of my day, minimum, for an entire year. Think about that: That's a lot of time for a guy trying to make it as a freelance, work for hire writer, and I'm damn proud, but I just don't have the time or energy to keep it going like this, curious as I am to see how far I could take it. Plus, I've written the equivalent of 360 double spaced pages, which makes me think I should write something I'll have a shot at selling.

In the end, I'm pretty happy with what's up here (the blog will remain as a personal blog, by the way, and the stories will stay up as a record that I pulled it off). It's not all great, some of it's probably shit, but usually I had one or two stories each week that I'd stake a career on, and that's pretty cool. I do wish the readership had been higher. This is mostly do to my own lack of efforts/time to self-promote over the last six months, but for my next-to-last story, I had only eleven people visit. After pouring near 200 hours of time into this project, that's kind of a bummer.

But still! I had over 12,000 hits from over 1,500 readers, coming from over sixty countries, on every continent in the world (except you, Antartica). Every state in the U.S. had a Storied Year reader except for West Virginia and Alabama, both of which I can live with. California had 107 cities read the blog. All of that is pretty neat, diminished as it's been towards the finish line.

I do feel like the experiment was a success: hell, I did it! Probably nobody but Shar will know how close I came to not making it, and I'm alright with that. One year ago I was at CSULB, at the Union, unsure of what was coming. In the last twelve months I've been involved with a dozen freelance projects and assignments, worked at the District, the Post, held a real job for a few months at Bobit, gotten married, had a honeymoon, lost my grandmother, seen two close friends get engaged, and bought a fuggin' sweet TV. Plus we've been on this badical road trip. It's been a big year for me, recorded through these stories in ways both subtle and obvious.

…Okay, look. I'm going to do a few more stories. But just a few, seriously. Just until we get back from the road trip, and then I'm really done, because Shar and I are cooking on a serialized fiction scheme that may actually be profitable and further my career, neither of which this blog has done much of (though the 11 dollars of ad revenue will get me a kickin' dinner at Hof's). But I'm totally serious, after we get back from the road trip, the bonus stories are going to end. It's been so hard for the last three months to come up with ideas that it would seem stupid to stop while they're actually coming to me three at a time, which is what travel does to me.

Okay, so I'll say my real goodbye then. For now, fake goodbye, and I have a small request: Please leave me a congrats note! I've put a tremendous amount of lonely time into this blog, and I'd love to hear from anyone that enjoyed it.

Also: let me know your favorite story or stories! We're cooking a little something up, and this would be a huge help. Stay tuned, and my sincere thanks for putting up with me these last twelve months. I've bitched aplenty about it, but it's really been the biggest "artistic" success of my life so far, and I'm glad you, whoever you are, were a part of it. Especially Dan, Laurel, Conor, Ryan, my Mom, and Shar, because to my knowledge you all are the only daily readers I have left. Super especially Dan, for being my faithful commentatorial. If I missed anyone there, it's only because I had no way of knowing, and there's no offense meant I assure you. Good night, Long Beach! Thanks again!

Labels: Generalness, Mission Statement, Road Trip, Stories

From the bottom of the ocean, he could see the sun shining. His lungs were turning into sponges in his chest, and his eyes pulsed like twin hearts set into his skull. He kicked his legs as hard as he could, and rose. Dizzy, visions danced through his head, of hitmen and little girls, planets circling and laughing, and hundreds of faces, ordinary, plain, worn, flat American faces. He kicked harder and rose past them, pulling handfuls of water down as he moved towards the light, and the air.

And then he surfaced. All around him was flat, motionless water. Everything had been swallowed by the flood. Everything he'd ever known or loved or even dreamed was back down there, where it was hard to see and harder to maneuver. But it was all he had. So he bid farewell to the easy sun and its warming rays, took another deep breath, and plunged back in.

Labels: Stories

Me: "You know, there's actually a small chance our car could be stolen in Jersey by distant relatives of mine."
Shar: "Small?"

"'Kathy I'm lost,' I said, though I knew she was sleeping/I'm empty and aching and I don't know why/Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike/They've all gone to look for America."
---Simon & Garfunkel, "America"

Reluctantly, we checked out of our comfy little hovel in Rockville, Maryland, and headed out of the DC area, to parts unknown. We ended up in Newark, New Jersey, aka Guardabascio country. The road between was predictably bumpy. Maryland is more or less gorgeous, so I'm okay with Angie being from there; however, today was our return to getting our arms and legs ripped off by tolls. It cost us 20 bucks just to use highways and necessary bridges today, which seems vaguely criminal to me. The gas was sort of enough. The first (and second worst) toll was as we left Maryland; we sat in traffic in a tunnel (a harrowing experience for me), then emerged to find a toll plaza with twelve stalls, no lane lines, and a mad mess of swerving cars. It was like India.

We made it through, only in order to enter Delaware, easily the most useless state in the Union. Name a city in Delaware, I dare you. Dover doesn't count. Why? Because it's a shithole, that's why. In all seriousness, the next time I hear someone talk shit on Jersey or Rhode Island or a Dakota, I'm bringing up Delaware. Any stench you may get a whiff of in Jersey, I assure you, is just the diluted farts emanating south, from Delaware, which reeks, has the worst public restrooms in the country, and charged us four dollars for a toll road that was clogged with two hours of traffic because it was under construction.

Finally we made it to Jersey, and everything was immediately alright. Delaware's industrial complexes gave way to those wonderful northeastern forests, the clouds cleared, and traffic freed up again. We got off the freeway in Camden, where we were planning on visiting Whitman, ditching our car, and taking a train in to Philly. Turns out Camden is basically a shithole, but our plans were set, so off we went. Philly is easiliy the dirtiest city I've ever been to, by far. We started in Independence Park, only to find out that there was a three hour line for the Liberty Bell, and the Hall itself required tickets, a fact they neglected to mention on their website. They were also sold out.



So we got some Philly foodstand food, took a picture of Ben Franklin's grave through a fence (it was two bucks for admission and I figured Franklin would have preferred our method), and headed for the Rocky steps…I mean, the Philly Museum of Art. Yes, I ran them, and yes, I'm Rocky. We also went to the Rodin Museum, which was cool because he's my favorite non-Italian sculptor, and because I was planning on using his Gates of Hell as a source for a chapter of my novel; conveniently, it was there, and I got to study it in person (it's like twelve feet tall and amazing). Then we sat on a bus and listened to two dozen old Mexican women hilariously realized they'd left a member of their party behind an hour ago. They felt bad, but…not that bad. Judging by the laughter after they listened to her voicemail, the chick was pretty pissed, too.



Then it was back to Jersey, back to the car, and off to dinner, before heading as far north as possible (Newark), and then pulling in to get some sleep. Which we're about to do. Tomorrow we get to another home base, and I'm pretty damn excited, both to see my brother in law, and to not have to do any more disgusting Northeastern driving. I couldn't live up here for that reason alone: it's like the 405 South, all the time, and they charge you to sit in traffic. Ridick!



Next up: Providence, Rhode Island, and Game 7 of Hawks/Celtics, which we'll be watching in a bar surrounded by Celtics fans, who will either mock us if the Hawks lose, or kill us if they win. Either way, should be fun!

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

This could be anywhere. The woman has alabaster skin and corn-colored hair, and teeth that are literally pearl-white. She has diamonds around her neck, in her ears, and on three of her fingers. And who knows, maybe somewhere else, too. There are children milling around her, which she is displeased about. Children could tarnish the diamonds with their muddy grubby fingers.

A black man approaches, of average build, height, and means.

The woman suddenly becomes a frenzy of self-consciousness. She tries to keep from tapping her rings in succession as she stares at him—it's clear she feels bad about. But tap, tap, tap she goes, staring all the while as she works her pearly whites over her ruby red bottom lip. She fidgets. She shifts her purse. She attempts to make one more effort to simply stand still and not look at this man. And then she adds her necklace to her diamond-checking rosary routine, and stops being anxious about it. It isn't her fault she's scared.

Labels: Stories

"There's not a liberal America and a conservative America—there's the United States of America."
---Barack Obama

DC has been the most overwhelming experience of the trip, and maybe my life. Things that happened earlier this week seem lifetimes away, and I've already lost my memory of a lot of the fun little details I expected to hold onto for a few months. I can't even begin to compress it all into a blog (I've got great pictures and stories to tell, but I think they're 'in person' stories), so I'll just give the quick hits on days one, two, and yes, a bonus third day spent here.

Day One:
We started off by walking to the White House, the Washington Monument, all the memorials on the lawn, Arlington Cemetery, the memorials south of the lawn, and the Holocaust Museum. Then we broke for lunch. It was a moving and frustrating time. We saw more people rushing around us in those hours than we had all trip: DC is obviously a popular destination, but we figured early morning on a Wednesday, we'd get to see something by ourselves. Not so. But while the crowds were frustrating, the memorials—in particular the war memorials—were quieting. Yes these were interesting statues, but there were WWII vets there to take photos under their state names, and there were even a few high school kids brave enough to break from their packs and thank them. At the Vietnam Memorial, vets and mothers and sisters and widows were making pilgrimages (some of them their first) to pay respects to family thirty-years dead. And the Lincoln Memorial—my God. Likewise the Kennedy graves and the Unknown Soldier's Tomb…basically, Day One made me feel like I'd wasted my life.



After lunch we hit a handful of Smithsonian Museums (all of which we could have spent a day in), THEN we went to the National Archives to gape at the Constitution, Bill of Rights, and Declaration as fifth-graders flowed around us. We were exhausted, we'd walked fifteen miles, and we'd seen maybe half of our must-see list (if we were lucky). We got dinner at this promising place called Qdoba and talked it over. Then we went crazy, and I do mean crazy. Qdoba is basically a knock-off Chipotle, so there we were, six thousand miles of driving from our friends and home, unable to walk, eating food from a shitty version of a restaurant a block and a half from our own couch. I threw my burrito away while swearing loudly, and we got some ice cream, where I made a fool of myself while still, to the counter guy's delight, only managing to spill ice cream on myself, not the counter. We wanted to either stay in DC for a month or leave immediately. Sunburned, sore, and migrained, we made our way back to our hotel in time to see the Hawks lose. Then instead of figuring out our future while delirious, we decided to sleep on it.

Day Two
And we were glad we did! We woke up feeling practically human, and set out, resolved to stay an additional day. We played it more reasonable, using more Metro stops, and saw the National Portrait Gallery, went to Union Station and had a great Chicago lunch while surrounded by DC lawyers (DC is the national capital of white men in suits, by the way), got comics, walked to the Supreme Court (which we were actually allowed to go into to see the courtroom!!!), went to the Folger Shakespeare Library where they have the first Folio, went to the Library of Congress, walked around the Capitol building (truly absurd), then walked down the mall, explored the Old Post Office, and grabbed lunch in time to see Antony and Cleopatra performed by the National Shakespeare Company. Then we went back to the hotel, thinking, "That was more like it."



Day Three
And today was the most relaxing day we've had in a while, a nice change of pace from accidentally bumping into Congressmen (this is true) and little children. We slept in, then Metro-ed to the Cathedral/Zoo area, a rad little Second Stree-esque area called Cleveland Park. We got lost trying to find the Cathedral, so we said fuck it and saw Iron Man. Great decision. We also ran into the cool comic guy we met at Union Station. We were so lonely at that point it felt like seeing an old friend.

Then we walked to the Zoo, which was predictably awesome, and grabbed a fancy Italian dinner back in Cleveland Park. We've spent almost no money here, because admission to EVERYTHING is free. Seriously, Iron Man was the only admission ticket we've bought in the last three days. Good job, America! After that, it was home to watch the Hawks force game seven. Go Hawks.

Tomorrow is going to be another full day, but I don't see how it could compare to day one or two. I haven't completely reevaluated myself so many times in a 48-hour period since the first and second days of my life. The way I felt about my writing, my life, my family, my country, and my feet were completely upended, several times, in weird and complex ways I can't really describe. I feel both bigger and smaller at the same time. And I miss my TV and bed tremendously. Homesickness has, for the first time, really begun to set in. But that's all trifling trifles. What's important was that DC lived up to the hype, and we want to come back for more as soon as we can. I want to work here, and be a part of this. I want to join the well-dressed, underpaid masses of young people streaming down the mall at lunch, chattering about education reform, and changing into uniforms to go play kickball under the Washington Monument after work gets out (this is also true).



Also: read shar's blarg.

Also: tomorrow's my last story, and i expect like a jillion congrats posts.

Also: i seirously have like a jillion great DC photos. seriously.

Next up: Philly, where we're going to find out what the fuck happened with Marvin Harrison. Also, the Rocky steps.

Labels: Generalness, Road Trip

The grass is cold. "Hey Scotty," I greet him.

"Hullo, Mike. Here again?"

"I'm running out of places to go, Fitz."

He laughs. "No you aren't. You're just getting tired."

"I think I'm going crazy."

He does not laugh. "I know. I know, I know, I know."

I read the line engraved on his tombstone. "What a depressing line to be buried under."

"Yes."

"You sound like Hem, you know."

"You're trying to be funny now, because you're scared."

"Yes."

"You know, Mike, It is a depressing line to be buried under. But it's a great line, nonetheless, and I'm glad I wrote it."

Labels: Stories