Random Ramblings

Something new (kinda, sorta)

2007-09-16T00:57:00.000-07:00

I need to post something, just so that the overly introspective piece of crap post below isn't the first thing that greets people who come to this site (which, judging by a bizarre recent post, consists mainly of spammers on acid).

Life's good. I have a decent apartment, a full time job, a part-time hooker, and good family, good friends, and one of the best scenes in film, the long tracking shot from Goodfellas where they walk through the back of the restaurant and into the club, is on TV. I seem to be surrounded by babies recently, and they're not mine, so that's good.

It's Emmy time tomorrow, and I'm kind of more excited about going than I'd like to admit. Because when it comes right down to it, I watch, and like, a lot of shitty TV. So while the other awards shows are fun, I feel more of a connection to the TV people than the film people. I promise nothing, because my promises on this blog are rather empty, but if I get some good pictures, I'll try to post them.

Looking Back

2007-07-15T00:57:00.000-07:00

Hey old friend...it's been a while. I know I've been distant, but we have the kind of relationship where we can not talk for a while, and just pick up where we left off like nothing happened. I'd like to say I'll never neglect you for this long again, but I can't make that kind of promise. It's not you, it's me...and no, there isn't someone else. You're the only blog in my life, I swear.

So, at this time last year I was (checks the archives) leaving New York city. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the open road. Like smells and sounds, seasons bring on a flood of memories for me (yes, we have seasons in L.A. - Hot and Smoggy, Fire, Mudslide, and Earthquake), and as soon as Summer hit I got the travel-jones big time. I've gone through days where I realize I'll probably never again have the freedom that I had last Summer, and that's so thoroughly depressing. The trip gave birth to this new part of my brain, or soul, or whatever you want to call it, and that piece of me needs to be nourished with travel or it's going to die. I know that I'm so lucky to have had the chance to do what I did, and I appreciate that deeply, but like a heroin addict, one taste and I was hooked, and I can't shake the desire. I've planned mini-trips in my mind several times; I'll have four days off and think "I can make it to Denver and back, no prob." But then life comes up, and I'm lucky to make it to Denny's for a Denver omelet. The furthest I've gone since I got back has been San Diego, once, in my Prius, and it just wasn't the same. Poor me, I know, but I miss it. I really, really do.

I miss the lightning bugs in Pennsylvania. I miss the crazy Summer thunder and lightning storm I got caught in everywhere east of the Mississippi. I miss sitting in a Wal-Mart parking lot at sundown talking with wayward Winnebago retirees. I miss exploring and making myself do new things. I miss the satisfaction that comes from reading a map. I miss waking up every morning and deciding where I'm going to go next. I miss calling my friends and family every day with an exciting new story. I miss meeting people that have lived all their lives in the same country as I (or is it "me?) who couldn't be more different, yet are remarkably similar. I miss the excitement that comes with knowing there's no way today will be the same as yesterday. I miss listening to local radio and hearing the different issues that tick off different communities. I miss playing poker and the stories you hear after your eighth hour at the table in Deadwood, South Dakota. I miss the simplicity that comes with living out of a car. I miss not having to worry about rent and bills and whether or not this is the third day I'm wearing the same shirt. I miss it all.

And I've become that guy I predicted I'd become way back when I started this blog. The guy who'll work his great adventure into just about every conversation, whether it fits or not. I hear myself doing and I cringe, but I press on, regaling unsuspecting victims for hours with stories that start "I took this road trip last summer around the country..." The other day at work, and I swear this was unsolicited, I was talking to someone and somehow the sentence came out of her mouth that she'd LOVE to rent an RV and just travel around the country. Well, that was just the greatest setup line I could possibly be given - you DREAM that someone says in a conversation that their biggest fantasies is to do the one thing you're practically a certified expert in.

The trip still has the power to enthral people, but with time that power is waning. At this point it was a year ago, and if I bring it up, it lacks the same luster as when I was able to say "I just got back from..." And so now it's time for a new adventure, a new passion, a new endeavor on which to focus my energy.

I turn 30 in November. I'm scared and excited at the same time. I've been rather productive in my 20s, and I've taken the time to build a respectable resume in the profession of my choice. There were some shaky years, but on paper my radio background is solid; the very picture of a young up an comer (what a great porn title). But I have surprisingly little to show for it. While my friends are getting married and starting families and buying houses, I'm still living paycheck to paycheck. I feel like I'm about to enter the next stage of my life, where I grow up and become a responsible member of society. And I'm ready to do that. I want to do that. But going off in a VW van doesn't fit in to that life, and that has me a little scared and a little sad. There's always going to be a part of me that wants to chuck everything and live by a river in Montana. Will I regret not doing that? Perhaps. But who's to say I won't somewhere down the line?

I know it's not a struggle unique to me, but these are the thoughts that have running through my head over the last few months. Will I ever again eat fresh lobster on newspaper as the sun sets over Bar Harbor, Maine? God I hope so.

You work at Whole Foods, douchebag. You didn't cure cancer.

2007-03-19T00:42:00.000-07:00

I'm kind of over L.A. right now. The drivers are fucking nuts, the weather is freakishly hot for March, and the water seems to be spiked with a little too much "I-think-I'm-better-than-you." I was in Whole Foods today, whose motto is "It's a Privilege That We Even Let You Shop Here Because Our Farts Smell Like Cherry Blossoms." The parking lot at the one nearest me is smaller than President Bush's approval rating, and of course every spot is filled with a car big enough to send to Iraq. I shopped quick, getting to the check out line in about 7 minutes. I just needed a few things to complete a nice Sunday jew meal - whitefish, lox, and capers. I already had the bagels and cream cheese. While scanning my items, the clerk picks up one of the plastic containers and says in this REAL bitchy, condescending tone, the kind of tone I usually get when asking women out, "You know, right, that these aren't the ORGANIC capers?"

First of all, I don't even really know what the fuck a caper is, much less that they come in the organic and non-organic variety. And second of all, if it's so offensive to you that I would actually buy non-organic capers, why the fuck do you work in a store that would SELL non-organic capers? So no, I guess I didn't know that those were the non-organic capers. Does that make me a bad person? I usually try to buy organic produce, eggs from cage-free chickens, and milk from cows that have their udders massaged with Egyptian baby oil flecked with tiny pieces of pure gold. I drive a Prius, don't buy leather, and compost my own feces and the feces of everyone in my neighborhood. I've never raped a baby, smuggled a human being in a tiny compartment, or (knowingly) owned a slave. I don't need the attitude from some faux L.A. hippie who works in an over-priced grocery store and hasn't showered since the day she heard Phish broke up. Just put my shit in a non-biodegradable plastic bag and try to not to drip too much jizz from your dreadlocks on my smoked fish.

And yes, I'm a liberal-pierced-nose-hybrid-driving-vegetarian (except I eat fish now, but that's for another post) jew, and I should embrace the Whole Foods crowd who are seemingly cut from the same or similar cloth. Except they're not. I have enough experience with fippies (fake hippies) from living in Santa Cruz and San Francisco for almost ten years that I can smell the insincere ones from a mile away. I finally saw "An Inconvenient Truth" last week, and I believe Al Gore is a sincere environmentalist. I think he is convinced of an impending doom and he's trying to do what he can to get the word out to stop it. But this insufferable bitch who works at Whole Foods, she's one of those militant types who might ultimately have the right message but will only turn people off to her cause by her methods. Kind of like those religious fanatics who bomb abortion clinics and shoot doctors. The normal Christians look at them and wave their hands frantically saying "No no no, they're not with us. We've never even seen them before." But the whackos get all mixed up with the normal ones into one big religious pie.

So Whole Foods, I think you're no longer for me. I'll miss your fresh fish and hot MILFs that stroll your aisles, but I won't miss your high prices, cramped parking, and annoying fucking attitude. If I want to pay to have some abuse me mentally, I can find that on Craig's List for a lot less money.

One Other Thing...

2007-02-26T19:55:00.000-08:00

COPYCAT!

Plates of Shrimp and 100 Posts

2007-02-26T12:03:00.000-08:00

By the end of yesterday, more than my tie was crooked. My brain was slightly on tilt. It was one of the longest days of my professional career. I arrived in Hollywood at 9:30am...I was home at 3am. And in between was a mix of chaos, boredom, memories, and shrimp.

I was placed in the interview room backstage at last night's broadcast. I was the producer for my station, and was joined in the room by two reporters. We had one more on the red carpet, and another at the "Night of 100 Stars" Oscar viewing party at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Most of my broadcast equipment was setup by Saturday, so when I showed up on Sunday there was very little setup I needed to do. The Academy, in their infinite wisdom, closed the interview room from 11-2pm on Sunday. For stations broadcasting from the room, like us, that's not nearly enough time to get ready if you want to go on the air by 3. The room was open between 9 and 11, so that meant I had to get there by 10, setup for an hour, and then sit around for the next three hours. I had a nice breakfast with the station engineer at the Renaissance Hotel (Bagel, Salmon, Cream Cheese, Capers, Onions, Tomato for a staggering $18...and the only bagel choice was water. I mean, if you're gonna serve a bagel and fish breakfast, you AT LEAST have to have an onion or sesame available), and then tried to find a chair to sit in for the next three hours.

I walked around the Hollywood and Highland complex, marveling at all the setup that goes into this awards show and trying to plot the best route for sneaking into the Governor's Ball. Security was fairly tight to get into the complex, but once there if you had a badge you could wander around pretty much at will. My red carpet talent showed up around 12:30, and I snuck down to hang out with him. I wasn't credentialed to be on the red carpet, but the arrivals didn't start until 3:30 or so, so since it was early no one bothered me. As soon as I stepped foot on it, I was hit pretty hard with the sense of how cool it was. I mean, this was THE red carpet at THE awards show. A show with so much history and power and prestige. A show I had watched and gotten excited about since I was a kid. It was a nice moment.

Through sheer luck of the draw, we got the best red carpet spot possible of any media outlet, radio or television. We were right next to the ABC camera platform, where the stars HAD to stop to wait to be interviewed for the network broadcasting the event. And we got everybody. Al Gore, Jodi Foster, J-Lo, L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, Will Smith, Beyonce, Eddie Murphy, Nicole Kidman, Steve Carell, Sascha Baron Cohen, Helen Mirren, Ryan Gosling, John Travolta, Wolfgang Puck...It was great. I wish I could have been down there, but I had to leave at 2pm to go set up and I couldn't get back in. We got the biggest interviews of any radio outlet, local or national, and as the producer I couldn't ask for anything better than that.

By this time I was hungry. I was told the spread the Academy put out for the media room was impressive, but I had no idea. The Golden Globes was decent, the SAG awards served moldy sandwiches, and the Grammy's served moldy sandwiches left over from the SAG awards. But this was a buffet of a different color. Huge plates of shrimp, meats and cheeses, skewers and roasted vegetables, egg rolls, raw veggies, sandwiches, and all sorts of drinks (but unfortunately no alcohol). It was all finger food, and I couldn't eat most of it because it was meat based, but still. When the media gets a spread like that, it's appreciated. And did I mention the desserts? Plates and plates of petite fours, cheesecake, cookies, and other assorted pastries. And everything was refilled during the whole show. We were fat and happy.

Everything from there on out was like every other awards show. We watched the broadcast on televisions....The winners were brought back so the hundreds of media could shout questions...the big stars didn't come through until the end of the night causing everyone to have to stay late. The biggest deal was Martin Scorsese, because this was his first press room appearance of the awards season. Sure, Helen Mirren and Forrest Whitaker were fun to talk to, but we'd seen them over and over at the SAG awards and Golden Globes. When Scorsese won for Best Director, the media room erupted in an ear splitting cheer. The other person I was excited to see come back was Al Gore. Here I was, 50 feet from the former Vice President of the United States, 50 feet from the man who should have been president 7 years ago. That was cool.

I didn't get to sneak into any parties, because by the time we were down breaking down our equipment it was 11:15pm. I still had a couple of hours of work to do cutting up audio back at the station. I was asleep on my feet. The Governor's Ball was RIGHT THERE next to me, but I just didn't have the time or energy to go. I did see Jack Black and Abigail Breslin come off the escalator from the party (not together), and that was my only close proximity celebrity sighting.

I'm dead tired. Awards season is over. It was my first one, and I have to say it was a pretty exciting couple of months. I had no idea when I quit my job last year that in the beginning of 2007 I'd be going to the Golden Globes, the SAG Awards, the Grammys, and the Academy Awards. Oh, and I almost forgot, the Razzies! The awards show for WORST movies of the year was Saturday night, and not only was I there, I was the one broadcasting! It was my first reporting gig with the new station, and things went well enough that I think it may be the first of many.

It's been a great couple of months. Professionally, everything is falling into place and I'm doing exactly what I wanted to do. Life has taken some strange turns over the past year since I started this blog. This is officially post 100. I hope my life over the next 100 posts are exciting as the last 100.

Couple a things

2007-02-13T21:04:00.000-08:00

The Grammy's were fun. I guess I'm three for three...while I didn't sneak into an after party, I DID sneak back stage. For all the juicy details, you're gonna have to listen to either Schnauzer Logic or KSCO. I might get around to writing about it, but I don't want to promise things I can't deliver.

In other news...the long awaited podcast is here! Sam Betesh, Krystal Fernandez (both of FOX Sports Radio) and I got behind the mic last Friday to see if the chemistry we seem to have off the air would translate over. I think it did. It was a lot of fun, and hopefully we can make it a regular thing...maybe twice a month. Check it out at http://www.theidiotsradio.com/

Coming up, the Oscars, the Razzies, and maybe even some big news...stay tuned.

Put Your Hands in the Air

2007-02-10T10:51:00.000-08:00

Apparently I was enthusiastic enough at the "1 vs. 100" taping...I got some decent screen time from the producers. Most of it involved me wildly clapping with my hands over my head, or like this picture to the left, showing my solidarity with the Black Power movement. If you didn't see it, I got knocked out of the mob on the third question. And of all the questions to get knocked out on..."How many states start with the word "New?" The choices were 3, 4, or 5. Now, as a mob member, you only have 15 seconds to answer, and for whatever reason I could only think of New Hampshire and New Mexico. I figured I was missing at least one, so I said three. How could I forget about New York and New Jersey? Probably the two easiest ones? Good question. I'm going to blame it on early onset Alzheimer's. Because of the 100 people I was playing against, I guarantee you that I was the only person in the room that had actually BEEN to all four states in the past six months. So the fact that I'd miss THAT question is rather ironic and embarrassing. Thanks to Robin Goldstein of Schnauzer Logic for the screen caps:

Set your TiVo's!

2007-02-09T09:25:00.000-08:00

The episode I taped of the hit NBC game show "1 vs. 100" will air TONIGHT. I may or may not have won $250,000. You'll have to tune in to find out!

The suspense is unbearable.

Look for me in square number 12, to the left of the nun and right below Mama the gender illusionist.

Pimpin the Parents

2007-02-03T10:40:00.000-08:00

Visit my parents website. If you need t-shirts, hats, promotional items, or anything in the world that can be printed, you need to go here:
www.bspplus.com

Stand In Front of Your Man

2007-01-31T23:25:00.000-08:00

I was watching the local FOX 11 News at 10 tonight, and I found the position the anchors were in kind of strange...

Who decided this was a good way to do the news? It looks like John Beard is stalking Christine Divine. Or like she's a hostage, and he's forcing her to read the news at gunpoint. I'd love to know the decision making process that went on here..."We'll really attract more viewers if it looks like our male anchor is about to sexually assault the female anchor from behind." And the look on Christine's face at the beginning...she smirking uncomfortably, like John is breathing hot coffee breath in her ear. Strange.

SAG Wrap

2007-01-29T00:55:00.000-08:00

Almost 1am....I got home from the awards a little bit ago. I've found my calling - sneaking into awards show after parties. I don't know if I'm good at it or it's just easy, but I'm now two for two. More on that in a bit.

This was the first show for which I was on the Red Carpet, and it was a blast. I was just kind of holding our station's place until the real reporter showed up, so it wasn't really my job to do interviews. But since I had a microphone and recorder, I figured I'd throw out a question or two to anyone interesting who came my way. Since I was only on my own for the first part of the arrivals, however, the pickings were pretty slim (no one who's anyone shows up early). I got to talk to B.J. Novak, one of the Actor/Writer/Producers of "The Office" (he plays Ryan, the guy who was a temp and the object of the Indian chick's obsession). I got off a few good questions and he was a nice guy - the kind who seemed like two years ago he was sitting at home watching these things and now he's more than happy to be answering questions about a show he's proud of. The cast of "Grey's Anatomy" whizzed by and didn't answer any questions, which wasn't a huge surprise considering it was all the loose talk at the Golden Globes that got star Isiah Washington in trouble just a few weeks ago. Eva Longoria stood just out of reach of the press, talking on her cell phone and looking hot, and most of the movie actors arrived five minutes before the show started and didn't take any time to talk to radio. Except Will Smith...he gave us two seconds and then was whisked off by his publicist.

Successfully doing your job on the red carpet is like playing chess - you always have to think two steps ahead. When you're in radio, you're at the end of the line, right before the celebs walk in the door. At first, you might think "Great, they all HAVE to walk by me." But by this point, they've already stopped to chat to a billion other outlets, and if they're in a hurry, the last thing they want to do is spend time with radio - especially local radio. So you have to butter up the publicists. You talk to their small-time clients, like the second lead female on Deadwood, so that when they bring a big name through they remember you. But you're also playing a waiting game, and sometimes no one comes through for a long time...so the creator of "Boston Legal" walks by and you think "Why not...I don't know this guys name, but he looks familiar, so I'll talk to him." And while you're talking to him, Martin Sheen goes sailing past. So now you have a split second decision to make: Do I be totally rude to "Boston Legal" dude and walk away in the middle of his sentence on how nuanced he thinks his character are, or do I treat this guy like a human being, and in the process miss on of the best actors from "The Departed?" Being new to the game, I don't have the heart to play the celebrity one-upmanship game, but I saw it happen time and time again by the more seasoned people. It sucks, but it's part of the business. But the worst was the pushy publicist.

Some publicists are good, and when their star is making the rounds, they'll go a few media outlets ahead and say so-and-so is coming by if you'd like them to stop. This is nice, and they get that not everyone's face is recognizable and it saves the embarrassment of having to ask "Who are you?" while you're interviewing someone. But the worst is when they come up WITH their star and say "Would you like to speak to blah blah?" And what are you going to do...say no right to the person's face? That's how I ended up talking to Kim Dickens from "Deadwood."

Now, poor Kim Dickens, because she's talking to a "reporter" who isn't going to end up using any of the sound, and I stopped watching the show after the first season so I have no idea what to ask But she's right there, and I have to ask something RIGHT NOW. So I throw out the old "Who are you most excited to see tonight?" Which is a bullshit question because it's not at all about the person you're talking to...you're basically saying "You're not that big a celebrity, but there are OTHER big celebrities here that are more exciting than you. I'M more interested in talking to them, but since I'm talking to you, who do you like that's more famous than yourself?" And while she's giving some bullshit response, I'm trying to think of another question...So I ask "Have you ever been to Deadwood?" It was one of the places I stopped on my trip, so hopefully she was there and I can talk with her for a little bit about that. But she's never been there, and she launches into some answer about a small puddle jumper plane, while I'm looking over her shoulder to see who everyone is rushing over to try and talk to. I thank her and wish her luck, not even really knowing if she's nominated for anything (she was - best ensemble cast).

Other than that, us radio reporters tried to amuse each other. There's a solidarity among radio folk, because if Awards Shows are like Thanksgiving dinner, we're constantly are forced to sit at the kids table while TV folk are the grownups who can drink alcohol and tell off color jokes and make out with their cousins in the coat closet. One of my reporter friends I had a running bet - $100 to the first person to ask any of the child stars if they'd do a rape scene (a la Dakota Fanning's controversial new movie that premiered at Sundance earlier this week). Neither one of us had the balls to cash in, but it would have been easy money. The kid celebs are the easiest to talk to...their parents have NO problem shoving their little meal tickets in front of a mic.

The Golden Globes provided the media with free beer, but SAG offered only water. So after asking around, I found out that the only after party actually on site was the one being hosted by People Magazine. A few twists and turns down a few dark hallways later, and I was in the land of open bars and free food. There's no real secret to how I did it...I just followed the sound of crappy music and coke snorting until I was under a tent. I passed through a couple of doorways guarded by security types, but I've learned that if you walk briskly with your head up, don't make eye contact, and look like you know where you're going, you're probably not going to be stopped.

The People party was pretty nice - full bar of all top shelf liquor, waiters floating around with duck taquitos and goat-cheese stuffed grapes, and tons of food stations with elaborate desserts and trays of prosciutto wrapped chicken and barbecued salmon. I quickly downed a vodka rocks with a splash of lime juice and circled the room. It was huge, with a DJ and comfy couches, but rather light on celebrities. Unless you count Michael Madsen and Lance Bass. Which I don't.

On second thought, I shouldn't talk shit about Madsen. He might slice my ear off.

I would have stayed for a while, but I had to get back to work and cut sound. Plus, I was carrying my huge laptop bag, which weighs about thirty pounds when packed with equipment. That was the only thing stopping me from breaking out the running man when "Sexy Back" pumped through the speakers. That, and the fact that I'm not gay. A few more drinks, though, and who knows what might have happened...

SAG Update

2007-01-28T17:22:00.000-08:00

I've been on the red carpet for the last hour or so...good times. Publicists try to get you to the people they represent, and all of the sudden I find myself interviewing the kids from "Weeds." Don't get me wrong, I love the show...but what do you ask a couple of ten year olds who have way more money than you? Pics...

Betty White on the Red Carpet

"Babel" Director Alejandro Inarritu

My feet walking the red carpet

Live Blogging the SAGs

2007-01-28T15:01:00.000-08:00

Since I shirked my duties at posting anything interesting about the Golden Globes...I'm going to try and live blog the SAG awards. It's 3pm, and arrivals are about to start on the red carpet. Here are some pics...

Not Exactly US Magazine...

2007-01-17T16:54:00.000-08:00

There were two pictures total taken of me in my tux at the Golden Globes. In one I look like I just partied with Tommy Chong and the cast of "Dazed and Confused" AND "Half-Baked." And this was long before I'd had a drink, and the only thing I'd smoked was about a pack of Camel Lights. But what separates me from 99.9% of all celebrities is that I'll purposefully put a shitty picture of myself on the internet (because that's the only thing that separates us...not the money or the fame or the incredibly good looks):

And then there's a pic of this guy named Tree or Jungle who won an award:

And a shot of our setup in the radio room:

I know, not the most exciting pics from an exciting event, but we weren't allowed to take that many, and I was just too damn busy most of the time. Stories to come, I swear!

(By the way, it's snowing in L.A. What the fuck?)

Quickly...

2007-01-17T08:18:00.000-08:00

It's been a crazy couple of days...I co-hosted two radio shows this past weekend on the Free FM station in San Diego, and Monday was the Golden Globes. I rocked the house in my slick rental tux and partied with Paris Hilton at the Weinstein after party. Okay, we didn't really party together, but we were in the same room and I could tell she was digging my vibe. Details to come...

In the meantime, a HUGE thank you to Robin Goldstein, who has so generously decided to host one of the shows I did last weekend. Check it out on her website http://schnauzerlogic.tblog.com/. Robin edited out all of the commercial goodness, so all that's left is the creamy talk show center. Full Golden Globes recap on the podcast tonight, and live on KSCO tomorrow morning at 6:45am, streaming at www.ksco.com.

Look at my Stream

2007-01-13T10:54:00.000-08:00

The radio show I'm doing tonight can be heard here:
http://www.1037freefm.com/

On the top, click "Live," and then I think you have to sign up. Since I know you have nothing better to do from 10pm to midnight tonight, I expect you all to listen.

Nathanson Big in '07

2007-01-10T14:18:00.000-08:00

Quick post before I fall asleep (I wonder, do you ever get used to waking up at 3 in the morning? Most people I talk to tell me "No," which is SOO encouraging)...

I went to get my picture taken today for my credentials for the Golden Globes. It looks like I'll be hanging out in what essentially is a closet for most of the night. No red carpet access, but I believe I have access to the interview room where the press shouts at the celebs after they've won, asking hard hitting questions like "What does it feel like?" and "How do you feel?" I'm told there is an area I'll be near where the stars congregate, kind of around the bathrooms, and we're supposed to be close to the smoking area. I have a feeling that's where the REAL conversations happen, so I'm glad I'll be close to there, mic in hand. Of course, I would NEVER record someone without their knowledge...

I went to pick up my tux, but the arms were too long, so they have to do some alterations. Rental tuxes suck for a guy like me. I have a big barrell chest, but they can't taper the jacket, so the jacket just kind of hangs over my torso. You could fit a hula hoop between the jacket and my body. But the white tie with the black shirt looks pretty pimped out. I just hope it doesn't stand out too much, because I'm there to work, not make a fashion statement. The cute Asian chick doing my measurements sensed my concern, so she threw in an extra white shirt and black tie for free. So I'll take those with me just in case.

So the "Nathanson Big in '07" train keeps on rolling right along...on Monday I taped a game show for a National Network that will air February 3rd, next Monday I get to go to the Golden Globes, and this Saturday I'll make my triumphant return being on the air on radio! Sort of. I mean, I'm already on KSCO every week, but I'm not sure most would consider that "Real Radio." And the Schnauzer Logic podcast is great - it actually sounds better than most radio shows and is heard by more people than most radio shows, but it's me on a phone line. But this will be sitting in a studio doing a talk show.

The gist is this (and if you know me, I'm always trying to do some crazy thing, I always have a plan or some half-baked idea that I'm working on. 95 percent of them never come to fruition. This year they seem to all be hitting at once): I answered an ad on a radio trade website. They were looking for a co-host for a show on the Free FM station in San Diego. It's only Saturday nights, and there's no pay, but apparently the PD likes the show and lets them fill in when the weekday shows are on vacation. I sent them some of my stuff, and they liked it, so I'm going to sit in on the show. So if you're in the San Diego area on Saturday night, from 8 to 10 or 9 to 12 or 8 to 11 (I should probably find out the exact time), tune in to 103.7 on your FM dial to hear the smooth, dulcet tones of me. From their website, it doesn't appear as if they stream. If that changes I'll let you know.

Stay Classy San Diego! I'm Ron Burgundy?

More to come...

Get a Look at those Globes

2007-01-09T14:10:00.000-08:00

So my New Year's resolution was shot to hell. I just haven't had time in the past four days to post anything. I suck, I know. Oh well...it's not like any of this shit is groundbreaking anyway. But some interesting things are happening, some of which I can talk about, some I can't. I taped a game show for a major network yesterday, which I can't talk about until it airs of February 3rd. I'lll give a heads up a day or two before. I signed a massive confidentiality agreement which basically stated if I talk, they can remove my liver. And I need my liver.

Next monday I'll be hanging among the Hollywood elite - I get to go to the Golden Globes for work. And even though I'll be behind the scenes, running around to set up interviews and whatnot, I have to wear a tux. There's an off chance I might be in a camera shot somewhere, so I guess it would be bad form to wear jeans and my Birkenstocks. Golden Globe rules state I must dress like a penguin, so I went today to rent one. I'm going a little non-traditional...no vest, no bowtie. Black tux, black shirt, white striped tie. I didn't want a vest because it's 80 degrees today, and if it's hot next Monday I'd prefer to wear as little clothing as possible.

The last time I wore a tux was high school prom, almost 12 years ago. I wanted to be cool and a little different, so I went with tails. Tip for short men - tails make you look like a midget. That was a mistake I won't make again.

This should be fun. I get a kick out of seeing celebrities in person as much as the next guy. In my mind, I know that they're people, just like you and me. And ordinary people like teachers and scientists deserve more hero worship than people who get paid millions of dollars to pretend to be other people. But I live in this society where our values aren't exactly what they should be, so I get excited and caught up in this shit.

The Golden Globes is one my favorite shows of the Awards season, because it combines television and movies. The TV guys don't tend to take themselves as seriously as the movie guys, so the speeches are funnier and the whole atmosphere is a little more relaxed. Plus I think they serve alcohol, so everyone is drunk.

Pursuing Happyness

2007-01-04T17:50:00.000-08:00

I was up this morning at 6:45 to do my segment on KSCO, which in my bizarre world of working morning means I actually got to sleep in. It was over by 7, and at this point I was up and trying to figure out what to do with myself since I didn’t have to work today. So I went to the gym at 8:30, which is the first time I’ve ever gone so early. It was an interesting crowd, mostly housewife looking types, with a few young hotties thrown in. I always feel like a lecherous fuck at the gym, because being L.A., there are hot chicks there every time of day or night. And come on, they’re all wearing spandex and sweating, and that’s hot. I try not to stare, but I’m human. I’m waiting for the day when I get a tap on my shoulder from gym management and am told I’m no longer welcome because I’m making the hot chicks uncomfortable.

If they kick me out, though, it’s only fair that the farters go too. Since the one run-in several months ago where a guy picked the one piece of equipment right next to me in a totally empty gym to use as his own egg producing factory, it’s happened three more times. Is there something about the way I look that screams “Come work out and drop ass bombs next to ME?” And I can’t help but notice, three of the four times it was an older Asian male. Maybe it’s a cultural thing? I know that in some Asian cultures it’s considered polite to burp after a meal – it shows the host you enjoyed yourself. Maybe it’s a sign of friendship to fart at the gym?

After that I had lunch with a friend from my former radio station. It was nice to catch up. Then I came home to find that the cleaning crew was here cleaning my parent’s house. There was no way I was sticking around while they clean…that’s so uncomfortable to me. I feel like a modern-day slave owner or something. So I decided to check out a movie.

“The Pursuit of Happyness” (sic) was the next movie I could make, and it looked like a good flick to kill of couple of hours on a Thursday afternoon. I got to the theater, and it was pretty empty. I had a whole row to myself. It was luxurious. Until an old guy and his mom walked in. I was sitting in the middle of the theater, in the middle of a row, and they hobble down the aisle and sit right next to me. I barely like sitting next to my friends at the movies, much less a stranger, so I was rather uncomfortable. And the mom was ancient. She could barely walk, and she smelled old and damp. What if she lost control of her bowels during the film? Old people do that all the time. What if she had a heart attack? What if I accidentally kicked her while crossing my legs and broke her spine? I considered getting up and moving, but decided that would be rude and instead spent several minutes freaking out internally.

The movie itself was good. I’m glad Will Smith decides every couple of years to remind us that he’s a very likeable actor. And the kid is cute. It’s a touching story of a single dad trying to make ends meet in early 1980’s San Francisco. It’s the kind of story that’s supposed to empower you…you’re supposed to walk out thinking “Well, if that guy could be homeless and take care of his kid and be successful doing an internship at Dean Witter, then I can get my life together as well. My problems aren’t even on the same scale as this guy, and if he can flourish, so can I.” But instead I come out thinking “Now I feel like even more of a loser because this guy, whose life sucks more than mine, can get his shit together, and I can’t. Fuck him.” That’s why I like movies where people do all the right things and then die in the end.
So midway through the movie, I adjust my position in my seat to get more comfortable, and the old broad next to me slowly turns her head, moves her glasses down on her nose, and proceeds to stare at me for five minutes. Now, in my shifting, I didn’t touch her or invade her space in any way, but she’s staring at me like she’s going to eat me or fight me. And then she turns her head back and continues watching the movie. Maybe she so old that it just takes her that long to turn her head?

And then at the end of the movie, it’s very touching because Will Smith finally makes it all happen, and him and his son are going to live the life they always wanted, and everyone in the theater is sniffling because it ALL SO WONDERFUL. And out of the corner of my eye, I can see the old woman staring at the screen with a cold look on her face that says “I don’t get emotional over black people. I’m not impressed.”

I went home secure in the knowledge that her life is probably a lot less fulfilling than mine, and that made me happy.

Do You Like to Watch?

2007-01-03T17:08:00.000-08:00

Television rarely produces a "must see" moment these days. Gone are the days when everyone would gather 'round the water cooler and discuss whether or not they thought they naked gay guy should have won survivor, or if those wacky "Moonlighting" characters are going to get together. Those moments have been replaced by e-mail, often coming with subject lines like "Check this out" or "You've GOT to see this" or "OMFGROTFLTGIF." The internet is the new digital water cooler, and in the past month Michael Richards' tirade was replaced by SNL's "Dick in a Box," which has been replaced by the cell-phone video of Saddam's execution.

Now, I'm anti death penalty, even for a guy responsible for as much death as Saddam Hussein. Partially because I don't think the state should sanction murder, and partially because I think it's a worse penalty to have to rot behind bars for the rest of your life. But I watched the thing, and I don't really know why. Morbid curiosity, I guess. And after watching, I have to say...I felt sorry for the guy. Sure, he killed thousands of people, and he probably doesn't regret it. But by the time he died, Saddam wasn't a monster. He was broken old despot who lacked the ability to inspire fear. Had I seen a video of him being killed two seconds after ordering any of the numerous attacks for which he was found guilty, THAT would have felt more like justice. And the passage of time doesn't make his crimes any less horrendous. But I got no satisfaction from seeing a noose placed around the neck of this sad, fat old man and watching what looked like his neck being snapped as he wiggled to and fro while people danced around his body in joy.

To me, the video serves only to humanize a force of evil. He's no longer a mythical boogey man deserving of the ultimate punishment. He's a human being killed by other human beings. And I can't take any joy or satisfaction from that. I think the video is a disservice to all those who want Saddam remembered as a torturous monster.

I don't want to feel sympathy for a guy like that. But I'm human, and now I can't help myself. Call me weak, call me liberal, but I'm glad the media decided not to show it. I'm glad to see we still have some sense of decorum, that we're not all clamoring to be spectators as the gladiators rip each other to shreds. I'm not happy about the fact that I watched it, but to be honest, I'd probably do it again.

Now if I could just find that video of Dick Cheney shooting his friend in the face...that's good times.

I resolve to be resolute

2007-01-02T18:08:00.000-08:00

One of my New Year’s resolutions is to do a daily fifteen minute free-write* on the blog. I know I’ve been extremely lax in updating it with the amazing events of my spectacular life, but no more! You will all be treated to a daily dose of whatever is rambling around in my head. Or at least until I crap out on sticking to my resolutions like 99.9% of all Americans. I give this until about Thursday.

Daily writing is in fact my only resolution. Sure, I could stand to throw some others in the mix, like quitting smoking and eating healthy, but I figured I’d start small. And by writing every day I’m flexing muscles in my hands. I’m probably burning at least 10 calories just by typing this.

I finally got my papers to join the Writer’s Guild. All I have to do now is pay them $2500. It’s a lot of money, but I’m basically paying to be able to say with a snobby accent that “I’m a writer,” so it’s worth every cent. The insurance and pension is icing on the cake. Plus I get a nifty magazine every month. And I got business cards from the radio station – they say “Jason Nathanson – Writer.” It’s nice, after years of wanting to be a writer, that I’m semi-legit. Before you know it I’ll be drinking scotch and running with bulls. Although, I’d wager that Hemmingway was probably never a member of the guild. He was a loner, and I can’t see him going to meetings to vote on benefit packages.

Work is going well, and I’ve got a lot of irons in the fire for 2007. It’s cliché to say “This is going to be the year where I turn it all around and DO something with my life,” but I’m coming into ’07 with a full head of steam. Some things I’ll talk about here as it becomes appropriate, like a certain game show I’ll be going on next week. After I find out what I can and can’t say, you’ll be the first to know.

In the meantime, my segments on the Schnauzer Logic podcast are getting better and better – the last one of 2006 was probably my favorite appearance yet. Check it out over at schnauzerlogic.tblog.com. And I’m still doing a segment on Good Morning Monterey Bay, every Thursday morning at 6:45am, streaming at www.ksco.com. Check that shit out, yo.

New Year’s was interesting…it’s the year that everyone started to grow up. There were still some parties and drinking, but most of my friends either stayed home or were low-key. There are babies to contend with now.

I worked that night until 1am, producing a kickass New Year’s eve extravaganza, and then met up with some friends at a restaurant/club/bar called Blowfish on Sunset. And yes, it’s the same Blowfish that started in the Mission in San Francisco. By the time I arrived, most everyone was drunk, and being the sober person walking into a room full of drunks is kind of like walking into a room full of puppies…everyone goes crazy around you for five minutes and then proceeds to run around the room and pee on themselves. I couldn’t drink because I was driving, so I just sat back and let my friends amuse me. Until the head butting started. Thankfully at that point the night was pretty much over.

Time’s up. More tomorrow.

*concept borrowed from taopoker.blogspot.com, one of the poker blogs I check out from time to time. Pauly covers major tournaments and gives a live accounting of the action, plus he's a pretty good writer, so pop over if you're so inclined.

Happy Happy

2006-12-15T17:32:00.000-08:00

Happy Chanukah! Eat some latkes, spin a dreidel, and light your Shamash. Mmm...latkes...

Nice Neighborhood

2006-11-28T21:16:00.000-08:00

My dad came home tonight around 8pm and told me there was some police activity that closed off some streets around my house. Being bored and curious, I went to check it out. It's my first stab at actual crime scene reporting, and I think I got most of the important details...

-------------------------------------------
Man Shot Dead on the Streets of Van Nuys

Jason Nathanson Reporting

VAN NUYS, CA - An unidentified Hispanic male was shot and killed Tuesday as night fell on the suburban community of Van Nuys. The incident occurred between 5:30 and 6pm at the corner of Kittridge and Woodman. Lt. Steve Hare, with the Los Angeles Police Department, said witnesses told him the victim was on the sidewalk when the suspects, two Hispanic males, walked up to him and asked "Where you from?" The suspects then shot the victim several times and fled on foot. They jumped into a car parked on Kittridge and sped off.

Police arrived on the scene around 6pm and the victim was taken to Providence Holy Cross Medical Center in Mission Hills, where he died from his injuries.

Witnesses weren't sure whether there was any kind of altercation that led to the shooting, or if the victim and suspects knew each other. Between three and five witnesses went to the Van Nuys police station to give statements.

Lt. Hare suspects the shooting was gang related, and called the murder "unremarkable." It's the sixteenth homicide in Van Nuys this year.

Woodman was closed between Victory and Vanowen while police conducted their investigation.

Residents and curious onlookers gathered outside the police tape for hours in the chilly November air chatting and speculating about what happened. The area was re-opened shortly after 9pm.

Yesterday afternoon, gunshots were reported several blocks away in the vicinity of Fulton and Oxnard. Lt. Hare couldn't say if the two incidents were related.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

This happened two blocks away from my house. I was at home at the time, but didn't hear anything. My mom wants to move.

Pardon Your Turkey

2006-11-23T15:34:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Life of a 4am Worker

2006-11-14T14:06:00.000-08:00

2:45am - My body violently wakes up. I panic, wondering where I am and if I've overslept. I look at the clock and realize I have fifteen more minutes of sleep.

3:00am - My phone alarm goes off, a really annoying midi version of "Alouette." It pisses me off so much that I can't help but wake up. I curse. I lie there for about a minute. I curse again and get out of bed.

3:05am - I turn on the shower. The bathroom is freezing cold, and it's pitch black outside. The shower feels like a heavenly warm water blanket, and I almost fall asleep twice standing up. I decide I don't have time to shave. I curse.

3:15am - Out of the shower and it's FREEZING. The mirror is all fogged up, so I'm not sure if I put my makeup on correctly. Just kidding, I don't wear makeup. Just a little eyeliner. I brush my teeth.

3:22am - I get dressed. I stare at my bed and longingly wish it were 1pm, so I'd be done with work and could go back to sleep. I curse.

3:28am - I walk outside to my car. It's freezing, but I'm kind of awake now. I turn on Howard Stern, where a girl is masturbating on a vibrating saddle at 6:28am Eastern.

3:32am - The devil on my shoulder wants a cigarette, the angel on my other shoulder calls me a fucking idiot. Angel gets sucked out the window when I open it to smoke. I roll the window all the way down, and for the ninth time this morning I am freezing.

3:36am - The window is back up, and my body isn't very happy about the cigarette.

3:45am - I get off the 101 in Hollywood. This is the only time of day L.A. freeways and streets aren't choked with traffic. I look at the homeless people and am glad I'm not one of them. They look at me going to work at 3:45am and they're glad they're not one of me.

3:47am - The all night donut shop at Highland and Santa Monica is rocking. Prostitutes and drug dealers mill around, waiting to stick something in their bodies. The cops sit in their car and watch from the Del Taco parking lot across the street.

3:49am - I'm stopped at a light. There are not cars coming in any direction. The green walk hand won't change to the flashing red walk hand, not matter what I do. I put the car in reverse, then drive. I flash my high beams. I think about running the light, but end up sitting there like a law-abiding tool.

3:55am - I park my car on the street outside my building. I look for a broken meter, but they're never broken in the morning. They only seem to flash "Fail" after I've put my two dollars in. I curse.

3:56am - The beep from my access card wakes up the sleeping security guard. I offer a cheery "Good Morning," and he gives me a look that makes me happy he doesn't have a gun.

3:57am - I walk into the newsroom. In my mind I'm greeted by joyous celebration, but in reality it's more like muted acknowledgement of my presence.

4:00am - I start writing news stories. It seems there are a lot of people that have been murdered, and a lot of children have been kidnapped or molested. My mind wanders as I think about never having kids, and I realize I've fallen asleep at my keyboard.

4:23am - Other people start wandering in to work. Most of them look as if they were sleep walking and somehow woke up at a radio station. The smell of burnt coffee fills the air.

5:12am - I have a lengthy internal debate over whether or not I want to take a dump at work.

5:45am - It's time for our morning meeting of the "Liberal Media." We sit and plot about how to make the Republicans look bad and the Democrats look good. Lately, the Republicans seem to be doing a fine job all on their own.

6:00am - Another meeting, this time smaller. It's the gathering of "Jews Who Control The Liberal Media." We laugh about how we told our people not to go to work in the World Trade Center buildings on 9/11. Then we pat ourselves on the back about how clever we are in getting the United States to keep supporting Israel. We think of new ways to steal money and laugh about that time we killed Christ. We put our horns away and get back to work.

7:30am - Time for break. I go downstairs and wander around for a bit. I contemplate buying something at the coffee shop, but I'm not hungry. I wander around some more, then go back to work.

8:15am - The news cycle slows down considerably, and I hit a wall. I wonder if anyone would notice if I curled up under my desk and took a nap.

8:42am - A heated newsroom debate ensues over whether the line "It appears the first female Speaker of the House likes Bush" is appropriate for a story about the bipartisan meeting between Nancy Pelosi and the President. It's deemed inappropriate, and I have to re-write my story.

10:07am - I realize I forgot to feed the meter, and race downstairs hoping I don't have a ticket. I don't, but someone has put a coupon on my windshield offering me a big discount on "The Cleaning of Dirty Car-pets." As I put in my last quarter, the meter blinks "Fail." If only it would have done that before I put my two dollars in.

10:32am - I go back over the stories I've written that day and laugh at how clever I am. No one can match my wit when it comes to writing about attempted rape. NO ONE!

10:47am - I spend way too much time thinking about the meaning of "Dirty Car-pets." Does it mean dirty carpets, or dirty pets that ride in your car? I have no need to get either cleaned, but I consider calling the number anyway...

11:15am - I read an e-mail from a friend suggesting we do a story about how You Tube is censoring his attempt to put up videos of him in various stages of going to the bathroom. I reply, telling him no. Again.

11:19am - I check my work e-mail and learn that Mark from sales, it's his birthday, and everyone should stop by his office at 11:30. I'm so not going. Then I read the last line, which says there will be cake. I'm the first one there. Which is awkward, because I just started two weeks ago and I've never met Mark.

11:45am - My stomach hurts, having been up nine hours and eaten nothing but two pieces of super sugary cake from Ralph's. Mark and I make plans to "meet up for drinks with everyone else from the office."

12:00pm - A bird whistle blows, and it's time to go home. I slide down the neck of a brontosaurus, landing through the cloth roof of my foot powered car.

And the pics they just keep on coming...

2006-11-13T20:21:00.000-08:00

Such a nice Jewish family...
(actual new content to come tomorrow)

Happy?

2006-11-12T17:43:00.000-08:00

New post to come...but since you all love the Bar Mitzvah pics so much, I thought I'd give you a little treat.

Hey 29

2006-11-03T17:54:00.000-08:00

On this day 29 years ago, my mom very uncomfortably shoved a human out of her body. And while I appreciate when people wish me well on my birthday, when you think about it, she's the one who should get the accolades on this day. People should come up to her and say "Way to endure all that pain so many years ago. Kudos to you, ma'am." All I did was go on the equivalent of a very short human water slide.

I mean sure, in years to come the day of my birth will be the cause of much rejoicing 'round the world. Kids will get the day off of school, postal employees will sleep in, and government workers will lazy it up on their own time. A small child will ask his mother why, on this day, do we not go to school? And she will respond with a fascinating tale about the greatest radio legend/blogger that ever lived. And on that day it will be appropriate, and perhaps mandatory, to celebrate my greatness.

So I've managed not to die for 29 years, and that's a good thing. Life is going well - I couldn't possibly be happier with my new job. Well, I guess I could. Not having to be there at 4am would make life a little more rosy. Waking up at 3am is on the painful list just under child birth and right above face transplant, but this profession which I've chosen, which I love, is a cruel sleep-depriving mistress, and I knew that when I got into this relationship.

By the way, I'm still doing segments every week over on the Schnauzer Logic Podcast and on the KSCO morning show every Thursday at 6:45am, streamed at www.ksco.com. Make sure to check out this weeks podcast, not only for my brilliance, but because Robin and the gang interview my friend Ali Waller, who is a writer on The Showbiz Show with David Spade. It's a fun interview and you'll learn a little about the process of writing, comedy, and setting your apartment on fire with candles.

I'm still the television critic for both shows, and anyone who's watched even a second of TV these days has been bombarded with political ads. It's election season, so that's normal, but it seems we have a heavier flow this year than in the past. Perhaps that's just in California. It's been interesting to watch them, because since I haven't been paying as close attention to politics this year than in years past, I'm seeing the commercials through new eyes. Normally I can watch the commercials and call bullshit on most of what they're saying, but this year I'm trying to actually learn from the commercials. Here's are a few things I've learned so far:

Cruz Bustamonte was fat, and now he's just slightly less fat.

Dianne Feinstein's granddaughter would vote for her.

Commercials for Proposition H make me think of Preparation H.

We should elect Phil Angelides governor because in college he hated Richard Nixon.

Some doctors want me to vote for the cigarette tax, and some doctors don't.

George Bush led the country into war, so I shouldn't vote for Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Anyone opposing former Governor Jerry Brown eats babies.

Every proposition helps children and hurts children. However I vote, something will happen to children.

It saddens me that most people base their voting decisions solely on commercials. Personally, I think they should all be banned. Politics should not be a reality television show where you base your opinion of a person or proposition on what you see on your television. I guess it doesn't really matter, since we're just going to be nuked by North Korea anyway. So until Armageddonddon, don't vote on Tuesday if you're not informed. Do it for the children.

Stone Grinding Time

2006-10-30T11:23:00.000-08:00

So I start a new job tomorrow. A real job, in a big building with parking and security guards and office supplies. I'm not going to say where the job is, because judging by some of the comments, a few of you have the makings of a stalker. I will say that it's in radio. My title is "Writer." After years of wanting to be a writer, it's kind of cool to officially have the title. I get to join the Writer's Guild and everything. It's part time for now, but since it's a union gig it pays well. I've never been in a union before; I wonder if I'll become really sympathetic to the plight of labor and start bribing officials. Union gigs in radio are few and far between these days if you're not on-air talent, and I've always been envious of those that had them. When I was a board-op at KGO in San Francisco, the full timers were all union. They would tell tales of outrageous salaries and 8 weeks a year vacation, and I'd sit there all wide-eyed and dream of the day when I, too, could sit complacently on my ass without fear of getting fired.

The job is in news, so not only do I get to be a smug union member, I also get to be an elite journalist and look down my nose at "shock jocks." On my road trip, there were surprisingly few moments of bursting clarity about what I wanted to do with my life, but I did come to the conclusion that if I was going to get back into radio, I'd rather do news than talk. I still cling to the romanticized notion that journalists are people we are supposed to trust and respect, that the fourth estate is there to keep the powerful in check and safeguard our liberties. I've long looked up to guys like Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite, Bob Edwards, and Geraldo Rivera - men you could trust alone in a room with your naked sister. They seem like the kind of guys who are the proverbial "smartest men in the room" - the kind of person you want to sit next to at a dinner party. Not that I go to that many dinner parties. Maybe now that I'm in news I'll get to go to more dinner parties.

It's been a little over two months since I got back from my trek across the United States, and thank god I can be done with the debasing process of looking for a job. In the beginning, you only apply to the cream-of-the-crop positions. You even get close to a couple of them. You have a great interview, and like a starry eyed teenage girl you start to imagine your life together with Company X. But while Company X may have liked the handjob you gave them on the first date, some other slut went all the way, and now Company X won't return you calls. Time goes on, and your bank account gets smaller and smaller. Soon you're sending in your resume to anything remotely connected to your field. Radio Shack has the word radio in the name of the company - I could work there. It's like an actress trying to make it Hollywood. You have all the best intentions, but after months of no work you've talked yourself into the thinking porn is actually acting and you're doing 10 person gang bangs for a bag of coke.

I like having a job. I like structure, and the satisfaction that comes with waking up and showering. I've been quite bored these past two months, and I find that the less I have to do, the less I'll actually do. I'm more motivated when there's structure in my life. I need assignments and deadlines. Plus I find being broke a demotivating factor. It's easier to actually get out in the world and do things when you can afford to buy the gas to get you there.

So this next chapter in my life starts tomorrow morning at 7:30am. Ugh. I should probably sleep all day today since I have to get up so early tomorrow...

As If The Gym Doesn't Suck Already

2006-10-27T20:51:00.000-07:00

To the guy next to me at the gym who kept farting: as if it's not bad enough that I have nothing better to do than go to the gym on a Friday night, I have to endure a constant stream of stink that smells like you're boiling eggs in your ass? I know it was you - there was no one within at least ten machines of us on either side. The elliptical machine is draining enough without having to breathe in toxic fumes. And the cruel irony of the gym is it's not like I could just go faster on the machine and put distance between us.

I tried making the volume on my headphones louder, but that did nothing to drown out the smell. I tried closing my eyes, but it's true that when you lose one sense, the others intensify. I guess I could have left, but I got there first and I was in an exercise groove.

Seriously, you need to get to a doctor, because there's something wrong with you. And if that's just how you are normally, I hope you live alone.

If I see you at the gym again, I'm going to plug a Glade air freshener in your ass.

Why You Tube is Worth Every Penny

2006-10-17T23:01:00.000-07:00

I was doing some research for the Schnauzer Logic podcast, where I am now the official television correspondent. I wanted to talk about shows that have been cancelled after rather short runs, when I came across a list of shows that got the axe after airing only once.

One show in particular caught my eye.

It was a British sitcom that aired once in 1990, and the premise was simple and rather clever; it was a send-up of the classic 1950's sitcom, complete with an arguing husband and wife team, nosy (you'll get the pun after you watch it) neighbors, and a horribly intrusive laugh track. Why did this seemingly innocuous show only see the light of day for one brief half hour 16 years ago?

Probably because the main character was Hitler.

And this is why You Tube is worth every litigious cent. After reading about this amazing lapse of judgment that is a sitcom, I HAD to see it for myself. And within two seconds, thanks to You Tube, I did.

You Tube: The Finest in Depressed Teenage Vlogs and Nazi Sitcoms, since 2004.

So without further ado, please enjoy "Heil Honey, I'm Home" (that's the name, I shit you not. The theme song will get stuck in your head. Try not to sing it outloud during temple)

Part 1

Part 2

Don't Half-Ass It

2006-10-09T21:58:00.000-07:00

Will someone explain to me why we still celebrate Columbus Day? Is it because we can't let go, even when our heroes are proven as false idols? Is it because we're that desperate to cling to the myth that this country was founded by a white European male? Or is it because to get rid of the holiday would mean that we'd have to finally face up and accept the fact that this country was founded on genocide and slavery?

It's probably a bit of all of the above, mixed in with a bit of Italian mafia strongarming (I've seen the Soprano's - I know how the mob feels about Columbus). To most American's, it's just a day when the traffic is lighter. Most people don't stop and think about Columbus on this day, or take a moment to reflect on the Pinta. It's a shame, really, that we even have holidays we don't even take the time to celebrate.

Yep, you read that right. I'm pissed that we don't pay Columbus respect on his holiday and I'm pissed that his holiday exists in the first place.

If you're going to have the day marked off as a FEDERAL holiday, why not go all out? And on the same token, if you're going to celebrate the day with sheepish indifference, why celebrate it at all? If it's going to be government sanctioned, I say put on your Columbus Day party hats! Honor the man's memory by setting out to go Chili's, but instead go to Red Lobster and call that Chili's. Drive to the nearest Indian casino and give a Native American a fatal disease. Slap a big sign on your car that says "Santa Maria" and drive to somewhere you've never been. Just do something. Because the point of these holidays is to make the residents of this huge mass of land feel some sort of connection to one another. The point shouldn't be to give postal employees a paid holiday to plan mass murder. And if we've all come to the conclusion that we just don't care, then it's time for the holiday to go.

And I'm not just pointing fingers here - I'm as guilty of blase celebration as anybody. Last Monday was Yom Kippur, the most holy day there is for Jews. You're supposed to atone for your sins from the previous year by fasting and reflecting and sitting in a dark closet for 10 hours remembering how bad a person you are and trying to focus on ways not to be such a schmuck next year. And I fasted, but I did little to no atoning. I went through the motions and took no time to pause and think about why I was depriving my body of food. I completely missed the point of the day, which is enlightenment through suffering. All I did was suffer for a few hours and then gorge myself silly, proud I had managed to not eat for a grand total of 24 hours, 12 of which were spent sleeping. Going through the motions is a pattern we've become satisfied with, and it's not healthy.

If you're going to commit to something, don't half-ass it. If you're going to commit to a war in Iraq, don't half-ass it. If you're going to commit to being the highest paid baseball player in history, Alex Rodriguez, don't half-ass it. And if we're going to commit to celebrating a man who discovered America but thought he was in India, don't half-ass it. We owe our genocide committing, slavery endorsing forefathers at least that much.

Trudel's TV Debut

2006-09-26T17:16:00.000-07:00

Part II of Oprah and Gayle's big adventure started in Sedona, where she explained they were going shopping for some health food. Cut to a quick montage of Oprah shopping. I was no where to be seen in the background. Next she and Gayle buy pillows and sheets and start making fun of the strange things people who don't have billions of dollars buy to make their homes a little more cozy. Cut to a scene of Oprah and Gayle driving and complaining, on their way out of Sedona. I was kind of surprised there were no shots of the beautiful scenery or mention of the mystical healing powers supposedly contained in the Red Rocks.

And then it came - an exterior shot of them driving out of Sedona, and if you look closely in the background, behind the last production car, there's Trudel in all her glory. I leapt off the couch and shouted in triumph. My job here was done.

The Oprah Drinking Game

2006-09-25T17:47:00.000-07:00

The world is on edge waiting for part II of Oprah and Gayle's ~~Lesbian Love Romp~~ Cross Country Adventure, which debuts tomorrow. Thankfully Oprah has decided to drag out the airing of her trip over the next twelve seasons, so last week they didn't get to the part of the trip that would contain me. Pay close attention:

THE BEST CHANCE YOU'LL HAVE OF SPOTTING ME ON OPRAH WILL BE ON THE SHOW AIRING TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 26. CHECK YOUR LOCAL LISTINGS.

They'll be showing the part of the trip where she was in Sedona. In Sedona, Oprah went shopping at a "Whole Foods" type supermarket, and this is where I first ran into her. I guarantee they'll include clips of her shopping, because the camera people were taking tons of shots of shocked Sedonians who just couldn't believe that Oprah would grace the floors of their market with her soft and supple angel feet. TV people love to use that kind of footage. So during the whole segment where she's at the store, look for me in the background. I'll be the bald guy with the scary long goatee wearing a golf shirt and a bathing suit. I'm wearing a bathing suit because I found when being on the road I would often not want to stop to go to the bathroom and bathing suits dried faster. Or it was because I was swimming up the road at Slide Rock State Park. I don't really remember.

As for my actual encounter with Oprah 120 miles later in Winslow, Arizona - I highly doubt any of that will make it into the show, as there weren't any cameras around.

So grab some friends, pop some popcorn, and play a game of "Spot the Jew" on Oprah tomorrow. Maybe even break out the tequila and play the following Oprah Drinking Game:

Every time Oprah refers to "My Friend Gayle" - 1 shot
Every time Oprah goes "ghetto" - drink a 40
Every time Oprah does something like "real folk" (i.e. pump her own gas) - 1 shot
Every time Oprah freaks out about having to do something like "real folk" - 1 shot
Every time Oprah and Gail tongue kiss - 4 shots
Every time Oprah walks on water - 1 shot
Every time Oprah claims something in Sedona is "so spiritual, transcendental," etc. - 1 shot
Every time Oprah says something condescending but doesn't realize it - 2 shots
Every time Oprah shits a brick of gold - 5 shots
Every time Oprah and Gail have a little tiff - 1 shot
Every time Oprah wipes her mouth with a $100 bill - 3 shots
Every time Oprah builds a poor person a house - 2 shots
Every time Oprah or Gayle remark on "how red" the rocks are - 2 shots
Every time a townie says something like "I can't BELIEVE Oprah is in my (town, market, bathroom, vagina)" - 3 shots

That should get you nicely toasted...

Oprah? Oh drat.

2006-09-18T16:28:00.000-07:00

The season premiere of the Oprah Winfrey show was today, which is normally an event that holds very little meaning in my life. Except that this season started out with (fanfare please) Oprah and Gail's big Road Trip!

I was all set to watch, to see if there was any mention of our encounter (which you can read about here). I figured Oprah would get to the part about Sedona, and the camera would come in for a tight shot of her face, and she would say something like, "In Winslow, Arizona, I met a man who has changed my life forever. His name is Jason Nathanson, and he is a very special person. We talked about road trips and life, and then he was gone, leaving me only a card with the name of a blog. So when I got back from my trip, I checked out his blog, and I found a magical world where dreams come true and everything is possible. His writing - so expressive, so insightful, so mature. His photographs captured the essence of who we are as a country. This is a brilliant and beautiful man, and I want to give him a billion dollars."

And she could have said something to that effect.

I wouldn't know.

I forgot to watch.

So if anyone out there caught the show, please let me know if I should be expecting a check. Or better yet, maybe someone with a DVD burning tivo recorded it and can burn me a copy. That would be great.

*image enhancement done by Robin Goldstein. Check out the podcast at http://schnauzerlogic.tblog.com/

I coughed so hard I hacked up a website

2006-09-13T23:31:00.000-07:00

Yes, I've been neglecting my blog duties. Sitting around all day watching Full House reruns has a way of sucking one's soul and motivation. But that's not to say I've been doing nothing. Tuesday night I stuck my toe in the waters of California politics by doing an interview on the show I used to produce. Wednesday night the Associated Press picked up my quotes, and I expect by Thursday morning I'll be hit with calls from various media outlets, gubernatorial campaigns, and perhaps even CHP investigators. Check out the article for yourself:

Talk Show Accessed Schwarzenegger's Site

By: LAURA KURTZMAN (Thu, Sep/14/2006)

SACRAMENTO, Calif. - A Los Angeles talk radio station says it easily accessed the same part of Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger's Web site that his Democratic rival's campaign used to obtain a private conversation and leak it to a newspaper.

"We've been hacking them for years, if this is hacking," Jason Nathanson, a former producer for the Jon Ziegler show on KFI 640-AM in Los Angeles, said on the show Tuesday night.

State Treasurer Phil Angelides' campaign manager has acknowledged that two staffers gave a recording of the governor bantering in his office with his staff to the Los Angeles Times. The governor later apologized for remarks he made about a Hispanic female legislator.

The governor's campaign has accused the Angelides campaign of unethical behavior, and the governor's office has referred the matter to the California Highway Patrol for investigation.
Angelides has yet to comment on the leak. His campaign pointed out Tuesday's KFI program to The Associated Press.

Angelides' spokeswoman, Amanda Crumley, said the program supports the campaign's claim that Schwarzenegger's office itself is to blame for putting up private recordings on their own Web site.

"It further undermines their wild accusations in this whole matter," she said. "The Schwarzenegger campaign made an error, and now they're trying to cover that up."

Nathanson said that when the Angelides campaign explained how its staffers downloaded the leaked recording from the governor's Web site, he realized he had been doing the same thing.
"It's the same exact Web site that we used to use," he said.

Nathanson said he stumbled on the audio files while trying to find a link the governor's press office had sent him. However, he acknowledged that he never found a recording of a private conversation in the governor's office like the one the Angelides campaign leaked.

"I typed in a few numbers wrong and I got a whole list of all the governor's speeches, interviews, all the public things that he's been doing for years," Nathanson said on Tuesday's show. "And there's a whole directory that they had on their site, and it was public. It wasn't private. There was no password needed. There was nothing protected."

The leaked recording was made during a speech-writing session in the governor's office last March. In it, Schwarzenegger and his chief of staff, Susan Kennedy, speculate lightheartedly about the ethnic background of state Assemblywoman Bonnie Garcia.

After they chat about whether she is Cuban or Puerto Rican, Schwarzenegger says: "They are all very hot. They have the, you know, part of the black blood in them and part of the Latino blood in them that together makes it."

Garcia appeared with Schwarzenegger when he apologized and has said she was not offended.

The governor's legal secretary, Andrea Hoch, said in a statement that the leaked file and others that were downloaded by the Angelides campaign were stored "in a password protected area" of the governor's computer network.

Anyone who strayed into the area where the recording was stored should have received a pop-up warning saying it was restricted to authorized users, said the governor's spokesman, Adam Mendelsohn.

He said the radio station's actions were different than the campaign's.

"The radio show did not go in and access private conversations and secretly leak them to a newspaper," he said. "This is a fundamentally different set of circumstances with the intent to harm the governor."

Copyright 2006 Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed

Home

2006-08-31T04:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm still around, and Yes, the trip is technically officially over. I've spent the last week in a decompression chamber so as not to get the bends, and it seems to have worked so far. I've been filling my days with sleeping, eating, and visiting with friends and family. I kind of feel like a newly released convict in reverse - they usually have a tough time adjusting to the freedom, and I'm having a tough time adjusting to not waking up in the morning to drive my house to the next destination.

As I drove over the hill from Thousand Oaks into the San Fernando Valley last Monday , furnace like winds blasted through my open windows, signaling I was home. Having spent the final leg of my trip driving down the often frigid Pacific coast, the heat was a definite reminder that it was still summer in most of the country. As I entered Woodland Hills, I was honored to see the city had thrown a parade heralding my homecoming. Thousands of cars sat motionless on the 101 awaiting my return. It was truly touching.

I found coming home and ending the trip rather anticlimactic. There was no signature moment, such as disembarking a plane into the arms of friends and family. I simply drove the car into a parking lot and turned it off like I had thousands of times before. Sure, I was happy to see my parents, but I had kept in such close contact with them throughout the entire journey that I didn't feel like I had missed them. Plus, I lived in Northern California for 8 years, so this was hardly the longest we've gone without seeing each other. Their reaction upon seeing me, however, put everything into perspective. They were happy and proud and inquisitive and they treated me like I had just accomplished something momentous. And at that moment it kind of hit me - I had. I had just driven around the country for three months and three weeks, through 37 states, and I experienced more in that short span than a lot of people get to experience in a lifetime. True, I didn't figure out the meaning of life or discover my true calling. But at least I went looking rather than sitting on my ass. Right?

So now it's time to take this experience and figure out how to use it for good, not evil. That may take a little time. Meanwhile, I plan to continue this blog and explore Los Angeles in a way I've never had the chance; as an unemployed adult. This will include very cultural and erudite activities, such as attending yesterday's taping of "The Price is Right." Did I come on down? You'll soon find out.

And in the first of many thank you's in the weeks to come, thanks for reading. We seemed to have formed a little family here over the past few months, complete with crazy uncles types who you wish would stay locked in that little room under the stairs. Your support and generous comments have definitely made if feel like even though the passenger seat was empty, there was always someone along for the ride. Stick around - this thing ain't over yet.

Going back to Cali, to Cali, to Cali

2006-08-20T15:06:00.000-07:00

Somewhere along Highway 1 on the California Coast
Campgrounds campgrounds everywhere, but nary a place to sleep. School is starting and Summer is coming to a close, so finding a place to camp along the coast on a Saturday night was probably a losing proposition from the start. I drove and drove as the sun set and set, and as darkness and tiredness started to envelope me I pulled into the parking lot of the Ragged Point inn where a small sign proclaimed “No Overnight Parking.” As I type this, I expect to get kicked out at any moment, but hopefully my overnight camping karma will prevail and I’ll be allowed to sleep through the night unmolested. So far on the trip I’ve yet to be kicked out of any parking lot or roadside turnout or ditch where I happened to rest my wheels for the night. Early on in the trip I figured that by not popping the top of the camper I could pass as any other low-pro parked car (albeit a car with curtains), but by this point I say fuck it and pop the top anywhere I please – in drive through lines, inside car washes, I’ve even popped the top while stopped at a stop light. I’m a rebel, Dottie, a rebel.

I’m south of Big Sur and North of Hearst Castle, which means I’m within spitting distance of L.A. I’m inching along, ever so slowly, in the hopes of dragging this thing out as long as possible, but the end is uncomfortably near. I’ll be unemployed and living my parents. Fuck. I’m halfway to being an actor.

I was in Seattle last weekend where I spent the day with Suzi and our friend Jeremy who was visiting from Merced. The salmon were running up the locks, and the city has built an area where you can walk down into a concrete structure with windows below the water line and watch them fight their way against the current. It’s odd to watch these large, ugly fish swim with such might in order to make a tiny bit of progress, and it’s heartbreaking to think that after they finish this horribly stressful journey they basically just spew our their eggs and then die. And those are the lucky ones. The others die along the way or get eaten by birds or humans or bears (do they have bears in Seattle?). What a shitty existence. If there’s an afterlife, I hope everyone who’s ever been an asshole to me comes back as a salmon.

Saturday night I stayed at my friend Dave’s place. We’d met in Santa Cruz when we were just baby radio worker bees, and Dave has since gone on to get a degree in journalism and write for a couple of papers. He writes for a daily in Everett, which is just north of Seattle, and his place was the first of all my friend’s places that I’ve seen around the country to make me jealous. He has a three bedroom house with hardwood floors and a front porch and a carport and a back room/deck that has a sweeping view of Puget Sound. For $1300 a month. I paid $1400 for my studio in San Francisco and $1150 for my one bedroom apartment in L.A. I guess I’m moving to Washington. I can kind of understand the high prices in San Francisco because it truly is a great place to live, but the price of places in L.A. just makes me sick. Unless you live in Santa Monica or the Hollywood Hills, it’s just a flat, smoggy, viewless, uninspiring, hot, traffic choked shithole. And everyone wants to live there.

Congratulations are in order for Dave and his bride to be, Camilla, on getting engaged last week!

Sunday morning I got word that Jen had gone into labor, so I started heading south to deliver the baby. I was far enough away, though, that there was no way I was getting to San Francisco before Ayden was born, especially if I took the laborious coastal road the whole way. It turned out that I had a better chance than I thought, however, because Jen ended up being in labor for 20 grueling hours. Chicks get the rough end of the deal on that one, man. I know that every guy who watches his wife go through the birthing process tries to be really supportive and say things like “I felt so bad for her, she’s such a trooper,” but I know most of you smile to yourself just a little bit because you know it’s never going to be you lying there with your legs wide open pushing a baby out of your penis. And women, I know you think you get the short end of the stick, but think about it this way – at least you’re not a salmon.

Driving down the Oregon and northern California coast is spectacular, but the process of achieving it is like the process of achieving most things in life that are beautiful – tedious and slow. It took me the better part of two days, and I was in the San Francisco area by Wednesday afternoon.

We interrupt this posting to let you know that I have been kicked out of the parking lot. Well, not exactly kicked out, but warned that if I stay the cops would be called. However, I was informed that about a quarter mile down the road there was a turnout where no one would bother me, and that’s where I currently reside. There were two other small motor homes when I got here and they’re a little nice than mine, so hopefully if someone wants to carjack and kill one of us, I’m not the most likely target.

I had planned to see the baby on Thursday, so I wanted to bring a couple of gifts. I popped into the big mall in San Jose and headed straight for the first baby store I saw. The second I walked in I realized “You know what, I have never in my life been inside a store that sells only baby stuff, let alone actually shopped for baby stuff.” The look upon my face must have broadcast this thought loud and clear, because I was immediately approached by a sales woman who asked “Can I help you” in a tone that really meant “Don’t worry, I know you’re as clueless as the newborn for which you are shopping – we’ll get through this with a minimal amount of pain.” She showed me to the new baby stuff and we rifled through singlets and booties and cheesy shirts that proclaimed the father of the baby that would be wearing it rocked. I found a fuzzy green hat and matching booties that were cute and made my first baby purchase. Now a baby shopping authority, I dismissed the next store as cheap, “Baby Gap” as too commercial, and another store as too generic. I bought a hoodie jacket embroidered with a monkey from an overpriced boutique, and at that point I was exhausted.

One thing I really liked about the baby clothes world, that I’d like to see brought over to the adult world, is the shopping by age rather than size factor. How much easier would it be to walk into Macy’s and go to the section marked “336-360 Months?” Although, inevitably some snooty saleswoman would say “Are you sure you’re 346 months? You look a little more like you’re around 400 months. Why don’t we try something a little older.”

Wednesday night I was in San Jose, where I did my Schnauzer Logic segment in studio. Having done it on the phone for the past few months, I have a new found respect for radio guests who are good on the phone because it’s so much easier to be an in studio guest. You can make eye contact with everyone and see by their reaction what stories are hitting and when to move on, plus it’s so much easier to feed off of their energy. And I’ve got to say, there’s nothing better to me than sitting in front of a mic and just shooting the shit with friends. I don’t care if I’m in the nicest radio studio or in someone’s second bedroom – you put a mic in front of me and something just switches on in my brain. We had a lot of fun, did what felt like a pretty kickin two hour show (I say felt like because I haven’t actually listened back to it), and you can check it out for yourself over at www.schnauzerlogic.tblog.com. Sean, it was great to see you again, nice to meet you Parviz, and thanks for letting me do laundry Robin!

Wednesday night I drove to Santa Cruz to sleep in the parking lot of KSCO. I figured this was the wisest move, as my segment on there is at 6:45am, and there was no way I would actually be making it to the studio at that time unless I slept ten feet away. It turned out to be an interesting morning – this is what I wrote when I was woken up early and couldn’t fall back asleep:

Allow me to bitch for a second about how radio ruined my morning. So I’m doing the KSCO thing, and not only is it enough that I’m awake at 6:45am, I’m expected to be entertaining as well. And being on in the morning is the most coveted gig in this industry, so if you’re getting up at 3am to be at work by 5, you’re doing something right. And only when you work in radio do your friends feel it’s not only okay, but perfectly acceptable to call you at 5am just to chat, which is what Sam happened to do this morning. Now, a lot of people wake up and wonder where they are, but for the past 3 and a half months I’ve seriously had to take some time with that question every morning, because often the answer has been something that takes a little getting used to like “Oh, you’re in a Wal-Mart parking lot in Missoula, Montana.” So this particular morning I remember that “Oh, I’m in the parking lot of KSCO in Santa Cruz,” and by now I’m off the phone with Sam and it’s 5:15. It would be great to fall back asleep, but of course it’s now the time when people begin arriving at work to start their lovely day, so the parking lot is a sea of commotion all around me, and I just know the morning news woman, Susan Simon, is going to investigate what this strange car is doing in the parking lot. Sure enough at 5:30 there’s a knock on the car followed by “What are you doing in this parking lot?” Well, this question is answered by Rosemary, the host of the morning show, who just happened to pull up at that exact second, and she says to Susan “He’s parked here because he’s coming on the radio with us at 6:45.” You might think that the news anchor could put two and two together and figure out that if a late 80’s model VW van is parked in the lot on a Thursday that maybe it’s the guy who has been doing a segment on the show every Thursday for past 3 and half months about traveling around the country in a late 80’s model VW van. You would think. Not to mention the fact that when I told Rosemary on the phone just yesterday to expect me in the parking lot this evening, she jokingly said “I’ll alert the media.” Her own staff IS the media, and she failed to alert even them. When I pulled up at midnight last night, I knocked on the door to alert the overnight board op to my presence so as not to be woken up by the cops and this guy straight out of Santa Cruz cliché central casting opened the door to tell me “No worries, bra…peace.”

Regardless of all the commotion, my segment was, of course, brilliant this morning, and thanks to Robin Goldstein of Schnauzer Logic for hosting it over at www.schnauzerlogic.tblog.com. While you’re there, check out his most recent podcast featuring me. And fans of the weekly KSCO conversation, don’t despair (all both of you). The trip may end, but the hijinks will continue. Yes, I will continue doing a segment at 6:45am every Thursday morning until I get kicked off the station, which if past history is any indication, is inevitable. You can catch the stream over at www.ksco.com, and I will hopefully figure out how to capture and post it myself so as to stop sapping Robin’s bandwith with my millions of fans listening and downloading from his site.

I spent Thursday morning driving around Santa Cruz, checking out how things had changed since I’d left six years ago. There are a few more buildings, downtown is a little more gentrified, but the wacky homeless still reign supreme. A guy walked past me in a long trench coat with a small gray kitten on his shoulder. The kitten was on a hemp leash. I picked up a few things for Jon and Jen – sandwiches from Zoccollis, cookies from Pacific Cookie Company, skordalia from Vasili’s. I went up to campus and a ton of new construction had been completed in the past few years, including the new bookstore that actually gives the college a central place to gather and hang out, something it had lacked when I was in school. I bought little Ayden a baby UC Santa Cruz Banana Slug t-shirt and then made my way up to San Rafael.

Baby Ayden is cute and squirmy with a full head of dark hair. I looked at pictures of Jon as a newborn, and they could have easily passed for Ayden. Jon is the oldest of four boys who all look alike, so you knew his genes were going to be dominant, but it’s still shocking to see it in person. I’m an only child and I don’t have a large family, so I haven’t spent much time around babies. The whole thing is very foreign to me, and I quickly learned that they are very loud. When they’re not happy, they let you know at high volume, and they seem to not be very happy often. He slept for most of the time I was there, and I even held him once without doing any visible damage. Jon and Jen are the first of my friends to have a kid, so it’s an interesting process to watch. Hopefully I’ll learn a few things so that when it’s time for a mini-Jason, I’ll be ahead of the curve.

I left the Marin area Friday afternoon and traveled to the east east-bay to hang with my cousins Jana and Elisa who guilted me earlier in the trip for coming to the area and not stopping by. We had a nice dinner, and I tried to regale them with stories of my journey, but unfortunately they keep up on the blog so I had nothing interesting to talk about. Elisa works for a Honda dealer, and she told me that she’s looked at my blog so much that her company has blocked access to it. If you’re getting banned you must be doing something right, so that made me very proud. My blog and midget porn – both blocked by Honda of Hayward.

So that’s about it – a few more stops, and I’ll likely be home on Monday. It’s supposed to be over a hundred degrees – I can’t fucking wait. I have half a mind to pass through L.A. and drive straight through to Tijuana – half a mind and an empty wallet…I don’t think I’d get too far.

Welcome to the World

2006-08-15T10:41:00.000-07:00

Arcata, California
I started this trip with a baby changing table in Trudel’s belly, and the baby to whom it belonged sat growing in my friend Jen’s belly. So it’s only fitting that as I started my descent down the West Coast back into California, little baby Ayden started a descent of his own. Around 9:30 pm Sunday night, Ayden Hess Serviss was born. Welcome to the world! Here are a few pointers to help you figure things out:

-You should try and play at least a little every day.

-It’s not always enough to be right; you need to know why you’re right.

-Most people are really nice, but the few mean ones have such overwhelming personalities that it seems like their numbers are stronger. It’s this illusion that gives them their power.

.-It’s all right to be scared, it’s all right to be wrong, it’s all right to be bad at something, and it’s all right to fail.

-Try to be good at a lot of things and great at least one thing.

-It’s okay to ask as many questions as you want, just make sure you listen to the answers.

-Speaking of listening, make sure to pay attention when someone tells you their name, and when they do, repeat it to yourself silently three times.

-Not everyone is going to like you. You’ll have a much better life if you focus your attention on the ones who do, not the ones who don’t.

-Read everything you can get your hands on – newspapers, books, menus, road signs, cereal boxes, magazines – everything.

-Except for directions. Don’t read those. Try to figure it out for yourself first. If you can’t, the directions will always be there.

-Intent is just as important as action. Often it’s even more important.

-Dogs are better than cats, despite what your mom will try to tell you.

-If you want to do something permanent to your body, think about it for at least a year.

-The longer you want something, the more you’ll appreciate it when you finally get it.

-A sign may say “Restroom is for customers only,” but if you go in and start to do your business, it’s not like they’re going to kick you out in the middle.

-Natural ability will only get you so far.

-Treat everybody as if they’ve already earned your respect until they do something to lose it.

There are many more secrets to living a happy, successful life, and as I figure them out I’ll let you know. I’m sure once you can talk you’ll have a tip or two for me.

Homestretch

2006-08-12T09:52:00.000-07:00

Snoqualmie, Washington
First things first - Happy Birthday Mom! Her birthday was August 9th, and she'd like to let all of you know she's only 34.

My 11 day shower boycott finally ended last night to the delight of anyone I will come in contact with today. It's not that I'm an unclean person...at home I've been known to shower twice a day. Shower accommodations on the road, however, are often less than sanitary in their appearance and I actually have felt dirtier after using some of them. I went swimming in wonderfully fresh and clean river in Yellowstone during the 11 day hiatus, so at least I was fully immersed in water at some point, even if there wasn't any soap involved.

Ah, Yellowstone. I spent a full three days, from Tuesday to Thursday, in what is arguably the most famous and popular of our National Parks (I saw arguably because the Grand Canyon is probably technically the most popular, but I don't think of it as a park. Yellowstone is a park. The Grand Canyon is, well, a canyon). Upon entering the park, I encountered a half hour construction delay that was a sign of frustration that would continue over the next three days. It's odd to be in the middle of what should be natural splendor and feel like you're stuck on the 101 during rush hour. Yellowstone during the Summer means tourist choked roads and construction, and you just have to deal. People drive like retards, stopping in the middle of the road for every Bison sighting, when they should be courteous and use the turn out RIGHT NEXT to them. Half the tourists are foreign, and it would be easy to blame them for the inconsiderate behavior because they just don't know any better, but 90% of the time it's Americans who are the biggest violators. No wonder the world hates us.

Despite all this, however, the park is amazing. The whole thing sits on a huge volcano, causing all the odd geothermal features like geysers, gurgling mud pools, and steamy ponds. Wildlife runs, well, wild across the hills and valleys. I saw Bison, Elk, Eagles, Deer, huge Rabbits, and Beaver. Despite several hours spent searching, however, I failed to spot a bear. Bison are the most prevalent species, delighting tourists and stopping traffic for miles. They are rather inconsiderate animals, often ambling along roads and stopping for minutes like the crossing guards of the park. They'll come right up to your car, decide whether or not they want to head butt you, and move on. Apparently every year hundreds of tourists ignore the 25 yard rule and are gored, something I'm very disappointed I did not witness. Something I saw a lot of, however, were children strapped into those leash/harness contraptions. It was odd to think that all of these animals can run wild for millions of acres, but the species in need of taming are human toddlers.

During my stay, I saw Old Faithful shoot forth her majestic stream twice. It happens roughly every 92 minutes, and it's still a real crowd pleaser after all of these years. Benches ring the geyser, and as people start gathering it resembles something of a rock concert. The second the first stream of water comes shooting out, children squeal and adults "ooh" and "ahh." It's a nice communal experience.

One thing I highly recommend that's not on the map it taking a dip in the Firehole River. It's kind of hidden, off the map, and one of the few things that wasn't crowded. It's on the two mile Firhole River loop, and you'll see a sign a few minutes past the Madison campground. You park along the side of the road and walk down some steps into a small canyon. There are a few small rapids, and when you plunge into them, they whisk you downstream and around corners at a speed fast enough to be fun but not so swift your life passes before your eyes. The water is alternately warm and cold due to the thermal nature of the river, and it's very rocky, so wear water socks or some kind of footwear.

Finding a campsite in Yellowstone during the summer isn't that hard provided you arrive before 2pm. I believe there are seven major drive in campgrounds and over 100 backcountry campgrounds. I stayed for two nights at Madison, where I found my fellow campers very friendly. On Wednesday night my neighbors even invited me over for pie! And I finally figured out how, after over three months, to build a decent campfire. The pyramid style is a scam that will fall apart and burn out on you very quickly; the best way is to start with a layer of rolled up newspaper logs set side by side on the bottom, followed by a layer of kindling set across the newspaper, followed by another layer of kindling laid across that, followed by your smaller logs laid across that. This will give you a nice rectangular or square shaped pile which will allow you to build extra layers as the bottom layers start to go out.

I left Yellowstone Thursday afternoon and drove into Montana. I spent the night at a Wal-Mart in Missoula where bees attacked the dead bugs splattered across the front of Trudel. At one point I went into Wal-Mart to, um, check out on aisle number two, and when I came out tornado force winds were blowing all of the potted plants across the parking lot. The sky was pitch black with lightning raging to my north, I was certain Dorothy's house was about to land right next to me. There was never any rain, just insane winds and lightning. That subsided, and I fell asleep only to be awoken around 2am by the sound of shattering glass. I peeked out the window, saw nothing of concern, and fell back asleep. In the morning, I discovered a huge painted glass ashtray smashed about five feet from my van. I figure some kids were probably messing around, saying "let's fuck with the smelly homeless guy in the van by throwing a large piece of glass near his car." Kids today.

As I drove along I-90 into Idaho, I realized that I've finally come full circle and am retracing earlier steps of the trip. Sure, I'll drive down the coast from Seattle and probably take some roads I didn't take going north in the beginning of my trip, but the "exploring places in the country I've never been before" portion of the trip is officially over. I'm in the homestretch, and I'll be back in L.A. inside of two weeks. It's been three and a half months, and I feel like I just left yesterday. The rest of this trip, I'm going to have that feeling like it's the last Sunday in Summer and school starts tomorrow. Thankfully I get to spend the next two weeks driving along one of my favorite places in the world, the coastal area of the Western United States, and there's definitely going to be a lot of pausing and reflecting going on.

Again, I tried to upload pictures and only one went through. Below is Nate in Chicago telling the head statue outside the zoo never to go to Pizzeria Uno ever again.

Bikers and Bears and Borglum, Oh My

2006-08-06T20:50:00.000-07:00

Custer, South Dakota
Playing poker in Deadwood with the owner of the casino and a rotating cast of bikers – life doesn’t get more interesting than this. It’s Bike Week in Sturgis, South Dakota, and cyclers swarm all over the Black Hills like ants on a child’s fallen ice cream cone. A light rain is falling, and the smell of wet leather chaps almost overpowers the scent of millions of Ponderosa Pines. It’s hard to determine if that’s thunder rumbling in the distance or thousands of choppers exiting I-90. There’s an estimated 550,000 bikers in the towns of Rapid City, Deadwood, Custer, Sturgis, and the area surrounding Mt. Rushmore, and it’s funny to watch these grizzly looking men and their old ladies gawk like Japanese tourists at the sight of four massive historical figures carved into the side of a mountain. It’s spring break sponsored by Harley Davidson and Jack Daniels, and most of the girls going wild probably have grandkids.

I know I’ve been bad at keeping you, the faithful reader, current on my travels, and since my last meaty post I’ve been in Chicago, through Wisconsin, up and down Minnesota, and across South Dakota. Chicago is a great city, and I wish I had a dollar for every person I’ve met who has gushed at the mere mention of its name. I had no idea Chicago was so beloved by travelers all across the country, and after three days there I can see why. It’s a beautiful combination of New York and San Francisco – there’s fantastic architecture, a picturesque waterfront, culture at every turn, and it’s not so choked with people like the Big Apple. Millennium Park was viewed as a costly nightmare while being built, but the thousands of people enjoying the gardens, outdoor amphitheater, unique sculptures, and water features seems to indicate it was worth every over-budget cent. The oppressive heat was definitely a hindrance to being able to fully enjoy the windy city, but I saw enough to feel like I got a feel for the place.

As for pizza, my dad and I have been on a worldwide search for the best of the best ever since we ate a magical pie in Germany when I was a child. Since then, every place has to measure up (even though I’ve long since forgotten what it was that made it so great), and while theme of this trip is “The Search for Myself,” the sub-title could easily be “The Search for the Best Pizza.” So far Tacconelli’s in Philly has been the hands down champ, besting such venerable favorites as Grimaldi’s in Brooklyn and Domino’s in Manhattan (seriously, when I asked the doorman of the building where I was staying where the best pizza was, he said “Domino’s.” Thinking he meant a small mom and pop’s with the same name as the sub-par megachain, I followed his directions to end up at the bright red, white, and blue sign we all know as a symbol for mediocrity in the pizza world. I did not speak to this doorman for the rest of the trip).

Now, I’m partial to the thin crust variety, but I don’t discriminate, and if you say you’ve got the best pie I’ll give it a try. The pizza wars between Chicago and New York are legendary, each claiming they’ve got the best and most authentic variety, each serving up a version so different from each other you wonder how they can both lay claim to the same word. Chicago pizza really is a pie, taking at least half an hour to bake and served in thick, cake-like slices. I’ve had Chicago style versions on the West Coast and I’ve never been too impressed, so I wanted to make sure I had the best of the best of what Chicago had to offer. This meant a trip to Pizzeria Uno, which on a Friday night meant waiting an hour and twenty minutes for the thing to be cooked. I was staying with one of my best friends from High School, Nate, and his wife Tanya, and after calling to check how long they were running we decided to order for take out. Nate and Tanya like toppings, and while I think the true test of a pizza is how it stands up sans accoutrements, I figured they would know best, and we went with half sausage, olive, and mushroom for them - half olive, mushroom, and garlic for me. Nineteen years after ordering the damn thing, Tanya and I go to pick it up, and I grow confused when she takes a rather long time to come back to the car with our already delayed dinner. It turns out they put onions on the whole thing instead of sausage (common mistake – say both words out loud right now and see if you can tell the difference), which wouldn’t normally be the biggest of deals except for the fact that Nate has an Israeli/Palestinian hatred for onions on pizza, and to make a new pie would take another hour. The upside was that we got the pizza for free, and the downside was that we had to endure Nate bitching for the rest of the night (which is in fact actually an upside, because to watch Nate bitch is like watching Picasso paint a picture or Mario Lemieux skate through traffic – he elevates it to such an artform that by the end of the night there are pizza conspiracy theories involving Bush and Rove and the free flow of information around the world – it truly is a sight to see).

We got back to the apartment and shoveled out some slices, and I took a moment to survey what was before me. It was thick and heavy and could only be eaten with a knife and fork. The crust was flaky and buttery and would easily separate from the body of the pie. It was the exact opposite of what in my mind a pizza should be, as if I had ordered a vanilla ice cream cone and was handed a socket wrench. I tried my best not to prejudge, but goddamn it, it just wasn’t pizza. It was good and it was cheesy, and after two slices I felt like I was about to give birth to a rather large sea cow, but it just wasn’t pizza. Or maybe it really was pizza, and all my life what I’ve been calling pizza is really an imposter. Whatever it was, it didn’t best the memory of what I had eaten in Germany. It didn’t even come close. Sorry Chicago – you’ve got a great city, but give it up with the whole pizza thing. Calling it an “Italian Cheese and Grease Pie” would be more accurate.

I left Chicago on Monday and spent a couple of days exploring the scenic lake-land of Wisconsin and Minnesota. Most of Minnesota is truly an unspoiled vast wilderness, and while part of me would love to live in such splendor and isolation, I wonder if I actually could. Probably not, but it’s a great place to visit. While driving, I got very excited when I saw a sign saying “United States Hockey Hall of Fame,” because hockey is by far my favorite of all the sports. But the sign on the door saying “Closed until further notice” couldn’t have more fittingly summed up the U.S. interest in hockey. I spent some time wandering around the “Mall of America,” and was disappointed by the fact that it’s just a very large mall. It’s hardly the destination spot I had been led to believe it was by Travel Channel specials and kitschy guidebooks. Hotels in Vegas and “The Grove” in L.A. are far more interesting centers of commerce. And since people travel to the “Mall of America” from all over the country, one would think they would have a parking area that would allow overnight RV and camper parking, but they don’t. In this traveler’s opinion, the “Mall of America” is highly skipable.

Thursday saw my entry into the state of South Dakota, where the first stop was Sioux Falls. They’re supposed to have cool waterfalls, but after seeing Havasu Falls in Arizona and Niagara Falls, it’s hard to get excited about brown water falling over jagged rocks. I spent the night at a Wal-Mart in Watertown, and I set up my camp chair outside the car just like I would at a campsite so that I could sit and read in the cool evening breeze. Before long, the retired couples from the two RVs in front of me (who didn’t know each other) pulled up their chairs to form a circle and we sat and chatted about tractors and motorcycles until well past dark (or more precisely, they chatted and I nodded, because I don’t know anything about tractors and motorcycles).

South Dakota, and specifically I-90, is littered with roadside attractions – more so far in one state than I’ve seen in most of the country. The first I stopped at was the Porter Sculpture Garden in Monroe. Right off I-90, a 60 ft. metal bull head catches your eye and it’s hard not to stop. And you’ll be glad you did. I gawked at bizarre, Tim Burton-esque sculptures while walking through this huge, beautiful wheat field surrounded by rolling green hills and deep blue skies puffy with white clouds. Scattered throughout the field are skeletons, ballerinas, fish, boar, flower pots, and of course the afore mentioned bull head. It’s massive burnt orange horns contrast brilliantly with the sky, and it’s like wandering through some surreal dream while wide awake. It costs $4 per adult, paid directly to the artist, Wayne(?) Porter. I sat and talked to him for a while, and when it took an hour for Trudel to start (damn electric problem!), he kindly brought me soda, water, and grapes. He even offered me a bag of fried chicken because he made too much for his dad and Wayne himself is a vegetarian, and he was very happy to meet a fellow veg. He’s a little off, as one might suppose of a man who sculpts large metal dragons, but it’s in a kind, not creepy way.

South Dakota Roadside Attraction number two was a stop at the Corn Palace, and while it’s not actually built out of corn, the entire outside is decorated with corn, including intricate corn murals created out of halved cobs. It’s cheesy, and it was built specifically to put the town of Mitchell on the map, but it’s free, so the price is right.

Attraction number three you start seeing signs for in Minnesota. It’s Wall Drug, and either you know it or you don’t. Sadly, like several other places on this trip, I first heard about it on the first season of “Road Rules,” the now defunct version of the “Real World” set in a Winnebago. Wall Drug started out as a drug store/soda fountain/place to stop while traveling on I-90. In the ‘30s, they weren’t getting enough business, so they put out signs on the road saying “Free Ice Water for Travelers.” They were soon mobbed (shows you how little it took to pack them in during the Great Depression), and the store just grew and grew into whatever it is today. It’s a café, ice cream parlor, doughnut stand, gift shop, video arcade, roadside attraction, book store, purveyor of tack, museum, and drug store rolled into one big ball of kitsch. There are about six signs per mile for Wall Drug heading east on 90 from Minnesota until you hit Wall, South Dakota, and it’s study in genius guerilla marketing. Whether you know what it is or not, by the time you get there you’ve seen so many goddamn signs it seems like Wall Drug is such an important piece of land it’s a wonder the Israeli’s haven’t claimed it as their own.

The town of Wall was the first place I hit that was inundated by bikers, and I spent the night drinking Jack Daniels in a biker bar staffed by hot young Russian chicks. Apparently they work there on an exchange program while looking to marry an American before their work visas run out. They were oblivious to my charms, however…maybe because I haven’t showered, shaved, or changed my shorts in a week. I’m living out every five year old boy’s dream and every mother’s nightmare, and I’m simultaneously attracting wildlife while repelling humans.

Saturday I hit Deadwood, famous death site of Wild Bill Hickok who was shot during a poker game while holding Aces and Eights (known today as “Dead Man’s Hand”). The town itself is part Old West recreation, part old school poker mecca, and at this time of year, filled with bikers. I found a card room offering a free tournament at noon (you start with 500 chips and can buy in for $10 if you bust out), and I busted out 7th out of 30 or so. I hung around for the next 8 hours playing $3-$6 limit hold ‘em. South Dakota gaming laws prohibit any player from making a bet of more than $100 at any one time, so no-limit poker doesn’t exist, and consequently all yhe locals are very good at limit. I lost about $100 during my time at the table, but it was the most entertaining $100 I’ve ever lost. Whenever the table was short on players, the owner of the joint would come over and sit down to play. But he didn’t want people to lose money and leave, so any time you bet into him he’d fold his hand. Bikers constantly streamed in and out, and I really got a chance to have some good conversations. They look a little gruff, but they couldn’t have been nicer, and they tell a good story. It was a friendly game, and I was actually making some money, but as it got later the real talent started to show up to pick me clean.

I spent today roaming around the Black Hills, which are lush and green despite their name (they get their name because there are so many pine trees that from a distance, the hills look black). Roadside attraction #874 was Bear Country, USA. It's a drive through zoo containing Arctic wolves, Bison, donkeys for some reason, and of course tons and tons of bears. When you drive through each habitat, the animals are right there with your car being the only buffer, but they're so domesticated it's like seeing bears on prozac. It's worth the $13 to be able to get that close, and I was even able to sneak one small cub into the back of Trudel.

From there is was on to the faces in the mountain, and I've got to say that Mt. Rushmore is pretty damn impressive, a true testament to the vision of two men and an awesome example of man’s ability to bend nature to his will.
Travel Tip:
You’ll see signs all over saying the Borglum Museum (about Rushmore sculptor Gutzon Borglum) is the greatest thing ever created, and thirty minutes will give you a lifetime of memories. Bullshit. The audio tour is boring and poorly produced, and I fell asleep during the movie. Pick up any guide or coupon book in the area and you’ll learn all you need to know about the man. Plus, at Rushmore itself, you get to see his studio, which is far more interesting and informative. The museum is a waste of $8.

I was torn, however on the Crazy Horse Monument, due in large part to the fact that it’s no where near completion. One tribe, I’m not sure which, is carving Chief Crazy Horse into the side of a mountain, and when it’s done it will be the size of like a million Mt. Rushmores. Right now there’s only a head, and you have to pay $10 to get in the parking lot (Rushmore is $8). Crazy Horse is funded solely by donation, entrance fees, and the Indian tribes – they get no federal funding, so it’s nice to know that your money is going towards something good. And it’s cool to say you were there while it was being built, because you can’t say that about much these days. But $10 is a little steep. I guess I would recommend it because it’s nice to give something back to a people we all but destroyed, but the Jew in me can’t help but bristle at the thought of paying so much to see so little.

Oh, and I finally got pulled over. I think I’ve traveled over 15,000 miles so far, and I was just remarking to someone the other day that I was shocked it hasn’t happened yet. I thought for sure I’d get popped Texas just for looking like a hippie. So I’m driving West on 90 around Rapid City, and a cop car was sitting in the median watching bikers go by, looking for Hell’s Angels and meth dealers. I drive by going ten miles under the speed limit because it was windy, and I see a few bikers behind me pass as well. In my rear view mirror I notice the cop pull out, pass the bikers with his lights on, and pull behind me. To be honest, with all the bikers on the road, I was SHOCKED to be pulled over, and since I know I wasn’t speeding, I was very curious to find out what it was for. Turns out the tinting strip on the top of my windshield extends to far down (it should stop about the midpoint of your rearview mirror). I was issued a warning and sent on my way. I was happy the cop was quick about the whole thing, because I was drunk off my ass and if he took any longer I was going to have to pee my pants.

This post would be ten times better with pictures, but unfortunately Blogger feels otherwise. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to add them...

What I've Learned So Far

2006-08-02T09:55:00.000-07:00

Ely, Minnesota
As I write this, I’ve been on the road for exactly three months. At KFI, I used to do a segment every week called “What Did We Learn” that would recap the events of the week, so in honor of that, here’s “What I’ve Learned: Road Trip Edition”:

-Oprah Winfrey is a very down to earth person, but she could probably use better body guards

-This country is very large and very beautiful

-When possible, always take a two lane road over a highway

-Large bugs will often be sucked in through your open window while you’re driving – try not to freak out when they land on your chest or in your lap. Screaming like a little girl and swatting wildly will cause an accident.

-Speaking of bugs, they will also often splat against your side view mirror and explode bug body fluid all over you.

-The bug body count on the front of your car will resemble a bug genocide so terrible that if there were a bug U.N., you’d be tried for war crimes against bugmanity.

-It’s possible to go up to five days without showering, but that sixth day is going to be very gross

-When it comes to swimming in bodies of water, there is definitely a hierarchy: Rivers are best, followed by lakes, then oceans, and then ponds. Motel pools should never EVER be used, ever.

-And speaking of things to avoid, the state of Texas is best avoided from June-May.

-The state with the best total cell phone coverage is Wisconsin – the state with the worst is Maine.

-Bug spray is pretty much a scam.

-Moose are surprisingly quick.

-Skippy peanut butter can sit in the back of a swelteringly hot car for months and still be edible.

-Saying you’re vegetarian is akin to announcing that you are a pedophile in a lot of places.

-A portable GPS is probably the best tool to have for any trip, but they are fallible, so bring a map.

-Motel 6’s can either be perfectly acceptable or disgusting filth-holes. The newer the building looks, the better off you’ll be.

-Sirius satellite radio is probably one of the best things ever.

-Despite what we in lala-land think, just saying you’re from L.A. will not cause girls in rural towns to drop their pants.

-If a state is known for something, you’ll see signs for it the second you cross the state’s borders. In other words, you won’t have to search hard for cheese in Wisconsin, BBQ in Texas, Lobster in Maine, Amish in Pennsylvania, or Mormons in Utah.

-There are surprisingly few Wells Fargo ATM’s outside the western United States.

-The cheaper a motel is, the more likely it is someone will have been murdered in your room. Conversely, the cheaper a campsite is, the more beautiful it will probably be.

-On a trip like this, plan to spend around $100 a day.

-Gas station bathrooms should be avoided at all costs.

-Bees and wasps like to hang out in the electricity boxes at campsites, so be careful when plugging in.

-VW vans are great for doing a road trip by yourself. If you’re traveling with a spouse, partner, or friend, you might find the quarters a little too close for comfort. If you’re traveling with your family, be prepared to end up like Andrea Yates.

-Most kids would rather go to Disneyland for vacation than a National Park. Subsequently, when they run around like crazed Hyenas, they’re going to ruin your vacation AND mine. Do us all a favor and leave the kids in the car (but crack a window, because it’s hot).

-The most common roadkill are skunks, followed by cats, possum, squirrel, dogs, and birds. I’ve seen one dead deer by the side of the road.

-The cheapest gas can be found in rural Arizona ($2.09 a gallon!), the cheapest overall state for gas is Texas, and in Oregon and New Jersey it is against the law to pump your own gas.

-If you plan on going to more than three National Parks in a year, a National Parks Pass ($50) will save you a bunch of money on entrance fees.

-If you smoke, don’t buy cigarettes in Chicago ($8 a pack) or New York ($7.50).

-If you pull over on the side of the road to take a nap in a heavily Christian area (the South, for instance), be prepared for good Samaritans to wake you up every five minutes to see if everything is okay.

-Wireless internet networks that allow you to get internet access anywhere in the country aren’t up to speed yet, and your connection will often be slower than dial-up. I have Cingular, and I think the only other provider right now is Verizon.

-The best things the East Coast has that the West Coast doesn’t are frozen custard and fireflies.

-Don’t fuck with Canada

On another note – a very happy birthday to the real Trudel (the Grandmother, not the Van), who turned 91 on Saturday! I love you very much and I’ll see you soon.

Picture Dump - Maine and Niagara Falls

2006-07-29T11:21:00.000-07:00

Here are some pics from the past few weeks (click pics for a bigger version):

The line at Red's Eats, a Lobster Roll/Sandwich shack in Maine

Fresh from the sea - a Lobster Pound in Bar Harbor

My first Moose

Those kids at Harvard showing their wit and brilliance

Pro-life, pro-trucker

Every time a child laughs, a Trudel gets her horns

Cannibal penguins at the Niagara Aquarium

Sign #43 you don't really like you kid that much:
Let him play around the railing of Niagara Falls

As You Were

2006-07-27T16:41:00.000-07:00

I turned on "Comment Moderation" without knowing what it meant, and now it's off. All old comments have been published, and please rest assured that this was a simple error on my part and not an attempt to stifle anyone's freedom of expression. I find the comments I get interesting, entertaining, and often downright confusing, and the only thing I've deleted to date (which was a few days ago, and my attempt at figuring out how to do it is what led to me enabling "comment moderation") was something that looked like spam.

For those unaware of what I'm talking about, "comment moderation" allows me to preview people's comments before they actually appear on the blog, and then I physically have to publish the comments I've deemed worthy or acceptable. I have no plan or desire to do this. So commentors, as you were.

Falling for Niagara

2006-07-27T07:02:00.000-07:00

Monroe, Michigan
Quick post. I know I've been slacking on the blog lately, but there hasn't been a whole lot to write about. I've officially started my journey back West, having left Boston on Sunday, and my plan is to be in Chicago by Saturday.

Boston is a great city, surrounded by history and great architecture and funny accents. I stayed with my friend Danielle, and in keeping with my pattern of bringing bad weather wherever I go, there was thunderstorms, heat, and high humidity most of the weekend. Friday night we went out for a nice dinner and then to Fanueil Hall for a comedy show featuring Gary Gullman. For those not familiar with him, he's currently on the HBO series "Tourgasm" and was a finalist on the first season of "Last Comic Standing." Funny guy, and if you see him in a city near you, I recommend catching the show.

Saturday we walked around Harvard, sneaking our way onto a guided tour. The brick buildings, ivy covered walls, and sense of importance was a far cry from my college experience at University of California at Santa Cruz. I had a good time during my college years and I learned a lot about life and myself, but part of me has always wished I'd gone to a more traditional school. I never would have gotten into a school like Harvard, but I couldn't help but wonder if my life would have been different had I had a more typical college experience. I probably would have joined a fraternity and become a total douchebag, so maybe it all worked out for the best. Hell, had I not gone to Santa Cruz and dropped out to work at KSCO, I wouldn't be where I am in radio! (and maybe that would have been a good thing?)

I left Boston on Sunday and had a toddler intensive day, starting with a stop at the house of an old friend from high school. Lindsay left California to go to school in Boston, where she met Chris, eventually got married, and popped out little Theo. He's 15 months and was a little cranky when I first got there, but eventually he warmed up and we had a nice time catching up on life (me and Lindsay...I didn't catch up with Theo seeing as he can't really talk yet).

From there it was back to New York, specifically the Poughkeepsie area, where I spent the night at Greg, Lisa, and Eva's house. Greg and I worked together at KSFO in San Francisco, and he and the fam moved back East a couple of years ago. Eva is now 3ish and growing up beautifully (except for a little problem with getting ready for bed, but I can't really blame her - I have the same problem). We sat and bullshitted about radio and what a god-awful business it is, and how much we love it anyway, and it was a nice night. Lisa is a gourmet vegetarian chef and was happy to be able to cook for an appreciative vegetarian, and I was stoked on getting a home-cooked meal. The next morning I was off to Niagara Falls.

I spent all of Monday driving and not realizing just how far the falls were, and finally got to the area in the evening. I got a campsite and settled in for the night, ready for an early start on sightseeing. Tuesday morning I was up and out early and at the falls by 9. I bought a combo ticket that gives you admission to several attractions for $24, including the "Maid of the Mist" and the "Cave of the Winds" tour. I left the visitors center and walked down the path for my first look of the falls, and I was blown away. It really is magnificent and inspiring and thunderously powerful, and the first thing I wanted to do after peeing was go over the falls. I can't explain why, but all my instincts were screaming about how much fun it would be. It was really an almost overwhelming urge, and while I don't think I was in danger of being compelled to jump into the river, I really wanted to.

I jumped on the "Maid of the Mist" after putting on my complimentary yellow plastic poncho, which with the heat of the day made me feel like a turkey in a roasting bag, and we set of into the falls to be soaked. "Maid of the Mist" is one of those time honored tourist things that everyone talks about, and in my experience so far, most of those experiences fail to be all that exciting. The "Maid" however lives up to the hype. Sitting on a boat that's driving into the rushing waters of the falls, when every bit of common sense you have is saying to go the opposite way, is truly a unique experience. You get a great view of the American, Bridal, and Horseshoe falls, and you even get to take home some souvenir genuine Niagara Falls water. You can't help but take it home, because even with the yellow roasting bag, you're soaked in it from head to toe. As an added bonus, hot tourist chicks also get completely soaked, so it's like a boat ride/wet t-shirt contest.

After that, I went to check out the Aquarium, which is really just a sad depository for old fish. Seriously - it seems like the place they send all the old fish and sea life from other aquariums around the country. Of the four Sea Lions they had in this small little swimming pool, two were completely blind, and one looked like it had been snacked on by Starr Jones. Inside, the place smelled like rotten fish, which doesn't inspire a lot of confidence coming from an aquarium, and it hasn't gotten a new coat of paint in about two decades. They did have penguins, though, but of course they had to be mental penguins. One woman who goes there a lot told me that a few weeks ago one of the penguins had shed, and since then he spends every waking moment facing the wall and staring at one particular spot with his arms spread out. I saw it, and it was slightly disturbing.

But this time I was dry and ready to be soaked again, so it was off the the "Cave of the Winds" which walks you down to the base of Bridal Falls. You stand on this wooden walkway they built and experience this torrent of water rushing over you, until you remember your phone and camera and wallet are in your pockets. Luckily there was no permanent damage, but I've been paying for things in soggy bills for the past two day. It was better than any water ride I've ever been on, and there's something majestic about it.

I left the area yesterday morning after spending the night at a Mobile station near the Pennsylvania border, and since then driving through the industrial and barren stretches of Ohio and southern Michigan have been quite a contrast from the lush and picturesque landscapes of New England. After Chicago, I'll probably make a beeline for the wilderness of Wisconsin and Minnesota.

More as it happens...

NY Pics

2006-07-14T06:34:00.000-07:00

I've figured out a way to stay in New York. I'm going to bring Trudel into the city and subdivide her into three apartments. The front area will be one, the back area will be another, and the poptop will be a pricey penthouse. I'll rent each for $3000 a month (penthouse for $6000), and I'll use that money to buy a basement apartment in Queens.

I've gotta say I'm kind of in love with this city. Last night I played chess in Bryant Park at 10pm with a Nigerian immigrant who totally kicked my ass. In what other city would that happen? Okay, maybe Branson Missouri, but that's the only other one. Street vendors sell bagels and cream cheese for a dollar a pop, the subway is amazingly effective and I've found it very easy to navigate, and every other person I see on the street is a hot Jewish chick. The only dissapointment I've had so far came last night. I made my way to Brooklyn for Grimaldi's pizza, which is supposed to be the best in NY, and it was only okay. Crust wasn't thin enough, and the pie was undercooked. Sorry cousins June, Danielle, Stacy and George, if you're reading this, but it just wasn't what I was looking for. Pizza is kind of like religion, where everyone says theirs is the best and they get all defensive if you disagree, so I won't harp on it.

In the meantime, I've taken some great pics in this city, so I'll end this post with some of my favorite (click on each picture for a larger version - they bigger they are, the better they look):

Art student sketches at Grand Central

Walkway near Rockefeller Center

Browsing at the Met

Three pics is the most Blogger will allow me to upload, apparently, so the rest of my favorite NY pics can be found by clicking here

New York, New York - It's A Hell Of A Town

2006-07-12T18:02:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a while since I've put up a big meaty post, but the days of sitting around with long stretches of time on my hands are long gone. It's the East Coast, baby, where life moves at a thousand miles an hour and if you stop to catch your breath it's gonna pass you by. D.C., Philly, New York - there's just so much to do that I've been packing every minute with touristy goodness and then coming back to whatever place I'm calling home that night and crashing. Plus, I've been actually seeing and staying with people I know, and it's kind of rude to excuse yourself to go write a blog. But this pace is tough to maintain, and finally tonight it's all caught up with me. It's 9pm, I'm sitting in mid-town Manhattan, and while I should be out partying, I can barely lift my fingers enough to type. But I know the public craves fresh posts (and by public, I mean my parents), and who am I to disappoint?

I spent most of last week driving around central southern Pennsylvania, Amish country and Gettysburg to be precise. The first interesting thing I learned is that the Pennsylvania Dutch aren't Dutch at all, they're German. When they first came here, they said they were "Deutsch," which is German for German, and the new settlers thought they said "Dutch," and it stuck. So for hundreds of years, these people who are really German have been called Dutch. This is just one of a long list of examples of Americans taking a culture and completely redefining because of our own ignorance. What a country!

And speaking of culture, the Amish are crazy. But in a good way, a way I can respect. Being among them, it was the first time on this trip I really felt I was experiencing something totally different than anything I had ever seen before. What I've found so far on my journey is that as Americans, we're pretty much all the same. Sure, we eat different foods in different places and some of us have unique accents, but for the most part we all look alike and think alike and act alike. Ghettos in Alabama look similar to ghettos in California, malls in Spokane look just like malls in Atlanta, and a roadside dinner in Delaware is just like a roadside dinner in Arizona. But the Amish aren't like anything else I've seen. They way they live, dress, act, and speak is all theirs, despite the fact they live among all us "normal" people. A common misconception is that they're walled off, unexposed to society, but nothing could be further from the truth. They work among everyone else, drive along the same roads, and shop in the same stores. And the fact that they've been able to hold onto their unique identity while being immersed in our fucked up society is a testament to deep foundation of their beliefs. Because if nothing else, American culture is best at hitting you over the head with the message of conformity. Dress like this, eat here, drive this, and everyone will accept you. But the Amish have managed not to buy in, and I respect that.

Now, an astute observer to this blog might ask themself "Why do the Amish get respect from you when you blasted the Mormons for being creepy and cultlike? Aren't they both weird religious sects deserving of your scorn?" Good question, with a simple answer. It wasn't that I disliked the Mormon's for what they believed, it's the fact they try so hard to get you to believe what they believe. The Amish couldn't give a fuck about you. They do their shit, and if you want to buy in, that's cool, but otherwise they're going to leave you the fuck alone. And they just want to be left the fuck alone. There's a very similar parallel with Jews and Christians, in that Christians proselytize and convert, whereas Jews don't really need you. I mean, six million of our people were killed, but did we once try to go out and recruit in order to build our numbers back up? Nope. So while I think what the Amish believe in might be a little whacked out, there's still a sense of solidarity there. Peace to my Amish brothas. And by the way, Amish women have big hairy man feet. I guess it comes from generations of hard manual labor, and it's kinda gross.

In Philly I met up with my friend Danielle, and since she grew up there, she was my defacto tour guidess. We went to Betsy Ross' house, Ben Frankiln's house, and Independence Hall, and then we took a ride on a Duck Tour. For those unfamiliar, Duck Tours exist in several major cities around the country, and they take you on converted military vehicles that have the ability to drive around on land and then plunge right into the water to float around like a boat. This company bought a bunch of these vehicles and converted them into tour mobiles in cities that have land and water points of interest. It drives you around Philly, pointing out sights like South Street and the Liberty Bell, and then you motor straight into the Delaware to view the city by water. It's a fun and unique tour with well trained, informative, and funny guides, and it's a good way to be a tourist. The only bad part it that the tour never stops, so if you see a sight that you'd like to walk around, you have to go back there on your own.

A great day in the Birthplace of Freedom was topped off by what was one of the best pizzas I've ever had at a place called Tacconelli's. You have to call for a reservation, and you're not so much reserving a table as your are your pizza dough. You have tell them in advance how many pies you're gonna want, and along with non-alcoholic drinks, that's all they serve. Literally. The family next to us brought their own salad and bowls. If you didn't reserve a dough, but you're feeling extra hungry, you might get lucky if they have an extra lying around, but don't count on it. Danielle and I, being two hungry people, easily polished off one pie (8 thin, smallish slices of pure heaven), and we probably could have gone for another had the first one not taken an hour(!) to arrive. After dinner, we got to hang in the kitchen for a bit and see the brick oven that's been baking goodness since the 1910's. There's one guy that makes all the pies, and one door to the oven, and when one pie comes out another goes in. That's why it takes so long, but it's definitely worth the wait.

Sunday I started making my way from Philly towards New York. Robin Goldstein, of Schnauzer Logic fame, was in the Hudson River Valley cleaning out her mom's house, and we met up for a nice dinner. Being the unprepared slacker I am, I didn't secure a campsite in the area for that night, and by the time I stared calling around they were all closed. Robin graciously offered for me to stay in the driveway, which I did, and at 5am the next morning I woke up like a kid going to Disneyland - I was on my way to New York City.

Now, sometimes on a trip like this you get really lucky (winning hundreds of dollars playing poker hours before I left Vegas for the second time) and you get really unlucky (torrential rain in D.C. closing half the shit I wanted to see). The gods must have been smiling on me this time, because I scored my own New York apartment. My mom's best friend's cousin lives in New Jersey and works in Manhattan. He apparently is pretty good at what he does, because he's able to afford a New York apartment in addition to the Jersey house. He was going away on business and had no problem letting me stay at his place during this leg of the trip. Park Ave. and 35, baby.

So I've been in New York for three days, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't amazing. I've found on this trip that few things live up to their reputation, but New York isn't in that category. I could see myself living here, as long as they got rid of the rain/heat/humidity we're currently experiencing. Oh, and probably the snow, too. Make it Fall or April all year round and I'm there. And maybe lower the cost of living. A few small requests.

I'll write more about my actual excursions in the city, but I'm literally about to fall aslezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The Amish Sense of Humor

2006-07-06T18:34:00.000-07:00

Haven't been here in quite a while

Unfortunately I've been here quite a few times

Pics - Wedding Weekend and D.C.

2006-07-06T07:21:00.000-07:00

Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania

First things first - Happy Birthday Dad!

Sorry it's been so long, but it's taken me a little while to get back into the swing of things. It's quite an odd sensation to go from a weekend of drunken debauchery with all of your friends to sitting in a van by yourself in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country. And don't get me wrong - by the end of the weekend I was very excited to go back to the life where I could eat and sleep and live on my own schedule. Walking around Los Gatos with between 5 and 20 people every time we wanted a meal and trying to decide who wanted what and what place could actually take us - it was like high school all over again. The whole weekend was great - I really miss all of my friends and it was nice to get together as a group in a celebratory manor. Line of the weekend, and there were many, came by Sam at the wedding when at the table next to us these kids had huge plates of Challah and they were tearing into it, crumbs flying everywhere, and Sam cracks "It's like the Challahcaust." Good times.

Although, it was hard to pick just one good line, because during the wedding speeches it turned into a night at the Friar's Club. Usually the family of the bride is the more sentimental, but not the Resnicks...they got up and proceeded to roast the shit out of Rebecca. It started with her dad, Jeff, who's giving his speech, and you're not quite sure where he's going, and then he breaks out with "I was trying to think of some funny stories to tell about Rebecca, things she's said or done that were funny....but the truth is, Rebecca's just not that funny." There was cautious laughter there, because people weren't sure if it was okay to laugh at the bride during her own wedding, but then he just kept zinging her - it was great. Gabe's family would get up and say something sweet or sentimental, and then another one of Bec's brothers or sister would get up and kill. It was the easiest 7 speeches I've ever sat through at a wedding, and I actually can't wait to see the video.

I've posted all the wedding pics here (by the way, the flash on my camera wasn't working, which explains the dark nature of a lot of my pictures. I wasn't trying to be artsy, or make a statement about the darkness of marriage or anything like that)
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=gyqcbgn.6ysb63lj&x=0&y=-3klpzj
(it will ask you to sign in, but you can click "View Photos" to bypass that step)

I'd post some photos directly on the blog, but Blogger is once again being a little bitch.

All the pics of D.C. are up too.
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=gyqcbgn.cgz87nzr&x=0&y=-r4x6i4

I know I never posted about that part of the trip, and I'm not going to do so in detail now, but it was great. I stayed with my cousin Josh and his girlfriend Michelle in Alexandria, and I was Mr. Tourist the whole time. Since all the Smithsonian museums were closed due to the rain, as well as the National Archives, I spent most of my time just walking around. I saw most of the monuments, as well as the very moving Holocaust museum, where I think I took some of my best pictures. I met another cousin, Seth, and his wife Susie for lunch on Thursday, and then Josh got us a tour of the Capitol. He's knows a guy who went to college with majority leader Bill Frist, so we got the extra special tour, allowing us to sit in the gallery for over an hour. I got to see every Senator in person, from Hilary to Kennedy to my personal favorite, Robert Byrd. I'll definitely have to go back and see all the things I missed...next year? (by the way, the picture I teased a while back never happened. It was supposed to be with Frist, but when he heard it was going to be with two Jews from California, he backed out. I can't blame him - it makes no sense for him to take pictures with voters who aren't from Tennessee. Still, I think he was worried about the intellectual smackdown he was about to receive - he must have heard The Random Show before. The promised pic with a powerful person wasn't a complete lie, however - I did get one with House Speaker Denny Hastert. Sort of. That's me standing next to him on the floor of the Senate hall of statues - he doesn't actually know he's in the picture with me)

Right now I'm in Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania, on my way to Gettysburg and to see some Amish. I've heard they're really good at fixing cars. It really is very beautiful in this part of the country, torrential rain aside, and I'm thoroughly enjoying driving around the backroads. There were a ton of fireflies last night, as opposed to the one I saw in Alabama, and I sat there for about 45 minutes just mesmerized. It's the little things.

Nathanson's Ark

2006-06-29T20:03:00.000-07:00

I'm glad I picked such a calm time to visit the Eastern seaboard. Apparently I should be turning Trudel into an ark and carrying out animals two by two. I got a ton of rain in D.C. on Tuesday, so much so that for the entire time I was there, every Smithsonian museum except for one was closed because of flooding or power problems or some other bullshit that prevented me from doing one of the main things I came to D.C. to do. Fuck. Other than that, I saw pretty much everything I wanted to see, including a very cool Capitol tour this afternoon. I'll write an in depth post very soon. I'm taking my laptop to California this weekend, and I should have some free time...

My flight leaves at 8:50, so I have to get up at 2:30 a.m. to get there on time. Not really, but it's going to feel that way in a few hours. It's 11 now, so I think I'll get some sleep. Or I'll try to get some sleep, if the goddamn thunder would just let up...

Coming Soon to a Blog Near You...

2006-06-28T21:44:00.000-07:00

I'm in D.C. and I leave tomorrow. Hopefully there will be a picture of me with a very powerful person. If it happens, I'll post it and many other excellent D.C. pics as soon as I can. I leave early Friday morning for California, and I don't think I'll be taking my laptop, so hopefully I can get everything up tomorrow night. So far D.C. is tied with Hickory Nut Falls, North Carolina for favorite place I've been.

In the meantime, check out last weeks KSCO radio hit. Robin's been dealing with some intense shit, which you can read about on his blog (which is why there haven't been any new Schnauzer Logic Podcasts), but he was still kind enough to post last weeks KSCO segment. That's true friendship for ya.

And if you're up, check me out live on Good Morning Monterey Bay tomorrow (Thursday) morning at 6:45am pacific. They stream live over at www.ksco.com There is a very good chance I will be hung over. In fact, I'd count on it.

Where You At?

2006-06-25T18:33:00.000-07:00

I'm actually in Northwest North Carolina right now, but this isn't exactly current, but it's close (happy birthday Drew)

Caaaamping in the Raaain

2006-06-25T08:45:00.000-07:00

Hickory Nut Falls, North Carolina
This entry was written last night and posted this morning

I’m sitting sequestered in the van in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, trapped inside by a summer thunderstorm outside. There are worst places to be trapped, for sure; I’m sitting in a campsite overlooking a raging, boulder filled river, surrounded by dense forest and an even denser fog. It’s quite beautiful, and if it wasn’t raining, I’m sure I’d be getting some great pictures.

I’ve covered quite a bit of ground in the past few days, going from Alabama to Atlanta, Savannah, Myrtle Beach, Charlotte, and now here in North Western North Carolina. Atlanta was the only place I spent any decent amount of time, the rest of the places have just sort of been drive-bys. I’m kind of pressed for time, because I’m supposed to fly out of Philly to California for a wedding Friday morning, which means I need to get to, see, and leave D.C. by Thursday night. Ideally I’d get there Monday night and have three full days to see the city, but in all reality Tuesday morning is looking more likely. The bottom line is that I’m rushing through Georgia and the Carolinas at a pace at odds with the slow and easy speed with which these areas are meant to be seen, but I’m digging it all nonetheless.

In order to the see the sights in Atlanta, I put into effect a game plan quite different than the way I’ve been approaching most of this trip – I actually planned ahead. I dug out a guidebook I forgot I had, found four sights that looked interesting to me, and set about going to these place. I found this worked more effectively than just driving around the city and haphazardly spotting The Alamo. On the day’s docket was the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial, The Coca-Cola factory, Underground Atlanta, and a tour of CNN.

Pulling into the parking lot of the MLK memorial, a big sign tells you to lock your car and hide your valuables or put them in the trunk. It’s a sad bit of irony about the area that surrounds the memorial of a man who was arguably the most effective civil rights leader and preacher of non-violence who ever lived. The complex encompasses several blocks, and it contains the neighborhood where MLK was born and grew up (Sweet Auburn), the church where he pastored, a information center/museum, and a memorial containing tombs for him and now his wife. The information center/museum building is pretty new and very nicely done with exhibits and a short film about the children of the civil rights movement. Across the street, MLK’s tomb sits raised above a long cascading rectangular pool. It’s a nice place to sit and reflect, however it has the feel of a San Fernando Valley Parks and Rec building, and it doesn’t seem dignified nor grand enough to mark the final resting place of one of the most important figures in this country’s history. The adjoining museum housing some of his, Coretta’s, and Gandhi’s personal effects is similarly underwhelming, and while very interesting, it lacks the sense of importance that the information center/museum across the street manages to capture.

By contrast, the World of Coca-Cola couldn’t be more self-important. I don’t know what it says about our culture that a museum dedicated to a sugary soft drink would be far more impressive than one dedicated to one of the most important people in history, but it can’t be good. And when I say impressive, I mean that it’s obvious a lot more time, money, thought, and planning went into the WOCC. Coca-Cola was born and bottled in Atlanta, and you’re basically paying $9 to be hit over the head with a three story commercial for Coke (the MLK Memorial was free, by the way, and about half as crowded), and the display I found most interesting was a theater where they looped a film of a bunch of Coke commercials from the ‘50s through today. Again, I’d like point out the insanity of paying $9 to get into a “museum” built by a corporation and then sit inside said museum with a bunch of strangers and watch 15 minutes of commercials for that corporation’s product. But when the commercials were over, damn did I want a Coke. Luckily, it’s just a short flight of stairs down to the tasting room, where you can sample Coca-Cola products from all over the world. You grab a plastic cup about twice the size of a shot glass, and you walk through a line of self-serve fountain machines sampling delights like an apricot soda made in South Korea, a passion fruit number from some island, and a lemony beverage from Israel. It’s a World’s Fair of carbonated beverages, and by far the worst entry is an Aperitif of Bitters from Italy. It tasted like battery acid mixed with radiator coolant and strained through a jockstrap, and it was funny to watch person after person sniff, sip, and then spit it out. Seriously, you could see the people who worked at the place standing huddled off in the corner snickering, and when they’d catch you looking at them, they’d disperse and go about their jobs. Hell, if worked there I’d stand around all day watching the stupid tourists drink foul liquids.

A short walk from the WOCC is Underground Atlanta, which sounded cooler in the guidebook than it actually is. It’s basically a mall built in an underground parking lot right beneath downtown, so it’s a nice, cool place to walk around in the summer heat and eat a pretzel. It was here I actually had my first taste of regional cuisine – Fried Green Tomatoes! As a vegetarian, it rare that I can open a menu and see local cuisine not found in California that I can actually eat, so it was a very exciting moment. They were good, too – crunchy and slightly sour and tasty. Sated, I set off for CNN.

I was probably more excited about this than anything else, given my career in talk radio. For the past several years I’ve basically been paid to watch cable news ten-twelve hours a day, so it was exciting to see the behind the scenes stuff. CNN is located adjacent to the swanky Omni hotel inside what used to be, I kid you not, an amusement park built in the 70’s dedicated to the World of Sid and Marty Kroft. CNN is run out of what used to be a building which showcased the visions of two guys who did a lot of acid. It’s hard to think of CNN as dignified when Christiane Amanpour used to write her reports in the same room where the H.R. Pufnstuff Fun and Furry Bonanza ride used to be.

You take an escalator up to the 8th floor, and when I got to the top I learned why I started to get dizzy about half-way up – it’s the longest free standing elevator in the world. Seriously, I thought I was going to fall backward at one point. I wondered if I fell off the thing and died, would CNN run a story about it? The first thing they show you is a large video screen set up with 16 or so picture in picture boxes; this is what they see in the control room. You see graphics that they have cued up and ready to go, packaged pieces waiting for a director to say roll, and reporters on scene waiting to be told they’re live (or “hot” as we’d say in the radio biz). They even let us listen in on the action going on the control room, with the tour guide warning “They’re supposed to know they can be heard, but don’t be surprised if you hear something you’re not really supposed to hear.” I know all too well what kind of conversations go on in the control room – we often joke that they’re a lot better than what’s happening on air. I was hoping to hear the guys saying what a douchebag Anderson Cooper is, or how Wolf Blitzer wears panties and a cock ring during his show, but no such luck.

Next we walked through a Habitrail looking above the main newsroom, and I was disappointed we couldn’t take pictures. It was weird – we were walking around the building like hamsters, looking into the fishbowl of CNN below us. It was hard to tell who was actually on display, us or them.

One thing that surprised me is that as soon as we saw the main floor, it hit me how much I miss that kind of environment. There something very exciting and sexy and alluring about the energy of a live broadcast newsroom in full swing. It’s a lot of fun to be a part of a team putting a product on air, and it’s the kind of thing that’s either in your blood or it isn’t. I realized it’s still very much coursing through my veins, and I was kind of hoping some kind of disaster would strike right there and then. It would be like when someone goes into labor on an elevator, and someone shouts “Is anyone here a doctor?!” Had there been a major incident, the tour guide might have yelled “Is anyone here a producer?” I would rip off my shirt to reveal a microphone hanging around my neck like a stethoscope, and yell “Why yes, as a matter of fact, I am!” and I would have run down there and delivered the news as a doctor would have delivered a baby. Well, not exactly the same way – I doubt I would be pulling the news out of the female anchor’s vagina, but you know what I’m saying.

From there I left Atlanta, a city I really enjoyed, and headed towards Savannah. Since then I’ve really just been driving, not really staying anywhere long enough to get more than a superficial sense of the place. Savannah was very picturesque, Myrtle Beach had more miniature golf courses in several square miles than I’d ever seen in my life – it’s as if every hurricane season the storms are picking up mini-golf places from the middle of the Atlantic and just depositing them on the shore of South Carolina. From there I headed Northwest, into the mountains and apparently into a storm. My destination was supposed to be Asheville, a town supposed to be somewhat of a hippie-artsy enclave nestled in the Carolina mountains, but with the rain I decided to stop about 30 miles short at this amazingly scenic campground. It’s what’s called a “Family” campground, which I’ve come to learn essentially means “Christian,” but it’s not like they asked me if I was circumcised when I checked in.

Tomorrow I’ll make it to Asheville, then it’s all the way back across North Carolina to the coast to check out Kitty Hawk and some of the surrounding islands, and then North to Virginia. It looks like I’ll have to blow through Raleigh and Durham and Winston-Salem, so no tobacco plant tours, but it’s just as well – do I really want to take a tour of a plant that’s actively killing me? I was traumatized enough as it was by the World of Coke – I don’t need to try cigarettes from around the world.

Alabama VWs

2006-06-22T06:26:00.000-07:00

Thanks for all the nice comments on my most recent pictures. I'll add photographer to the long and growing list of things at which I'm kind of talented but will never achieve anything. The list thus far includes: Radio Talk Show host, guitarist, DJ, writer, poker player, and now photographer.

Quick story. I was driving towards Atlanta last night on Highway 78 through Alabama when I came upon a VW shop. It was closed for the evening (it was about 6pm), but out front there were probably a hundred VW Bugs, old VW vans, and Karmann Gias. I walked around and took a ton of pictures, hoping someone was maybe still in the back and would come out and talk shop. No one was there, but I got some great shots (which will be appreciated that much more by the VW enthusiasts). At one point I was taking pictures by this fenced off area when I heard a noise. I turned around to see a goat standing on top of a car staring at me. What the fuck is a goat doing in a VW junkyard in the middle of Alabama? Great question. Maybe it was a guard goat. However, every time I put my hand over my head and waved at the thing, it took off running across the tops of the cars. So if in fact it was a guard goat, it was doing a lousy job.

I get back in the car about 45 minutes later, tell Trudel to say goodbye to all of her cousins, and turn the key. Nothing. I turn it again. Nothing. I try starting her in neutral. Nothing. On and on this goes, but it's clear Trudel feels like she is home, and she's not budging. Now, this is a known Trudel quirk, and one that's pretty common on most VW vans. Because the engine is in the back, in order to start the car you're sending electricity a long ways to the starter, and sometimes it's tempermental. My dad told me before I left that if this happens, tap the starter with a stick a few times, and that should do the trick. Unfortunately, we never went over exactly where the starter is. So now I'm on the phone with him, engine wide open, tapping away on everything inside the engine with my pitching wedge. I'm crawling under the car, greasing it up like I know what I'm doing. Keep in mind that I'm right near Talladega, home to many racing fans, so I actually feel pretty manly. Yep, that's me - just workin' on mah car in the middle of race country, fixin' her up, getting things done. The goat's looking on, impressed by my ability to smack an engine with a golf club, and even though it's still 87 degrees out and I'm sweating like a pig, I feel like a man. After an hour of poking and waiting and pleading, she finally started up. If you want to see some pics, they're posted on Kodak Gallery here

Some recent pics

2006-06-21T12:30:00.000-07:00

House on the Pearl River, Slidell LA.

Gators aint quite so scary once you watch one gingerly eat a marshmallow

Requisite nighttime shot of Bourbon St.

An Oyster Puke Boy

A hearty NOLA breakfast

Storm damage in Mobile, Alabama

Trudel hits a milestone (it's actually 200,000 miles - the previous owner turned back the odometer or something similarly shady)

Civil Rights Memorial - Montgomery, Al.

I Never Thought I'd Be So Happy To See A Swamp

2006-06-18T06:57:00.000-07:00

***this post has been updated. See below for part II***

Happy Father's Day! I'm alive, not dead or in jail as some have speculated in the comments section, but thanks for the concern. I'm leaving New Orleans today after two great days of comfortable beds and air conditioning. If I had the money, I'd gladly stay another week - The Crescent City is one of my favorite places in the country. But alas, like Tom Delay's congressional career, my time here is over.

I crossed over into Louisiana from Texas on Wednesday, and the second I entered the state I was struck by the difference in geography. Gone were the barren stretches of treeless scenery; you're immediately greeted by green swampy goodness. It was still hot and humid, but at least there was something to look at. I took 171 North from I-10 towards Shreveport so I could see the top half of the state, and I'm glad I did. 171 is a great highway that really takes you through the heart of the state, traversing through small towns and swamps and dense forests. Louisiana is a study in dichotomy - extreme beauty surrounded by extreme poverty. And unlike my impression of Texas, every nook and cranny has history and character.

I spent the night in a Wal-Mart parking lot in Shreveport listening to talk radio out of New Orleans. They were talking about the recent report that suspects over a billion dollars of fraud has been committed in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. People used the money they received from the government for tropical vacations, Saints tickets, and sex change operations. Instead of being outraged, or thinking that such fraud hurts the public perception of the people of New Orleans, most of the callers and the host were of the opinion that people had been through enough and deserved a pass. So what if they abused what was given them, the government failed them during the storm, so the actions of the perpetrators are justified. At least that's what the rationale seemed to be. It was my first sign that a year later, hurricane Katrina is still very much an open wound in this state, a wound that won't be healed for years to come.

Thursday morning I drove South through the state to Baton Rouge. Along the way, I pulled over to take a nap in the back of the van, and I got my first taste of Southern Hospitality. I was on a small two lane highway, and I couldn't sleep because every car that passed would violently rock Trudel. I heard a car pull up behind me, and a man came up and knocked on the window. He was wondering if everything was all right, and if I needed any help. I thanked him and told him no, I was just trying to take a nap, and he went on his merry way. Strangers don't pull over for strangers in Los Angeles, and it was a nice gesture.

I spent the night in Baton Rouge at a dirty Motel 6, and Friday I headed towards Slidell, just North of New Orleans, for a swamp tour. As I was driving, it started to rain, so I tuned to the local news/talk station to see if there was anything I should be concerned about. They breathlessly reported that a major storm was opening up, ready to dump tons of rain and thunder and lightning on the area to which I was going. The traffic reporter broke in to say there were reports of a funnel cloud in the area, and everyone should be very cautious. I called the tour company and asked what the situation was, telling them what I heard on the radio. There was a little rain, she said, but everything was still a go. She told me people here are hypersensitive to any storm, and not to worry. When I got to Slidell, it poured for about ten minutes, and that was about the extent of it. I can't blame people for being jumpy, but for the radio station to feed into the hysteria is a little irresponsible.

As I drove into Slidell, I started to see the first signs of Katrina's wrath. There were long stretches where whole trees were snapped in half, small fishing boats littered the side of the road, and houses sat destroyed and empty. There was a lot of construction and rebuilding taking place, but here in this small community East of I-10, where the eye of the storm had hit, it was more than obvious that things were not yet back to normal. In the bayou where I was taking the tour, small houseboats were standing vertically against trees, and several of the structures still remained miles down river from where they were originally built. Our guide told us that in this area, out of the hundreds who had previously lived here, only three had returned. He was hesitant to talk about the storm, he told us. He'd give us stories when the boat would pass something that needed explanation, like a houseboat that sat unintended in the middle of the bayou, but it was clear he wanted to be the bayou tour guide, not the post-Katrina tour guide. The tour itself was great; upon the suggestion of one of my commentors (thanks!) I did the Honey Island tour in a small boat that allowed you to get really close to things, and we saw tons of alligators and egrets and turtles. We'd get to certain sections of the swamp and the guide would call out "C'mhere Cindy!" and Cindy the gator would come swimming up to the boat for a marshmallow. Apparently marshmallows are the one trip alligators go nuts over, go figure. It was definitely worth the 21$, so if you're looking for a good tour, Cajun Encounters gets the Nathanson seal of approval.

After the tour, I searched online for a hotel at which to stay in New Orleans, and Maison Dupuy in the French Quarter came highly recommended. I had originally wanted to stay in the Garden District because parking would be cheaper, but several of the hotels in that area are still closed and I wasn't able to find a room for two nights. The best price I found online was 89$ a night, and I called the hotel to see if they could beat that and they came in at 79$. Tourists are definitely coming back, but most place need the business pretty bad, so it's possible to talk hotel room prices down. I was even able to upgrade to a balcony room for free. I was very happy to walk into my room and find a very nice, clean bathroom with all the fixings, a balcony overlooking the French Quarter, and a very luxurious bed. At this point, luxurious to me means a bed where I'm not afraid to actually sleep underneath the blankets, but this place is almost high end. Maison Dupuy is three blocks from Bourbon Street, so you're in the French Quarter, but you're far enough away from the madness that it doesn't smell like vomit and you don't fall asleep listening to a pounding cover bad singing "You shook me aaalllll niiiight looooong" over and over again.

The French Quarter bears almost no scars from Katrina because this area remained safe from the flooding that devastated other parts of the city. Many roofs and windows were lost, and there was some water damage, but that was all fixed as quick as possible to get the tourist dollars flowing. Driving in, though, I saw a different story. Apartment projects sit vacant and destroyed, looking as if the storm hit last week. The spraypainted exteriors of buildings denoting what had been searched for bodies, which we all saw pictures of in the days after the storm, sit still stained by their morbid graffiti. In post-Katrina New Orleans, there are now two cities - the one that's been repaired and is thriving and partying, and the one that sits broken and bitter. I was here three years ago, and that was kind of the case then. There's a part of the city that's beautiful and magical that the tourists see, and there's a part of the city that was destroyed not by a storm, but by crime and poverty. Now, the line that divides the city is just that more obvious because the homes and projects which were previously broken only on the inside are now wrecked on the outside as well.

I have to check out soon, and I promise to finish my tales of New Orleans tonight, including the story of Dan the Shoeshine man, and whether or not I broke my vegetarian streak of five years. And anyways, what are you doing sitting around reading this crap? Go call your dad.

Part II
Friday night, after getting settled in the hotel and garaging Trudel (to the tune of 24$ a day!), I made my first foray into the heart of the French Quarter. As I walked down the street semi-buzzed from a Jack and Coke at the hotel, I walked past a guy asking for a dollar so that he could get a beer. Having lived in San Francisco, I know that the easiest way to ignore these people is to not make eye contact and keep walking, but I’m human, and when someone talks directly to me, I find it hard not to respond. I lied and told him I didn’t have any cash, and he tells me that’s okay, the bar takes credit cards. I laughed, and thought to myself “What’s the harm?” He and I walked into the bar and I bought a beer for him and another Jack and Coke for myself. And I told him that since I bought him a drink, he has to sit and talk to me. So we went back outside and sat on the steps of a building and I peppered him with questions about living in New Orleans after the Hurricane and his life. Immediately he asked me if I was a reporter or something, and I told him I used to work in radio and now I’m traveling around the country trying to learn about the United States. He used to live in Terrytown, across the Mississippi from where we were, and his place was destroyed by Katrina. He was staying at his sisters and he worked at Burger King. He was in the Ninth Ward after the storm hit and before the major flooding began, and he heard them blow up the levees. I asked who “they” were, thinking he’d say the government or George Bush, but his theory is that it was the rich and powerful of New Orleans. See, the French Quarter and the Garden District and other more affluent parts of the city weren’t nearly as destroyed as the more poor areas were, but the flooding was getting to the point that if something wasn’t done, the rich areas would be sunk as well. In order to stop this from happening, his story went, they blew up the levees and sacrificed the poor to save the rich. He was there, he said, he heard the explosions. Now, I’m not one to call a huge black half drunk man crazy to his face, but I expressed my disbelief, and he told me it didn’t matter what I thought, he knew it to be true. I thanked him and stood to leave, and he said “What, am I getting to real for you? You can’t handle what I’m saying?” I told him “No, I don’t want to ruin your street cred by being seen sitting here talking to a white guy.” He laughed and I sat back down. “The only people who would have a problem with you talking to me is the cops. They see a black guy like me talking to a tourist like you, and they think we’re up to no good, like I’m gonna score you drugs or something.” To be fair, when I was buying him a drink, he did ask me if I needed anything, that he knew some guys a couple of blocks away and could get me whatever I wanted. I asked him about crime in the city, if it was better or worse after the storm, and he told me the parts that were bad before had gotten worse. “It’s like Iraq out there, man. People be walking around with assault rifles slung over their shoulders, handguns in both pockets. If I was you, I wouldn’t take a wrong turn in this city.”

We talked for about another twenty minutes, and then he said he had to bounce. I thanked him for the conversation, and he told me to come by the next day, that he’d buy me a drink. “Just look for Dan the Shoeshine Man. And if you write a book or put this in your report, make sure you say Dan the Shoeshine Man was there when they blew up the levees. I heard it.” Suffice it to say I didn’t see him the next day, and I never got my drink.

It was now time to get some dinner, and I’d made up my mind about what I was going to eat. I’ve been a vegetarian for a little over five years now, and to be honest it hasn’t been that hard to give up meat and fish. I miss sushi the most, but there’s enough non-meat items in the world to keep me satisfied. But it’s been hard on this trip, because the variety of foods that are available back home aren’t so easy to get when you’re on the road. I’ve toyed with the idea of eating mussels and clams and oysters; it’s easy to rationalize that they aren’t really animals. They don’t have brains or eyes or faces, and to me, there’s not that much different between them and plants. So sometime around Texas I decided that when I get to New Orleans, I’m going to take the plunge. I found a great looking place on Bourbon, sat down, and ordered myself an Oyster Po’Boy and another Jack and Coke. At this point I was nicely liquored up, so there wasn’t a lot of hemming and hawing over the decision. I was just going to do it. Ten minutes later, a huge sandwich filled with fried oysters was sitting in front of me, and after about thirty seconds of contemplation, I dug in. I took my first bite, and it was rather anticlimactic. I don’t know what I expected, but after five years of not letting any formerly living creature past my lips, it seemed appropriate that fireworks might explode or angels might sing or that something would occur to mark such a milestone. The sandwich was good – spicy and crunchy and tasty. A couple of bites in, the consistency of the oysters made it apparent that this was something a little foreign to what I was used to, but there wasn’t really any nausea or queasiness, and I made it about halfway through the sandwich before calling it quits. The waitress took a while to come over and clear my plate, and I sat there staring at the last bite I took, half an oyster splayed open and looking rather unappealing. I kept staring at that oyster, kept tasting the foreign taste in my mouth, paid the check, and promptly went to the restroom and puked it all up. Those that know me probably aren’t too surprised at this – I’m a puker. At a very young age, I learned that if my stomach is giving me the slightest trouble, the quickest way to alleviate the feeling is by throwing up. It’s gross, but it’s what works for me, so I go with it. I got through half my meal and then psychologically psyched myself out, and I think my little experiment is over.

After dinner, I walked around the French Quarter for a little while, drinking and talking to various drunk tourists, and then I headed over to Harrah’s casino to play a little poker. I got pocket aces four times in the span of an hour and a half (they were cracked twice), and left after about three hours up $100 (which I promptly lost the next night). I walked the fifteen or so blocks back to the hotel, meandering through the French Quarter at 2am, watching sloppy drunk guys almost get in fights and sloppy drunk girls slip in piles of puke and break their heels. Once I hit my bed I was asleep in minutes.

Saturday morning I was up early, and I walked down to Café Du Monde for coffee and beignets. The last time I was in New Orleans I missed out on this experience, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. It was crowded and hot and great – in New Orleans everyone just seems to be happy. It’s the kind of electricity that comes from a 24 hour city, kind of like Vegas minus the depression and shame. Unfortunately it rained most of the day, and during the times it didn’t I just walked around. You haven’t lived until you’ve walked through the French Quarter in tractionless Birkenstocks the Saturday morning after a heavily partied Friday night when it’s raining and all the sludge from the night before gets wet and slippery. Thank god I never fell on my ass, but I came close several times.

It was raining even harder when I woke up Sunday morning, complete with thunder and lightning. New Orleans is probably like Vegas, in that it’s best to only stay for two or three days – anything more and things start to get out of control. But I remember absolutely loving the city when I was first here three years ago, and I’m glad it was the sort of place that you go back to and it’s just as great as you remember.

Since then, I left Louisiana and drove along I-90 into Mississippi, or at least I tried to drive along 90, but parts of it are still washed out from Katrina and Rita. I remember pictures of Gulfport and Waveland from last year, and I remember the people who lived there being upset that so much attention was being paid New Orleans when their situations were just as bad or even worse. Seeing it now, I can understand their frustration. The entire bottom of this state still sits decimated, like god took his arm and just wiped across the south. What looks like was once vast beachfront resorts sit in ruin mile after mile. It’s truly heartbreaking, but rebuilding is taking place and I stopped for the night at the newly re-opened Hampton Inn to contribute a little money to the local economy. On the one hand you think these people must be crazy to rebuild, because you know it’s only a matter of time before it happens again. On the other hand, this is all they have and all they know, and you can’t blame them for not wanting to leave. The rain and clouds hover ominously over the gulf, like a pack of coyotes just waiting to come in and ravage the area again, and it’s great to see the construction and signs saying “We’ll Be Back!” but you can’t help but wonder how much these people can take until their spirit is finally broken.

I imagine I’ll be in Alabama by tonight, and Trudel is ready for an oil change. At this point, I could use an oil change myself.

Texas Kinda Sucks

2006-06-13T19:50:00.000-07:00

Galveston, Texas ~ Miles Traveled: ah fuck it
If anyone has told you Texas is hot and Texas is big, they’re right. I guess I had to see for myself, maybe everyone has been lying all this time. Maybe the people of Texas don’t want anyone moving here, so they spread stories about the heat and humidity in an effort to keep people away, but really it’s a lush green land of chocolate filled rivers, moderate climates, and birds that shit silver dollars. Ah, If only that were the case. Its hot, it’s humid, and I’m covered in mosquito bites. I thought maybe if I went to gulf it would be cooler, and I was sort of right, because the temperature here is about ten degrees lower than central Texas, but the humidity is 900% higher. I cooled off this morning by swimming in the 78 degree ocean, and I think I was wetter coming out than going in. It’s so hot that I’m going to ignore the sexual connotations of that last sentence.

In a way, I’m not really being fair to Texas, because I’ve been expecting it to “Wow” me without really giving it a chance. I haven’t done any research or any planning so that I make sure I hit the best parts of the state, I’ve just kind of been wandering around it haphazardly. San Antonio was pretty cool – the River Walk is nice and I saw the Alamo, but I don’t know that I’d go back. I guess that’s the main thing I’ve found about the largest state in the lower 48; I’ve yet to find anything that would make me want to come back. The coast is a lot nicer to drive along because the ocean is better to look at than barren desert and cows, and it’s nice to see so much undeveloped beachfront property, whereas in California it’s all built upon right up to the water. Of course I know that the reason there’s not much building on the coast is that it all gets washed away every couple of years, but it’s still nice. And that’s not to say there’s no development – there are pockets here and there where the brave have dared to build houses on stilts. But I can’t for the life of me realize why people would want to live in most of this state. Maybe it’s just that I’m here at the wrong time of year, and I hate to come off sounding so judgmental, and if anyone in this state is reading my blog I’m sure to get a boot upside my head. So far the people have all been very nice, polite, and kind, and despite the woman who told me this morning she thinks the reason there’s been so many hurricanes is because God is obviously mad at us and bringing his wrath down upon us, I’ve yet to meet anyone remotely close-minded. In fact, my intolerance of this state is the only intolerance I’ve come across. Shame on me.

Tomorrow I’ll be in Houston, giving Texas it’s last chance to blow my socks off, and then it’s on to Louisiana. I wish I had more exciting stories to write, but it’s just bee a lot of driving and sweating for the past few days. I’ll try to pick up a hooker or smoke some crack before I leave.

Caverns and Mexicans and Biosphereians, Oh My

2006-06-11T10:30:00.000-07:00

Roswell New Mexico ~ Miles Traveled: Not as many as the aliens who've come here
I've been back on the road for three days and I'm acting like I was shot out of a cannon. I've been through four states, two countries, one national park, an abandoned scientific colony, and I've traveled back in time. By tomorrow I may actually be on another planet. The heat's not going to stop me from seeing what I what I want to see, even if it did get up to 107 degrees today.

Thursday morning I jammed out of California and into Arizona, hitting Phoenix by midday. I spent a grand total of 25 minutes driving around the city, and then I was back on I-10, heading towards Tucson. When I hit Tucson, I headed South to Nogales to check out the border. I arrived in Nogales about 7:30pm, and wasn't exactly thrilled with what I found. I'm not sure what I was expecting, perhaps the United States on one side filled with fast food restaurants and wide, clean paved streets - and then there'd be a gate or fence with Mexico on the other side, full of people drinking beer and margaritas and wearing large hats. What's actually there is a weird maze of dirty, twisting streets filled with suspicious looking characters just waiting to rough-up a dopey looking gringo like myself. Given fast-approaching darkness, I decided against crossing over, and I high-tailed it back to Tucson. I was a little annoyed with myself for bolting - I felt like a spoiled kid that had never been exposed to anything unsavory who turned up his nose at the poor border town the first time he stumbled upon it. I told myself I'd try again during daylight hours as I raced away as fast as Trudel would go.

I drove until 11pm, hoping the heat would subside enough to sleep in the car, but it never did. Outside Tucson I saw a motel with a sign that said "Rooms - $29.95," and against my better judgement I found myself pulling in and paying the woman who smelled of curry. "How bad could it be?" Try so bad that it was too gross to even take a shower. There were red stains everywhere; on the carpet, on the sink, even on the ceiling. I curled up on the bed in as small a ball as possible so the least amount of my body would touch the least surface area of bed, and thankfully I fell asleep rather quickly. I woke up as early as possible and started driving before it got too hot.

My first stop for the day was Biosphere 2, about 40 miles North of Tucson. The second Mr. Biggs made the suggestion in the comments section a couple of posts ago, I knew it was exactly the kind of thing I wanted to see. Unfortunately, the Pauly Shore movie "Biodome" is probably more entrenched in the minds of the American public than the experiment itself. Biosphere 2 was concieved in 1987 as a way to see if it was possible to colonize another planet. A completely sealed structure was to be built that would generate it's own oxygen and allow inhabitants to grow plants and food without using any of the atmospheric advantages we earthlings typically enjoy. If successful, it would mean we could try and reproduce something similar on Mars and live in it. Completed in 1991, eight people were selected to inhabit Biosphere 2 for two years. Unfortunately, about halfway through the soil was producing the wrong levels of oxygen or something equally scientifically catastrophic (my mind wandered a little during the film) and they had to pump in fresh air from the outside, something which, if Biosphere was on Mars, they would not be able to do, so the thing was somewhat of a failure. The elite 8 finished their tour of duty, however, and then another group did a similar six month experiment. After that, the whole thing was leased to Columbia University to study the effects of global warming. Columbia ended it's partnership about a year and a half ago, and now the billionaire who built and funded the entire thing has put it up for sale. In the meantime, we get tours.

The oxygen was supposed to be produced by the growing of plants, and Biosphere 2 has four different regions in which this is done. Under this huge glass structure, there is a Rain Forrest, Mangrove Forrest, Desert, and Ocean. And I don't mean there's a Disney version of these things, they actually re-created and sustained all of these environments. They went to the furthest reaches of the planet to find native species, and then shipped them all back here where they still thrive today. There's an actual living coral reef in the ocean, winter blooming plants in the desert, and whatever the fuck happens in a Mangrove Forrest, it happens there too. Huge machines control the temperature and humidity and all that stuff, and the damn thing is pretty impressive. Unfortunately, my tour guide Norm was more into telling us about how the mechanics work, like which pipes the water flows through and how the air is circulated, when most of the people on the tour were interested in the human aspect of living in a place like this for two years. We peppered him with questions until his annoyance was readily apparent, and then his answers started coming in one and two word sentences. Thankfully for him, and for us, the tour was about over by then, and Norm ran away from us faster than I left Nogales the night before. We got to spend the rest of the time checking out the place a little on our own, and if you're ever in the area, I highly reccommend a visit. The tour costs $14 and it's the only way you can actually see the inside of the structure. For less money you can do a self guided thing and walk around the outside, but you don't get nearly the same experience.

Back on I-10, I decided to take another crack at Mexico. This time I would enter through Douglas, which meant a long loopy detour onto Highway 80. This also meant a trip through Tombstone, the site of the O.K. Corral and the famous shoutout involving Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp, James Earp, the Branch Davidians, and Robert Blake. Tombstone is a full blown tourist trap; everyone who works in the old west town wears period costume and calls you "Pardner." It still has the dirt streets and old wooden storefronts of a genuine old west town, and it’s a fun place to walk around for a while.

On the drive from Tombstone towards Douglas, you don’t encounter much, and by the time I hit Bisbee I was dying of thirst. I hadn’t planned on stopping there, but I’m glad I did. Bisbee is an old copper mining town set in a kind of hilly valley. The main drag is a narrow, windy affair bordered on either side by old brick shops and buildings. It looks like an old European town set in the heart of South-Eastern Arizona. People hang out on the sidewalks and at cafes talking and communing. Very cool.

Douglas is another border town, not quite as sketchy looking as Nogales. The streets actually are wide and clean, and there’s nothing around the border crossing that made me think twice about entering Mexico. I drove up to the border into the line marked “Nothing to Declare,” waited for the red light to turn green, and I was in Mexico. And I had no idea what to do. I drove around for a bit, trying to summon my high school Spanish and read the signs. Again, people were just milling about everywhere. It’s something foreign to Americans, large numbers of people just hanging out outside storefronts and slowly ambling through the streets. We confine our mass hang out sessions to malls and ball parks. There were plenty of unsavory looking characters around, and I kept getting long stares on every street on which I drove. It wasn’t like anyone wanted to kill me, but I kind of got the sense that I was unwanted and unwelcome. In my fifteen minutes of driving, I found nothing that resembled Tijuana or Puerto Vallarta or Cancun, no bar where a bunch of rowdy Americans were getting drunk and taking their tops off for “Girls Gone Wild,” so I left. Waiting in line to cross back into the U.S., a whole host of people were asking for money or trying to sell cheap trinkets to motorists. One 20-something girl noticed my California license plates and said she was from Santa Cruz. She looked like she’d been doing cheap heroin for the past several months straight, and thankfully she skipped off after I told her that that’ where I went to college. As I pulled up to the guard station, I was prepared to be fully searched – I knew I came off as a tad suspicious. I’d only been in Mexico for about 20 minutes, I was driving a VW van, and I have a shaved head, long ass goatee, and nose ring. If there was a stereotype of pot smuggler, I fit the bill to a T. The guard asked me where I was coming from, which kind of confused me, since even though I was coming from Mexico, I was really coming from Arizona. I hesitated a bit, and then stammered “Uh, Arizona…Mexico I guess, but I was only there for 20 minutes.” Okay, he said – where are you going? Again, for me, this was kind of a trick question. “I don’t really know” I answered honestly, mentally preparing for a full cavity search. Are you a U.S. citizen? Finally, a question to which I knew the answer. “Yes,” I declared emphatically, and I showed him driver’s license. He thanked me, and that was it. While I was glad it wasn’t more of a hassle to get back in, the experience only solidified the fact that border security is somewhat of an oxymoron.

I followed highway 80 back to I-10, and I was soon in New Mexico. Finally, I’d left Arizona! I’d spent a grand total of nine days in a state I’d never planned to be in for more than three, and while I’d had a great time for several of those days in the state that gave me Havasu Falls and Sedona and Oprah Winfry, it was also the place where I witnessed a horrible traffic accident and almost ended my own trip, and I was glad to be gone. As I drove at night through the desert, far off in the distance a massive lightning storm raged on and provided me an entertaining light show. I pulled into a truck stop in Las Cruces at about midnight, and I was almost instantly asleep.

Looking at the map in the morning, I picked out the only two things that held any interest for me in Southern New Mexico – Carlsbad Caverns and Roswell. If I were closer to the north, I’d would have been happy to check out Santa Fe and Albuquerque and Taos, but with Texas so close and me being so far behind schedule, I was going to make my stay brief. The quickest way to get to Carlsbad, New Mexico, was to actually go through Texas, so into the Lone Star state I went. From Eastern Arizona, through New Mexico, and into Western Texas, all the scenery is pretty much the same – dry desert and dirt. It’s not much to look at and it makes for boring driving. I jumped off I-10 and onto 62/180 towards Carlsbad, driving about 125 miles through Texas until I was back in New Mexico. I arrived at Carlsbad Caverns around noon, and it was hot. The thermometer outside the back read 103 degrees, and I was glad I was going into a cave rather than wandering around the desert.

Carlsbad Caverns is a National Park, and since I had bought a National Parks Pass at the Grand Canyon, I didn’t have to pay the six dollars to get in. The pass cost $50, and so far I’ve used it to get into $41 worth of parks. Two more and the thing will have paid for itself.

There are several options for viewing the caves – you can walk down into the main one via what’s called the Natural Entrance, you can take an elevator down into it, or you can go hiking to some of the other smaller caves. All the signs and literature say the Natural Entrance hike is strenuous and not for the faint of heart, and I debated taking the elevator, but come on. I’m 28, and while I’m not in the best shape in the world, I want to get the full experience of these places, and that doesn’t include taking an elevator. As it turns out, all the warning is just to cover their assess. Yes, it’s a long and steep walk, but it’s all downhill, and it’s only about 1.25 miles. Not to mention it’s absolutely stunning to walk into the mouth of this huge cave and then descend deep into its bowels. The first thing you notice at the cave entrance is hundreds of cave swallows flying in and out of the mouth. That’s where they make their home, and the place smells strongly of piles of bird shit. You walk down all these switchbacks, and soon you’re in these dark rooms with stalagmites and stalactites and mind blowing natural features. You’re on this narrow trail with handrails, and it feels like you’re in line for Thunder Mountain at Disneyland. There are little lights everywhere so you can see the colors and formations, and it takes a while to wrap your mind around the fact that this all naturally formed and not man made. By the time you’re done walking through the whole thing, you’ve gone a little over two miles. And while it’s 103 degrees on the surface, the temperature inside the caves stays a brisk 56 all year long. The humidity inside is also at about 90%, and it’s odd to feel simultaneously cold and damp. In order to get out, you have to take the elevator, which by that point I was happy to do. Carlsbad Caverns gets the Nathanson seal of approval.

From Carlsbad Caverns I drove north, through the city of Carlsbad where a bank sign told me it was 107 degrees, and then up to Roswell, where I ate dinner. It was still 90 at 9pm, and I knew there was no way I was going to be able sleep in the car. The Motel 6 I spotted looked almost brand new, so I took a room for $51. It turned out to be surprisingly clean and comfortable, and in the morning I’ll get up and look at aliens. From there, it’s on to Texas. I talked with someone from the Minuteman project yesterday, and he’s going to try and set me up with some Texas Minutemen along the border. That should be interesting. Perhaps I’ll get deported.

Restart and the Random Show Radio Update

2006-06-09T09:11:00.000-07:00

Tuscon, Arizona ~ Miles Traveled: 4282, or around 600, depending on your definition of when the trip started
I’m on the open road again, and it’s a shame I had to leave L.A. when the weather was so nice. When I arrived on Saturday morning, it was muggy and hot, but for the next few days it cooled down considerably and was even a little chilly at times. Contrast that with the boiling Arizona heat I’m in now, and it makes for one unhappy Jason. I’m a person who HATES the heat; I hate it probably as much as our Presidents hates factual information. It really affects my mood and my desire to be productive, so the timing of this trip probably has me in most parts of the country at the most undesirable time. Unfortunately, though, there is no other time that I could be doing this, so there’s nothing I can do but accept the hand I’ve been dealt and make the most of it. I’ve rigged up a Rube Goldberg type system of fans on bungee cords inside Trudel to try and get the air conditioning from the back of the car up to the front, and it worked rather well today. The only casualty was my gas mileage, which dropped from a decent 20mpg when not running the air conditioning to around 16. It’s a worthy sacrifice, with the added benefit of lining the pockets of big oil. I do what I can.

I slept Wednesday night in the parking lot of Casino Morongo near Palm Springs, Ca. The plan was to leave L.A. around 8pm and drive through the night in order to get as far from L.A. as possible with little traffic or heat as obstacles. I accomplished the leaving by 8 part, however by around 10:00pm I was already sleeping and it became apparent I was on somewhat of a fool’s errand. When I was at KFI, we had done a remote broadcast from Morongo, so I knew the layout and felt comfortable crashing there. I was awoken at 6:45am to do the weekly KSCO segment, which can be heard here (as always, thanks to Robin Goldstein for his work on getting this segment on the web every week, and I finally worked a plug for his website into the show).

And speaking of radio, this week you get an extra special treat – more of me! All of Robin’s guests and co-host abandoned him for this weeks show, and since I’m unemployed and have nothing better to do, I stayed on with him for about an hour. We talked mostly about my favorite subject and the only thing I’d consider myself an expert on – Talk Radio. So take a listen here if you’ve got some time – if you like me and you’re a fan of talk radio, you should really enjoy the show. If you don’t like me and you hate talk radio, then you’re in league with about 99% of the women in this country and screw you.I really don’t have any sort of plan for this part of the trip, but hopefully I’ll come up with some exciting things to blog about. The plan is pretty much to drive in the direction of New Orleans and see if anything interesting happens along the way. My main goal is to get someone in Texas to call me a “Jew” in that derogatory sort of way, and perhaps to see Dick Cheney shoot someone in the face. I haven’t looked on a map where Crawford is, but if it’s anywhere along the way I’ll drive by the President’s ranch (and maybe drive over Cindy Sheehan, if I see her. Just kidding. I’d never run over anyone, but if I were going to maybe just graze someone with my bumper, she’d be on the list. She bugs the hell out of me, and I’m a liberal! I can only imagine what Bush wants to do to her. To be fair, if I ever saw Ann Coulter on the street, she’d be hit by something far more painful than my bumper). Shalom for now...

On The Road Again...Again

2006-06-06T16:35:00.000-07:00

Trudel is fixed and she's raring to go - I leave tomorrow morning. It would be easier to write that the cause of the white smoke was massive engine failure rather than what actually happened, but I'm man enough to admit when I've made a mistake. A day before I started to see the white smoke, I was driving along I-40 in Arizona when the car suddenly lurched forward in a way similar to when you're running out of gas (not that I've ever run out of gas, and I certainly never ran out of gas on the Bay Bridge going into Oakland causing a small traffic jam). I pulled over at a rest stop to check fluids and give the car a break. I found nothing wrong, so I moved on. Then the white smoke. It turns out that I didn't put the dipstick fully into it's resevoir, causing stray oil to escape and fall onto the manifold, where it promptly started to heat up, hence the white smoke.

So the good news is that there's nothing wrong with the car. The bad news is that I'm an idiot. I guess it's only natural that since there's been so much trouble with the car thus far that my dad and I would jump to the worst possible conclusions about what the problem could be, and our overreaction came at a steep price. Life Lesson Learned: Always jam your dipstick as far into the hole as you can.

And in case you think I met an Oprah doppelganger and she's not really traveling the country on a road trip doing strange things, check this out.

So 4000 miles later, I'm finally leaving L.A. I guess it's all part of the experience, and I'm absolutely ready to leave. It's been a nice break being at home, showering in a nice shower, sleeping in my bed, and having a comfortable, sanitary toilet on which to do the things that one does on a toilet. But the open road is calling, and adventure awaits. I've got a biosphere to check out. I'm heading out on I-1o in a mad dash towards Texas, with perhaps some stops along the Mexican border. As always, if you know of an attraction or town that you've been to and is worth a stop, please let me know. I'm always looking for some new place to jam my dipstick.

Home

2006-06-03T13:51:00.000-07:00

Thursday night at 9pm, Trudel was picked up by a car transporter and whisked off to Los Angeles. I was hoping to maybe catch a ride with the trucker, but due to insurance reasons he wouldn't let me ride along. The trucker community is well know for being a stickler for rules, so I understood.

I stayed the night at the Winslow Day Inn, booked a ticket on the 7:40pm Amtrak, and fell asleep in a room in which I'm almost positive someone was murdered. It could have been a cat or chicken, it didn't have to be human, but you just got this creepy feeling that something was killed in that room.

I extended checkout until the last possible second so as to avoid spending extraneous time at the train station with my thumb up my ass, but the latest I could get was 12pm. I called for a cab and was at the station at 12:o4. And since my train would end up being 20 minutes late, that meant I had only 8 hours to kill. Thankfully there was a cool hotel next to the station called La Posada. It was an old Spanish style mansion that had been restored and turned into a swanky hotel, and there were several huge lobby type areas with couches and nooks where I could sit and read and not be noticed. Winslow isn't the worst town in the world; it's got some historic Route 66 type charm and if you were ever passing through I'd recommend stopping for lunch and having a look around. After three days, though, I was ready to get the fuck out.

As the sun set on the town and the train station, I got off some great pics. It was a pleasant way to say goodbye to this town that I was never supposed to be in, yet played such a major part in my trip thus far. It's where I met Oprah, it's where I learned Trudel was toast, it's where I spent two days living in a truck stop, and it's where I killed a man just to watch him die. As I climbed aboard the train, and Winslow started to fade into the night, a single tear rolled down my cheek. Or maybe it was a bead of sweat rolling down my ass cheek. It sure was hot on the train.

After a restless night spent on the train talking to a girl with thick red and black dreads and a Hispanic meth addict missing two of his bottom teeth, I arrived at Union Station in Los Angeles at 7am, an hour ahead of schedule. A quick subway ride later and I was home. I feel a little bit like a wild bird who's just been put in a cage, and I don't know if this restless feeling will go away or not, but I kind of don't want it to. I hope that the second the car is ready, I'll be ready too. Part of me just wants to hide while I'm home, kind of like if I don't see anyone I know then I'm not really here. The lower I lay, the easier it will be to just take off when the time comes. And there's also something in me somewhere that thinks if I have a good time while I'm home, I won't want to leave. It's weird to think that I was living in a metal box about a third the size of my bedroom, but that felt more spacious than sitting in this big house. I'm like one of those guys who just got out of prison and feels confined by the freedom. I just can't wait to get on the road again...

(By the way, I tried to post a pic or two, but blogger wouldn't let me. It would tell me it's uploaded, but nothing shows up. I've probably reached my storage limit, so until I figure out what do, I guess I can't post pictures. Funny that the last picture I was able to post was of Oprah. So Oprah killed my blog and my car.)

Hiatus

2006-06-01T18:27:00.000-07:00

Usually when you see white smoke coming out of a VW van, someone's getting stoned. Unfortunately my smoking van experience isn't quite so pleasant. After consulting with several specialists, enthusiasts, and gynecologists, it has been decided that the best course of action is to ship the car back to L.A., have it worked on (which hopefully won't take more than a week), and then start again. If this trip were a Nintendo, we'd be pressing the reset button. And although this would have happened anyway, it's still fun to say that Oprah killed my car.

Sometime in the next hour Trudel will be picked up from the Flying J Truck Stop in Winslow, Arizona, where I have been living for the past two days. A transporter will take her back to L.A., and there's an outside chance I may hitch a ride as well. If not, I'll be on the 7:40pm Amtrak out of Winslow tomorrow, arriving in L.A. Saturday morning. I'm surprisingly Zen about the whole thing; after the car trouble I've already had, I've realized you have to accept the fact that these things happen and there's nothing you can do but fix the problem and move on. I've got nothing but time, right?

My dad and I would like to give a special shout out to Roadhaus.com and the A.I.R.S. VW Rescue list for helping us figure out what was wrong, who to talk to, and what to do.

In the meantime, today is Thursday, so that means it's time for the Randomshow Radio Update! Yesterday's segment with Robin and the rest of the Schnauzer Logic gang was a hoot - the Oprah story seems to be a winner. Because of time constraints he had to cut the part about Havasu Falls, but you, dear reader, have already seen the pictures, and as we all know, those are worth a thousand words. Of course you're going to want to listen to the whole show, but in case you're in a hurry because you're chasing Oprah across the desert just to get her picture, my segment starts about 1 hour and 13 minutes in.

This morning's segment on KSCO was also a winner - I've found it's a lot easier to do these radio segments when I actually do interesting things. Again, I really appreciate Robin capturing, editing, and hosting these segments. One of these days I'll actually get around to plugging his blog and podcast during the segment. You have keep in mind, though, at 6:45 in the morning when you're woken up in a VW Van in the parking lot of a Flying J, it's hard enough to remember who you are, much less remember a plug.

So stay tuned! The trip is far from over, and during this brief downtime the site will still be regularly updated. I appreciate all you guys who regularly check this blog out - it makes it feel like I have someone along with me on the road. And I've seen blogs that have thousands more readers than this one, and their comments sections aren't anywhere near as active! Keep reading, keep commenting, and I'll keep on tripping.

Driving Ms. Winfrey

2006-05-31T08:33:00.000-07:00

**This post has been updated. Part II continues below...**

Winslow, Arizona ~ Miles Traveled: 3924
I pulled into Sedona, Arizona Monday afternoon, and I was immediately overwhelmed by the positive energy and forces I felt swirling around me. Sedona is well known for being a center of spiritual and cosmic energy, as well as a strong magnetic vortex, and the energy is tangible the second you enter town. My chakras were instantly realigned, my karma was infused with positivity, and my aura was deeply cleansed. Or maybe it was the massive dump I took at the coffee shop when I first got into town. Whatever the case, I felt rejuvenated.

Sedona is a very pretty, artsy town in the middle of some scenic red rocks, and driving in on Highway 89 is a great little drive. You drop down through canyons and rocks and forest and creeks, and it has a nice mountain feel to it. After walking around town for a couple of hours, I drove back up 89 a little ways to stay at Manzanita Campground, a nice spot in the woods and next to a creek.

Tuesday morning I got up and strolled around town a little while longer; Sedona is known for it's jewelry and I was hoping to find a unique Star of David necklace. I found about three, and they were each unique to the tune of about $500, so I gave up. It was starting to get hot, so I headed for the water.

Slide Rock State Park is about 6 miles North of Sedona, and it's a natural creek/river that has smoothed the rocks a lot over time. There are little chutes in the rock, and because of the smoothness you can sit in the chutes and slide down the river. The water level was pretty low, though, so only one chute was worth it, and the place was packed with kids and families on extended Memorial Day vacations. It was a fun way to kill a couple of hours in the heat, and I hiked up the river about two miles to find some secluded swimming holes and hot chicks sunbathing. It was definitely worth the $10 park fee.

It was time to leave Sedona and head South, to where I wasn't exactly sure, but I figured I'd amble in the general direction of Phoenix. It was about 4pm as I was leaving town, and I passed a market called "New Frontier" that a lady had told me about yesterday. They're a kind of Whole Foods type place, overpriced good quality foods, so I decided to stop in and pick something up for the road. As I pulled into the parking lot, I see a film crew jump out of some cars and swarm around this African-American woman. I wasn't close enough to see who it was, but she was going into the market so I figured I'd soon find out. My mind was racing trying to think of the possibilities; was it Whitney Houston, doing that reality show that was on Bravo last year? It obviously wasn't some sort of scripted thing - the cameras were definitely following this woman as she did her thing, so I was sure it was some kind of reality show, I just didn't know which one. The second I walked into the market, however, I quickly found out. Because there was another woman I didn't see originally, also being followed by cameras, and she was Oprah Fucking Winfrey. In the middle of Sedona, Arizona, just doing some shopping.

Now, I'm not an autograph kind of guy, and growing up in L.A. I've had my fair share of celebrity encounters. Usually I just kind of sit and stare from the fringes, and that's exactly what I did this time. I kind of tailed her as she walked around the market, and mostly I was curious about what the hell she was doing. I asked some of the store clerks, but they were just as surprised by this as anyone, so there was obviously no plan here. The camera crew was shooting reaction of people reacting to Oprah shopping in a market, and it was all very surreal. Soon she checked out and left, and I got in the line she was just in. The checker was surprised and shocked - at first I thought because she was meeting me, the guy behind Random Ramblings, but it more because she was just filmed putting Oprah's groceries into a bag. She told me it was the second time she'd been on TV, and she didn't even own a television. The first time she was on Jimmy Kimmel, being interviewed coming out of a Phish show. Only in Sedona.

So Oprah leaves and I call my mom to tell her, and my mom asks the most obvious question: Did you take a picture? FUCK. No, I didn't even think about it. I even had my camera in my pocket. What the hell kind of blogger am I? So I hang up with her, and figure, you know what? Sedona's not that big a place. I'm going to drive around for a little bit, and if I spot her, I'll take a picture. Because at this point I have a semi-decent story for the blog, but it's nothing without the picture. So I drive around Sedona for about 15 minutes, talking to my friend Jen, and Oprah's nowhere to be found, vanished into a cloud of money I guess. So I head back out on 89 to leave, when suddenly there's Oprah in a parking lot, filming something. I yell at Jen "I found her!" and simultaneously hang up and flip a U-turn. I pull up, park, and by the time I get out, the whole entourage is getting back in their cars, no picture taking even a possibility. Fuck.

Now at this point, I figure, what else do I have to do? Why not just follow them around a little. She's bound to get out of the car again to look at some rocks or something, and then I'll be there and take my quick picture and be on my merry way. So I start to follow Oprah and her entourage. By now, I have a little more information, but it only creates more questions. Oprah is driving the lead car with the other lady as a passenger. There are three other cars following with assorted camera crews and bodyguards just waiting to kick the asses of people like me. Oprah is driving some kind of generic sedan, nothing fancy, like a Chevy or some other standard mid-size rental. Interesting.

Oprah makes a right to go onto Highway 170, which leads to the more upscale part of Sedona, so I figure she's going to the nice Spa or Hotel where's she's staying. Oprah passes through most of the town and out into the rocks, so I figure she's going to be filmed looking at the beautiful scenery. Oprah keeps driving, and now it's been about 15 minutes and we're in the middle of the desert, but hey, what else do I have to do, right? She'll get out of the car any minute and that will be that. But Oprah keeps driving. And driving. Now it's been about 25 minutes, and we hit Highway 17, which takes you north back to Flagstaff, which is where I came from to get to Sedona. Okay, I figure, I'll follow them a little more, and I'll stay the night at the KOA in Flagstaff, because I wanted to stay at the KOA anyway. 17 starts to go uphill, and if you were ever planning on becoming a paparazzi and chasing celebs down in a 1989 VW Camper Van, I'd strongly advise against it. Going up the hill, I lose them, and I figure, oh well. That was an interesting half-hour. But as I descend over the hill, guess whose entourage got caught behind some trucks? So I'm back in the hunt, and at this point I figure her security has to be all over me, because it's not like I'm an inconspicuous person driving a low profile car. So I stay enough behind to not worry them, and see Flagstaff coming up, so she's probably going to the airport to fly off to roll in some money, and that will be that. But she passes Flagstaff, and when we hit Highway 40, she heads East.

Now I'm really confused. She's not going to the Grand Canyon, because that would have been West on 40. The next major city is Albuquerque, and that's over 300 miles away. Now I'm totally out of the area I wanted to be in, so I figure I'll follow for a little bit more, because at this point I just want to figure out what's going on. Fast forward a little bit, and now I've been following Oprah for 100 miles since Sedona, and my mind is racing with questions, mainly about myself. Like "What the fuck am I doing following Oprah across Arizona for no reason? I don't really watch her show, I'm not really a fan, so what am I doing?" But the I had to find out the answers to my questions. Namely, what was Oprah doing driving herself in a car in the middle of nowhere for hundreds of miles? She could fly anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat. What the hell was going on? And quite frankly, did I have anything better to be doing? Not really. I had already come this far, and damnit, if I didn't get a picture, I'd really be a loser. I'd just be the guy who tells the story about how he followed Oprah for no reason for a hundred miles. And I don't give up...(to be continued - the battery on my computer is about to run out, and I have nowhere to charge it right now - sorry)

Part II
So now were at about 120 miles, and I’m talking on the phone to my parents, and they’re very amused by this whole thing. My dad is tracking my progress on a map at home, asking me to tell him every milestone I pass. At this point, I’ve about had it. Enough is enough, and the next campground or decent size city, I’m pulling off and ending this stupid adventure. I’m 120 miles out of the way for absolutely NO reason, so that’s it – I’m out. We pass a Wal-Mart, so I know I have a place to park for the night close by, when the whole caravan suddenly pulls of the Freeway. We’re in Winslow, Arizona, the middle of nowhere, and they’re pulling into a gas station attached to an Econolodge. I briefly debate not pulling off, but I know I have to at this point, and I follow their caravan off the freeway, and I pull around about a couple hundred yards from them. Now I’m debating in my head “Do I go talk to her? Of course you do! You just drove 126 miles, you better! But what do I say? I’m going to look like a freaking nutcase for following her for so long. And I’m not even a fan! Her bodyguards are going to recognize me from the market in Sedona and shoot me on site. But I’ve come this far – I have to have an ending to this story.” So I got out of the car, camera in hand.

I walk around the Econolodge foyer, and there sitting in the passenger side of the car with the door open and NO ONE around, is Oprah Winfrey. I walk up timidly, kind of like I’m approaching a lion that could turn and rip my head off, and I say “Ms. Winfrey?” She looks up at and says “Yes?” and I reply “I’ve been following you since Sedona, and my mom is a really big fan, and she would kill me if I didn’t get a picture. Would you mind?” She looks at me and says “You’ve been following me since Sedona? You’re crazy.” I find it hard to argue the validity of that statement, and she slowly gets out the car, visibly sore from traveling and driving. I’ve been there, and I know it can be a pain, but it looks like the last thing she wants to do in her tired state is entertain some semi-homeless looking bum like myself. Keep in mind that I haven’t changed out of my bathing suit since Rock Slide Park, I haven’t shaved in well over a week, and I’m wearing Birkenstocks and a stained black polo shirt. She looks me over, feels safe I’m not going to kill her, and agrees to the picture. “Well, if you’re mom would want a picture, I’ll take a picture.” I knew the mom line would make me seem less harmless, and it worked, even it was a little white lie. My mom works every day and doesn’t have time the time to watch Oprah even if she wanted to.

She gets out the car and just kind of stands there, and even though I wanted to take a picture with her, not of her, it seems by her body language she wants none of standing next to me. So I point the camera at her, click, and thank her, when she says “No, you’ve got take the picture with me.” I smile and thank her, and she calls over one of her entourage. “This guy’s been following us since Sedona,” she tells him as she hands him the camera, and he looks at me a little warily. I know he’s suspect of me, but if Oprah tells you take a picture, I guess you don’t question her. She comes over and puts her arm around me, I place mine gingerly on her back, and he takes the picture. No flash. It’s dusk, and he says we need another one. I already feel bad about infringing on her time, but Oprah graciously stays for another one. He takes it, again, no flash. But he says this one worked, and he’s either telling the truth or just wants to get me out of there. I thank her for being so kind, and start to walk away, when I realize there’s still some unfinished business.

As she’s getting back in the car, I turn and say “Do you mind? I just have to ask you one question. What are you doing? Why are you driving around in the middle of nowhere?” She laughs, and asks me my name. I tell her, and she says “Jason, do you remember the commercials ‘See The U-S-A, in a Chev-Ro-Let?’” I nod yes, and she says “That’s what I’m doing. I started with my friend, Gale, in Santa Barbara yesterday and drove to Vegas. From Vegas we drove to Sedona, and we’re going to New York.” So Oprah's doing the whole Thelma and Louise thing - nice. I was kind of hoping the story would be a little juicier, like she had embezzled a bunch of money and was running cocaine from Columbia, and Gale had just shot three state troopers and they needed to take me hostage, but whatever. I laughingly tell her that I’m on a road trip too, for four months. Hers is only ten days, and we keep talking for the next 10 minutes. Every time I sense I’ve taken enough of her time and turn to go, she keeps talking to me, and I don’t remember every word of the conversation, but it was very nice and she seemed genuinely interested in what I was doing. In Winslow, Arizona, I’m sitting in a gas station having a pleasant conversation with Oprah Winfrey, and it just doesn’t get much more surreal than that.

I finally turn to go, telling her I’ll look her up when I get to Chicago, and she laughs and says goodbye. I remember noting she made a point of using my name often, which is a standard interview technique to make the subject feel comfortable. The whole time I was talking to her, it was as if I was talking to any other normal person – there was no sense that she was the richest and most powerful woman in the country, if not the world. There wasn’t a hint of pretension or air of superiority. This woman could order a plane to land at the Econolodge and whisk her away if she wanted, but there was no sense of this. She was just really nice and friendly and approachable. Bizarre.

I walked back to my car and called my parents, and my dad immediately says “Did you give her a card?” I had business cards printed up with this website on it so that when I met people I could easily give them the web address and contact info. I told him no, I didn’t even think about it, and he and my mom say “Well go back and do it!” The whole entourage was still there, and they had pulled Oprah’s car around to gas it up. She was walking across to her car, at this point surrounded by the entire entourage and security, and as I get close the bodyguards spot me and start saying to each other “Behind, Behind! Approaching!” I hold up the card, saying I just wanted to give her this, and she spots me and waves me over. “Jason, come over here, meet my friend Gale King. Gale, Jason here is on a four month road trip.” Gale smiles politely at me, but I can tell she’s not really interested. “Ms Winfrey,” I say, “I just wanted to give you my card. You probably don’t care, but I’m chronicling my trip on the web, and the address is at the bottom if you ever get a chance to check it out.” She said okay, and the entourage at this point seemed annoyed by my presence, so I told her it was nice meeting her and took off back to my car.

This portion is addressed specifically to Oprah, so if you’re not her, stop reading: Ms Winfrey, it was nice meeting you. You’ll probably never look at this site, but if you do, I’m sorry I lied to you about my mom being a fan. I thought it would make me seem less stalker-ish, and I apologize. However, when you do get around to doing the show about roadtrips and seeing the USA, keep me in mind. I’ve got tons of pictures and stories (I tell this really good one about stalking you across Arizona), and I think I’d make a good guest for a segment. I’m unemployed, so I can be in Chicago whenever you need me. We could sit and reminisce about our meeting in Winslow, and your audience would get a kick out of it. And don’t worry; I clean up pretty good, so I can be presentable for television. Also, if you’re looking for talk show hosts for your new XM Radio channel, I’m available. While I’d rather be on the air, I’d also consider a producer gig. When it comes to radio, I know my stuff, and it’s been years since anyone has fired me for anything. Also, when I’m in Chicago, can I stay with you and Steadman? Thanks!

So suffice it to say, it’s been an interesting week. The trip is really kicking into high gear, so naturally something’s got to slow it down. While I was chasing Oprah, I noticed about every 15 minutes or so white smoke was coming out of Trudel’s tailpipe. I told my dad about this, and after doing some checking around, he determined that this is a very bad thing. I might have blown a head gasket, and every repair place we’ve talked to so far either doesn’t want to touch it, or wants to replace the whole engine. There’s one guy in Phoenix who might be able to repair rather than replace, but it might take a week or two and the cost to tow 200 miles will be in the $500 range. It might just be cheaper to ship the car home and have it fixed by a mechanic we know and trust. It would probably take less time, and rather than spend a bunch of money on hotels in Phoenix, I could hang for free. It kind of sucks, but it’s not really that far from L.A. to where I am now, so while I might lose a couple of days, I could be back in gear in no time. Right now I’m waiting at the Flying J truck stop in Winslow while my dad decides which option he feels most comfortable with. Maybe I should hitch a ride with Oprah and Gale…

The People you Meet on a Roadtrip

2006-05-30T21:40:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's Oprah. Details to come...

Chasing Waterfalls

2006-05-30T08:04:00.000-07:00

Last Friday I finally made it to the Grand Canyon, pulling into the park in mid afternoon. I luckily snagged one of the few remaining campsites (being Memorial Day weekend, obviously the Gods were on my side) and I set up camp. After a quick nap, I drove around to the different viewing points prepared to be dazzled. And while I wasn't dissapointed, I have to say that I wasn't overwhelmed. The Grand Canyon is one of those places that just can't possibly live up to the hype, and I was probably more awestruck with Arches National Park than I was with the Canyon. Plus, it was so choked with loud and noisy annoying tourists that it was hard to find some peace and serenity to just sit and enjoy the view. But I had other things on my mind - I was on a quest to find out more information on a place called Havasu Falls.

About three weeks before the trip began, I was watching the Travel Channel with my Mom, and they were profiling a place called Havasu Falls, near the Grand Canyon. People were swimming in these deep blue-green pools at the bottom of these enormous waterfalls, and I knew that I had to go there. I've never been to Hawaii, and this was the closest thing you can find in the states that would compare. So it was probably unfair to the Grand Canyon that the whole time I was there, all I could think about was the falls.

I went to the ranger station and inquired about what it would take to get there. I already knew some of the information from reading on the internet, but I wanted to hear it first hand. Yes, it involved a long hike, and you could either camp when you got there or stay at the lodge. You could either hike out, or take a helicopter or horse. And yes, it was absolutely worth it. The ranger assured me I could make the hike in, so with my confidence reinforced, I started the 191 mile drive away from the Canyon towards Havasupai Hilltop.

I got to the Hilltop at around 3pm on Saturday, and it was packed with cars. Luckily I found a spot near the trailhead, and I started to prepare my pack. I had called ahead to get a campground for Sunday night, but was told they were booked through July. Dissapointed, I called the lodge, and was informed they had a room available - the cost with taxes and eveything would be $178 for the night. I balked for a second, but since this was probably the one thing I wanted to do on my trip more than anything else, I went ahead and reserved a room. I bedded down for the night in my car, ready to wake up with the sun and begin my journey.

I awoke at 5am, gathered my things, and hit the trail at 6. Now, anyone who knows me knows that when it comes to physical activity, I'm hardly the first person to say "Let's go for a hike." So it's probably surprising to hear what I had to do to get to the fallls. The Havasupai tribe owns the land the falls are on, and in order to get to the village, it's an 8 mile hike. It's mostly downhill and not that strenous, but it is long, and I was carrying an 30lb pack. I got to the village in 3 1/2 hours, pretty good time considering I'm not in the best of shape. From the village, it's another 1.5 miles to the first waterfall, 3 miles to the third fall, which is as far as I went. Then, of course, it's another miles back to the village at the end of the day. So all told, I hiked a whopping 14 miles on Sunday. It probably goes without saying that Monday was one of the most sore days of my life, and I'd do it again in a second.

After 8 miles, you reach the Havasupai (which means People of the Blue-Green Waters) village, and it aint no Disney version of a Native American reservation. It's a poor, dirt covered full of unhappy looking people and about a million dogs. There are dogs EVERYWHERE, and they're all hungry and rooting around in trash bins looking for food. They're the kind of dogs that look cute from a distance, but when they come closer you're convinced if you pet them you'll get several diseases. It's hard to tell if the people are bitter and unfriendly, or if they're just typically Native American. They don't speak unless spoken to, and when they do speak they use an economy of language. If you were a fan of "Northern Exposure," one of the greatest shows that was ever on television, you'll remember the Native American character of Marilyn. You could never tell if she resented white people or if she was just shy, and that's remarkably similar to the way the Havasupai acted. I imagine they resent all these tourists coming and invading their land during the summer months, just like the white people long ago invaded and stole their land before graciously giving back a fraction of what was taken. Then again, without the dollars we spend in tourism, they wouldn't be able to survive, so there's definitely a love-hate thing going on.

After a quick breakfast, I unloaded my things in my room and headed for the falls. I arrived at the first one, Navajo Falls, at about 11:30. You're on this dusty trail, and then it drops down into a mini canyon where you cross over a quaint wooden bridge, go around a rock, and out of nowhere you're struck with this amazing waterfall with blue water pools, and it's just breathtaking.

The next waterfall after that is Havasu Falls, which probably is the biggest in terms of volumes of rushing water. On either side of Havasu is a beach area, so it's the popular in terms of people just hanging out. There's a big boulder to the left of the falls which is great for jumping off, just beware because you're jumping into a current that wants to pull you back under the falls.

The last of the falls I went to was Mooney Falls, named for James Mooney, who died trying to carry an injured friend out of this particular canyon. Had I known this story before hiking down into Mooney, I might have got a better sense of what I was in for. You descend into Mooney Falls from this tall rock path, and there's a sign saying "Caution: Proceed at Your Own Risk." No big deal, I think, it's typical to see signs like that all over the place. All of the sudden, you come across this drilled out cave in the rock, which you descend down into. Not that scary, but a little tricky. You come out of these caves and you're looking almost straight down this wet, waterfall sprayed cliff, and you have to rock climb straight down, hanging on only to metal bars and chains that have been strategically places every couple of feet. If you're short, like me, these strategically placed holds aren't so strategically placed, and at several points I thought I that I might die. Everything is wet and slippery, and one wrong move you're falling thirty feet onto the rocks below. Getting to the bottom is one of the greatest things in the world, until you realize that in order to you leave, you have to go back up. Trecherous, but worth it. There's a rope swing at the bottom that drops you 15 feet off a boulder, and no matter what age you are, you feel like you're 10 years old.

All told, I spent about 7 hours exploring and swimming in the falls. It was by far the highlight of the trip so far, and I can't wait to go back with a group of friends. With some better planning, it can be a very cheap trip: $1o per night for camping, $30 one time fee to be on the land, and $85 to helicopter out at the end of your trip. After 14 miles of hiking, the helicopter fee was the best money I've ever spent. My computer is starting to fry in the Sedona sun, so I'll post more pictures a little later.

Freaky

2006-05-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

Sedona, Arizona ~ Miles traveled: 3,800 give or take
Later tonight or tomorrow I'll post an in depth account of my trip to the Grand Canyon, including a two day stop over at Havasu Falls, probably one of the most gorgeous places in the lower 48. But first, I have to get the accident I experienced expunged from my brain, and hopefully if I post about it, it will start to leave.

I was driving East on Highway 40, about 10 miles before Flagstaff, when all of the sudden I heard this huge "whoosh" behind me, like one of my back windows had ripped open. I look in my rearview mirrors in time to see a huge cloud of dust come up from the fast lane next to me, and then a truck go careening into the ditch that divides the highway. The truck was probably traveling around 80, and it barrels into the ditch, almost rolls, and smacks into a group of rocks at the bottom. I think for a second, and then pull over; by the time I was able to actually stop, I was about three hundred yards ahead of the truck. I jump out of Trudel (wearing Birkenstocks, of course), and I run across the highway to where the truck lay smoking, it's back right tire still spinning. At this point, a few other cars had stopped, and I was the third person to actually arrive on scene. Before I even got to the truck, I could see blood spattered on the windshield and the truck itself was totaled.

The driver's side door was wedged against rocks and unable to be opened - I showed up on the passenger side with one other guy to find a mess; the woman, who's name I would later learn is Shannon Duffy, was lying in the car unable to move, her shirt was off and being held to the deep cut on her forehead, and she was moaning and complaining of pain in her arms and head. Since the truck was pitched upwards on some rocks, the passenger side door would not stay open without someone holding it, so I dug my sandled feet into the loose gravel and propped open the door. Shannon pulled the shirt off of her head to reveal a deep and nasty cut above her right eye, but the bleeding had stopped, so we figured that was a good sign. The two other guys and I kept talking to her, trying to keep her alert, and someone yelled down from the road that an ambulance was coming. Shannon kept saying she needed her cell phone because she had to call her boyfriend because it was his truck and he needed to know. At this point, we noticed a babyseat in the back and there was a tense moment while we made sure there wasn't an infant in the car. There wasn't, and Shannon continued to ask for her cell phone. We couldn't find it, and she alternated between moaning in pain and crying in anger and frustration.

At this point I'd been propping the door open for about 10 minutes, and my arm was starting to tire, but there was nothing to do but keep it open. Then the police showed up, along with firemen, and soon I noticed that all the original bystanders had left, leaving me to prop open the door while the paramedics extricated Shannon from the truck. I asked one of the paramedics how she was, and he responded that the cut was nasty and her left pupil was blown, but she appeared not to have any life threatening injuries. Ten minutes later she was out, and one of the police officers asked if I would mind holding the door open for one more minute while he inventoried the car. At this point I minded, but I agreed, thinking it was the least I could do to help out in this situation where I felt rather helpless. The car was quickly inventoried, the police took my statement, and their theory is that she was trying to change clothes while driving and lost control of the car, hence the reason she was shirtless when I arrived. I believe they said she was driving home to Phoenix after a weekend at the Grand Canyon.

It was a sobering moment to think how quickly things can change. One moment you're driving home after a fun weekend, and the next your car is smashed up in a ditch and your pupil is blown. With all the driving I'm doing, it's scary to think how easily it could be me in that ditch. I've been in my fair share of accidents, and thankfully I've never been seriously injured (although I did crack an elderly woman's rib when I totaled my first car, something I haven't thought about for a long time, and something I still feel very bad about). I'm a pretty cautious driver now, and this is a reminder to continue that pattern. Shannon Duffy, wherever you are, I hope everything turns out okay.

Thursday Randomshow Radio Update

2006-05-25T21:46:00.000-07:00

Kingman, Arizona ~ miles traveled: technically 500 miles East from L.A.
After a stationary week, I'm back on the road with my goatee blowing in the breeze. I checked out of Binion's around 12:30pm and called to see if my car was ready. They were at lunch until 1pm and not answering their phone, so I decided to kill some time in the Binion's poker room. All I wanted to do was just sit at a 2-4 table and camp, but all that was open was 4-8, so I figured I'd buy in for $100 and if I lost $20, I'd get up. Second hand I'm in, I'm the big blind, and I'm dealt pocket Aces. I raise and practically the whole table calls. The flop comes A-K-6, the small blind opens for $4, I raise, and again everyone calls. I kept showing strength, people kept calling, and I won a pot worth over $150. For the next two hours, cards just kept coming my way, and when I stood up to leave, there was $400 in chips in front of me. Not a bad way to leave Vegas. The extra days I had to stay there were paid for; now if only I'd won enough to cover the $1000 repair bill. While frustrating, it's a road trip an things like that are going to happen. C'est la vie.

I left Vegas around 4 and hit some major traffic and heat on the way out through Hoover Dam. Right before the Dam there was a hotel/casino with a movie theater, so I decided to catch a flick and give the heat a chance to die down. I walked into about 75 retirees banging on slot machines and the greatest Elvis impersonator lounge act ever. After a few moments of watching and almost bursting several times in fits of laughter (not the impression I believe the impressionist was after), I checked the showtimes on the movies and saw I had just missed the start of The Da Vinci Code by 15 minutes. Figuring that would work out just fine since about two years ago I read the first 25 pages of the book, I walked up the stairs to the theater where there was not a soul to be found. I looked everywhere for someone to give my money to, and finding no one, said fuck it and entered the theater. My apologies to Tom Hanks and Ron Howard and the rest of Hollywood for stealing your content, but I saw your opening weekend numbers and I think you'll live. As for the movie, I was pleased. Anything involving a conspiracy about Jesus that suggests most organized religion is based on a lie is all right by me. It went on a little long - I thought it was over twice before it actually ended. Also I thought the choice of Tom Hanks was a little odd - I kept waiting for Meg Ryan to pop up and banter. The French chick was cute but annoying at times, which is right on par for a Frenchie. On the Nathanson Scale, it gets a 3 1/2 out of 5 VW Vans.

So I know it's late Thursday and you're dying for your weekly fix of my radio/podcast appearances, so let's get to it! Yesterday's taping of Schnauzer Logic achieved its typical level of brilliance, and you can hear it by clicking on the link. Of course you're going to listen to the whole podcast, but in case you just found out that you're the one true descendant of Christ living on Earth and you have a few loose ends to tie up, my segment starts about 1 hour and 30 minutes in.

The KSCO morning show segment can be found here, and can be listened to by right clicking and selecting "Save As" in order to download the segment for keeps, or if you left click it should open in the media player of your choosing. Major thanks to Robin at Schnauzer Logic for capturing, editing, and hosting the segment every single week. Some would say you're the hostess with the mostess, but not me, because I would never make a pun quite that corny.

Early in the morning, I'm Grand Canyon bound. Thankfully I wasn't stuck in Vegas for a few extra days, causing me to go to one of the most heavily trafficked National Parks on the first holiday weekend of the Summer. That would be rough.

(Never) Leaving Las Vegas

2006-05-24T18:12:00.000-07:00

I have officially been in Vegas for a week, and it feels like I'm in the movie Groundhog Day. Every morning I keep waking up in the same god damn place without being able to leave. If it were up to me, I would have been out of here on Monday. In fact, I was almost gone on Monday, but the pull of the city was just too strong.

The bachelor party was great - it was fun to see people I actually knew for the first time in almost three weeks. I'm going to leave out the details, and all I'm going to say is that Gabe, the bachelor, had a great time. Period end.

I left Monday and headed to the Hoover Dam. Only 26 miles from Vegas, it's deemed one of the great architectural wonders of the United States. And it is impressive - I took the tour that take you deep into the bowels of the concrete monster. They show you a 10 minute film before you start, and in my hung-over, sleep deprived state, I feel asleep twice. Between Vegas and the dam, I was amazed at what man can build when he puts his mind to it. So far the wonders I've seen have been nature made, so it was an interesting contrast.

Lake Mead is what was created when the dam backed up the Colorado river, and I took some time to drive around there. There wasn't all that much to see; the lake is mostly known for it's water sports activities, so if you're not planning on going on the water, I'd say it's a stop you could bypass. It was about mid-afternoon at this point, and I decided to stop at a campground on the lake for the evening. That's when I heard it: the noise. The noise in the car that I thought had been fixed in Spokane. It was back. I drove into Boulder, the town next to Lake Mead, to get some supplies for the night, and the sound just got worse and worse. It was evident that there was no way I was making it to the Grand Canyon without getting it checked out, and I realized with sadness that I would be heading back to Vegas in the morning.

Now don't get me wrong. Vegas is a lot of fun. A lot of fun for about four days max when you're with a bunch of your best friends. It's not fun when you're partied and gambled out and just want to get as far away from the place as possible. It's not fun when the reason you have to go back is because your car is making a sickening clunk every two seconds. I wasn't happy.

I woke up in the morning, and through some internet research with my Dad, found a recommended mechanic. With in seconds of looking at the car, the German mechanic named Wolf said in his Schwarzenneger-like accent "You're not going to like this." According to him, the transmission differential was just about dry, causing the parts to do some significant damage. The differential would need to be replaced, and the part would need to be ordered from somewhere that wasn't in Vegas, or even Nevada. It was going to cost several hundred, if not a thousand dollars, and it would probably take a couple of days. The news sunk in, and as bad as I wanted to get as far from Vegas as possible, I realized there was nothing I could do, and this was all part of a trip of this nature. I was pissed, sure, but I had to make the best of it. I started by calling the guys who fixed the car in Spokane, since they basically replaced a part that didn't need to be fixed. They were very nice about the whole thing, and agreed to refund me the cost of the labor. In my book, that makes them stand-up guys.

The differential was ordered and would arrive Wednesday morning, so now I had to decide what to do for the night. I was in North Las Vegas, a not very cheap cab ride from the strip, so I decided that since Vegas had already take a rather large chunk out of my wallet, I would sleep in the car in the parking lot of the repair shop. Wolf had no problem with this - there was a security guard who watched the place at night and cameras all over the place. I wasn't in the best part of town, but I'd probably be safe. I was introduced to the security guard, who's name was (I shit you not), Painless, and was told he had a shotgun next to him at all times. Sweet.

Then darkness started to fall. It was hot, and I was in a parking lot in a sketchy part of town, and I thought "What the fuck am I doing?" I thought about it for a second, called downtown Vegas, and got a room at Binion's for $59. For a good night's sleep, a shower, and some piece of mind, I figured it would be worth it, and it was. One $25 cab ride later, I was watching The Sopranos and falling asleep.

The parts arrived this morning, and they stared working on the car. I had to go back to give them my keys, so rather than spend $50 on two cab rides, I paid $35 for a rental car. They were out of the smalls, so I was upgraded for free to a Ford Fusion, which is a pretty sick little sedan. I also talked John the Front Desk Guy at Binion's into uprgrading me (for free) to a junior suite, so I'm living in luxury in downtown Vegas with my Ford Fusion and junior suite. At Wolf's, I was informed that the car probably wasn't going to be ready until tomorrow, so I extended my stay for one more night and entered the 2pm Binion's Poker Tournament.

Now, for those that aren't aware, Binion's is somewhat of a poker mecca. It's heydays have since passed, but Binion's is where the World Series of Poker was invented and played for the first twenty or so years of its existence. As the WSOP started to be televised and popular, Binion's started its decline into bankruptcy and management problems, and so the rights have since been purchased. But there's so much history still in the place, I just had to play one tournament here.

The buy in was $70, and I played perhaps the greatest poker I've ever played in my life. I was knocking people out left and right, making fantastic calls, and bluffing people with crap hands and making them fold. Everyone who played at my table respected and feared me, and they all thought I'd go on to win it. I was the chip lead for most of the tournament, and when we got down to the final two tables, things started to get bumpy. Since I've only been in that situation twice (big chip lead near the end of the tournament), I don't really know how to properly play my position, and I made some stupid mistakes, busting out in 9th place out of 70 or so. The top 7 places got paid. On the one hand, it's nice to do so well and play good poker for so long, but on the other hand, it REALLY sucks to make it that far and win as much as I would have had I gone out in the first 15 minutes.

Well, you learn and move on, right? I just pray to god that my car is ready and I can get the hell out of here and back into nature for a couple of days. Vegas is a city of false creation, and I need some good old fashioned nature made splendor. Viva la Roadtrip!

Quickie

2006-05-23T21:12:00.000-07:00

Yes I'm alive, no I'm not in jail, although thanks for the offers of bail. Long story short, I'm still in Vegas. Details to come.

Thursday Randomshow Radio Update

2006-05-18T11:14:00.000-07:00

Vegas, baby! I'm sitting in my room at the Sahara, which is at the North end of the strip across from the Stratosphere. My room is decent for a cheaper hotel, as long as you ignore the white stains that cover the chairs.

Today's segment on KSCO was a good one, me thinks, and you can here it here (Click the link and it should start playing in your preffered mp3 player, or right click and download to save it 'till the end of time). Again, major thanks to Robin Goldstein for capturing, editing, and hosting the clip. You are one badass motherfucker.

Yesterday's Schnauzer Logic podcast segment can be heard here http://schnauzerlogic.tblog.com/ - it's not up yet as of this point, but do me a favor and take a look around Robin's site. Listen to some of the other podcasts that don't include me - he's a talented motherfucker. I wonder what the limit on calling someone a motherfucker is in one post? As always, I urge you to listen to the whole podcast, but in case you're rushing out to hook up with Heather Locklear because she just broke up with David Spade, my segment will start about an hour in when episode 16 is posted.

And since I'm way behind in posting pics, here are some pics from Arches to hold you over:

SLC 900 Ft. Jesus

2006-05-17T11:42:00.000-07:00

Bryce Valley, Utah ~ people served: over 99 billion
About 12pm on Sunday I pulled into Salt Lake City, and it was dead. I know SLC is full of pretty religious people, and so Sunday might not be the best day to visit, but the place looked like Hiroshima the day after, minus the destruction. No cars on the roads, no people walking around, just eerie silence that you don't expect from a big city. I found the Mormon Temple quite easily, parked on the street right outside, and wondered if they'd even be open to visitors on Sunday. What if I walked in in my Birkenstocks with my long ass goatee and nose piercing and they're in the middle of some deep holy shit? I might be burned at the stake. But I saw tourist looking types milling about, so I entered the gates to the grounds.

The first thing I noticed is that Mormon women with little nametags were on me like commissioned salespeople in a department store. They were everywhere, and always trying to get your attention, or ask how you're doing, or if they can help you, when all you want to do is browse for pants. Don't get me wrong, they were all very nice, but it was overbearing to the point where you wanted to say "Back off, bitch," at which point I probably would have broken some Utah law and been thrown in jail. Under each nametag was a flag of their nationality, and they were from all over the place; Africa, Japan, the Philippines, Australia, the UK...it was like the Mormon UN, only all the delegates were well covered women. It was rather warm that day, and I felt sorry for these girls having to give tours outdoors in what looked like thick, heavy clothing. After walking around for a bit and taking pictures, I figured a tour would give me a better history of the place, so like giving in to a car salesman on the lot, I took the Mormons for a test drive.

The two guides of my group were very enthusiastic, but very soft spoken young women. One was Filipina, so combining her accent with her low volume meant she could have told me she had sex with Jesus last night and I would have just nodded my head and smiled. They walked us around Temple Square, stopping in front of each attraction to give what I hoped would be a brief history, but what was instead a testimonial to Jesus and the LDS church. The girl's eyes seemed glassy, and the script they were reciting seemed well rehearsed. They kept talking about their devotion to the church and how great it was, and how much they loved Jesus and Joseph Smith and how great the current prophet Gordon Hinkley is. Walking from spot to spot, they would try and strike up a conversation with you, and the American girl seemed genuinely shocked that I had not read the Book of Mormon. Now, I've been in situations with the devoutly religious before, and my first instinct is to stir up a little healthy debate. When presented with statements that seem somewhat dubious, I tend to challenge them. I didn't feel it was appropriate in this setting to start questioning their beliefs, but I felt asking some questions would make it seem like I was engaged.

American Mormon Guide: Jesus was sent down to be God's representative on earth, so when he died, God had no one here. So he decided to speak through Joseph Smith, the founder of the Church, and Joseph became our first prophet.
Me: So for 1800 years, God did nothing, and then he decided to talk to Joseph Smith? Why did he wait so long?
AMG: (a little flustered) Well, God didn't do "nothing." He sent Ammaron to tell Mormon where to find the records of the ancestors, and then Mormon engraved the records onto golden tablets, and then God instructed Joseph Smith where to find those tablets.
Me: So there were other prophets before Joseph Smith?
AMG: It's all in the book of Mormon. You should read it...

It was a friendly exchange, but I could see she was getting a little frustrated with me, so I decided to let it go. At this point, we came upon the "Seagull Monument," which was a tall column with golden Seagulls on top. The story goes that when the first Pioneers who followed Joseph Smith to Utah settled around what is now Salt Lake City, they planted a bunch of crops. When the crops were almost ready to harvest, crickets invaded and started decimating the place. The Pioneers needed their crops to survive, and if the crickets completed their destruction, the Pioneers would surely die. So they prayed and prayed and prayed, and God sent seagulls to eat the crickets, and everyone rejoiced, and now the Seagull is the state bird of Utah. Nice story, but it is accounts like these that really piss me off and bring out the combatant Atheist in me. I was dying to ask "Well, why didn't God just not send the crickets in the first place, or why didn't he just make them all drop dead from some strange cricket disease? Why would god put the crickets there in the first place, make you pray to him, and then do something so complicated as to bring in seagulls to eat all the crickets? Or better yet, why not lead you to a valley where apples and oranges and corn grow naturally? Why is everything so complicated? Why, if the bible says that we have free will, and God doesn't interfere with that will, does man pray to God to help him? And why is the Bible and Book of Mormon littered with all these miracles God performed to save his people, but when his people needed help recently, he was no where to be found? We sure could have used a miracle during the Holocaust! A miracle would have been nice during Hurricane Katrina! I bet the people in Darfur would be open to a miracle right about now! What the fuck?" I felt something like that might have been inappropriate, so I said nothing and moved on.

Walking between one of the spots, I asked the American girl if she'd seen "Big Love," the new HBO show that centers around a polygamous family. Surely she'd be outraged at this false depiction of Mormonism, upset that the only time Mormons every crack main stream culture it always has something to do with polygamy. Surely this show must be big time Mormon water cooler talk, whether they watch it or not. She replied that while on her mission, she wasn't allowed to watch television, and she really didn't know anything about the show, and could I perhaps tell her about it? I was happy to, but this absolutely shocked me. I guarantee you if there was an HBO series about any sect of Jews, every Jew in the world would know everything about the show, whether they watched it or not. At the very least, they would know all the main characters names and how much they made a year. Rabbis would stop you on the street and ask "Did you see the HBO show about the Jews?" You could be in the most remote jungle in South America, and if there was another Jew around, you guys would talk about the show. So I understand that she can't watch tv for two years, but she lives in Salt Lake City, Mormon Capital USA! You would think the show would be a topic of conversation around the church. I guess Mormon's just aren't a bunch of Yentas.

From there, we went into a big building with Disneyland style paintings of planets and stars on the ceiling. It looked like we were about to ride space mountain. We were sat down in front of a HUGE statue of Jesus, and asked to open our hearts to his words which were then played as a prerecorded voice read them over a speaker system. It was very odd. We were then asked to fill out a card with our personal information, and to check a box if we wanted to be visited by members of the church. I put down my friend Nathan's home phone number from High School (the standard whenever I and a few other friends are asked for personal information we don't want to give, 888-0841), and my guide looked hurt that I didn't want to be visited. I explained I was on a road trip for a couple of months, and she told me that Jesus would be there when I got back. I thanked her and high-tailed it the fuck out of there.

I want to be clear here. The Mormons I met were very nice people. They all seemed very enthusiastic about their religion, and that's great. I think it's good for people to have a great passion for something, anything, whether it's religion or their pets or John Hughes movies. But I've had a very long battle with organized religion for a long time now, and I have very specific issues with what they tell you God is and what he's done and can do. When I asked before where God was during the Holocaust, I wasn't just trying to make a point. I seriously want to know, where the fuck was he? And where is he now? All over the bible, God's sticking his nose in places, and there's so much suffering today, if he exists and he's as benevolent as I've been led to believe, then it's reprehensible that he not do something. I am Jewish, and like so many young Jews today, I see my Judaism as more of a culture or a race, and less of a religion. I believe the old testament was written by a bunch of very smart people a long time ago as a way to get people to act with civility in a society, and I think a lot of the basic tenants are right on. But how is it fair to scoff at the bullshit Scientology is trying shove down your throat, and then turn around and believe the fantastic stories in the Torah are true? It doesn't make sense in my head, and maybe someday it will, but until then I want it to be clear that I'm not picking on Mormons in specific, I'm picking on organized religion, including Judaism, in general.

My laundry is almost done and it's time to check out of the KOA. I've got a lot more to write, but no time to do it. I need to start writing these posts offline, so I can just copy and paste them into blogger when I can find a connection. Still to come is my time at Arches National Park, tons of pictures, and why the Germans love Southern Utah. Tomorrow I hit Vegas, and I have a feeling there won't be too much posting for the next couple of days, but I'll see what I can do.

Plague? No. Plaque? Probably.

2006-05-16T19:20:00.000-07:00

My first internet access opportunity in over a day, and I have to make it short and sweet. Several of you are concerned about my safety, and I'm touched, since I got several e-mails letting me know Plague has been reported in Southern Utah, which is where I now am. At current, I am Plague free, but I still have one more night here, so anything can happen. How do you get Plague, anyway? Is it only through sexual contact with squirrels? If so, I promise that if I do any squirrel boning tonight, I'll wear a condom.

Hopefully I'll have a chance to post something meaty tomorrow. Right now I'm in a restaurant that is allowing me to steal their wireless, but I'm starting to get dirty looks from the owners. I've got to stop making Mormon jokes to people I meet in this state. So stay tuned, next post will include why I think all Mormons are in a cult, why Germans love Southern Utah, and pictures of the most spectacular place I've been so far.

And for those preoccupied with the fact that there might be a typo here and there, bite me.

Attacked by Bobcats, Surrounded by Cows

2006-05-13T19:07:00.000-07:00

Brigham City, Utah ~ miles traveled: almost 3000
I've been searching forever to find a place where my wireless card would work, and I finally have a week signal. What's the deal Mormons? You can have 15 wives, but shitty wireless service? Actually might not be a bad trade off.

So you're probably asking how I got from Spokane, Washingtion to Brigham City, Utah. Let's take a ride.

Trudel was fixed with amazing speed by Autocraft in Spokane. Before I had even uploaded the most recent set of pictures, the new left rear axle was installed and ready to go. My thanks to Herb and the gang for coming in under time and on budget. From Spokane, it was just a quick jump over to Idaho, so I decided to stop for lunch in Coeur D'Alene. A Greek place provided nice relief from all the grilled cheese sandwiches I've been eating, and a quick vegetarian Gyro later I was on the road.

At this point, I realized that on my way back in through this part of the country in August, or whenever it's going to be, I'll have all the time in the world to sightsee buy tourist crap. The part of the country I won't be back in is the middle, so it would probably be a good use of my time to check out Utah and maybe some of Colorado. The place that's been suggested more than any other so far is Arches National Park, and since this will be the only time I'll be anywhere near it, I decided to high tail it to Mormon country.

I shot into Montana, severing the Northern neck of Idaho along highway 90, meeting up with 93 South in Missoula. Idaho and Western Montana are some the most spectcular scenery I've seen so far, and it's true, the sky really does seem bigger in Montana. I don't know what kind of David Blaine shit they're pulling, but it's a great illusion. Every 15 feet or so in Montana is a "Casino," which is really nothing more than a gas station/liquor store with a few slot machines, and I saw some of the most leathery, blank stare pod people I've ever seen smoking cigarrettes to the filter and mashing spin buttons. I hit the gas pretty hard through Montana (75mph speed limits, and yes, Trudel can do 75 just fine, thank you), and dropped back down into central Idaho. At this point, the sun was staring to set, so I took some pictures and pulled off the road for the night. This was the first time I'd ever slept along the highway - no campground, gas station, or Walmart to protect me. I pulled off in a nice wide pullout next to the Salmon river, popped the pop top, and set up camp.

It was dark at this point and I stayed in the car the whole time, feeling the wind of truckers passing on the road gently rock Trudel. I stepped outside to have my last smoke of the night and maybe pee in a bush, when I remembered the name of the last Sportsman's turnout I'd seen. Sportsman's turnouts are set up along the side of the road to let you know where to fish, hunt, and sometimes drop your boat into the river, and the last one I'd seen was called Bobcat Gulch. As I stood outside in the dark, my inner monologue went something like this: "Are there Bobcats around here? No, there couldn't be. But why couldn't there be? It's not like I'm at a campsite or some populated area, where they might be afraid to hunt. I'm all alone on the side of a river. One could easily come by and think I'm prey. Don't cats hunt at night? What did the guide at that big cat park in Oregon say - if you encounter a Bobcat, make yourself really big, with your back to a tree so you look bigger. Fuck, there's no trees around, I guess I could back up to the car. Is that big enough? And don't run, you'll be doing them a favor, since they like to chase their prey. Yeah, like I'd try and run anyway. White stocky Jews don't run for anything, unless someone dropped a quarter. Rimshot. What was I freaking out about? Oh yeah, Bobcats. I probably shouldn't wander down to the edge of the water to take a piss. What did I learn at camp - if I see yellow eyes in the dark, that's a predator, white eyes are prey. Or is it the other way around? Where's my knife? I think I'll get back in the car. Nothing can get me in the car. Unless they climb up on the top and rip through the canvass. Would it do that? I've seen video of bears ripping the metal tops off cars to get to food inside. Are there bears around here? It's okay, I'll be safe in the car. Close the door, turn on the alarm. Yeah, because a Bobcat might think of breaking into the car to get me, but he'll see the flashing red alarm light and think 'Whoa, this guy's got an alarm...fuck it.' It's cool, I doubt I'll - zzzzzzzzzz."

Hours later, I was up with the sun, alive and free of Bobcat marks (why do I keep capitalizing "Bobcat?" Is it because it has the name "Bob" in it?). I drove for about two hours or so when suddenly there's a pickup truck stopped in front of me. In front of the pickup truck, I see a lot of dust, and through the dust are about a hundred or so cows being hearded down the middle of the highway by people on horses. The owner of the truck is leaning on his hood, and I realize that he's with the herd, stopping traffic. I figure he'll keep me there until all cows are clear of the road, but no, he just waves me right on around him. At this point, the cows are about two hundred yards ahead of me, and they're moving pretty quickly, so I creep around the truck and start following the cows. Now, I've never followed a herd of cattle before, and there's no sign on their asses saying "Stay 100 feet behind" or something like that, so I'm not sure how close I can get without spooking them. I keep pace with the last horses bring up the rear, and now Trudel is effectively herding cows. All of the sudden the herd starts to part, like a cow moses showed up somewhere, and the road is open. I slowly start to go through the herd, and figure since I'm not getting yelled at by anyone on a horse, I must not be doing the wrong thing. Then all of the sudden, the cows on my left about 200 feet up start crossing over to the right side of the road, causing me to slow down and then stop. And now the cows that had just parted start to enclose around me, actually brushing the side of the car. When a cows ambles up next to my window with a huge string of saliva hanging from it's mouth, I decide it's time to roll up said window and just wait things out. And as an added bonus, I figure the cows skimming along the sides of the car might be doing some bug and dirt removal. After a minute pause to catch their cow breath, they all start to go right (no blinkers, mind you), into a road that I hope leads to a farm, and then they were gone. I look down and realize they weren't catching their breath; they were shitting and pissing all over the road. Massive piles of cow shit and rivers of urine are everywhere, and there's nothing I can do but drive through it, all the while apologizing profusely to Trudel. No, no cows shit or pissed directly on the car, but my wheels kicked up enough of the mixture so that there was some nice splatter.

From there I ate breakfast in a very small town (oatmeal with raisins and a biscuit) where the only other patrons were two older men in large cowboy hats who stared at me from the second I walked in until the moment I left. It was the kind of look like they thought I was going to steal their women and deal drugs to their kids. I considered going over and ask them if they knew where I could score some acid, but decided against it and hit the road.

I zoomed out of Idaho and into Utah without incident, and now here I sit about 60 miles north of tomorrow's destination, Salt Lake City. SLC will be a hotel day so I can shower, do some laundry, and watch the series finale of "West Wing" and the season finale of "Survivor." "Survivor" I'm impartial about, but I've been a diehard WW fan since day one, so it's worth the indulgence. Plus, it will give me a good chance to really check out Salt Lake City. Last time I was there was on the way to Jackson Hole, Wyoming for an 11th grade ski trip (I was 15), and we stopped at Denny's where Sam and I ate "Moons over My Hammy" for the first and last time. I can't let that be my only memory of the place. It's not fair to me or Salt Lake City.

Monday I'll pick up a couple of wives (what's the limit on Polygamy jokes per post?) and head out on my way to Arches. I'll spend a couple of days bumming around there, and then it's on to Vegas, where this trip and blog will really start to pick up steam. Expect pics from Seattle and Idaho tomorrow.

New pics online

2006-05-12T13:36:00.000-07:00

I've uploaded new pictures from the first week. Hopefully you can see them at http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=gyqcbgn.223ojdmn&x=0&y=8widl9 If that doesn't work, I'm sure you'll all let me know. On the left hand side of the page, there should be an option to "View Photos Without Signing In." Or, if you have a Kodak Gallery or Ofoto account, go ahead and sign in. Go crazy.

Pictured dump, days 3-11

2006-05-12T09:58:00.000-07:00

Blogger kind of sucks for posting pictures because you have to post them one at a time, then adjust the formatting, and it's basically a pain in the ass. Couple this with my less than optimal internet speed, and you've got one big headache. So from now on, I'll post a few funny pictures here and there, but the bulk I'll put up at KodakGallery.com with a link to the different albums (to give you a sense of how tedious this process is, I selected 39 pictures to upload, and I'm being told it will take 1 hour and 9 minutes). You may have to register with a password in order to see the albums, but it's free. In the meantime, some of my most recent favorites:

Points for honesty?

This means either no hitchhiking, or no Fonzies

Nothing says "Jesus is my lord and savior" like a novelty t-shirt

Trudel Down!

2006-05-11T17:24:00.000-07:00

Spokane, Washington
Driving towards Spokane yesterday, I started to hear a clunking sound from one of Trudel's wheels that sounded like it was going in time with the tire revolutions. It went away, lulling me into a false sense of security, but in the back of my mind I knew a sound like that doesn't just go away. It picked back up last night, and by this morning I knew I would have to take her in.

I pulled over to the side of the road in Spokane, fired up my wireless service (which, if anyone is thinking of getting the service through Cingular, works a little better than dial up but nowhere near high speed), and typed "Westfalia Mechanic Spokane" into google. I came across a site of VW owners and lovers, each of which listed where they are, what they drive, their level of expertice with vans, and whether or not you can crash at their place if something goes wrong with your car. I called a guy on the list named Shaun, and not only did he direct me to a good mechanic in the area, he happened to work two blocks from where I pulled over and he came over to see if there was anything he could do. I have to say, the VW van community sure are a helpful bunch!

At the mechanic, I learned that the left rear axle needs to be replaced for a cost of $225. Not a huge deal, and knock on wood that this is the only thing that goes wrong. The parts are being shipped from Seattle tomorrow, and the auto shop is letting me crash in their parking lot for the night. They even pointed out a patch of gravel where I can take a leak. Nothing but hospitality, I tell ya.

Need something to listen to while you're stuck in your dead in job? Check out my latest road trip segment on the Schnauzer Logic Podcast over at http://schnauzerlogic.tblog.com/ Of course you're going to want to listen to the whole thing, but in case you're pressed for time because you have to run out and get your mom a Mother's Day gift, my segment starts about 26 minutes into the show. Also, without any prompting from me, Robin did me the great honor of capturing my segment on the KSCO morning show today at 6:45 am. Download all the hilarity at http://www.schnauzerlogic.com/jason/jason-ksco-511.mp3, and a HUGE thanks to Robin for doing that! If I ever need an intellectual property lawyer, you'll be the first one I call.

Meanwhile, the popularity of this blog continues to grow thanks to the efforts of all of you who are reading it. I've finally taken over the number one slot on Google when searching for "Jason Nathanson." I've been competing for years with some asshole UCSD science geek named Jason Nathanson who seems to be a lot more accomplished and smarter than I am, so it's good to finally knock him down a peg. And people searching for stuff in Google are randomly bringing up this site. What, you ask, is the most random search term typed into Google that recently brought someone here? "Sizzler Cheese Toast" and "How to make Sizzler Cheese Toast." I doubt those people found what they were looking for, but I'm glad they stopped by.

And don't forget to check out the comments section at the bottom of each post - I'm always looking for fun things to do wherever I am. Currently I'm taking suggestions for the East Washington, Idaho, and Montana areas. Over at the Schnauzer Logic page, I've been invited to Wallingford, Ct., so remember you too can bring the Random to you! The comments are also a great place to see my friends bust my balls, my cousins drop simultaneous guilt trips on me (and they're not even practicing Jews!), and my dad using a fake persona to call himself a hottie.

Tomorrow while I'm waiting for the car to be fixed, I promise to post of ton of pics.

The Gayest Thing I've Ever Done

2006-05-10T15:14:00.000-07:00

Rest stop outside Spokane, Washington – miles traveled: 14,733,008
Eastern Washington, not quite as impressive as Western Washington, so far. It’s a lot like what I imagine Idaho will look like, which is good preparation, since I’ll probably be in Idaho by tomorrow. It definitely doesn’t compare to Seattle, where I was yesterday.

Seattle is very impressive; you come in off Highway 5 and drop into the city with a magnificent view of the sound and downtown and islands and hills. My game plan was to hit the Space Needle, Pike Place Market, and then downtown, all of which I was able to find with ease.

The Space Needle was easy to spot, since it’s a big steel needle standing atop a hill North of downtown. At the base is the Experience Music Project, which I plan to hit on the way back. It’s curvy, colorful shape is bizarre and makes it look like something Jerry Garcia puked up on an acid trip. The Space Needle itself is impressive in its height and shape, and I went up to the window to buy a ticket to the elevator to the top. I balked a little at the $14 price, but I’m a tourist, and that’s what tourists do. From the top you get a great view of the whole city and surrounding areas, and all of the viewing binoculars are free. The have a whole history of the thing spread out on one wall, and all told the attraction is good for about 15 minutes. At almost a dollar a minute, the Space Needle is a bit overpriced, but I can check it off my master list.

After that, I went down to the Pike Place Market, where I would have happily paid $14 to get in. This was probably the highlight of my trip so far. It was a great place to people watch, wander around, take pictures, and explore. They sell all kinds of interesting things to eat; I got a tofu hotdog with all the fixings (which is rare to find from a vendor, usually you only get something like that if you make it at home) and some whipped Lebanese garlic spread which tastes just like a Greek sauce called Skordalia, something I’ve never seen sold commercially. And of course, I saw the guys throwing fish. They really ham it up and put on a good show, and I squeezed my way up front to get a good angle on some pictures. They had a woman standing just in front of the guy doing the catching, and they placed a cup filled with coffee on her head. The guy throwing would toss the fish, missing the cup by inches. The catching guy would then throw fish back to the thrower. They did this three times, and at the end of the third time, I was looking through the view finder on my camera when all of the sudden a see a huge fish come flying at my head. I was far enough to the left of the guy who was supposed to catch it, and realizing there was no way he was going to get over in time, I ducked down really fast as I felt the flying object graze my cheek. As I ducked down, I bashed my forehead on the handle of a baby stroller to my left, dazing me for a second. As I stood up, the whole crowd was laughing in my general direction, and I looked around to see where the errant fish had landed. I spotted it on the ground to my right: a fish shaped stuffed animal. I laughed along with everyone else, and I truly appreciate the joke; I just wish I didn’t have “Osh Kosh B’Gosh” imprinted in my forehead.

I left soon after to go downtown for my massage. A week of driving and sleeping in weird places has tweaked my neck, causing me to get occasional bad headaches. I’ve only had three or four massages in my life, and I figured one would help work out the kinks. I found a nice looking spa downtown, and strolled in on time for my 2pm massage. I was shown into the room, given a bathrobe to change into, and told to hang out and my masseur would be in shortly. A few minute later, there was a knock at the door, and in walked Ivan. Now, I’ve done some gay things in my life. I’ve lived in San Francisco, West Hollywood, and I’ve seen almost every episode of “The Gilmore Girls.” But I’ve never had my whole body rubbed down with warm oil by a man. As the massage started I was a bit uncomfortable, and since I haven’t had a whole lot of experience with this thing, I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate or not to request someone different. For about five minutes I went back and forth on what I should, when finally I just accepted it. If I spent the whole hour tripping out, it would be a waste of $75, plus I’d probably leave tenser than when I went in. So I closed my eyes and pretended Ivan was Ivanka, and you know what? I got a pretty damn good massage. And I didn’t get anything close to a boner the whole time, so my heterosexuality is still intact. Didn’t fix my neck, though.

After that I drove around the city for a couple of hours, exploring different neighborhoods. With the hills, electric busses, architecture, and counter-culture looking residents, I was reminded of San Francisco. The weather was perfect, so I didn’t get a taste of the rainy side of Seattle, but if a job or something ever required a move there, I don’t think I’d mind. Now if they would just open a Starbucks or two, the city would be perfect.

Sleeping in Tacoma

2006-05-09T10:27:00.000-07:00

Tacoma Washington
It's officially been a week on the road, and I've been in four different states - happiness, wonder, awe, and slight depression. Oh, and also California, Nevada, Oregon, and Washington. The scenery so far has been amazing; lakes and rivers and bridges and bluffs. But I'm not going to lie and say it's all been peaches and cream. Daytime is fine because I'm usually driving and can see all the great country around me. It's the nights, when everything slows down and I'm off the road, where I've experienced some boredom and lonliness. The times when I've met people at campgrounds and made friends have been fine, but sometimes there are no people around to meet, especially during the week. You have to figure out what to do, and sometimes accept that there isn't anything to do but just hang out. And so far I've noticed it's the big cities where this has been the hardest.

Sunday I pulled into Portland, which is a very cool looking city filled with bridges and a river and green everywhere you look. It was raining, and I decided that in order to better get a feel of the city I'd stay in a hotel. I fired up my wireless internet and picked a cheap hotel downtown, The Mark Spencer. It was a decent place, clean and safe, but the rooms were somewhat depressing and dark. It rained all afternoon, making it hard to get out and walk around, so I hung out in my hotel room, taking two hot long showers, caught up on blogging, watched some TV, and ate dinner. The rain finally let up in the evening, so I started walking around. I was a block away from Powell's Books, the famous independent bookstore of Portland (well known if you work in the radio industry, because if you're trying to book a guest on book tour, they're either on their way or just came from a stop at Powell's). I browsed around a bit, but in the end it's just a really big book store, which isn't the most exciting thing in the world.

I left there and wandered around a bit more, slowly realizing that I perhaps wasn't in the best part of town. I was in the downtown area, which is slowly being revitalized with lofts and such like most downtowns in big cities in America, and as darkness decended, the charming brick and steel building fronts gave way to unsavory loiterers and homeless. I ducked into a rough looking bar for a drink, and being Sunday night, there were only a few scattered patrons milling about. I drank my scotch, and not finding anyone I cared to strike up a conversation with, I left. I was told there were some cool and hip bars around my hotel, but again, being Sunday night, I found very little activity. So it was back to the hotel for rest and relaxation.

I've learned a couple of things so far, namely if that you're on your own, it's easier to camp and make friends then it is to be in a big city. And I've learned that if I'm going to go into a big city where I don't know anyone, it's best to have a game plan and go in prepared. So that's why I'm sitting here just outside Seattle - I'm formulating my game plan. The one person I do know here, Suzi, isn't around, so I'm going to have to figure it out for myself.

So while some of this is hard, one of the points of this trip is try and bring myself out of my shell. When I'm at home, I'm not the kind of guy who just goes out and meets tons of new people by myself, so it's not fair to put pressure on myself to be that kind of person on the road. I'm only a week into the trip, and I'll figure out how to be more adventurous. I just need to give myself some time.

Today I'm going into Seattle, and I'll see the big needle and watch them throw fish around. If I'm lucky, maybe Bill Gates is reading my blog and he'll let me crash at his place. I've heard he's got some extra room.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere are Signs...

2006-05-07T21:36:00.000-07:00

Thursday night's lodging

Nevada gets a little more handsome

I was about to buy some porn, but then I saw this sign...

California gets a little less handsome

"Predators in Cages" would be more accurate

Trisha Takanawa?

That's exactly how Jesus signed my high school yearbook

Approximate route so far

2006-05-07T15:37:00.000-07:00

I did this in MS Paint, so it's not exact, but this is pretty much the ground I've covered so far...the red indicates where I stopped for the night

Going Going Oregone

2006-05-07T09:50:00.000-07:00

Outside Yachtas, Oregon – miles traveled: Over 1000
Sorry I’ve been incommunicado for the past couple of days. You know when you’re in a cell phone store and they show you a map of coverage, and the white parts are the areas where there’s no service? That’s where I’ve been. Since leaving Pioneer, I’ve been to Carson City, Reno, Alturas, Klamath Falls, Medford, Cave Junction, Cresecent City, and Coos Bay. For those unfamiliar, that’s California, Nevada, California, Oregon, California, and back to Oregon. I think it’s safe to say that at this point, I won’t be entering California again until the end of my trip.

Picking up where we left off, the trip leaving Pioneer on Thursday dropped me down into Nevada going past Lake Tahoe. Because of my no gambling until Vegas policy, I wanted to get the hell out of Nevada as quickly as possible, which wasn’t too much trouble because in the area I was in there wasn’t anything that made me want to stay too long. I did stop in Reno at a Cingular store to pick up a wireless card that is supposed to give me high-speed internet almost anywhere in the country for $60 a month. Since I’ve been in the “almost” areas for the past three days, I’ve had limited success with getting a signal. It might be only a matter of time until the wireless card is “accidentally” thrown out the window onto the side of 101. We’ll see.

From Reno, the destination was Alturas, California in Modoc County, the area where rumors of Nathanson land have been whispered about for as long as I can remember. The drive into Alturas was about as desolate as it gets, and I’d go for 30 minutes at a time without seeing another car. Alturas is a blink and you’ll miss it town in the North Eastern part of California, and it can probably be best described with the word “dusty.” There are a couple of restaurants, a motel or two, and Sully’s trailer park, where I bedded down for the night to the sound of wild cats howling in the massive field that was my backyard. It’s a good thing I never got that gun, because Alturas would be minus five cats if I had.

I woke up early Friday morning and peeked into the trailer park bathroom, deciding against showering in it using the logic that I’d probably come out dirtier than when I went in. I ate breakfast at some diner that had the word “Bear” in its name, ordering two oatmeal-nut healthy pancakes and a coffee. Five minutes later, the waitress plopped down two massive brown circular items that I could have used as umbrellas had it been raining outside, both of which were the consistency of lead mixed with cement. While heavy, they were tasty, and after managing to choke one down I took off for California Pines, being careful not to fall in any bodies of water along the way because with that pancake in me, I would surely sink and never be found.

California Pines is a community a few miles West of Alturas, and I don’t know the story behind it, but this version I made up probably best describes it: sometime about 40 years ago someone bought a few thousand acres of land in the mountains and decided to parcel it up into acre plots and sell those plots in the hopes of forming some kind of mountain retreat community. And while it appears they did a somewhat decent job of selling some of the acres, the “community” part hasn’t really gotten off the ground. One of the lucky buyers were my parents, who bought two plots right across the street from each other for $2500 a piece and haven’t been back to visit in over 30 years. Hoping maybe his land has appreciated to some astronomical level consistent with the growth experienced in most of California, after I saw the land my dad asked me with a great deal of anticipation in his voice if anyone had built on any of the land around ours. I replied “Not only haven’t they built on any of the land around ours, no one has built on any of the land at all.”

At the base of the mountains that contain the plots of land is a lodge that functions as a motel and a sales office for California Pines. I strolled in expecting in this day and age of computers that I could give them my name and they’d be able to easily pull up the location of our land. Of course, this wasn’t the case, and the very nice lady with the mullet had to jump through all sorts of hoops to find this information out, finally calling the county assessor’s office after an hour of unfruitful searching. I was given a map which looked like a 200th generation photocopy and told the highlighted numbered squares belonged to the Nathansons, and then I was also told that none of the plots of land were any longer actually marked with numbers, so just “look for the land right around this bend, and that’s yours.” I was then also informed that there was still quite a bit of snow up there, and no one had been to any of the plots in at least a week, so some of the roads may be impassable. If I got into any situation where I felt I might have a problem, I was to turn around immediately, because since there was no cell phone service anywhere, it might be weeks until my carcass was discovered. Armed with my illegible map and indecipherable instructions, I set off to find the impassable roads to my uninhabitable land.

I drove the 13 miles from the lodge up into the mountains, finally seeing a street sign for the road that would take me into the “complex.” I found it slightly amusing to see all these street signs, normally a sign of civilization, marking dirt roads. I bounced along, praying an errant sharp rock wasn’t going to pierce one of my tires, when on Dogtown Rd. I came upon a fallen tree. The tree was lying across the whole road, making it impossible to continue, but I would not be deterred! I didn’t come all this way just to let nature prohibit me from seeing the rocks and dirt I was to inherit, damnit. Using the map I was given, I was somehow able to navigate the backroad streets around the fallen tree and minutes later, after almost getting stuck in the mud twice, I was surveying my family land.

Upon laying eyes on it for the first time, it became evident that my dreams of using the land to start an organic farm would never be realized, but it was cool knowing that this patch of dirt and rocks and trees and melted snow belonged to me and my parents. It would take years of work and hundreds of thousands of dollars to ever build anything on it, but it was ours. If there was anyone with a hundred miles of me at that second and they tried to come on that little patch of dirt, I could yell at them “Git off mah land!” with the full force of the law behind me. It felt pretty fucking cool.

On my way out of Cal Pines, I remembered that they’d told me no one had been up to any of the properties in a while, so I decided to be nice and tell them about the fallen tree. When I did, they looked at me like I’d just said the ocean was salty; they couldn’t care less. I can’t say I was very sorry to be leaving Modoc County.

I was told by the waitress at the lead-pancake diner that the drive to Klamath Falls, Oregon was nice, so that’s where I headed next. I drove northwest along highway 299 for about an hour and half, arriving in Klamath Falls where there actually are no falls. It looks like any logging type town, semi-wooded and rustic with a large industrial area. After stocking up on supplies at Safeway, I continued northwest out of town for about half an hour until I got to Rocky Point Resort, which resides on a large marsh just outside of Klamath lake. I pulled into a campsite and parked for the night.

Rocky Point is where I made my first friend, Paula from Seattle and her dog Tokyo. She had started her own little road trip, basically going the reverse of the first week of my trip. We hung out and drank some scotch, and now I have someone else to visit in Seattle when I go there on my way back. And no, I didn’t bang her. Paula, if you’re reading this, I apologize for being crude, but I’m only answering the question I know all my friends (and apparently my mom) are asking.

Saturday morning I woke up and headed West from Klamath Falls along the Oregon/California border. I wanted to get back to 101 and drive up north along the coast. I stopped for gas and learned something new: in Oregon, you have to let the attendant pump your gas. It was explained to me that the unemployment rate in Oregon was way too high, and in order to create jobs the state passed a law forcing all gas stations to become full service. The state then subsidizes the stations so that gas prices aren’t higher; in fact, they’re cheaper than they are in California. The attendant was cleaning my bug ridden windshield and remarked “You came through K Falls, didn’t ya?” One thing I haven’t figured out yet is since they have to pump your gas, do you have to tip them? I have been, and every time I do they seem over-appreciative. I’m sure the residents of Oregon have stopped tipping at this point.

Another thing about Oregon: the whole state seems to be on fire. Everywhere on the side of the road, people are burning big piles of stuff. I’m guessing it’s their trash, and everywhere you go people are just burning shit. Even in the middle of the forest, I’d look over into the woods and see huge plumes of smoke rising in the air. Message to Al Gore: if you want to curtail global warming, dump a huge bucket of water on Oregon.

On my drive to 101, I was driving on 199 through Oregon where I came upon my first must-stop roadside attraction: Great Cats World Park – Predators in Action. There was a picture of a Leopard on the sign, and I just had to see what the fuck this was. Turns out it’s basically a private zoo with all kinds of lions and tigers and leopards, oh my. They’re kept in cages, most of which are pretty big, and the cats seem to be happy. But what the fuck do I know if a cat is happy? It’s weird to see a Siberian tiger in the middle of Southern Oregon, and my first instinct is that it’s totally wrong. I took the tour ($12), and on a Saturday around 11am I was the only one there, which wasn’t really a comforting sign. Matt was my tour guide, and we’d go up to every cage and he’d tell me about the cat inside. He had a bag of raw meat and some salad tongs, and this was how he’d coax each cat to come to the front of each cage. It was simultaneously fascinating and tremendously sad, and the whole place smelled like cat piss.

The road to 101 dips you back into California for a little while, and then you meet up with 101 and travel back into Oregon. It’s a beautiful drive, similar to parts of highway 1 around Big Sur. I spent Saturday night in a campground along the beach, and today I’ll hit Portland.

Life on the road has been nice so far. I can’t say it’s been the most exciting thing ever, but it hasn’t been boring or lonely. My hope is that now that I’m out of California and seeing new things, the adventure quotient will pick up. And thank god for Sirius Satellite radio – it’s made the boring stretches of driving bearable. If things start to get really uneventful, I’ll just have to pickup and kill a hitchhiker. That’ll make for good blogging.

The most recent Schnauzer Logic podcast is up - go check it out at http://schnauzerlogic.tblog.com/ This is my friend Robin's podcast, and every week I do a segment with him on my travels. I urge you to listen to the whole show, but in case you have to rush over to the CIA to apply for Porter Goss's job, my segment starts around 50 minutes in. This week it's "Tales of the Baby Changing Table" - an episode you can't miss.

Also, next Thursday I'll be starting my weekly segment on KSCO radio's "Good Morning Monterey Bay." It will be at 6:45 am - yuck - but if you're up early to get a jump on your daily 4 hour commute, you can stream it at www.ksco.com while you brush your teeth.

Tons of pics to come soon!

Love is like a coin toss...

2006-05-04T08:33:00.000-07:00

Pioneer, Ca. - miles traveled: 672
I left San Rafael (pronounced in the gringoized "Ra-Fell") at about 10:45 yesterday, traveling slightly North and mostly East. Destination? Pioneer, California, home of my uncle Jay and aunt Diana. We're talking a mountain pine trees no cell phone service one main road kind of town. It's a bit isolated, but it's beautiful country. One road in and out, and while my GPS had a little bit of a tough time once I got onto the smaller roads, it got me to the general vicinity just fine. And it's only 20 minutes from the Jackson Rancheria Indian Casino. Guess where we went last night?

I played a little "Let it Ride," $5 Blackjack, and 3-6 Hold 'Em. Losses: $63. Three casinos in three days, and that ends my casino play until Vegas. It was a nice place, but I think I saw more Gandhi-Indians than Native Americans. And they didn't serve alcohol! At least if I'm going to lose my money, let me get drunk doing it. And do I have to point out the irony of an Indian casino not serving alcohol? Since there was no hooch, that meant the age limit was 18. There's really nothing sadder than an 18 yr. old losing his whole Burger King paycheck at the Blackjack table. My aunt and uncle are frequent visitors, so we were comped at the buffet. The Nathanson/Greenspan family rolls like gangstas in Pioneer. Recognize.

Today I travel up North towards the California/Oregon border to check out my family land. Sometime in the early seventies, my dad's boss convinced him to buy two acres of land near the border. My parents rational was that if Armageddon ever broke out, they'd always have a plot of land to flee to. Armageddon is Armageddon, whether you're in L.A. or at the California/Oregon border, so I'd guess that nowhere would be safe for us Jew heathens, but that's beside the point. I'm sure I'll be fleeing something at some point in my life, so it's nice to know there's a predetermined fleeing point.

I'll leave you with this - I woke up this morning with the dream I was dreaming so fresh I must have been dreaming it right as I awoke. A really bad wedding singer was singing the same line over and over again - "Love is like a coin toss, sometimes you get head, and sometimes you get tail." Now, is this a line anyone's ever heard before, or am I writing bad Andrew Dice Clay jokes in my sleep?

A Message From The Editor

2006-05-03T09:16:00.000-07:00

Upon picture review, it has been determined that Mr. Nathanson slept at a Chevron station two nights ago, not an Exxon station as had previously been written. We have corrected the error and we apologize profusely to all of our readers. We will not have this blog become another New York Times, where facts are tailored to fit the article and not the other way around. Truth and accuracy are what blogging is all about, and we will not provide less than 100% of either. The offending writer has been fired, and we can assure you a mistake of this type will not occur again. Thank you for reading
-ed.

Picture dump - day 1 and 2

2006-05-02T22:12:00.000-07:00

Mom and Dad say goodbye

The first tank

The Poker room at Chumash

Background: San Francisco
Foreground: My big ass head

Bomb ass veggie satay from Neecha Thai

Open your Golden Gates

Trudel looks on lovingly...

Camp Chevron

2006-05-02T14:00:00.000-07:00

San Rafael, Ca. - miles traveled: 429
I finally left around 3pm yesterday, and thanks to immigrant boycott day, traffic was extremely light. Spontaneous stop number 1: My friend Gabe's office in Woodland Hills. I saw the offramp, thought to myself "Hey, it's Monday and he's not an immigrant, so he's probably at work," so I yanked the wheel for a quick pop in:

Ten minutes later I was gone - spontaneity achieved.

An hour later, in Santa Barbara, spontaneousness coursing through my veins, I pulled off 101 onto 154, taking the scenic back way through the mountains and wine country. Of course, this was also the road to Chumash Indian Casino, so I just had to stop in there given the wallet-padding I experienced last time. As I walked from the parking garage to the Casino, though, all I could thing about was whether or not I locked the car. There were some shady looking people milling about the garage, which is par for the course at any place that allows gambling, and I felt uneasy about the fact that almost everything of value I own is locked in a rolling studio apartment. So I trekked all the way back to the car, found it safely secure, and proceeded back towards the casino. Hopefully this isn't a sign of adult onset OCD.

I walked in and was immediately hit by the smell of pumped in air, cigarette smoke, desperation, and old people. I love casinos. I put my name on the list for 2-4, and as I was waiting to be called, I couldn't get my mind off of this one shady looking guy who had been lurking near my car. An hour of distracted poker later, I was out of there. I expected to find an empty space and a pile of glass where Trudel once stood, but she was safe and sound. I lost $50 because I was worried about my car and not my cards, which could be an expensive preoccupation I'm going to have to overcome.

It was about 7:30pm, and rather than power through all the way to San Francisco, I decided I would drive for about three more hours and either find a campground or pull off on the side of the road. If choice B was going to be a reality, I would need protection, so I stopped at the Walmart in Santa Maria to buy some pepper spray, which they didn't sell. I opted for a buck knife and a small aluminum baseball bat, because nothing strikes fear into the hearts of evil-doers like a child's t-ball bat, and I was back on the road.

With stops and dinner (In-n-Out grilled cheese with extra grilled onions, Iced tea), it was nearing midnight and I was getting sleepy. My handy-dandy GPS told me there was a campground 8 miles away in Gilroy (the garlic capitol of the world, and yes, it smells like the craft service truck on the set of the Sopranos), so I excitedly followed the sultry female voiced directions, turning left and right when prompted. Anticipation grew and grew until the GPS told me I had arrived at my destination, which wasn't so much a KOA campground as it was an empty field. I drove around and around where the campsite was supposed to be, and finding nothing, headed back to 101 to find another place to slumber.

I saw a grouping of truckers on the side of the road near a Chevron station, so I pulled off there thinking if the truckers are sleeping there, it's probably safe for me. I wasn't sure, though, if there was some kind of trucker etiquette to follow; would they see me as invading on their turf, or would they be protective of me and acknowledge me as kind of honorary trucking little brother? I asked the guy at the Chevron station if it would be okay to crash outside his station, and he told me "There's plenty of room in my parking lot - just pull around back and you'll be safe." Five minutes later I was parked and asleep.

I awoke at 6am with the sun peeking through the pop top, and after the obligatory "Where the fuck am I?" I was back on the road and smack dab in the middle of morning commute traffic. I pulled in to San Jose at the Bay 101 poker club, and after killing some time at the 2-4 table was sucked into their 9:45am $60 buy in no-limit tournament. I was very reluctant to enter because of the way it was structured, however the prospect of victoriously cashing in a tournament on the second day of my trip was rather enticing, so I threw caution to the wind and plopped down my money. The very reason I didn't want to enter was the reason I was knocked out half an hour later, and in the future I'll remember to not let my ego cloud my judgment. The problem was this: for $60, you get 500 in tournament chips, and any time in the first hour you go under 500 you can re-buy another 500 chips for $20. This causes people to go insane and play hands they normally wouldn't or shouldn't in the hopes of doubling or tripling up early, because they know if they get knocked out they can just re-buy. I won't bore you with my whole bad beat story, but that's the reason I had my pocket queens cracked by Jack-Six off suit.

After leaving that disaster, I went on to San Francisco where I did some touristy picture taking and had lunch at this Thai place I used to frequent when I lived there. They make this great vegetarian chicken satay, and I begged the woman to open a place in L.A., but she just laughed at me. Their secret is using gluten instead of tofu, and I'd challenge anyone to tell me the difference between it and chicken. I'll just have to learn to make it myself.

Now I'm at Jen and Jon's in San Rafael waiting for Jen to get home from work so we can go to the gym. I've wasted my allotted nap time typing this post twice (Blogger lost the first one), and I'd post more pictures but Blogger is being temperamental. More to come...

And he's off...

2006-05-01T12:50:00.000-07:00

Today in most major cities around the country is the great boycott by immigrants, or as some have said "A Day Without a Mexican." Here in L.A., however, in honor of my departure, it's being called "A Day Without a Nathanson."

I'm packed. Everything is loaded into the van. All electronic items are charged. All that's left is for me to jump in the shower, drive to my parent's work for a final goodbye, and then I'm on the road. Crazy.

For the first timers and those who just want a refresher - check out this post on what I'm doing and why.

To all those in L.A., I love you and I'll see you in a couple of months. For those of you around the country, I'll see you soon. For those of you I don't know but have somehow stumbled upon this blog, I'm happy you've decided to waste your time with me. I'll try not to disappoint.

The Spazzes of Spazio

2006-04-30T23:04:00.000-07:00

One hour until it's officially the day I embark on what will be either the best or worst idea I've ever had in my life. I'm not being negative or going into this with poor expectations; I know this will probably be one of the greatest experiences I've ever had and I'll be boring people with stories that start "When I went on my road-trip in '06" for years to come. However, the pragmatist in me knows that the lower my expectations are, the more they'll be exceeded. I guess that might be a somewhat pessimistic way of looking at things, but how many times have you built something up in your mind only to have it not live up to the hype? Expect nothing of people or situations and you'll rarely be disappointed. Put that on a fortune cookie.

Last night's send off dinner was great - a bunch of friends gathered at Spazio on Ventura in Sherman Oaks. Dinner was at 8, and we shut the place down drinking and hanging out until 1:30am. Pics:

(l-r) Drew, Mike, Alan (Drew's dad), Diane (my mom), Fran (Drew's mom)

(r-l) Star of the show, Jon, Drew, BJ, Catherine, Sam

(l-r) Mike, Marissa, BJ, Sam, Jen, Catherine

Do I really have to keep typing names?

I met all these people like five minutes ago

The Wisdom of Jeff Daniels

2006-04-29T18:17:00.000-07:00

Well, all my stuff is in storage, all necessities have been purchased, and the only thing left to do is pack. Waves of nausea mixed with terror and excitement are regularly washing over me. I feel like I'm on an old wooden roller coaster and I'm slowly clicking my way to the summit, and come Monday I'm going to plunge over the top and start this crazy ride. It's finally starting to hit me that this is really going to happen; this thing that's for so long been just an idea in my head - six months, a year? - is becoming concrete. The ironic thing about all this is I'm really not a spontaneous person; I'm a creature of routine and habit, I like comfort and stability. And I couldn't be doing anything more uncomfortable and unstable. I was asked the other day how I know the trip will be a success, and I didn't really have an answer, but now I think I do: If I leave on Monday and return in a couple of months, I'll have been successful. Upon my return, I don't have to have everything figured out and the mysteries of life solved. Just knowing I challenged myself to step outside my comfort-zone will have been enough for me to declare victory; the rest is just gravy.

Tonight I'm having dinner with my oldest friends, people I've known since kindergarten and Jr. High. Afterwards it's drinks with friends old and new. Tomorrow is filled with errands and packing and Sunday night dinner with Oma (grandmother in German). Part of me feels like I haven't prepared and planned enough, and the other part of me knows that it's not like I'm doing something overly complicated - there will be plenty of time to plan on the road. But still, there are thing which require forethought. For example, last week I came up with the idea of starting my trip by heading to San Francisco, then shooting East to Yosemite for a couple of days, and then traveling for a few days with the destination being Yellowstone. Upon doing some research last night however, I realized that nighttime temperatures in Yellowstone this time of year hover around 29f, so this time of year might not be the best to visit for someone sleeping in their car. So I'll save Yellowstone for the return leg of the trip, and start out going North until I hit Seattle, and then figure things out.

I didn't want to start out going up North through California, but I never could put my finger on exactly why that was. Oddly enough, a quote by Jeff Daniels in Life magazine this week (he's in the new Robin Williams movie RV and an avid RVer himself) best summed up what I couldn't put to words: "True RVers know that you don't become one with the road until there's a state between you and your home state. That's when you become Lewis and Clark." I won't feel like I've truly started my trip until I'm out of California and exploring a state I've never been in, and I imagine that happening by Friday.

Thought of the Day: I never really thought there'd come a day where I quoted Jeff Daniels.

Hecticnicity

2006-04-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

Today's post is sponsored by the word "Hectic." Things are crazy as we enter into the last few days before launch, and I promise to post something of more substance and length soon. To tide you over, however, you can check out the first of my weekly segment on the "Schnauzer Logic" podcast, done by my good friend Robin Goldstein. There are several different audio versions to fit all your audio needs over at http://schnauzerlogic.tblog.com/, or if that confuses you, the direct link to the mp3 is http://homepage.mac.com/airplayradio/SchnauzerLogicPodcast-Episode-13.mp3. Of course you're going to want to listen to the whole show because it's just that good, but if you're pressed for time my segment starts 54 minutes in. L'chaim!

A FOX in the White House

2006-04-26T08:44:00.000-07:00

So Bush has named Tony Snow, FOX News Radio talk show host and frequent FOX TV contributor, as Press Secretary. That ought to dispel the notion that the Bush administration is in bed with FOX News. Now, Mr. Snow may not be the worst pick in the world - he is SOOO boring that by the time he gets to questions from the press, they'll probably all be asleep. Seriously - I keep tapes of Snow's show around for those nights when I'm battling insomnia. It got me wondering, though...if a FOX News Radio guy can get such a prominent position, the TV guys should be overqualified for White House jobs. Here is what future appointments could look like:
-Neil Cavuto: Treasury Secretary (Which, coincidentally, is filled by another "Snow," John Snow, no relation to Tony, but there are unconfirmed reports he might be the guy behind the 90s rap hit Informer
-Shepard Smith: Head of FEMA
-John Gibson: Secretary of Defense against the War on Christmas
-Bill O'Reilly: Secretary of Falafels (if you don't get this, you NEED to read the 2004 sexual harassment complaint against Mr. Loofa)
-Alan Colmes: Secretary of Token Liberals
-Sean Hannity: Secretary of Making it Look Like you Care about an Issue as Long as it Gets Ratings
-Greta Van Sustern: Secretary of Hot Missing White Chicks

Mr. Snow, if you're reading this, I just want to let you know that if you need a Deputy Press Secretary, I produced a conservative radio show for the past two years. Call me. I'm also a big fan of your band (hat tip USA Today).

Sitcoms give me gas

2006-04-25T21:37:00.000-07:00

Being home weeknights has allowed me to partake in some of the great American sitcoms I've been missing all this time, and I don't know how I've lived this long without sampling the insightful wit of King of Queens and the exquisite comic timing of Teachers. If the rest of the world has seen some of the crap we produce, no wonder they hate us. It's not our intrusive foreign policy or superiority complex - it's our crappy sitcoms. And I know it's become a common joke, but I really had no idea how many Law & Orders and CSI's there really are. Between all the crime shows and bloody gore that is the nightly local news, there's no need to fear Al Qaeda; we should be scared to death of ourselves.

The overwhelming amount of things I need to do before I leave is slowly being whittled down into a manageable pile, and it looks like I won't be scrambling at the last minute to get things done. I finally wrote a list of what needs to be accomplished, first thing being "Make a list of things that need to be accomplished." Second on the list is "Figure out how to lower gas prices," but I'm guessing I'm probably going to have to work on that one for a while. Could I have picked a worse time to decide to drive hundreds of miles a day for no real reason except to fulfill my own self-delusional desires? Probably not. And what happened to the whole notion that the point of the Iraq war was to steal all of their oil so we could have cheap gas? Can't Bush even get that right? Trudel gets about 15-18mpg, which really isn't all that bad, but it's safe to say gas is probably going to be the largest single chunk of my budget - I'm guessing around 40%. And gas prices are only going to rise throughout the summer, so maybe I'd be better off just walking cross country.

Another thing that's bugging me is wireless internet. I'd planned to go with a service like Verizon or Cingular that gives you a wireless card, and wherever you are in their service area (which is most of the country), you can get highspeed broadband for a monthly fee. Verizon would be $79 a month, and Cingular would be $59 since they're already my cell phone provider. However, both require at least a one year contract, which sucks because after my trip I'll have no use for the service. I think what I'll do is in the beginning I'll see how well I do at finding free hotspots, and if that starts to become a distracting pain, I'll go with the Cingular service. So adding to my list of things to do, I'll go to http://www.wififreespot.com/ and print out the list of spots in each state.

On a funny note, thanks to the useful tools of www.freestats.com, I can track hits to this site. And if someone was directed here from a Google search, I can see what they typed into Google that brought up a page of mine. Best hit from Google so far? Someone found my site by searching "Sound Clips of People Smoking Weed." Whoever you are, I hope you weren't disappointed.

Procrastination Nation

2006-04-24T14:35:00.000-07:00

One week from today I'll be on the road, life in L.A. in my rearview mirror, adventure and the unknown spread out before my windshield like, well, something that's all spread out. I've got so much to do before I'm ready to go, but then again I've got plenty of time to do it. Sitting here writing this is fulfilling two goals: updating my blog and helping me procrastinate from packing up all my stuff. At most, packing and moving should be a two day job, but knowing me, I'll spread it out over the next week. I've always been a last minute kind of guy, something I've been trying to change about myself - but that's something I'll probably change at the last minute as well.

I've officially been unemployed for a week now, and while it's nice, I think I'd go crazy if I had nothing to do all the time. I watch things, like Bush's speech on immigration today, I can't help but think what cuts I'd want to use if I was producing a radio show. Things happen, like Whitehouse Press Secretary Scott McClellan stepping down last week, and I think about how I'd want to spin it (and by the way, if you're wondering my take on that, and I know you are, it's this: if I were Bush, I'd never let McClellan resign. He's just what you'd want in a press secretary. He's stumbles and bumbles, he's gets flustered and combative with the press, he's perfect. You don't want a guy who's flashy and slick and the smartest guy in the room, like Ari Fleischer was. You want a guy who the press will focus on and beat up so as to try and take the heat off the President. McClellan was the perfect decoy; the press spent so much of their time jawing with him over bullshit (yes David Gregory, I'm looking in your direction) that it distracted them from the real stuff. Too bad the Whitehouse didn't ask me for my opinion).

I've also started to wonder if I was only interested in this crap because it was my job, or because it's something I really care about. Over the past week, I haven't been following current events as closely as I used to, and I feel that over time, I'm going to start to care less and less. That makes me a little sad, because I already feel like not enough people pay attention to what's going on, and that's what allows those in power to easily be able to pull fast ones...but at them same time, who really cares about what happened during Schwarzenegger and Bush's meeting on California levee preparedness? In four months, we'll see what my level of interest is. If I still care about knowing what's going on and helping to inform other people, then maybe I should stay in radio or some form of communications. If on the other hand I find being a hermit has given me some sort of clarity that could only be found by emptying my head of the mundane bullshit that used to fill it, then I'll go herd goats and make delicious cheese from their milk.

Right now, though, what I care about most is stopping this packing chore from weighing on my mind, so I'm going to start on the road towards changing my bad habits by getting off my ass and getting it done. Dr. Phil would be proud. Or I could sit here and watch Rounders for the second time today. All right mom, I can hear you from here. I'll go pack.

Fact of the Day: I haven't shaved in a week.