Crossing America

Well.

2005-12-01T22:26:00.000-08:00

There was sooooo little to be pissed about for the entire three months of aimless wandering. Until the last week.

I was zooming across the Mojave desert when I got the first clue that my bank had really screwed up. I stopped at an ATM, and couldn't get cash out. I thought maybe it was just not on our network, and continued on my way.

That night, I stopped into a hotel and got ready to pay with my check card. The clerk told me he'd received a message to confiscate the card. After showing him my ID, he gave the card back, but there was obiously something wrong. I went to another hotel that took my credit card, but was leary -- I had only seven dollars in cash on me at that point.

I stopped at a McDonalds the next day, and despite their claim that they take Discover, they did not. I tried to use the ATM there, and out came a message -- "Lost/Stolen card." Paying cash for the meal left me with 2 dollars.

I called the bank, and they said, "Ohh, no. Your account is perfectly fine and active." Even after I explained that my last three attempts to use the card were refused, and that 2 of the 3 came with "Stolen Card," they insisted it was fine.

I called the bank again later to force the issue. They told me they'd sent a replacement to my old address, it had been returned to them, and therefore they listed the card as missing or stolen.

I stopped at the bank before I left Alaska. I explained to them that I would be on the road for months, and NOT to mail anything. We even discussed the expiration of my ATM at the time. I didn't want my statements or ATM card landing in someone else's hands accidentally, and so told them, "DON'T MAIL ANYTHING."

So they mailed it. And left me in the middle of the freakin' Mojave desert without access to cash.

They've made it right, now -- they wired me money and sent a new ATM card to my place in PDX.

I haven't really moved in yet -- all the stuff is still in the truck, just due to lack of organization inside, and lack of motivation toward that organization.

The plan is at this point to take the rest of the month to get to know Portland a little better, then start applying for (ick) WORK after the first of the year. In the meantime I can find room for my thingies and take part in the Portland and Seattle Santa Cons. I'll be leaving for Seattle next weekend to don a Santa suit and go bar-hopping and acting obnoxious and abbrasive in order to mar Santa's image amongst the Seattle drunkards. Or something like that.

Burning for PDX

2005-11-20T09:02:00.000-08:00

I started to head for the Grand Canyon yesterday, but...

Hanging around the people in Tucson made me miss hanging around with people in general -- significant, considering my sociophobic tendencies -- so I instead grabbed US 93 and headed straight for I-40 and the California border.

This morning after breakfast, I'm just going to burn toward I-5 and keep heading back to the new home, where I'll look for a job and hang out and seedy Portland coffee shops. Living on the continental west coast, I'll be able to come see the Redwoods and Grand Canyon some other time, after I get the Mini Cooper (maybe).

If I'm back in time, I might head to the Seattle area for an orphan artists' Thanksgiving hosted by a director and old friend from Anchorage, but after nearly three months on the road, I want a place to hang my hat for more than one or two nights.

See folks when I get there...

On leaving Tucson

2005-11-18T15:27:00.000-08:00

I've received a brainful here in Tucson from a microclique I met through the internet friend, XV.

It would be too difficult to describe any of them without violating their privacy, so I won't try, other than to say they're all very creative and bright and filled my brain in a way that I haven't seen since Portland and, before that, Someplace Else.

It seems like Tucson would be a great place for me if not for the lack of industry. But beyond that, I have the feeling that the places and people I've enjoyed are a minority here. It's like I landed in a tiny illuminated crack in an otherwise dull, mud-covered, insignificant sidewalk.

I haven't finalized my plans for the return, but I'm pretty sure I'll leave tomorrow for the south side of the Grand Canyon. I'm trying to find a good way to get to Portland without actually driving across California, but it's either California or the barrens of Nevada. If I take the Pacific Coast, I'll have to go through LA, which scares the living shit out of me as a driver. But I want to camp in the Redwoods, I think. I'll make up my mind under the stars at the Canyon. I suspect I'll stay there two nights and start my way back to PDX.

I'm a little disappoined that it's coming to an end. Just a couple thousand miles and it's all done. I have to fill in forms, request employment, become diplomatic and self-censoring, wake up and fall asleep on a schedule, fill in more forms, spend money, save money, worry about taxes and people around me. It's been nearly 9 months since I've had to worry about any of that. At least, after this trip, I'll have more to daydream about while going through the day-to-day doldrums of industry.

I doubt the Grand Canyon will have Wi-Fi. I'll be back in a few days.

On to Tucson

2005-11-16T06:37:00.000-08:00

Well, I got my kicks on Route 66 (if by "kicks" he meant "a good night's sleep"). Today, I'm going to do something I've never done -- attempt to meet someone from the internet in real life.

If I disappear, blame this guy. XV and I "met" via World of Warcraft, and he says he's an aspiring writer wishing, as I do, to work in film. He says.

He's probably a fat, bald, middle-aged pervert with a large gun collection and industrial-sized cannisters of superglue and various ointments, but we'll see....

From AR to AZ

2005-11-15T22:47:00.000-08:00

What a haul. Left Arkansas this morning, now sitting less than an hour from the Arizona border in Gallup, NM, staying on the historic Route 66.

Before I begin my Eccentric Rant #2, allow me to give credit where it's due -- New Mexico is gorgeous, still. I crossed the border and chased the sunset west for an hour or so. Behind me, a huge full moon rose on a Photoshop-perfect 32-bit gradient from violet to indigo to powder-blue.

Inbetween Arkansas and Arizona was Oklahoma and.... *sigh*.... Texas.

Oklahoma decided to fulfull its stereotype by blowing 60 miles an hour due south while I was trying to drive due west. It screwed my milage horribly, and my arm hurts from correcting the steering against the vacuum created on the left side of The Truck. I soon realized that it wasn't the wind blowing -- it was Texas sucking.

I was successful in my dream of not exiting the vehicle once in all of.... *sigh*.... Texas. I filled up both me and The Truck before entering that place and drove clear across without stopping. I was only successful in holding my breath for the first 3 miles or so.

But now that I've made it, there are a few things I need to get off my mind.

Here's what everyone needs to know about Texas. The entire trip across Texas on Route 40 has zero rest stops -- only picnic areas. This is due to the fact that Texans eat their own shit as food. Although restrooms can be found in Texas, their primary function is for homosexual meetings between cowpokes, as all Texans are homosexuals.

Their women have no sex drive, of course. It's hard to maintain after the first few years of prostitution. Once they turn 14 or so, they usually start the procreation process by picking up truckers from their jobs at Hooters or Denny's, as all the Texan men are homosexuals. Their drive for children is spurred by their own laziness and desire to make money by selling the kids into Kiddie Porn studios for fun and profit.

I thought about my previous encounters with Texas law enforcement officers, and considered what I might say to one of them if I were to be stopped, but I realized nothing I could think of would be of any value. Law enforcement is a tough job -- meaning no Texans would be capable, and that it would be relegated to Mexican immigrants, few of whom speak English.

While driving across, I saw many Texans out in the fields, doing what they do best -- standing in cow shit and becoming aroused by cow vulvae. Of course, Texas men's dicks are so small they can't actually fulfill their bovine lust, and so must turn to each other for cocksucking sessions. With the looks of their women, I can almost understand their constant fascination with each other's penises. Of course, the fascination doesn't end with cows -- you might remember our Desperate Housewife (desperate for some hot Trucker flesh) first lady telling us that the Former Governor, Dubya, enjoys jacking off horses.

Within a hundred yards of the TX border in New Mexico, a sign touting a restroom and literature appeared. Literature is another thing not found in Texas, of course.

Even though I didn't stop, I did help out the poor Texans by saving my urine and bowel movements for the last week and flinging them at the picnic areas as I passed, bringing beaming smiles from all who were there. "Manna from heaven," I heard one little girl screech through laughter.

Were it not so late, I'd tell you all more about the wonderful Culture of the Lone Star state. Perhaps I'll eccentrically rant some more once I hit Tucson tomorrow afternoon/evening.

I feel better now.

Goodlettsville, TN

2005-11-14T07:06:00.000-08:00

By the way, I travelled back across Ohio and West Virginia yesterday, stopping to have lunch with my uncle in Milton before continuing across Kentucky as far as Goodlettsville, TN, just north of Nashville.

Funny, when you think of National Historic Landmarks, you rarely think of distilleries, but all along the Bluegrass Parkway there were just that. I couldn't find the place where they make that Kentucky Jelly.

I'll be hitting I-40 and heading west today, hoping to get as far as Arkansas or even Oklahoma. I will NOT be stopping in Texsux. I'll be crossing it, but I'm going to fill up and eat at the OK border and hold my breath for that 150 miles or so through the panhandle.

I really, really do still hate Texas.

(Hi Rainy!)

Milton, WV

2005-11-14T05:53:00.000-08:00

I visited Milton, WV, for several days.

I was welcomed into my uncle's house after not seeing him for at least ten years. There on the wall, still, are pictures of my brothers, sister, me, my dad and mom, grandparents, cousins, uncles, second cousins....

This was home. The hills and ridges surrounding Milton were home to my family for generations. People made their hard, simple living by hunting, fishing, and farming their own land, often earned as bounty land for military service.

My grandfather (b. 1887) and grandmother (1902) lived this life, just as their parents did, and their parents did. I'm the first generation in hundreds of years that wasn't raised on a subsistance farm.

Those farms are mostly gone, now. The one-lane dirt roads have been paved, and the homes being built on these picturesque mountainsides are for the upper-middle class and wealthy. Where my grandmother's farmhouse was, with woodstove heat, hand-pumped water in the kitchen, and outhouse "plumbing" is now a mansion with an equestrian center.

Still, life in Milton is entertaining.

My uncle had been driving me around to visit with the cousins I used to play with when I was a kid. We pulled up to Mike's trailer and knocked on the door, and he welcomed me in with a smile.

"I know'd you was in town," he said.
"Oh, you must've talked to your sister this morning!"
"Naw, they ran your plates over the scanner last night."

Around town, farming and gardening is still the key to conversation. At a local restaurant, my uncle walked in to hear nearly every patron ask him by name how he'd been doing, and how his garden had worked out this year.

"Well, I tell ya what. Them turnips did okay. I was gonna give my friend a bushel of em, but it seeemed a shame to cut one of em in half."

A friend responded with similar complaints about his radishes. "Yeah, I know whatcha mean. I let one o' my radishes stay down too long, and when I pulled it up a rabbit had set up a den in it."

"Well, you can have some o' mine. Just bring the backhoe."

A good deal of the time spent in Milton was spent with a collection of geneological information compiled by the family over the years. Pictures of my great granddad and his clan from the 1800s. 300+ years of names of simple farmers living simple lives.

With this generation, though, it all ended. My uncles all served in the wars, then sought degrees, and worked as teachers and administrators for most of their careers. Their sisters left the state with their husbands.

We're no longer hillbillies, as my brother (who was also raised on that farm) said when I saw him for the first time in over twenty years. "We're Appalachian-Americans, thank you."

Pause; Rewind

2005-11-12T13:00:00.000-08:00

I made it as far as the genetic stomping grounds of Milton, WV, where I spent several days with my favorite uncle, Wayne, whom I hadn't seen in around ten years.

Wayne, however, was in possession of my brother Steve's number and address. I hadn't seen Steve in well over 20 years, and had to backtrack to Northeast Ohio for a few days, and it's been a blast.

Anyway, I'll be having breakfast with Sister again tomorrow morning before hitting the road to the West. I'm looking at Tucson, after which I'll likely follow the Pacific Coast Hwy. north through CA and eventually wind up in Portland.

I'm still too busy with family to tell much about the trip. First hotel stop, I promise....

(Hi Rainy!)

Under way

2005-11-06T02:30:00.000-08:00

I'm packing up The Truck and hitting the road today, beginning the trip back to the West Coast. First stop will be Milton, WV, to visit with family for a day or two. After that, no plans except to continue in a generally westward direction until I finally reach Portand and begin re-entry into "society."

More as it happens....

The scary word for Halloween is.....

2005-11-01T10:06:00.000-08:00

CALCULUS.

I had the second interview at Carnegie Mellon, and it was much more helpful than the first. It looks like I'm a good match for the Information Systems program, but I'll need to beef up on calculus and learn Java at a different university before I can apply as a transfer student. We'll see how that goes once I hit Portland, OR.

By the way, I'm going back to Portland, OR, leaving this weekend.

I spent some time travelling in PA and Ohio, and have a couple of stories to tell once I feel like writing them down. Until then, I'll just be trying to figure out which direction I'm headed when I leave PA this week.

AND JIMMY: E-MAIL YOUR ADDRESS/PHONE TO ME!

Carnegie Mellon

2005-10-13T20:33:00.000-07:00

Hoo boy. I haven't been this nervous since my auditions for Rice nearly twenty years ago.

I had an informal interview at Carnegie Mellon yesterday, and it turns out that Carnegie Mellon is the Portland of academia -- it has everything I ever wanted, at the highest quality. I think I want this more than anything I've ever lusted for.

We discussed my entry to their Information Systems program. That is not a computer science degree. It doesn't deal with the computers that process information as much as it deals with the information itself, although computers is a big part of the degree program.

I just submitted a summary of my skills and employment history to the advisor. She will be using that as a springboard to introduce me to the departmental advisor, she said. But in the meantime I'll wait and wonder where the fuck I'm going to get $150,000.00, the conservative estimate for a four-year degree there. Perhaps some of my credits will transfer, but I studied music, for crissake.

If I don't qualify for the IS degree (pleaseohpleaseohplease, let me qualify and get some obscure alumnus scholarship set aside for old farts PLEASE!), they have something just as obscure -- a major in technical writing! I've never seen a tech writing major at any other school. They claim they're the first, and I believe it.

I can't believe I'm excited about the prospect of going back to school. It wouldn't be until next year, which means I have decisions to make. I can make more money in PDX than Pittsburgh, I'm sure. I can definitely have more fun in PDX. But I'm weighing my options, trying not to get my hopes up too high -- from the school's literature, we non-traditional transfer students don't exactly have priority for scholarships or admission. I'm not nearly as scared of student loans as I was when going to Rice, and I know my earning potential will be greatly enhanced with this degree, so I'd be able to pay them back.

Still, I'm not in this for the money. I need fulfillment. I want validation. I want challenges. The last few years in Anchorage have been a big patronizing bore for my career -- and I used to derive great pleasure from my work. I love completing projects. It gives me a great rush to put that last record in the archive, to send that last e-mail to the project manager saying, "That's it. It's all done. Next?"

The coursework is in the real world -- the literature says that we would be expected to design and implement a management system for a local non-profit or charity organization. The student to faculty ratio is only 10:1. The campus is marvelous -- it's an oasis in the middle of Shittsburgh, just as Rice was to Houston.

Damn. I really wish I'd've known I was smart when I was in High School.

And yes, Rainy, that part *is* a midlife crisis remark ;)

Wish me luck. In the meantime, I wait.

Back to Pennsylvania

2005-10-08T09:54:00.000-07:00

Spent a lovely three days here in the tiny town of Pendleton, SC, just up the road from Clemson University.

I wasn't able to get ahold of my nephew, unfortunately -- he's a busy young man, I hear. But WTF. I got a nice tour of the campus yesterday, had fun in Pendleton, ate well, and am heading back to PA this afternoon.

While here, I arranged for a meeting with Carnegie-Mellon's advisors for an informal interview this coming Wednesday, so that will be my focus in PA when I get back there. I spoke with their staff and explained that with fifteen years in engineering and industry, I'd more than likely be seeking a business degree, but I'd need their advice. The goal is to offer them my experience for their engineering and research departments in exchange, and they were open to the concept.

Regardless of how the interview turns out, I'm headed back to Portland, as nothing will come of it until next academic year. So even if I do get into CMU, I'll work in PDX for the year and then return.

The drive back to PA today/tonight won't be nearly as lazy as the drive down. On the way here, I took a small 2-lane road up through the hollers of West Virginia, looking at the decaying homesteads, civil war monuments and cemetaries, etc., before catching the interstate in Virginia. This time, I'm going to hit the road and cruise.

Oh. And I did hear from the folks in the Southwest, so I'm planning to finally check Arizona off my list on the way back to Portland.

Ohio

2005-10-05T07:38:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Microsoft, I was out of touch with several people -- hotmail, without telling me, and without me telling *it*, decided to dump all mail from people who use aol, yahoo, or gmail. That included my sister in Ohio.

Gotta remember -- since moving to Alaska, I've rarely used a telephone. Alaska was the leader in wiredidity, and with the time difference, etc., it's just always been the way I've been able to keep in touch. Yesterday she replied to my new e-mail address, so when I get back from SC, I'll be going there.

Ohio holds no fond memories. I spent fifteen years of my youth there; fifteen years that would make Tennessee Williams cringe. However, there were people in Ohio that made sacrifices for me, and it's those people I have to find, just to let them know that those sacrifices were the reason I'm not in prison or dead.

One of those was the aforementioned sister. She bought me my first trumpet, which of course led to the scholarships that got me out of that hell-hole. She also looked out for me and gave me strong support when nobody else was watching.

Then there are two music teachers, one from high school, one from college, that I want to find, just to say "thanks." They were the first adults to treat me with respect, ever. And again, thanks to them, I was able to climb out of the slime that was and is Ohio, and to realize that I was not what other people told me I was.

Going to Ohio is like visiting a cemetary. Something in me forces me to go back there every time I'm in this part of the world, and every time, I become filled with a sense of mourning. I just stare at the small, simple headstone, trying to find something of value in those memories, but the sense of loss overwhelms all else.

But I'm going back again. And I'll go back again. And again, time after time. Even if everyone I knew there moved away, I'd still have to go back. I truly, truly hate that fucking place.

Der Truck... war tot.

2005-10-04T18:00:00.000-07:00

Let me premise this by saying I don't believe in this sort of shit, not one bit.

I haven't had dreams in quite a long time, now, but since starting the road trip, I've been dreaming a lot lately. People who know me know why, but that's beside the point.

When I start dreaming, the dreams are long, very detailed, very realistic. Sunday night/Monday morning, I had a very long, bizarre dream about The Truck. I had pulled into a large industrial complex with several buildings, small manufacturers, distributors, warehouses, all in the same few blocks, that sort of thing -- with no people anywhere outside. I wasn't sure why I was there.

Inside the buildings, people were like Oompah-loompahs from Willy Wonka -- working automatically, ignoring my presence completely. From within one of the buildings, I looked out of the window, and there was The Truck, parallel parked on the street, but not where I'd left it. I went running outside to see who'd moved it, and it was gone. I panicked.

I went running back inside a different building in the complex, looked out of a different window, and could see it parked in yet a different spot, went outside again, and again it was gone. This was becoming frustrating, and I couldn't find anyone to help me explain it or help me get back to it. Eventually I was crying because I couldn't get back to The Truck, no matter how I strategized. I awoke almost in tears from the realism of the emotional strain, and told my brother and nephew about the dream before leaving for North Carolina.

I arrived in Winston-Salem last night, stopped to buy a couple of things and called George, the EXPATRIATE EXPATRIATE EXPATRIATE EXPATRIATE EXPATRIATE in Carolina I was going to visit for the next couple of days, only to find out I'd screwed up horribly on his location. I was in NC -- He was in SC. Duh. Right after hanging up, I got back on the highway, and The Truck began to sporadically lose engine power. I didn't see any service signs at the next exit, but figured I'd better get off the highway.

When I pulled off the ramp, I could see a collection of sodium street lights a few blocks away, and thought it might be a small town. The Truck's problem was obviously fuel/air mixture, and I was thinking it was the O2 sensor -- either way, I needed to be findable.

I drove toward the lights -- it was an industrial complex; small manufacturers, warehouses, distributors, all in one large park, with no people anywhere. And here is where The Truck died.

I called the local non-emergency emergency number, and was connected to the Forsythe Country Sheriff's unit, who said they would send a unit out. So I waited. And waited. No unit. I was looking at The Truck, but couldn't drive it. 2 hours later, people began arriving for work at the complex. Even though I was partially blocking one of the driveways, the people ignored me, sitting there on my hood in the middle of their complex.

Another hour passed, and I approached the building when I saw a warehouse door open. I said, "Hi, I'm broken down here, the Sheriff was supposed to be on the way, and I was hoping I could use your restroom....." No eye contact, no acknowledgment from 5 feet away; the man just finished pulling the chain to open the last door, and walked away.

"Cue Twilight Zone theme," I was thinking, as the dream was replaying in my head over and over again.

The parallels were shattered when around the corner came 4 sets of sirens and seizure-inducing blue and white lights, speeding into the large complex. One of them squealed to a halt diagonally in front of me, Starsky & Hutch-style, and yelled, "YOU! Do you have anything to do with the alarm!"

"Alarm? I don't think so. I was just waiting for you guys to come out and help me with this...." and I noticed he was muni PD, not a deputy, and I sent him on his way. They went to the dead-end branch of the block and started investigating a building there, and he came back to help me and call a towing service on his way out of the lot. I wasn't invisible after all.

So. SOUTH Carolina to see the EXPATRIATE EXPATRIATE EXPATRIATE EXPATRIATE EXPATRIATE tomorrow. The Truck has been reborn, is running fine. And the shop even gave me a free hat for coming 6,000 miles to have my them change my fuel pump. I'm shocked at myself lately -- *Nothing*, absolutely *nothing* has pissed me off in an entire month.

Off to the Carolinas

2005-10-02T15:34:00.000-07:00

I'll be leaving Pennsylvania for Winston Salem, NC, tomorrow, to see another Alaskan expatriot for a couple of days, then down to South Carolina to spend a day or two with my nephew there.

We had a great time in Pittsburgh (proper) at Station Square, filled with historical buildings and relics from the aforementioned steel industry. I'm not much of a fan of food in general, but the restaurant -- Buca di Beppo -- was fantastic. The meals there are not for individuals -- I ordered the "small" veal parmegiana for $15 -- and out came a plate with three large pieces. The small order of garlic bread was the size of a small pizza, and the ravioli was huge. The spaghetti ordered at the next table came with meatballs the size of softballs, and everything was perfect. It fed the four of us with pounds of food leftover.

I think we'll be going back when I get back here next weekend. At least, I'll be lobbying for it... But in the meantime, off to the Carolinas.

Aliquippa, PA

2005-09-29T20:50:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last three days in Aliquippa, just up the road from Pittsburgh. It's brought back some memories.

Just 30 years ago, there was this amazing thing in America called "Steel." Humans would take iron ore, coke, and a few other additives, throw it into great furnaces until it all melted together, then pour and press and stamp it into various shapes. It was an extremely strong product, this steel, and could be used to build things that lasted a long time -- things like building frames, railroads, or automobiles. In the evenings over Youngstown, Warren, Cleveland and Pittsburgh, they'd open up the furnaces at shift change for maintenance, and the skies would turn red.

Millions of people all over this area worked to produce this steel and the resulting products. They worked to move the raw materials to the furnaces; to produce the steel; to process it into products; to maintain the equipment they used; and to transport the products to the rest of the world. Steel was more important to this area than oil is to Alaska.

There were these things called "unions:" groups of workers who maintained the standard of work in the mills, and negotiated for fair wages, safe conditions, and retirement programs for those who worked day after day after day to make the steel and value-added products. Thanks to these unions, workers could afford modest houses of their own, medical care for their families, and they could pay taxes to build better schools, better roads, and pay for programs that increased the quality of life for everyone in the community. Of course this meant lower profits for the companies, but for decades those companies still made a good living.

This was The Steel Belt. It was a place where people were proud of their accomplishments and communities, and they had a damned good reason to be. They had worked to build their lives, and they'd done a damned nice job of it.

Then one day, rumblings of the industry's demise began to shake the people who produced this steel and its products. Living in Warren, OH, I remember when Republic Steel began laying off its employees. I remember when the skies stopped turning red at night. I remember when the automobiles stopped rolling off the assembly lines, when our sister cities of Pittsburgh and Youngstown began declining in their quality of life. Pension funds were raided in scandals, leaving little or nothing for those who'd worked their modest lifetimes to make others wealthy.

It is now appropriately known as The Rust Belt.

The collapse of the economy was a complete devastation. I remember standing in line at a fast food restaurant to apply for a single part-time opening when I was 17, when a man came walking down the line to tell us that, unless we were supporting a family, we would not be considered for employment and were wasting everyone's time by being there.

It's *hard* to believe, but understandable. There are several theories about why the mills closed down -- poor management, lack of reinvestment, cheap competition from overseas in Europe and Japan.

In the late seventies and early eighties, the politicians pointed their fingers directly at the people themselves. They said the people were to blame, causing the people to point their fingers at one another. The unions were the blame, they said, because they caused wages to be too high, made people lazy, and for this reason, the entire industrial base of this 150-mile radius was destroyed.

Reagan was the worst of the lot -- when we turned to him for help, he told us it was all our own fault, and actually cut all the work and education programs, like the Comprehensive Employment and Training Act (CETA) and the Basic Educational Opportunity Grant (BEOG), cut taxes for the rich, diverted our tax dollars into unnecessary military flights-of-fancy, then took an active role in building a culture that said the unemployed were the enemies of the state. Suicide and divorce rates skyrocketed.

After 30 years, I thought some recovery might have occured, but I've looked for it and found no signs. In the Post-Gazette, I found less than a pageful of employment ads; only one of those was in "Engineering/Technical," and it was for an asbestos removal technician. Monster.com had only one job in my field here, and it was with a temporary agency. The roads (as I mentioned) and schools are in disrepair. The Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra -- once one of the more respectable US orchestras -- is now asking to renege on its contract with the musicians and asking them to take further pay cuts.

Headline stories mention Pittsburgh's fiscal crisis; they're trying to solve problems with a bizarre property tax assessment scheme that nobody can really explain or understand, while the state is pushing for a tax relief plan (although, if none of these basic services is being met, one has to wonder where the tax money is going in the first place....)

Yet this once working-class stronghold now votes for Republicans who just voted a large wage increase for themselves; and right up the road in Harrisburg, the Scopes Monkey Trial is being replayed due to a right-wing school board forcing the teaching of Intelligent Design instead of science.

Pittsburgh and the surrounding area once had a real reason to be proud. They'd worked hard to build an enviable community, strong in homes, labor, and education, and now? Well, I guess at least the air is cleaner than it was.

Pay attention, Alaska, because this is where you'll be when the oil is gone. At least you know it will end some day -- but I really doubt you'll have the wisdom to plan for it.

Eccentric Rant #1

2005-09-25T15:19:00.000-07:00

BTW, I'm resting for a day in Danville, IL. Yesterday, I drove well over 1,000 miles, starting in Rapid City, SD, across all of Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Illinois (Danville is on the border of IL and Indiana). I'll hit Pittsburgh tomorrow.

Pittsburgh will be my "hub" for a few weeks. Going to stop at my brother and sister-in-law's place to visit, then head to WV to see my extended family and roots (I haven't seen them in years and years), OH to see my sister and remind myself of the place I escaped; NC to see a couple of friends there. Between these trips, I'll head back to spend time at Bro's place.

The drive here reminded me of one thing I *really* miss about the lower 48 -- spectacular thunderstorms. It rained from the time I hit Minnesota all the way to the Indiana border, and the lightning was as remarkable as the Northern Lights. At times, the rain was pouring down so hard it, when it hit the windshield it made the sound of ice thrown into a deep fryer.

I hadn't really planned on driving so long, but with all the rain, there was really no practical way to set up a campsite anywhere, so I decided to take a hotel.

My first attempt at that was Austin, MN -- every hotel was booked for high school conventions, so I figured I'd just move on. Every town I stopped at was booked solid. By the time I hit Champaign, IL, I could drive no further. Here, too, every room was booked -- for a football game. I called around to neighboring towns and found an open suite in Danville, about 1/2-hour away. Here, every room but one was booked for a gospel revival.

Me + hundreds of tent evangelists = recipe for disaster.

I don't know what gives people the license to walk up to someone they've never met and say (for all intents), "Hi. I don't know you, but you're completely incorrect about the nature of the universe, and unless you're exactly like me, you suck."

There was a time when I would have fought it out with them, but I believe I'm getting a little wiser. The chaos approach is much more entertaining.

When I arrived to retrieve my reservation, the gospelists were gathering to consume their continental breakfast -- dozens of women and children and a few men, all amazingly overdressed in their Sunday costumes. After 19 hours of driving, I looked and acted pretty haggardly -- If not for the shiny credit card, I might have been mistaken for a heroin addict off the street.

The staff had mistakenly told me there was a single room available, and told me they'd give me a suite instead. I collapsed onto the counter and said, "I don't care. I've just driven from SD, and I really need a room, a shower, and lots of sleep."

One of the overdressed woman gospelists in a white lampshade hat approached me and said, "What you really need is JEE-sus-uh!"

(The crowd stirred to life, and a single "hallelujah" emerged.)

I kept a very friendly, sincere smile and demeanor throughout. "Jesusah? Is that a different hotel? I'm not from around here."

"No, Jesus!" she exclaimed, beaming like a Pepsodent model. "You need Jesus, boy!"

"What's that?"

"You know, Jesus!"

"No, I told you I'm not from around here. Where is that place? What do they sell?"

She got a "Whatchu-talkin'-'bout-Willis" look on her face. "Jesus. The living son of GOD!"

("Halleluja!" "Praise him!" "Amen!" from the group)

"Oh. Who's that?"

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO GOD IS!?" With this, at least 2 dozen of them approached the counter and started mumbling and getting worked up for a session. Little amens and hallelujahs began boiling up regularly from the now-near-dancing crowd.

"What. He a local celebrity or something? Really, lady, I don't live around here, I'm from thousands of miles away."

She started preaching to me, as if she believed that I'd never heard of the guy, telling me that he created us all, then sent his son to be killed horribly. Her voice was singing, complete with that gospel-preaching vibrato, when a very large man in an Amway-blue suit tapped her on the arm and whispered in her ear. She paused and listened for a moment, then looked at me with that whatchu-talkin'-'bout-Willis look again.

"You goin' ta hell. Dat's all dere is. You goin' ta HELL!" Mumbles, amens and hallelujahs from the group reassured her judgement.

"Well, I was going to Pittsburgh, but I have time to travel. Where's that? Good attractions there? I'm kinda mad that the Spam Museum in Austin, MN was closed when I passed through, so I'm looking for something fun. What exit do I take?"

She gathered her children within her arms and backed slowly away from me, never taking her eyes off me, and Amway-man slowly stepped between her and me, as if he felt I was a threat, just as the staff member returned with my keycard.

I smiled and said, "Welp, have a good morning, and thanks for the recommendation. I'll look it up in the tourist guide."

Finally, photos...

2005-09-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

The photo upload is working now. Yellowstone pics.

After living in Alaska for years and years, I'm kinda burned out on the "ooo, aaahh" factor of beauuuuuuutiful nature. The thing that was really interesting there was how life has adapted to this insane environment. Green plants and bacterial formations can be found in the hot runoff. Bison wander through the thermal fields and drink the boiling sulphide water.

Intelligent design my ass.

Oh. And I think members of Fight Club designed the warning signs

Check-out time is in ten minutes. It was nice to have a bed and a shower. I haven't even looked at the Atlas yet to see which direction I'm going today (other than generally East) -- I'll get that over breakfast.

See you folks in a few days....

Montana, Yellowstone, Wyoming, and now S. Dakota

2005-09-23T22:42:00.000-07:00

A busy few days. Too busy.

Some photos *would* have been available at the photo place thingy, but the .zip upload isn't working correctly and I don't have time tonight to upload the individual files
.
It's late, I got into Rapid City, South Dakota after spending 2 days at Yellowstone. The drive from there to here was *work*. Fed. Route 14 in Wyoming links Yellowstone to I-90, and it goes up over a mile on twisty, curvy roads that won't allow more than 30 mph in most places.

For the folks back home -- just imagine if Thompson Pass was shaped like a corkscrew...

Boise, ID

2005-09-21T09:26:00.000-07:00

The drive across Oregon was a spectacle. As the road gained elevation (The Truck had a workout yesterday), all of the green was replaced by blonde. Bluffs and cliffs appeared everywhere, and eventually I found myself in agriculture territory.

The last twenty miles of Oregon smelled like onions.

The first fifty miles of Idaho smelled like manure.

I got to Boise and figured I'd get a hotel room for the night. Boise, the town that closes at 9:30, was full, thanks to some popular golfers (Hah! Popular golfers!) coming to town for something or other. I finally found a room in a downtown hotel, and walked around for a few hours to see if there were any restaurants -- all closed, including McFood. At 9:30 (and yes, I changed to Mountain Time).

Some bars were open, and showed that segregation is practiced here -- patrons at some bars looked more like Portlanders. The remainder of the bars had patrons with straw cowboy hats.

And odd, I've seen no non-white humans since I hit the Idaho border.

Anyway, off to Yellowstone, and I doubt I'll have connectivity for the next couple of days....

On the road to ID

2005-09-20T11:32:00.000-07:00

I'm hitting the road late this morning, probably won't make Yellowstone today, but I'll be on the road in that direction. I'll probably stop at/between Boise or Pocatello tonight, hit Yellowstone tomorrow.

Photo space is secured, although I didn't have time to upload all yet -- I'll put more context to them later. You can see a few shots from Juneau here.

Next stop: Yellowstone

2005-09-18T21:07:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to feel too much at home here in Portland. It's hard to remember that this wasn't the entire destination of the trip....

I've gotten nearly everything I needed here in Portland. For the first time ever, I'm now laden with a cellular telephone. I've also beefed up the laptop to 2gb of RAM, have web space for the photos coming tomorrow, a stable e-mail account, etc., etc... All there is left to pick up is a set of tools.

I'll be loading on Monday, and pulling out on Tuesday morning, headed for Yellowstone -- mostly because it's one day east and has lots of camping, but I've always been interested in nature's freak show there. Since my coast-to-coast trip has turned into a coast-to-coast-to-coast trip, I'll probably just head straight toward Pennsylvania and bypass the South/Southwest for now. If I hear from folks there, I'll stop to meet them on the way back to Portland in a 4-6 weeks (loose guess).

None of the magic that happened here in the last ten days has fallen through. When I return, there will still be jobs, art, and old friends.

A quick search of monster.com showed 11 full-time jobs in my career field here, and dozens more outside of my niche that I'd be comfortable doing. That doesn't include available work through project contractors or private consulting/contracting.

I really doubt I'm going to find anything better back East, but I'm keeping an open mind. As Fred wisely pointed out, my excitement about Portland might have nothing to do with Portland -- it may just be excitement at being outside of Anchorage for the first time in years.

I could, as my brother suggested, just leave my truck here and fly to PA for the visit, but Fred's point of view is valid -- I think I need to see more of what's left of America before I make the PDX decision final.

It hasn't stopped

2005-09-14T00:26:00.000-07:00

[Note: POSSIBLE LOST E-MAIL! If you've sent mail from a gmail, yahoo, or aol address, I may have lost it. I noticed today that hotmail has been classifying all mail from theses addresses as "block sender," meaning they're discarded without my being notified.

I've now set up a spam account at kuparuk@gmail.com, and Bruce has provided me with an address on his server for my regular mail.]

I had some pretty cool human interest stories to tell from the boat trip, and especially from my two nights in the Tongass National Forest and Auke Bay, AK. They're still on hold, because I'm still learning how much there is to do here in PDX.

Today, it began with an e-mail from Fred's other, Terra, a violinist and conductor, inviting me to lunch at the Paradox, which is directly across the street from the theatre company former Toast director Tracy Hinkson is working with (btw, I might be able to sit in on rehearsal tomorrow).

We spent a great time talking about the classical and instrumental music scene in Portland with her violinist/composer friend, Jeff (I believe) -- and there are apparently a number of acoustic musicians here who like to perform experimental music, and there are venues and support for it. There are community orchestras, wind ensembles, etc., for all levels of players, should I decide to pick up the horn again.

After lunch, she took me for a drive around the area, to the park where she and Fred and friends held their handfasting ceremony, and eventually to Mississippi Pizza for music from a neat folk duet.

It's just not stopping. Art is everywhere, here. If I can't find something productive to do here, it'll be my own damned fault.

Overwhelmed in Portland

2005-09-12T00:25:00.000-07:00

I haven't the energy left to give more details at the moment, but I've reached an important decision already. Since arriving in Portland, I have decided not to go back to school in Pennsylvania. I'm still carrying out the trip, but will not be staying there for the couple of years I thought I'd be there.

Portland has opened its arms. It wants me to stay here.

In my first 48 hours, I've met with two directors, a playwright, and several graphic artists. A good friend-of-a-friend has invited me to breakfast with a pair of professional animators this weekend. I've been offered the opportunity to score a 10-minute film based on a very special Lanford Wilson play. Tomorrow morning, I'll be meeting again with the directors and with another theatre composer/sound designer to discuss how I could best add to the Portland theatre scene.

I've learned there's work for me all over. An old friend has offered me a place to live if I decide to come back after the long drive.

I keep looking for the man behind the curtain. I haven't even seen a curtain yet.

It's been non-stop opportunities in a place that I wasn't even seeking opportunities. And it's only been 48 hours.

My brain is full. I will be processing and recrunching data for weeks. Portland wants me to stay, and I can't find any reason whatsoever to say that's a bad thing.

Must sleep. Brain overload. But a *good* kind of brain overload.

DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH.

2005-09-02T13:45:00.000-07:00

(It was yelled and phrased more as a statement than as a question. I couldn't tell where the party-horn voice was coming from. I didn't yet know where I was.)

I had fallen asleep in a chair on the top deck -- the Solarium. It was coming back to me. I was on a boat, somewhere between Whittier and Valdez. My sleeping bag, still rolled up and placed upright like a cylinder in the seat next to me, had been serving as a pillow, my head cranked unnaturally sideways to reach it. I'd been out for about 20 minutes.

One slime-covered eye recognized the figure as vaguely elder-womanish, and I struggled to find consciousness, replayed her question a couple of times, and finally answered, "Yes."

"You know, young man, there are deck chairs you can lay down on, right through that door there."

I don't remember if I thanked her or not -- I think I did -- but I followed the direction of her finger through a door on the port side to find the deck chairs as she was saying something about it being the grandmother in her that makes her do such things.

I'd been up for nearly 48 hours, most of which had been spent doing all the physical labor involved in packing The Truck and cleaning out the house. I threw the PC into a locker there, spread the sleeping across the hard plastic slats that constitute these torturous "chairs," and was sure I'd be dead to the world in no time flat.

It was not to be.

During my 20 absense, the sleep-deprived brain and over-extended muscles had decided to unionize, strike, and make life hell for the management.

The muscle cells picketed and sang out loud solidarity chants that found harmonics sympathetic to my crystal skull, causing it to ring and pulsate and nearly shatter. A rogue member took to vandalism, creating a spasm between the shoulder and neck that seemed to drill a hole through the back of my brain, insert a fork, and twirl it as if it were serving up spaghetti.

The demonstration continued for hours. It was clear that a third-party negotiator would be required. I set out to find drugs.

We were porting in Valdez when I made my way to the Purser and asked about the availability of analgesics. After simplifying the question -- "You know, aspirin, Tylenol, Advil, something like that?" -- I was told they were available in the gift shop, which wouldn't be open for another four hours.

(Aside -- the Captain just announced we're passing by Mt. St. Elias, the third-largest peak in North America. Alaska is the land of hyperbole. When I left Anchorage, I could see Denali -- what you Outsiders call "Mt. McKinley," thanks to that asshole congressman from Niles, OH, who thinks Alaskans should all suck William McKinley's dick posthumously forever and ever. The mountain already had a name, you know. Denali is, of course, the tallest peak in North America, and sits next Mt. Foraker, another giant. In order to catch the ferry in Whittier, I had to drive through the longest traffic tunnel in North America -- a 2-1/2 mile hole drilled through the Chugach Mountains. And this morning, we ported in Valdez, epicenter of the largest earthquake ever recorded in North America.)

Eight a.m. finally arrived, and in came ibuprofin to settle the dispute. I slept until I was awakened by the ship's horn when we left port at Tatitlek.

We're currently en route to Yakatat, where we'll port for a couple of hours before heading down to our disembarkement in Juneau tomorrow morning.

T: Minus 72 hours

2005-08-30T04:52:00.000-07:00

I'm leaving.

I'm leaving.

I completed one of the more painful stages of the process today -- destroying my earthly possessions. Nothing like the aroma of a fine municipal landfill lingering in your sinuses for the day. The furniture is now gone, save a stubby little chair and an old printer table to hold the monitor off the floor. My living room is now a white latex reverb chamber. The dark green shag is spattered with all of those little things that were too important to process during the triage phase of sorting and destroying and packing 16 years of accumulation; straw wrappers, receipts, pine shavings from the hog's cage, used fabric softener sheets, a couple of years worth of dust.

I have 2 days to finish clearing the house and packing The Truck. In that time, I also have to work in a dinner with my Alaskan family, selling my car, renewing my driver's license, and getting a case of Alaskan Smoked Porter for the expatriots in PDX. It will be mad panic from the time I awake tomorrow morning until the time I fall asleep in The Truck Wednesday night before heading out to Whittier on Thursday.

I'm actually leaving. This realization gives me great panic. Alaska was much more than a tourist destination -- I've now lived here longer than anywhere else, ever. It's home. I'm not sure I've put enough thought into this plan.

Launching Sept. 1

2005-07-29T02:34:00.000-07:00

On August 31, I'll be packing the last of my gear into The Truck, handing the apartment keys over to the landlord, and driving from Anchorage to Whittier, where the next evening I'll load The Truck and myself aboard the M/V Kennicott sailing to Juneau.

After two days in Juneau, I'll be boarding the M/V Columbia and sailing Alaska's indescribable Inside Passage, finally arriving at Bellingham, WA on Sept. 8. After that, I'm heading to Portland, OR, for a few days of staging and seeing friends before driving off into the unplanned.

Eventually, I'll wind up somewhere around Pittsburgh to be around family for a couple of years while I go back to school... but I'll be in no hurry to get there, and there's no schedule to keep.

Here, I'll be posting stories, photos, and eccentric rants inspired by my encounters along the way.