After Being Pretty Sedimentary

I know it has been a while since the trip across Anerica, but now it is time for a new adventure!

A few days left, and I believe I have said goodbye to a ton of my friends and family. My new mission is now approaching. Can I do it? Can I trust and embark into the North? I don't know nor do I have any promises. All I can say is that I am getting on the verge of ready!!

Just so everyone knows I will be on a technology fast soon to arriving in Philly. These may seem extreme, but i think it is perfect to enter into my new community without missing my old ones in Nashville, Knoxville, and Seymour too too much....

Keeping in contact.

Back In Nashville

Coming home to Nashville was surprising to me. To be somewhere comfortable again is more than I can ask for. Now with a new outlook and eye I see many parts of it that I have previously looked over.

Before we left I rarely considered Nashville’s identity besides music city. After traveling across America and studying the American identity I see that it says a lot more about our culture. Nashville surprises me with its inaccessible public transportation compared to cities like Boston, NYC, Chicago, or Washington D.C. Something about this lack of transit makes it smaller now and more compact.

Another part of Nashville that surprises me and one I never noticed is the small-town feel of it. I love that sense that it is not too big to make a name in. Nor is it hard to live really close to downtown without living in shambles and paying a ton for very little.

Driving down the strip (yea driving again!) I giggled at the country music souvenirs and tourists. For some reason I have always avoided the Broadway strip because I had very little reason to go there. I have not been there but maybe a handful of times and definitely never brought a visitor there. It doesn’t scream my life in Nashville to me.

But what does it say if I don’t see Nashville as a tourist place where I should wear boots and a cowboy hat? Also, what does it mean that I have not visited the main area where tourists go? I think it means that the true city or place where we live is not a moneymaker but it is not a special attraction.

I believe Matt Burchett put it best when he described cities as being like teenagers in high school. They don’t really know who they are and maybe don’t even care. As long as people like them as the person they portray that’s all that matters. Now I see Nashville as the slightly emo kid in a Southern school.

I always liked that kid!!!

Best and Worst

1. Best showers at American University because there were plenty for all 8 girls.
2. Worst showers were in Chicago because it took us all day to public transport to them. They also blew out heat during the summer. Also, at Cedar Springs because they were timed and it shut off when soap was in my hair.
3. Best driver Rubin, no question. Great at advise (never get married) and drove us instead of Snoop.
4. Worst day was in Montgomery because our bus broke down and we skipped it to go back to Nashville without Rubin on a charter bus. It is also the last day so I am tired, need to do laundry, take a bath, and will miss the trip.
5. Favorite dessert was smores at Glacier National Park, VooDoo doughnut in Portland, or homemade jam and bread with the Silversmiths at the Navajo Nation.
6. Favorite cold dessert Yogiberry regular frozen yogurt in Washington D.C.
7. Worst drink Bubble tea.
8. Best meal Little Rock meat and three restaurant.
9. Best national park is Glacier.
10. Best city for me to live: NYC, Portland, San Francisco, and definitely Philly!!! (I am living in Philly next year).
11. Worst place for me to live Washington D.C., Crescent City, OR, and L.A.
12. Best art culture Portland, San Francisco, Nashville, NYC.
13. Best service Pike place in Seattle.
19. Worst service probably in NYC.
14. Best family vacation spot Glacier and Yellowstone, NYC, Washington D.C., and Boston on the 4th of July.
15. Worst family vacation is Grand Canyon, Little Rock, New Orleans, and Detroit.
16. Best Disney is Disney World in FL not Disneyland. I think Dollywood is better than Disneyland (but I am partial).
17. Best weather is El Paso.
18. Worst weather probably Seattle, but it didn't rain when we were there just cold. Also, Minneapolis is bitterly cold in the winter but spectacular by the lake in the summer.
19. Worst place to get kicked out of is Glacier National Park.
20. Worst place to use the bathroom Chicago. Ask me why on the phone or in person.
21. Best encounters with locals.....sigh...Many people were amazing to us. The Silversmiths in the Navajo Nation, Aunt Lounell and Uncle Ray Southard, the Bhula family, the Greenberg family, Nick in Glacier, and Mission Year's Caz Tod, joe Tucker, and Amy Tuttle in Philadelphia.
22. Best time in the bus was Andi Stepnick's birthday celebration, with Rubin listening to advice, and at night in my bunk.
23. Worst time on the bus is when she breaks down, and in the morning when twelve people were jumbled together into a mass of people to get shower stuff.

TO be continued…………..

A Whole New World

This is a warning. The following blog might be highly sentimental.

Every trip has a song that inevitably gets replayed and sung to the point of exhaustion and frustration. Now, that said theme song, in my experience, is typically not a work of musical greatness. In fact, these theme songs tend to be near to awful in musical expertise. This being said, the theme song for this trip in my mind is “A Whole New World” by Aladdin and Jasmine.

A Whole new world!
A dazzling place I never knew!
But when I am way up here
Its crystal clear.
Let me share this whole new world with you.
(Don’t you dare close your eyes)!
(Hold your breath if its better)!

Now these lyrics are by no means the exact lyrics, yet they are the ones my fellow group members and I know and repeat often. I believe this song originated when we were on the Grand Canyon and Rashina said she wished she could fly over it on a magic carpet. From that literal high point on we joked about flying on a magic carpet off the Space Needle, Sears tower, and across America.

As college students the idea of taking a daring ride like a shooting star is still very appealing. Hence the whole 40/40 trip. Traveling or a wander lust is a dream for many young adults ever since Aladdin or Disney infiltrated our young minds.

Shaking my head with embarrassment, I realize this is my song for the trip across America. With that epiphany, I cannot help but think it is kind of perfect too. We have discovered a new world of adventure and wonder in our own country. Who knew our country had so much mystique and life!

We ventured very far and while we can go back to where we ought to be, each of us is a little different and changed. The trip has made America clearer to us as we flew by it on a magical ride which we might never imagined unless we had not trusted in the extraordinary (this is the cheesy part). After wanting to close my eyes and hold my breath during a majority of the 40/40 trip, I now see that coming back down to land is not so bad. And I can always close my eyes now to return to this ride of a lifetime!!!!

Colonial Williamsburg

Colonial days were tough. I knew this previously, but just walking around the redone and comodified Williamsburg was tiring. I cannot imagine actually living there. The history spoke to me in a way that was unexpected. Maybe this was due to people dressed in 1780s garb- bonnets, corseted tops, Thomas Jefferson wigs, and knickerbockers.

In conversing with Pendleton, an employee and re-enactor at the park, I finally understood a mentality I hadn’t considered within those days. Newly free from Britain, many settlers wanted to stick closely to their colony and their states own government. Fear of large government bodies made many colonials desire a localized government. Pendleton even said, “I don’t think we will ever have a federal government.” I giggled inside with the urge to ask what he foresaw for the future of America.

The point he made featured the idea that many settlers had no desire to hand over their liberties and rights to the American government. With this, each state seems to have enjoyed and relished in its own identities because the first instinct in the eighteenth century was to preserve a state identity and utilize a national one only if necessary for war or trade.

As far as Virginia was concerned, it could expand its state as far as the great lakes. As long as a man could survive disease and work hard for himself and his family the land was limitless. Nowadays we still use this idea that if we work hard we can achieve anything; Americans expand upwards with buildings, aircrafts, and rockets into the sky which is unclaimed. I wonder if this idea of consumption and growth also needs to be revamped for the new century and post modern age from Pendleton's time.

Are our ideas of consumerism truly good? Is it ok to rise up and want more knowing that others in our country and world will fall lower? Will having more make us happy?

D.C. Round 2: Provide the Common Defense

Following my tirade about Washington, it seems appropriate to display how I believe it preserves monuments and memorials in a very respectable way. More than any other city we have been to during the trip, D.C. allows for appropriate space and reflection for each monument. The reflecting pools and greenery allows visitors to ponder the significance of each memorial.


In the Preamble we see the statement, "provide the common defense.” Washington D.C. displays how American patriots and soldiers uphold and provide necessary defense which the average American knows little about. Everyday soldiers and the brave defend my rights and freedoms in ways I will never understand or know. This part of D.C. captures me with respect.

Americans are united by the army because whether we realize it or not we are provided defense without anything in return from the everyday citizen. Washington D.C. does a great job of memorializing soldiers and history that makes our country.

But as a Mass Communications major I consider the people who have made the memorial and what their intended motive and goal for it. Our government's goal for these is not only to remember, but to also be a badge of good Public Relations to all Americans and the vast majority of foreign tourists. And even though these memorials give honor to the fighters, I am sad other options to fighting was not considered. And each monument has an air of seeing other countries and people as enemies. A portion of the WW II Memorial reads," The heroism of our own troops...was matched by the armed forces of other nations that fought by our side...they absorbed the blows...and they shared to the full in the ultimate destruction of our enemies..." stated by President Harry S. Truman. For me, it hurts because I think we are all God's people and it makes our Savior sad whenever His children kill one another. I don't know if God would ever be in support of killling no matter the reason. If that was the case Jesus would have opened up a can on some Roman butt. If ever a time to fight and protect it would have been the son of God, and Jesus instead ask for forgiveness for those who persecuted him.

D.C. Not for Me

If NYC is a culmination of tons of musical theater kids, then Washington D.C. is all political science nerds. My first impressions of D.C. were not good to be honest. Meeting representative Cooper saddened me that after three hours to get showers and meet him, he, in turn, gave the group only three minutes. Now, I am grateful for his time, it was just anticlimactic after all the energy for us to run across D.C. to see him.

After this first interaction with Washington D.C. was a disappointment, my perspective grew negative. Looking at demographics of individuals, there appeared to be a definite lack, not in representation of several races, but in the representation of them in differing class brackets. Also, as a woman, I saw little to no women represented on Capitol Hill. While the metro system was superior to any other, I could not shrug off this odd feeling of Washington being for the frat-boy, white male.

This is all very harsh. Coming from NYC, which I thoroughly enjoyed the culture and energy to Philly where I am feel called to serve next year to D.C. where I feel little connection, makes it difficult to judge it fairly. So this is my disclaimer for my blog about D.C.

Pilgrimages aren’t just for Pilgrims in Philly

pil·grim·age (pĭl'grə-mĭj) n.
1. A long journey or search, especially one of exalted purpose or moral significance.

Here we are in the City of brotherly Love, my home next year. The scenery surrounding this stop was not of a glorious national park, Times Square, or sheep and buffalo. No, here was a neighborhood we had only driven by in the other cities to discuss the cultural and social impact of the local economy as well as observe the dilapidation of a broken-down area in America.
Walking forward, the group at my heels, my mind races as to why we are here, in a rougher neighborhood of Philly? Why have I decided to go into this area, as the group’s leader, when I am a small-town girl from east Tennessee and have never been here myself? With Pierce’s father’s text messages warning him to run and get away from this side of Philly as soon as possible, my own concerns bubble to the surface.

The Allegheny and Kensington subway stop, I called Caz Tod, the city director for the non-profit program Mission Year, to inform her our group was about at her door for dinner. Immediately entering the Mission Year office, I felt responsible for my group and volunteered to go around the corner with Cory, Chris, and a participant of the Mission Year program, Joe Tucker, to buy pizza. As we left, my stomach twisted with anxiety to leave the rest of my group alone with Caz and Amy, another Mission Year participant, with little introduction.

During this time Caz informed our Belmont group more about Mission Year’s goals and purpose. Started by Tony Campolo and his son in 1997, Mission Year places young adults within six different inner cities (Wilmington, DE, Philadelphia, PA, Chicago, IL, Atlanta, GA, New Orleans, LA, and Camden, NJ) for one year to love God and people through volunteering at schools and non-profits. After I received Philadelphia as one of my cities to be ambassador of for the 40/40 trip, I discovered I was placed in the Philly for the Mission Year program which I will be participating in after I graduate from Belmont this August.

For the purpose of the 40/40 trip, I wanted to know why Philadelphia seemed a place for this program out of every other city in America? How Philadelphia- once the capital of America, the resting place and protector of the Liberty Bell, where the 1st and 2nd Continental Congress was held, and where the Declaration of Independence and Constitution were formed- could be in so much need?

This is some of what our group discovered, Philadelphia struggles more and more because of racial and economic tensions. Joe Tucker’s illustrates some of this struggle with his story of how the mayor tried to shut down eleven libraries in lower income and minority areas in hopes to help the economy. Maybe the mayor hoped to sweep it under the rug without much uprising from this “violent” area, or maybe he believed they didn’t use the library as much as other areas because of their demographic and economic level. Either way, Tucker seemed empowered to be a part of the movement to protest and work towards keeping the libraries for kids and preserving their rights. Rights they do not yet understand and have a smaller voice for those in power to hear.

Liberty:
freedom from control, interference, obligation, restriction, hampering conditions, etc.; power or right of doing, thinking, speaking, etc., according to choice.

This morning we read the inscriptions of the colonials’ determination to preserve the Liberty Bell and now, hearing Tucker’s tale, I saw that common American spirit to keep fighting and press forward-the persistence to be heard and fight for their rights. Many of the descriptions about the bell told of its trip around America (not unlike our own). This artifact is not as much as a statue of our history but a relic. A relic like in religious terms, inspiring visitors to not only see it but also touch and kiss it in gratitude and honor.

I think of so many Americans journey to the Liberty Bell to acknowledge their freedom, and I must compare it to my own pilgrimage to Philadelphia. The trip has been a long road and rocky, but now I will be in Philly next year and needing support as well as prayer to finish my journey. In Tod’s words Mission Year and working in Philly allows young people, “not to become a certain person but a different person.” A person who can see the good in Philadelphia’s scariest areas and build a community for God with His love.

I realize this blog is personal, but that is what life is. A serious of personal journeys within communities that happen to be within cities, and in our case, these happen to be in America.

“Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants thereof”
Lev. XXV X

I Love NY: I Know Its Unoriginal

If a bunch of musical theater people and advertisers got together to birth a city it would be called New York City. Now, for some people this sounds awful, but as a dancer/musical theater friend, I am in love.

It is also good for me to factor in that my own analysis of a city is based on mood and community feel. I have at least seven friends who live in New York, so I automatically loved it because my support system there. Also, the fact that I see the love that people I love have for a city, is always a plus to knowing a city- through someone else’s eyes.

Now upon my arrival into the city, my main objective was to see Broadway anyway I could afford. After failing to be drawn to win a cheapened lottery ticket for “In the Heights,” Cory and I were determined. I decided I would rather pay twenty dollars for a show that I wanted to see and stand rather than pay over thirty for one I cared nothing about. Thus, we got standing tickets for seven o’clock show.

Standing in the back of the auditorium, legs cramping and stiff, I grew more and more excited as I stretched them in preparation for the show. Yet, Cory seemed a little saddened by our seats/standing spot. The top of the show’s set was cut-off from our view because of the balcony hanging over our heads. Ducking lower and lower to see as high as possible, we went to the seated section below us and closer to the stage just to know what the rest of the set looked like. There was a ton more to it, and my eyes widened as we got the full glimpse of the production theatrics. As we tromped to back up the stairs to the back, Cory and I hoped they didn’t use that section of the stage much during the performance.

Even in the back we were very close and able to see facials and the picture well. The performance was spectacular and I could go on and on about how impressive the dancing, acting, and script were. A story about a Hispanic girl from Washington Heights who goes to Stanford only to fail out because of school costs moved me emotionally. After being at Ellis Island the idea of immigrants coming to America for a new life and opportunity came to life through the stories of the characters in the musical.

Cory and I with the star of "In the Heights" Mandy Gonzalez.

At this point on day thirty-three or so, I have been wondering and struggling with the idea that we never know a city enough with our short visits. After watching this musical from a less optimum seat, I compared my limited seat at the musical to our limited time in each city. We have a small view, not as good as many others in the audience, but we still get a sense of the story- a sense enough to see more or less if we desire. In the end, after the musical, all I know, is that the trip in New York City has not been enough for me to see it all or even every musical, but it is all I need to come back for more.


Love you, Andrew and Adaeze!!!!

And I Proudly Stand Up.....Next To You: Boston day 3

Holocaust Memorial Pictures

Tap…tap…tap. “Hey Pierce,” I rolled over to pull my bunk curtain back.

“Wakey. Wakey,” Pierce grins. Why did I say I would get up early? Unfortunately, I had. Boston was on the horizon along with the sounds of the 4th and maybe, “The British are coming,” resounding in my head.

Jenni, Pierce, Shirah, and myself walked 2 miles (I probably rounded up in miles for dramatic effect) to the bus stop closest to us in Weymouth, a town near Boston where our bus was parked.

There is one important aspect of myself that I have learned; I am not good with people in the morning-especially not before coffee. Now, I will never admit to not being a morning person because I do, in fact, love the morning, but I do not like to talk. So, people always assume that I hate the morning when it is really just that I don’t enjoy those people in the morning. Anyway, I am sure my mood played a role in my fellow patriots mornings, but for me, it was nice. I texted Heather one if by land and two if by bus as my small troop tromped onto the bus that arrived twenty minutes later than we anticipated.

Finally reaching where Neil Diamond and the fireworks would be in twelve hours, we set up camp. Now, I know what you may be thinking, so to address that: yes, we are crazy, and no, we didn’t have to get there that early for a spot. Although once we arrived and saw a place on the bank of the Charles River, my group knew there was nowhere else in Boston we hoped to be.


The rest of the day was spent on shower curtains bought from CVS while eating Swedish Fish and Twizzlers (a bad idea all around) and reading books and magazines. Amongst our much-needed day off our feet, we began to talk to our neighbors who had also been as patriotic as ourselves to camp out on the bank. Come to find out, after a few moments of discussion leading into our question, “What does it mean to be an American?” our neighbors were, just that, neighbors, from Canada. Their son lives in New York City, so they come into the country often.
Their answer was that Americans have opportunity. They also feel that Bush did his best, and our nation is more unified than Canada because even with several cultures the American flag is still honored. In Canada, they feel, everyone is still divided without a national pride.

This made me think of my own feelings of the flag. A flag that, even in wartime, is hard for me to relate to at twenty-two years of age. The flag, over time, had lost its importance to me as a symbol of anything but the present government.

Previous days in Boston were spent on the Freedom Trail of the American Revolution, now, sitting and gazing at the boats bobbing on the Charles, I thought back on each grave site we encountered during the long walk to Bunker Hill. The graves of a people who fought for a dream they could only envision. Struggle to achieve this dream seems more tangible after walking in Boston, a city preserved from the past allows me to transport back to it. Bostonian streets are cobbled while houses closely confined and similar in design. Commercialism and advertisement does not exceed the older atmosphere of a colonial city. Boston provides a physical connection to America’s past that made me proud my ancestors were rebels- dissenting from the British and organizing themselves to do so. A true triumph like in movies such as Slumdog Millionaire where the underdog wins.


Memorial
Garden:
Tags of
soldiers hung

in honor

The Declaration of Independence states; “Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.” Now I see how this force from our past to uphold the people’s rights is so representative of the heart of Americans. A nation of hopeful faith. Hope in a country and people for change, but faith that we can make it happen soon.

Now the memory of our rebellious dissention instills pride into me as well as faith in Americans that, if needed, we will dissent again for the overall good and preservation of our values.
I don’t regret my decision to rise early and sit back to fully enjoy this piece of Boston.

Freedom Trail Day 1...Boston

Sitting by the ICA art museum I jotted down a few sentences that I want to share. This probably does not make sense but interpret as you like. Oh, I also decided if I were moss I would rather be moss on the rocks at the base of Niagara Falls instead of growing at the edge of this Boston port.

Willful silence fills my ears.
Seattled in a Boston Harbor with tea not coffee.
I love the view of drear from my mustard seed hoodie and ruby winded hair.
Black and brown do match.
And the green ivy cannot sliver here.



The ICA exhibit of Shepard Fairey was inspiring and daring. Look up more information about this artist and his works by clicking this example of his print work.

Tell Them I Said Freedom..Niagra Falls

With morning easing into the afternoon, our troop finally made it to the most northern point we shall travel, Buffalo, NY. With free time to meet and greet the falls and its visitors, I wandered to the observation tours photo index. Each photo placed on the board next to a cash register was ready and awaiting the person within the picture to buy it.

Shots of uncomfortable smiles, odd spatial gaps between fighting siblings, parents who have to hide the fact they made their children be quiet, newly weds with a newfound glow, and troupes of people elderly couples traveling with a group tour of Buffalo seemed to make me laugh. Why do they all come here? Again, I felt unimpressed by a wonder of the world, and wonder why so many people across America go to this destination.

Tami asked me, “Is this your picture?” I looked at the picture of a family that she assumed to be mine. It was of four boys. No Tami that is not a picture of me. I am a girl. We both let loose an uncomfortable chuckle when I answered with a loud no. She has worked here at Niagara for four years. Phew, I think.

“What do you think it means to be American?” I nonchalantly slip into our conversation about living in Buffalo. Apparently she has always lived there and has no clue why people visit besides the tourist hype. “Tell them I said freedom,” she says after resistance to answering the question.

“Do you go to Canada a lot?” I try to change the subject. Yes, all the time. “Why?” I push for more. “You can do anything there. You can smoke a blunt there and not be bothered. But here its not like that,” she relayed. Apparently, America limits her especially living so close to the border. At twenty-one she says that going out is not worth it because she cannot go to a club without the police coming to break it up. Like El Paso drug trafficking is an issue, so police have a tight rain on Americans.

I am not sure if I agree that Canadians smoke pot easily nor am I saying this is good or bad. It is just interesting that this girl thinks her answer to my question if what makes her American is freedom, but everything else she discusses is telling me she feels imprisoned by police.

Mistake By the Lake...Cleveland

We should have knocked on wood yesterday when discussing our luck with weather. Cleveland began slowly with a downpour. Instead of attending the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum first, the group started with a brunch and class discussion.

By discussing the sociology of Detroit, transitioning into Cleveland felt a smooth upgrade. As far as economy goes my research on Cleveland informed me that it tasted the bitterness of the decline in the car industry in the 60s while Detroit experienced this beginning in the 80s.

Walking down the streets of Cleveland not a sound filled the air. The videos online laughed at Cleveland’s lack of tall buildings downtown, and the soundless streets yelled to us that this was not Seattle, Portland, or Chicago. Cleveland’s atmosphere seemed what it might be like a bomb had gone off ten years ago and this is how far the city has come - dreary but thriving. After seeing the city, I realized how the city’s history with the citywide fire, industry decline, and poor sports teams has affected it.

Our group finished up some coffee discussion and went to make our appointment with the House of Blues. Shout out to the House of Blues giving us Belmonters a private tour of the folk art it displays on its walls! After attending art museums in El Paso and Chicago this tour meant more for our group. The International House of Blues Foundation is a non-profit organization dedicated to bringing arts to schools and communities through programs that promote cultural understanding and creative expression through music and art. This tour enlightened us all of the therapeutic essence of the arts for youth, those suffering from depression, and mental health patients as well as everyday artists.

Directly following our tour into the depths and secret passages within the House of Blues itself, we ended up in another spot viewing art and history, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Only having two hours, I thought there was plenty of time, but I was mistaken. In fact, the bottom level took me the entire time. Thus, pulling me into my other thoughts of how history of pop, rock, or music culture in general tells a lot about each generation.

Sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll intoxicated the generation before me even when their parents said this music was from the devil. Rebels of the young generation shelled out cash to see the Beatles or Elvis. Founders of Rock N’ Roll were young and alive which quickly pushed them to celebrity status. Once this status arises people become obsessed. This obsession in celebrity and music creates movements in society, fashion, and politics. In our tour of America we have been asking what unifies us. Attempting to make conversation with total strangers over the course of the trip, I know that I can always mention a star or celebrity in order to receive a response. Celebrities connect most Americans because they are more than that. They are icon of generations or even regions from west to east or north to south.

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame displayed lyrics, guitars, clothes, letters, old diaries of lyrics, the mask from Thriller, Mic Jagger jeans, an Elvis mobile, sparkling, feather boas, and high stilettos. Each screamed a high-pitched rocker yell of not only the artist but of the generation and history of a place in America. The celebrities and their songs ignite vivid memories for those who come to see these relics of the past.

During our drive back to the bus, Big Mamma, I thought of pictures my mom has shown me when she was in high school in the 70s. Golden in hair and breath, my mother illuminated in pictures with her long, straight hippie hair and bell-bottoms with a peace sign in hand. How connected I felt to her while miles and ages away from her at seventeen- self. I now see a connection for Americans regardless of age and generation. It is a connection to music and celebrities that produce it whether in film, TV, or with teased out hair, big white-rimmed glasses, and feathery glitz.

Coming back to downtown Cleveland later on for a free Roots show, thanks to the House of Blues, I hope someday my children will connect to my music. The bigger picture became clear as I drew a connection to the work that the International House of Blues Foundation continued to pursue through the arts in Cleveland. Even though the city had been hit hard by industry collapse, its push for the arts and music has brought it to life again.

Not only has a new center on the arts brought in an artist culture, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame represents a dependence on the arts. Cleveland may not have tons of buildings, but it does have this Rock and Roll Museum to put it back on the map. Anytime Cleveland has been mentioned, as a destination the only aspect people know about the city is this museum. Further research proved my assumptions that the city built it to draw in tourists, and in turn, stimulate the city’s economy. With that, when they were selecting the city to house the hall of fame museum, Cleveland put down 65 million to win the ballot. Now Cleveland can turn its cheek away from its past an no longer be the mistake by the lake.

At least We're not Detroit

Detroit had so many layers that it is hard to touch on them all. I will just highlight the fact that this was the first city I truly saw without any statistics or words the effects of the economy. I have seen areas that had very little or are dirty and unkempt. These are hard to see. I have never seen row after row of factories that had no one inside or using them. Windows broken out and emptied spaces where cars used to be mass produced and jobs were available. The vacancy of buildings terrified me more in our drive into the city than anything I have seen in a while.

Then our group went to see the Hidelberg project. When the economy crashed in the 80s, many people left their homes because no one would by them and it was easier to leave than stay. The mad dash out of Detroit left broken down homes and tons of other items which could not be carried or moved to the owners’ new destination or residence. With that, this project takes these items and turns them into works of art. These pieces of artwork are displayed on the lawns of vacant homes and usually display strong political and cultural opinions.

The nearby town of Rossford gave me hope. Even with its economic struggle the community still thrives. After speaking with the city council our group saw their desperation to bring in more business and create more jobs for residents. The mayor also challenged our group to “Pay it forward.” Whatever kindness we have received across America, it is our job and our generations’ responsibility to pay it forward and help each other. I must admit I almost cried because so many people have let us into their lives and communities that now I feel like I can eventually pay them back by showing that same kindness to others.

Motor Speedways make my head hurt

Next came the day which I loved to hate.

NASCAR has always been a secret point of tension for me ever since I attended a race with my family a few hours away from home in Atlanta only to develop the worst ear infection possible right before the event. Earplugs and chewable Tylenol were no match for the roaring engines of misery in my head for those few hours. Thus, today’s visit to Indianapolis Motor Speedway did not excite me to say the least.

Entering the museum for a quick tour the only item that caught my eye was the highest placing woman, Danica Patrick, racer in 2005. Our driving tour began next. This is when I felt a little angered to the point of committing an act of civil disobedience.

Our older tour guide hopped on and was a nice old man until some of his comments he made struck a nerve. Among several other facts, he told the group how in the old days women used to not be allowed to attend because they would just be a distraction. The idea that women are merely for looks hit me hard when thinking of history’s emphasis on females only fulfilling roles of beautiful seductress or nurturer. What if you are not “attractive” in the eyes of pop culture and you don’t like children? What does that mean? You are not female or a woman?

Later the guide made a remark about the lady with him helping him with the tour. He said that she tried to be a tour guide and wasn’t able to. The whole time all the woman did was open doors for us, the tourists, and there seemed this understood superiority between them. He treated her like she was just a woman who could not possibly lead a tour group like he did. I wanted to stand up and yell at him or assert my own intelligence in some way.

When he finally acknowledged Danica Patrick as coming in 4th place in 2005, his patronizing tone was almost all I needed to say something. It sounded like he might as well have said, “Awe, that pretty young thing put up quite a fight. Maybe the only female able to drive,” and I half-expected a woman-driver joke.

I thought back to the previous museums we have seen over the course of the trip as well as how far the women’s rights movement has come. How we gained our voting rights last, but how we still get paid less compared to men and have never had a woman president.

Maybe I should have said something or stood up to defend women as being more than aesthetically appealing. I did not. Why? Because the tour guide does not realize the language he uses offends people or is patriarchal. And, in the end, he is not a bad man. Next time, hopefully there won’t be one; I may commit some act of civil disobedience like Rosa Parks who stood up for where she belongs.

Chicago?

The second day of Chicago threw me for a new loop. Our group ventured into several areas of the city from Wicker Park to Chinatown or to a upper class area. As the group dispersed I stumbled upon the most unexpected scene I had ever anticipated. My mouth dropped open because it was as if we entered a forbidden area or came upon a never-seen-before event.

A block party on the edge of Chicago’s inner city and near Wicker Park pulled our traveling band of gypsies into its all-American feel. Children rode bikes, jumped through sprinkler, ate watermelon, and played hopscotch. Parents drank beer and Coca-Cola, mingled with neighbors, and yelled at their rowdy rascals. A family band of three boys and a dad entertained the crowd that ate hot dogs, burgers, chips, and treats. Sounds of laughter and joy filled my ears, not because of a ballgame or holiday, but just because.

Now I have seen this on television, but never experienced a gathering of neighbors for a block party. To be honest, I despised my neighbors at an early age for shooting fireworks into our yard or letting their dog kill my cat, Tommy. So the idea this actually happens surprised me enough. But here we were in the big city with a small town atmosphere. The refreshment of their hula hoops, water works, beverages, and food seeped into me to make my day all the brighter.

Thank you Chicago for not being too big for community!

Tasting Chicago

On medication due to major back spasms, I entered Chicago in a whirl. I must admit it was one of my most anticipated stops. The Art Institute, a friend in town, showers, and the pizza were in the forefront of my mind. Finally after a day of commuting the group got a quick shower and went on to the Taste of Chicago.

Tickets for the event were eight dollars for twelve tickets, but each food item was worth several tickets. I ended up eating away my tickets on dessert items like hot fudge brownie with ice cream and a sample of cheesecake. Taste Chicago’s most delectable food from their best restaurants, I did. Not enough to fill me but enough to curb my sweet tooth.

There I met Katie Graves an old Belmont friend who recently moved to the city. We made our way to the Art Institute for a quick view of the new modern art wing which I did not particularly enjoy. Alas, Renoir’s Acrobats at the Cirque Fernando or Monet’s Water Lilies was all I needed to make this trip worthwhile. But the day was not done yet.

A dash to the Sears tower took my breath -once from the run and twice from the view- as the lights of the city illuminated the gridlines of Chicago into a pattern that I easily read. It said to me that this was it; the world lay below me. I thought about in the olden days when someone was in the presence of a king; they had to be lower than him. Now at this height, I prestigiously looked out onto my court.

This structure identifies Chicago, and if this is how it makes me feel, powerful, that is, then what does it say about the city? Also, what does this say to the rest of the world about America? Do even the buildings we make convey a message of American identity?

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....