March 21, 2009
In this city you have to take control of your eyes.
A walk down the street could be full of concrete. Fractured sidewalks are everywhere, their gray color is only broken up by spots of pink and purple gum, the remnants of spit out candy. It’s easy to get lost in this side of the city. There is no real beauty, only manufactured plaster. Everything on the ground here only exists for logistics. It may be dirty, but what’s here can get you places, they say.
But those that look up know there’s another story to this city. The buildings climb higher in competition. The sky is endless. The sun rays fall from the sky and vanish just in time for the sidewalk. When looking up, this city is for dreamers. In bad weather, there may be less to see, but the sky always clears up.
Always keep your chin up.
March 16, 2009
Snow in the evening, snow in the morning, snow in the North, snow in the South.
A cab driver at home has trouble reading signs.
We pull over and scream for strangers (or I do, as I gaze at blurs through my contact-less eyes).
A cab driver here races other drivers, and speaks of the pride and honor of Iranians.
An older woman walking to work stops at a street corner and makes a snowball. She smiles and drops the ball.
A family makes a snowman, using a beach pale.
It’s snowing in March, everywhere.
December 31, 2008
I’m in a coffee shop listening to The Beatles.
Words from Yesterday bounce off the rusted steel-plated walls as I sip hot cider. Someone just turned the volume down. Paul McCartney still sings. Maybe that figures — when I walked in they were playing Radiohead.
Today I wandered through the West Village. With various pieces of homework and training tasks to accomplish, I stayed motivated through keeping varied backdrops. I started off in a Church’s public park, leaning against a tree’s branch as I pulled my textbook from my bag. The scenery would change like a slide show: typing away in a potential New Years bar, searching for a Wifi signal in Jimmy’s Bar (100% authentic), or writing notes in my personal pad in an alley to duck the wind.
I remember my iPod’s output losing out to the sound of chirping birds as they claimed their territory on the roofs of the West Village. Not even The Kooks could compete.
Today. Yesterday.
November 18, 2008
Tonight’s drive through the city felt like channel surfing. With my remote I traveled neighborhoods, memories, and my own thoughts.
It all started because I had to pick up a textbook downtown (another random story). I entered through the Brooklyn Bridge, and traveled past my office, only to loop further downtown to pass by another old building which I used to work at.
The building was still there, remaining active through the ever-open deli, but downtown was unquestionably different. There were less private cars waiting to pick up financial superstars, and the once dark canvas of dark cars, dark roads, and pitch black sky was now spotted with yellow cabs, a breed previously somewhat rare in the Financial District. The private cars were a dying breed against their yellow counterparts.
As I continued driving north I passed the hotel I used to stay at. The inside looked as enchanting as ever, presenting a clean sense of bright lights reflecting gracefully off the smoothed marble seemingly used on all walls, floors, and furniture of the hotel.
Approaching Chinatown I drove by two police officers entering as well, trotting into town on horses who’s large stomps could be heard through my car’s doors. I won’t forgot the collapsing of their heavy feet on the even heavier concrete.
Chinatown’s bright lights and foreign alphabet was more alive than downtown’s gloom.
The foreign rainbows of the neighborhood was quickly invaded by a clock tower in the distance. Lit in soft blues, the light reminded me that I would soon reach Union Square. A few more blocks of driving brought more distant buildings into view, including the Empire State Building. The distant buildings transformed the skyline into a welcoming kingdom, one not too dissimilar to something Walt Disney would imagine.
My passage through the East Village was like a memory from youth, in both its brevity and presented enjoyment. I only remembered this moment of my trip because my car paused at a red light.
The trip continued into more familiar territory, and I was thrilled when I caught a magic parking spot, but I’ll keep that story for myself.
Pulling into my spot, I thought over the last twenty minutes, and walked from my car as my travels came to an end.
November 4, 2008
On my way into my building tonight, my doorman told me to look in the mail room, located directly across from the elevators.
In that room, directly visible from anyone stepping out of the elevator tomorrow, on election day, rested a mask.
On top of the mail room table, in the center of a pile of old, unwanted mail, was a rubber mask of George W. Bush.
After seeing that I noticed the mask, my doorman said, “I put it there so people could think about that before they voted.”
November 3, 2008
I was exhausted from Wii Fit before I even played it.
Venturing through Manhattan on a quest of errands, I collected my treasure a little too early.
In videogames, when a character finds a new item, be it a sword, a bazooka, or magic steel shoes, they never are held back by the weight of the item. The new item simply vanishes from the player when collected, only to magically appear once the user pauses and activates the item. It’s brilliant in a fictional world, a hero can hold as many swords as he wants, yet never feel the burden of the weight of steel, gold, or magical dragon bone that forms the many swords.
Today I purchased Wii Fit from the Nintendo Store, all ten pounds of the workout pad/weight scale/game disc. I then carried my ten pound brick throughout this great city, as I performed errands in the city’s various neighborhoods - on the subway, at my favorite grocery cart (for a great smoothy), and through a surprisingly calm walk in the east 30s.
By the time I was home, my biceps were sore. Ten pounds isn’t much, but for several hours of carrying it can add up.
After returning home I completed 30 minutes of active workouts in the game, and am surprised by the challenge of many of the game’s activities. My back is sore, my legs are more flexible, and I’m amazed how difficult their combination workout with pushups was.
It feels like a Nintendo game beat me up.
The game’s interface and challenges are designed for short and easy workouts. Everything about Wii Fit is inviting for daily repetition, from the sleek design of the balance board to the daily BMI and varied, short workout exercises.
My election day tomorrow will not begin with a vote, or an hour of Metal Gear Solid 4. Instead it will begin with Wii Fit.
November 1, 2008
Something just isn’t relaxing about my last win.
As I completed forming the piles of spades, hearts, diamonds and clubs, my emotions of this last bout of Solitaire were not focused on conquest, but instead on hesitant enjoyment. My win was not because of skill, perseverance, hard work, and knowledge, but instead because of Lady Luck and her dictatorial decision to reward my efforts with the right randomly generated cards.
Solitaire is a game I cannot enjoy.
My heroes are those who can be clutch and dependable. Michael Jordan didn’t wait for a lucky bounce against the rim, he controlled the game and its score. Derek Jeter built his legacy by making plays when they counted, and not when they were statistically easy. And say what you want, but a band like Oasis couldn’t break out of the largely unemployed city of Manchester without dedicated work ethic and a self-belief in victory.
I can believe in those heroes because to some extent they can control their destinies. You can’t believe in someone playing Solitaire.
There are a few easy rules to remember when playing Solitaire, and suddenly, all players are on equal footing. No amount of practice, skill, or art will give a player an advantage. Players of this game are dependent solely on handouts from Colonel Chance and Lady Luck.
It’s a lot like life. Some of us try to play life as a game of odds. There are risks, there are rewards, and in the end we’re the result of a calculation of our culture’s variables. Life can be looked at as a card game based on chance — the cards your dealt can dictate your life.
Others ignore the numbers and stretch themselves far enough to get past life’s standardized path. Life can be about more than living by the odds; if our heroes can do it, so can we.
While everyone else is waiting for a the right cards, I’ll play my own game with my own rules. In the end the odds might be the same, but it’s more fun to fight the good fight.
July 27, 2008
Looking back at my notes a half year later, it’s hard to construct my final statement of the trip. I had grand ideas in place for this article, about defining American’s biggest attributes as its natural land and beauty, its people’s determination and work ethic, and the interaction of those against capitalism’s questionable snuggling with greed. Looking back, I’m not sure if that captures the full story of my journey.
My trip started off with a drive through a landscape unlike anything on the East coast. The mountains looked so exaggerated that they reminded me of fake foam rocks, with vibrant and contrasting colors painted from graffiti and super-sized spray paint cans. Yet the mountains, the colors, and the rolling hills like those on childhood drawings are all real, all reflecting a blessing American has when it comes to the vast beauty of this country’s landscape.
I made sure to stop at as many local outlets as I could, whether it was a surprise visit to a chicken breeder, dining on eggs in front of heavily bearded truck drivers, or eating fried chicken with locals discussing politics. The constant class and job elevation pressures of the Northeast weren’t present on my stops — people worked hard, but they defined themselves less by their jobs and more by their character, their friendliness, and their attitudes to life. Hard work, yes, but not once did I hear any complaints.
It’s suitable that my trip ended in Las Vegas. America was too perfect on my trip, hitting Vegas reminded me of one of America’s lasting charactieristics: the thirst for the mighty dollar. I remember stepping into my hotel room and seeing casino skyscrapers plunge out of the desert. As I mourned the loss of the spotless nature scenes of my drive, I caught a building-sized advertisement for a Beatles show in town. I grabbed a hold of my desk as I lost my balance: buldings, a fragmented desert, commercial Beatles – it was all too much to handle after seeing the innocence and power of the Grand Canyon. There was nothing representing the Grand Canyon there. An hour later and $100 down in Blackjack, I returned to my room and slept, hoping to wake up outside of a city where every job doesn’t exist solely to pluck from one’s wallet, and every traveler’s aspiration is more than just thickening one’s own wallet.
Before writing this entry I knew I couldn’t end it on that. My grand statement shouldn’t be about the balance of powers inside America, but more about the people I met.
The night I spent in the Grand Canyon felt like a carnival. As a lone traveler, I set a goal to visit every bar in the national park, each with its own flavor, age, and crowd’s mindset. At one bar I sat down with a glass of wine and reflected on my trip, while wealthy couples stared blankly at others for a visual escape. In another I was surrounded by Japanese tourists as we talked about New York, music, and who would win in a game of pool. A pool victory later, I knew little more about the Japanese tourists, other than that they loved America and were pleased to have shared a conversation with a native (they also loved Budweiser). In another bar I wrote post cards to others at home, and I still remember concentrating on my handwriting while a singer/guitarist played original tunes only twenty feet away. A bartender and I talked about the area, and he shared that he knew nothing about the Grand Canyon; he only answered a job ad from his home town hundreds of miles away. Fate brought him here and he had no intentions to leave.
Earlier that day I grabbed a pint at the bar closest to my cabin room. I sat next to an older man and shared intentions on the trip. This man was finally retired, and once a year he took a bus out to the Grand Canyon to hike down its seemingly limitless cliff. A lone traveler, his retirement focused on trips like these, and the country’s landscapes kept him traveling. While some people might throw in the towel on life, he set his own path, and clearly his road trip is an ongoing venture. Maybe that’s what my trip was about. We’re all free to forge our own path.
Or maybe it was about finding innocence again: discovering that it’s alright to be yourself, to trust your intentions, and to accept and take in the beauty around you. Having an open mind and open eyes allowed me to take in all of the landscape, and giving every bit of the trip a chance is the only way I saw see every bar in the Grand Canyon, went to church in a living room of a snowed-in house and spend a night speaking with Budweiser-fueled Japanese tourists.
Or perhaps, more suitably, I’ll end with my last unedited notes written about my trip, reflecting the innocence and awe regained on this trip:
• Cliffs diving in diagonal directions
• Rainbows in the distance
• Mountains with the texture of rough oil paintings
• A ground full of spots of coal – looking like the world’s biggest barbecue just took place
• Round bushes ready to roll!
• Patches in the distance of sun, fog, rain, all visible in the same view
• A&W Cream Soda Ice Cream Float
Cheers.
February 25, 2008
Half the magic of a road trip is the soundtrack. With the right choices, music written years ago can seem like it was written solely for one trip.
My carefully selected playlist of albums for my drive:
The Verve – Urban Hymns (A Favorite Album)
Oasis – The Masterplan (A Favorite Album)
Arctic Monkeys – Your Favorite Worst Nightmare
The Kooks – Inside In / Inside Out
Ryan Adams – Cold Roses (Disc 2)
U2 – How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb
Ryan Adams – Heartbreaker
Mix CD – This Year (2006)
Fiona Apple – When the Pawn…
Kasabian – (Self Titled)
Dashboard Confessional – A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, a Scar (A Favorite Album)
Weezer – Pinkerton (I found a Pinkerton badge for sale on Route 66)
Zwan – Mary, Star of the Sea (A Favorite Album)
 The memories of the trip roll by like a slide show. I remember the childhood laughter I produced as I first drove out of the cities of the west. The hills rolled like our crayon-filled drawings of our youth. The great road trip imagery of classic movies all came true: hippies in rusting cars, 60s vans blanketed in stickers, and even an orange Volkswagon Beetle.
I remember driving past abandoned farms and homes, and thinking how alone I was on this trip. If my car broke down, I’d be alone, and that would be OK.
 Not all is as innocent as our youth though. I remember spotting an Indian smoke stack on a reservation, and after driving closer for twenty minutes I realized it was really smog stemming from a power plant.
Still, driving in the East isn’t conductive to taking in the scenery. Unlike at home, my road trip west was full of straight roads, little traffic, few stops, and more varied backdrops. For this drive, the activity of driving was less about shifting gears and turning the steering wheel, instead it was about how much one could spot from the windows.
 I’ll end with a set of phrases written on the signs of Route 66:
Green sign, red sign
‘Twould be more fun
To go by air
If we could put
These signs up There
Just this once (red exit at end)
And just for fun
We’ll let you finish
What we’ve begun
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