We rolled into Atlanta on a steamy Thursday afternoon. According to the weather guy, the steaminess continues throughout the weekend, and much of the future and past of Atlanta. We picked up Brett's girlfriend TK at the airport, which, as far as I can tell, is the only reason we are here. If anybody has a better reason, let me know. We’re going skeet shooting on Monday. I really excited.
PTP + Guns = ???
xoxo
I write from the campus of Duke University, where one student told us, "Here, 90% of the kids are pre-med, and the other half are engineers." I love that math. We are spending the day studying the apathy of the private university student. After this, we are going to UNC to holler at some folk. Actually, I don't know what that means, but it sounds southern.
I love how everything said in a southern accent sounds either sexual, or sickeningly sweet. Example: young girl talking about economics = totally sexual. Employees of the campus store giving their approval to Charlotte Church's new baby = sickening. It leaves me wonder, is there any way to get angry in a southern accent. We hope to not find out.
We spent the night at Jay's aunt and uncle's house in Virginia Beach last night. There, we received the exciting news that we (Jay, myself) will be returning to Tucson for 5 days to do a concert at the Beta Theta Pi house on Oct 6th. We will be in Tucson from Oct. 4th through the 9th. We're really excited as it is a decent paying gig. Make plans accordingly.
The first person I saw in North Carolina was a white man in a cutoff t-shirt that said 'Good Ol' Boy.' If that's not funny, I don't know what is. To those who 'ain't from around wherever you may be', we salute you.
xoxo
Driving from D.C. to Virginia I'm impressed with how easy it is to get lost. C street turns to D street runs into a forbidding monument-esque building that seems to offer no direction, save a circle that leads back to nowhere. Also, Washington/Virginia/Maryland: there should never exist a six-lane highway with a 35 mph speed limit.
Dean and Judy were incredibly welcoming to the PTP crew, providing everything we could possibly need. Honestly, I have no interest in leaving. Zach and I stayed in Virginia for most of the last four days, while Jay and Brett shacked up in DC with our friend Shurid Sen. I have eaten more real meals in the last 72 hours than in the last 6 years. The entire family forewent synagogue for a 3:45 showing of 3:10 to Yuma. I was happy about the decision. We then broke fast at 6:30, and went to DC for a night of barring.
Zach and I spent a considerable amount of time with a grown Anna Rose Pollock, who is wonderful. We also had a Sunday brunch with the Zweig family (Sherry, Max, Becca, Val, Brandy), to whom I believe myself vaguely related. It was really quite lovely, and we took some vague-family pictures. Zach and I returned to VA and Dean took us to play nine holes. It was a wonderful day.
We just finished driving through DC in the RV, taking plenty of cheesy video along the way. We now enter the south, first to Virginia Beach and then to North Carolina. I am feeling a bit regionalist, with a sever bias against the south and whatever it may have to offer. But as I've always said, there's no better way to get over severe prejudice than to see how the other half lives. Actually, I've never said anything like that, but it sounds nice. See you in Jena, Louisiana.
xoxo y'all…
Between Philadelphia and Delaware may lie some of the bumpiest freakin' roads in the history of roads. I doubt the Silk Road and the Oregon Trail to have been so uneven and pockmarked.
We stayed with Zach's great-aunt across the bridge from Philly, and his cousin Rich took us into Philadelphia, where we spent the evening entertained by Ms. Ivie and Ms. Lulu, owner and bartender of the upscale Italian eatery Sovalo, who also happen to be professional hula-hoopers (the proferred nomenclature is Hooper). 2 AM Wednesday morning, we were drinking gin and tonics, hula-hooping the night away. It was sweet.
We presented out (mis)adventures to a class of 55 entrepreneurship students at the University of Delaware. We stayed with Becca Zweig and her 4 sorority sisters near campus. Although there was no hula-hooping, there was good fun, and a reconnecting of long-lost 'cousins.' We broke the gutter of some establishment next to Becca's, and spent the morning 'fixing' it; the quotes are because we fixed nothing, only cosmetically solved the issue.
We awoke promptly at 11, ate bagels, and worked on the gutter and some Passion stuff. We ate again, buffalo chicken cheese steaks, and now drive towards Oakton, VA, home of the Dean Pollock Clan, where we will be imposing this weekend. Looking forward to photographing some monuments rarely photographed, in DC, such as that one to Lincoln, and whatnot.
xoxo from the Capital Beltway…
Benevolent brother Phil got the PTP boys complementary tickets to Spelling Bee, for which we are eternally and culturally grateful. We attempted, after the delightful matinee, to extend our cultural ambitions, to the Whitney's Psychedelic exhibit, but only made it as far as the line around the block. We then gave up, as any good group knows how to do, and strolled through Central Park.
I sit in Philip's apartment readying for dinner as Philip furiously mulls a spreadsheet. I think he is passionate about his job, or else he probably would have quit long ago. I know not one other person who works as much as he does. Furthermore, in the vein of our adventures, Philip is one of those people who fall off the PTP radar, because often people love their jobs and just don't want to talk about it in front of a camera. I respect that. I love my job and really don't feel the need to discuss it. Luckily, there is a countless multitude that is happy to brag of their happiness.
We went out in the east village last night, which reminded me that I never see any part of this city below 40th street. Not that I complain, but apparently there is an entirely separate world below the aforementioned thoroughfare. It was fun. I felt cool, which can be a feeling hard to come by in the city of hipsters. Perhaps, as noted in the previous post, I feel cool because I'm skinny, or lithe.
We learned today that Good Morning New York, on the highly rated yet continuingly despicable FOX Network, will be running a two-part PTP segment Monday and Tuesday morning. This is about as exciting as a root canal save the 24-hour RV parking we are getting by the FOX studios near Times Square. I love FOX. Rupert Murdoch is doing great things for the news, and America in general. Really, I'm not being sarcastic at all.
xoxo
I want New York and California to have a battle between emaciated women who can barely support their own paltry body weight. The New Yorkers would definitely win, due to their ability to survive the cold winters in the gritty City. I just don't think LA, a possible future home of mine, has the necessary intensity.
I went to a play with Phillip and the Gallos. It was nice to be back on Broadway. Phil scored Spelling Bee tickets for the PTP boys for the Saturday matinee. I think it is right about the level of maturity necessary for the group. And it's short, so attention span, not our forte, shouldn't be a problem.
I find this city to be more appealing all the time. There is something about the anonymity offered by huge metropolitan messes that speaks to me. I saw a man with a pretty serious head wound walking down the street yesterday, and very few eyes found their way to the wound. But that would imply that New Yorkers are rude, which they are not. They just don't care about you until you make them. Everyone from whom I have asked directions obliges sincerely. They want to prove what they know.
I feel as though I haven't interviewed anyone in a while, which is strange. But the trip is alive and well, as our its cast of characters. I have been charged with giving a 50-minute presentation to an entrepreneurship class at the University of Delaware. I never really thought Delaware was a real place, but it apparently has a University and everything.
In the second installment of my ongoing series of swinging inanimate objects, I offer for your consideration the light above Jay and my bed. Much like the fan aswingin' so softly in the front right corner of the RV, this rebel of a light has dislodged itself from the ceiling, and now teeters on the brink of calamity directly above our oft sleeping heads.
Two screws have fallen out entirely, and now the altitudinal fate of the lamp rests entirely on the final two screws, and either leverage or friction, depending on whose balderdash answer you care to trust. In any case, the light persists even during this, the twilight of its existence, although it luminescence has waned due to several layers of duct tape futilely applied to maintain the lamp's original posture.
Several layers of duct tape, I must admit, are an egregious understatement. I have applied nearly half a roll, yet each morning I arise and the lamp hangs again, seemingly in mock of my elaborate T-Pattern effort to provide the duct tape lateral support. As I write, the lamp defies what must now be four pounds of tape, and bounces happily along dilapidated roadways.
Perhaps the lamp is unhappy. It's a pretty weird device of illumination. With three settings, the two-bulb device can be: off, half-on, full-on. Perhaps the lamp, much like the fan, was simply unhappy with its station in life. Perhaps it dreams of a more fulfilling mission, and hopes to be considered for chandelier-ship.
Whatever the case, I'm pretty sure the little bastard is going to hit me in the head while I'm sleeping one night, soon. When that happens, I will dispense with attempts at humor, and throw it in the Hudson.
See you in the NYC.
xoxo
Summering on the Cape has never been my thing. I'm more of a Coronado, Greece kind of guy. Even with this bias in mind, I agreed to a two-day stay at BJ and Eric's summer home on Cape Cod. BJ and Eric are friends of Brett's from Tucson, and, as it turns out, friends of mine as well. Tucson, some say, is a small world.
Their three-story house overlooking what I presume to be the Atlantic Ocean is magnificent. We spent the afternoon playing football on the beach, and spent the night eating lobster, steak, chicken, clam chowder and corn. I abstained from the lobster because it was looking at me funny. Well, he got his, in the form of omelettes this morning, of which I still did not partake.
We went to a local candy shop(pe) last night, and then to some local haunt to take with the natives. They call anyone who has lived on the cape less than three generations 'wash ashores.' What does that make three guys in an RV? Dinner? I spoke to a girl outside the bar who was a UMASS English graduate student. She took offense when asked how she studies the classics while unable to pronounce large chunks of the alphabet.
Back to Boston this evening, where I may be seeing my mother who has made a rare departure from her zip code. I got really excited when I found out our schedules coincide. So any mother that may read this, know your kids are really excited to see you. I miss my family. I miss sarcasm. I miss Bibi & Papa, although I have this nagging suspicion they are sitting where I think they are. On the road everything is lovely. We are awash in positive attention is not money and dignity.
xoxo
1. Niagara Falls is everything it is supposed to be, and far more misty than I had (never) imagined. We stayed with Jay's grandparents on Grand Island,10 minutes from the falls. Buffalo, a true workin' man's city. The word grimy comes to mind, and grimy I respect. The whole time I was there I had this nagging voice in my head telling me to forget my dreams and get a job down at the mill like pop. Then I remembered the mill moved to Brazil.
2. Canada,
What's up with the Space Needle rip-off? That's all you got? Build a huge statue of Paul Bunyon to solidify your unoriginality. And build more strip clubs as you obviously need more of those.
Cheers,
Noah
3. New York towns are hilarious. I will not disrespectfully make some up here, but they are great. Reminiscent of, and a shining tribute to, whatever happy populations of natives, later decimated by the new Americans, that once roamed these fine lands.
4. We are large front-page news in Syracuse's daily and the tri-weekly University of Buffalo Spectrum. Take that how you will, but remember we're at war.
5. Syracuse was good to us. The RV broke. With the serpentine belt goes the power steering and power breaks. I have a few questions about this, as my father did not teach me how to raise the hood of an automobile. Who the hell is using a pulley system with one belt to run multiple, vital components of the car? That's like replacing your lungs, kidneys and pancreas with some sort of super-organ that functions in all their stead. This organ will be called the 'Lidneas.' Or the 'Pungy.' Isn't there an applicable saying about eggs and baskets?
After a night at a bar where you flip a coin with the bartender to possibly win a drink, the PTP crew and some of the sisters of Alpha Chi Omega took a scenic walk through the Syracuse campus. We got back to Mark's Service Center at 3:30 AM, and I woke to the sounds of pit row at 7:30. Imagine waking up in a auto-shop. Mark, of Mark's, was incredibly hospitable, allowing us working space and even cooking lunch. We had the newspaper come there. He also hooked us up on four hours of labor, so, that was real nice.
Last night Class Project did something. I'm not sure the word concert applies unless there are more than 15 people there, which is meant as no disrespect to the 10, who Jenna brought (Jenna: One of many highly motivated coworkers from the venerable institution that is Club Rancho Sahuarita, who hosted us with her sassy and oft-humorous roommate Julia). Not a concert? A listening? The recital was fun, and if that is a bad as it gets, I love this business. Jenna's friends, plus the two random dudes who kept buying shots, were vary supportive.
Check your pulleys, maybe even those of a friend, and drive safe out there, And don't flip coins for beers because, for some reason, you start to get really mad when you actually have to pay for the beer you ordered. And stay off the grass in front of the Hall of Languages, which I think is Modern Language with way cooler people.
Off to Boston, which yesterday I learned I cannot place accurately on a map. xoxo
For a pre-codger, humbling experiences can be a bit off-putting. I do not presume to know everything, but arrogance I have been accused of more than once in my life. When something hits me like a ton of bricks, it really feels like 10 tons, because I never expected the first. Stephen Hopson was those bricks. At 47, Stephen is the first deaf instrument rated (can fly in 0 visibility) pilot in the world. Deaf from birth, Stephen gave up a top-spot at Merrill Lynch in NYC, as a stockbroker, to travel the world as a motivational speaker. Last night, he took us into his Akron, OH home.
I don't know what to say. The man reads lips. You never think about what you're saying to someone until you are keeping direct eye contact constantly. All of the sudden, words become more carefully selected. The guy is a better listener than most. Irony? How about not hearing tone? Wouldn't we all do better if only to take at face value the words that people say? Stephen was more than happy to answer my prying linguistics questions. The group sat around talking for 4 hours.
I'm a sensitive guy. I cry three times during the Shawshank Redemption: when 'institutionalized' Brooks holds the other inmate at knife point, when Brooks hangs himself, and the final cathartic moment, between Andy and Red, on the white-sands beach. But as moved as I can be by good media, Broadway included, I harden myself against the New York Times and Argentina's Clarîn, both of which I peruse daily. Hundreds die here and there, and man am I hungry for some Taco Bell. I often lack perspective and sentimentality in the real world.
Stephen is a reminder to get over myself. I think I am so damned smart, when I really know almost nothing, especially of adversity. As not poetic as this paragraph is, it is not easy for me to write. I get wrapped up in this defensive layer of arrogance wit that often inhibits my ability to just shut up, listen, and maybe even learn something. I going to learn something today, and maybe you could too. Just listen, don't struggle to be right, or even to be heard, and just listen. You might find something you didn't already know.
xoxo, and on to Buffalo.
trounce |trouns| v. [ trans. ] defeat heavily in a contest : the Knicks trounced the Rockets on Sunday.
There is nothing like a once in a lifetime experience. They are those situations so mired in expectation that disappointment is nearly inevitable (see: senior prom, your first job, weddings and children). So was the case with opening day at Notre Dame. 33-3 Georgia Tech over the Irish. Charlie Weis spent the entire post-game press conference claiming responsibility for his impossibly inept squad. It was like watching St. Gregory play Salpointe in a summer league game: pitifully close in the first half, followed by an ass kicking that reminds you to go to college.
The best part was the press box, where free hot dogs, chicken, soup and beverages were complemented perfectly by air conditioning. One of the most baffling aspects were the Georgia Tech tailgaters. Something about guys dressed for a debutante ball, 'shotgunning' beers and vomiting all over the place. Some things are just not masked well by seersucker pants, yellow tie, and a blazer. The Irish fans on the other hand were much more like UA tailgaters; shirtless, beer swilling drunkards, yelling, nay, slurring cheers at the top of their lungs. Good old Catholic university.
We stayed in South Bend with Dave Matthews, who Jay found on couchsurfing.com, a fascinating global community of people willing to take in wayward travelers for a few days at a time. He was one of the nicest people I have met on this trip, and his friend were more than willing to make sure we were the drunkest people in the Notre Dame press box since John Madden was covering college games in the 70's. On Friday night, shortly after we arrived, we were led to Corby's were the real life Rudy was getting wasted, basking in lackluster fame and semi-legendary status. Best t-shirr seen in south bend: Georgia Tech fan: "Rudy Was Offsides."
We are hurling down I-90, an interstate we are all to familiar with, on the way to Akron, OH, then to Buffalo, NY. Actually, we just crossed into Ohio, so I will say without fear of retribution that UA has a far more prolific offense than Notre Dame. Take that Touchdown Jesus.
xoxo.
