An Attempt to See the World with New Eyes
A grandmotherly woman in the ranger station traced routes on our maps with a red pen, writing in small dashed lines like the guides of a treasure map. The process took several minutes as she described with a lispy voice where she was taking us: to Bandelier National Monument then Farmington New Mexico for the … Continue reading National Monument: Bandelier
Driving to California has been a dream of mine since the tween years. After graduation my friends and I would load ourselves into a dirty van and just go. We’d sleep under the stars, eat greasy cheeseburgers, and wash our hair in rest stop sinks. It was a dream which wasn’t unique to me, but … Continue reading Roadtrippin’ in California
Lightning blazes in windows but no one looks. No one even speaks. Tables across the room are covered with empty Quilmes bottles and fernet glasses. In the middle of the floor a man sitting on crates is playing the erhu, and even though people have been drinking and tangoing for hours, no one anywhere will … Continue reading Tango In Buenos Aires
Landmarks give shape to a city but they don’t define it. The Eiffel Tower. The Colosseum. Big Ben. They serve as icons for destinations whose allure stirs emotions that can only be understood in the curve of an arch or the cut of a spire. They draw you to a place, but they don’t keep … Continue reading A Non-Definitive Guide to NYC
Turquoise tulle rises and falls, rises and falls, a confection in motion and a dream among the hills. The girls dart down the narrow path, stopping occasionally to play in the dirt. Their fingers painting shapes on shapes, a triangle becomes a square becomes a rectangle becomes. Clearly they don’t care about maintaining their dresses … Continue reading Seven Wonders of Oregon: The Painted Hills
Malcolm Middleton is singing about a box and a knife in arguably one of the most depressing songs I’ve ever heard. Fog hangs in clouds around the car windows, thick as smoke, and it’s fingers crossed as we snake and wind around curves barely visible fifteen feet ahead. Steep drop-offs below and nothingness beyond are … Continue reading National Park: Mount Rainier
Most just shout names. Ben, Donna, Jake. Shirley Sux says another. FMHS Class of 1977, Laredo, Motor Spirit. When the moment comes and the paint is ready, it seems like what matters, what needs noted, is who you are, where you’re from, and who’s next to you. Cause other than that it’s just a series of fuck’s and peace signs. Continue reading “Pit Stop: Cadillac Ranch”
