It's raining in Los Angeles today.
As I sit at my new desk, in my new room, in my new apartment, I hear both the voice of my new roommate drifting up from downstairs and the sound of the rain on the other side of my little balcony door.
I arrived yesterday just after 1pm, after a fairly nondescript morning driving out of Arizona and into California. The Arizona sky was clear and bright over the red ridges on either side, while things grew more overcast and, yes, smoggy as I grew nearer to Los Angeles.
After my first welcoming taste of LA traffic, I turned into Los Feliz and down Alexandria Avenue to where my roommate Bing stood waving me down. He directed me into our driveway, past a row of cars on the left and in between a wall and a chain-link fence to the assigned spots. We both remarked that it was a tight fit for CJ's big build, with less than six inches of clearance for the mirrors on either side, but the spot sat right beside our front door, which helped with the unloading.
Bing showed me around the apartment, which remains way more than I could have imagined as I pored over empty, expensive studios several weeks ago. Even now, I'm sitting at a wall-mounted desk with my books in a bookshelf, a candle on a small chest of drawers, and my clothes neatly tucked away in a walk-in closet.
I spent every spare moment yesterday setting the room up, as I have always had a thing about unpacking immediately. All of the bankers boxes were emptied except for one bound for work, one full of personal files, and another half-full of kitchen stuff that now seems somewhat silly for moving in to someone's existing home. Did I not think Bing had knives?
I also got my social rounds going early, driving over to Hollywood to meet Seamus and Vince in the midst of their (and really mainly Seamus's) self-guided Raymond Chandler tour. After realizing we were all underdressed for Musso and Frank's and thus could not hobnob with the Marlowes of the present day, we reconvened at Stout for burgers and, in my case, a post-drive celebratory beer.
That dinner, this morning's trip to Target, even last night's walk over to Seamus's to watch Rick and Morty, it all feels so surprisingly normal. I could almost forget that I just moved my entire life across the country to resume my career, rebuild a settled life, and in some ways construct a routine from scratch. Despite this pleasant familiarity, the months to come will be filled with new adventures, or so is my intention in being here. With the traffic, the cost of living, and a million idiosyncrasies, LA demands you live a life worth the effort of residing here. I think I'm ready to give it a shot.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Southwest History Trail
Feels like I've already covered yesterday morning's time zone misadventure, so I will start with the road from Amarillo into New Mexico. I had noticed Thursday that CJ the Azera was nearing her 45,000 miles and, given the sheer distance we've been doing each day, she would definitely hit the mark Friday barring some catastrophic breakdown.
The morning's drive began about 200 miles away from the big one, so I spent the first few hours scanning the nearly spotless Texas landscape, particularly amused by the legions of wind turbines receding over the horizon. Take that, BOB. I have Tyson's back.
I crossed the border into New Mexico sooner than I expected, realized my time zone error, and then focused on the increasing odometer. I wanted to pull over for a picture once she hit 45,000 and given the 75 mph speed limits, it could be easy to click to 45,001 while looking for a suitable spot. Thankfully, the shoulders were bare and I was able to cruise to a dusty stop shortly after CJ celebrated her 45,000th birthday. Hard to believe I got her at around 6,000 in November 2013, but I took her in for a pre-cross-country check-up and she got full marks.
In New Mexico, rock formations began punctuating the run-on flats, with ridges and mesas punched from the horizon every few miles or so. As has become familiar in the west, there were no signs of civilization between the far-flung towns. I think I could count the outposts over the 200 miles from the border to Albuquerque on one hand.
At one point, I passed a sign that said "Carlsbad Caverns: Next Right," which came as a surprise. Mom and I went to Carlsbad when I was 10 and I remembered it being pretty far south. Sure enough, beneath that sign, it said "240 miles" or so. My first, snarky thought was "it's a little more to get there than taking the next right, wouldn't you say?" Then, I realized that, given the thin spider web of western highways, if someone traveling I-40 misses that right turn, they aren't going to Carlsbad Caverns.
I pulled into Albuquerque at quarter to eleven and sought out the coffee shop Kat recommended. GPS guided me into the parking lot of a shopping center cobbled together from old shipping containers. The quirky aesthetic had a post-apocalyptic feel to it until I walked into Epiphany Espresso to be greeted by its two friendly owners. I sat with a Lobo Latte (not a Loco Latte as I first though, which makes sense given the college team nearby) and blogged in bliss.
After finishing the blog, I ordered another coffee, put on some sunscreen, and took General Washington up to one of the rooftop patios. The views were stunning, as the desert opened up beyond the city limits and the Sandia crest loomed to the northeast.
Kat arrived shortly afterwards and I followed her lead in ordering at Amore Neapolitan Pizzeria. We took our table flag up to another patio and began catching up about the complexities of our last few years, our sentiments on where we live or will be living, and general news. Happenstance has provided the backbone of our ongoing friendship since college, with an unplanned overlap in Vegas and now this breeze through on my way across the continent. Despite the randomness, the conversation always picks up easily and flows naturally. I think we even gathered our empty pizza plates in the same moment.
From Albuquerque, I forged west, facing my largest single GPS direction yet, 460 miles on I-40 until turning into Kingman to stop for the night. I lined up podcasts and spent the next few hours swerving around the brilliant red rock formations that took me through New Mexico.
In the mid-afternoon, I saw a sign for Acoma Pueblo, a Native American pueblo fixed upon a towered mesa. Dad had taken me there during our rambling road trip in 1997 and I could still remember the intensity of the ascent. I had just talked with Kat about how I haven't been south of Albuquerque, into what mentally qualifies as "Dad country" since a year or two after his death in 1998. Now, despite a cautiously wide berth, I had stumbled back into old memories. I contemplated driving to Acoma, to willfully reconnect with that trip, but the detour was 30 minutes each way and I would already be arriving after dark. After considering the choice along the dusty shoulder of the original route 66 (alongside I-40), I continued on, passing snow-dusted ridges on all sides as I entered Arizona.
Luckily, another chance presented itself around sunset. As the sky split into rainbow bands, I saw a sign for the Arizona Meteor Crater. The words hit me square in the chest. Dad took me to the meteor crater, too, on the same trip, several days before Acoma Pueblo. I remember standing beside him, awestruck at the yawning hole 3/4 of a mile across. It was stunning and it made me and the Earth beneath my feet feel so very, very small. That feeling and the feeling of loss when Dad died gave me the name of my now-set-aside book about our travels: Crater.
The sign said the exit was only a few miles ahead and a quick GPS hit showed me the crater was less than 10 miles off the exit. That detour I could afford. Even as I chose the crater as my new destination, however, Google Maps warned me that the park was closed. I didn't care. I had to get as far as I could.
I took the exit for Meteor Crater Road after the sun had slipped below the horizon. Dusk lit my way down the thin, empty road, past a gas station with a helpful sign advising once more that the landmark was closed up for the night.
I passed only one car along the way, wondering if it was a park ranger, but a cloud of dust from the next dirt road revealed they had come from even farther off in the countryside. I thought about rangers, whether any might still be there almost an hour after closing. I thought about the serendipity of Joplin, how I took a chance that paid off so well. Maybe someone would still be there, someone I could tell about my vacation almost two decades ago, who might take a little pity so that I could just see over the edge quickly.
No such luck, unfortunately. As I neared the curved ridge around the crater, I saw the parking lot gated off entirely, with only an abandoned park vehicle up near the visitor center. I had hoped that the road might have a view into the depths, but that prehistoric impact lifted the land all around it, curtaining me off. I felt a little disappointed, but then let it pass. I had tried and I had come. It was the closest I have been in decades to any of the ground we covered back then. I had mentally roped the area off for so long that I couldn't have imagined driving down the same road as Dad had, behind the wheel of that black Jeep Wrangler he called Das Jeep. Now I had, and though I couldn't put to words the closure or the ease that brought, I drove back out to I-40 glad I had added that little bit onto the day's travels.
Several hours later, I pulled to a stop in Kingman, checked into my room, and eventually fell into a deep sleep.
Today, LA begins.
The morning's drive began about 200 miles away from the big one, so I spent the first few hours scanning the nearly spotless Texas landscape, particularly amused by the legions of wind turbines receding over the horizon. Take that, BOB. I have Tyson's back.
I crossed the border into New Mexico sooner than I expected, realized my time zone error, and then focused on the increasing odometer. I wanted to pull over for a picture once she hit 45,000 and given the 75 mph speed limits, it could be easy to click to 45,001 while looking for a suitable spot. Thankfully, the shoulders were bare and I was able to cruise to a dusty stop shortly after CJ celebrated her 45,000th birthday. Hard to believe I got her at around 6,000 in November 2013, but I took her in for a pre-cross-country check-up and she got full marks.
In New Mexico, rock formations began punctuating the run-on flats, with ridges and mesas punched from the horizon every few miles or so. As has become familiar in the west, there were no signs of civilization between the far-flung towns. I think I could count the outposts over the 200 miles from the border to Albuquerque on one hand.
At one point, I passed a sign that said "Carlsbad Caverns: Next Right," which came as a surprise. Mom and I went to Carlsbad when I was 10 and I remembered it being pretty far south. Sure enough, beneath that sign, it said "240 miles" or so. My first, snarky thought was "it's a little more to get there than taking the next right, wouldn't you say?" Then, I realized that, given the thin spider web of western highways, if someone traveling I-40 misses that right turn, they aren't going to Carlsbad Caverns.
I pulled into Albuquerque at quarter to eleven and sought out the coffee shop Kat recommended. GPS guided me into the parking lot of a shopping center cobbled together from old shipping containers. The quirky aesthetic had a post-apocalyptic feel to it until I walked into Epiphany Espresso to be greeted by its two friendly owners. I sat with a Lobo Latte (not a Loco Latte as I first though, which makes sense given the college team nearby) and blogged in bliss.
After finishing the blog, I ordered another coffee, put on some sunscreen, and took General Washington up to one of the rooftop patios. The views were stunning, as the desert opened up beyond the city limits and the Sandia crest loomed to the northeast.
Kat arrived shortly afterwards and I followed her lead in ordering at Amore Neapolitan Pizzeria. We took our table flag up to another patio and began catching up about the complexities of our last few years, our sentiments on where we live or will be living, and general news. Happenstance has provided the backbone of our ongoing friendship since college, with an unplanned overlap in Vegas and now this breeze through on my way across the continent. Despite the randomness, the conversation always picks up easily and flows naturally. I think we even gathered our empty pizza plates in the same moment.
From Albuquerque, I forged west, facing my largest single GPS direction yet, 460 miles on I-40 until turning into Kingman to stop for the night. I lined up podcasts and spent the next few hours swerving around the brilliant red rock formations that took me through New Mexico.
In the mid-afternoon, I saw a sign for Acoma Pueblo, a Native American pueblo fixed upon a towered mesa. Dad had taken me there during our rambling road trip in 1997 and I could still remember the intensity of the ascent. I had just talked with Kat about how I haven't been south of Albuquerque, into what mentally qualifies as "Dad country" since a year or two after his death in 1998. Now, despite a cautiously wide berth, I had stumbled back into old memories. I contemplated driving to Acoma, to willfully reconnect with that trip, but the detour was 30 minutes each way and I would already be arriving after dark. After considering the choice along the dusty shoulder of the original route 66 (alongside I-40), I continued on, passing snow-dusted ridges on all sides as I entered Arizona.
Luckily, another chance presented itself around sunset. As the sky split into rainbow bands, I saw a sign for the Arizona Meteor Crater. The words hit me square in the chest. Dad took me to the meteor crater, too, on the same trip, several days before Acoma Pueblo. I remember standing beside him, awestruck at the yawning hole 3/4 of a mile across. It was stunning and it made me and the Earth beneath my feet feel so very, very small. That feeling and the feeling of loss when Dad died gave me the name of my now-set-aside book about our travels: Crater.
The sign said the exit was only a few miles ahead and a quick GPS hit showed me the crater was less than 10 miles off the exit. That detour I could afford. Even as I chose the crater as my new destination, however, Google Maps warned me that the park was closed. I didn't care. I had to get as far as I could.
I took the exit for Meteor Crater Road after the sun had slipped below the horizon. Dusk lit my way down the thin, empty road, past a gas station with a helpful sign advising once more that the landmark was closed up for the night.
I passed only one car along the way, wondering if it was a park ranger, but a cloud of dust from the next dirt road revealed they had come from even farther off in the countryside. I thought about rangers, whether any might still be there almost an hour after closing. I thought about the serendipity of Joplin, how I took a chance that paid off so well. Maybe someone would still be there, someone I could tell about my vacation almost two decades ago, who might take a little pity so that I could just see over the edge quickly.
No such luck, unfortunately. As I neared the curved ridge around the crater, I saw the parking lot gated off entirely, with only an abandoned park vehicle up near the visitor center. I had hoped that the road might have a view into the depths, but that prehistoric impact lifted the land all around it, curtaining me off. I felt a little disappointed, but then let it pass. I had tried and I had come. It was the closest I have been in decades to any of the ground we covered back then. I had mentally roped the area off for so long that I couldn't have imagined driving down the same road as Dad had, behind the wheel of that black Jeep Wrangler he called Das Jeep. Now I had, and though I couldn't put to words the closure or the ease that brought, I drove back out to I-40 glad I had added that little bit onto the day's travels.
Several hours later, I pulled to a stop in Kingman, checked into my room, and eventually fell into a deep sleep.
Today, LA begins.
Friday, January 29, 2016
The Domino Effect
I don't know why, but I still haven't learned to skip stress and wait for the road to provide. This morning, I woke up in Amarillo, TX with only enough time to shower, do my morning pages, and leave. Not being able to blog was a visceral feeling, but I had lunch in Albuquerque with Kat Cox and I didn't want to be late.
Cut to the New Mexico state line where my eyes are flicking from the road to the odometer as I watch CJ approach her 45,000 mile birthday, my attention so focused that I almost miss the notification on the center console: "Time Zone Updated to Mountain Time."
I forgot the time zone change. I will be an hour early. Instead of facepalming, I feel a thrill. I'll find a coffee spot and blog out the wonders of yesterday. Kat pointed me to a place just beside our lunch spot and so I find myself sitting at Epiphany Espresso, sipping a Lobo Latte in a renovated shipping container.
The road provides. Now, back to yesterday!
I moved slowly Thursday morning, feeling my night in Joplin and especially my beer suicide. I took the time to do morning pages and blog, then set out on the road at almost 10:30am, a very late start for me. I had complicated the day's itinerary by planning to skirt into Kansas and Arkansas, crossing those states off my list instead of heading straight into Oklahoma.
Kansas was simple. Turning west onto I-44, I went about 10 minutes and turned onto 400. After less than a mile, I had passed the state line and quickly U-turned back to the highway.
Arkansas, however, proved trickier. I was prepared to drive 45 minutes or so south to hit the state line, but my new Joplin friends had recommended going just a little further to the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. While I love a museum, I struggled with the idea of a sight-seeing stop in the middle of a day's drive (arguably the beginning given that I would have made NO progress westward yet). As I turned south towards Arkansas, I decided to make it a game time decision.
It turned out pretty much how one might guess. After making it to the state line, I was 15 minutes from the museum. From googling it, I knew the architecture was striking, so I thought there'd be no harm in a drive-by. I pulled off the highway, followed signs, and successfully pulled down the driveway. When the museum came into view, I knew I was staying.
After parking, I made my way to the main entrance, stopping to appreciate the view along the way.
I walked up to what I thought was the ticket counter, only to be told that admission was free. That was only the first shock.
Receptionist: "So here's your ticket. And would you like to tour our Frank Lloyd Wright house?"
Ian: "I'm sorry?"
R: "There's a Frank Lloyd Wright house on the property. I can get you in for a self-guided tour right now if you're interested."
I: "Wh...but...yes, yes, definitely."
I felt so overwhelmed, staggered at the prospect of a beautiful American Art collection AND a Wright house that I would have COMPLETELY MISSED had I not gone out to trivia in Joplin alone. I could feel the miles between where I stood and where I would have been if I had turned back at the state line. Meanwhile, the architecture of the museum loomed all around me.
The Wright house didn't disappoint, either. Since they didn't allow pictures inside, I just strolled around the two-story great room, staring out the floor to ceiling windows and the trees beyond. The difference between the blocked-off public side of the house and the nature-intwined private side was particularly striking.
After the Wright house, I walked the nearby grounds, enjoying the outdoor sculptures and the views back to the museum.
As for the artwork in the collection, I don't have the words, except to say it was one of the most well-curated collections I have ever seen. Knowing I didn't have the time I wanted to take with each piece, I concentrated on textures and snapped a picture of almost everything so that I can revisit it on my own time. I'll pick a few to show here, but I plan to put the rest in a Facebook album. Highlights included: Hamilton Portrait, Peale and Stuart portraits of Washington which resonated as I read his biography, a bajillion American landscapes, a sculpture called Free, Calder mobiles, and some favorite artists from the Brandywine museum back in PA.
One docent commented upon my smile as I walked the galleries and I explained the randomness of my being there and my slight sadness that I had to move on so quickly. Indeed, in a flash, I had reached the end of the exhibits and had to make my way out. I will flip through my pictures to try and recreate the experience of fascination, but I think I may just have to make my way back to Bentonville, AR someday.
Enriching the soul impoverished the body and mind, however, and I left the museum parking lot groaning at the seven hours between me and Amarillo, TX. Quiet backroads took me from Bentonville into Oklahoma, where I was welcomed by a half-dozen tolls both before and on I-44. Though I never really regained a second wind of road trip enthusiasm, the sunset over the broad flat fields of Oklahoma did my thinking for me, with a healthy dose of The Album Leaf and The Decembrists in the background.
Once the sun set, I still had a few hours to go, so I dialed up Savage Love podcasts, which contrasted well with the pitch-black Oklahoma and Texas nights. Finally, I pulled into Amarillo, checked into my hotel, and came to an exhausted stop in my room.
Thankfully, I got a good night's sleep last night and now, with the bonus hour, I feel like I'm no longer paying the price for my deeply satisfying detour to Crystal Bridges.
The road provides.
Cut to the New Mexico state line where my eyes are flicking from the road to the odometer as I watch CJ approach her 45,000 mile birthday, my attention so focused that I almost miss the notification on the center console: "Time Zone Updated to Mountain Time."
I forgot the time zone change. I will be an hour early. Instead of facepalming, I feel a thrill. I'll find a coffee spot and blog out the wonders of yesterday. Kat pointed me to a place just beside our lunch spot and so I find myself sitting at Epiphany Espresso, sipping a Lobo Latte in a renovated shipping container.
The road provides. Now, back to yesterday!
I moved slowly Thursday morning, feeling my night in Joplin and especially my beer suicide. I took the time to do morning pages and blog, then set out on the road at almost 10:30am, a very late start for me. I had complicated the day's itinerary by planning to skirt into Kansas and Arkansas, crossing those states off my list instead of heading straight into Oklahoma.
Kansas was simple. Turning west onto I-44, I went about 10 minutes and turned onto 400. After less than a mile, I had passed the state line and quickly U-turned back to the highway.
Arkansas, however, proved trickier. I was prepared to drive 45 minutes or so south to hit the state line, but my new Joplin friends had recommended going just a little further to the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. While I love a museum, I struggled with the idea of a sight-seeing stop in the middle of a day's drive (arguably the beginning given that I would have made NO progress westward yet). As I turned south towards Arkansas, I decided to make it a game time decision.
It turned out pretty much how one might guess. After making it to the state line, I was 15 minutes from the museum. From googling it, I knew the architecture was striking, so I thought there'd be no harm in a drive-by. I pulled off the highway, followed signs, and successfully pulled down the driveway. When the museum came into view, I knew I was staying.
After parking, I made my way to the main entrance, stopping to appreciate the view along the way.
I walked up to what I thought was the ticket counter, only to be told that admission was free. That was only the first shock.
Receptionist: "So here's your ticket. And would you like to tour our Frank Lloyd Wright house?"
Ian: "I'm sorry?"
R: "There's a Frank Lloyd Wright house on the property. I can get you in for a self-guided tour right now if you're interested."
I: "Wh...but...yes, yes, definitely."
I felt so overwhelmed, staggered at the prospect of a beautiful American Art collection AND a Wright house that I would have COMPLETELY MISSED had I not gone out to trivia in Joplin alone. I could feel the miles between where I stood and where I would have been if I had turned back at the state line. Meanwhile, the architecture of the museum loomed all around me.
The Wright house didn't disappoint, either. Since they didn't allow pictures inside, I just strolled around the two-story great room, staring out the floor to ceiling windows and the trees beyond. The difference between the blocked-off public side of the house and the nature-intwined private side was particularly striking.
After the Wright house, I walked the nearby grounds, enjoying the outdoor sculptures and the views back to the museum.
As for the artwork in the collection, I don't have the words, except to say it was one of the most well-curated collections I have ever seen. Knowing I didn't have the time I wanted to take with each piece, I concentrated on textures and snapped a picture of almost everything so that I can revisit it on my own time. I'll pick a few to show here, but I plan to put the rest in a Facebook album. Highlights included: Hamilton Portrait, Peale and Stuart portraits of Washington which resonated as I read his biography, a bajillion American landscapes, a sculpture called Free, Calder mobiles, and some favorite artists from the Brandywine museum back in PA.
 |
| While the initial impression I had was of a man bound, I crossed behind it to find one hand clasping the other wrist. Such a brilliant experience of my own perceptions. |
 |
| This was one statue...excellent placement |
One docent commented upon my smile as I walked the galleries and I explained the randomness of my being there and my slight sadness that I had to move on so quickly. Indeed, in a flash, I had reached the end of the exhibits and had to make my way out. I will flip through my pictures to try and recreate the experience of fascination, but I think I may just have to make my way back to Bentonville, AR someday.
Enriching the soul impoverished the body and mind, however, and I left the museum parking lot groaning at the seven hours between me and Amarillo, TX. Quiet backroads took me from Bentonville into Oklahoma, where I was welcomed by a half-dozen tolls both before and on I-44. Though I never really regained a second wind of road trip enthusiasm, the sunset over the broad flat fields of Oklahoma did my thinking for me, with a healthy dose of The Album Leaf and The Decembrists in the background.
Once the sun set, I still had a few hours to go, so I dialed up Savage Love podcasts, which contrasted well with the pitch-black Oklahoma and Texas nights. Finally, I pulled into Amarillo, checked into my hotel, and came to an exhausted stop in my room.
Thankfully, I got a good night's sleep last night and now, with the bonus hour, I feel like I'm no longer paying the price for my deeply satisfying detour to Crystal Bridges.
The road provides.
Thursday, January 28, 2016
One Night in Joplin and The World's Your Oyster
Day Two of the drive was bookended by some impromptu choices, with varying degrees of success.
After waking up and gassing up the car in Georgetown, KY, I started down the highway rolling around some suggested tourist stops in my head. My friend Danny had recommended the Castle Post, a giant castle in the middle of the Kentucky horse farms, while Wade, a Kentucky boy himself, recommended the Woodford Reserve Distillery tour. Though both stops were in Versailles, KY, I had decided against both during dinner the night before, figuring I didn't have the time for a 30-45 minute distillery tour before a nearly 9-hour drive.
As I began the day's drive, however, I rethought my options, only to be cosmically nudged by a road sign for Versailles a few seconds after I began second-guessing. Feeling encouraged, I took the exit, pulled off the road momentarily and dropped the Castle into my GPS as the first destination. The drive out to Castle Post wowed me, with the bluegrass hills rolling from one farm to the next and trees thick with bare limbs lining either side of the country roads. The Castle itself was quite shocking, rising with its imposing outer walls from yet another hillside, but I didn't bother stopping to even snap a picture. It was 10:10 at this point and I still wanted to knock off the Woodford Tour and get on the road.
Curious about the price of the tour, I quickly pulled up the Woodford website and, though I found the ticket price, I also learned that tours were on the hour. I would be too late for the 10 and 45-50 minutes early for the 11. Unfortunately, I couldn't spare the time and so, cursing myself for going to the Castle first, I dropped in the address for the night's hotel and began my day's drive. Sometimes the game-for-anything trait just doesn't pay off, but as I learned last night, it comes back around.
During the big drive yesterday, I leaned heavily on audio, chopping up the drive into singalong segments and digestible hour-long podcasts. I even spent 30 minutes on hold with the Maryland Health Exchange to cancel my sabbatical medical coverage, smiling whenever the automated voice told me I could avoid a long hold by visiting them online. Hey man, I've got nothing but time.
Blue skies opened up over the flat fields of Indiana and Illinois until at last the Gateway Arch crested the horizon, soaring above St. Louis. When I intended to drive to LA in 2014, I meant to take nearly the same route I'm taking now and I expected the experience of actually driving beneath the shadow of that Arch to be a highlight. I was not disappointed.
The remaining four hours of Missouri don't hold anything particularly interesting beyond cheap gas, so I'll skip ahead to Joplin, MO, my stop for the night. I had decided a few hours before stopping that I wanted either karaoke or trivia for the night. I had felt the weird high of performing karaoke for a room full of strangers before, while my friend Joe had checked off the highlight reel experience of walking into trivia on the road, winning, and sliding the house cash to a local as you vanish into the night.
Running dry on karaoke, I spotted a trivia place for the evening, so after dropping my stuff off and changing, I found myself at JB's in downtown Joplin. As I drank my first beer, alone at a high top, I saw eight or so groups forming at the scattered tables facing a sizable concert stage. Though preparing myself to take on all comers and eager to use the team name "Harmonica" in homage to Once Upon a Time in the West, I was suddenly approached by a guy my age or slightly younger who, in lieu of an introduction, simply asked, "Hey, do you want to join our trivia team?" Despite my goal of a solo win, it felt obnoxious to turn him down, so I agreed and moved my jacket and beer over to his table.
My new friend introduced himself as Dave and we traded our backgrounds while hovering awkwardly over my adopted table. I had seen him come in with a girl earlier and once she returned from chatting with another table, her eyes flicked to Dave shouting, "Dave, who is this random person?" Dave, unfazed, said, "Ian, this is Kelsey. Kelsey, this is Ian," and sat us all down. I spent the next ten minutes or so before trivia started pushing out as many "I'm not a random loner creep" vibes as possible, so that by the first round, I think we were getting along fine.
We put in a good showing for most of the night, coming from third place after one round to first place at about the midway point. One round was the puzzle round, which included a handful of Rebus puzzles and a math puzzle with a 3 x 3 grid of mathematical operations seeking the numbers 1-9 such that each row and column came out to the correct number. As we'd already talked about my actuarial job out west, the latter got pushed to me and after an initial panic as the first team to finish would get 50 extra points regardless of correct answers, I tried a few different combinations before saying "I got it!" Dave and Kelsey swiped the paper from beneath my hands and immediately went to turn it in, ignoring my question of whether we should check the work. We were the first to turn it in AND we had everything right. While the other teams worked, the host came over to ask how we'd finished already and Dave and Kelsey outed me as their road-tripping ringer. Sure enough, once all answers were in, the host shared my secret with the rest of the room, to scattered reactions.
We lost, in the end, to a team beside us whom Dave and Kelsey knew, leading us to congratulate them with introductions all around. As it happens, their two teams typically go out after trivia, so I was invited along. Seeing as the general openness had served me well so far, I agreed and joined the three newer guys (Frederick, Chad, and Drew) on a two block walk to the next bar, where I was told there would be...KARAOKE. Everything was happening.
At the bar, Chad, a psychologist, bought me a local beer and told me about the various other bars in town. Frederick, a local recruiter, asked me about my trip as well, our conversation fighting with the belting starlets on the karaoke stage. Dave and I started discussing what we should sing when I realized the DJ had a tip jar. I had planned to get money for the tolls today anyway, so I asked Dave when I could find an ATM. He offered to take me to the bar next door, which had one, so we told the others of the plan and went back out into the night.
Despite his seeming helpfulness, Dave had a deviant streak, and when I let him do the talking to ask about the ATM, he instead ordered us two beer suicides. What are beer suicides? Well, as a child, a suicide was making one soda out of all available fountain drinks.
Guess what a beer suicide is?
The result was surprisingly tasty and, more surprisingly, only $5. As we stood, sampling our horrible aberrations, I asked the bartender about the ATM. Her response: "Oh, no, we had one, but someone punched through the screen, so the bank didn't bring us another one." Thank god the place was dead, as it sounded like the Double Deuce on a normal night.
After we spent a while over our concoctions, the rest of the gang joined us, figuring Dave had gotten us up to mischief. They got themselves drinks and we gathered around a table, talking more about my trip and their various backgrounds. I spoke a lot with Drew, who in addition to being an accountant, does a lot of work with the local Democratic party. He described the intricacies of Missouri politics, particularly how the state positions can often be carried by Democrats due to the big city populations but that individual districts can be completely locked up by social issues. Nonetheless, he described having stepped away out of frustration for a while, only to return because he couldn't help but try.
All in all, from the conversations, I realized that, in a random stop along my way, I had managed to find "my people." When I shared the thought out loud, Chad said, "What did you expect? You sought out a trivia night?" We laughed and chatted until almost one in the morning (though after our suicides, I stuck with water for the next few hours), and then parted ways. I quickly facebooked each of my new friends (though I had trouble finding Frederick), thrilled to have had such a friendly night in the midst of this big journey. Somewhere, I hope Tony Hawks (not Hawk) is proud. Felt VERY "Round Ireland with a Fridge."
After waking up and gassing up the car in Georgetown, KY, I started down the highway rolling around some suggested tourist stops in my head. My friend Danny had recommended the Castle Post, a giant castle in the middle of the Kentucky horse farms, while Wade, a Kentucky boy himself, recommended the Woodford Reserve Distillery tour. Though both stops were in Versailles, KY, I had decided against both during dinner the night before, figuring I didn't have the time for a 30-45 minute distillery tour before a nearly 9-hour drive.
As I began the day's drive, however, I rethought my options, only to be cosmically nudged by a road sign for Versailles a few seconds after I began second-guessing. Feeling encouraged, I took the exit, pulled off the road momentarily and dropped the Castle into my GPS as the first destination. The drive out to Castle Post wowed me, with the bluegrass hills rolling from one farm to the next and trees thick with bare limbs lining either side of the country roads. The Castle itself was quite shocking, rising with its imposing outer walls from yet another hillside, but I didn't bother stopping to even snap a picture. It was 10:10 at this point and I still wanted to knock off the Woodford Tour and get on the road.
Curious about the price of the tour, I quickly pulled up the Woodford website and, though I found the ticket price, I also learned that tours were on the hour. I would be too late for the 10 and 45-50 minutes early for the 11. Unfortunately, I couldn't spare the time and so, cursing myself for going to the Castle first, I dropped in the address for the night's hotel and began my day's drive. Sometimes the game-for-anything trait just doesn't pay off, but as I learned last night, it comes back around.
During the big drive yesterday, I leaned heavily on audio, chopping up the drive into singalong segments and digestible hour-long podcasts. I even spent 30 minutes on hold with the Maryland Health Exchange to cancel my sabbatical medical coverage, smiling whenever the automated voice told me I could avoid a long hold by visiting them online. Hey man, I've got nothing but time.
Blue skies opened up over the flat fields of Indiana and Illinois until at last the Gateway Arch crested the horizon, soaring above St. Louis. When I intended to drive to LA in 2014, I meant to take nearly the same route I'm taking now and I expected the experience of actually driving beneath the shadow of that Arch to be a highlight. I was not disappointed.
The remaining four hours of Missouri don't hold anything particularly interesting beyond cheap gas, so I'll skip ahead to Joplin, MO, my stop for the night. I had decided a few hours before stopping that I wanted either karaoke or trivia for the night. I had felt the weird high of performing karaoke for a room full of strangers before, while my friend Joe had checked off the highlight reel experience of walking into trivia on the road, winning, and sliding the house cash to a local as you vanish into the night.
Running dry on karaoke, I spotted a trivia place for the evening, so after dropping my stuff off and changing, I found myself at JB's in downtown Joplin. As I drank my first beer, alone at a high top, I saw eight or so groups forming at the scattered tables facing a sizable concert stage. Though preparing myself to take on all comers and eager to use the team name "Harmonica" in homage to Once Upon a Time in the West, I was suddenly approached by a guy my age or slightly younger who, in lieu of an introduction, simply asked, "Hey, do you want to join our trivia team?" Despite my goal of a solo win, it felt obnoxious to turn him down, so I agreed and moved my jacket and beer over to his table.
My new friend introduced himself as Dave and we traded our backgrounds while hovering awkwardly over my adopted table. I had seen him come in with a girl earlier and once she returned from chatting with another table, her eyes flicked to Dave shouting, "Dave, who is this random person?" Dave, unfazed, said, "Ian, this is Kelsey. Kelsey, this is Ian," and sat us all down. I spent the next ten minutes or so before trivia started pushing out as many "I'm not a random loner creep" vibes as possible, so that by the first round, I think we were getting along fine.
We put in a good showing for most of the night, coming from third place after one round to first place at about the midway point. One round was the puzzle round, which included a handful of Rebus puzzles and a math puzzle with a 3 x 3 grid of mathematical operations seeking the numbers 1-9 such that each row and column came out to the correct number. As we'd already talked about my actuarial job out west, the latter got pushed to me and after an initial panic as the first team to finish would get 50 extra points regardless of correct answers, I tried a few different combinations before saying "I got it!" Dave and Kelsey swiped the paper from beneath my hands and immediately went to turn it in, ignoring my question of whether we should check the work. We were the first to turn it in AND we had everything right. While the other teams worked, the host came over to ask how we'd finished already and Dave and Kelsey outed me as their road-tripping ringer. Sure enough, once all answers were in, the host shared my secret with the rest of the room, to scattered reactions.
We lost, in the end, to a team beside us whom Dave and Kelsey knew, leading us to congratulate them with introductions all around. As it happens, their two teams typically go out after trivia, so I was invited along. Seeing as the general openness had served me well so far, I agreed and joined the three newer guys (Frederick, Chad, and Drew) on a two block walk to the next bar, where I was told there would be...KARAOKE. Everything was happening.
At the bar, Chad, a psychologist, bought me a local beer and told me about the various other bars in town. Frederick, a local recruiter, asked me about my trip as well, our conversation fighting with the belting starlets on the karaoke stage. Dave and I started discussing what we should sing when I realized the DJ had a tip jar. I had planned to get money for the tolls today anyway, so I asked Dave when I could find an ATM. He offered to take me to the bar next door, which had one, so we told the others of the plan and went back out into the night.
Despite his seeming helpfulness, Dave had a deviant streak, and when I let him do the talking to ask about the ATM, he instead ordered us two beer suicides. What are beer suicides? Well, as a child, a suicide was making one soda out of all available fountain drinks.
Guess what a beer suicide is?
The result was surprisingly tasty and, more surprisingly, only $5. As we stood, sampling our horrible aberrations, I asked the bartender about the ATM. Her response: "Oh, no, we had one, but someone punched through the screen, so the bank didn't bring us another one." Thank god the place was dead, as it sounded like the Double Deuce on a normal night.
After we spent a while over our concoctions, the rest of the gang joined us, figuring Dave had gotten us up to mischief. They got themselves drinks and we gathered around a table, talking more about my trip and their various backgrounds. I spoke a lot with Drew, who in addition to being an accountant, does a lot of work with the local Democratic party. He described the intricacies of Missouri politics, particularly how the state positions can often be carried by Democrats due to the big city populations but that individual districts can be completely locked up by social issues. Nonetheless, he described having stepped away out of frustration for a while, only to return because he couldn't help but try.
All in all, from the conversations, I realized that, in a random stop along my way, I had managed to find "my people." When I shared the thought out loud, Chad said, "What did you expect? You sought out a trivia night?" We laughed and chatted until almost one in the morning (though after our suicides, I stuck with water for the next few hours), and then parted ways. I quickly facebooked each of my new friends (though I had trouble finding Frederick), thrilled to have had such a friendly night in the midst of this big journey. Somewhere, I hope Tony Hawks (not Hawk) is proud. Felt VERY "Round Ireland with a Fridge."
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Whiteout and Bluegrass
Day one of the big drive west began early. I woke up at 7AM after a night of anxiety dreams, the kind where it's finals period and you realize that, despite a spotless academic history, you've somehow managed to skip every single class in a given course and are going to fail. The kind you wake up from and immediately make the ludicrously obvious assertion, "Wait, no, I graduated."
As I sat down to breakfast, I told Mom about the dream and she said she still has those dreams even at this point in her life. I told her I think I'm nervous about getting back to work. What if my acumen for the job was just inertia after eight years? What if I'm Wile E. Coyote kicking my feet in mid-air seven months over the edge?
I don't think that all the time, or even most of the time. Maybe 5% of the time I spend doubting my re-entry into the ranks. But I feel like shining the light on that anxiety, because imposter syndrome gets so many of us down.
Mom and I had a pleasant, encouraging goodbye. We had noticed over and over during the last few months that it's the most time we've spent together since high school. Thanks to both of us having a good year or so of discussion, perspective, and individual validation beforehand, we didn't get on each other's nerves at all. It was a nice period, a chance for me to really gather my strength before the big leap.
As for the first day's drive, I can't really find much art in it. It wasn't hard at all, which is good; I was worried crossing the country once would make the next pass tougher. Instead, it just kind of happened. Jonas turned the entire 8-9 hour stretch into stick trees scattered over white hills. It was a mesmerizing sameness from Maryland into West Virginia and on into Kentucky.
Still, it doesn't need to be any great thing anymore. I'm glad people are sticking with the blog, but I'm trying to be a little more forgiving of the days where the road is dull and few things happen, because regardless of that monotony, today was the first step of the new adventure. I woke up anxious, but go to bed excited.
As I sat down to breakfast, I told Mom about the dream and she said she still has those dreams even at this point in her life. I told her I think I'm nervous about getting back to work. What if my acumen for the job was just inertia after eight years? What if I'm Wile E. Coyote kicking my feet in mid-air seven months over the edge?
I don't think that all the time, or even most of the time. Maybe 5% of the time I spend doubting my re-entry into the ranks. But I feel like shining the light on that anxiety, because imposter syndrome gets so many of us down.
Mom and I had a pleasant, encouraging goodbye. We had noticed over and over during the last few months that it's the most time we've spent together since high school. Thanks to both of us having a good year or so of discussion, perspective, and individual validation beforehand, we didn't get on each other's nerves at all. It was a nice period, a chance for me to really gather my strength before the big leap.
As for the first day's drive, I can't really find much art in it. It wasn't hard at all, which is good; I was worried crossing the country once would make the next pass tougher. Instead, it just kind of happened. Jonas turned the entire 8-9 hour stretch into stick trees scattered over white hills. It was a mesmerizing sameness from Maryland into West Virginia and on into Kentucky.
Still, it doesn't need to be any great thing anymore. I'm glad people are sticking with the blog, but I'm trying to be a little more forgiving of the days where the road is dull and few things happen, because regardless of that monotony, today was the first step of the new adventure. I woke up anxious, but go to bed excited.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Lord, ain't it strange?
Tomorrow morning, I will once again start driving west across the country, my car bursting with belongings, my iPhone packed with podcasts, my mind racing with anticipation.
This time, however, instead of a blank canvas with only a few elements (Erik, Tahoe), there is a plan in place, a new stage of life to begin.
I have a new city, LA. The city hasn't stopped calling to me since October and I'm finally answering, driving to my new home in Los Feliz. In addition to appreciating the wild place LA is, I will also be using it as a jumping off point for the next adventures on my list. Some will be bigger (Burning Man, Comic Con, New Zealand) and some smaller (surfing, personal training, a return to theatre), but they will all be echoes of these past seven months. I will listen to what calls to me, knowing that my definition of happiness is following that call and smothering regret wherever possible.
I have a new roommate, Bing! Despite planning to live in a studio, I was randomly messaged by Sarah Sexton of GU Theatre about a friend she had in LA looking for a roommate. I Facebooked the guy and found that he knew Adam, Clarke, and Jason, three LA contacts from high school. When I asked them for their thoughts on Bing, they glowed about him, with Adam even saying "Bing may actually be a perfect roommate for you and you for him. This is truly magical." After that rosy review, I went ahead and reached out to Bing. He sent along details and pictures, revealing a beautiful two-story set-up that would be half the cost of the studio I'd applied to. Suddenly, I faced the possibility of paying down my sabbatical debts quickly and having a built-in travel budget. After hammering out some details, Bing told me I could have the spot. I now have a place to stay, greater financial flexibility, and a roommate who already knows three of my LA friends.
I have a new job...which is my old job in a new place. I'm returning to Towers Watson (now Willis Towers Watson, actually) in their LA office. As I mentioned in my last post, the sabbatical brought clarity around my professional motivations. I am looking forward at a year of weddings, friends' new children, and big adventures, and I don't want to miss one moment of it because I'm strapped financially. I'm also excited about the job because I have learned a mountain about myself and I feel as though I'll walk through those semi-familiar doors with a new approach, one that fits me. When I left the Atlanta office last July, I wrote an e-mail telling the Atlanta team (and apologizing to the DC one) that I felt I had bloomed in Atlanta. I still think that, but there may be even more Ian to bring to work and I'm going to give it a shot.
I have a new outlook. The last seven months have been magnificent, with 2015 making a strong case for one of my best years ever (though 2016 is already opening strong). Everything defied my expectations: support came from surprising places, goals morphed before my eyes, and lessons rewrote the way I see the world. If I had to isolate a few things I've taken away from this breathtaking time, I would focus on the following three.
First, as mentioned above, I have to try something to stop thinking about it. Whether it was living in Atlanta, taking time off to write, or even skydiving, I can feel the things I want to do in life under my skin and the longer I let them linger, the darker that desire can get. I have told many people that LA is the next itch I have to scratch and though I hope to think up some better imagery, I'm planning to spend 2016 playing Whack-a-Mole with goals, big and small.
Two, I now see myself as a nexus of the amazing people in my life. Since 2014, I have become viscerally aware of the support I have behind me, but only in the past few months have I realized that I am the only person who gets the support of my specific family, my specific high school friends, my specific college friends, and my specific smattering of amazing people I've met since graduation. I share each separate group, but the overall cocktail of social support is unique to me. In one sense, this awareness humbles me, overwhelms me with gratitude that so many incredible people fill my life. In another, I have to remind myself that this particular arrangement of support forms a silhouette around me, that I can take some degree of pride and validation from the motley company I keep. In short, when I think of my friends and family, I think I must be doing something right.
Third and perhaps most simply, the joy of the last seven months has been worth everything that's ever happened to date. Whether leaping out over the glassy surface of Tahoe or laughing with friends on Halloween night, I have blissed out hard over and over again. Furthermore, I wouldn't have enjoyed those moments if things had gone "to plan." It's unimaginable to me now that my life could ever have gone in such a way that I didn't live with Erik for three months, but living with him was the product of some relentless reversals. As a result, I find it much simpler to accept the whiplash of life. No matter how painful, bleak, or dark moments in my past have gotten, I needed them all to get to my recent heights. I cannot fully convey the calm that comes with validating one's entire timeline in a stroke, merely because I found myself smiling ear-to-ear about the moment at hand. It has lifted so many weights.
I am breathlessly excited for the year ahead. The first month of the year has been epic in its own way and I haven't even left familiar surroundings yet. As for this blog, who knows? I recently read that the best form of creativity for folks like me is autobiographical and I just spent the holidays fielding questions about the drop-off in entries after I reached Tahoe, so people are reading. Then again, I often see this exercise as self-indulgent, the sort of thing I might not want to read myself if I weren't the one writing it (see also: My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard). This has also been the first entry I've written while writing morning pages (from The Artist's Way) and that is a LOT of writing even when I don't have work. I think I just have to treat it like everything else. If I feel the need, I'll do it, and I'll be sure to spam Facebook and the like to get it in front of all of you.
So begins my Year of Frontier.
This time, however, instead of a blank canvas with only a few elements (Erik, Tahoe), there is a plan in place, a new stage of life to begin.
I have a new city, LA. The city hasn't stopped calling to me since October and I'm finally answering, driving to my new home in Los Feliz. In addition to appreciating the wild place LA is, I will also be using it as a jumping off point for the next adventures on my list. Some will be bigger (Burning Man, Comic Con, New Zealand) and some smaller (surfing, personal training, a return to theatre), but they will all be echoes of these past seven months. I will listen to what calls to me, knowing that my definition of happiness is following that call and smothering regret wherever possible.
I have a new roommate, Bing! Despite planning to live in a studio, I was randomly messaged by Sarah Sexton of GU Theatre about a friend she had in LA looking for a roommate. I Facebooked the guy and found that he knew Adam, Clarke, and Jason, three LA contacts from high school. When I asked them for their thoughts on Bing, they glowed about him, with Adam even saying "Bing may actually be a perfect roommate for you and you for him. This is truly magical." After that rosy review, I went ahead and reached out to Bing. He sent along details and pictures, revealing a beautiful two-story set-up that would be half the cost of the studio I'd applied to. Suddenly, I faced the possibility of paying down my sabbatical debts quickly and having a built-in travel budget. After hammering out some details, Bing told me I could have the spot. I now have a place to stay, greater financial flexibility, and a roommate who already knows three of my LA friends.
I have a new job...which is my old job in a new place. I'm returning to Towers Watson (now Willis Towers Watson, actually) in their LA office. As I mentioned in my last post, the sabbatical brought clarity around my professional motivations. I am looking forward at a year of weddings, friends' new children, and big adventures, and I don't want to miss one moment of it because I'm strapped financially. I'm also excited about the job because I have learned a mountain about myself and I feel as though I'll walk through those semi-familiar doors with a new approach, one that fits me. When I left the Atlanta office last July, I wrote an e-mail telling the Atlanta team (and apologizing to the DC one) that I felt I had bloomed in Atlanta. I still think that, but there may be even more Ian to bring to work and I'm going to give it a shot.
I have a new outlook. The last seven months have been magnificent, with 2015 making a strong case for one of my best years ever (though 2016 is already opening strong). Everything defied my expectations: support came from surprising places, goals morphed before my eyes, and lessons rewrote the way I see the world. If I had to isolate a few things I've taken away from this breathtaking time, I would focus on the following three.
First, as mentioned above, I have to try something to stop thinking about it. Whether it was living in Atlanta, taking time off to write, or even skydiving, I can feel the things I want to do in life under my skin and the longer I let them linger, the darker that desire can get. I have told many people that LA is the next itch I have to scratch and though I hope to think up some better imagery, I'm planning to spend 2016 playing Whack-a-Mole with goals, big and small.
Two, I now see myself as a nexus of the amazing people in my life. Since 2014, I have become viscerally aware of the support I have behind me, but only in the past few months have I realized that I am the only person who gets the support of my specific family, my specific high school friends, my specific college friends, and my specific smattering of amazing people I've met since graduation. I share each separate group, but the overall cocktail of social support is unique to me. In one sense, this awareness humbles me, overwhelms me with gratitude that so many incredible people fill my life. In another, I have to remind myself that this particular arrangement of support forms a silhouette around me, that I can take some degree of pride and validation from the motley company I keep. In short, when I think of my friends and family, I think I must be doing something right.
Third and perhaps most simply, the joy of the last seven months has been worth everything that's ever happened to date. Whether leaping out over the glassy surface of Tahoe or laughing with friends on Halloween night, I have blissed out hard over and over again. Furthermore, I wouldn't have enjoyed those moments if things had gone "to plan." It's unimaginable to me now that my life could ever have gone in such a way that I didn't live with Erik for three months, but living with him was the product of some relentless reversals. As a result, I find it much simpler to accept the whiplash of life. No matter how painful, bleak, or dark moments in my past have gotten, I needed them all to get to my recent heights. I cannot fully convey the calm that comes with validating one's entire timeline in a stroke, merely because I found myself smiling ear-to-ear about the moment at hand. It has lifted so many weights.
I am breathlessly excited for the year ahead. The first month of the year has been epic in its own way and I haven't even left familiar surroundings yet. As for this blog, who knows? I recently read that the best form of creativity for folks like me is autobiographical and I just spent the holidays fielding questions about the drop-off in entries after I reached Tahoe, so people are reading. Then again, I often see this exercise as self-indulgent, the sort of thing I might not want to read myself if I weren't the one writing it (see also: My Struggle by Karl Ove Knausgaard). This has also been the first entry I've written while writing morning pages (from The Artist's Way) and that is a LOT of writing even when I don't have work. I think I just have to treat it like everything else. If I feel the need, I'll do it, and I'll be sure to spam Facebook and the like to get it in front of all of you.
So begins my Year of Frontier.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)