Out and Back

Montana

I spent a few days in Whitefish, Montana last week, not too far from Glacier National Park.  I was there for work, and as I wrote in an email to my brother, being there did me a lot of good.  I needed to remind myself what real mountains look like. The photo at left is the view from my room at Grouse Mountain Lodge.

It was cold and snowy but I didn't mind bundling up to venture out.  The people I met were friendly, and when they asked me where I was from I would say I lived in South Carolina but that I was from Seattle originally.  As soon as "Seattle" left my lips there was a smile or a nod of recognition, like we had an understanding.  I was suddenly less foreign.

The trip from South Carolina to Montana was a long haul... Greenville to Memphis to Minneapolis to Kalispell.  I was worried because I only had twenty minutes to make my connection in Memphis, but I made it without a hitch, only to discover in Minneapolis that my flight to Kalispell was delayed by two hours.  It was one of those maddening situations where the plane was there but the crew wasn't.  (They were stuck on a delayed flight from Canada.)  As soon as the gate agent announced that fact, a harried mother hollered out, "Just give me the keys, I'll fly the plane!"  One of her sons was a skateboarder, and as I walked past him on the moving walkway (I made several treks up and down the terminal in an effort to kill time) he noticed my sneakers (Etnies) and complimented me on them.  I guess Etnies are popular with skater boys, so I felt pretty cool.

Right: my tired Etnies. Haven't worn them since last winter, it's been nothing but flip-flops for me since April.

I'm double-blogging!

I've been posting here at Out and Back since May of 2005, and have every intention of continuing.  However, over the past few months, I've found that I've become quite the wizard when it comes to successfully navigating the frequently-choppy waters of business travel.  I decided to share my wisdom, and I felt the best forum for doing that would be on a new blog. To that end, I am proud to announce the launch of Prescription Suitcase: The Cure for your Travel Headaches.

Check it out, if you're so inclined.  It's just getting started, so I don't have a lot up at the moment and I am still trying to work out how it will be structured, how frequently I will post, etc.  I also don't plan to be too blatant about the fact that Prescription Suitcase and Out and Back are written by the same person, so you'll notice that PS doesn't link to OaB, nor the other way 'round.  But if you bother to check out what's happening here at OaB, I figured you deserved to hear about PS, too.  Come on over and sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.

On the road again

I'm writing this post from my local airport as I wait for my flight to Atlanta.  Once I get to Atlanta, I'm catching a connecting flight to West Palm Beach.  Since April, I've been to Tampa, Jacksonville, Miami, and now West Palm Beach.  I guess you could say I've been getting my Florida on, which has been enjoyable.  Every city in Florida that I've visited so far has had a beach nearby, and proximity to the ocean always makes me feel better about life.  My dream dictionary makes mention of the fact that in dreams, the ocean symbolizes sexuality and the unconscious, and I guess it isn't too big of a leap from there to think of the ocean as an origin point... the primordial soup from which all life emerges.  It isn't all that surprising, then, that a lot of people (myself included) flock to the shore whenever an opportunity presents itself... we're all getting back to our roots, so to speak.

I have been thinking about the ocean lately in the context of nature, too.  During the past few weeks, I've been making a study of some of the earth-based religions, and respect for the natural world plays a huge role in those beliefs.  My spiritual path has become a bit more definitive of late -- it is becoming more and more difficult for me to make sense of life and these crazy times we live in without a spiritual element.  I've struggled with the concept of organized religion for much of my adult life, but I am starting to feel as though I may have found something that fits me.  Not surprisingly, it is less "organized" than most religions and lends itself beautifully to solitary practice.  I'm not ready to commit myself yet because I've only recently started studying, but my initial response has been very positive. 

I still have a lot to learn, though.

Oh my my, oh hell yes

I know I promised you a story about my Indiana trip last weekend, so here it is.

On Sunday afternoon, I headed to the Greenville/Spartanburg airport to catch a late-afternoon flight to Washington, DC, where I would connect at Reagan National (I can hardly bear to call it that) to a flight going to Indianapolis. Once in Indianapolis, the plan was to pick up a rental car and drive the hour and a half or so to Rensselaer, the small town in the northwest corner of the state where I would be working until Wednesday.

The flight to DC was uneventful. Pleasant, even. I sat next to this nice guy on his way home to DC and shared my Entertainment Weeklies with him. (I use the time on flights to catch up on my magazines. My husband insists I subscribe to too many, but I think he's full of it.) We chatted a bit about popular culture and our travel destinations, but he wasn't one of those irritating, co-dependent types who start talking your ear off the second you sit down. Before I knew it, we'd arrived in DC and were happily exiting the aircraft. (After, of course, using caution when opening the overhead bins because articles might have shifted during the flight.) Despite some light but steady rain, things seemed fine.

I should pause for a second here to mention that this was only my second time at Washington National (or DCA, to use the three-letter airport code. I'm sorry; I can't bring myself to call it Reagan anymore.) The last time I was there was about 15 years ago, before they'd even named it after you-know-who. That time, I was flying home from a family vacation, so it was my departure point rather than my transfer point. To make a long story short, I didn't realize when I arrived on Sunday that the only way to get between the various terminals at DCA is via shuttle buses that ferry passengers from point to point. As it happened, when I arrived and checked the monitors, I discovered that my flight to Indy was going to be delayed by about 90 minutes. With nothing but time on my hands, I decided I might as well scoot over to the connecting gate, find an outlet and a wi-fi hotspot, and see what I could find out about the delay. My connection was departing from a gate in another terminal, so I made my way to the shuttle bus pickup point, only to hear an airline employee explaining to another traveler that because of the rain, they'd stopped running the buses. Say what?

I'm a Seattleite. If buses stopped running in the rain where I'm from, no one would ever get anywhere or accomplish anything. (Maybe that isn't entirely true – people from Seattle are notorious for being addicted to their automobiles. Let me qualify that statement: if motorized transport stopped running every time it rained in Seattle, no one would get anywhere or do anything.) Needless to say, I was befuddled, but I didn't bother to ask why. I just lingered and listened to the instructions the aforementioned airline employee was giving to the other passenger. I did not like what I heard. Apparently, our only alternative was to exit the terminal we were in, walk through the main terminal to the terminals where our connecting gates were, and go back through the security line. I sighed and started on my way.

As I approached the terminal where my connecting flight would be, I noticed a sign warning visitors to that particular terminal that the restrooms were under renovation and that anyone headed that way was advised to use the bathroom before going through security, as there would be no loo after the metal detectors. Good grief. I peed, and debated about whether to just kill time in the main terminal and wait until closer to my flight or to get to my connecting gate and see if I could find out anymore about why my flight was delayed. I decided I might as well go on through, as the security line was relatively short at that particular moment and it was anyone's guess what it would be like later.

So, for the second time that day, I removed my shoes, took my laptop and quart-size Ziploc baggie out of my carryon, and sashayed through the metal detector. Once I got my shoes back on and my stuff re-packed, I found a place to sit and fired up my laptop. By that time, my flight was scheduled to be even later, so I found the number for the car rental company in Indy and called to let them know I'd be late and to verify that I'd still be able to pick up my car at 11:30 p.m. on a Sunday night. I went to the FAA's web site to figure out what was going on with my flight, and it looked like the delay was due to some weather in Vermont (the remnants of Tropical Depression Barry, I guessed.) My plane would not arrive in DC until around 9 p.m., which meant it wouldn't leave for Indy until at least 9:30 or so.  I sighed, but there are far worse things, so I ate a Clif bar and entertained myself by surfing the Internet. My feet started falling asleep after a while (I was sitting on the floor – could someone please tell me why all airports only have electrical outlets at floor level with no seating nearby?) so I got up and wandered the length of the terminal, noting that, contrary to the signage I'd seen earlier, there was a working restroom in this terminal. Thank God for small favors, I suppose.

"It's not the middle of nowhere, but [I] can see it from here..."

Hat tip to Thelma and Louise.

This phrase sums up perfectly where I am at the moment... a small town in northwestern Indiana.  It's a cute place, very picturesque, and the folks I've been working with have been absolutely delightful, but the area definitely feels small and isolated.  It's taken me forever (and a 30 mile drive) to find an unfettered wireless connection in order to write this post.  Yowza!

The tale of how I got here is a gem, though.  I will save that for another post as my laptop battery is about to quit for the night.

Airport Fashion Police

I consider myself a moderately stylish person.  I like to look put-together, even when I am wearing casual clothes.  (About the only time I don't care that much about what I have on is when I am doing housework or home repairs or when I am vegetating in my pajamas.)

I firmly believe that it is possible to look nice without spending a fortune on clothes.  I will admit to owning some designer pieces (mostly shoes and accessories) but most of my clothes come from a) department store sales, b) outlets, or c) mid-priced clothing stores.  Now that I travel a lot for work, inexpensive-yet-nice-looking clothes are a must.  When I was a little kid, people still dressed up for airplane travel.  I can remember going with my mom to visit relatives in Florida, and for the long flight from Seattle to Tampa (usually with a stopover somewhere in between) my mother put me in a dress, tights, and my black patent leather mary janes.  She donned equally attractive clothes... not overly dressed-up, but certainly not casual, either.

Nowadays, even business travelers don't get dressed up to fly... the polo and khakis uniform seems to be the standard for male business travelers, and for us female road warriors, just about anything goes.  I tend to "fly casual" (to quote Han Solo.)  I usually wear jeans, easily-removable shoes, and a t-shirt or sweater.  My appearance is neat and clean, but I'm also comfy.  By the end of a long-haul flight, I probably look as wretched as I feel, so it isn't worth it to me to put a lot of time and effort into my outfit.  I've noticed over the past few months that a lot of my fellow travelers take a similar approach.

Although it seems some of them take this concept farther than it should probably go.

In Los Angeles the other week, I saw women traipsing through the airport in four-inch heels, dragging their little wheeled carryons behind them.  They looked so effortlessly lovely that it was hard to believe that they'd just gotten off an airplane.  I wondered about the practicality of their choice in footwear, though.  I love my heels as much as the next Carrie Bradshaw-wannabe, but I could not imagine wearing them when I know I'm going to be walking through a big airport.

Yesterday, while waiting in the Greenville/Spartanburg Airport, I saw a woman in a track suit.  No big deal, right?  Well, the pants were so tight that you could see every bulge and pucker (not to mention the infamous "camel toe") and I found myself asking myself, "How could that possibly be comfortable?"  Another time, I saw a guy wearing ratty jeans, a Super Bowl t-shirt (to be fair, it was Super Bowl Sunday) and an extremely nice, perfectly-pressed suit jacket.  I wondered if he was wearing the suit jacket in order to keep it from getting rumpled in a suitcase, but he looked so completely ridiculous that it didn't seem worth it to me.

Here's a tip: when dressing for air travel, by all means, be comfortable.  But don't wear an outfit that you wouldn't want someone you admire to see you in.  I, and the rest of the traveling public, will thank you for it.

Here's a thought...

Regular readers know I was in Los Angeles last week for a few days.  I freakin' loved it, but I wasn't sure why.  It's smoggy, the traffic is wretched, and there are more overpriced eateries and fake boobs than you can shake a stick at.  Why would I love such a place?

Then it hit me.

Los Angeles is the Coney Island of the west.  Hear me out for a second before you start insisting that I'm wrong, that that title rightfully belongs to Las Vegas.

First of all, there is no place like Coney Island so I do recognize the faint sacrilege in even comparing L.A. to it.  All the same, though, here's my reasoning:

* Both are a bit sketchy in places.  I swear there are sections of Sunset that are interchangeable with Stillwell.

* Both are filled with people of all stripes, from all walks of life... some of whom are freakier than others.

* Both are near the ocean.

* Both are full of interesting sights, sounds, smells, and architecture.

* Hardly any shade to be found in either place on a sunny day.

* Both places have served as filming locations for movies, TV, and music videos. (OK, so maybe L.A. has a slight edge here.)

* L.A. may not have a bunch of amusement rides, but try cruising down Mulholland as fast as your car can safely go on a road that curvy and see how it compares to a spin on the Cyclone.  Also, L.A. has its own knockoff of the Wonder Wheel.

* Q Train?  101 at rush hour?  Same difference.

* Nathan's?  In-N-Out Burger?  Yeah.  (C.I. still wins in this category, though, because there's nothing in L.A. that even comes close to Totonno's.)

* Lola Staar would fit right in on Melrose Avenue, I think.

Maybe my argument is a little weak, but the only place on the west coast I've ever been that makes me feel like I'm not really that far away from my beloved Coney is Los Angeles.  Both places are infused with that same sense of popular history, and both places make you feel like there's nowhere else on earth quite like where you are right now.

(And unfortunately, perhaps Coney will soon be catching up to L.A. on the overpriced condominium front, as well.) *sigh*

Remind me never to schedule a return trip on the Friday of a holiday weekend out of LAX

I'm tired, kids.  It's been an enjoyable yet somewhat emotional half-week here in the City of Angels.  When I booked my travel for this trip it didn't even occur to me that flying home on the Friday night of a holiday weekend (even on a redeye) might be kind of sucky.  My plane doesn't leave until nearly 11 p.m. PST, so I am sitting here trying not to think about the suckage until I absolutely have to.  Last time, I actually tried to sleep on the plane.  I think this time I'll just stay awake.  I can sleep when I'm dead, right?

Come to think of it, I might be dead after this flight. Did I mention the only seat I could get was in the frigging middle? (AAAAARRRGGH!)

Remember this post?  I'm the mayor of bitch city, baby! (See the comments below that post if you have no idea what I'm talking about.)

Of all the times to be trapped in a place where smoking is not permitted.  @#$%&**!!!!!!

L.A. Woman

Got in to Los Angeles last night and after work today I took a drive to Santa Monica via Sunset Boulevard.  I had a ball.  Los Angeles is a driving city and there is so much to see just from the car.  I had a cheeseburger and fries at In-N-Out Burger and I couldn't get over how yummy they both were.  In his now-infamous book, Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser cites In-N-Out as a fast food chain that gets it right: they keep the focus on quality, they take care of their employees, etc.  The burger was among the top two or three hamburgers I've ever eaten, and the fries were amazing too.

More cruising tomorrow night... in the meantime, check out the photo gallery of the shots I took tonight (see the albums on the left-hand side.)

Life's a Beach

OK, so it isn't Coney Island.....

and I'm not driving an El Camino....

But darn it, I've got me a Chevy and I'm at the beach!  How bad can life be?

Check out the album at left for more images....

I hate redeyes

Took a redeye home from San Francisco last night, got to South Carolina this morning around 10 a.m.  I used to think it was possible to sleep on a redeye... all you need is a little Benadryl, a sleep mask, and one of those inflatable neck pillows.  No such luck this time.  Even with my noise cancelling headphones, it was positively wretched.  I think you need anesthesia or horse tranquilizers or something to be able to sleep on an airplane these days.

Or maybe I'm just bummed because I had to come back to SC after three and a half gorgeous days in SF.

Either way, I'm looking forward to sleeping horizontally tonight.

I left my heart in San Francisco

...and now I've come to get it back.

Yes, I have returned to San Francisco for the first time in eight years.  Eight years ago, I was on my way to being accepted into the University of San Francisco's M.A. program in creative writing.  I was thinking about making this place my home for a variety of reasons, some good and some bad.  Check out this entry for the details.

Anyway, I'm back... on business this time, so I've spent the days working and the evenings out wandering around.  Last night was retail therapy night -- I picked up some foxy shoes, a cute top, and a glorious pair of jeans that feel like they've been in my closet for years.  (God bless Michael Kors.  And Kimora Lee Simmons.)

It's interesting to be back here and thinking about how things might have been different had I come here eight years ago.  It has also been very surprising how easily I have slipped back into the west coast state of mind.  I think I might be turning into one of those rare hybrid people who can love both coasts.  Part of my heart remains in San Francisco, but another chunk of it is still at Coney Island, and still more of it is with my husband and pet cats.  I sometimes wonder what would happen if I could put all the pieces back together again, but for the most part I think I'd rather just leave things as they are.

For the time being, though, it's good to be home.

Heading home

My trip to Allentown is winding down -- I've got a flight back to SC this afternoon, and I can't wait to get going.  It's been nice to be back up here, but I was surprised to discover that I don't miss this place as much as I thought I would.  I drove past my old house, and I think the new owner has been on vacation or something because there were never any signs of life.  He does have the Slomin's shield in the front yard, and the little decals on the windows.... ironic when you consider the way that hubby and I felt about having an alarm system.

It's been a good week to be away from home, though, because in addition to having a big statistics exam and a presentation this week, my husband has had a bad cold, so I can only imagine how cranky he's been the last few days.  Irate Husband is not fun to be around, to say the least.

I did miss my cats, though.

Can't go home again

I have to go back to Allentown on Sunday -- I'll be staying about 5 days, heading back down here next Friday.  I'm going up there to finish up some work-related stuff and help train my replacement, so that ought to be interesting.

I am curious about how I will react to being back up there, because I have gotten pretty comfortable down here pretty quickly.  In some ways I don't feel like I am fully "present," though because a) I have been continuing to work for my soon-to-be ex-employer for the past month, and b) because of a), I don't leave the house much so I haven't really gotten much exposure to people or really met anybody yet other than a couple of people who interviewed me for a job last week.  So we'll see what happens when I return to Allentown -- I might drive by our old house just to see if the guy who bought it has done anything to it.  I am debating about whether to let people other than my work colleagues know that I am going to be back in town for a bit... part of me just wants to "get in and get out," so to speak.  From this vantage point, I'm feeling like I will be very glad when this part is over and I can come back to SC.  (Wow, never thought I'd hear myself say that!)

Goodbye my Coney Island baby

I hopped the 6 a.m. bus to New York on Saturday morning, just to spend a few hours in Manhattan and Brooklyn.  I won't be able to do that so easily for much longer, so I needed to say my goodbyes.

Coney Island was so quiet.  I got there around 11 a.m., before most of the food stands and souvenir shops and amusements were open.  The picture to the left is one I took with my cell phone camera, so it's a little bit on the low-res side.  It was a cool, overcast morning.... the beach was almost completely deserted except for a few morning walkers and an old man in a Speedo.  The usual characters populated the boardwalk, including a guy who thanked me for my smile as I passed him.  There were also some guys riding up and down the boardwalk on recumbent bikes with big signs advertising the opening of a new Best Buy in Bay Ridge.  An NYPD cruiser came by, too, its weight making the boardwalk rumble as it passed.

As I paced, trying to think of an appropriate way to say goodbye (at least for now) to the place I love so much, I noticed that the old mural (the one with those lines of poetry that so struck me the last time I was there) had been painted over.  A new mural was in its place, with images of Coney Island and some quotations about it, including George C. Tilyou's famous words:

If Paris is France, then Coney Island, between June and September, is the world.

I decided that I should go onto the beach (something I've never done) and put my feet in the water.  I slipped my sandals off and carried them in my hand as I walked down the steps that led from the boardwalk to the sand.  I made my way gingerly toward the water, slaloming between the metal trash cans and trying to avoid stepping on beach glass and cigarette butts.  My feet followed the ruts left by the truck which had (presumably) groomed the sand the night before, and the damp sand squished between my toes in a satisfying way.  I reached the water and wandered in up to my calves, and a bigger-than-I-was-expecting wave came up and splashed the hems of my jeans.  I didn't mind, though.  I walked up the beach toward the pier, letting the water wash over my feet and legs as I went.  The lifeguards, orange dots up and down the beach, seemed to be sleeping.

As I walked, I thought about baptism and about healing waters.  People flock from all over to the grotto at Lourdes in France to seek the water's healing properties.  In Bath, England, you can still have a taste of the ancient water that was once thought to have important health benefits.  (I've tasted it, and it's nasty... sulphurous and sour.)  I think my personal healing waters will always be the Atlantic ocean.... where it touches the sand in Brooklyn.

After rinsing off my feet, I stopped by the Lola Staar souvenir shop on the boardwalk.  I bought some neat postcards, an "I Heart Coney Island" bumper sticker, a fridge magnet, and a snowglobe.  After paying for my stuff, I shared a few minutes' conversation with Lola (aka Dianna Carlin) herself.  She asked if I was visiting from somewhere, and I told her that I live in Pennsylvania but that I have been coming to Coney Island for almost ten years.  I told her about my upcoming move and that this was likely to be my last visit for awhile.  She nodded sympathetically and said, "Well, you can always look at your snowglobe whenever you miss Coney Island."

I wandered through the amusement area on my way back to the subway station, and who should I see sauntering along Surf Avenue, tattooed arms coming out of his "Sodom by the Sea" T-Shirt (another Lola Staar creation), but Dick Zigun, the head honcho at Coney Island USA and the unofficial mayor of Coney Island.  Dick is a guy I admire, the way some New Yorkers admire Giuliani.  I almost stopped him so I could introduce myself, but I didn't want to bother him.  It was the closest I've come to a celebrity sighting in New York in a long time, and it was cool to see him in his natural habitat, walking, in the flesh, down the street.  Next time, Dick, I'll buy you a hot dog and a beer.

I headed back to the subway station and rode the N train back to Manhattan for a few more hours of sightseeing and walking around, but the grit in my sandals and a quote from that new mural stayed with me for the rest of the day:

Coney Islanders have sand in their shoes.  Once it gets in, it never gets out.

Getting my kicks

There are many things I'd like to accomplish before I die.  One of them is to drive the still-extant portions of "the Mother Road," Route 66.  I spent a few minutes this afternoon (instead of packing) flipping through my shiny new road atlas, tracing Route 66 (or the roads that replaced it) backwards from California to Chicago.  As I jumped from state to state, I hummed part of the famous Bobby Troup song:

Now you go through St. Louis
and Joplin, Missouri
and Oklahoma City looks mighty pretty
You'll see Amarillo,
Gallup, New Mexico,
Flagstaff, Arizona,
Don't forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino....

For as long as I can remember, I've been a fan of the roadside attraction, the doo-wop motel, and the amusement park.  I discovered today that while I will soon be leaving my beloved doo-wops behind in Wildwood, New Jersey, there are plenty of amusement parks and roadside attractions to be found in or near my new home state of South Carolina.  To my utter delight, I was reminded recently that South Carolina is home to South of the Border, which I saw once in a movie years ago.  Of course, my reaction was, "Damn, I have to go there someday!"  And now it looks like I'll have the chance.

I also found two really good amusement parks within a couple of hours of where we'll be living.  Naturally, nothing can beat living in Allentown, which has a fantastic amusement park just ten minutes from my house, but these two, Six Flags Over Georgia in Atlanta and Paramount Carowinds on the North Carolina/South Carolina border look pretty good.  Six Flags even has a roller coaster called the Georgia Cyclone, which is a twisting coaster that was supposedly modeled after the Coney Island Cyclone. 

Somehow I doubt it will be as good as the original, but I'm game to give it a try.

Of sleeping cars and tigers

We returned last Wednesday from our South Carolina trip.  Both my husband and I were pleasantly surprised by how nice the area was.  Greenville, South Carolina is a fantastic city with a great downtown with huge trees, a gorgeous park, and lots of cool shops and restaurants.  On the Saturday night that we were there, there were tons of people just out walking around, eating dinner, and enjoying the downtown.  My husband said it reminded him of New Orleans.  It reminded me of Italy, where the evening passegiatta (stroll) is an important tradition.  As we walked, I spotted three interracial couples in the space of about two blocks (I have to admit, that wasn't something I was expecting to see in the "South," but I was very glad to see it.)  A couple of days later, we saw a small group protesting the proposed ban on gay marriage, which was also reassuring.  I'm glad we are going to be living near an area where there is some diversity of opinion and progressive thought.

We rented an apartment in the small town of Central, SC, not far from the Clemson campus.  We'll be about 40 minutes from Greenville, and there's a free bus that stops right outside our building which my husband can take to school.  Clemson's mascot is the tiger, and it seemed like everything around the University had a tiger worked into it somehow.  There are even tiger paw prints painted on the streets as you approach the campus.  The main drag through the town of Clemson is called Tiger Boulevard, and there are a lot of businesses that use the tiger in their signage and advertising.

We rode the Amtrak Crescent from Philly to SC (an overnight train) and going down we just had coach seats.  I learned how difficult it is to sleep on a train -- we both had trouble getting comfortable (despite the fact that the seats were comfy and reclined generously) and it seemed like everytime I was about to nod off, someone would cough or the train would lurch and I'd be wide awake again.  For the trip home, we decided to splurge and booked a sleeping compartment.  That was an experience (let's just say you can only share a sleeping compartment with someone you are extremely intimate with) but we did get a much better night's sleep on the way home.

The best part of the past few days, though, has been getting the news that we got a full price offer on our house after only four days on the market.  We are thrilled, to say the least -- all the time and effort we put into our house has paid off!

Almost time to go

We are leaving later today for a short visit to South Carolina... we'll be apartment-hunting, exploring, and generally getting the lay of the land in what will soon be our new home.

Our house in Allentown is on the market, there's a for sale sign on the front fence.  Our realtor (who also happens to be our next door neighbor -- very convenient!) will hold an open house on Sunday while we are gone.  I just got back from dropping the cats off at our vet's office (we're boarding them there while we're gone) and picking up some flowers to dress up the house a bit.  There are sunflowers in the living room in a great big vase, an arrangement of red roses, daisies, and eucalyptus on the dining room table, and blue and white mums in our bedroom.  I arranged them all myself rather than pay through the nose for pre-made arrangements... flower arranging is in my genes, I think.  My grandmother (whose picture sits in our living room) was a florist.

The house is clean, the clutter hidden away.  I'm trying not to think about the fact that in a relatively short while, this house will belong to someone else.  We could well have an offer or two when we get back from our trip.... part of me is not ready to give up my life here.  Another part of me is hopeful that I will fall in love with northwestern South Carolina and be raring to move down there and start the next chapter.

For the time being, though, we're still "living here in Allentown."

Well we're living here in Allentown
And they're closing all the factories down
Out in Bethlehem they're killing time
Filling out forms
Standing in line
Well our fathers fought the Second World War
Spent their weekends on the Jersey Shore
Met our mothers in the USO
Asked them to dance
Danced with them slow
And we're living here in Allentown 

But the restlessness was handed down
And it's getting very hard to stay 

Well we're waiting here in Allentown
For the Pennsylvania we never found
For the promises our teachers gave
If we worked hard
If we behaved
So the graduations hang on the wall
But they never really helped us at all
No they never taught us what was real
Iron and coke
And chromium steel
And we're waiting here in Allentown 

But they've taken all the coal from the ground
And the union people crawled away 

Every child had a pretty good shot
To get at least as far as their old man got
But something happened on the way to that place
They threw an American flag in our face 

Well I'm living here in Allentown
And it's hard to keep a good man down
But I won't be getting up today 

And it's getting very hard to stay
And we're living here in Allentown

Heads Carolina, Tails California

That's the title of a Jo Dee Messina song, but it fits for my current circumstances.  Here, folks, is the big change I've been hinting at but keeping under wraps:

We're moving to South Carolina.  So it's "heads Carolina" for us.

My husband is going to be entering a PhD program in the fall so we've got to move.  I'm not exactly overjoyed to be leaving PA, but it will be an adventure if nothing else.  Also, I'll be closer to my brother and to fellow blogger Colleen, as well as to other relatives located in the Florida/Georgia/South Carolina region.

Yes, I'm going to be living in a red state.  Shut up, Woody. :)

Sodom by the Sea

I'm heading to Coney Island for the day on Saturday.  Hubby and I have never been to the New York Aquarium, so we're going to go check that out and spend the rest of the day hanging out at Coney.... taking lots of photos, going for a swing on the Wonder Wheel (yes, I said "swing," not "spin" -- people who know Coney will understand why), eating Totonno's pizza, and strolling up and down the Boardwalk.

I dream about Coney Island frequently.  It is quite possibly my favorite place to visit.  Sometimes I dream about it as it must have been back in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when it was known as the "City of Fire" and George C. Tilyou said, "If Paris is France, then Coney Island, between June and September, is the world."

For those of you interested in the history of Coney Island, check out this page.  It is an excellent resource.  I'm also fond of Charles Denson's book, Coney Island: Lost and Found, and Kevin Baker's novel, Dreamland, which is a fantastic and well-researched work of historical fiction.

Finally, if you want to find out what's doing in Coney Island today, be sure to visit Coney Island USA, a nonprofit dedicated to preserving Coney Island's unique and vibrant history and culture.  These are the folks that bring us the delightfully weird and wonderful Mermaid Parade each and every year.

I'll be sure to post some photos of my trip.  We're going to try driving there (neither one of us wants to deal with taking the bus from Allentown and then riding the subway all the way down to Brooklyn, which is what we usually do when we go to NYC) so that ought to be exciting.....

I'll close with my favorite quote about Coney Island... from Jerry Seinfeld:

So I take the subway down to Coney Island to go on the Cyclone.  Here I am, I'm sitting on the "D" train for an hour and fifteen minutes, so I can go on a scary ride.  How dumb is that?  You know that first sharp drop on the Cyclone?  I fell asleep.  It was the least exciting part of my day.

Fonthill and the Mercer Museum

This past weekend, a friend of mine from high school came to visit us, so my husband and I spent much of our time entertaining him and showing him around our little corner of the world.  On Sunday, we ventured down to Doylestown for an experience that was new to us as well as to my friend: a visit to Fonthill and the Mercer Museum.  Both were absolutely fascinating.  Fonthill is the home of Henry Chapman Mercer, a most interesting Pennsylvanian who lived from 1856-1930, and the Mercer Museum is the museum he designed and built to house his collection of early American artifacts.  If you are ever in Pennsylvania, both sites are worth a visit.

Bring on the moss!

On Saturday afternoon, I'm driving to Newark, NJ (a feat in and of itself), staying overnight at the Newark Marriott (keep left! keep left!), and then flying to my lush, green, rainy hometown of Seattle on Sunday morning.  I'm going to stay for a week and I am really looking forward to it.

The title of this post refers to that oft-repeated joke about Seattle-ites -- that we all have moss growing on our north sides.  Ha.

My brother has written some stuff on his blog about the trip he made to Seattle over the summer... I think he reached the conclusion that he probably would not want to live there again.  Me, I haven't made up my mind yet.  My husband is appyling to a PhD program in Urban Planning at the U.W. and I think if he is accepted (and there's a good chance he might be -- the faculty there have responded favorably to his letter of intent) we will both have little to no qualms about putting our house on the market and getting the H-E-double hockey stick out of Pennsylvania.

I'll have to let you know how next week goes... I may not be able to know for sure if I want to truly "go home" until I've been and come back.  One thing is certain -- I definitely will approach this trip from a different perspective than I normally would. 

As I start to make preparations (I can already tell you that packing's gonna get left to the last minute, as per my usual pattern), I find the Indigo Girls' song, Reunion, is running through my head:

we act empty and innocent
but we are fueled by distortions
(i remember you)
of lives led in discontent
(when we were shiny and new)
trading misfortunes
(now you guard your faith)
cause faith is one thing
that is hard to deliver
(temper your speed)
it feels so funny to be free

all you pretty pretenders
negligent vendors
aren't you precious inside
i have no need for anger
with intimate strangers
and i got nothing to hide
i got nothing to hide

Places I've been #1: Memphis

Today's post is the first in what I hope will be an ongoing series about the many cities and towns I have visited and/or lived in during the course of my life.  I'm going to try to post one new place a week.

Memphis, TN has been on my mind a lot lately.  I always seem to think of Memphis during the summer.  I visited Memphis for the first time in 1992, and that wasn't a very substantial visit -- just a stopover in the airport on the way to New York City.  Just enough time to grab an Elvis t-shirt and greet the daylight -- our flight to Memphis had been a red-eye.  What I remember about that first trip is that Marc Cohn's song Walking In Memphis was getting regular airplay that summer.  I fell in love with that song almost instantly, and I got goosebumps as our plane descended into what turned out to be a rather misty, rainy Memphis morning, just like in the song:

Put on my blue suede shoes and I
Boarded the plane
Touched down in the land of the delta blues
In the middle of the pouring rain

I've been to Memphis three or four times since that first visit.  My husband and I lived in southeastern Missouri for two years, and our town was just three hours north of Memphis.  We spent a Memorial Day weekend there not long before we moved to Philly, and we had both traveled there on other occasions for work and school related projects.

When I think of Memphis, the first thing I think of is Beale Street, with its nightclubs, restaurants, theatres, and the statue of W.C. Handy.  If you are ever in Memphis, take a walk down Beale if you can.  The tremendous history is still in evidence there, and the nightlife can't be beat.
Even more exciting than Beale Street for me was Sun Studios, where Elvis Presley first recorded.  There was a great guided tour that took us through the history of music in Memphis and culminated in a chance to stand in the famous recording studio itself.  Pictures of Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, and Carl Perkins adorned the walls, and it was easy to imagine them recording their now-legendary songs.  The original microphone was still there, too.  Our tour guide told us that one particularly fanatical woman had licked it.  (Ewww.)  I noted with some interest that a couple of the people taking the tour were dressed in full 1950s-style clothing, down to greased hair and cigarettes rolled up in the sleeves of white T-shirts.  I kept thinking that for them this must have been like a religious experience, a pilgrimage to musical mecca.

We visited Graceland, as well, which was good kitschy fun.  (That Jungle Room is something else, man!)  We saw more of the same "Elvis pilgrims" while we were there and got a kick out of seeing the place that he called home.  Interestingly, the tour of Graceland does not include the upstairs.  That was always Elvis' private space (whenever anyone visited him, he would come downstairs to greet and spend time with them) so to this day the upstairs is off-limits.

The most moving thing in Memphis is the National Civil Rights Museum, built onto the back of the Lorraine Motel.  (The Lorraine is where Martin Luther King, Jr. was staying when he was assassinated.)  The Museum does an amazing job of chronicling the history of the civil rights movement in an interesting and interactive way.  There is a replica of a Montgomery bus, with a recorded bus driver's voice ordering you to move to the rear, a lunch counter, and an exhibit showing the March on Washington.  As you come to the latter, you hear the sounds and see the sights as if you were participating in the march yourself.  The final (and most emotional) part of the museum is the room where Dr. King was staying when he was killed.  The museum has made an effort to keep the room exactly as it was on April 4, 1968.  As you wait to view the room (the space is tight so only a few people can see it at one time) you hear the sounds of a gospel choir singing "Amazing Grace," and a video plays of the speech Dr. King gave the day before he was assassinated.  It reads, in part:

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

There were tears rolling freely down my face even before my turn came to see the motel room. 

Memphis has a rich history and it is a place where anyone can feel at home.  From the Peabody to the Pyramid, there are countless things to see and do.  For the most part, I was glad to leave southeastern Missouri behind, but the one thing I still miss about our time in that part of the country is Memphis.

The car is back!

I keep forgetting to mention that I finally got my little red roller skate back from the body shop two days ago.  While they were fixing the mangled parts, they also managed to ship it over to the service department so my mechanic could install a new part to make the A/C work.  So when I got the car back it was all clean and shiny with A/C that blows so cold I have to turn it down sometimes.  Yee haw!

And I don't miss the power steering of my rental cars in the least.  I keep telling my husband we should drive little Suzy to Floyd today but he keeps saying, "No... the engine revs so high... it's not comfortable on longer trips....am I wrong?"  Yes dear, you are.

Packing

It is 9 p.m. and I am typing this post instead of getting my shit together for our trip tomorrow.  I always pack in a whirlwind of clothes, toiletries, and undies, so I figure I've got a good hour before I really have to start paying attention.  I did get out the Aerobed, some sheets, and pillows to take (my brother has a guest room but no guest bed) so I'm ahead of the game.

I was at Target tonight (god I love that place) and I saw they had one of those Saturday Night Live Best Of... DVDs.  This one was "The Best of Christopher Walken" who in my opinion is one of the best recurring hosts of that show.  From his showstopping opening songs to "The Continental" to "more Cowbell!" I just love him.  So I had to buy it.  It was only $7.99.  A small price to pay for some of Christopher Walken's sick and bizarre hilarity.

I should also mention that I now have a picture of McGruff the Crime Dog on my office door.  I returned from a meeting to find it taped there.  I also learned that one of our surveillance cameras captured images of my would-be purse snatcher wandering around the day he tried to take my purse.  Our head of security brought them for me to look at and I identified the guy in about half a second.  So at least they know what he looks like now, so if he shows up again we can all tackle him.

All in all, a good day.

Off to VA tomorrow.  My brother's driving directions, incidentally, reminded me of a line delivered by Brad Pitt's stoner character in the movie True Romance:  "You just drive, and then you drive a little farther... and then.... uh... keep drivin'!" 

The best part?  That character's name is.... Floyd.

Rental cars

Regular readers of my blog (all two of them) know that a little over a month ago my car was sideswiped by a (presumably) drunken driver late on a Friday night.  The driver's side door was scraped and dented to the point where I needed a can opener to get in and out of the car, and the rear-view mirror was ripped clean off, as well.  The Jo Dee Messina song, "Bye Bye" has been stuck in my head ever since:

Bye bye, love, I'll catch you later
Got a lead foot down on my accelerator
And the rear-view mirror torn off....

My car is not exactly a sweet ride... it's a 2000 Suzuki Swift.  There's no power steering (parallel parking is a bitch) and the A/C is busted more often than it works.  But it gets great gas mileage and you can park it practically anywhere because it's so small.  (If you're not familiar with the Swift, it's the exact same car as a Geo Metro hatchback.)  In addition, the aforementioned hatchback and folding rear seat provide a lot of cargo space for such a little buggy.  We've hauled mulch, insulation, and lots of other stuff in it, so it's come in handy.  It's most redeeming quality, however, is that it is paid for and it starts up reliably each morning.  It's also bright red.

I finally got it into the body shop last Monday, and they very kindly arranged for me to have a rental car while the work gets done.  The rental was a blue Chevy Impala.... the exact opposite of my car in every possible way.  It's a freakin' land-yacht, people!  Picture me, the driver of a little red roller skate suddenly ferrying myself around in the vehicular equivalent of Jabba-the-Hutt's sail barge.  It was hilarious, especially when the body shop called last Wednesday to tell me that my car wasn't ready yet and probably wouldn't be until sometime this week.  I almost cried at the thought of having to keep driving that Impala.  The steering and braking were both very unresponsive, and I couldn't figure out why the seats were so squishy until I experienced the suspension (or almost total lack thereof) for the first time.  For the first time, I actually felt guilty for all the occasions I'd dreamed of trading in my little Swift for a Honda Accord Coupe with a V-6.  Shockingly, I started wanting my own car back!

The Impala must not have cared much for me, either, because on Monday morning the right front tire decided to blow out.  Fortunately, it happened right in front of my house, so I called for roadside assistance, got the tire changed, and dumped the evil beast back at the rental car place.  They gave me a Nissan Altima and that's been a little more tolerable, at least.  I no longer feel like I'm taking up the entire road, and the car actually turns when I tell it to.

I will be so happy when I can get my little red Swift back, though.  My arms are losing muscle tone from all this power steering bullshit!

(P.S.: Suzuki announced on March 1 that they're bringing back the Swift, albeit a highly re-designed version.  Check it out here.  The poor person's Mini-Cooper, I'd say.  I don't even think it's going to be sold in the U.S.)

On the road again

Our summer travel plans are starting to gel and I am anticipating our upcoming road trips.  First, to rural Floyd County for the last weekend in July/first weekend of August for Floyd Fest and Ani Difranco.  (Oh, yeah, and to see my brother too.  Can't forget the budget lodgings at his house in Check... Love ya, buttmunch!)

The next weekend it is back to NYC for our 5th wedding anniversary.  I found a hotel today... the Millennium Hilton on Church Street.  It overlooks the site of the World Trade Center, and was damaged some during the 9/11 attacks.  It's since been refurbished and is making quite a comeback, and the room rates are quite reasonable for a four star hotel in Manhattan.  I feel like we're doing a good thing by spending our tourism dollar (at least part of it) in lower Manhattan.  When I was there a couple of weeks ago, I saw signs of the obvious economic hit that area has taken since September of 2001.  The streets are eerily quiet.  A lot of shops and restaurants are closed, and there are still signs of damage to some of the buildings that surrounded the WTC.

Hubby wants to go to Ellis Island this time, so we will probably do that and then make the obligatory pilgrimage on the Q train to Coney Island.  I am thinking an anniversary dinner at Gargiulo's will be nice, or perhaps happy hour at Ruby's, or both.  And then a Brooklyn Cyclones baseball game at KeySpan park.  Either that or the freak show...

Even with these trips, I will still have 5.5 days of vacation to use up by September 1.  Anyone have any ideas where I should go?

Anyone got $3.5 million they can spare?

I haven't posted an entry in the past couple of days because I spent Wednesday and Thursday showing my in-laws around New York City.  (This was their first trip and it was kind of fun to watch their heads explode as we wended our way through the city.)  The subway alone boggled their minds.

We took a historic Manhattan trolley-bus tour (with a FABULOUS guide), saw a Broadway matinee, and ate dinner at Sardi's.  (A dinner which, incidentally, I nearly vomited up because I have been doing Weight Watchers since February and I am not used to snarfing down ribeye steak and chasing it with cosmos and red wine.  Very difficult evening.)

On Thursday, we took the subway up to Morningside Heights so I could show them where I lived during the summer of 1997 and ate breakfast at Tom's Restaurant (made famous by "Seinfeld"  and Suzanne Vega), and then we headed down to lower Manhattan to pay our respects at the World Trade Center site.  After that, I took them to my favorite spot in all of NYC: Coney Island.  I am convinced that I lived or spent a great deal of time there in a previous life.  I have vivid dreams of myself traversing the famous boardwalk in a Victorian bathing costume, and I get chills up and down my spine whenever I am there.  So hung up am I on Coney Island that I have instructed my husband to scatter my ashes there should I depart this world before he does.

It turned out to be a beautiful day to go to Coney -- the sky was overcast, and the humidity was cut significantly by our proximity to the sea.  The amusement area was not crowded at all (we walked right onto the Wonder Wheel at Deno's) and although some of the attractions were shuttered, such as the famous Coney Island Sideshow, we still managed to have a lovely time.  I got a great photo of my in-laws sitting on a bench on the boardwalk eating Nathan's hot dogs and drinking beer.  We walked out onto the pier and watched people fishing (and caught a whiff of somebody's joint) and then we trekked a little farther down the boardwalk to visit the famed  Child's restaurant building, which recently gained landmark status and is currently up for sale.  According to Massey/Knakal, the listing realtors, it was assessed at $300 grand recently and they are accepting all offers.

The Child's building is the last remnant of Coney Island's glory days.  It is one of the most beautiful buildings I think I've ever seen, despite the fact that it is covered in graffiti.  Most of the gorgeous decorative elements (seashells, crustaceans, and other oceany things) still remain.  As I gazed at it, I could clearly imagine my coffee place/performance venue inside, with the front metal shutters opened to the boardwalk and ocean beyond.  I could lease out other floors or live upstairs... the possibilities are endless.  My husband has been making PhD noises again, and I have been begging him the last few days to find a program at NYU or Columbia so that I can finally be closer to my "other" home, Coney Island.

Meet me tonight in Dreamland,
Under the silv'ry moon,
Meet me tonight in Dreamland,
Where love's sweet roses bloom...

Come with the love-light gleaming,
In your dear eyes of blue,
Meet me in Dreamland, sweet dreamy Dreamland,
There let my dreams come true....

I found a small piece of stucco (about the size of a marble) on the boardwalk that had fallen off of the Child's building.  I kept it.

Touring with the in-laws

I spent much of this evening working on an "itinerary" of sorts, making plans for my in-laws' visit at the end of this month.  They will arrive at the Queen City airport in their Cessna on Sunday, June 26, and head out on July 5.  I am planning to take that week off from work in order to show them a good time.  They are energetic and want to do everything on the list of possible activities that I emailed to them last week, so I spent tonight trying to schedule everything into the time they will be here.  I think I have succeeded.  Here are some of the fun things we have planned, in case you're ever in this neck of the woods looking for something fun to do....

1.) Tour the Harley-Davidson plant in York, PA.
2.) Visit Hershey, PA and take in Hershey's Chocolate World and the Hershey Gardens.
3.) Tour the Yuengling Brewery in Pottsville, PA.
4.) Take a day trip to NYC and see a Broadway matinee.
5.) Visit Jim Thorpe, PA and The Crossings outlet mall in Tannersville, PA.
6.) Hang out in downtown Bethlehem, enjoying all the interesting eateries and shops.
7.) Scream your ass off on the rides at Dorney Park.

There really is a lot to do and see in our neck of the woods.  I love it when people visit us because it gives me a chance to play tourist right along with our guests.  The Pennsylvania Tourism Office is even getting on the blog bandwagon... if you go to their website, there is a series of "Roadtripper" blogs by different people visiting different parts of the state.  It's given me a lot of ideas for places I'd like to go... and more and more, I find myself loving the idea of calling Pennsylvania "home" for the foreseeable future.

West meets east

A week from Saturday I'll be heading "home" to Seattle for a few days to visit my folks and help out while my mom has surgery.  I am both eager and anxious about making the trip, about being awash in the forces of my socialization for ten days, about seeing just how much of an "east coast" person I have become.

It recently dawned on me that my husband and I are starting our fourth year in Pennsylvania, and our sixth year away from the golden west of our younger days.  (Well, OK, Seattle isn't exactly the golden west... more like the drizzly west, but whatever.)  There was a time not too many years ago when, after spending a summer living in New York City, I could not wait to get home to Seattle.  I swore that, despite my endless affection for the Big Apple, I would never move farther east than, say, Colorado.  Not three years later, I found myself married and moving to Cape Girardeau, Missouri.  (And that's fodder for another post altogether.)  It is amazing how things change, and what is even more amazing is how comfortable I have become out here.  Seattle feels more and more foreign every time I am there.  I still love it, it is still my home, but I am finding it takes me longer and longer to adjust to just being there.  And I fear losing my grip on that part of me.

Not long after we moved to Pennsylvania (we spent the first two years in Philly), I found myself in a therapist's office, sobbing about my seeming inability to adjust to life on the east coast.  The therapist listened patiently, and asked me a really good question that I like to answer even now:  "What are some of the differences between east and west?"  Some of the answers I gave then would probably not make the list this time around, but here are a few differences that still stick out for me:

1.) A sub sandwich is not a sub, but a hoagie.
2.) At the grocery store, you usually have to bag your own stuff.
3.) The beach is not the beach or the coast, but the shore.
4.) There are no freeways... just expressways, turnpikes, and routes.
5.) Paying the tolls on said turnpikes is a way of life.
6.) Row houses are everywhere.
7.) Back home, there's no Wawa, Tastykake, or water ice (pronounced "wooder ice".)  Instead, there's 7-Eleven, Almond Roca, and a million different ways to order a cup of coffee.
8.) People out here are hyper-superstitious about their sports teams.
9.) The Pennsylvanian's definition of what constitutes a mountain is radically different from the Washingtonian's.
10.) Out here, I can drive for five hours and wind up in Newport, Rhode Island, having passed through four states in the process.  Back home, you can drive for five hours and never leave Washington.

I guess these differences are pretty superficial.  I'm certainly not passing judgement when I mention them.  But I do remind myself of the differences from time to time, just to ensure that I never completely forget where I'm from.