Westward and Whimsical

~Soaking up America~

Part Fo' (The Dirty South)

It's quite hard to fathom how different our country is until you actually are driving through it.  We've become so accustomed to flying that most people don't truly realize the magnitude of America, with only 7 hours to hop from one side to the other.  A 3,000 mile "hop", isn't that crazy?  The technological advances of flight are so normal for the majority of the traveling American population that they don't even know how fortunate they are.  I have found it a healthy and necessary "event" to drive across (well at least thus far, which is the deep south of New Orleans).  The landscape continues to abruptly change right before your eyes, from dense forest of maple and spruce in New England, to the delightfully diverse rolling hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains filled with beech, hemlock and birch, right on down to the strange southern ecosystem of mangroves, Louisiana cypress, and thousands of spooky southern oaks.  This country has many hats, and several different feathers for each of the separate hats.  And I for one have really enjoyed watching the stage unfold through my bug-splattered windshield, trying on each hat in the mirror with a little jig to accompany.  I've become so grateful for this cross country adventure, and to think I haven't even really started heading west, there is so much more to see, so many more acts before the Play drops the curtain in California at my first familiar destination in San Diego, to the waxed-up surfboards and awaiting friendship of Mr. Justin Waldman.  As of now, New Orleans has captured me.

There is something about the City of New Orleans that one could never properly describe to someone who hasn't been there.  The richness of culture is smoldering in every corner, its dampness squeezes down on you from the humidity in the thick air and comes up at you from the rising swamp upon which this shaky city is built.  Most of the city is actually under sea level!  One would have to live here 100 years to even start to understand the historical dynamics of this place.  It's certainly a hot gumbo pot for culture; from the native Choctaw people who seasonally fished and hunted this ground, to the French who "owned" it first, mixed with the Spanish, the African slaves, and the American people who took it over during the Louisiana purchase.  Each mixing group and distant racial blur is squished into the same city on the tongue of the massive Mississippi.  What an integral place of importance for trade, from the heartland of the country, down the Mississippi, and into the great Atlantic.  And for being such a strong pinnacle point of geographic advantage, it's metaphorically strange the weakness of ground on which it sits.

Walking down the popular Bourbon St you are bombarded with people, wild people, colorful people, drunk people, half naked people, freaks and fanatics, musicians and dancers.  It's hard to walk down that street and not see a flash of boobs flopping about as the colorful beads come raining down.  I felt I deserved an equal opportunity to get some, so up went my shirt; I shook my hairy chest up towards the panel of drunkards, and lo and behold one middle aged, sloppy white woman amongst the crowd of sleazy men in suits hooted and hollered and tossed me down a string of golden beads.  I looked over to my friend Liz, " I had to, there was no stopping it."

She nodded her head in approval.

Without sounding negative I would say the city has a filthy feel, but almost in a sense of it being its own dignified scent, a honorable filth.  Maybe that's why they call it the "dirty south", I'm sure someone knows.  And what's even more remarkable is that for the most part the districts are interwoven with the wealthy and the poor; walking down most streets you'll notice that a beautiful mansion is just two houses away from a dilapidated old servant quarters.  It has stayed slightly interlocked like that for some time, and I like it.  There are of course dangerous parts of town and more affluent parts of town, but the line isn't as strict as it would be in, say Los Angeles or New York.  The whole damn place is built on sinking and shifting sand, so the roads are absolutely littered with huge pot holes, sunken sections of sidewalk, and houses tilted at slow angles.  Everything is mildly covered in a strange haze, a light moldy glaze that crawls upon every building.  The oak trees parade along all the streets with daunting tentacle-like branches that twist and dangle like something from a sadistic Dr. Seuss, with dark green moss covering each one as its swampy cloak.  One can't help but feel as though you are walking through a movie set with highly skilled set designers creating your surroundings, though I believe even Hollywood couldn't even equivilate such authenticity.  The chaotic air and gritty streets forces everyone to succumb to the same raw level of existence; it's beautiful, mystical, maddening and festively rich! 

Westward and Whimsical

~Soaking up America~

Part Tree

Today's Bumper Sticker Sighting: Save a cow, eat a vegetarian

After a few weeks of driving I've found myself at the sister school of Haystack, a beautiful artist institute of crafts called Penland, located in the majestic hills of North Carolina. I've arrived at night and haven't yet gotten a true feeling and visual awareness of the place but I can already feel it; I can feel the creative calmness surrounding this place.  All the leaves are in their metamorphose of color, plastered in every direction.  The cold has started to encroach on the bare parts of my skin like a chilled cucumber resting on my neck.  I am so ready to be in the country.  I've been visiting friends in cities all the way down from Maine, and my country bumpkin soul was starting to crave the forest.  The first moment of real silence has hummed its tiny tune.

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On my way down I felt compelled to see the nation's Capitol, Washington, D.C. -- where freedom is made!  Not solely because my father had been pestering me to go there, but because I honestly believe it would be a healthy thing to do.  We as the people of this country find it so easy to bash Washington and the Government without hesitation.  It's so easy to just point our ridged finger over there from Texas or Maine or Alaska, and yet there are many many citizens who have never even seen the place.  It's heavy in the most awe powerful way, Romanesque even.  The massiveness of the buildings with thousands of suited up politicians all milling in and out like ants, the phallic monument in the middle of everything and the heart wrenching sight of the thousands of names engraved on the black stone of the Vietnam memorial, everything has an element of seriousness.  And all together can even give one a sense of appreciation for what our country original stands for.....in some weird nostalgic way.  No matter what side of the political line you fall on, it's hard not to honor all the efforts of the people in Washington at least trying to make a change.  I tried to soak it all up as I walked around the grounds of the Capitol Mall, my feet aching from a lack of movement, while these people with super strong, fit bodies jogged and sprinted past me.  Each militant model that strode by I felt fatter and fatter and fatter; nor was the pork sandwich I had for lunch helping to lift my diminishing self image.  

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Dear New York City,

Well, I've got much to say to you.  Not sure where to start my dear.  Whether tis nobler to flush your skin with compliments and end with distain, or start with your faults and finish with the sweetness of peaches nestled on your lips.  Who's to say?  But for now I'll start by telling you that I admire your resilience, your ability to function forever with never a need to rest, and the amperage that you gallop through the night is beyond my comprehension.  I respect that about you.  It's not my cup of tea, but I appreciate that characteristic.  But dearest New York City......you've been a bad bad girl.  You've done things that I for one would never mention to your father, never even confess to the priest.  Your mischief fueled mid-nights have gotten you in a pickle that could never be kosher.  I would seek help, professional therapy; and please don't take this the wrong way, I love you, but madness dances in your insomniatic palm.  Artistic creation floods forth from your streets as equal to the two rivers that caress both your sides.  You, my dearest beloved NYC, are a royal Queen who has taken all the candy from the global piñata and stolen the lightning from Zeus.  Please do take care of yourself my friend, there may be harder times ahead.

Love always and forever,

A Small Island in Maine

P.s. Send my regards to Brooklyn, he's growing up so fast.

“Hello, I must be going, I cannot stay,
I came to say, I must be going.
I’m glad I came, but just the same,
I must be going.”

-Groucho Marx

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In Virginia I gave this wicked redneck a ride to the store for beer in his new black truck. 

"Step on this old girl!!" He howled as I pulled out of the 7/11.

"She's got some power huh? I call him Bernie" he explained.

"Ayut, she got juice, way more than my slow 33 year old diesel Mercedes" 

"What'd ya name her?" And before I could even respond he sternly stated, "She looks like a Veronica to me" He cracked open a cold fizzing beer as we pulled back into the drive way.

As he handed me my stipend of 6 discussing taquitos that I never asked for, I muttered to myself  "Yer right, she does look like a Veronica." And that shall be her name from here on forth.   And so, it has been written.

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I've become familiar with the movement of cars, the mystery of their exits and entrances, all shapes and sizes like the people of this planet.  Some are huge colossal giants with mud mucked tires radiating testosterone and blind pride, and some are itty bitty Fiat type cars with baby wheels and minimal flash, having the essence of a half-dead gold fish.  We all flow along the same paved river, in hopeful harmony.  Painted guidelines bringing suggested order and street signs give us a dose of direction.  Where are they all going?  How are there so many people all going the same way as I am?  It's absurd!  Oh man!, the traffic jams are worse of a mind fuck then the actually loss of time it's creating.  What's going on up there?  A 10 car pile up? A headless moose?  Mexicans selling roses blockading the highway letting no one pass until we buy a dozen? Just as far as one can see, bumper to bumper for miles.  And then all of a sudden after hours and hours of inching along......it just frees up, like the invisible hand of god just released his grip, and next thing you know we're all going 75 again like it ain't no thang and have forgotten all about going 5 mph for the last 89 miles.  It knots up my brain to even think of it.

And for the record, if we arn't allowed to put a cell phone to our ear while we're driving, then it should also be illegal to have a fucking dog sitting in your lap licking your face while you're driving!!

Westward and Whimsical

-Soaking up America-

Part Dos

The first test drive down to Portland, Maine showed me that the car was horribly out of alignment, I'd let go of the wheel for a few seconds and I'd find myself right in the ditch.  Also noticed that at certain speeds the whole car would rumble and shutter like an alcoholic pouring sugar in his coffee in the late morning, but only at certain speeds; 35, 55 and 68 mph.  I'm sure there is some deeper synergistic meaning of these speeds that brings about this strange unpleasant vibration. Maybe they fall along the Fibonacci sequence and hits a frequency that makes the metal wants to explode its molecules in all directions.  Who really knows besides the Germans (those overly intelligent bastards).  After several hundred dollars for new tires and a tierod, I was on my way south.  The car still shuttered at certain speeds, I am just gonna have to learn to live with it, we have to find compromises if we're to spend the next 3,000 miles together.  

I drove wonderfully out of the way to western Mass to see my old friend Travis in the town of Springfield.  I asked if it was the same town where they "filmed" the Simpsons but he said no, and I didn't see the Kwik-E-Mart......who needs the Kwik-E-Mart anyway?  In the morning the car gave me some trouble starting, but nothing that a little cold-winded swearing and carb started wouldn't help.  On the country roads down through Connecticut I was filled with a great sense of excitement, heading into NYC, having the whole country ahead of me.  This massive freedom became present, the realization that I could go anywhere, be anyone, having no obligations or real direction, with the wheel of life in my hands I couldn't help but smile.  The changing color of the leaves took on a bright glow, like a fall colored northern lights along the highway, changing and melting into beautiful purples, rusted orange and magnificent yellow that makes the brightest highlighter look dull in comparison.  I had a hard time keeping my eyes on the road; I let them wander through the psychedelic display of foliage, it was as if God melted boxes of crayons through the forest.

As I neared closer and closer to New York, the traffic became hectic, and more "hecticer", I had to give my full attention to the quick whipping cars merging and mixing all around me.  Everyone was in flashy, shinny new BMWs or huge black Escalades all driving twice as fast as I was. I felt like an old slow gypsy totally out of place in this new modern fast paced society.  The lanes quadrupled before my eyes and the industrial-ness of the world started to take over, the beautiful foliage was gone, my nerves were on edge and both hands tight against the wheel.  I became envious of the slow life style of nomadic Mongolians for some reason.  You lucky bastards, I thought to myself, how beautiful it would be to know nothing of these over populated smog- pocked cities, these fuel hungry vehicles with speed as the only game in town.  I was being boxed in by three huge tractor trailer trucks, dwarfing my little vintage Mercedes, as I pleaded out loud "A horse! A horse!  My Kingdom for a horse!"

I pulled in hot and heavy into the depths of Brooklyn, blaring some old school hip hop, figured "When in Rome", right?  I quick spitted every word of Notorious B.I.G like a boss, like I owned that city, like I was born in the Bronx slinging crack to raise my daughter, slouched down in my chair at a low angle, one arm steering my casual course, tipping my hat to every bad mama-jamma that I passed.  I felt pumped up! The pulse of the city started creeping its way into my nerves, and I let it.  And to my unexpected disgust, within 24 hours I had gotten two parking tickets, each for $115! Can you believe that?  A fire hydrant that doesn't even work was responsible, wasn't my fault. After the first ticket, I just moved back a little bit, but I think they just moved the hydrant closer to my car in the middle of the night, and lo and behold -- I had another ticket in the morning.  I drove outta that city faster than a white guy in Brooklyn blaring rap music all puffed up thinking he's some hot shit, all cocky and stupidly naïve.  And after getting horribly lost in downtown Manhattan on my way to New Jersey, the rain obscuring every minimal view I had, my wipers doing a worthless job of getting that liquid shit off my windshield, I was on the edge of frustration....well actually I was neck deep in frustration.  I turned off my music, and quietly mumbled to myself, "I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy".  Pueo was laughing his silly little owl chuckle the whole entire time.

Westward and Whimsical

 - Soaking up America- 

             Part 1

  There is a certain time in ones life where you just have to see something, do something, go somewhere; where the sense of adventure is more overpowering than the sense of security and comfort.  I've hit that wall, tried to dig under it with no success and now I've peeked my little eyes over the top edge and it's time to climb over.  At the ripe old age of 30 I figured it's about time to see this country, to drive across the great divide, from the coast of Maine to the coast of sweet California, through the guts and morrow of this strange, beautiful problematic country.  My plan is to slowly wonder and wiggle my way through New York, into the smokey mountains, down into New Orlenes, over to Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and into Sothern California; but those are just general plans and holding too close to ones plans can lead to a narrow road and blacked out windows.  As Steinbeck says "we do not take a trip, a trip takes us."  Anyway, It's just too perfect of a time, I've got no real job, or obligation, no earth quaking bills, no mortgage, and no kids (well, not that I know of).  The light is green and I must go, before it turns red.

In just a few days I've set on the calendar my date of departure, slowly starting out in a 1981 Mercedes Diesel Wagon, graciously temporarily donated by my dear father.  He takes great pride in his junk Mercedes collection, but this one in particular I think must be his real pride and joy, his dull fading pearl.  Never mind the impending dangers and safety of the person behind the steering wheel (his son); the condition and well-being of this pale yellow Wagon is nothing less than the precious perfections of a NASA spaceship to him.   But I'm honored to be behind the wheel of such a machine.

I've gathered up padding and books, a cooler for food (or beer), a shit ton of tea, a few bundles of sage, a crystal to engulf the car in warm protective energy for the journey (no sense not to have that, wouldn't we all want to be breezing through life with the spirit world dancing around us in its brilliant barbwire?), and of course my travel companion Pueo, a lively, talkative, handsome, quite intelligent Owl...that's actually a finger puppet.

Everyone has an opinion of this country, especially foreigners.  People talk of this country with great distain, and or appreciation.  Now, are they taking about America the government, or America the bi-partisan people, or America the actual physical country with its magnificent forests and mountains and deserts and lakes and rivers and rocks and plants and birds and moose and smells and light and sounds?  I've realized our opinions are mostly based off others opinions, or the news, or some other indirect source, and in order to fully have a sense of self, to have a strong  moral compass, one has to see for themselves, to experience the people and circumstances of a certain Time and Place.  And that is just what I'm setting out to do, a vital soaking with the sponge of the soul, clean across the country.