11 states in 48 hours: A travelogue in prose

Probably not so exciting as that song by The Nails, "88 Lines About 44 Women" ('Julie came and went so fast/She didn't even say goodbye!'), but my cross-country trip was quite an adventure nonetheless.

The great states of Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, and Colorado as far as Denver (approx. 1700 mi.) were packed into 26 non-stop hrs. Oh, and I forgot to mention that me, Steve, and all of his worldly possessions were packed into a 24-ft. moving truck w/his car being towed behind. When we first fabricated this plan, I considered for only the briefest moment that the truck might just be too big for me to drive, but I quickly discarded that idea in favor of the delusion that I can do anythg. When Steve brought the truck home and proceeded to knock over the mailbox backing it into the driveway, I began to revisit my initial reservations. After all, Steve has driven large trucks before and his backing-up skillz are second to none (though perhaps tied w/Eli's), so if even he couldn't drive the truck w/o incident, I was fairly certain that there was no hope for me. Plus, it was raining. Plus, Steve loves his car more than he loves, well, anythg. else in his life, so if anythg. were to happen while I was driving to damage the car, all I could do was hope that it was an event of enough magnitude to take me out, too. So no pressure.

In the end, I did not actually drive the truck that much (maybe eight hrs. of the entire trip), but I was sufficiently unnerved by the prospect when I first took the wheel that I was instantly able to overcome the bone-crushing fatigue that comes only when one has been awake for nearly 24 hrs. after spending the entire wk. before foregoing sleep in favor of studying for finals. I feel comfortable giving myself the title of best road trip partner ever -- and I'm pretty sure I could get a second and a third on that nomination -- b/c I am one of those ppl. who doesn't like to sleep when the other person is driving b/c I feel like they need as much entertainment as possible, esp. if you're driving overnight and they're tired. Additionally, I can read aloud for a long time w/o losing my voice, I do silly dances and sing at excessive volumes, and can occasionally hold an interesting, protracted conversation. (This is true unless you're Eli. For some reason, I always fall asleep when I'm driving w/poor Eli. Let's be nice and say it's b/c I feel safest w/him.) This is nice of me, but in this case it meant that by the time we reached CO, where I was to spend two nights w/my grandparents and my aunt, I was nearly delirious fr. lack of sleep.

Apparently the two and a half hrs. I had during the drive were not quite enough: Not only was I no more than technically conscious, I made a v. inappropriate joke at the dinner table that still makes me look at the floor when I think of it. I won't repeat it, but let's just say it involved my grandmother's Bible study grp., my granddad, and fellatio. Actually, it would have been quite funny had it not involved my granddad. Yes, there go my eyes sliding downward in embarrassment at the memory. Oh, and before we move away fr. the subject of my granddad, I apparently inherited my naughty side honestly. Ever since Pop-Pop had a stroke a few yrs. ago, it's as if his internal censor has been officially switched off. The man is positively dur-tee, but absolutely hilarious. I encourage anyone w/an interest in skiing, snow, Johnny Cash (Pop-Pop watches "Walk the Line" at least once a week), and/or dirty jokes to come out to CO w/me for Christmas so that you can be part of the hilarity. Need further incentives? My grandmother is a really good cook/interior decorator and my aunt and her husband are really funny, too, albeit in a more wholesome way. Although, they both laughed really hard at my awful joke, so maybe they're not so innocent as I would wish to believe. Anyhow, point is, my family is awesome and I want to share the slightly twisted joy. So come on over for Christmas -- they have a lot of room.

Woke up dark and early two mornings later and drove abt. 4.5 hrs. to the western edge of CO to link back up w/my convoy (our friends Tess and Randy were w/us, too, on their way out to see Tess's family), then drove through Utah and Arizona before arriving nine hrs. (and approx. 760 mi.) later in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada, for another two-night interlude. The highlight of this portion of the trip was unquestionably the water-based acrobatic dance show "Le Reve". I won't waste our time attempting to articulate it, but if you ever go to Vegas, it is worth the money. Absolutely stunning. Other events of note included Steven winning $500 at the blackjack table (!!) and some fat guy driving into the giant rental truck (oh, I am so sadly serious) and then having the gall to insist that we ran into him. A good time was had by all, but I really need to go back to Vegas w/Jennifer or Sarah or Ben and Jon (or any combination thereof). My last two visits have taught me that it's really the sort of place I should go w/only certain ppl., ppl. who would get a kick out of spending a few days eating good food, having a few drinks, and watching all of the crazy ppl., but who are also able to recognize the sheer ridiculousness of the whole place and therefore don't buy into what is essentially a superficial denizen of waste. The instant you allow yourself to be impressed by Vegas w/o also realizing that it is quite possibly the worst thg. ever to happen to the human race, it's over.

The final leg of the cross-country extravaganza involved a mere three hrs. fr. Las Vegas to Barstow, CA, where I was met by Marion, the best flatmate ever, and Steve and I parted ways as he continued his journey home. This farewell was pretty much what I thought it would be: abbreviated, light, and unable to do justice to the end of a four-year-long chapter in a relationship that best characterized as inconsistent. In fact, I was left wishing it was possible for me to have somehow ended the trip w/the drive fr. CO to Las Vegas. The 36 hrs. that Steve and I spent in that truck before Vegas were the most enjoyable of the roughly 35,000 hrs. we have known each other, at least in my opinion. We did not bicker. We talked abt. more thgs. than we had covered in the four previous yrs. together. We seemed to have, at the last possible moment, called a truce. It was one of those times where you are all too aware of its limited, finite nature, but you can't help wishing it would never change. You pay more attn. to details like the color of the sky or the shape of the landscape around you or the time when the other person finished your sentence b/c it was the first time he had thought deeply abt. anythg. you have said (even if what you said was smthg. you read fr. someone else's book).

That was where I wanted the trip to end, w/our pre-Vegas drive and a semblance of normalcy and understanding, not in the diesel fuel lot of some gas station where it is impossible to say the thgs. you shouldn't have waited until the last min. to say anyhow, and so you say nothg. at all, nothg. that matters.

Probably not suitable for public consumption

It's been a rather thick 24 hrs.

And this will probably be a rather voluminous, remarkably unhumorous entry, so I'll understand if you skip it.

I arrived at my father's yesterday evening, the purpose of my visit being two-fold: to see my father and his/my family and to attend his second graduation from nursing school (w/an RN this time instead of LPN). I viewed it as a visit to his/my family b/c that is exactly how I have thought of this arrangement for the past eight yrs.

I moved out of my father's house at 16, shortly after he began dating the woman who is now my stepmother. For five yrs., I had lived in what can generously be described as a "character-building" environment. I had parented my parent and myself and acted as mediator between my father and the live-in girlfriend (who alternately detested and depended on me) he had before he got together w/Jenny. I had held together the household and entertained/cared for my brother who was visiting when the live-in girlfriend left and Daddy locked himself in his room for a week w/a shotgun. And I had been told so many times that I was selfish and ungrateful that I began to believe it. I must add the disclaimer that this period was NOT all unrelenting horror, but it was...challenging on a regular basis. So by the time I was 16 and my father announced that he and Jenny were planning to move WAY out of my school district and social sphere, I felt this was an opportunity to get out of what I had long realized was a situation unlikely to change, no matter how many times I negotiated, cried, or begged.

Daddy, I remember, accepted my notice w/surprising docility, considering the vociferous manner in which he had rejected all previous overtures toward separation. Jenny at one point said to me, "I just don't know how you can treat your father this way." I thought to myself, "Oh, you will."

So I moved out, and my dad and Jenny moved away. One yr. later I went on an awkward vacation to the beach w/them and my father told me while we were sitting in traffic that he and Jenny were expecting a baby. I was nearly 18 and I was going to have a new sibling. They got married a few mos. after the vacation and had another baby (an accident this time) two yrs. after my little brother was born. My contact w/my father's new family has been confined to my bi-yearly visits to Maryland, one in the summer and one around Christmas, during which I spend two to four days at my dad's house, generally sitting w/him while he watches television and attempting to interact w/the two ppl. I unfortunately refer to as "my dad's kids".

The stilted nature of these visits has mercifully declined over the yrs., due mostly to factors such as my littlest brother being one of the coolest, smartest kids in the world, making it much more enjoyable to be around him than when he was an ugly, unwanted (by me) baby and by my stepmother finally figuring out "how I could treat my father that way" and needing a comprehending, if not entirely sympathetic, ear (i.e., mine) to listen once in a while. Plus, Eli and I started buying her Herbalife stuff and telling other ppl. abt. it to drum up business for her, so that's been a bonding point. Jenny and I also share a love of 80s rock bands and hair straighteners, probably b/c she is only 10 yrs. older than me. (Don't freak out too much -- my dad was a child when I was born, so he's only 8 yrs. older than Jenny.) But I still, right up til this evening, thought of this group as first my father's family and only secondarily, perfunctorily as my family, too: my dad's/my family.

I have continued to love my father w/the unfailingly devoted adoration one sees in small children, old dogs, and religious fanatics. Through it all, I have loved my father deeply and unreservedly. I'm 24 yrs. old and I still call him Daddy, for fuck's sake. I think the normal reaction to our rather turbulent relationship during my formative yrs. would be outright hatred or at best a cool regard, but I, who have known for so long exactly who and how my father is, still love him as I did when I was five yrs. old and I cried for hrs. b/c my mother won custody in the final divorce (when she wasn't around, of course). In some ways, this is a blessing, as it means I am generally not surprised or hurt by anythg. he does to me (e.g., rarely calling [unless smthg. is WAY wrong, of course], never visiting, forgetting my last three bdays) and I am able to maintain a v. amicable relationship w/him, which makes me happy. However, having so thorough an understanding of both my father's behavior and his mental state -- and how his behavior so often contradicts and distorts how he really feels -- makes it extraordinarily painful to hear my stepmother talk abt. how my father behaves toward her and the children, to watch him drive himself deeper and deeper into depression and further away fr. the ppl. who love him most, and to know that -- despite his formidable intelligence, his Renaissance-man like aptitude for everythg. he decides to do, and, deep down, his desire to love and be loved -- my father is never going to be happy and he is never going to get a strong enough grip on his own emotions and behaviors to stop and think abt. how he makes everyone around him unhappy.

When I went to live w/Daddy when I was 11 yrs. old, it was under the pretence that he was going through a rough time following the departure of my first stepmother and needed someone to be w/him to help him get through it. I realize now that my father will always be going through a rough patch and will always want someone w/him to help him get through it (which explains the series of wives and girlfriends). And even though I also realize that it was completely inappropriate to charge a pre-adolescent child w/the job of seeing her father through a hard time, I still cannot help but feel, in the v. farthest reaches of my heart/psyche/whatever, that I failed him.

This occurred to me late last night, after my stepmother and I had finally said goodnight following a long and varied conversation. We discussed my plans for the next few yrs. and my brother (the older one, my full brother, the one traditionally thought of as MY brother) and I listened to the sounds of my father eavesdropping in an uncharacteristically un-stealthy manner that leads me to believe that he wanted us to know that he was there, listening to Jenny tell me abt. their marriage in terms that were sufficiently vague, but were well understood by me, the person who probably knows my dad better than anyone else. We also talked abt. my other siblings, the ones even my grandparents seem to forget are part of the family just like me or Trey. And it was at this point that my dad's/my family began to become simply my family.

As I've said, I love my little brother beyond description. He is just the funniest, cleverest, cutest kid in the world. And he loves me, too, which makes it a lot easier to love him than, say, my youngest sister who has spent the past four yrs. refusing to let me approach her. Even as a baby she would cry when anyone but Jenny held her. I've always heard stories abt. how smart Elizabeth is, how articulate she is, how cunning she can be (hee hee!), but all I ever saw was a whiny twit hiding behind her mother for days at a time while I visited. Initially, it appeared that this trend would continue when Elizabeth denied me a hello hug and instead buried her face in Jenny's knees and shook her head in vehement refusal. But then she just stopped. She started talking to me and showing me thgs. and laughing and making jokes that I would think a four yr. old wouldn't even understand, let alone formulate. My stepsister, too, underwent a sort of transformation in a matter of mins. She has been for so long my incongruous foil, it's really quite embarrassing to admit, considering that she is 12 yrs. younger than me and not nearly as smart. But she shares Elizabeth's cunning and has always known which buttons to push to make me want to push her out of a moving vehicle. But on this visit she was almost immediately engaging and interesting and where in the past she would say or do thgs. to make it clear that I was not in a place that was my home (like the time she tried to get Jenny to say that my old cat who still lives w/my dad belonged to her and "their" family and not to me), this time she made a real effort to include me in the group. Making fun of my dad w/her was a handy "in" for me.

As I surveyed Joseph's disaster of a room (so like mine!) and heard him beg to be allowed to sleep on the couch (just like me when I was his age!), as I watched Elizabeth shake her tiny booty while she danced to White Zombie (just like me!) and eat only three bites of her mini-pizza (again!), and as I looked at Lynn's artwork and recognized that she may not be as intellectually smart as me or Joseph and Elizabeth, but she is exceptionally gifted in her own way, and esp. when I heard fr. Jenny how hurt Lynn is every Christmas when my grandparents send presents and cards for Joseph and Elizabeth, but not even a hello for her, I felt an entirely new set of emotions emerge: belonging replaced separateness, enjoyment supplanted obligation, and a desire to protect and foster pushed out tepid apathy. I was finally able to identify the ways in which these ppl. are MY family.

And now I am more worried than ever abt. my father and his...ways. My brother (Trey) and I are basically functional adults, but we bear significant reminders of the events of our less-than-ideal childhoods. While not all of these marks were left by our father (my mother could take up a whole other blog entry [don't worry -- I'm not planning to do that]) and not everythg. he did was harmful, the effects of the less positive aspects of Daddy's approach to fatherhood linger. I often tell ppl. that I am crazy and they always laugh it off or deny that they've seen the signs, but I think that's a combination of politeness and of my well-honed ability to hide the insanity. I do not want what I am or what Trey is for my siblings. I am left in the odd predicament of wanting to protect Joseph, Elizabeth, and Lynn fr. one of the ppl. I love best in this world.

And so I have gained a family and paradox in one day's time.

Cal-i-for-nah-ay!: A Travelogue in Picture Form

B/C I am a lazy bitch and didn't feel like fixing this problem, the pictures are actually in reverse chronological order. I don't actually think it will matter since none of you would have known the difference had I not said anythg., but if it matters to you, you can start at the bottom and work up. Many thanks to Marion, one of the world's best photographers, whose mad camera skillz allowed me to leave my own camera at home, which is really good, considering that my bag was still four pounds overweight when I went to the airport to fly home. Also, this first picture *is* actually the first picture we took on the trip and I would like you disregard my face and notice only that a) we were camping (fun!) and b) I am wrapped in a giant coat b/c it was COLD (not fun).

Me and Marion at the crazy seal beach -- there were just so many of them! And please notice the sweaters -- it was NOT warm. Or sunny, for that matter.









SO MANY SEALS!! And did you know that they molt? I did not.













This is me being a jackass at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I was inside a tunnel that, judging by its diminutive clearance and the woman sitting in it w/her two toddlers, was meant for children. But I love tunnels. And that blue fish at the top of the pic.








Oh, you know I had to get in the canoe.













This is what happens when Marion has not yet learned how exactly all of the settings on her camera perform -- it's a freaking work of art!! When I don't know how to use thgs., they usually break or at least produce outcomes of poor quality. Marion, on the other hand, does thgs. like this -- amazing. I love accidental art! This is in the jellyfish room of the Monterey Bay Aquarium, btw -- that's what the lights are -- jellyfish.




Look!! -- it's an English tea house in the middle of CA. I think this explains the astronomical price of real estate in the area; if you convert the sums into pounds, it's not actually that bad.









Me in front a random, but insightful, posting on what is apparently the world's shabbiest recording studio, located in Cambria, CA.










The unreasonably beautiful indoor pool at HC.













This picture only begins to demonstrate the over-the-top-ness of Hearst Castle. Yes, this was meant to be a domicile, not a cathedral.



















Me lounging by the outdoor pool (sans l'eau, malheureusement) at Hearst Castle, just like a thinner, brunette, not-famous Jean Harlow!










Marion and me in the garden at HC

WHOA.

Am sitting in Marion's bedroom in the planned-down-to-the-paint-chips town of Irvine, CA, listening to what I thought was a re-make of "The Exorcist", you know, that scene w/the little girl screaming in tongues?, but what is actually her neighbor's young daughter yelling at her sibling(s) and/or parents, as she apparently does on a daily basis. I want to toss some Lithium or some Haldol over the fence.

Absolutely amazing.

And scary as piss.

So I say again, NO KIDS FOR ME.

Also, incidentally, Marion lives in a neighborhood built exclusively for UCI professors and the father of the child next door she believes is a Psychology guy. I'm telling you -- we're all nuts.

The most awesome thg. I have ever seen in my life.

Most of you probably read this either in an email I sent you or in the similar entry on Daniel's blog, but I thought it bore repeating b/c Stephen Colbert is just amazing:

Wow.

I mean, WOW.

I am sure many of you have heard abt. Stephen Colbert's little speech to the White House Press Corps' dinner, but, truly -- if you have not seen it, you cannot understand what a badd ass this man is (and yes, I mean badd, w/two ds -- when you're this badd, it needs two ds). I thought I knew, being the avid Colbert Report fan that I am, but I did NOT. NOW I KNOW. So check it out:http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-869183917758574879

And then check out Colbert's analysis of the whole event at http://www.comedycentral.com/shows/the_colbert_report/videos/most_recent/index.jhtml?start=17 (see "White House Correspondent Dinner" in the bottom row), remember that this is real, and laugh your asses off as your faith in the media is marginally restored.

Also, Jon Stewart's Daily Show commentary on the speech was quite amusing, paying homage to Colbert's balls of steel and summing up with, "Holy Shit."

I could not be more in love w/Stephen Colbert than I am at this v. moment.

Preach it, sister! OR Thank you, master of the obvious.

Girl in Library: I do NOT want to take this final.

That pretty well sums up my day, though it hardly warrants such a vehement announcement. It perhaps would be more newsworthy if she said she DID want to take her final, as that is certainly an unusual sensation I have yet to experience.

Back to the grind, best wishes to my fellow sufferers (esp. my MUSC girls). If I can just make it to California, everythg. will be alright....

Oh, also, am totally enthralled by overheardintheoffice.com -- laugh my socks off every time -- as well as Gnarls Barkley and Editors. Give a listen to them if you have a minute. Pretty spectacular.

Word of the Day: Buba

I walk in to Physics today, slightly late as usual, and am greeted w/a sight so wholly unexpected and adorable that I actually exclaimed, "Look at you!!" to my professor. Dr. A, who, as mentioned previously, is Nigerian, was wearing an oversized smock-type shirt, decorated in bold African patterns and vibrant hues of pink, purple, turquoise, and black, which he informed us is called a 'buba' (boo-buh -- he even spelled it for us). I say this was unexpected b/c although he *is* Nigerian, Dr. A. is perhaps the most assimilated foreigner I have ever known. His English is impeccable -- he even understands the nuances and more intuitive aspects of the language that generally separate native speaker fr. fluent, non-native speaker -- he drives some sort of sports sedan, and he has always dressed more like a J.Crew model than someone who would even consider wearing any sort of tribal garb, native African or not. I felt rather like an asshole after my comment (who walks in to a room and says, "Look at you!!"??), but I think he knows that I'm more of jackass than an asshole and that my comment was truly ingenuous. Plus I paid more attn. than usual today b/c I was so amused by the buba, and Dr. A always likes it when I pay attn. heh.

Also seen today was a student, approximately 20 yrs. of age, chasing a hapless yard duck around the grassy area in front of the library. I don't like this when small children do it, so imagine the rage I felt watching this idiot who is apparently old enough to go to university (I would say smart enough, too, but, let's face it -- it's Georgia Southern -- brains have little to do w/admissions) running after an obviously distressed animal waddling as fast as his little legs would go. I was so incensed that I started to run after the guy, w/the intention of running around after him for a few mins., possibly throwing some pine cones for added flair, to let him see what it's like. Then I realized that is REALLY crazy. Then I had this mental picture of me running after this tall black guy while throwing pine cones and yelling and first I laughed, but then I stopped when this was followed by a further mental picture of me being prosecuted for a hate crime or smthg. Then I laughed some more b/c, come on, that's funny.