Charlottesville, VA

A friend once told me, "I don't need to write down my stories, they're all in mind. By remembering them, I edit them naturally." There's greatness in his method, but also a tragedy. His stories may never materialize. As much as I love lists in my daily life, I don't go by one when deciding where to visit next. I use his method and faith. Faith that somehow, without much coercion on my part, I'll materialize there. (Looks like I should impart the same faith in him.)

I had learned of Jefferson's Monticello years before my visit and had wanted to visit with a gusto that puzzled my colleague, "You do??"
"Yeah! He's like me, an artist with a day job." Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.


"Umm...the admission is $25. I don't want to pay $25 to make a dead white slave-owner richer. You should go, you've been wanting to see his home for a while."
"My god, you're totally right. No, let's try to sneak in. Worst case, we walk around the grounds."

Monticello is up there somewhere

Fort Worth, TX

I wish, I so wish, I was more obsessed with writing in this blog. So obsessed that it makes my insides feel like Julie Andrews on a hill in the Bavaria. (By the way, how awesome was Lady Gaga's tribute*?) Instead, I obsess over dumb shit like boots. For two days I research boots online like it's my j.o.b. I'll allow the first day's tomfoolery: is this cute? is that the real colour? can I walk an hour in those?? The second day, however, that was a pure obsession. I had traversed the land of That Might Be Cute and back. I had scoured sites across the pond and back. I had even ventured into the no man's land that is Bergdorf Goodman and hastily back. Now, it just boiled down to price and availability -- to no avail. Today is the third day, I wake up still slightly obsessed, note the post I'm working on and think, "I bet it would be cheaper to fly to Fort Worth, get a custom boot made there, then fly back." Tempted, very tempted.

Philadelphia, PA

Since starting this little blog, I've been reading more and more about the city walkability index or Walk Score. Devised by angel investors (red flag #1) and a think tank, the site and their products (e.g. apps) helps you (you meaning you and me, and real estate agents -- red flag #2) find a walkable place to live based on their Walk Score, Transit Score, and Bike Score. After clicking on every hyperlink (even those small wayward ones), their mission to "promote more walkable neighborhoods" seems less of a priority than their vision, "for every property listing to read: Beds: 3 Baths: 2 Walk Score: 84" (red flag #3). Three red flags and I am officially skeptical. This thing can't be that accurate when their real schtick is selling their product to real estate agents and firms, can it??

It can and it is. Borderline scary accurate. By the time I entered my fourth previous address, my exclamations were starting to sound like the Pixies (4th stanza, last line) yet again. Don't you hate it when technology makes your life slightly better? But what is better when it comes to where you live? If you lived in a city where you could walk a few blocks for your daily errands, yet had to squeeze yourself in a mass transit sardine can twice a day Monday through Friday, would that be better than the city where you walked everywhere most of the time, including times in snow, rain, heat, or the gloom of night*? My cousin and her husband prefer the latter, "You're supposed to walk in a city. Not spend half of your time and day underground in a subway!" Both of them lived in New York City before moving to Philadelphia. And separately, both of them told me, "Philadelphia is a real city. Not New York City."

Real Independence Hall

Fake Independence Hall

Washington D.C.

In roughly one month two different people jumped over the White House fence. Before you go bat shit crazy rattling off labels, let me explain why this act isn't something you or I aren't capable of. 

Politics doesn't have to be your cup of tea for D.C. to charge you right on up like a unidirectional flow of electric charge produced by batteries. (Yes, some read DC and they think of the band. Some actually read it as District of Columbia. And some socially hapless fools, think of batteries.) While the rest of the country reads, watches, or listens to the morning news as the inanimate objects which distribute it, in D.C. you are a person with a voice and don't give a damn if the only one to hear it 7 o'clock in the morning is a thing. So when you step out into the world emblazoned and happen to walk by the White House with an easily surmountable fence, that 7 o'clock rabble-rouser is yelling, "Jump over it! And ask the President what the hell is going on?!?" But, you don't. Suddenly something catches your eye...

Nashville, TN

Once upon a time, we travelled through a city called Nashville.

We walked around the Parthenon, and thought, in Nashville?!

Boston, MA

In the subtle (but oh so significant) ways relationships change you, I feel the same applies to where you live. You won't notice it right away, true to relationships, you'll notice it after three or four years in the middle of the night on the toilet -- the seat of all life altering realizations. (Take a moment, press rewind. It's totally the truth.)

But in order to determine how a place influences someone, we can't use you in Pawtucket and me in Timbuktu in this equation. We need to begin with a common denominator and use substitution. So let's take your stereotypical sexist boar for the equation: Pr*t + P. Where Pr stands for person, t for time and P for place.

Does  * 4 years + Boston  =  * 4 years + New York City? 

In my opinion, no. Stuck at a watering hole with both swines, I can actually imagine myself having a pleasant conversation about tea and red coats with the one from Boston.

One of these things is not like the other...

San Antonio, TX

San Antonio suffers from extreme parallax. (Don't worry, it's not a plague. It's actually a cool scientific phenomenon.) My cousin thinks "It's a great city!" My friend, "A small, boring town". And a gent I met recently, "It's nice..." See? Extreme. What do I think of it? Well, to his "nice" with three ellipses I concurred without a contraction and an exclamation* "It is nice! Come on, isn't the River Walk beautiful? I haven't seen anything like it in the states."

Hot Springs, AK

I think it's clear where my mind is these days if I'm choosing Hot Springs, AK for this week's post. Enough winter, enough. Thankfully you're showing me some mercy tomorrow because it's going to be a balmy 59 degrees. Ten away from 69. If by some miracle the thermometer reaches anywhere near that lascivious number, undoubtedly I'll saunter about like I just had an afternoon delight. Kind of like this oblivious fellow...

National Parks, NM

Yes, you're noticing a pattern. I resort to my National Park posts when life is obstinate, forgive me. I can't believe I only wrote two posts last month. Two! That's pathetic. I'm trying to make up for it like my sleep. And to continue the candid nature of this conversation I'm having with myself*, I'll tell you how I learned of White Sands National Monument. Umm... I was kind of obsessed with this song when I was fourteen. Oh yes, a lifelong Boyz II Men fan up in this joint.

Memphis, TN

A lucky lady I'll sure be if I could find me a fellow with a soul like Memphis. Brilliant, but doesn't take himself too seriously. How can a guy be a bore if he parades around in rhinestones and ties chiffon around his neck? I think there's something delightful about that, no? I read somewhere that ultimately we seek a lover with qualities we wish we had in ourselves. I know I can have a stick up my rear end at times, so until I find someone like Memphis, I'll take the city itself.

Marfa, TX

Marfa, Marfa, Marfa!

Oh, I tried. I really did, but I couldn't resist the predictable play on words because I felt exactly like Jan after my two days in Marfa. Which is crazy since I was once considering a blind move here. See the space between these two brackets < > ? That's how close I was. So to begin this post with an overused lament years later just doesn't seem right. Sadly, though, it is. I mean, this picture says it all. The woman in pink was not shielding her eyes from the setting sun, she was shielding her profile from my dinky camera.

As someone who prefers to keep their soul, I get it. In my early teens, I would ruin nearly every family portrait by sticking my hand in front of my face on "cheese". I of all people cannot be critical of her gesture, but couldn't she have turned around or stepped aside? I don't know, maybe she's a celebrity and is fed up with the paparazzi. But you're wearing hot pink at an artist's reception in a gallery that premises photography...

Salt Lake City, UT

There isn't much to look at from an airplane once the pilot has reached cruising altitude. Though sometimes the heavens have mercy on your Luddite soul (my dumbphone's days are numbered) and the clouds part revealing the heavens below. This has its pros and cons. On one hand you can check off the landmark from your bucket list (e.g. Grand Canyon), on the other hand you may add it. When we flew over Great Salt Lake, I added it.

I could not believe how expansive its salt flats were. On and on in every direction, soon we came to the lake, that too was just as massive. I swear it felt like we were crossing the ocean. I quickly dug out my inflight magazine and flipped to the maps section. Lake Superior looked to be ten or fifteen times the size of Great Salt Lake.  My mind did a barrel roll.

Boise, ID

If I read Cosmopolitan rather than making fun of it, I might not have used the words hankering and Boise in the same sentence on a first date. Alas I did, thankfully he laughed. Though I'm still not sure what's funny about the sentence, "You know, I've always had a hankering to visit Boise". Definitely not flirtatious, but funny? At least his reaction seemed genuine, a rarity on such occasions. I'll just add this to my list of accomplishments.

Looking back, I could've used "wanted" instead of "hankering" but that would've implied longing. I wanted to visit Boise, but I didn't long for it enough to use my precious vacation days there. It was a hankering, an odd hankering which began at the grocery store. For a few years Boise seemed to be on every checkout magazine list, "Top Ten Cities to Live In", "Boomtowns for Entrepreneurs", "Best Places to Live". Eventually the media conditioned my travels because the hankering turned into a need and I had to stop in Boise on my way to Utah.

Baker City, OR

Entering Baker City in the late afternoon I wondered why it was a city* at all. The few stores on Main Street were slowing shutting off their lights. One restaurant was drawing a small crowd for happy hour, or an early dinner. The latter being more likely. Paused at a red light, I suddenly felt like I was in an Edward Hopper painting. The sole car on a downtown street pinned by the heavy autumn sun. Sun blind, I couldn't tell if the light had changed to green. But another light went off, the one in my head. I remembered that Baker City began during the Eastern Oregon gold rush and it once was the largest city between Portland, OR and Salt Lake City, UT. These guys keep it from smelling like either city nowadays.

Ellensburg, WA

Someone recently asked me, "What prompted you to visit Ellensburg? Not many people know of the town." I paused, I had just met this person. Would I look daft if I told him the truth? I was too hungry to assess, "You know those brown historical signs on highways? There's one on I-90 for Ellensburg. Every time I drove passed it I wondered what it was like. I stopped making excuses when I started my cross-country road trip, it was my first stop".

I couldn't have been happier taking the exit to Ellensburg. It was like biting into a Girl's Scout cookie. That first bite is nearly spine-tingling because you pine for them all year. To my further delight, it was a gorgeous autumn day and The Kittitas County Farmers Market was well under way.