Birds Fly High Over the Rainbow?...Minneapolis

A fuzzy blue parrot passed by me. Andi clapped saying, “Good for you. You cute parrot that kids love. Start them off early. That’s right,” she is still clapping . I look down to realize he had a Corona shirt on to promote the brand. To whom? I wonder. Children trying to decide what beer they want?

Disturbingly enough the bird flew closer on his prey while my group ate at one of the two food courts. A small girl reached her hand out from her stroller towards his wing. I could not see how this helped Corona sell their drinks until another small toddler ran to the parrot as another Corona representative not in costume gave the parents information as they took the parrot and girls picture just like at Disney. How freakishly cunning marketers can be!

After a few days in the wilderness and nature it was an abrupt flip to enter Minneapolis for the Mall of America. Jackson Turner wrote, “And now, four centuries from the discovery of America, at the end of a hundred years of life under the Constitution, the frontier has gone, and with its going has closed the first period of American history.” What is the future?

If the future is all we have because the past does not include the frontier, and we are merely a consumer driven market, what does that say about our society? I hope we will not produce a society that manipulates children in order to reach their parents’ wallets, and possibly place an idea in their heads to buy alcohol.

Minneapolis just made me wish for the frontier once again with less push and pull to buy and more nature.

River Rats in Crescent City!!!

I couldn't resist putting this picture up from Chris Speed's pictures. It is from the Crescent City laundromat.



Wetsuits may be an ultimate nightmare for many guys and gals. The thought of wearing a skintight body cast in front of friends or strangers makes many tremble out of vulnerable discomfort. I am no different. Embarking on this trip into the ice-cold river on the outskirts of Yellowstone National Park (it is not allowed to whitewater raft in the park), the wetsuit is the one mountain I must climb before my River Wild venture. Just as you should not look down if you are on a cliff or any other tall structure so as not to become terrified, I suggest not peeking in a mirror while in a wetsuit. Overcoming my fear and anxiety, I saddled up onto the second to front seat on the right side of the raft. It felt invigorating to be in the wilderness for another day.
Each national park has meant a break from life and an exploration into how to love life more. The lumberjack in me would stay out there and enjoy the smells and noises, which I am too busy to hear.

As I dipped into the hot springs after paying my fee to enter, I scoffed at the idea that this experience and land was not free. The group had to pay to go down the river and to get into the hot springs. Where I am from, the river is free to go and come or tube or fish whenever. It also costs a fee to get into Glacier. It makes me laugh to think of the land of the Free, yet it is not free as far as money goes. Free to enter, but there must be money involved to experience. It ties into several responses our group has received for the question, “What does it mean to be an American?”. “Freedom to make a buck.”

Ken Burns film title, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea, provokes an interesting suggestion to my discovery of making a buck off national parks. The implication is that nothing else America has done is as great as preserving national parks. I can agree with the title because it does not indicate Americans made nature just the idea of national parks. Even if money is still produced, the publicity for a park brings people and tourism to an area that would otherwise be an unfamiliar location. Also, the title does say this idea of national parks is a perfect idea, but merely the best one that imperfect people and society had developed.

As far as I go, national parks guide me to where I want to be as a person and citizen. I can always come home from a park a little refreshed with a potent outdoor aroma.

A Hole Lot of Something...Glacier National Park

I never addressed the Grand Canyon because, to be honest, I don’t completely get it. I loved the climb and view, don’t get me wrong, but the amount of people who travel to see it each year about five million is a little baffling. The only reasoning I have is good marketing and it is one of a kind. There are trails to walk, and that is fun, but you can walk them anywhere. Also, most of the time walking is spent looking down so as to not fall into the giant, oh yeah, canyon. By tripping over a rock, loose dirt, or donkey poop. Even though I am glad to say I was there because I have heard so much about it, I would not put it at the top of a family vacation for two reasons. One, if I ever have kids my heart may stop merely pondering if they will fall off or have a sibling fight to the death, literally and secondly, I am not convinced there is a ton more to explore or do there than just observe.

A family vacation is usually not be based on looking at a hole along with hundreds of other people crowding around nature. I may be wrong, but I thought nature was to be observed in silence with that Lee Ann Womack song “I Hope You Dance” acting like a broken record with the line, “I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean” because you do feel small beside the Grand Canyon.

With that, Glacier National Park is much more for me for if I choose to vacation for a long period of time. There climbing is a limitless exploration and feels safer and more tangible. Also, the mere contrast of warmth or normal mountain temperature with glacial rock is astonishing. Green combining with white blends together to form a new color, one no Crayola manufacturer can name.

There is also a town close by, Columbia Falls, with people chugging along with a tinge of Northern Exposure. So if camping in the park over a motel is not something I desire, then I can stay in the town to witness the magnificence of the mountain at my door. The mountains are unmistakably breathtaking and easily viewed from anywhere in town instead of at death threatening heights such as the Grand Canyon.

For me the beauty and awe is the same as the Grand Canyon but cheaper and more omnipresent. Two million visitors come to Glacier each year, and I can see why. The Robert Frost poem “Fire and Ice” comes to mind while in the park. This mesh of greenery and ice working together to produce a landscape anyone would need to reach enlightenment. If the world were to end like in the poem, I would just chose to be in Glacier when it did.

Where Starbucks was Born

Fish, bread, glazed nut aroma, postcards, tacky gift shop t-shirts, and some fruit gave me a ton to look at as I spent my hour at Pike Place Market away from the others in my group. It is nice to have this time for myself. I made googley eyes at the fish throwers because astonishingly enough they are very attractive with lively sense of humors. The sounds of people talking and laughing as well as street musicians carried me from one spot to the next in the market. The overwhelming smell of coffee and sweets concealed any fish stench. Families strolled along with no rush since it is in fact, Sunday. This day could not start out any better in my semi-mecca, the birthplace of Starbucks.

Unfortunately, my new red shoes- which I could not wait to wear- wore me. Yes, they were cheap for a reason because the backs of my heels began to hurt early on, and by the end on the day, I had walked possibly more than in any other city, and my heels were beaten. Wanting to complain and scream all day to my group, I refused to since I had shown them off so candidly and stupidly the day before as being a great find. Now I walked/ limped in silent pain coupled with lower back strain.

The day progressed and we had traveled away from the market to the Underground tour. Since the tour had sold out without the entire group buying tickets, Dr. Spring, Emma, Shirah, and myself sprinted back to Pike Place Market for Emma to purchase a mug from the first Starbucks. Dr. Spring ran us across the city doing high jumps over fire hydrants, but I lagged behind praying that somehow my heels would evaporate.

I glanced at the city, I felt bits of Portland with a more matured atmosphere. Buildings seemed a little cleaner and more historic while people dressed a tad more on the business side. Duck boat/land trips quacked around the city and pier (ah tourism). Father’s Day brought families out and about. As I saw the kids swarming their dads, I hoped to see mine soon. I also remembered these kinds of trips as a kid a little more clearly; I complained and punched my brother, Michael, while mom tried her best to make everyone happy. If the family outing was on a Sunday, I definitely got a spanking (a Sunday ritual of mine it seemed).

The Underground tour reeled in families just as any other attraction or tour we have encountered. This one proved very different from the rest. As the guides explained how the city came to be, I soon realized each anecdote did not pave this iconic picture of Seattle. Instead, the tour showed what the 1800s truly realistically, which is similar to the twenty-first century, full of mistakes and inventions.

Seattle used to not have plumbing, so it dumped into the ocean. Then once Thomas Crapper gave them plumbing, toilets worked in reverse anytime the force of the tide flushed it back up and shot it out onto the poor sap using it. Seattle burned down with a mixture of all wooden buildings and wooden boxes of wine. I am surprised it did not go up in flames sooner than 1889. 1907 Seattle got the bubonic plague due to their inefficient food storage bringing in rats. Rat-tails, at one point, actually earned citizens ten cents (equivalent of three dollars) if turned into the government. Finally, Seattle began again with a second chance by building a new city above the old one. Ten percent taxes on prostitution actually funded this. Our guide cracked the joke, “the city was rebuilt by an industry who was flat on their backs.”

“Hahaha,” I felt uncomfortable standing next to my teachers and looking all the wide-mouthed children holding daddy’s hand.

At dinner with the group I found it intriguing to have gone on such a different tour. How many tours have I been on recently telling history minus incriminating facts: Clinton, Elvis, and the Alamo. All of the other sites had left out information about our history, American history, in order to make it better? Our group felt refreshed by the honesty and lack of glitz and glam in the exhibit and presentation. I cannot help but wonder if the average tourist would concur, or did little Tommy and daddy want to see some movie, reenactment, or false presentation of all the honorable aspects of Seattle or America in order to feel a sense of pride for it.

At the top of the Space Needle that night, I rubbed the back of my heel and gazed in disbelief at the view. Wind blowing a chill against my puckered face, I wondered how much better Americans, or people might be if we address our problems and history in order to move on. My heel hurt so I leaned against the railing as to prevent further pressure and rubbing only to realize I was a hypocrite. Here I am letting my shoe fill with blood and keeping it a secret so I would not look bad. Hmmm…

So this is me saying my shoes still look cool, but they kill my feet at least when walking in Seattle. Now no one will ask me to wear them long term again because they know the truth. My heels are still raw from Seattle.

Keep Portland Weird

It must be said that I love Anthony Bourdain, so when I thought of Portland it made me happy because I had recently seen his episode there. Low and behold we ventured to a doughnut place where he had been, Voodoo. All I have to say is there were many suggestive doughnut names that I cannot repeat or retype, but mine was called the voodoo doll which was in the shape of a ginger-bread man, chocolate covered, and filled with raspberry (blood) filling. While the creations were very unique like a peanut butter glazed doughnut with bacon, I do wish the doughnuts were warmer. Many comparisons were made to Pancake Pantry as far as the line wrapping outside the tiny shop.

Please click the doughnuts
After this, we went around their Saturday open market where I bought some gifts (I will not share what just in case the receivers of said gifts are reading) and most importantly, a back rub. Astonishingly, I have lower back pains- not unthinkable since I am on the bottom tiered bunk, crawl to the back of twelve passenger vans, and grab clothing from my suitcase beneath our tour bus.

We spent two hours at the International Rose Gardens with thousands of rose types. At the gardens there were weddings about to begin and a group of us discussed marriage and religion. A general consensus taken from the group relayed that most of us wanted weddings outdoors and our beliefs are supposed to and have been challenged while in college.

The rest of our day was spent walking around Portland. I chose to go to Powell books and café to relax. Dr. Spring also found a pair of women’s Campers usually in the hundreds of dollars but for thirty-two. In the line I spoke of having bad luck and each shoe was probably thirty-two dollars. The girl checking me out gave me a five-dollar discount and said it was for me to have better luck. With that, I must admit that I love Portland.

It seems perfect for a college student like myself. One girl with dreads, unimaginable color combinations, and a bike breezed past us. Someone mentioned she looked funny or out-there. I think sometimes even those people who take daring wardrobe chances that would be crucified on What Not to Wear might be really sure of who they are but in actuality maybe they are hiding in a costume with no clue of who they are. Like college students, this girl is just trying to find herself and her image. Portland seems an accepting place to discover who you are. Its progressive nature breeds or pollinates an atmosphere of community development and self-acceptance. As for my dread head friend, I hope she has found herself to love her bike-riding and bright colors, and if not, Portland will accept her whatever she chooses to wear or be.

Our day ended with diner at Salvador Molly’s where I ate Kying Kying Chicken and Casa salad along with bits of volcano cake, pina colada flan, and bread pudding that I scavenged from others. After getting home on the bus we settled down to write blogs and watch Twilight while blogging. Portland’s been good to my stomach, back, and entertainment needs. As a college student I give it a thumbs up, but for family fun there may not be too much to do as far as Disneyland, Graceland, or Dollywood entertainment go. More like a cool place to escape to and read. Thank you Portland and see you again! Hopefully soon!

What’s Up with California Part 2: San Francisco and Crescent City

I don't like tapioca tea. This is my reaction.


After a late start due to some bus malfunctions, we arrived in San Francisco for our first encounter with public trans. Hills and hills of closely confined homes, apartments, and townhomes passed me by as I huffed and puffed on our walk uphill towards the Castro district. Moving from the Mission area part of town into the wealthier area to the gay pride area, I found myself growing comfortable in each place.

Dr. Spring briefed us on the beatnik history and its role in San Francisco as well as modern literature. My experience with the beatniks was slimmer than I would like especially after visiting City Lights Bookstore, Ve Suvio, and the Beat Museum later on in the day. The biggest lesson of this visit occurred to me over my cup of San Fran coffee; words and actions, even from me, can start a movement. I do have a voice. Feeling a little Dead Poets’ Society after this visit I must remember, “I sound my barbaric Yawp over the rooftops of the world” writes Walt Whitman. With that, what has my voice already said and done?

Further exploration brought us to Fisherman’s Wharf near the marina and in view of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge. Much emphasis on arriving to the bus on time by Dr. Spring, led my clustered group into confusion and desperation with the transportation system. Which bus leads to what train? We were like Where’s Waldos that were not hidden but in fact, obnoxiously loud and holding up everyone else on the bus. Running to the train station across a street we might have forgotten (meaning we completely forgot) to look both ways like our mothers told us to do when we were five years old. Fortunately we made it across. A little boy near us began following us, but his parents held him back from crossing the street because they knew better. During my mad dash across (after realizing there were, in fact, several cars heading toward me with little space between u) I dropped my phone in the road. After a death scream, I realized it was in the bicycle lane and Cory picked it up for me.
When we awoke in California the next day in Crescent City near the Redwoods, I felt like we were very far from the jungles of the city. The entire clan seemed ready to get away and into the zen of nature. This was a time to be in the wilderness underneath trees that you could live amongst or at least, want to save from destruction like fairies in Fern Gully. Driving up to the trails I thought this is it. We are finally away. I can run and hide from the group and society a little.

Walking into the forest, headphones in tact, I have to admit that I was still unable to run away from society fully. Yes, I began to think of….this is hard to admit because I fully realize I am not a pre-teen and have taken college writing courses….I thought of Twilight. Twilight, I know the book/movie that has swept the nation. Yes, the movie which probably gives young girls wrong impressions of love and the opposite sex. Twilight. Even though my sanity told me to think of how lucky I am and everything else besides this, I thought of how much Crescent City looked like the town of Forks; it is green and beautifully eerie. A far cry from L.A. and San Francisco, I thought.

In coming back to my question “What’s up with California?”, its size and length divides it into vastly different sections kind of like America itself. What connects it is this. The people who travel from one end to the other are still influenced by media and movies, but need an ounce of escape from that world as well. This balance of crazy and exciting along with calm peaceful wilderness that stays your heart and mind with silence is a necessity for everyone.

No matter how far in the wilderness I go it is never far away from society.

Whats Up with California?: L.A. Part 1

It has been 4 days in California and I just wonder “Whats up with California?” When did it become so popular to travel to? Why did the moviemakers and dreamers of dreams stop here? And when is it going to fall into the Pacific?

I have always looked at tabloids , seen movies, or secretly (by that I mean not-so-secretly) watched The Hills on MTV. Their depictions of California made it seem so luxuriously unattainable for us po’ southerners at the other end of the country. As our pack entered Malibu then Sacramento and into CBS for a tour, my inner star-searcher or teenie bopper grew a bit excited. Mary Hart, an Entertainment Tonight host, greeted us as we walked around the stage of Entertainment Tonight and the Insider. After a photo-op we moseyed with our guide, Canon one of the shows producers, to meet the director in the control room. My excitement hit the ceiling to see them taping the show and putting into practice skills -which I have studied in several classes at Belmont- with such control and authority. Leaving the set and passing Seinfeld’s old set I wondered to myself, “What’s up with California?”. What is it that can turn me from a levelheaded twenty-two year old into a starry eyed girl wanting to be in or make movies?

Later on in our travels Cory and I walked towards Venice Beach with a friend of his and former Belmonter, Mia. She is determined to make it in L.A. singing and performing. Coincidentally, I had met her my freshmen year during our dance performance (Mia had been a Senior at Belmont). As a senior now, it comforted me to know someone else who followed their dreams. Talking to her about L.A. and why she loved it so much regardless of the crime, crazies, and fakeness, gave me a chance to discern what I think of L.A. separate from the movies, Lauren Conrad esq., or Disneyland idea I had of it. (Speaking of Disneyland, we went it was ok but Disney World in Florida is one hundred times better.)

L.A. to me is everything we think it is. All of the good and bad ideas mixed into some kind of ying yang or black and white symbol. From plastic surgery and cut throat business to beaches and hotties, L.A. embodies some of my very least favorables as well as inner fantasies. Just like any place we have gone it produces a dual image of tourism as well as has its own identity separate from that. The hard part of L.A., in living there, is the amount of money to own a house and the cost of living in general. Also, it would be a challenge to always be bathing suit ready, at least in Tennessee we can gain a few holiday pounds and have time to pick up a diet or ab intensive work-out before summer. With that, an importance of looks hovers over movie stars, wannabies, workers, or just the whole society from teens up to the middle-agers. L.A. continues this idea of perfection and beauty within its landscape, architecture, and dream-filled aura. It is this connected ying or area of beauty and pristine coupled with the yang of all it takes to achieve this.

“What’s up with L.A./ California?” I can only say it meets and exceeds my expectations of the best and worst society has to offer for me. Spilling out into the community or reality from the constructed sets and stages, misconceptions intertwine into the culture to develop an idea that does not really exist in most American towns. Baudrillard, a sociologist, tells us that all our lenses or views of the world are tainted by our past and who we instinctively are. For instance, I may see the color blue, but Heather may see a blue-violet while Cory thinks a color to be royal blue. Who can tell us the exact color because we are all looking out of our own eyes or lenses? Thus, reality in other terms or senses cannot be determined because people are always interpreting from their “lens” or outlook on life. I see L.A. through a lens of mystique and wonder as well as mistrust, but others may love it or completely hate it. All I can say is what’s up is a struggle for reality away from dreams of fame or rush for gold.

I will leave you with this until more about “What is up with California?”:

Come 'n listen to my story 'bout a man named Jed
A poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed
And then one day, he was shootin' at some food
And up through the ground come a bubblin' crude
Oil, that is, black gold, Texas tea

Well, the first thing you know, old Jed's a millionaire
Kin folk said, Jed, move away from there
Said, Californy is the place you oughta be
So they loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverly
Hills, that is, swimmin' pools, movie stars

Well, now it's time to say goodbye to Jed and all his kin
They would like to thank you folks for kindly droppin' in
You're all invited back again to this locality
To have a heapin' helpin' of their hospitality
Hillbilly, that is, set a spell, take your shoes off

Y'all come back now, hear?

Paved Paradise and Put Up a New Paradise?...Vegas

Don't let this pic fool you of where I am. 40 states in 40 days, people. I am in the one and only Las Vegas. I must say many cities have surprised me, but this one was exactly what I pictured it to be. A place on sin and seduction as represented by the Treasure Island show. "The last seaman that came into my cove called me sin," exclaimed a female pirate in heals, latex, and fishnets after slapping her rump. So maybe if I was coming to Las Vegas to have fun in the night life it would be the place to be along with the 50.6% of other 21 and under who make-up their tourism department.
"Paved Paradise and Put Up a Parking Lot" runs through my mind as I write down facts that the Convention Center representative gave me.

1. Convention Center runs on 12% room tax which they receive 33%.
2. 232 million spent on marketing.
3. Room rates, food and beverage, and then gaming are the revenue source (in that order).
4. Las Vegas is number 2 in brand recognition.
5. 230 flights in and out a day from Southwestern.

It is increasingly interesting that this area has been completely commodified into this amusement park from France to New York, a playground for adults. "Why go anywhere else?" screams Las Vegas. We have made everything you need here. As much as I love the idea of international influence in my life, it is no where near the same as going to France or Italy.
A part of this trip is asking why do so many people backpack through Europe and not America. I beleive Vegas told me why. Europe has this history that we cannot produce as well as an antique quality that comes with time not money. A concept marketers or consumerism doesn't understand.
On the flip side so many Europeans and people around the world want to come to America. I see this as the idea that America and Americans try to portray. The thought that we have everything, are the best, and provide milk with a bit of honey. In a sense, we are this unattainable for Europeans and people around the country. We all like what it seems like we cannot have, so we put this commodity on a pedestal of perfection. It seems like many foreigners do the same as well as Americans. Yet, we still want to run off to Europe to backpack and see Italy, Greece, or France.

Wrapping up, I enjoyed Vegas and am glad to have visited. I also got married....wait....prop 8...never mind. Sorry, Jenni.

Catch ya later....

It's Hard to Play I SPY through the Tears...Salt Lake City

Salt Lake City didn't mean much to me as I stood in line to have my brand new MacBook fixed after it died. "Just leave me here," I remember thinking as I cried behind a sign at the Mac store while hiding from my group. Yes, I may be a child, but I worked hard all year to by a computer to use on the trip. Not before or after but during the 40 States trip. Pierce stayed behind attempting to cheer me up, but I must say singing "Big Girls Don't Cry" never helps to stop tears neither does hugs. Luckily, Mac gave me a new computer along with an upgrade to MacBook Pro. I am liking Salt Lake....

On a serious note, I had just had the best chocolate in the world for 2009 at Tony Camputo's. Unfortunately, I missed parts of the Mormon visit. I heard about some Jesus statue speaking to the group and I must say it creeped me out. When Pierce and I got there following our detour to the apple store, the only parts I really caught was a few Mormon facts and viewing the tabernacle. As I passed by the Disney esq. miniature homes with Mormon promotional videos I became a bit uncomfortable. It seemed like they were trying to trap me into this world where I would have a perfect home and life....?

On a completely opposite note the Tower Theater was showing a documentary called Outrage. It exposed several Republican politicians as being homosexual and their voting records being completely unsupportive of gay rights and issues such as: same sex marriage, Aids support, and hate crime prevention. The documentary gave verifiable evidence that such politicians were, in fact, gay or bisexual. Charlie Crist, Jim McCrery, Larry Craig, and more as well as documenting James McGreevey's statement "I am a gay American." After the film Kirby Dick, the director, did a question and answer period.



During the talk back some concerns were raised about outing these politicians. Even though coming out is a sensitive subject the director as well as most interviewed in the documentary feel that it is justified outing these individuals because they are hurting there own kind while lying about who they are. Its hard for me to get past the underlying fact that if they are gay they would not be in the position of power they are in. As if in some way it is an accepted prejudice to not support or acknowledge openly homosexual individuals in the political world (or other occupational fields). In fact, many people on the capitol hill are gay but not out, the movie states. The idea that these men and women must shun who they are and love in order to have power and pursue their dreams like other Americans is ridiculous. This also makes take part in activities such as prostitution in order to hide. Another side to this sad tale is the wives they marry in order to cover up their secret to the media.
In the end I wish people could just come out and be honest without this preconceived notion they are detestable for being Gay. This is a part of who they are and as James McGreevey says in the movie, "God loves who he is." Thank God for the bold.

Our group ended at Chanon Thai restaurant after a recommendation from a local (I didn't catch his name). All in all I decided it was a great day in Salt Lake City, UT. It seemed a combination of this growing socially aware younger generation that reminded me of my Nashville home as well as a taste of the mountains and East Tennessee. I could definitely see myself there someday.

I Can See Far and I Can't See Sheep...Navajo Reservation

Reflecting on the day at the Navajo Reservation with Leland Silversmith and his family the one aspect I cannot forget is the meal.
Not ever being this far west, my head will not stop looking up, and even on the drive in the van, when everyone was dead tired, it took me a second longer to actually doze-off because I could not stop peering out the window at the mountainous desert. Leland told us that New Mexico and Arizona is divided by the color of the mountains; New Mexico mountain rock is white and Arizona is red (different types of rock). We approached his house to meet his parents. After an introduction to his father we entered their family Hogan where they held church for other Church of God followers on the reservation.
The discussion led to them sharing tons of information about their lives which and into their kitchen. Leland’s mom, daughter and granddaughter. Navajo tacos made with home grown pinto beans, lettuce, and onions. Before we dove into our meal, grandpa or George Silversmith prayed in Dine, the Navajo language. As we ate grandma, Fannie Silversmith, showed us how she patted and formed the fried bread. “My wife is so smart. Navajo women are so smart. When we were replanted they learned to use new salts and ingredients,” George Silversmith declared while eating the fried bread with huckleberry jam made from huckleberries grandma had picked.
As I sat there and listened to them talk of how they prepared the food, I found myself thinking of how lucky I am. How lucky am I to speak to and receive cooking tips from a Navajo couple and family. Envying their peaceful atmosphere, authentic food, and connection to the earth and each other, I looked down at my half eaten taco.
I began to think of my own roots and family. How my grandma always discusses how she prepared our meal. How I had taken that information for granted. How I wanted to go back home to my own grandma’s house and listen more closely this time. How I too had a place where the earth meant as much to my family and me as the Silversmith’s did to them.
So as much fun as I am having and so privileged to have, I miss my family a little. Maybe it takes going away and seeing everyone else’s lives to realize the one that fits you best was always right around the corner. Thank you family and friends for giving me a home to remember and look forward to returning to!


What. What. East Tennessee!!!!!!

P.S. "We tried to sheep herd and are either really successful or moderately awful," says Ken Spring because they were already back at the house and didn't need us to herd them.

Crossing Over...El Paso

Approaching El Paso, everyone in the group continued to think this day would give us a rest because it has a reputation as Podunk town. Eventually we would find this is far from the case in a border town. The scene of the area as we drove down the highway produced a visual distinction between Mexico and America as each landscape lied on either side of our van. Even though some areas from each country proved to be completely different with America’s vast developments and Mexico’s great poverty, other areas of the two countries looked frighteningly similar in poverty. This was the first among many aesthetics that point to the fact that El Paso seems to live up to its name which means “Crossing Over” as it proves separate from America and in fact a part of Juarez, Mexico.
Beginning at the El Paso Museum of Art downtown the class began to explore paintings, sculptures, prints, and more that were created from a heavily influenced Mexican-American or El Paso perspective. Sculptures such as Frances Bagley’s The Portrait portrayed a womanly structure made of wire filled with rocks; a place with structured gates filled with pavement and construction. Directly adjacent to this was another sculpture called Border Patrol by Suzanne Klotz which stood about five feet tall. On one side, the statue pictured American flags and graves while its other side was of praying hands and Mexican icons. As I watched each student become more and more involved with the artwork and analyzing it, I grew to see how much art is necessary in life.
Next up we met Lounell Southard, a defense contractor, for a meal at the mess hall at Fort Bliss military base. Entering the base, we began to see more and more of its massive size; later we would discover that it was as big as Rhode Island. How can this belong or fit into the El Paso we had already seen? Mr. Harold and Lounell gave us a tour as we got our meal and told us many facts about Fort Bliss’ history. For instance, they discussed how Fort Bliss has trained every flyer in the world and the different benefits that soldiers get from living on the base. The base had every doctor, service, or product one could want. I began to wonder and feel that Fort Bliss fit into El Paso by not entering into El Paso for much of anything since the military had everything they needed separate from civilian interaction.
After eating in the mess hall, which felt much like a high school cafeteria that had mostly men, we visited the old Fort Bliss cavalry display as well as the Air Defense Artillery Museum. Gazing at each airplane, rocket, and tank on display, Mr. Harold gave us a brief synopsis of what each weapon did. The thought arrived in my mind that these were also pieces of art—but more accurately, these also came from man.
Slowly, we walked back to the van and drove to the Rancho Market for some interaction with civilians we had missed throughout the day. At this point, after driving through the city and knowing that the population is 82 percent Hispanic, the market’s demographic did not surprise me. Mostly everyone was Hispanic, and the whole market had Spanish as the primary language. This was the first time I felt as though I was no longer in America. One woman spoke of how she works in El Paso everyday to make more money and goes back to Juarez after work. Every day she crosses over from one country and culture to the other.
Our next stop was at G & R’s Mexican Restaurant. Lounell and Ray Southard, and Louie (their son) as well as Captian Kaji and his family joined us. I sat near the middle of the table and tried to get a bit from each end of the table. On one side, I heard Louie, a UTEP student, discuss what it has been like to grow up in El Paso. He told us how Juarez has had more deaths this year than the war in Iraq. “Why?” you might ask. Louie informed us that this was due to drug deals gone bad. On the other end of the table, we questioned Captain Kaji about what it was like to be from India and to serve in the American military. We also wanted him to answer the question we have asked of everyone across the country: What is it like to be an American? Captain Kaji responded to both questions with: “I don’t know. I am still asking, after serving in the military twelve years, if I am an American... Even though I understand the thought process, it is still hard for me to know I do not receive promotions due to my race.”
The day ended with the drive down the road that divides Mexico and America. Captain Kaji’s words lingered in my mind. Leading us to the top of the mountain that separates the east and west side of El Paso, our road stopped on Sunset Drive as we climbed out of the van. From this view in Texas, we could spy New Mexico and Mexico as well as the city we had just explored. From the art museum to the food to the military base and finally to the border—our group had an in-depth look at the creations of man. Some beautiful and some disappointingly sorrowful, each piece that man made in this city had given our group an undeniable experience and left me with one question: Are the parts of the world man creates good or bad? My answer is that man’s creations are like people themselves. We are not all bad and not all good. We just represent life.

My Alien Earrings Glow-In the Dark...Roswell

3:30 AM Carmen’s Log: the curtain on my bottom bunk bed pulls to the side and a bright light shines into my sleepy, crusty eyes. The light shrunk my pupils down to pinpoints as I rolled away from the beam of light pulling me into its stream. Without a thought, I pulled the curtain to and went back to bed as I faintly heard someone ask, “Are you an American citizen?” No this wasn’t an alien abduction, but the were checking to see if I was an illegal alien.

After a whole trip of trying to discover what makes people in the U.S. citizens, I laughed to myself the next morning as I woke up to acknowledge the fact that it hadn’t been one nightmare or dream. Next time I cross the border I will do it during the day.
Entering Roswell, the WB show with four attractive teenage aliens and a Dido soundtrack streamed through my mind. “Downtown” proved quite the experience as we read the Arby’s signs welcoming aliens in English and extraterrestrial. After a brief swoop of the UFO Museum with a tinge of skepticism and a picture with the poster of the Roswell TV show. Our group met Guy Malone to experience a new type of religious expression. This encounter is one I had never intended to have in Roswell and I gained a new sense of freedom of religion in America.
Guy Malone has been a local Roswellian for the past ten years and began the Alien Resistance in the town. As we ate croissant sandwiches and bagels, Malone’s story unfolded as he discussed his own abduction and visions as a child in unobtrusive detail. His background from a non-religious family led him to explore many cults and religions. In what he feels as a search for truth about what happened to him in his abduction and to prevent its reoccurrence.
After further study, he consulted a Christian friend whom he had come to prod with questions of faith. After this man’s response that aliens were demons, Malone got to thinking. Since this revelation, Guy believes that aliens are attacks from demons and can be saved by God. A very different perspective than most Roswell alien believers have, Malone’s group thrives with support- financially and prayerfully- from churches in the area.
All of this seems a little extreme and hard for me to believe, but he does pose some good points that different people in the past have all experienced these encounters, visions, exorcisms, etc. With these experiences throughout time, it seems only plausible that they might call these experiences by different names. Also, his action, as a Christian, is that in order to help people who have been “abducted” is not to turn them away. In that, it tells them that their problems are too big for God and they will turn to other, more accepting, groups such as cults.
When I was in high school I proved in a research paper the loch ness monster did not exist due to scientific evidence, but now I am not so sure that science has all the answers. I am also not so sure if people are just trying to keep alive myth to continue tourism in the Roswell area. But I was very surprised to have a religious encounter above an extraterrestrial one in Roswell or discover a link between devils and aliens. Even though my beliefs do not necessarily follow that of an alien resistance follower, it is always good to be challenged in how I go about my life and spirituality. Our interview proved to me a religious expression I did not know otherwise. With the new information, I can apply it to myself to encourage and listen to people who come to me with information and problems even if it is that they saw ET’s glowing belly. I still cannot answer the big question, “Do aliens exist?” I would like to believe they do and are good, attractive aliens trying to make the world better as they try to live amongst us humans peacefully.
Lake and laundry later today…

Jambalaya makes my tummy go J-A-M-B-A-L-A-Y-A...New Orleans

Like any city, New Orleans immediately spoke to me the definition of itself. This was a one word representation of a city’s spirit; COMMUNITY. Driving through the streets of the city, it slowly panned into a scene of France with connected zero lot line homes (I know what this means thanks to my internship with the Perry Property Group) and townhomes. Just the sheer lack of distance between homes of each home is enough to unite this area. Then we arrived at St. Bernard’s Community Center (a center for people in the 9th Ward in poverty and still recovering from Katrina), and I found a new type of Cajun community.
Remembering back to Katrina, I had been a freshman at Belmont. The next four years of my life have drastically changed me, and from the stories I heard at St. Bernard’s of the 9th Ward, after Katrina, the 9th Ward along with the rest of New Orleans was developing too. Stephen, a staff member at St. Bernard’s Community Center, guided and directed our group into activities such as taking inventory of food to be handed out, organizing clothes, and helping people carry groceries. The Louisiana day was muggy and sticky, but with sweat pouring down my face and my 40/40-souvenir hat on, I found a peace in the physicality of service moving containers of food and soaps into order. Looking at this area now with so much unbelievable damage, my mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that this place or area was much worse in damage. In comparing my growth as an individual in the past four years to New Orleans’ aesthetic and community reconstruction, I believe maybe we are at the same level of development.
As we drove by towards Bourbon St. for Beignets and coffee at Café Du Monde, Chris told our group a fact about New Orleans, which drew my attention away from looking wide-eyed across the French Quarter. “New Orleans is below sea level and they bury their dead above ground,” he confided, so when it floods the city doesn’t have a Night of the Living Dead scene of floating bodies. Thinking of this now I see how this area had to start repairing from less than nothing or below a standard level of living. Building is hard work involving sweat, dirt, and intelligence, but building on damaged ground is so much harder. It is easier to train a puppy than a dog who has been abused. It is easier to start from nothing than a destroyed something. In that, New Orleans has grown at a slower pace since Katrina maybe because it was like starting not for the first time but over and a little behind the starting line of the race. With that, the 9th Ward workers still had an air of the word that I had sensed from New Orleans. A word of promise.
COMMUNITY. The word kept calling like sweet nothings in my ear. Kept seeping from the fabric of a broken area. The word oozed from the watermarks, dilapidated homes, faces of the staff members at the mission, and the expressions of those they served. This gives me hope. Hope for New Orleans to continue this feel of community, which lies even in the nearness of their houses. Stephen said with an excited grin, “Every other city has a 5 year rate of people that stay. New Orleans has a 50 year.” I hope refugees return with a new sense of yearning and determination which only distance can bring to build New Orleans. Next time I return (which I fully intend on) I will hear COMMUNITY calling to me again to join in on the Cajun atmosphere.

Samwise Gamgee Moment...Little Rock

Samwise Gamgee Moment

I am a nerd and referenced The Lord of the Rings in my blog title because it was a must. In the beginning of this journey I informed the group that the furthest west I ventured is Memphis. Yesterday, we went to Little Rock, Arkansas, so in honor of my new record I must quote:
Sam: This is it.
Frodo: This is what?
Sam: If I take one more step, it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been.
Frodo: Come on, Sam. Remember what Bilbo used to say: "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."
After waking up and realizing I was not in the same state as when I had drifted into a deep slumber (best sleep ever because I am like a baby being rocked), I thought that this new city would not be very different from Memphis because it is still Southern and only a few hours away from Memphis.
Our first step onto the road within the city was to Central High School Museum. Sadly enough I knew very little about the Little Rock Nine and Central’s essential role within desegregation. One quote stood out to me as I perused the museum, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has,” by Margaret Mead.
More than witnessing these Nine individuals committed to exercising their rights to American freedoms such as education, I also experienced the power of the media (also a committed group changing and molding the world). Other desegregation occurred during this time, but Central’s experience received national coverage. The Civil Rights Movement leaders used media attention to form a unified force of whites and blacks who sought justice and desegregation for all. Thus, the attention attained from the media allowed these Nine to have more of a voice to the masses and show to the world and nation the true view of racism and oppression. Many years, battles, and a museum later, these Nine have been elevated to hero or celebrity status at the museum because of their efforts and bravery similar to that of Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King.


Speaking of celebrities, Little Rock brings our 40 states group one more, “I did not have sexual relations…..” I hope you guessed it, Bill Clinton. After touring the William J. Clinton Library, I realized something that did not occur to me when I was the ripe-age of eight and he was in the office. Bill Clinton, regardless of what he did and how it was highlighted in the media, did a lot of good as president and more importantly, he is human. The first rule your mom teaches you is to tell the truth and don’t spoil your dinner with cookies. Like anyone else, we have all gotten our hand caught in the cookie jar and then, lied with crumbs on our faces.


This in no way excuses his actions, but it is interesting to know the power of the media which branded him and the public with a narrowed view of who he was and what he did for America. In the aftermath of the situation, Clinton and his PR team continually tried and still attempt to reverse the effects the Monica Lewinsky event had on his image by trying to improve his celebrity status with good media attention.
The day in Arkansas could give me three blogs worth of material. After my time at Graceland and the Clinton Library it is hard for me not to compare these two men. Both with monuments in their honor, both well loved at some point, both making mistakes, and both with memorials that do not acknowledge these mistakes. Why? What is it with not wanting to face our mistakes and problems but instead cover them up like a cat after a poop. Air it out and say, “Yes, we made this mistake and oppressed these people, or maybe, I lied but am telling the truth now or the pressure of being the King is too much for me to uphold without prescription drugs.” Why is it taboo to acknowledge these parts of our humanity in order to avoid repeating them, and maybe help each other through our problems even in our own communities? “Committed citizens can change the world,” I just believe it should start with a look at our countries past and our own individual one in order to honestly progress.

Try and catch me next time….

Last Seen All Shook Up with the Duck Master...Memphis

Memphis=Graceland

Ever since I was little I have wanted to go to Graceland because my older brother told me it was "da bomb." Yes, this was when that was cool to say. Thus, the only part of Memphis I knew anything about was Graceland. Finally after a long awaited ten or so years, I made it.

I made it to see plush crushed velveteen apparel, the mutton chops, mirror madness, bedazzled jumpsuits, and all the extravagance one Memphis mansion can ever hoped to produce. My brother was....right. "Da bomb" is exactly what I would describe it as. Moving from room-to-room with my guided tour in my hand and my head I imagined myself being around Elvis and his family during these times. What could it have been like to be around Elvis who had to look the part with dangling chains and finally moussed hair all the time. After our excursion Jenni asked the group if we would rather be Priscilla or Lisa Marie. Consensus said we would rather be Priscilla because she doesn't have to live in Elvis' musical footsteps or marry Michael Jackson.

As I continued my journey through the infamous Graceland, I had de ja vu from earlier today to our first event to the Peabody Hotel to see the ducks. I flashed back to 11 AM when the quackers wobbled out of the elevator following their goofy captain a.k.a. the Duckmaster. Leading them toward a fountain with his golden ducked cane, I realized somehow along the Graceland way I mysteriously morphed into being like one of those ducks and nostalgia or my brother was guiding me towards a dinky fountain instead of a lake or pond. Was I lured in with a hunger and thirst to see the King and his glitter and glam. Did I follow the golden duck down the red carpet into a tourist trap?

Epiphany always hits in unexpected places and mine just happened to be in front of the "Jungle Room" filled with green carpet, monstrous woodcarvings of antlers and raccoon and fur upholstered furniture. I was wrong Memphis did not equal Graceland! But what is the real Memphis if it is not Graceland or Peabody ducks?

Let me make this clear, I enjoyed the nostalgia and that I can say I have seen where Elvis cultivated his uniquely gaudy style, but in discovering our America, the purpose of the trip, I did not find it within the traps of the money-maker mansion.

Instead I found parts of America after gumbo on Beale Street from some fellow strangers and travelers to Memphis.










Later on we went to Rashina's house for some true Indian cuisine. I found this spirit of America and Memphis in its differences of race, culture, and religion as we connected with her family and each other. Looking around the room at our group I realize, now, how different we are in backgrounds and opinions, but we still have come together for this trip and opportunity.
Until the next city.....