Road trips can be the exemplar studies of random spontaneity. Nothing can be more random and cause a more spontaneous reaction than the I Love Lucy Museum in her hometown, Jamestown NY. What are you supposed to do, dear reader, when you are confronted with a billboard-sized face of our favorite red-head with the printed imperative “Exit Now!” Yes, it did put me two hours behind on the already long leg from Ithaca, NY to Lexington, KY, but it was worth it. I Love Lucy paraphernalia is readily available in any major tourist attraction, but this was the mother-lode. In fact, you couldn’t buy anything without her likeliness, be it cup, dish, t-shirt or underwear.
Ohio was the most aromatic of states. In driving through the north, you could smell sweet corn as they ripened on the stalk. In passing by Columbus, the capital, you could smell the landfill as the refuse stink wafted over the interstate. And as you got close to the Kentucky border, horse and cow manure permeated the air. The second place winner was Wisconsin, when the interstate weaved right by a mint farm.
In America, we have these people called “presidents” and we like to build statues after their names. One of these statues resides in Cincinnati in Garfield Square, named for James A. Garfield, the 18th president. This reminds me: have you ever heard of the comic strip Garfield minus Garfield (http://garfieldminusgarfield.net/)? Apparently, if you remove the cat Garfield completely from the strip, it becomes surreal yet incredibly funny in it's own right. Imagine what the USA would have been like if we did not have President Garfield. Coincidentally, President Garfield was assassinated 8 months into his administration. Surreal, isn’t it?
The American Diner is a fine example of the ingenuity it took to standardize food quality across the thousands of miles of roads that make up American highways. In order to meet the difficulties in supply, the foods are made from goods that were readily available across the country, such as eggs, beef and potatoes. In order to satisfy even the pickiest eaters, the dishes are filling yet inoffensive in smell and taste. In order to standardize cooking practices, skillets and deep fryers are the only cooking methods allowed. In essence, everything must be fried to a standard blandness.
In that regard, the Taco Salad I had for lunch was a smashing success. The diner succeeded in not only making a salad into fried grease ball, but they also succeeded in removing the spicy pectins from a Jalapeno pepper. The lettuce was crunchy, tasteless and full of water. Imagine my surprise when I realized that, half way through the salad, that the tomatoes did not have their tartness. They were so bland that I did not even know they were in the salad until I found one while picking at my food.
In Indiana, the most popular billboard advertisement was for billboard advertising space.
In Wisconsin, I got stung by a mosquito. Normally this is not anything to write home about, but in this particular time, I got stung on my right hand ring finger, right next to my Brass Rat. I went to bed not thinking anything of it, but I woke up the next morning with the ring constricting the swollen finger and I could not budge it over the now swollen knuckle. Taking a page from the MacGyver textbook, I recalled an episode where he escaped from being tied down by using water as a lubricant. I went into the shower, soaped up my finger, and painfully pulled the ring off.
That’s it for now. More stories to come.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Gambling with Postcards
I am at Hoosier Park in Indiana. It is a racetrack and casino, popular with many of the locals. I am sitting at the roulette table watching the ball go round and round. Occasionally, I would glance haphazardly around the room and see people forgetting their worries and having the time of their lives smoking, drinking, and losing money. I too, lose myself in the momentary rush of a spin and forget my misery, for I could not find a postcard.
Let me explain. I have an obsession with postcard. Ever since high school, I have bought a postcard at every place I’ve ever visited. This has created a nice collection of travel logs of different places I’ve been and things I’ve done. On the other hand, it has also caused me undue stress when a postcard cannot be found. This happened once in Houston – I did not get a chance to buy a postcard and to this day, there is a place-holder for it for it in my postcard album.
The day before, I arrived in Cincinnati too late to be able to visit the touristy areas. The museums had closed and I figured that I would have the next morning to find one. However, my host lived north of the city and since I was northward bound, it did not make sense to pay for a parking space in the city just for a postcard. After breakfast, I left in the direction of Indiana, thinking that I could pick up a postcard at some attraction on the way, or at, the very least, a gas station.
As it turns out, Cincinnati is merely 20 miles away from the border, and when I got on the interstate, I realized the shortness of time and distance I had to accomplish this mission. I stopped at the first gas station, having to fill up my tank anyways, and entered into the travel mart. No postcard. I feigned as if I needed the men’s room, used the facilities, and left. There were several more exits before the border, so I drove to the next gas station and walked in. No postcard. I had already used the men’s room, so I bought a bag of potato chips. At the next stop, I still had no luck. I thought to myself, “What are the chances that no gas station between Cincinnati and Indiana will sell postcards?” Five bags of potato chips, two Twinkies and a Gatorade later, I concluded “100%”.
After crossing the border into Indiana, I decided to change tactics. Instead of stopping at every gas station, I would stop at the first tourist attraction and go to the gift shop. Thus I ended up at the Hoosier Park Racetrack and Casino. I walk into the smoked filled room, made my way around islands of flashing slot machines and while inundated with background racket beeps and clanks. The room was filled with sad and miserable people, gambling their hard earned cash away in the hopes of something better. Retirees attached to oxygen machines stared intently at the slot machines praying for their jackpot. The gift shop too, was depressingly small and although there was a large selection of “Get Well Soon!” cards, there was not a single postcard. Dejected, I sat down at the Roulette table. I anted my postcard budget and joined the masses in forgetting my troubles.
I lamented this story to my friend whom I was visiting in Culver, Indiana. She cheerfully replied, “Well, Culver may be a small town, but I do know the hardware store sells postcards. In fact, I bought one last week there!” Happily, we walked to the hardware store that served the town of 7000. When we arrived, we saw a container marked “Postcards: $1.00” - empty. We questioned the owner of the store and he confirmed that not only were they completely out, but he had just sold the last one only moments ago. Seeing my crushed look, he quickly added, “But you can go down the street to the Poet and Painter. They sell postcards.” We made a beeline to the store and sure enough, there was quite a nice selection. I was happier than an ant in a sugar factory.
I bought 7 and put my roulette winnings to good use too.
Let me explain. I have an obsession with postcard. Ever since high school, I have bought a postcard at every place I’ve ever visited. This has created a nice collection of travel logs of different places I’ve been and things I’ve done. On the other hand, it has also caused me undue stress when a postcard cannot be found. This happened once in Houston – I did not get a chance to buy a postcard and to this day, there is a place-holder for it for it in my postcard album.
The day before, I arrived in Cincinnati too late to be able to visit the touristy areas. The museums had closed and I figured that I would have the next morning to find one. However, my host lived north of the city and since I was northward bound, it did not make sense to pay for a parking space in the city just for a postcard. After breakfast, I left in the direction of Indiana, thinking that I could pick up a postcard at some attraction on the way, or at, the very least, a gas station.
As it turns out, Cincinnati is merely 20 miles away from the border, and when I got on the interstate, I realized the shortness of time and distance I had to accomplish this mission. I stopped at the first gas station, having to fill up my tank anyways, and entered into the travel mart. No postcard. I feigned as if I needed the men’s room, used the facilities, and left. There were several more exits before the border, so I drove to the next gas station and walked in. No postcard. I had already used the men’s room, so I bought a bag of potato chips. At the next stop, I still had no luck. I thought to myself, “What are the chances that no gas station between Cincinnati and Indiana will sell postcards?” Five bags of potato chips, two Twinkies and a Gatorade later, I concluded “100%”.
After crossing the border into Indiana, I decided to change tactics. Instead of stopping at every gas station, I would stop at the first tourist attraction and go to the gift shop. Thus I ended up at the Hoosier Park Racetrack and Casino. I walk into the smoked filled room, made my way around islands of flashing slot machines and while inundated with background racket beeps and clanks. The room was filled with sad and miserable people, gambling their hard earned cash away in the hopes of something better. Retirees attached to oxygen machines stared intently at the slot machines praying for their jackpot. The gift shop too, was depressingly small and although there was a large selection of “Get Well Soon!” cards, there was not a single postcard. Dejected, I sat down at the Roulette table. I anted my postcard budget and joined the masses in forgetting my troubles.
I lamented this story to my friend whom I was visiting in Culver, Indiana. She cheerfully replied, “Well, Culver may be a small town, but I do know the hardware store sells postcards. In fact, I bought one last week there!” Happily, we walked to the hardware store that served the town of 7000. When we arrived, we saw a container marked “Postcards: $1.00” - empty. We questioned the owner of the store and he confirmed that not only were they completely out, but he had just sold the last one only moments ago. Seeing my crushed look, he quickly added, “But you can go down the street to the Poet and Painter. They sell postcards.” We made a beeline to the store and sure enough, there was quite a nice selection. I was happier than an ant in a sugar factory.
I bought 7 and put my roulette winnings to good use too.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
87600 Hours in Boston
Boston is a great place to visit. It is a historic city, with roots from before the revolutionary war. Its neighborhoods are quaint and each has a distinct atmosphere and personality. Most people come for a weekend or a few weekdays. I would recommend 10 years as an ideal stay in order to really get to know the city and to be able to act like a local.
Where to stay:
You should try to get accommodations at one of the local colleges or universities. These accommodations are popular and deadlines for applications are typically in March for a September room. Your commitment to one of these accommodations is about 4 years, although some people like it so much they will extend their stay for several years. Amenities will vary, depending on the college, and depending on how long you’ve been at one. Prices range from expensive ($$$$ - Harvard, MIT, Boston University) to the economical ($ - Bunker Hill Community College). While there, you should take advantages of the free activities offered at these living communities, such as Introduction to Differential Equations, or The Opera and the Mind. Some will have state-of-the-art athletic facilities are available for general use, including Olympic-sized pools.
What to do:
The easiest way to find a job in Boston is to look on monster.com or careerbuilder.com. Many temp agencies also work in the area, such as Beacon Hill Staffing Group and the Professional Staffing Group. Jobs vary from simple but busy assistant positions all the way up to roller-coaster rides on the financial markets. Working for a living not for you? You can also make it as a well-paying bum. The local homeless are known by the street corner they frequent or the Dunkin’ Donuts they occupy. Boston is the only city I know where the obituary of a homeless man can make the front page of the newspaper.
Where to eat:
The cheapest place to eat in Boston is at a friend’s house. Befriend a whole bunch of people and invite yourself over to dinner on a rotating basis. Make sure that don’t go to any one person’s place more than once a month. Also make sure that your friends don’t know each other. This way, you can easily rotate trough many of them without being caught. Always make an offer to bring drinks and some recipe ideas so that it seems like you are contributing to the evening’s party.
Your stay in Boston will surely be memorable and you will find that you’ve may even feel like a local after a decade. You may find it difficult to leave. The best way to do so is to chain yourself to a tractor-trailer and not let yourself free until you reach Cincinnati. That way, it would be difficult to hitchhike back. Just make sure the tractor-trailer is a U-Haul, all of your belongings are inside, and you are in the driver’s seat. As you drive off into the sunset (literally), you can reminisce about close friends, fond memories and good times. And more than once, you might wish that the sun set in the east instead of the west, so that you didn’t have to be staring at it while driving on the highway.
Where to stay:
You should try to get accommodations at one of the local colleges or universities. These accommodations are popular and deadlines for applications are typically in March for a September room. Your commitment to one of these accommodations is about 4 years, although some people like it so much they will extend their stay for several years. Amenities will vary, depending on the college, and depending on how long you’ve been at one. Prices range from expensive ($$$$ - Harvard, MIT, Boston University) to the economical ($ - Bunker Hill Community College). While there, you should take advantages of the free activities offered at these living communities, such as Introduction to Differential Equations, or The Opera and the Mind. Some will have state-of-the-art athletic facilities are available for general use, including Olympic-sized pools.
What to do:
The easiest way to find a job in Boston is to look on monster.com or careerbuilder.com. Many temp agencies also work in the area, such as Beacon Hill Staffing Group and the Professional Staffing Group. Jobs vary from simple but busy assistant positions all the way up to roller-coaster rides on the financial markets. Working for a living not for you? You can also make it as a well-paying bum. The local homeless are known by the street corner they frequent or the Dunkin’ Donuts they occupy. Boston is the only city I know where the obituary of a homeless man can make the front page of the newspaper.
Where to eat:
The cheapest place to eat in Boston is at a friend’s house. Befriend a whole bunch of people and invite yourself over to dinner on a rotating basis. Make sure that don’t go to any one person’s place more than once a month. Also make sure that your friends don’t know each other. This way, you can easily rotate trough many of them without being caught. Always make an offer to bring drinks and some recipe ideas so that it seems like you are contributing to the evening’s party.
Your stay in Boston will surely be memorable and you will find that you’ve may even feel like a local after a decade. You may find it difficult to leave. The best way to do so is to chain yourself to a tractor-trailer and not let yourself free until you reach Cincinnati. That way, it would be difficult to hitchhike back. Just make sure the tractor-trailer is a U-Haul, all of your belongings are inside, and you are in the driver’s seat. As you drive off into the sunset (literally), you can reminisce about close friends, fond memories and good times. And more than once, you might wish that the sun set in the east instead of the west, so that you didn’t have to be staring at it while driving on the highway.
Goodbyes are not forever.
Goodbyes are not the end.
They simply mean I'll miss you
Until we meet again!
~Author Unknown
Goodbyes are not the end.
They simply mean I'll miss you
Until we meet again!
~Author Unknown
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