searching for the ghost of gram parsons.

this post is about my most recent adventure to joshua tree national park this past week.

having left my house at 10:30 am to pick up my buddy randy, we only made it into the park and to our campsite by perhaps 6 pm, by a rough and generous estimate. what happened in between is not really pertinent to the immediate story at hand. however, i will garner this tale with some highlights, since this is my blog and i do have that liberty.

highlight one: peco bill's oklahoma bbq (somewhere in burbank) - my first experience with okie bbq. wow.
highlight two: rei. always fun to waste money on cool camping gear.
highlight three: the exhausting search for firewood that nearly broke the collected calm of the moseying nature of the day.

and so, we're there. the drive to jumbo rocks, the site of our first night of camping, was about 22 miles and you see a good overview of the north side of the park. giant, what amounts to, piles of rocks form mountains. it's very hard to describe the architecture of all the land, as the park has different formations and dimensions, yet it's all pretty amazing to figure that the valley and high desert was all carved out by an ancient body of water. so piles of rocks give way to singular rock formations, little nubs that are the dream of rock climbers (of which we saw quite a few). all around are gorgeous joshua trees. majestic. and the different positions, so numerous, but at the same time of certain types. shadows cast by clouds and by mountains. it's an insanely joyous scenery.

got to jumbo rocks, pitch a tent, start a fire, cook dinner, drink some bourbon to stay warm in the 40 or so degree night, put out the fire and go to bed.

the sound of coyotes at night should be terrifying, but really, its like a really mournful plainchant, a plaintive bluesy moan. gorgeous and comforting.

woke up. explored the desert just over the rocks that secluded us from the vast wilderness beyond. packed up.

rode into town to find cellular service to link up with friends annie and sarah from my barnard days. in the meantime, explored some of the local shops and culture. attempted to grub several times and ended up buying sandwiches to bring back to the park. made our way to a new campsite, the smallest of the developed ones on the grounds, white tank. found the best spot - site 4. pushed back into the rocks and secluded from all other possible fellow campers. kinda spooky, definitely beautiful. pitched a tent to claim it as our own and set off for a leisurely hike.

a ranger had told us about an old mine/miner's cabin up a relatively unmarked ridge. what i mean by this was that they were attempting, or more like thinking about attempting, to turn this path into an official trail. all we had to guide us were stacked rocks plotting a course up the mountain. on the way up, i saw a snake. the journey up was quite fun - just a solid uphill hike with beautiful views. i noted on the way up that everything is the desert is spiky or rough. it does not want you to kill it, much less touch it. even the flowers seem to have cactuses underneath.

so we're wandering around looking for this rumored mine, about to give up when, ah ha! a pile of granite and an aborted mine.

we get really excited and wander down a hill and low and behold, the eagle cliff mine. its on a strange little plateau in the midst of hilly, rocky terrain. it's almost an alien world there. you have to understand that at this point, randy and i were absolutely boiling over with excitement. the whole boyish adventure mechanism had taken over after years of disuse. it was like one of those little plastic play castles, except this was real. the mine was deep and scary and not closed off. luckily we both have good sense and no urge to die so young and stayed on the perimeter throwing stones inside to gauge how deep it went. then i wander off and discover an old barrel metal hoop around a cactus. i get excited and we discover a path that leads to the back of this miner's cabin built into the rocks. it's a pretty staggering place, really humbling, exceptionally stimulating. we explored around there for quite some time. the home still had cans and other rusted metal objects strewn about and apparently lost hikers will spend the night there, which seems sorta spooky. turns out that eagle cliff is one of the earliest claims in the park, dating back to 1895, so its very possible the cabin dates to some time around then. truly amazing. i was speechless in the history of this place. more rock climbing ensued before we had to head back down to meet up with the girls who were supposed to arrive any minute.

on the way down, we did end up getting lost. having lost the minimal markers, we staggered through back country, watching out for spanish bayonets and other hurtful plants. truth be told, we did end up getting cut up a bit. but it could always be worse and was totally worth it. on the trek down we saw both a bighorn sheep and a tarantula -- totally far out.

got back down finally thanks to our orientation skills and a compass that i made randy bring.
back to the camp site where the girls had arrived and were settling in. met mike, our next door camping buddy, from san diego, star watcher, latent conspiracy theorist and genuinely nice guy. its amazing how when people are really forthright and friendly, one is very taken aback and feels as if there is something wrong, to be worried about. perhaps there was, but his manner was fresh and appreciated. conversation free of machines is a rarity and mike was a master at it.

at the campsite, we cooked, drank, played guitar around the campfire and made merry eventually making our way towards pleasant slumbers.

the next morning, we woke up, packed up and headed towards cap rock, the site where gram parsons's body was burned. if you're unfamiliar with the story, the gist is that gram and his road manager had a spoken bond where whoever died first, the other would take their body to joshua tree to burn and rest. so when gram overdosed just outside joshua tree at the joshua tree inn, his parents in florida wanted the body returned there for burial. at the airport, the road manager got onto the tarmac and stole the body and took it out to joshua tree and burned it in a spot just under cap rock. this is where we were. people graffiti messages on the spot, but we opted to just perform a ritual ceremony whose particulars i cannot divulge. i will say it involved singing sin city and listening to lots of international submarine band, byrds, flying burrito bros. and solo material. i also cannot say whether we saw his spirit, but it was a moving experience.

then into town to the local country kitchen for amazing chocolate chip pancakes. as learned from the adventure in the northwest, a country kitchen is always a good call.

from there, home.

in recap. what an amazing place, spiritual and raw. a total respite. and the internal diversity of the park is staggering. once you get attuned to such things, which i am slowly becoming conscious of, america becomes an even more wondrous and its beauty more deep.

Then somewhere near Salinas, Lord, I let her slip away...

I will do a big update of all this Los Angeles last of all, covering the holes and in-betweens of these Odysseys - never fear.
But for now, let me tell you about what I think was the most magical adventure yet undertaken - north to Santa Cruz and back down through Big Sur.

I set out relatively early one morning, driving up the 1 and the 101 as much as humanly possible. Long story short, drive with no to minimal stoppage up to Salinas, where I figure I'd take lunch and the John Steinbeck Center (read museum) in. Ended up at the local brewpub for lunch, had a yummy sandwich and porter, and made my way down the street to the Steinbeck Center. There I met the gentleman who used to be the Dole produce buyer for Giant in the Washington Metropolitan area. Small world -- go figure this man chose the fruits and veggies I've consumed. I learned quite a bit about Steinbeck that I hadn't previously known and was all excited to pick up a copy of "Travels with Charley," his tale of his own American odyssey road trip, but alack - nowhere to be found in the gift shop. There was also an local agricultural museum, which was pretty neat. Dig this, apparently 3/4 of America's iceberg lettuce is grown in the valley. Crazy.

On from there through Castroville (Artichoke Capital of the World) to Santa Cruz. Here I beg the reprieve of the reader for a short detour into one of the most extraordinary and awful sights of the trip yet. In the planted fields lining the road are hundreds of migrant workers of all ages. They come in school buses that have trailers with port-a-potties attached. Backpacks and other belongings held upon racks. It was eerie and disheartening to see -- this is one of the aspects of America that hasn't changed over the years, the scene could have been from Steinbeck's time.

Up to Santa Cruz and make my way to the library - home of the Frank Kofsky archive. Kofsky was a documentarian of the Avant-Garde Jazz scene of the 1960s and the reason for my quest was some material in the archive pertaining to Marion Brown, the musician whom I wrote my thesis about and a project that I'm continuing in this post-graduate life. Anyways, the archive is in Special Collections and despite having written the library to double-check I'd have access to the material, lo and behold - two things - one, I might not have clearance and two, it was still summer and so the Special Collections were only available for about three hours rather than the all day session I'd anticipated. (I'd also gotten a request for some research from WKCR that I was supposed to complete as well!)

Anyways, disheartened, I made my way down the Boardwalk where my terrible mood only subsided when I saw and heard the dozens of sea lions that make their home beneath. So special. So beautiful. Such odd sleek creatures, but with amazing vocal cords. The cry of the sea lion is a song of the sirens. I spent quite a while just looking and watching them sit, play, sleep - and you could get so close! It was really something else.

I ended up at a motel just off the downtown strip. The whole area a little seedy, but the hotel or seaside motel, to be more appropriate, was very nice, recently redone with hard wood and stone floors and a big flat screen TV. It was a little odd - this being my first time spending an evening alone in the hotel room, but I made the best of it. I took a book, always a solitary person's best friend, and made my way down the strip looking for interesting store and a spot to grub. A couple decent thrift stores and a compellingly hip record store later, I ended up at a sushi joint where I must say I had some of the finest sushi I've ever had. Pickled radish, and fresh artichoke sushi were some of the highlights and washing it down with a Sapporo, I must say I felt fighting fit by the end. Made my way back, watched some King of the Hill and fell asleep...

...waking up early enough for the continental breakfast. I decided to make my way to the library early to try and negotiate with the folks there. Driving into the campus, I took the time to appreciate the cattle grazing on the immense land that used to be a ranch, the remains of which still haunt parts of the campus. Passing an immense family of deer, I parked and made my way to the front doors only to have them locked! Summer hours - too early. I wait for it to open and immediately make my way to Special Collections and hark! what nice people, so accommodating - they hooked me up with an extra hour.

The Marion Brown interview was intriguing, but perhaps the best item I heard was an audio letter from Bill Dixon to Kofsky that cemented my opinion that Dixon might have been a prophet. He had the clearness of message that a prophet has, a powerful tone and a message of humanity. We really lost an extraordinary artist with his passing earlier this year.

Upon completion of my task, I lit out southbound with the intention of making it down to Big Sur to camp. My first stop however came at Pt. Lobos State Reserve, just south of Carmel by the Sea. Words cannot describe the spiritually cleansing experience that was Pt. Lobos. I got there with only about two hours left of daylight and so the illumination of the seaside was amazing. I feel like whatever burdens I had were left on those beaches. I've never really felt quite as much at peace as I did during the hour and a half I was there. I made friends with seals, deer and rabbits. It was stupidly beautiful.

However, all good things must pass, and realizing that it was nearly dark and I was still quite a distance from my destination, I left and continued on. Driving in Big Sur, you're on the coast, but its dark and so you can only hear shapes and the crashing of the oceans. Weirdly, sometimes there is pasture filled with cows on the edge of that precipice. In a sense, the experience was much like Kerouac's in the novel Big Sur, where you're overwhelmed by the sounds and darkness, it's ominous and looming. With that in mind, it was dark when I got to Big Sur and decided to stop in at the relatively uppity Big Sur Inn Restaurant. There had delicious deep fried artichokes and a locally raised burger. Whoa. By this time it's like 930-10 at night, so I find a private campground on the Big Sur River and pitch my tent.

I really had no idea where I was, what the surroundings were like, so waking up in the morning was a complete surprise.

this place called earth

many apologies that is has been months without an update, a word or any motion of wind round these parts.
i will attempt to rectify that situation now as swiftly as time-space may permit.
thanks for patience. (you will inherit the earth remember!)

svelte elk.

And thus another set of wanderings has concluded and here I sit down to relate them for you and for posterity (or at least so I don't forget all the cool stuff I saw). It's been almost three fast weeks and so bear with me.

The cast of characters for the trip include: Me, Annie (my friend from college), Barbara (Annie's mother), Stan or Stasys (Annie's pa) and a lot of her extended family.

From Los Angeles, Annie and I drove up on boring I-5 to the Lake Shasta area. I-5 has got to be one of the most mindless drives on the planet - once you get past "the golden hills of California," it's straight through the valley and all you see are burned out fields that stretch for miles. In fact the most exciting part was passing a cow pen and getting a whiff of their oh, so noxious methane fragrance. (Not as bad smelling or as inhumane looking as the one passed going west out of Amarillo.) For lodging, we ended up camping on the banks of Lake Shasta - one hell of a beautiful experience. At night there were bats swooping overhead and stars, shooting stars, the Milky Way, a swirl of celestial light. In the morning, we were woken up by the sun and a hawk circling overhead. A pack of geese came to visit - and left for dislike of the Duke Ellington we were listening to as we packed up. (I have a running experiment with subjecting animals on the trip to music and seeing how they react - horses do not like a trumpet player named Ted Daniel.)

Past Castle Crags for an early breakfast in Dunsmuir at the Cornerstone Cafe - yummy. Then past Mt. Shasta, through the independent State of Jefferson and off into Oregon. Up to Portland where we stayed with, follow me now, the daughter of one of Barbara's best friends, named Alex. A night of drinking and exploring the Mississippi neighborhood in Portland ensued, though it was an early night so as to save energy for the next day...

which was Pickathon, a festival of indie roots music, just south of Portland. The reason for attending was that our very good friends Megafaun (who are mindblowingly awesome) were playing the festival. We met them a few years ago in NY, but since they're from NC, we only get to see them a few times a year and not for very long. So this was the long awaited bro-out hang session and it lived up to the hype. It should be noted as a preface to the music, that the festival itself was on somebody's farm and was, like Portland, trying to be incredibly green and eco-friendly, and for the most part succeeded. However, it should also be noted that green is not cheap.

So we got there early and caught a set from bluesman T-Model Ford. Poor T-Model, but what a trooper. So picture this, he apparently just turned 90 years old, recently had a stroke that left his strumming hand more of less destroyed and yet, "What time is it, T?" "Jack Daniels time." I don't know when he came on to the scene, but he definitely is one of the few survivors of any generation of bluesman that can still get that down-home gritty feel, even if he can barely play guitar anymore. Kudos to the band for giving him something stable to work with. The whole experience though left me a little cold for several reasons. One was that, okay, sure he probably loves to perform, but I also think it's almost assured that he's still touring because he needs to make money. Is it really fair that a 90 year old who had a stroke should have to keep working at such a pace to make a livelihood? My answer is no. Secondly, the festival was predominantly white and so I felt the whole thing to be like blues at the Newport Folk Festivals in the Sixties - a weird sort of living museum, where people want a glimpse, but don't really understand.

Next up were Megafaun performing at a stage in the middle of the woods - the perfect place for a stripped down acoustic set. The fourth wall was quickly dismantled and the concert ended with them in the center of the audience leading a sing-along. It's hard to convey just how amazing Megafaun are - all the more because on top of being outstanding and forward-thinking musicians, they are also totally righteous guys. If the immediate feedback didn't prove the set a highlight of the weekend, the many people who came up and thanked them for doing something special, for really touching their souls and spirits with music made it clear that Megafaun are a band to watch.

Most of the rest of the day was just spent lounging with Phil and Brad from Megafaun (Joe and his wife Carson were heading to Portland for the rest of the day). They turned us on to some far-out and beautiful music.

The highlight though would have been Frank Fairfield (who has a record coming out soon on Tompskins Square). Frank is almost a performance art piece, inhabiting the persona of a 1920s/1930s musician fully. From his clothes to his banter to his clean-living lifestyle, he has it down. But that's nothing compared to the actual music. Frank plays covers on banjo, guitar and fiddle, but whoa. There's really no way to describe it, and I doubt video or audio could do just being there justice. He had the entire audience out there in the forest dead silent for 50 minutes.

We also enjoyed music from Frazey Ford and Jill Andrews.

After a long night, Megafaun generously gave us one of their hotel rooms to crash in, so that we didn't have to drive all the way back to Portland. Much love.

Me, Annie, Phil

The next day was spent in Portland, mostly in the Pearl District, as I unluckily found myself with a flat tire that I had to get changed. Luckily, however, the Pearl District is home to two of Portland's finest breweries, Rouge and Deschutes. Much delicious malted beverage was imbibed until the pain of the tire had subsumed and by the time the car was ready we were sober enough to drive again. In some weird way it was an afternoon well spent.

The following day we tried to drive up to Mount St. Helens before driving down to Barbara's best friend's river house. The problem was that it was a very hazy day and the mountain was completely shrouded. Being resourceful and flexible recent graduates, we scoured the tour brochures and found Ape Cave, part of the park, but on the south side of the mountain. Ape Cave is the largest lava flow in North America and is about 2,000 years old. Mt. St. Helens using blows up like it did in 1980, but once it did erupt like the volcanos in Hawaii do and the result was Ape Cave. We spent a good deal exploring the lower half of the cave and its cave slime (the bats had all left because people are always in the cave), which was freezing and totally breathtaking even in our limited lantern light. One of the unexpected highlights of the trip for sure.

Ape Cave Entrance

Dam near Ape Cave

Then we headed back into Oregon and drove to the river house, about an hour east of Salem, Oregon (the state capital). Beautifully built and nestled right near a wonderful swimming hole, the river house was very relaxing after a few days of constant movement. We spent about 2 days and 2 nights. The only time I left was on an adventure to Salem with Stasys looking for deck chairs, where we also caught a glimpse of the lovely state capital building. My room was right on the river and I just loved sleeping with the window open so as to hear the water flowing steadily. That is one of my favorite sounds currently in existence.

After relaxing at the river house, we headed up to Seattle, but by way of a quick stop at Mt. St. Helens, which, though quite a drive, is certainly a splendid sight. We only spent a little while gazing at it, but its totally breathtaking. My favorite part though, was that in most of the areas still bare and devastated from the blast, the only life to return were exquisitely colored wildflowers of Washington. In particular, I fell in love with the Indian Paintbrush.

Seattle is a really cool town. I love the small fishing town vibe in the big city. My one qualm was that it was a little too much on the pricey side, especially after the incredible affordability of Portland. Upon arrival, we immediately went to their amazing public library to use the free internet to book a place to stay. Hell, that library really was something and if it functions 1/10th as well as it looks then it must be truly outstanding. We ended up staying at a funky little hostel in the International District (read Chinatown) and walked over to the Monorail via the waterside, which took us to the Space Needle. We got there just as the sun was setting in order to get amazing views of Seattle's 360 in the day and the night. The shades of red, orange and pink on the mountains and the Puget Sound was absolutely stunning and probably accounted for one of the most romantic encounters I've ever had with nature. For dinner, Annie and I checked out this bar and then walked back to the hostel, crashing early so as to be able to get an early start for big explorations in Vancouver.

Before heading to the Great White North, we stopped at the famed Pike Street Market in Seattle for an early breakfast and to check out the scene as the market begins to wake up. Crazy fish. Delicious fruit. Interesting folks. The drive up to Vancouver was scenic, though somewhat unimpressive. Mostly farmland, though the mountains were rather beautiful and on the whole, that part of the country is much prettier than say Kentucky, if only because it seems so lush. The colors in the Northwest are very significant and the hues are rich and varied. It's very phantasmagoric. We passed through the Peace Arch and somehow, despite the weirdness of my (true) story of nomadic identity, they let us into the country. Oh, Canada!

Vancouver is a wonderful city and I really liked it, but felt that it wasn't quite what I expected. If I had had more time to really explore, or had been based in a different part of the city, perhaps I may have felt differently. Annie and I spent our first day in Stanley Park, the big parcel of forest that is preserved and integrated into the city. It's like Central Park, but a natural forest full of giant redwoods, ferns, beaver ponds, etc - in fact, it much resembled the primordial world of the Redwood Forest. Truly a major achievement in conception and execution. We basically got lost in there for most of the day, popping out every once and a while to view the beaches or rose gardens and the like. We even went off the trail despite the fact that bears and other wildlife still roam the park. That night we grabbed the one affordable meal we had - amazingly fresh sushi at the suspiciously named "Sushi Mart" - and then walked down to the Gastown, one of the younger, more hip sections. Apparently it's the spot where people smoke a lot of pot and all the bars are. Yet, the nightlife scene left a lot to be desired. It also aroused a question that I've had since turning 21. Where do all the kids my age hang out? Because in every town I've been in, when I go to a bar, I'm almost always the only person under 25 there. Who knows?

The next day I had a great breakfast - a bagel with blueberries and melted brie on top. Try it! Then over to the University of British Columbia to go to their tremendous Anthropology Museum, with an incredibly strong and well-displayed collection of work from nations of the Northwest and Canada. Beautiful art and ceremonial pieces dot the entire museum, from giant totem polls to canoes to textiles. What's remarkable about the joint though, is that the museum acknowledges that these are, in many cases, sacred objects that are on display and they do a responsible and admirable job working with the nations to see that the objects are properly respected. Another cool aspect is that the museum has old pieces and pieces by more contemporary artists, adding to an intriguing comparative aspect. In particular, the work of Bill Reid was standout.

Then we went to another park on the river in south side of town (below) to relax some more, eventually ending up at the somewhat funky, somewhat bourgeois shops of Granville Island. Very nice farmer's market and a great wine store. Dinner at a Japanese tapas restaurant where I had fresh and well dressed raw oysters. Yum! Then walked down to their amazing convention center, which looks from the distance like the Richard Serra piece at Storm King, past the Olympic torch and sat by the water drinking from a flask and watching the lights in town against the mountains and water. It's a little like I imagine Rio would be (or at least from Black Orpheus), but y'know, in Canada.

The next day it was time to return to America. It's sort of weird how Canada really does feel like a foreign land, doesn't quite feel like home (and yet somehow a place like Bardstown, KY does?). Vancouver, you done me right. And especially on the way out of town, where we stopped to purchase wine recommended by HBA (props.) and also got a bagel with fresh lox. So onwards to the Olympic Peninsula in Washington, but wait! Oh, it's American efficiency at the border. Let's take all the early Saturday morning traffic and bring it down to three lanes: one for cars, one for RVs and one for Nexus. God bless this land!

So finally, after being caught between Canada and America for a good three minutes, we make it back across the border and are on our way to a funeral for Annie's great-uncle Bill. Lots more traffic awaits and we finally make it to Arcadia, the cabins they built on the south end of the Sound with a criminally beautiful view of Mt. Rainer. Absolutely amazing and even the memorial get-together was fun, as the whole thing was an ice cream social to celebrate his life. Then we set off north on the Peninsula to try and find camping.

Search for camping was an "epic fail," as they say out here in Los Angeles. Not only was it a weekend, but it was a weekend where admission to all the parks was free. Praise be! Except they were crowded as hell. After venturing and becoming uber-cranky, we ended up crashing at an Extended Stay in Olympia, or rather some outer rim locale that uses the title Olympia to drive up prices - such is life.

The next day, we drove round virtually the entire Olympic Peninsula. Heading north, we stopped midday at Hurricane Ridge and this good ol' boy from Virginia got to see his first glacier. The views were out of control. The dynamics of the landscape looked fake and especially look photoshopped in photo, but that's god's green earth for ya. We continued around, finally making it Forks, Washington - some of you may know this place as the location of Twilight series. Hurrah! Think about depressed logging town after depressed town as you round this whole, amazing countryside and then, BOOM! hundreds of tourists in a thriving town. The lesson is, the invisible hand does not rule the economic sphere - vampires do.

Eventually we made it to Hoh National Forest, technically the only temperate rainforest in the continental US. While the only thing differing in Hoh from other old growth forests in the region is the amount of precipitation, we did camp beneath wise, mossy trees on a river in bear country. The only thing you can really say to such a perfectly wondrous scenario as that is, this ain't too bad, this ain't shabby at all. (We didn't see a bear - don't listen to Annie.)

The next day, it was on to Lakeside, Oregon. On the way down, we basically ran across Annie's folks on the highway and decided to stop and grub just north of Portland. A rule of thumb for the Northwest - Country kitchens are the place to be at - drive-in's will also work - but these country kitchens, particularly if they are spelled kountry kitchen, are where you need to be at. After that a rather uneventful caravan procession ensued down to the lake house, otherwise known as paradise.

To keep this brief, I will just illuminate some of the highlights of the almost week spent in Lakeside. Two personal triumphs occurred that I would like to call your attention to. For one thing, I learned how to build a fire. And for another, I was taught how to fish. I caught nothing, still don't know how to take the fish off the hook were I to catch anything, but I still consider this big news considering I come from a family that on Indian Guide camping trips never once (well my dad claims once) spent the night outside in a tent, but left to go home.

While the weather wasn't optimal, it was still great fun. We went to a seafood festival, hiked by the shore line, had many a happy hour, Stan bought and wore a Reedsport Wedding shirt on one of his many, many daily expeditions, and on and on. Lakeside is about doing nothing, sinking into the earth and just relaxing. For the most part, this was achieved and for that I am grateful. Thanks always to the Stinchfield and the Danis families for their warmth, generosity and hospitality.

On the way back down, we high-tailed it to Berkley to crash at a high school friend of Annie's. Lizza and Brad are incredibly interesting and wonderful people, the type you are always grateful to meet on the road. They let you know that what's up elsewhere, that people are hip to it and it's a good feeling. Lovely meal and walk through the campus turned into the next day and a rendevous with one of my best buddies from school and the radio station - the Legend, Logan Ledger, otherwise known as the Lorax. He does the Bluegrass show on WKCR from 10 to noon on Sundays - tune in, you will never regret it. He is also one of the coolest people I know, extremely knowledgeable (I mean bordering on ridiculous), and so low key and kind. So it was an absolute pleasure and joy to join him in his hometown for a brief jaunt to a nearby mountain with outstanding views of the Bay on one side and the Pacific on the other.

Finally, a long long drive back down I-5 to Los Angeles.

Whew! I think that roughly covers it, or at least what you'd like to hear. Should I remember more details, I will update, liberally

Goodnight Hollywood Boulevard...

Oh, hello there dear reader.

So I've survived a little more than two weeks here in this ant farm we lovingly call Los Angeles. I'm finally becoming acquainted with this city's streets, layout, food, beaches, people and yes, even culture (perhaps heresy for a New Yorker to claim)...and yes, the more time out here I spend and the more sunny days I endure, I say, "Yes, I definitely more well-suited for New York and yes, I do miss the occasional summer storm" (though I suppose those have been few and far between this summer). Now don't get me wrong, I'm surprising myself by really enjoying my time out here and actually getting into the whole LA thing, but I always know deep down where my home really is.

So with these introductory details out of the way, let me lay you on to some of the highlights so far and in no particular order:

The Central Avenue Jazz Festival - My uncle took me to this staple event of the African-American community here in Los Angeles where we witnessed performances by two of the staple musicians out here: a vocalist Ernie Andrews and an arranger/trumpeter known as Gerald Wilson. Both have been out here and residents of the Central Ave. community and diaspora for 60+ years. Andrews was accompanied by one of the top tenor players out here, a cat by the name of Rickey Woodard. Wilson directed a 21 piece orchestra and led us through a history of his involvement with the music. Good music, good community vibes and good food (Praise be Walter's Special! - red beans and rice topped with jambalaya). Interesting area now because it seems to have transitioned to a predominantly Latin American demographic.

Leimart Park - After reading about this as the home of the great drummer Billy Higgins, I hopped in my car to check out this area without reading the fine print. A very Afro-centric area, almost militantly so, and in retrospect, not one I should have explored alone. (This is one of the strange things about Los Angeles - it's more a series of suburbs than a city and each suburb has a community that is almost isolated from the others, especially along racial lines). Anyways, I knew I was in the right place when I saw not only stars for Higgins, but also the great pianist and educator Horace Tapscott on the community's Walk of Fame, along with a sign that said, "No Cruising: Cruising is driving two times past this sign in six hours." Yikes! I think I may have actually been guilty of that. Anyways, I discovered a great book shop and an even better vintage book, record, magazine shop with all kinds of rare items pertaining to the blues and jazz traditions. So all in all the trip was a total success, minus the incident as I ventured out of a store onto the owners screaming about white people and cops and the like - utterances probably not untrue, but certainly creating an uncomfortable situation for me.

Malibu Beach - Simply put, we went to this beach up in Malibu that was basically a secluded cove. Beautiful blue, but freezing water and drinking beers while laying out in the sun all day. Seals that come swim up real close to you. Yeah, I agree, it's a really hard life out here.

Food trips - Some significant food-age has happened in the form of adventures to the Kogi Korean BBQ Taco Truck, Philippe's the Original, Factor's Famous Deli, Daikokuya and The Apple Pan.

Dodgers game vs. the Mets - My friend Kate and her family were generous enough to invite me to join their family for a Dodgers game. The company her father works for buy season tickets and have absolutely incredible seats. Front row on the third base side about 20 ft into the outfield. What a way to see the game! Just like the players! The Mets fielding was out of control and despite the Dodgers losing, it was a really fun experience. Dodger stadium is beautiful and Dodger dogs are awesome.

The Museum of Jurassic Technology - This is one of the most inexplicable places on Earth. I will not abuse myself by struggling to describe it. Simply check out the web site and come here if you're ever in Los Angeles.

Additionally, I've been trying to explore neighborhoods based on record stores and have been attending lots of fun parties affording ample time to hang with the small, but dedicated Columbia/Barnard contingent out here.

(Pictures to come).

On Thursday, I head to the Pacific Northwest with my friend from college Annie for about two and a half weeks. Stay tuned for more madcap laughs.

Across the US of A - Trip #1

I picked up my trip mate Alex in NYC and we headed down to my home in Alexandria, Virginia. I know I've just started, but permit me a short, pertinent digression since it really was the only exciting thing to pass on this leg of the journey. A common occurrence in what was dubbed "Solid Bro '10" was sampling the national and regional culture via FM and AM radio. In particular I'm interested in pop country because if all else fails, I'm setting out for Nashville to write some chart-toppers. I won't bog you with all my thoughts on these matters, but I will turn you on to the best song encountered, a real barnburner entitled, "Rain is a Good Thing" and performed by Luke Bryan. Here's a link.

It took me what seemed like forever to unpack all my belongings from New York and then to decide what I might potentially need for the next months and then to pack it all up again. Needless to say I was super stressed and very grumpy.

But it all starts to wash away once you hit the road. We went down the west side of Virginia down into West Virginia and finally into Kentucky. West Virginia was all mountains, very beautiful, but as they say, not a lot going on (see below). Kentucky surprised me in that it looked exactly like you imagine it to look. Big fields fenced off for horses, a very burnt green feel, very open. Bardstown, where we spent the night is the second oldest town in Kentucky. After going to this bar that was in a building built in 1779, we went back to our hotel. But...before any of that could happen, it must be admitted that we had our worst food day. The drive from Virginia to Kentucky is about nine hours and we didn't want to stop for a sit down meal, so we drove, but food came few and far between and we ended up getting a pizza to go at a Pizza Hut on some hill in West Virginia. Talk about road food! Then, we got to Bardstown so late that everything was closed except for horrid fast food, so we dug into the last few slices of cold cardboard, I mean pizza, and ate oranges that Alex had bought at Walmart. Now it must be said, we ended up at a Walmart, a Target and a K-Mart on the trip. While Target is pretty consistent, the Walmart and K-Mart had clienteles that were interesting to say the least. Take note, if you're really looking for a slice of real America, these places may be your best bet!

But...back to Bardstown, where the next morning we went on a bourbon distillery tour at Heaven Hill led by our tour guide Billy Bob. The warehouses look a little out of Communist Russia and the black you'll see on the side is actually mold from water evaporation as the barrels are subjected to natural fluctuations of temperature (see below). There were a couple total bourbon nerds on our tour, which was pretty awesome and always good to see. The highlight was Billy Bob talking about how much he loved drinking bourbon and smell some bourbon and say, "Mmm, smells like HEAVEN!" The tasting was pretty great, and luckily for us they only give you a little bit to try because not only did we have a lot of driving to do, but it was also 11:30 in the morning.

Lit out for our next destination, Memphis. Tried to get into Mammoth Caves, the largest known cave system in the world, but it was swamped for the 4th of July. The places you have to pass on the way to get to the caves are totally bizarre tourist traps and gimmicks. Have you heard of Dinosaur World? Or, if you need to pick up precious gems and stones (of questionable value and authenticity), now you know where there are 25 stores all in a 1 mile radius! But hey, you can say they're from a cave where Jesse James hung out. Mammoth Caves was a bust, but two good things came out of it. Both were things I learned. One was about a book series, that used to be a magazine, called Foxfire. It was a series geared towards documenting the traditions and lifestyle of Southern Appalachian culture. It's really amazing and important and you should check it here. The other fact was Steven Bishop, a slave, was perhaps the greatest explorer of the caves. Lunch was had on the outskirts of Nashville at the magnificent Loveless Cafe. Really outstanding preserves, cornbread, carmelized sweet potatoes and collard greens. Yum!

We took advantage of the scenic Natchez Trace Parkway on part of the way to Memphis. The Natchez Trace Parkway was originally a Native American path leading from Natchez into the heartland. It soon became co-opted by European and newly minted American traders. In some parts, you can even catch glimpses of the original trace. Really amazing birds, hawks, falcons and even turkeys if I can trust my eyes.

In Memphis, we made a bee-line for the famous Rende-vous to partake in the deliciousness that is their dry rub BBQ ribs. Nightlife was to be had in the form of a round on Beale Street for a drink and to check out the live music. A pilgrimage was made to the Beale Street home of WC Handy, "Father of the Blues." While walking to our next destination and peering in the windows of various bars, we actually randomly came across a good buddy of ours from school, Joe Cross. Joe is doing Teach For America in Baton Rouge, but they are training somewhere in Mississippi and this was their first weekend off...so he and his friends made for the first big city not in Mississippi.

We convinced him and his crew to accompany us and headed off for this bar Earnestine and Hazel's that used to be a brothel upstairs. A restaurant downstairs is home of the "Soul Burger," but the upstairs is really the joint, as they say. They left the brothel part as it was when found, more of less, and it is super creepy, but a really cool bar. That area of Downtown is in the process of renewal, so there's a lot of cool, empty storefronts. The trolley still runs right outside and you can just imagine that the view was exactly the same 50 or 60 years ago! On the way back, we stopped in front of the Lorraine Motel, where Dr. King was shot and killed. It was very eerie and empty in the stillness of night, but respects must be paid. It's always really emotional. The Lorraine is part of the Civil Rights Museum, which we didn't go to this time, but which is, by far (even with all the great music museums), the best thing to do in Memphis. Highly recommended.

Entering Mississippi, I started to plan out more routes that would take us off the beaten track, in order to actually see through the looking glass at how another slice of American lives. Aided by a road atlas and using food stops from roadfoods.com as an incentive, we went "off-roading." One of the aspects of the trip that I'm most proud of is that more than 90% of navigating was done the old fashioned way; GPS was only consulted as a last resort. I'm also proud of how little interstate road we took when we could help it. I set out to see some different perspectives in America and I really feel like the routes we took gave access to those worlds and views.

So to return to our story, we took 51 Highway and then cut over to Highway 61, the blues highways, through Tunica (Son House's home) and Como (Mississippi Fred McDowell's home) on our journey to Oxford, MS. Naturally, the blues we listened to on this stretch of the trip was some of the finest. It's totally nerdy, but it was one of the great joys of the trip to throw on music of the region or by individuals from the region, see if it works and then gauge the exact reasons and influences.

Oxford is where Ole Miss is and where one of the graduate programs I'm looking at is (Center for the Study of Southern Culture), so I thought it'd be worth spending a day there to get a feel for the town. On the whole, it reminded me a bit of Charlottesville, Virginia, home of the University of Virginia, minus the sprawl that seems to have recently beset that area. First things first when on the road, so we made our way towards the local book store. I don't know how the subject came up, maybe Alex asked where to get nice beer, however it happened, the outcome was an uproar of laughter. Apparently Oxford is in a dry county AND sure enough, it was a Sunday. We finally found a sympathetic concierge who told us if we headed about 20 miles north, we might come to this wooden shack that sold alcohol on Sundays. Sure enough, we found it - The Betty Davis Grocery! And they sold giant turkey legs as well. Needless to say, we bought more of each than was probably adequate for our meager 4th of July celebrations. What we thought was going to be a town picnic in this scenic spot on campus known as "The Grove" and most heralded as THE pre-game spot materialized as a gathering for families. I did discover this new band I'm championing though called, Silas Reed 'n da Books. Awesome mix of hard rock and soul; Silas has a rad voice, totally killer. The whole experience was a little bit of a bust though, because it was the 4th and 5th of July, meaning virtually everything was closed.

On the 5th, we went to Faulkner's house, Rowan Oak, which for me was really amazing. For the most part, it's just a beautiful house and grounds. However, it is really is a picture perfect evocation of the author. The one really amazing aspect of the house is a room on which the walls have the outline of his novel, "A Fable," taking the story day-by-day. At Rowan Oak, we also met one of our favorite friends from the trip, Drew, a History Grad student at Ole Miss and a truly gracious dude, in every sense of that term. For lunch, we tried to go to this place called Taylor's Grocery, a small shack outside of Oxford, which apparently has the best catfish in all of Mississippi (and thus, the whole world?), but it's only open like 4 days a week. We met the owner though. He was off to fish, but let us inside to take a peek. He said they do two things well there, "Fry Fish" and "Have a good time." We wound up at Abner's, a chicken finger chain that originated in Oxford.

For our route down to Jackson, we hopped back on the Natchez Trace Parkway. About halfway, we pulled off and enjoyed a nature walk to stretch our legs and a Negra Modelo along a creek notable for its dams and beaver population. We also stopped at an almost bayou-esque stretch and saw many an alligator.

We finally made it to Jackson in the midst of a big thunderstorm. After an aborted record store mission, we went down to Farish Street, the old center for blues. Charley Patton and Elmore James both recorded down there early in their careers. Now it is totally run down and in the middle of the ghetto. Most of the buildings are just frames with plants growing inside, which was a bit disappointing. As we got out of the car, a man down the street shouted, "Hello White Person!" Out to a suburb for superb catfish, hush puppies, etc. Eager to enjoy what nightlife Jackson could afford, we went out to two bars. The first was full of regulars, a real working class joint. Overhearing another conversation between the bartender and a drinker, I caught the wise wisdom of a man who was waiting to hear if he had cancer. His attitude towards the possible sickness was quite inspiring - a real take-it-as-it-comes toughness. At the second bar, we entered on the tail end of some blues music. It was that point in the set where all the members of the community come up to do a number, showcasing the local talent. Very tight band of obviously amateur musicians letting loose.

One last stop in Mississippi: Vicksburg National Military Park. As a self-proclaimed Civil War fanatic, I couldn't drive past Vicksburg without stopping at the battlefield. For those of you unfamiliar with Vicksburg, it fell the day after the Battle of Gettysburg after a siege conducted by one Ulysses Grant. The fall of the final Confederate stronghold on the Mississippi led to Union control of the major river and thus, accompanied by the events in the North was one of those watershed moments where the tide of the war forever changed. At the park they also have an ironclad on display that they rescued, almost intact, from the bottom of the Mississippi, where it rested for years after being sunk by the first remotely detonated mine. I've always wanted to see the site and it did not disappoint. It's always staggering to try and put yourself in the soldier's shoes and possibly accounts for why I find "The War Between the States" or as they apparently say down South, "The War of Norther Aggression" so compelling. (If you're interested in that latter one, I recommened Tony Horowitz's outstanding black-comedy revelation, "Confederates In The Attic" about how the war lives on...)

Drove through Louisiana to Natchitoches and supped on gumbo and blackened alligator (see below). It was my first time eating alligator and was really delicious. Louisiana was perhaps the least friendly state encountered, other than maybe Arizona (Ha!). The roads were in a lot of disrepair and the whole just had a bad vibe. For what its worth, some folks we befriended in Austin told us nothing but horror stories about Louisiana. This inter-regional rivalry was one aspect of the South that I found particularly interesting. We tend to think of the South as a bloc, for political or philosophical reasons, but the intense cultural differences within and without the various component states amounts to a very tense relationship between the pieces of which the South is composed. One gets the feeling they don't like each other all that much, perhaps even more so now in the depressed economy with so much poverty and fighting over Federal relief and funding.

We were supposed to stay in Shreveport, but at the last minute decided to save money and get a jump start on the long drive to Texas. This meant we ended up pitching a tent and camping out in Weches, Texas at a campsite near an old mission, Mission Tejas. Being at least 2 1/2 hrs., from any major city, the sky was so clear and it was more stars than I have ever seen in my life. I really can't describe the immensity of the night sky and the somehow weightlessness it conveyed because of the millions of stars. The experience was inspiring and downright exhilarating. The next morning, we went to the Caddoan Native American Mounds right up the road, which were impressive. As a detour, this part of the voyage turned out to be a real crowd-pleaser.

On our way to Austin, we HAD to plan a route that drove down through College Station so that we could make a quick trip to the George Bush Museum and Library. We only went to the rotunda and gift shop, but there is still a lot that could be said about this place; I prefer to leave it unsaid. However, I will only mention the video of an elderly Bush skydiving while a worried Babs Bush looks on and an accompanying life-size model as the standouts. It was hard to keep to maintain our composure, but we made it out unscathed. As I like to say, we went rogue.

Then we went to Elgin (missing the famed Watermelon Festival by mere days!) to get famous hot sausages at The Southside Market in Elgin. Amazing hot sauce and BBQ sauce.

And so we ventured deeper until our intrepid travelers came upon Austin. Our first order of business was happy hour and so, we went to a bar on W. 6th called Opal Divine's and wound up befriending a bunch of construction workers. They bought us drinks and told us stories about their lives, adventures, travels, women and gave us a lot of life advice. Despite our greatest reassurances that we had no intention of going anywhere near the industry, they were also emphatic that we not go into the porn business in Los Angeles. Overall, it was real gritty stuff, but one of the highlights of the trip. There was just no BS to any of it and they were actually really excited that people still went on road trips. So excited that they wound up buying us beers. Below is a picture of me and Paul, a safety coordinator. We went to dinner in an up and coming neighborhood at this place called Justine's that Anabel had turned me onto, having done the wainscotting for the place a few years before on a visit to her cousin's place. Justine's had the trifecta: great food, plentiful drink and an incredible atmosphere. It was very mysterious and I liked that. It was very much a constructed dream world and it very much was out of place.

The next day was rainy, so we went up to the strip on S. Congress and hit all the record and book stores. Also went to a cool shop called Uncommon Objects that took antiques and turned them into strange and beautiful crafts. For our next meal, we went down to Lockhart, Texas to gorge at Kreuz's Market, considered one of the best BBQ joints in the US. Lockhart was funny because I took a class on country music in college taught by a professor whose graduate work was an a type of ethnography of the working-class, country community at this one bar in Lockhart, so it was a bit surreal actually seeing this place that I had read about. Kreuz's. You go in, order by the pound, they throw it on butcher paper, give you a plastic knife and send you into the next room to buy sides and eat. The brisket was out of this world. At night, back to Opal Divine's, which also has like 200 types of scotch on the shelf. Our construction worker friends were not there.

On through small town west Texas, through Lubbock (Buddy Holly's birthplace) and on to Amarillo. Almost too tired to go out, but soooo glad we did. Went down to Polk St., which is supposed to be the big spot, but it was like being in the worst parts of the meat-packing district and the people there, well...so we took a chance on a place called Midnight Rodeo. It was described as a C&W bar, so I figured old men asking young ladies to two-step to classic honky tonk. Boy was that misguided. We pull into the parking lot and it was totally jam-packed, wall-to-wall pickup trucks. Turned out this was like a nightclub for young cowboys and cowgirls replete with a live pop country band, five bars and a full dance floor inside. Totally mind blowing and so cool. Of course, we were eyed suspiciously and no one talked to us, but it was good to see how the other half live.

On our way out of Amarillo the next morning, we stopped at Cadillac Ranch - an art installation where old Cadillac cars were stuck into the earth and you're supposed to spray paint them. Then came the drive to Taos. I have to say that I really enjoyed the Southwest. It's totally beautiful and awesomely boring. The whole landscape is naturally psychedelic and I almost enjoyed waiting for hours to see something new or different. Those payoffs were immense and truly inspirational. In Santa Fe, we stopped at Luckey Q BBQ, a single man and his smoker operation just off the Interstate. This I must say was the best (and perhaps cheapest) of our BBQ excursions. The proprietor was from Alabama and took a liking to us and drew us the most exquisitely earnest and confusing directions to Taos.

On the drive to Taos, we stopped at one of the spots by the Rio Grande River and considered jumping in, but the current was way too strong. In Taos, we met up with our friend Annie, her parents (Stan and Barbara) and her archeological comrades at the annual Pueblo Pow Wow held in Taos. The Native American clothing, singing and dancing was so gorgeous and the entire experience surreal. Annie and co are in Taos studying Comanche petroglyphs, weird Catholic sects and are staying at this commune New Buffalo that the commune in the film "Easy Rider" is modeled after. We celebrated Stan's birthday and spent the night there singing songs.

In the morning, I went into town to check out the scene. Still a real funky little place, but has gotten a bit touristy. Nonetheless, it exudes and revels in a strangeness, a sort of ephemeral quality that makes putting your finger on its charm difficult. Annie's parents had rented a house on the river, so we all went over there in the afternoon. Happy hour started early and it was magical just laying in the hammock, swimming in the river and indulging in the most wild of nature fantasy. So perfect. That night we slept in the sleep porch, listening to bugs, the sound of the river and being roused by the sun and the music of morning birds.

We went briefly to Pilar to see what Annie has been working. We saw local petroglyphs, Comanche petroglyphs and Archaic petroglyphs and were given a history of the area. The physical space is a big valley or canyon, which Comanche raiding parties used to steal horses. There was only one entrance to the area, so the space was a natural pen and provided a more than adequate defensible position. The time period it dates to is one of violent revolt where the Native Americans were able to overthrow the Spanish altogether and then of reconquest, so there is no written history of the time period. Hence the petroglyphs provide an important glimpse into what was actually happening. Furthermore, apparently it was thought that Comanche's were highly disorganized and erratic, when in reality they comprised a highly sophisticated Empire.

After this tour, we drove out to Flagstaff, Arizona. On the way however, we stopped at Petrified Forest National Park...a site of staggering beauty. In all these descriptions, keep in mind that the sights are really beyond words. There's not even a way to photograph them well, much less talk about or describe them. Perhaps that, then, is the essence, the mystery, the charm of the Southwest that I've been unable to put my finger on. Pictures, ultimately will tell the story better than I possibly could and so I'll defer to a scenic photo montage...(regrettably it's not in 3-D)...

From Petrified Forest, we journey onward to the world's only verified and best preserved Meteor Crater. For some reason I thought we were heading to Crater Lake, and the realization only dawned on me as I started to put the exorbitant entry price and other small details together that I discovered that we were not at a state or national park, but rather at, what I will deem, the most corporate meteor crater in the world. It was just a strange place, like a roadside gimmick and it attracted that sort of people. Yet, the crater itself was so compelling and majestic, making the world around it even more absurd by comparison. I sat on the edge just watching and contemplating for a long time, trying to imagine, wonder. It was that sort of place. But also, totally hokey.

In Flagstaff, we stayed at a Motel 6. Bookmark this, because it makes our lodging accommodations the next night even more outrageous. Too tired to do anything and unwilling to provoke the volatile Arizona night, we just bought a six pack. For the first time in a year we were able to purchase Moose Drool brewed by Big Sky Brewing Company out of Missoula, Montana. This beer is legendary in our circles as it is only distributed in select locations (such as Flagstaff, apparently) and definitely not anywhere near the East Coast. We knew we had arrived. Too tired to drink and stuffed with chili cheese fries we retired.

I woke up early the next morning and as I always did, when possible, journey into town looking for the freshest cup of black gold. Discovered Late for The Train, a gem, which roasts its own coffee beans - as they say in the field, solid bro. Then onwards to the Grand Canyon. We opted for the North Rim figuring it'd be less crowded. It was, but it also takes like 4 hours to get to, in brutal, shadeless heat. You go through Navajo and other Native American reservations to get there, which was eye-opening. Lots of little road side stands with natives trying to peddle some commercial version of their culture. But even these sole landmarks, if you can call them that, were few and far between. Mostly it was just desert and cliffs. That Southwest monotony I was talking about, except eventually you get the Vermillion Cliffs (1st photo), Kaibab National Forest (2nd photo) and finally the Grand Canyon. From cliffs to the lush green of pastures on the forest to the tons of burned out, barren trees, it was like being in some magic place in the clouds. Factor in an altitude of almost two miles and you're looking at a real visual and psychological headrush! Once again for the Grand Canyon, I really can't do it justice and so will defer to photograph evidence that says, "Hey! I've been there." As preface, I will say that we hiked nearly two and a half miles into the canyon on the mule route.

Needless to say, hiking after 12 days after traveling depleted the last of our energies. We munched at the Jacob Lake Inn, which has the most amazing blueberry pie ever. We then had to decide how to proceed. Back to Flagstaff was roughly the same distance to Las Vegas, yet from Las Vegas to Los Angeles was about three hours shorter than from Flagstaff to Los Angeles, so we said, "What the hell!" and lit out for Las Vegas, figuring we'd find a cheap place just outside city limits. I wanted to see The Strip, but had no desire to "do" Vegas. Well, turns out you can only stay in the sprawl of Vegas or in a town based on a casino somewhere along the way. We went from inn to inn, all too expensive, getting more cranky by the minute when finally a gracious desk attendant told us to use the hotel computer and book a room at the Luxor for cheap on Expedia, which is exactly what we did! For $60 and a night after staying in a Motel 6, we staying the Luxor Resort and Casino, shaped like a pyramid, but glass, in the heart of Las Vegas. We were too tired to go out at all though and simply crashed.

The next morning I was eager make the final push to Los Angeles and so, I only bet one dollar to simply be able to say that I had gambled in Vegas. Then out through the insanely hot desert. There's really not much to report on this final leg except that the Mojave Desert, or at least its outskirts are hot and beautiful, but mostly hot.

And so this, my friends, and dear readers (bravo to you if you actually made it through these mad ramblings!) is where I will leave you: in the city of Los Angeles, a city like an ant farm. And I will do my best to update with the best of the adventures had here so far in the next few days - certainly before I take off for the slightly more temperate Northwest.