show + tell

If anyone is paying attention…

2011-10-17T17:14:00.001-07:00

Well, this blog has been woefully underused, despite how heavily I've been shooting. As such, I'm letting you know I have migrated to www.thedailyfrolic.com. I haven't officially and formally launched yet, but I suppose it's a bit of a a soft launch. Please update your bookmarks or feeds accordingly… as the title would suggest i am planning on making it a daily thing!

I'm not necessarily abandoning this sucker, but it will probably just be personal content, and is unlikely to be updated at the same rate as the new blog. So… ummm… well, yay!

Checking in on 27 for 27

2011-06-16T08:06:00.003-07:00

It's time to check in on my goals for this past year, or should I say, my 27 for 27. I have only two months left to complete the remainder—I fear some will not be complete!

1. Learn to speak Spanish

Starting Spanish classes on Monday! Or should I say, Lunes!

2. Learn the Argentine tango.

I took two courses last year which were lovely, but as I no longer drive to work, I can't get to them. May look at weekend classes.

3. Craft a DIY wedding celebration. Avoid all the commerical hullabaloo.

Hmmm. Well, it cost more than expected… but it was perfect, perfect, perfect. And over three days of events, i think the cost was pretty minimal!

4. Serve as second-shooter for a wedding.

Check. Multiple checks! Well, third shooter, anyway. Working my way up to a second. Thanks, oh lovely Susan!

5. Get my etsy store going again, chock full of new crafts & ideas.

Hmmm. No movement on this one yet, but now that the wedding is over, I am thinking about selling some prints. Any takers?

6. Learn to play the piano.

Sigh. I fear that this may be a little too overwhelming if I start this at the same time as my Spanish classes. I'm afraid this one might have to wait.

7. Cook more. Learn to enjoy it.

Um. I'd better get on this.

8. Get healthier & more active. America has taken a toll.

In six months, I have lost 25 pounds, and I now cycle to work every day. Huzzah!

9. Send more letters. Handwritten, snail-mail style. Or typed on my typewriter!

Hmmmm. I've *started* this… but haven't maintained. Must focus. Anyone want to trade handwritten or handtyped letters?

10. Write blog posts. Regularly. Do not concern myself with who would even be interested in reading them… just write them.

Epic fail. Total of three in the past nine months. But look out for a complete revamp of my website and blog. This WILL be a priority.

11. Road trip up the coast of California!

Went in August 2010, and it was amazing. AMAZING.

12. Kiss and hug everyone more frequently. Cuddles, all-around.

This will never, ever be sufficient. Ongoing.

13. Visit Scandinavia (we are thinking about planning our 'official' honeymoon here!)

Obviously didn't work out for this year, but is very much in the works for 2012.

14. Go on a sibling trip with my sister. Just the two of us.

Sigh. I used up all of my vacation time on the wedding this year. This will either have to be a long-weekend getaway, or wait at least a year. More, even.

15. Give yoga another shot. People seem to like it.

On the menu. I'm slow on the draw.

16. Spend more time outdoors and less indoors.

Hanging out on my patio a lot more, but want to make a point of taking my lunch to Balboa Park more daily, since it's only a few blocks from my office.

17. Factor philanthropy into our budget. Give more.

I feel like we only give as a result of disasters. I would like to give instead as a result on ongoing need in the world.

18. Call my friends from afar. Yes, on the phone. Not email!

Hmmm. This has NOT gone well!

19. Frame a plethora of my photographs and hang them on my walls.

I am embarrassed to say that I have not yet done this. This is a this-month must.

And that's where I stopped. Never even built out the full 27. So, here goes… a completed list: hopefully things accomplishable in the next two months:

20. Get my photography featured on a blog I respect.

This is in the works, bigtime: I've been asked to share my home on one of the best blogs, ever! But of course, this means…

21. Finish, officially, my home decor projects A: windowpane treatment and B: Craft Zone organization

22. Try something that terrifies me: Ziplining!

I *totally* ziplned through 250' trees in Hawaii. We did a 'canopy tour'. Hell yeah!

23. Order new and different dishes in the restaurants I frequent instead of the same old dish I trust.

24. Set aside film-only days… make time away from digital (and have the rolls developed for gosh sakes!)

25. Spend more time in/at the ocean. How can I live beside it and see it so rarely?

26. Learn to snorkel. Swim with fishes.

Check! Did this in Hawaii, bigtime!

27. Go camping in Big Bear for my birthday (this will be the transition to 28 for 28!

My photographic process

2011-03-28T06:54:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine who is somewhat new to photography asked me recently, "What is up with your photos?! No, seriously… WHAT IS UP WITH THEM?!" proceeding to demand that I explain myself—he wanted to know what I was doing with my colors and how I ultimately was achieving the look of my images. So, today, I thought I'd share a few image examples and talk a little bit about my post-processing, just in case anyone else has the same questions.

In thinking about his question, I can't help but try to qualify my style verbally, so I know how to address this. It's kinda weird to officially put parameters on what I do, but I can't deny that over the years my photos have definitely taken on a distinct Jasmine-icity. So, I'd say that I tend to process my images with a subtle sense of nostalgic whimsy, balanced with an earthy quality. Well, I hope it's subtle, anyway. I recently decided to buy someone else's actions to try out… but they were just SO not me, you know? So, I just do it my way.

I usually start by uploading my images to Aperture, where I will color-correct, fix poor angles and make any general fixes. Then I export to photoshop for anything additional.

In the above images, I was a bit less subtle. I play with the saturation just a little and then use my curves to really pump up or tone down various colours, in this case, a focus on the magenta-green relationship, and the blue-yellow relationship, respectively. I would say that generally, I tend to have a warm approach. I definitely process for people slightly differently… more subtly, and adapting more to individual skin tones… but I still stay within my subtle-nostalgic-whimsy, I think. I try to maintain a realism with a suggestion of dreamy not-quite reality.

I would say I think of most image-making at the post-processing stage in terms of three colours: the primaries! I play with red, yellow, and blue to various degrees, working my 's' curve in photoshop. Occasionally, I go ahead and let my nostalgia run a little freely, and I truly do envision things through a vintage mental lens:

Or a melancholic/moody one:

But usually, I try not to be so… err… obvious. I don't usually want to make things look 'vintagey,' I just want to make them look really 'me.' I would say I have mostly progressively reduced the amount of post I do over the past few years. Generally it just takes a few subtle tweaks to make it feel 'right'.

If you have any questions I'd be happy to answer them! Perhaps next time, I can do a before-and-after.
Happy shooting!

Bulldog goes to the Getty

2011-02-23T11:30:00.002-08:00

Our management team at Bulldog decided to treat the creative team to a surprise trip to the Getty in LA, in a limo, booze and all! It was a rather rainy day so I took very few photographs of the Getty itself, but here are a few from our little excursion on Friday. We spent a good seven hours on the road in the limo due to weather and LA traffic, so forgive me that most of the images are from the vehicle!

Annoyingly (and as per my previous post about how I will be transitioning to wordpress), Blogger won't load these images correctly, so if you'd like to see them, you may have to click through to enlarge. My apologies.

Tuesday Delight: Celebrating the little things

2011-02-15T13:32:00.002-08:00

Happy Tuesday to you all. I normally loathe Tuesdays… they represent the most dismal day of the week. Mondays aren't so bad… you have all sorts of positive energy momentum carrying over from the weekend. By Wednesday, the week is half-over. But Tuesdays never seem to have much going for them. I've decided to change that. For now, I am going to be sure to post on Tuesdays, and the theme will always start with Tuesday Delight.

Instead of thinking I need to post eloquent, thoughtful, articulate, and important thoughts every time I blog… I've decided a post can simply be an image, or a happy feeling, or 'nothing special' at all (which are sometimes the very specialest things).

So, here's a little something unexpected from a wedding I third-shot for the lovely Susan Yee of En Pointe Photography in December.

California Coast Roadtrip 2010

2011-02-14T15:13:00.001-08:00

Haven't posted in a dog's age, so here are a bunch of images from our California road trip, strung together for your viewing pleasure. Might've already seen these on FLickr, but it's never too late to share a good batch, I hope. I've decided to make a commitment to blog more regularly. So… look forward to more, soon! PS… I am thinking of moving over to wordpress. Anyone have any experiences to share on this matter? I really dislike image arrangements on blogger, which frankly, was a big part of why I have posted less.

Charmer.

2010-06-10T15:31:00.000-07:00

I have a feeling that most folks won't respond with much enthusiasm for the following images. I've discovered that I have an itch for many devices of the low-fi variety. In this case, it's a vintage box camera, seen above.

I think there is a lovely charm to all things vintage… they have such a glorious history behind them, rich with stories and experiences that reach far back, into times earlier than I can muster accurately in my head. I have somewhat recently realized that the reason I am so deeply drawn to certain creative fields is that I have a natural tendency to storytelling (I'd venture that it's kind of innate—thanks, Grandpa!). I suppose that explains my preoccupation with the lives all these objects once would have led.

I wonder what kind of places this Ansco Shure-Shot Jr has been… Box cameras are interesting particularly for their limitations. No fancy lenses, no tricked out manual options. I kind of enjoy this "doing the most with the least" thing. In the case of the double exposure below, you can see that this is all new to me. I'm looking forward to what other surprises I can coax out of this thing.

And last, but certainly not least… the piece de résistance…

Something haunting and hopeful and magical happened. That is why I love film.

Tending the Garden

2010-05-15T12:27:00.000-07:00

It's time for me to get blogging again. I really enjoy the act of writing. Not just for the typical catharsis of journaling that people associate with it (from what I can tell, anyway), but because I really, really love words. I'm of the opinion that I have kind of been under-employing them lately… at least, underusing the good ones. So, after a little encouragement from my friend, Bridget, I'm going to make a conscious and focusing effort to get blogging again. The best writings I *think* I've done have been reflective of my adventures traveling across this big ol' country. So, I'm going to try to maintain my adventurous spirit and write a little bit about my little adventures 'round these-here parts. I'm not feeling the metaphoric river of exciting ideas at the moment, but I'm pretty confident that a river of that sort will cross my path eventually. For now, I leave you with images from our garden cookout. Next time, come!

Hunky Baby

2010-02-20T18:10:00.000-08:00

I just felt like posting a slew of my 35mm film images of Amanda and her baby-to-be… I think perhaps folks on flickr are getting tired of all the maternity. But that is the film I've been shooting. And it's high-time I posted more on this-here blog. Shooting film has reminded me of the fact that I really love photography. Yum.

Always with a song in his heart.

2009-12-18T21:45:00.002-08:00

My grandfather was an amazing human being. He was a teacher, a principal, a camp director, an airman, a cab driver, a restaurateur, a waiter, a train conductor, a yards worker. He was a husband, a father, and a grandfather. He was a celebrator of Yiddish culture, an immigrant, a Canadian, and an activist. He has had several heart attacks, a quadruple bypass, a "fever of unknown origin" and he battled a myriad of other illnesses for many years. He died Monday morning.

I have never really experienced death first-hand. Being so many thousands of miles away, I'm not really sure that this qualifies as first-hand. I have been living vicariously through emails and phone calls… but that only gets you so close to the reality of everything falling to the ground in a jumble of raw hope and pain.

Things I am learning about the death of a loved one?

In this day and age, instead of just reacting, you spend a lot of time considering how you are meant to react, and what the proper reaction is. You think about things you are supposed to think about—consciously putting the effort in to have the quiet, internal, reflective experience that the Hollywood machine tells you you are supposed to feel.

When my Grandpa died this week, I was very pleased to be at work. I smiled a lot. Along with my colleagues, who are still unaware of the circumstances. It's nice to laugh and not cry, you see. It's nice to be somewhere where you don't feel an intense pressure on you to be morose… where you don't feel expected to be visibly grieving. It's quite a relief to have the opportunity to escape the obligation of grief. Grief is a job. I have spent an awful lot of time trying to curb my moments of humor and positive energy. I feel guilty for feeling like I can handle this. Overall, I was surprised to find myself to be generally quite positive, in spirits, this week. Of course… I have had moments of up and down. But these moments simply do not play out as you expect them to.

It took me three days to really cry it out… and that is only after finally having a telephone conversation with my mother. She described in detail to me, the act of visiting the body that once housed my Grandpa. She couldn't bring herself to leave, despite the fact that she hadn't even wanted to go in the first place. She still finds herself speaking to him at quiet moments. I think that gets me more than anything. I think I cried more about that specific point than I did about all the other aspects of the week.

My Grandpa was ready to go. He lived twice the life he'd ever expected to. No one thought he'd actually make it to 86 years. Saying goodbye to him (over the telephone) was not good, and not easy. But… I made peace with it a week ago, when we actually believed he was about to go. As such, I think I realize that I am not grieving for him. Not at all. I am grieving for my Mother. I am grieving for my Grandmother. I am grieving for all the people who don't know how to live a life that doesn't have him in it.

When someone you love dies, I think it is okay not to stop, not to put your life on hold. When someone you love dies, people expect you to do a myriad of strange things, and to feel a myriad of strange, foreign emotions… unwelcome things like pain and sorrow and hurt and anger. It is such a strange notion… this sense of obligation I have to be angry. I am not angry. Yes, I am sad. But not necessarily in the demonstrative way that seems to be expected of me. I think I am proud, more than anything. Proud of him for making it this far. Proud he led such a rich, fulfilling life. Proud of the family he has produced. I wrote up holiday cards, the same day he died. And I think any "he would have wanted" type of phrase is absolute rubbish. His wants are not as valid as the wants of live people, now. What does everyone else want? What do I want? When we guess at what he might have wanted, we are putting our own wants or wishes into his mouth.

I am going to gather these feelings and thoughts up… I am going to make something of them. A book. A small book, I think. I know I would like to share the little tactile pieces I have that shape him in my memory… his whiskers and songs… banana parties… his South American shirts… his songs of everyone's name… his easy tears. Mostly… I think I want the message to be: It's Okay to Be Okay.

Recognition

2009-12-06T12:45:00.002-08:00

My business card was featured!
It feels quite nice to be recognized for my work, even in such a small way as to appear on a small design blog admiring a multitude of business cards.

Sadly… they don't really link out to tell you anything about the card or designer… they just link to the flickr page. So, oh well. Better than nothing.

Oh, PS: you bring me cheer, oh readers of mine. Thanks for commenting to let me know you still read this ol' thing. It's far more encouraging to post, now. I'd quite like to try and share more earestly and fluidly.

I have been awfully silent.

2009-11-29T22:45:00.000-08:00

Lately, I haven't really found much to say. In the past, when I initially 'found' blogging… I felt that I had so much to share. Lately, I really haven't been sharing in words, but in photographs. And as they exist over on flickr, I don't want to be redundant by reposting. What do I want this blog to be? Better yet—who reads my blog, if anyone?

In other news, I have been shooting a great deal of 35mm film.

Age and Time.

2009-11-12T09:39:00.000-08:00

My grandparents are not well, for different reasons. I am so far, and it is very hard. But I think of them, particularly through photography.

Package NOT Received.

2009-11-03T17:09:00.003-08:00

Kiss my ASS usps.

I sent this ages ago, and assumed the recipient got it. Not sure what course of action I can take with usps at this point. It breaks my heart just a little, since the object below was kinda precious to me, worth a fair bit of money, and took a ridiculous amount of blood, sweat and tears to create.

treepeople

2009-11-01T16:15:00.001-08:00

treepeople, originally uploaded by jasfitz.

treebling.

2009-11-01T16:14:00.001-08:00

tring, originally uploaded by jasfitz.

Scotty and I are now married even though a REAL family wedding will be on the menu for a year and some from now. We honeymooned here. It was magic.

Flavor Unexcelled!

2009-10-18T19:37:00.001-07:00

Flavor Unexcelled!, originally uploaded by jasfitz.

Christina and I went apple-picking while I was in Montreal. Swoon!

Sometimes someone reminds you of all the magic, everywhere.

2009-10-16T14:16:00.000-07:00

For me, that person today was Shannon Leith, who said all the magic words, and shared all the happiest thoughts and make me believe in myself a little extra-enthusiasticaly today. Extreme, explosive thanks to Shannon. She makes gorgeous magic come out of a camera. The above speaks for itself, I think.

In other news, I'm married. Surprise!

I think we have lift-off.

2009-09-03T22:26:00.000-07:00

I've spent this week (among doing many other things) polishing off the beta version of my new website, as well as revising this blog so that they sort of work together, as a unit. I'm feeling pretty confident that they are in official ready-for-the-world phase. Yay! I'm feeling good about the progress I've made, all the new CSS tricks I've learned, and all the javascript Scott learned on my behalf. Yes, that's right… he learned it for me. All the nifty javascript popups, and the scrollbar revisions? That's all Scotty. That's what I call romance.

The other thing I'm tentatively exploring is my new polaroid SX-70. It's a little finicky, but it's also highly lovable. Look forward (um, maybe) to more instant gratification in the future.

Lastly, aside of course from all the freelancing and personal identity development, I've been starting to gather inspiration for our someday-to-too-far-in-the-future-but-not-too-soon-either gettin' hitched. I'll be posting more DIY wedding inspiration as the weeks go on. So, you know… prepare yourself.

:)

Forgive Me…

2009-09-01T16:18:00.002-07:00

I'm just messing with some new layout options. Bear with me. I'll find my groove shortly… aiming to try to tie this blog in with my newly released brand identity, without it being too redundant. Check out the new site! www.jasfitz.com.

Moss Graffiti, swoon!

2009-08-31T23:20:00.003-07:00

This is SO COOL. Design + natural organic outdoorsiness = true love.

For more from this talent, click here.

San Francisco. Urban. Art & Design. Yay.

2009-08-25T15:16:00.002-07:00

The Bay Area = Coolness. Want to go back. Much.

Resurrection

2009-08-24T09:20:00.005-07:00

I have decided that it is high time to revive this blog, and start letting folks in on what's new in my world. Lots of things! I was laid off of my job in July, and am currently redesigning my brand identity, including my logo, business cards, letterhead, portfolio and website. To get a sense of what the new look is going to be like, the above is an early sneakpeak screenshot of my site, which is still quite thoroughly under construction.

Nextly, I got engaged! Scott and I have been together for five and a half years, so I can't say it was exactly a surprise, as it was a long time coming. Nonetheless, we are very happy indeed. The following images were taken right after the proposal (he proposed on my birthday).

absent

2009-01-06T14:39:00.002-08:00

Haven't been around.
Have been working on little home projects, having adventures, and cuddling with my loved one.
:)
Hello kitchen curtains!

Needed.

2008-12-10T11:22:00.003-08:00

It would seem that I like to feel needed and wanted.
I guess that seems a normal notion.

Only, I think I need to learn where my line lies. Maybe I need to learn when and how to stop trying to help.

Sigh.

Sunken City…

2008-11-12T15:08:00.003-08:00

Here are some more that didn't make it to Flickr…

They were taken in the Northern area of the Salton Sea. This is referred to as the sunken city. It is only 1/2 sunk now, as the water level has gone back down significantly, but it makes for treacherous exploring. Natasha sunk all the way up to her thighs! Thankfully, we were wearing these fishing waders you see in the first image. Tasha's mom said we look powerfully female :)

An oasis that once was.

2008-11-11T13:16:00.003-08:00

Here are some images from my week away, camping in the desert, and visiting the Salton Sea. I've wrote it up a little on Flickr, and don't want to repeat myself… just going to throw up a couple of images here that haven't made the flickr cut.

Nakhes

2008-10-13T12:57:00.001-07:00

Nakhes is a yiddish word that basically means, "the pride generated in the elders by their lineal descendendents." More casually… it means joy and satisfaction. I spent my wee years being told about how much Nakhes I bring them.

My grandparents just moved into a retirement residence. My mom spent the last few months in a constant state of exhaustion, trying to help them go through their belongings and prepare for this move. It's a big change, and my heart hurts that I was unable to contribute, being so very far away. I know how difficult a transition it will continue to be for them, but I also think it will be wonderful to be in a situation where they have more of an opportunity to socialize again, and have medical help close at hand. Would you believe they are in their mid-eighties?

My grandparents have lived such a full life. In fact, they have lived so many lives. I don't know of anyone who has had as many different careers as my Grandpa. He is in the middle of writing his memoirs. I am glad for that, for his stories are always so rich and plentiful. My Grandma has been referred to by all her children as the world's best mom. With good reason.

So, I am thinking today about my Grandparents, and their first week in their new home. I am also thinking today of my mother, who has been working nonstop on their behalf in order to make this move as easy as possible. Every time I have spoken to her for the past several months, she has been exhausted from this major transition. I would have to say that she and my Grandma might have to duke it out for the title of 'world's best mom'. Possibly 'world's best daughter'.

I love them all, and it aches me to be so far away from them. But I am glad that the move went well, and that several family members were able to come to Montreal and pitch in. I have Nakhes thinking of them!

Genuinity, Integrity, Curiosity, Empathy… and some serious Frolicking.

2008-10-09T11:45:00.003-07:00

I was visiting one of my Flickr contacts' streams and she posed the question of what do we live by?
It's a good one. I rambled long enough to realize I ought to post something here. So I've copy-pasted a little, and paraphrased myself a little.

I think that, "Practice Random Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty" is one of the most important/inspiring phrases. Quite a few of the religious folks I meet practice kindness for a long-term purpose: to get into heaven, or to do what Jesus says to do. I'm not so hip to that reasoning. I'm not so hip to any reasoning… I don't think kindness should be practiced in the 'be good and you'll get a treat' sense. But I think it is essential. I am not anti-faith. I'm quite thoroughly agnostic, where Scott is very, very firmly atheistic. But there are many things about organized religion that rub me very heavily the wrong way. I try to practice kindness and goodness, because human beings deserve kindness and goodness. Because that is how I would like to be treated. Because anything. Just because. Not because Jesus said so, or else I'll go to hell. Just because I simply know so.

I also think understanding is essential… so sympathy, but better yet, empathy, should be a concrete way to interact with people.

I took an independent business class a few years ago, and our first project was to design ourselves a coat-of-arms type of thing. Which initially struck me as a bit silly. But the real point was to narrow down what is important to you as a businessperson and then to create this emblem that you would be happy to fly on a flag as representative of everything you're about. I think the words I chose weren't entirely expected, but at their core are very, very important to me: Genuinity, Intelligence, Integrity, and Frolicking. Not only is this how I'd want to run business… it's how I want to run my life. Genuinity meaning authenticity and sincerity, and being the most yourself that you can be… Intelligence representing not necessarily just being scholarly or studied but also, and more importantly, being aware, in touch, and thoughtful about one's interactions with everyone and everything. And constantly learning and growing. In fact, I think that I might now swap words and use Curiosity or Learning instead of intelligence. Integrity speaks for itself. And frolicking? Well, I think these types of thinkings often get so wrapped up in seriousness that we forget how important it is to be joyful and silly, seeking adventure and discovery.

I think that when I am at my most unhappy… I am furthest away from these notions. Oh, and lastly… I love love! The more love, the better. That's the reasoning behind posting the above image. I miss my mom, I love my mom, and the shoot I just did with Amy and her mom reminded me of how much I love love.

So, I put the question back out there for all you who aren't flickrites, or who didn't want to respond to Amanda's Post.

How do you live your life? By what ideas? What notions are important to you?

Nothing Much

2008-09-30T13:54:00.004-07:00

Yesterday, I had a callback job interview. Ahhh… second interviews. They are so much harder than firsts. Firsts, you have so much less to lose, and you go into it feeling a little like throwing caution into the wind. But once you've got that second one… Oy.

Anyway, it seemed to go alright, but certain elements might lead me to believe otherwise. Sigh. I thought it was down to me and just one other guy, but it seems it's between five people. So, I guess I'm preparing myself for the possibility of not working at this publishers' marketing/distro house. Dammit. I really want this one.

Oh, yeah, and… um… well, went to Canada, whirlwinded like a serious tornado, and am back now. The above shot was taken in a Corn maze in rural Ontario. Since corn translates to 'maïs' in french, I enjoy the notion that we walked through a Maïs Maze. I haven't uploaded much else from our trip yet, but I shall soon.

Anyway, let's leave this quickie on a 'learn something new everyday' note, provided by Josh, my sister's main squeeze. True Fact: If you go swimming in the Dead Sea, it is very important to clench your buttocks firmly while in there, or you may get to suffer from burning bottom (we're talking insides, here) syndrom for days afterward. No joke. So clench tight, folks!

Value, Validity and Vantage Points

2008-09-12T10:43:00.006-07:00

The other day, I took pity on a friend whose self-made logo was suffering from her complete lack of design training. I was working on some quick helpful shifts for her, and when I sent some versions over for her approval, I mentioned that I hope she appreciates the value of hiring a trained designer, and slipped into a classic Jasmine rant: I am incredibly frustrated in the graphic design field, where I have spent many thousands of dollars putting myself through school, and yet am undervalued due to the saturation of people in this industry who call themselves designers. I went on to rant about how annoying it is that any Joe Shmo nowadays can "be a designer", as our tools of the trade are really very publicly accessible: computers… Adobe software. Anyone can download about three million terrible free fonts from the internet, and I have recently discovered the plethora of free vector art and such as well as of course, stock photo websites that one can join for a matter of a few bucks. People with no careful thought behind their creations can book the same interviews as I can… in fact, as I sit here jobless and interviewless, they may have gotten the interviews I haven't.

It frustrates me because I didn't go to school to learn programs and techniques. Sure, I picked some up. But I spent those tens of thousands of dollars on my degree in order to learn to think, see, criticize, edit and produce truly creative ideas. I could have gone to community college to learn programs. But I wanted to learn to design… to understand how to organize information so as to successfully solve design problems. Not just how to make something pretty. My problem is not just the people who call themselves designers and in my opinion lack depth of vision and understanding. My problem is also the grave issue of the public's underappreciation for the difference between the two. I don't think many people out there hiring have enough training to understand why they would want someone with the breadth of ideation and critical thinking skills over someone who has impressive program knowledge. How can an appreciation for thorough education happen if the acceptance of untrained designers as professional pervades?

Okay, so, there's my rant… an issue that frustrates me immensely (especially being unemployed at the moment). I spoke to Scott about it over dinner later, and he surprised me by talking about all the parallels in the computer science world (which he lives in). For instance, he suggested that the kids getting out there these days don't think long-term or thoroughly (robustly, he called it) about the programs they build, among other issues. I was really surprised to see that parallel in such a different industry to my own. Though the difference is that a completely failed design can still make it out into the world as an advertisement, while a failed computer program will not run. Similar, but not quite as grave.

Anyway, once he spoke to me of that, I kept thinking about this issue that troubles me, and I had a stark realization. I have been beginning to think of myself as a photographer, and not just an amateur who likes to mess around. Photography is important to me. The truth is, in the back of my mind, I have been toying with the question of whether I could potentially be successful professionally as a photographer one day. And so, I feel like a hypocrite, because professional-trained photographers must have rants just like my own. Flickr must be a source of infinite frustration for them, when they see the myriads of people trying to make a go of it without professional training. Granted, I'm probably at more of a half-way point than most, as I did go to college for Fine Arts, and then followed that up with a degree in design. I have quite a bit more theory behind me than I imagine many Flickrites do. But still. I think I want to hear others' opinions on this matter. Is it fair that so many young people out there are buying a DSLR and trying to make it a business? Is it frustrating to professionals? Do these amateurs lack the valid theory, and knowledge of history for great image-making? Does it matter? What is valuable nowadays in this regard? What about other industries… does this also seem to be happening elsewhere?

I apologize for being long-winded… thanks for reading this far.

Mother, daughter, and matching ink.

2008-09-09T12:01:00.004-07:00

First paid shoot… mother and daughter and matching tattoos! Yay :)

vulnerability

2008-09-08T15:05:00.008-07:00

Despite popular opinion, I am ridiculously shy. I know you don't see it outwardly, but it's there. I guess I overcompensate… I probably come off as uber-outgoing. I'm not too bad one-on-one, generally speaking. I would even say pretty good. I appreciate depth in conversations, and one-on-one is something I can work with. But I am terrible in group situations. Sometimes I find myself having to run off to the bathroom to hyperventilate out an anxiety attack. Maybe I come off alright, and even confident, but though some may think it fine, I do not. Because it is both a façade, as well as a person I'm not really that fond of. I appreciate quietness and thoughtful approaches to the world, but I doubt that's how I come across in groups. From time to time, I will do really well in a group setting, and I think to myself, "I've beat it!", but I always seem to fall back into my patterns of fear. I am afraid of rejection. Terrified of it. I need outside affirmation… my own self-support never seems to be enough. I think I have always strove to do my very best not for self-satisfaction, but to gain others approval and admiration. I am sure this is part of my problem.

I have been looking for work for some time now, but I am so sure I could do so much better at it if I believed in myself more. It's weird. I truly do think that I am a talented and creative designer. I really do. I think I approach my work intelligently, with layers, and a broader understanding than the majority of people I went to school with. But those are just words on paper (or the screen, in this case), as I don't seem to be capable of carrying this confidence through to successfully landing gainful employment. And I think it has to do with what I was saying about my shyness and patterns and habits. I have a major complex that revolves around my not being taken seriously, I always have. I have always spent time with people older than I am, and was (and often continue to be) convinced no one really took me seriously, or respected me for my opinions and thoughts due to my age. But it's not just an age thing…it has to do with the fact that I don't seem to have enough personal convictions to keep these issues from bothering me. Everyday I get up in the morning and check out job things and feel like, "why should I bother? No one will hire me anyway." And the thing is, I'm not fooling myself here, I know how stupid this attitude is, and I know that this poor attitude is what may in fact keep me from landing something good.

Anyway, I don't have a reason for going into this. I just felt like being really honest with myself today. Sometimes I feel that I can create an entire public perception of myself that is inaccurate. It is, however, different from being phony or dishonest. More, it's like having a grand-looking home, when visitors come, but only showing certain rooms that are 'fit for public view.' And that room doesn't really reflect much about the rest of the home. It's a room that probably is not at all lived in… used only for greeting outsiders. I just want to stop seeking to be this perfect, positive, empowered person in the eyes of others, and start getting there on my own, irrelevent to how I am perceived by others. This is something I need to work on, something only I have the power to change. I get lots of praise and encouragement from friends and family, and that is obviously not sufficient. It needs to come from inside me, that total belief and confidence in myself. I'm just not sure how to get those gears a-turnin'. I assure anyone who reads this… I am not writing this in order to garner any "you're great, you can do it" encouragement. You really provide me with vast amounts of this already. It's not the key to my changing, and not the purpose of this post. I know what my strong traits are, what I am good at, and I am indeed proud of those things. I guess the point is I often try to conceal the vulnerable, weak, imperfect parts of myself (particularly in internet social forums and in group situations). I really don't want to do that. I feel that lately, I have not been living up to my potential in numerous ways. I do intend to. I am just searching for the how. Encouraging praise won't get me anywhere. Helpful strategies might, though.

In addendum:
I really do like myself. I like who I am. This post may sound a little bit depressing. I'm not really as down as I may come off. It's just a bit of honesty that's been hiding in a mental corner for a couple of months. It feels good to be frank and earnest about a darker piece of myself.

six pounds and seven ounces… of RAW MUSCLE.

2008-08-19T01:50:00.007-07:00

Hello, world wide web.
I've been avoiding you.
Well, no, not really… I just couldn't think of anything I felt like sharing with the world in a written manner. For about 1.5 months. Funnily enough, I still can't think of anything I feel like writing to you that for me holds value and intrigue. But I've been starting to get impatient requests. Which is kind of a nice feeling. It's just that lately, I've been feeling like what I might write would pale in comparison to my voyages, and what I wrote about them. But that's the real issue. Lately, I've been behaving like an Eeyore. But I'm a Tigger, damn it. So I've decided to stop letting these Eeyore thoughts keep my from my Tiggerness. If you don't know what I am talking about, I'd recommend finding Randy Pausch's Last Lecture on YouTube. It is worth seeing. repeatedly. Whenever you find yourself behaving like an Eeyore.

So, all this to say… here I am. What finally brought me here?

Why, years ago, my poor mother huffed and puffed me out at 9:19 am, on the 19th of August. Thanks for the whole birthing thing, mum.

No, really. My mum is like this magic being of loving… it is astonishing that anyone can love so much as she. I love people. Scott being a good example. I am loved by people. Scott can stand in as a strong example there, too. But I just don't think anyone I have ever known has the same capacity for loving that my Mum has for myself and Tam (my sister). She has spent her life making my life the best it can be. Really. She sacrificed for us often, was the bad cop when we needed her to be, listened to our woes better than any counselor, and warmed us with hugs made of pure love, daily.

My birthday is nothing big, really, for me. I sure as hell didn't do much to make it happen. My birthday is all about my Mama, who is thousands of miles/kilometers away, in another country, and no doubt thinking about me right now, even as she sleeps. That's my mom. She loves me so much that I can feel it, tangibly, despite the distance between us. And I love her to bits. I don't think there is really any way to communicate how important she has been and how desperately I wish I could have appreciated her every movement, word, scolding and smile more thoroughly while I was actually within visiting distance.

So, though it is a bit of a self-indulgent, narcissistic exercise of silly, I thought I'd post a few images of myself here, and that would be my bold purpose and grand return to blogification. Why? For my mom, of course.

I love you, Ma. I am so lucky to have been molded by such a wonderfully genuine, compassionate, honest, persevering, caring, sweet, sarcastic, goofy and silly person. Thanks for making me me.
The really ugly one made me laugh so hard I believe i may have snorted. I have no idea why i am making that ridiculously creepy face. The next two were taken by Anthony Chau, a fellow Toronto photographer for whom I stood in as a model in the winter. The last one was taken in my last Toronto home's infamous magic-light bathroom. The most recent is this next one, from my first visit to San Diego in February.

Rockin' the Hard Rock

2008-07-09T10:18:00.007-07:00

[ed. note… I attached quite a few photographs to this post, and for some reason, they are not showing up. Something's up with Blogger. Annoying. My apologies. If you want to, check out my Flickr Page to see a few examples.]

Two weeks ago, Scott and I had a random and strange invitation to an event that was being thrown by the Dalton McGuinty government in Canada. He is Ontario's premier… the Canadian equivalent of The governator for California. For some reason he was in town. All we knew was this event gave us a chance to win a free flight back to Canada. For that reason alone, we attended.

Well, it turned out to be a mega-suits event. I think both Scott and our friend Peter (also Canadian) felt a little out of place despite being dressed in their work clothes. The purpose of the event turned out to be to try to persuade ex-pats to return home (primarily focusing in Ontario). Which is hilarious that people from crappy, dull Ontario have come to warm, beautiful, coastal San Diego to talk us into returning. Bla, bla, bla… the interesting points of the event: 1) Free drinks. Yeah! 2) Free food. Yeah!) 3) Potential to win prizes. Yeah! 4) Held in the very upscale Hard Rock Hotel. Yeah!

Well, Scott used to be a major achiever as far as door prizes are concerned, and he did not disappoint this time around. We didn't win the flight home. But we did win a free stay in the rock star suite at the Hard Rock! Scheduled for the following day, we rallied our friends, picked up some munchies and alcohol, and kicked it. This prize was rumoured to be worth 2500$.

What can I say about the Hard Rock Hotel? It is nowhere near as 'hard' as it wants to be. The whole place was full of 'suits' while we were there, and frankly, the only people who could afford the exhorbitant prices of the hotel would strike me as middle-aged men who are in denial of their middle age. The suite we were in was a little generic as far as my opinion of 'rock 'n' roll is concerned. The views were quite lovely, and the location is pretty spiff, but there is no way it was worth 2500$. Actually, since they mistakenly billed Scott's credit card, we know that it cost 2900$. Being that I have student loans looming above my head, I kinda winced when I saw that. three grand would have gone a long way to help me pay it off. Sigh. Anyway, it was quite spiff, and I doubt we'll ever be able to afford to stay in as expensive a locale. So, it was a pretty neat feeling.

The Great Zoo Discussion

2008-07-07T13:53:00.005-07:00

As some of you may know, San Diego is home to what is officially referred to as a 'world-class' zoo – the San Diego Zoo. Everyone asked me if I went while I visited in February, but I did not. Now, as much as I adore little fuzzy creatures… there is a reason that I avoided the zoo. I have a distinct unsettling feeling about zoos. Something about the notion of caging animals rubs me very much the wrong way. Granted, I know that I'm a part of our culture of display as much as anyone else. Possibly more, being a photographer. But I simply cannot feel good about the idea of supporting a place in which animals from many varying locations and climates are removed from their environment and given a vastly reduced space in which to live. This distinctly reminds me of the offensively outrageous behavior of the western world in the 19th century period of Saartjie Bartman (The 'Hottentot Venus').

Of course, this feeling would be deeply diminished if it was simply a matter of protecting species that were being threatened by extinction. But that seems to be a rather small part of what zoos are really about. These institutions tend to boast about the value of their educational programs, saying that is the real reason for their existence. I won't deny that I make great use of the posted information and history when I am at places like these. However, I find I am almost always the only one reading them, out of the fifty people passing by at the same time as me. And even more likely to be the only one who reads the full thing. Most people glance, maybe. They're not concerned with educating themselves. They simply seem to want to "see the animals". In fact, I would say that from what I have seen, most people don't even bother to learn what animal they are looking at. Now, as you listen to me here, it becomes obvious that I am speaking from a first-person experience. The thing is, Scott is incredibly psyched about the zoo, here. And he bought us a year-long zoo pass. His sister was in town, and he thought it would be a very useful way for us to accommodate visitors… by taking them to the zoo. I voiced my reservations, but it became clear to me that in all likelihood, I could not judge this place until I experienced it myself. Its promotion in the media seemed to tout its environmental value and awareness, and so I figured, I would accompany them there and make my mind up as an informed person.

Well, I am still not feeling it. No matter how many positive news articles I read about this zoo, it doesn't change the fact that these animals could not possibly feel truly at home in a glass cube. Could they? I'm just as rubbed the wrong way now, if not more than I was before. I understand the value of the zoos in the context of the time they were thought up. In the 19th century, there was no media, and even few books that could educate us as broadly as we are capable of being educated today via the internet, television, film, etc. That said, I am a firm believer that first-hand experience is vastly different than simply reading about something. But I don't think first-hand experience is worth the wildly unnatural shift it is to displace and confine these animals the way zoos do. Also, what about the human interaction facet? Obviously there have been many issues and examples (picture the classic image of a tourist throwing peanuts at a monkey) that are fairly extreme (the monkeys get 'mean' among many other interactive situations), but what about just the notion that crowds and crowds of some strange two-legged creature surround you and stare at you all day? Just that alone feels wrong to me… that is certainly not a very accurate recreation of an animal's natural habitat. Do we (we, being western society, I suppose) really have the right to simply take these animals and put them where we want them?

Sorry, I guess I am going off here a little. I'm actually typically quite opposed to putting my opinion forward so assertively. I've been a vegetarian for almost fifteen years, but have avoided voicing my opinions about my own lifestyle choices after the first couple of years. I enjoy discussion, but am not a huge fan of debate. Debate usually feels to me like we are not trying to open minds and share ideas, but are simply forcefully and possibly closed-mindedly trying to persuade others that "my idea is right, damnit." So, I would like to reassert that I am trying to be open minded-about the zoo, and would love to hear others' opinions on how the zoo may be positive, useful, fulfilling, etc. I'm having a hard time ignoring the unease I feel about the zoo. Even the notion of posting my images from the zoo makes me feel guilty, somehow. So, please, share your opinions on this matter, won't you? Do you feel the product worth the price paid?

Jail House Run

2008-06-23T10:42:00.003-07:00

So, Scotty just ran the San Diego Rock 'n' roll Marathon. I am not kidding, it was officially called the rock and roll marathon. Apparently 20 000 people ran it… we're definitely out-doing Canada's numbers. It was a pleasure to finally see him do a full-marathon. He has done three (along with numeroud shorter runs like half-marathons and such), and I have never seen him run one. It's funny, actually after so many years together. Actually, something else we noticed now that I am here: we had never been swimming together. We'd never seen one another swim! How does that happen, in the course of more than four years? I will tell you… we're Canadian. We had never been anywhere beachy together. For shame! In any case, both of these issues have since been addressed. In the building we call home, there is a lovely pool and hot tub and all the goodies you get when living too largely. So, we have been swimming. Too bad we will be moving to a place that likely will not have such fancy amenities.

Anyway, marathon. Though he did not beat his personal best, I think he ran it well. But I must secretly admit to you, here, folks… he was not the main attraction for me. Shhh… don't tell. It's just that, you see… the King was in the house. Repeatedly.

For some reason there was a giant team of folks dressed as Elvis. How you can run 26 miles (42km) in full jumpsuit regalia, I shall never know. But I could not resist the Elvis. Anyway, Scotty was sweet and in pain for days, of course, as per usual. Why runners do this to themselves, I shall never entirely understand.

Oh, How I love this man.

Backtracking

2008-06-19T13:35:00.005-07:00

Along my cross-country travels, I shot a ridiculous number of photographs. Ridiculous. You don't want to know how many. Thank goodness for digital photography. Actually, (sidenote) I'm really thrilled about how digital photography allowed me a year to basically practice and sharpen my shooting skills, because now I feel armed and dangerous, and very thoroughly empowered to return to shooting film. I experimented with my dad's old Nikon FE when I was first in college – I even learned to work the b&w darkroom. Unfortunately, I was utter rubbish at it… my photos were ridiculously poor. But I enjoyed the process, and set the camera aside for quite a few years. Now, years later, with enough practice under my belt, and a much richer understanding about photographic processes (richer, though, dig – not actually great, simply better) I have dug out my pop's old camera and am rearin' to start shooting film. Shooting digital is wonderful, and I am not giving it up (in fact, I am trying to figure out how on earth I can manage to get a 5D), but I think the breadth and depth of my work might possibly improve if I start exploring film. I have even began to explore Polaroids, now that the generous David Teter has supplied me with an old Pola cam. Much will soon be uploaded. I'm psyched. Yay! Now, I just have to learn all about film.

So, anyway, back on track… I have also decided to look back through what i shot, and find gems I missed, or maybe initially wasn't hip to when I first looked over my images. These are a couple of the lovely Lara, from my stop in Montreal.

California in Bloom

2008-06-17T09:47:00.004-07:00

Here I am!

My first weekend here, Scott and his friends decided to take me up to LA for a swing dance (as I am a swing dancer). I kept pressuring for us to get there early, as I wanted to make sure we arrived in time for the lesson, so Scotty could take it and then not feel so awkward. I didn't want him to feel totally out of place at the swing dance. I have been dancing for around eight years, now. I teach, in fact. Scott, on the other hand, never really shown much interest, and I never wanted to be the girl who tries to push him into anything. He has his solo hobbies… marathon-running, videogame-playing, soccer, etc. I have mine. But his friends had been taking lessons, and he knew I was into the dancin', so he said it would be fine. Thus, off we went to the Derby in LA (has anyone seen the film, Swingers?). After the lesson, Scott invited me to dance, and started pulling all sorts of moves on me that weren't in the lesson. Palpable confusion on my face. I just couldn't figure out how he'd learned an extra 20 things during this 45-minute beginner lesson. I'm an idiot. Turns out that Scott's been taking lessons while I've been far away! In over four years, he has never been capable of keeping a secret from me. I was quite surprised. Stupefied, even.

We had a lovely time. I have to admit, I am still a little leery of the whole thing… we have had our separate hobbies for so long now. Dancing was always a nice little getaway for me, something I could come home and tell Scott about. Though, really, I think it will be delightful if I am able to share this thing I love so very deeply with him. Dancing fills me with joy. So, double the joy, now. I guess we'll see if it remains something he wants to pursue.

in my end is my beginning

2008-06-16T01:13:00.008-07:00

Heading west through California means one must pass through this incredible range of mountains which I believe were called the San Bernadino Mountains (part of the Transverse Range). We were passing through the region that exists along the south end of the San Andreas Fault. Having been to Scotland as well as having just crossed through the southern Rockies, I didn't expect I would have any more space in my swelled heart to be impressed by more hills. But, I can admit when I am wrong. This is a drive you want to take.

I stopped through in LA for a few hours, but I really didn't make much of my time there. The train station was a really gorgeous place to shoot in, and I headed out from there to Melrose & Fairfax. Unfortunately, I was simply too distracted, knowing how nearby my new life was awaiting me. I couldn't focus on taking any of it in, for the first time my whole trip. I had to hop back on an early train bound for San Diego… my final stop.

I am really doing this.

I haven't been thinking very far forward through the majority of this journey, as too many wonderful experiences were occurring to allow time for anything else. But I'm hours from the conclusion of this trek, and it's a bit of a wonky feeling. My body has physically adjusted to the constant rhythm of travel and the structure in which I have been doing it. It is a strange thing to me, to think about breaking this rhythm. Though I am certainly tuckered out, I am feeling immensely capable of continuing this journey. I could keep going, my body is telling me so. I fear the idea that I might go stir-crazy, suddenly being 'settled' in a new life. But I am now quickly thinking of Scott's cuddly arms, a warm comfortable bed I can call my own, George's quirky, fat purring, and a new life, and I realize that the adventure is not at its end, but is now swelling and evolving and unfurling in shifting directions. It is a sumptuous, sublime feeling.

This is me, coming home.

The universe and I have been getting along. I'm going to be very happy here. But I am able to come to that through all my good fortune along the way. It is entirely thanks to the gorgeousness, the utter human warmth I have received at every juncture. The success of my trip has little to do with me, in contrast to how much it has to do with the tremendous people who helped to make every moment rich with magic, adventure and spirit. Yeah, y'all know who you are. There is no way for me to accurately express the vastness of my appreciation for your utter cool. Yes, I have accessed a great deal about myself through this experience – clarifying the way I want to live my life, for example (in constant openness and celebration, seeking out the good always). But would I have come to that without all the kindness and generosity and welcoming and friendship I have benefitted from through my travels? I'm kinda doubtful. It's all you, dudes. I had so many fears of the immense alone-time I would have throughout this trip, but in the end, I had so much enriching human contact that I never really felt lonely, or even alone. This trip turned out to be just as much about people as it was about places.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. I believe in everything.

--------------------------------
In Addendum:
After a bit of thought on the matter, I just wanted to let you know I've decided not to call it quits on the blog, but to continue to chronicle my adventures as they unfold here in California. I doubt I will besiege you with quite as much imagery and text per post, as I have been doing until now, but I will try to post something every day or two. So, if you'd care to, you're welcome to stay tuned as I discover the west coast. To my handful of regular readers…thank you. Thank you for keeping up with these digressive accounts of my experiences, for taking an interest in my exploits, for tolerating too many images, for your sweet, kindly comments and for being the delightful people you are. Really, I don't say it often enough. You're great, and thanks for letting me enjoy you. I really do.

the rhythmic landscape of a colossal chasm

2008-06-14T02:47:00.005-07:00

I am waking up to a new kind of magic. It is surprisingly quiet, paced and full of absorbing introspection.

I arrive in Flagstaff very late at night due to a tardy train. My uncle has put me in touch with Elias Butler, a friend of his who is a photographer and has written a book about the grand canyon. Does it get more ideal? Nope. Unfortunately, the day I am arriving is his birthday. Though he insists to me via email that he never celebrates his birthday, I remain concerned about wasting his day. Nonetheless, we make arrangements to meet at the train station. I warn him about all the delays I have experienced to date, and encourage him to call the station to get informed about delays. The train is, of course, tardy, as has become the norm for my Amtrak experience. The three hour delay puts me in Flagstaff after midnight, and I find that he has been waiting for quite some time. I feel terrible. I rarely indulge in regret, as I believe it is usually a hinderance and not a help (I believe that replacing regret with appreciation for a lesson learned is usually the best way to go). But in this case, I can't help but feel awful, to have wasted this gentleman's time on his birthday. Thankfully, he mentions he spent the time getting errands done, so I feel slightly less guilty. We spend a couple of hours staying up chatting over hot drinks, and he reminds me so much of my uncle, whose presence I very rarely get to enjoy. He speaks in an unhurried manner that is like a slowly broadening smile.

The following morning, I just barely catch my very early bus to the canyon. The weather is dark, cloudy and rainy and it feels like a worried frown. I have slept rather little, am unshowered and I wonder how this strange day will unfold.

The Grand Canyon is designated as a national park, and there is a designated area where most people come in through: the south tip, where canyon village is located. The vast majority of people that occupy this village are temporary residents such as students who work through the summer. It's very small, has one small grocery store, a bank machine, and a post office. Other than that, it's individual lodges, each of which usually has a restaurant or two, a souvenirs and such shop, and actual lodging. That's pretty much it. Plus lots of campgrounds. Upon arriving, I found a lodge that would hold my bags for the day, and I decided to waste no time in trekking to see me some canyon.

I enjoy writing. I enjoy language. I enjoy how language can knead experiences into tangible, tactile, shared things. But in this particular case, I really don't feel armed with the right language to describe something as epic – something as Brobdingnagian – as this place. Even my images are utterly insufficient.

I began by attempting to hike along the Bright Angel trail, but realize that after about thirty minutes, I haven't looked at the canyon once. This is because I have a wildly disabling fear of heights. I constantly tell myself that the only way to get over the fear is to face it, but it has evidently not worked too well for me to date. So, I get off the path. I must have appeared really ridiculous, gripping the raw stone wall and hyperventilating my way along the trail. Instead, I follow the easiest trail which simply follows the rim along the top, and is paved. Thank goodness. This still proves to be immensely challenging. Quite frankly, I would say that though this is obviously an incredible sight worth seeing, people with heights issues like myself may want to think twice about it. Or bring someone with a spare hand to crush.

This is how I spend the vast majority of my day… just exploring the rim of the canyon. And this is more than sufficient for me. It is not really the best place to go alone. Hikers should always travel in groups, and you are not truly seeing the canyon unless you're hiking down through it. Nonetheless, I have seen far more in this small go than my soul is capable of maneuvering. I do wish I was the type of person who could masterfully blitz the canyon alone, though its obviously not recommended. It would just be incredible to commune with nature alone in the mammoth expanse that is this place. [Editors note: I am only now beginning to come to process what I experienced at the Canyon. It is that immense an experience].

By the time I return to the central area at the south rim, the sun has really propelled its way through the dark weather, and the canyon has become more and more visually overwhelming. But I am also getting lost in it. I am lost in quiet introspection, despite the tourism that surrounds me in throngs.

In fact, that's all I'm going to say about the special magic of the special place, because words just aren't enough.

Beyond the Tracks

2008-06-12T13:06:00.003-07:00

En route to Flagstaff, I am typing away for my blog in the lounge car when a gentleman (with possibly the world's best quaker beard) pauses as he passes me. I gives me a sidelong look, and a wee kooky grin, and drawls, "I never seen no one works that quick on no computer! Heck!" He proceeds to remain in the exact same position, gazing at me. Clearly, he is seeking out some response, but I'm not sure what the correct response is. I simply agree with him about my quick typing, and throw him a smile as he heads back upstairs to his seat. The funny thing about this is that, yes, I am about to admit it to the world… I am a two-finger typist. I can fake decent typing to some degree, but the fact of the matter is that I impressed a dude on a train with my ridiculous two-finger typing. I realize that (due to his and his family's dress and comportment) he may be Amish, which I find confusing. My understanding has always been that the Amish do not use electricity or modern inventions, and thus wouldn't travel on a train. I later read up on the Amish and train travel turns out to be acceptable. In fact, the Amish are not governed by any central power that trickles down decisions and laws, so different communities handle different modern ideas with varying levels of tolerance and usage. Interesting. I wish I would have made an effort to chat with this gentleman. That is a lost opportunity. It is clear to me now, in his open and friendly manner, commenting on what I was doing, he was as curious about me as I him.

Well, this train ride was ultimately over three hours late, so being on the train for some time, I was privy to some intense scenery, and this I will share with you now. Interestingly, because of the dark weather we crossed through, there are some pretty strong window reflections, unusual colourations and strange little quirks in these images. At first, these bothered me. Particularly because the windows of the train are rarely very clean to begin with. But this became a unique detail that shaped my perceptions quite distinctly. Now, I kinda like 'em.

¡Que Bourque!

2008-06-11T12:21:00.009-07:00

I start my Albuquerque adventure by exploring Alb's Old Town. It is enigmatic, gentle and feels like history, but also like capitalization on history. It's so bloody hot and humid out that after a brief period of dragging my bags all over after me, I am compelled to sit in the center of the plaza and people-watch. Behind my bench are a pair of gentlemen playing guitar and singing. We're talking hippi-folk-rock classics. Soon a mother with her child joins in, singing 'backing vocals' and I find it quite neat that clearly she doesn't know these dudes. There's something nice about that.

Evan, my local flickr contact, shows up with his significant other in tow, Sarah, and these two sugarplums tell me of a hidden spot I must see. There is a sort of prayer nook, a little adobe room that is full of little nooks, candles and images of Guadalupe, who is an apparition of the virgin mary, and mexico's "most beloved" religious/cultural image. This dark, quiet space is wonderful… though I'm not religious myself, I really admire faith, and a space like this is full of positivity and rich with hope, and it feels so significant.

We wander through old town a bit and then head along to Sarah's place, where I am offered a lovely and conveniently close to downtown spot to sleep. We decide to go for drinks and snacks at a local bar (was it called Bluebird?) and though I have always been very trepidatious when it comes to tequila, we knock back a few margaritas. It becomes clar quite quickly, that Albuquerque will be a drinking fiesta for me. I don't drink much or often, but in this case, I'm thinking, "what the hey?". Caution into the wind, folks. We progress onward to a local teeny tiny brewpub for local beer and chats and then settle in at home. May I remind everyone how stinkin' hot it is? It's practically unbearable, and this is why we keep rushing back to the a/c of home. Sarah and I decide to have a photo shoot in the bathroom, where the light is magical. When we head back out, it's darker and much cooler, and we start a night of rip-roarious wanton debauchery. Drinking and dancing, bar-hopping galore. Fun is an understatement. Ridiculous, wild and utterly silly, it is just exactly what was called for. At one bar, we discover what Sarah refers to as Harptallica- a harp-playing duo that's covering classic metal. At another we discover some guitar-hero karaoke. We are drinking a mess. Whisky shots and tequila and beer and all sorts of trouble. On our walk home, some young fellers sitting on a stop up the street from Sarah holler over to us, and somehow we all end up at their place knocking back the vodka. This would certainly qualify as the craziest, nuttiest evening of my trip to date. After a rockin' dance party at home, I sleep heavily into the morning.

The following day, we trek through Barelas, a very authentically mexican area of town in order to go for the most authentic mexican brekkie at Barelas Coffee House. This is apparently one of Albuquerque's earliest neighborhoods. Our exploration and walk home is a real treat, uncovering little details and delights, despite the vicious heat. The sun does take a bit of a violent toll, though, burnin' me right up, and we spend the next few hours inside, watching Shaun of the Dead. Sweet A/C relief. It has been so very satisfying, getting to know Evan and Sarah. We really clicked, and our entire time together was laughter and intrigue and delight. How we fit both saucy debauchery, as well as long conversations about the nature of the world… I don't know. We had such great discussions about individuals and how our beliefs are shaped. It all felt right. I'm so psyched I got to have this time with my new-old friends. From here, I head out to the train station, where my next adventure awaits.

City in the Sky

2008-06-08T10:05:00.018-07:00

Plans for the next day are for adventure! David has armed me with an old polaroid, just simply given to me! His kids join us on this day trip southward, and they turn out to be totally awesome. Really, really fun people to hang out with. Elora is in 10th grade, and is a fierce track star. She has the cheekiest sense of humor and it suits me to a T. Even Sweet Pea decides to come along – insists, actually. This first shot is out Dave's backdoor. It feels like the entire southwest exists as his backyard.

We pit-stop at Golden Pride. It's a breakfast burrito kind of place with heavenly green chile everything. YUM. Just down the street, we swing in to check out the Aztec Motel, which is possibly the kitschiest motel one can find. Every wall is a found-art folk-art fiesta. I really must rent a room here next time, just for kicks. Next we take a cool tour of the military base of Albuquerque, which I *think* is called Kirtland Air Force Base. It is giant, and sprawling, and a vast prior Nuclear sort of testing ground zone. Or, perhaps that was primarily a cold-war thing. It is crazy to me that I am having the opportunity to see it. Knowing the right people is the secret to success. The whole place feels extremely James-Bond-esque. It's weird to me to be in the presence of weapons of any sort, let alone this type of stuff. To Elora and Fin, it's clearly old news.

Next on our aim, we are driving through the vastness and deserts southward. Our aim is to hit was is popularly referred to as Sky City – a native-american pueblo that was built on a series of very high sandstone mesa (plateau) in the middle of the desert. Its real name is Acoma. It is the oldest continuously-inhabited community in the USA, and was settled in the twelfth century, approximately. The amazing scenery in the region is basically mind-blowing. It's quite difficult to take it all in. The thing about New Mexico is that you can seemingly see forever. Distances go on and on, and for some reason, you can still perceive them with the naked eye. It is that kind of vastness that makes my heart swell and lets me sway in the still of my immense smallness.

It cost ten bucks just for a camera permit at the Pueblo. Per camera! I found that to be quite unusual, and I wonder how legitimate the reason of 'preservation' is. I suspect it has far more to do with the monetary gain. An interesting part of my experience while touring the Pueblo (one is only allowed to see it by guided tour) is that while I hung back from the group for some photo-ops, some local girls were fooling around and teasing one-another, and I heard one refer to the other, saying, 'you native!'. She said this in a rather derogatory manner… but an accepted-within-the-community kind of way. As though this term is on par with another n-word… it is potentially a negative term, reclaimed by the Native-American people. In Canada, we have mostly replaced the term 'Native-American' with 'First Peoples' or 'First Nations'. I wonder if it is because colonizers originally used the term 'Native' in such a negative manner, that it became recognized to be too potentially derogatory. In itself, it's not a negative term, but I think it was poorly used in our history, and is reflected in these two girls taunting each other. When using the term 'Native' paired with 'American,' I am under the impression that this is the most commonplace term for aboriginal peoples of the United States, but when the American is dropped, I think it becomes a term that only First Nations people can use casually among each other. Interesting, how we infuse language with meaning over time, and how what we consider to be 'PC' changes. It is intriguing, because there remains the use of the term 'Indian' among some tribes and on some reservations, and this term only exists because Christopher Columbus mistakenly thought he'd arrived in India when he first struck North America. To have terminology remain from such a vast mistake is really astonishing to me. I believe there are even some governmental organizations that have retained the term (such as Bureau of Indian Affairs, or others). Are there any First Nations people out there who can contribute their opinion and/or experience to this fascinating topic?

We move on from the Acoma Pueblo and head out to El Malpais National Monument. 'Malpais' means badland in spanish, and I believe this region garnered its name due to the immense coverage of lava that fills the basin that is surrounded by immense white sandstone bluffs. These are where we were. Dave managed to put his knee out while climbing up to a ridiculously high rock for a shot (the things that man will do for a shot), so we didn't stay for too long. Oh, did I mention that I, Jasmine of the infamous terror of heights, climbed the steep path down from the Pueblo? Just wanted to say that, since it rattled me, and thus felt like an accomplishment. I wouldn't have done it if Dave's kids weren't so fearless!

Speaking of being rattled… David has a craziness for snakes. We were just tooling along down the highway, when he was in a striking, sudden panic, and screeched to a stop. We three passengers were convinced we'd blown a tire or something, but as it turns out, Dave simply noticed a snake on the highway and then was terribly concerned he'd run it over. So we went to go check on it, and to his relief, she was okay. He picked her up, and a photo-session with snakey as model was unavoidable.

The drive home was fairly quiet, and felt appropriately so, as all these breathtaking visuals filled all the regions of my brain, basically rendering me incapable of any kind of logical conversation. We ducked into Trader Joe's again to make a big, delicious dinner of green-chile enchiladas. Though some oven-antics unfolded, dinner was delicious, and unexpectedly, was accompanied by watching "Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind," An early (and lovely!) Miyazaki anime film. Again, a unique instance during my trip of a surprising delight. And that was my brimming, cozy Sunday!

The following day, before dropping me off in Albuquerque's Old Town, David had a meeting to get to, so I found myself enjoying a casual morning in the park on the base. Then off we headed to Yasmine's (yeah!) for falafel deliciousness. What a whirlwind tour of far more of New Mexico than I was expecting. I am so delighted to have met not only Dave, but also his kids, who are quite totally awesome. New Mexico was more than gorgeous. It was enchanting and rich with magic.

Happy Tamday!!

2008-06-05T19:41:00.003-07:00

Oh, ps… it's my sister's birthday today. She's very cool. Her name is Tamara. She is far away in Montreal.
Happy Birthday to you, Tam. May your day simply brim with love, joy, delight, and discovery!

Gnarled, Dry Mood of the Vast Southwest

2008-06-05T11:39:00.019-07:00

The train to Santa Fe has me immersed in a sudden brown, dry, gnarled countryside. The Southwest brims with abandoned houses everywhere. It seems that everyone simply leaves junk everywhere, almost as though it is a cultural, social phenomenon that helps locals belong. Abandoned cars and other vehicles are all over the place as well as everything else. It would seem that anywhere and everywhere qualifies as a junkyard in New Mexico. But this is good, somehow, to balance the wildly blue sky – a sky that looks as though it is permanently polarized.

The ubergenerous David, a Flickr contact who lives between Santa Fe and Albuquerque, waits for me at the train station, but doesn't recognize me. This surprises me, as I have a handful of selfies on flickr. Do I look the same in real life? I think so… I've actually been stopped on the street by someone from Toronto who recognized me from Flickr. So there you go. Anyway, we first go cruising for photo ops around Lamy, which is a barely-there trainstop in the middle of nowhere. Right across the street from the stop, we find an abandoned church, strangely with a brand-new roof. I quite sincerely could just hang out in Lamy for ages. But we progress to head to Santa Fe and wander through the plaza as well as along Canyon Road, the famed gallery/artsy area. The light is very diffuse, and this is apparently out of the ordinary for New Mexico. So I take full credit for bringing it. It is a treat to get to know Dave over this period of time. In fact, my whole Santa Fe experience with him feels a great deal like sharing quiet moments. It's lovely. I don't know what I expected Dave to be like, but no matter, I am surprised. The progress of his life and career path are so unusual and intriguing. To go from a hippie organic farmer to a nuclear physicist for the American government is rather unlikely for most.

When we head out of Santa Fe, we stop at Trader Joe's, which is incidentally Scott's favourite grocery stop as well… it's like a cross between a big ol' mega grocery store, and a wee organic health food shop. It's way cool. Dave stocks up on delectable food, and refuses to let me contribute anything to the fold. Which is unfortunate, for as many of my friends know, I'm not quite the best in the kitchen, so my later contribution is rarely great. The drive home is majestic. No, that's an understatement. The experience of driving home is utterly heavenly. The scenery of New Mexico is simply stunning, and as Dave lives kind of in the boonies, we get these incredible, cinematic long roads and cow-riddled countryside. We even stumble across this great diner area, which Dave announces was not there a day previous. It's actually a movie set. There's that unique notion of 'authenticity' again. But, to dinner. When we get home, David turns out to be a real foodie, and a great cook. Though I'm never much good in the kitchen, my favourite home moments and shared time always seems to happen in the kitchen. I just like to be put to work on chopping or mixing, or something. I'm pretty handy with baked goods, though.

I meet Fin, a 13-year old, who is such a cool kid. He's clever and crafty and he plays Magic The Gathering, which I seem to remember playing at the same age. I meet Sweet Pea, who rivals Duchess as best dog from my trip. We enjoy a wonderfully lounging dinner that just suits me right. It is delicious and I am unable to eat everything. Too much good food, America! Then, Dave and I have a lovely long chat about everything – relationships, kids, the works. And I realize that this is always my favourite part of any city: the chance to truly build a connection to someone else. Our time is like a warm smile that leaves a lasting sense of comfort. Plus, Sweet Pea curls up at my feet in bed. I sleep like a baby. Life is good.

A From-The-Ground-Up KC Experience

2008-06-02T23:49:00.016-07:00

One day ago, I write to a gentleman whose jazz-history website I found – he is a Kansas City dancer, and with only one day's notice, he builds me an entire KC experience. Seriously. He structures a plan, a schedule for my 24-hours in KC. And it's incredible. I can't believe the kindness and enthusiasm he has, that he would go to that kind of trouble for me, who he doesn't know at all. Gosh, gosh, gosh!

George is a sweet local dancer, who is deeply rooted in the KC jazz scene. He picks me up from the train station and promptly carts me over to this local dingy dive bar (I think it may be called Mike's West Side Blues Bar) in which the most thrilling ongoings are occurring. This is the kind of place you enter from the rear. It is a blues jam and all the musicians are truly incredible. The whole thing is just so wow. I have no words. It's getting annoying, these bloggings of mine, where my loss for words is beginning to sound redundant. Anyway, this bar was incredible. The vast talent was so easy to just get totally lost in. Joining us at this place is the dancer at whose home George has arranged for me to stay. Mischa is a super sweet girl who is cute as a button and all-retro, all the time. Also joining us is Patty, a newish dancer and photographer. We have a wonderfully grungy time at this place, listening to talent that rivals the tone of Billie Holiday, Artie Shaw and Django Reinhardt. I drive home with Mischa, and we cruise all the way up State Line Road, which is, in fact, the state line. This is intriguing to me, as I have always imagine state lines as arbitrarily happening in the desert, or forest… not right in the heart of the city. The real intrigue is that it's a residential street, so the neighbor twenty feet away actually lives in another state. It's quite silly to think about.

The following morning, I meet with Patty, another local dancer (and photographer) that George has arranged for me to have as a tour guide. I was sincerely not kidding about his vast planning. Patty and I scoot downtown to join another dancer for lunch in the plaza, which is surprisingly spanish-style, considering KC is still pretty northwards. I can tell Brenna wants to ask me many questions about my trip and dance traveling, but Patty is a chatterbox, while Brenna strikes me as a fairly quiet person. We have a lovely lunch and I feel full of sunshine to spend it in such lovely company, casually, pleasantly (and deliciously!). After lunch, Patty tours me around the city, and strikes a little fear into my heart as her driving seems to be a little scatterbrained. But I have a really sweet time, and I hope she does as well! We get back home right around the supper hour, and George, now free of work, picks me up, and we head out to a sweet little garden nook and eat at surely the yummiest resto in KC- The Bluebird Café. It had a previous life as an old pharmacy, and the remnants of that give me the utter happies… funny little windowed wooden structures.

As this is a non-stop speedomatic trip, George quickly runs me over to 18th and Vine, the ol' classic neighborhood of jazz in KC. It is here where we visit one of our most important stops: the Mutual Musicians Foundation: a tiny little building where every jazz great from the region was registered as a union member from 1928 onward. I am talking about jazz giants like Charlie Parker, Count Basie and Bennie Moten. It is a strange little building with photographs of everyone from that time bunched together on the walls, but without any indication of who was who. It holds great charm, and is powerful to be in this sweet little space that meant so much to so many. The manager tells a story about how in the '80s they had some work done, and a worker was in overnight, working, when there was a crazy, forceful knock on the door. Eventually the worker was persuaded to answer the door and tell the person that the building was closed for renovations, but the man pleaded saying, "I've driven thousands of miles just to play my sax in this building. I've brought my pianist along, please just let me play." How could he refuse? Once those two got jamming, he was glad he hadn't refused, and stayed up all night to listen. It is an inspiration to have that kind of investment in a place rich with history. Plus, they had a duo playing upstairs, so George and I danced a few in this important place, and felt connected to the past in a quiet, groovy way. If you ever go to KC, be sure to go to this place on the weekend, between midnight and 6 am, as they have all night jazz jams, and it sounds incredible. It is unfortunate that the rest of the neighborhood has fallen into such dismal disrepair. So many of the buildings in the area seem to be condemned.

We then rush over to Marty's Blues Café, which is another funny little dive that feels like it's right out of a film set, where we are to meet and enjoy the music of Lonesome Hank and the Heartaches. Which we do. I love the rockabilly twang in their swing, and their pure and true sound. I wish I'd have had time to pick up their album. But George has actually made me KC cds, and I suspect Hank might be on 'em. Gosh, can you believe someone would go to that kind of trouble for someone they knew absolutely nothing of?! I've experienced southern hospitality, and it is a gorgeous treat: you get to be a pampered guest with polite formal goodness. But midwestern hospitality is different in that it is more like you're a family member. Neat, neat, neat. Last, we cruise over to the local DJed dance to shake our thangs just a little before I need to rush to catch my train. I am amazed at doing so much in such a short period. It's more than I have done in some cities where I've been for twice as long. KC treated me so right, and it was entirely thanks to amazing, amazing people.

Kansas City Here I come.

2008-05-30T14:20:00.006-07:00

The train to Kansas City is scenic, foresty and considerably more lush than I was expecting. I'm tired of these southwest trains that lack outlets, though. I am forced to go to the lounge car and hunt around, every time. If I'm lucky, the one outlet in the car will be free. So, down I head to the lounge, where I meet a strange and cool dude who turns out to be an underage recovering drug addict. Serious drugs, too. He was in Chicago for rehab. He just seems like this fun kid. I enjoy his company immensely. I would most certainly be friends with this dude if we lived in the same city. Except, I suppose, for his major addiction to hard drugs. His name is Joey and he has a snarky, satisfying sense of humor, and it is a welcome opportunity to be snarky together. I have always thought of myself as having a terrible sense of humor, but in the right company, I don't think I'm half-bad.

Actually, you know what, world? I like myself. Mostly, I really like myself. I like the person I have become. I wasn't always a big fan of myself, and I tended to seek out affirmation in my life because of this, I suspect. But I am content, now, and at peace with being me. It's a good feeling. It definitely means chucking out the whole being in denial thing. I am who I am.

When I was in my early teens, I remember telling my mum that I was pretty sure I never wanted children. She was horrified, to say the least, giving me a weepy face and saying, "but you don't understand how special it is to have a life growing inside you!" The whole thing was a bit ridiculous, really, but I think the reason I had drawn this conclusion was that I was not a big fan of myself, let alone people my age, and I can pretty confidently say I was a good kid, overall. I just didn't want to ever have kids figuring that that's about as good as it gets. These days, I'm much less averse to the notion of having children. I suspect, in fact, that it will indeed be in my future (but not too soon… I have a lot of living to do!). This is actually an interesting sidenote example of the whole consciousness thing. Having kids is something we should be really aware of our motivations for. It is such a selfish thing, really. Which doesn't mean it's a bad thing. But when you choose to have children, it's not some selfless act, unless perhaps you're adopting a needy child.

But I've lost track of time, here. The sun has sunk tenderly, heavily into the earth, and Kansas City lays ahead.

Chicago Quickstep in Lincoln Square

2008-05-29T12:25:00.011-07:00

The following day is rainy. Have I mentioned that Chicago is freezing in contrast to everywhere I have been lately? I am double-sweatering. I sleep wayyy in, and hide in the house for a while. In the backyard, I discover a treasure trove of goodness. First, Toronto brickery! Photographers from the T-dot are all familiar with Toronto's Brickworks, a now-defunkt-and-abandoned giant brick factory that is a haven for urban exploration photography. So, this brick was obviously made there. Just a funny little find. Next, gnome-central! And bunnies and birds, and the works. And this isn't some sort of kitschy cleverness… these are Tessa's landlords – a 70-year-old German couple. Totally authentic. Next, I head out to explore Lincoln Square, a cute little neighborhood, with a nice wear to it. Unexpected delights abound here. For example, it has an old Apothecary. I didn't think they existed anymore! I am charmed by this neighborhood, and quite content to be exploring it alone. I have truly embraced being alone on this trip, and I need to say – I'm quite fond of my company. ;) I spend the day simply allowing Chicago to seep into my skin. In the evening, Tessa joins me and we return to Lincoln Square where she needs to return a book to the Library, and I am compelled to remark on the differences here from libraries I am accustomed to. I admit it, I haven't been to a public library in a couple of years, but I have spent quite a bit of time in university libraries, and we don't have entire sections devoted to books with large type. I wonder if this section of Chi-town is comprised of primarily elderly people... as these certainly weren't children's books. We move on and get ice cream from Cold Stone Creamery, and the things are crazyhuge. I earnestly believe I ate about a quarter of my giant, delicious, fattening cone. How do you Americans do it?!

The dancing on night number two is even spiffier than the first, but the quality is also further improved, and the cover price is worth it. The audience isn't as gold-diggin' as the previous night, though… but the patrons who aren't swing dancers are definitely beyond middle-aged, and definitely affluent. But what's funny is that in a different section of the place, there is some sort of phi-kappa I-don't-know-what sorority thing going on, so every so often, ridiculously drunk college kids tumble onto the dance floor to attempt to not injure their partners and everyone around them. Sigh. Actually, at one point, Andy, the dude I'm dancing with sees a couple of them that look really helpless, so we split them up, and each of us ends up trying to give their confidence a little boost. It was quite nice, actually. The gentleman I was helping turns out to have recently done some train traveling through the states as well, and this is of course a thrill for me to discuss our perspectives on the matter. Anyway, again I dance my ass off. Again, I feel great. What else can I say that won't bore non-dancers? Nothin'. After dancing, we join Andy for a late-night-bite at a local eatery called the Pick Me Up Café. I love it. This little hole-in-the-wall may be my fave Chicago experience yet. This would be my primary hangin' spot were I to live in Chicago. It's interesting to chat with Andy, as he is apparently a staunch republican, and very conservative. He discusses America's health-care system and proposes that in actuality, though few would see it this way, it is more socialist in structure than we realize. I'm still trying to get my head around it. But anyway, he was most definitely not a fan of the Canadian health-care system, and since I rather am, I was pretty surprised. This is the first time I've met someone in my travels who has said anything negative about Canada's health care. Friends, I will admit to you here that I usually just take it for granted that the people I spend time with share similar politics to my own. I don't know why, I should know better than to make grandiose assumptions. But I always expect that when I get on really well with someone, we'll share similar politics and beliefs. This trip has been a great reminder that that is a silly notion of mine. I have been encountering a great deal of individuals with beliefs quite contrasting to my own, and this really makes me very happy. It's so much more interesting to hear someone disagree with things that you start to take for granted, as it forces you to sit up and be more aware and conscious about your choices and beliefs.

In any case, Tessa and I are fortunate enough to get a lift back home from Andy, and I realize I really didn't make as much use of my 3-day metropass as I could have. But this is irrelevant, as my time in Chicago was quite well-spent. Though I didn't run around the city doing "big" things, or seeing many "big sites," Chicago was what I needed it to be… relaxing, no pressure and familiar. I will have to return to Chicago in the future to get more of the music scene it boasts, though. The dancing was generally of a higher caliber than I have been experiencing on my trip so far, and that was a real treat. I don't think it is a dance-city I'd want to settle in, though, as scenes that big make for a lack of friendly familiarity that I am already promised to get in San Diego.

Blah, blah, blah, enough dance talk. Thanks, Chi-town, see you on the flip side.

Come On! Feel the Illinoise!

2008-05-28T08:33:00.011-07:00

So, Chicago looks good. Seriously, everyone is just better dressed and put together here than everywhere I've been lately. It reminds me of Montreal. This city looks a bit like a large version of Montreal… but just – more American, somehow. I need coffee and a quick internet connection to get some info from my email account. Starbucks it is… and it sounds like they're playing Ron Sexsmith! Canada represent! I'm getting to know Starbies too well lately. This is unfortunately a travel commonality. They're everywhere and I have free internet access with them. Convenient. le sigh.

Chicago as a city seems to have a unique attitude. It is a cockiness, a friendly cockiness. It's warm, and welcoming, but also slightly overly self-confident. I receive this behavior from enough different people in different places for it to go unnoticed. It's something I would expect to annoy me, but I find it kind of charming, but I suspect that if I lived here, I'd be quite bothered by it after a while.

My first day in Chicago is about speedy excitement. The bustling action at the train station is a little nutty, But I eventually manage to drag my bags to the nearest El-train station. The El is short for elevated, and these trains run primarily above major streets. It turns out to be a fabulous way to see the city! It's a unique perspective, as the vast majority of the view is right at rooftop level. There is something weirdly romantic about the chimneyscape of it all. I get to my stop and meet Tessa, a local dancer who is kind enough to put me up for two days. Her home is very college-studenty. It's a lovely old victorian building that is mish-mashed and rather haphazard. There is stuff everywhere, and I feel somehow like I've been to this place before. Itching for adventures, I set out on my own, and ride the rails around the city. I decide to stop and see Millennium Park. This expanse is quite a unique park, and I am particularly preoccupied with the unusual fountain they have; clearly an art installation/fountain playground. These two giant rectangular structures are tiled and water runs down them and spouts from them occasionally. Between these structures lays a 2-inch-high, 100-foot-wide bed of water. It is all about takin' off them shoes and kickin'! There is of course the infamous mirrored-bean as well, but it feels a bit more dull to me, somehow… I don't feel very capable of seeing it in a new way than what has already been photographed. I simply soak in the park, then wander around downtown and get to know chicago. It feels so brownstone, so industrial and so confident.

In the evening, I rejoin Tessa, and we do the classic Chi-town deep-dish pizza. I am capable of eating exactly one slice. Seriously, it's crazytalk, the size of these things. I sure do give that one slice a good home, by golly. When we wrap up, a local dance is calling. Chicago is great for having opportunities to dance every night. But this place is quite ritzy! It's called Martini Park, and jeans are outlawed. It is très spiff. The band is okay. I remark on the nature of the people (discluding dancers) frequenting this place: seemingly entirely older men with money, and younger women who are hunting for 'sponsorship'. I get true dance satisfaction at this place, and it's nice to be back in a dance scene brimming with activity. Though, an unfortunate thing about large scenes like this one is that few people seem to know one another. Anyway, we make a few friends, dance our butts off, and sleep well!

A Severe Lack of Blue Suede Shoes

2008-05-27T09:29:00.015-07:00

I don't know precisely how, but I managed to skip Graceland. It's seemingly because I am such a go-with-the-flow kind of girl, and the flow simply didn't take me there. Well, the locals said that it should be a lesser priority. And this trip has been about taking advice and recommendations and just letting America flow through me as it sees fit. Instead of rockin' the jailhouse, I headed into town and wandered around the core. I took the trolley, which is supposed to be this exciting feature, particularly for visitors. I believe it's meant to feel very retro. But it's humourous because it was only built in the '80s. Silly. Anyway, firstly, I focused quite a few hours on the American Civil Rights Museum. It was incredibly dense with information, and generally very overwhelming, but I feel fortunate to have broadened my understanding about black history in America. These are just important things North Americans should know, and I'm quite appalled that I had no exposure to any of this in high school. God, I went to a really pathetic high school. I'm embarrassed at what little knowledge I had about America going into this experience. In any case, I was quite moved by my experience at the museum. Oh, did I mention it is located in the Lorraine Motel, the very place where Martin Luther King Jr was shot and killed? They have even preserved his room. This is an interesting issue here, apparently, as there was a booth setup across the street from the museum very actively insisting that folks reconsider supporting the museum. They seem to feel that it is in terrible taste to have built it through this motel, and are fighting to boycott it. I'm not sure what my feelings on the matter are. I just think this conflict is an interesting reflection of some of the progress and debates that I read about in the museum… such as the different tactics and approaches to producing change. I wasn't allowed to take my camera into the museum, hence the lack of interior imagery.

After the museum, I explore the downtown core. Wandering through the city, I am able to note what Heather has told me of Memphis: the stark contrast between pockets of affluence and squalor right beside one another. I end up back on Beale street, and I am really stuck on the fact that a great deal of the facades of buildings on this street have been maintained… but just the facade. What I mean to say, is that the rest of the building has been cleared out, but the facade has been kept, though supported by all sorts of steel beams and whatnot. I wonder as to if they felt that preserving the facades themselves would maintain some sort of Beale Street authenticity. Because, I have to say that the major steel frames, supporting the building's old outer frame really sort of ruins the thing for me. But, from another perspective, it is an entirely intriguing thing unto itself. Anyway, this is where I discover a photographic gem: A. Schwab. This is apparently Memphis' oldest store… since around 1885 or something. In Toronto, we have a store called Honest Ed's which is like this giant maze of ridiculous, cheap junk… and to me, it now appears to have been modeled after A Schwab, to some degree. This is a large structure, withering in all the right ways. Vintage in ways it isn't even aware of. The best thing about it for me, though, was that they have a middle level between the first and second floors, in which they house vintage objects. They call it the museum section, but everyone's welcome to touch and mess about with all the objects on display. Which is wonderful, because it lends these objects a unique kind of power. Basically, I drooled through this entire area. The whole store really had an authenticity to it, though, which delighted me. But then again, 'authenticity' is a loaded term. What I guess I mean to say is that nothing in the store felt like it was pretending to be vintage or old or used… it seemed natural. In fact, weirdly, very little felt like it was targeting tourists, which was unexpected, and quite satisfying.

So I toured the downtown core instead of actually doing anything concrete. I toyed with the idea of going to the rock & roll museum & stax, among other 'destination' places… but I don't know. I just wanted to kick back and soak it all in. This trip hasn't been about 'packing as much in as possible' as it has been about immersing myself into a place: just being really present in it. All visuals, all sounds… I brought an ipod on this trip, and the only time I've used it has been on the train. There is just so much to be enveloped in everywhere I go.

I met back up with Heather, and we headed over to the university where she teaches free swing classes. And I was guest teacher, with her partner, Rob. It was interesting to see how they approach structuring their classes (quite casually). I had a great time. I love teaching… way more than I ever expected I could. I don't know if I would love teaching anything else as much, though. Teaching dance, the physicality of it, and the energy – those are hard to beat. But I will be a disappointed girl if there isn't some way I can instruct in San Diego. I simply find it an immensely fulfilling experience to share something that brings me such joy. Especially to those who don't think they can dance, or think they have no rhythm. Connecting to other people in this way brings me a much greater or speedier feeling of success than I typically get out of say, a normal design project. I just don't want to step on any toes in SD – it's a small community, and I think I could very quickly rub people the wrong way if I was to go about it incorrectly.

After class, Heather drops me off at the train station, and I remark on how fabulous it is that she didn't know me at all, not one little bit… yet we were able to share such a sweet, brief period. She is really an incredibly sweet person, and I am glad to have had this strange Memphis experience with her. To be noted: There was no train at the train station… there was a big sinkhole collapse right by the tracks recently, and thus, we were all bussed out to the middle of nowhere to get on the train. A strange experience, to say the least. Anyway, Chicago adventures were calling. No sleep was managed in coach, but dawn was utterly beautiful. And suddenly, Chicago.

Walking in Memphis

2008-05-26T09:56:00.016-07:00

What a cheesy title. Who could resist it, though?
I am livin' it up in Memphis, and it isn't at all what I expected. I spent my first day in this city in a most unusual and yet delightful manner. Well, first things first. I arrived laaate at night, and Heather, a sweet-as-pie local dancer took me in, having never heard of me until my email plea. How cool is that? Heather lives sort of out in the 'burbs. But the vast majority of Memphis appears to be 'burbs. We pulled up to this grandiose, classically-Memphis sprawling home, and before I could say, "um, you live here on a grad school budget?!" we passed through to the back of the house, where we pulled up to a most quaint little house. Many of these grand memphis homes have these little backyard houses that were used as servants' quarters. And that is where I am staying. Neat. Esspecially neat is this bumper sticker Heather has stuck in her mirror… tell me that's not fate or destiny, or meant to be somehow (for those just joining us, I blogged about this phrase after DC or so).

Heather has a cat who likes to be spanked. I am not kidding. I am being totally serious. You don't believe me, but these fingers ain't lyin'! Her cat gets on her cat-contraption, wraps her arms round the pole and assumes the position. She will even whimper at you to get you to start, or if you stop. I cannot express my bewildered glee, watching this go down. We spend the end of the evening talking cats, and comparing notes. The next day, I'm just rollin' with things… and it turns out Heather has planned a play-date between her cat and her friends' cats. I kid you not. Her friends are from northern China and we are there not only to play-date, but to learn to cook authentic Chinese food. Though I will admit that this isn't at all what I was expecting from my Memphis experience, it is a delightful surprise that I enjoy very much. The food is yummy (and vegetarian!) and the company is very sweet. There are some language issues, but nothing too troubling.

When we get home, Heather's landlord and her kids are playing in the yard. Heather casually invites the kids over to do some shrinkydink. Good gracious am I in love with this sweet little craft! You draw something on special paper, then bake it, and it shrinks, but also expands vertically and hardens. My, how Memphis brings utterly unexpected delights. Especially after we wrap up and head out downtown, where i get to look in on classic things, like the Gibson guitar factory (pictured). Then we head to Albert's, where we dine and enjoy an 18-piece (if not larger) big band, sitting before a vast neon sign that reads Stax: a most totally classic label from the region. My personal favourite Stax artist (well, subsidiary artist) is Otis Redding, if that gives you a little sense of stax. So, now I meet other dancers in the region. They're all friendly and positive, but the scene is largely very young and inexperienced. Well, actually, apparently some of them have been dancing for a long time, so perhaps I need to rephrase. The quality of Memphis dancing suggests to me that despite a city rich with glorious music, it's just not a city that;s focused on dance improment. I get the impression that few people travel to workshops and general exchanges very often… perhaps this is a contributor to the lack of growth in the scene. I think this scene is simply more focused on going out and having fun. Which is actually quite a breath of fresh air. It just seems such a shame to miss out on all the fabulous music that such a city has to offer (by having a teeny dance scene where the potential for a huge one exists). Weirdly, Albert's is full of ballroom dancers. Hm. No matter, we have a grand ol' time doin' our thang. One particular gentleman is a vulgar chaplin named Justin. Interesting. Memphis is actually in the bible belt, which I didn't realize, and the church excessive showiness is quite daunting. They have jumbotron screens where they show church-related advertisements during sermons. Woah. Memphis is sprawling and mini-urban and vast and not really the white-washed-stuck-in-the-50s-place I imagined it to be. After we wrap up at Albert's, we hit the Cheesecake Spot, which is rather heavenly. I have apple-pie-cheesecake, and I melt into a heavenly oblivion. It is possibly the best cheesecake I have ever had the good fortune to consume. The ambiance is gentle and sophisticated, but casual and lovely, and matches my mood quite perfectly. But the best part of Memphis comes next.

Ernestine & Hazel's is an old whorehouse. Forgive the expression – but that's what the locals call it. It has been around for ages, and looks the part. It is now a jazz/blues jam session bar, and so very exactly what I would hope to find in Memphis. Ernestine ran the saloon/bar downstairs, and Hazel, the … err… activities upstairs. When we arrived, upstairs was closed off, but the very sweet Justin spoke to the owner on my behalf and we got a look-see. These rich blue cracking walls and musty nooks and crannies simply sang at me, like a vocal choir. This place is fantastic. So much so, in fact, that Ray Charles had a permanent room in the place, where I imagine he benefitted from said 'upstairs' activities as well as a whole lot of drug use. And it has been entirely preserved, naturally. IE, it's simply gone untouched. Gosh. It has retained everything, and holds some raw magic, and I felt so lucky to behold it all. Everything is falling to pieces in just the right way. I don't have the words for this place… mostly just gutteral noises.

Downstairs, I might add that the jamming was truly stupendous. There was such a strangely exciting mix of musicians, and some were very obviously underage kids who were ridiculously talented. The place could barely hold everyone. They just jumped in and out of the jam, and it was magic. We danced to 20-minute-long crazy, beatniky jazz songs, and I felt the world rise up inside me and it was good. It was a perfect cozy Sunday.

Elvis, here I come.

2008-05-25T13:24:00.001-07:00

I am sitting on the train, and listening to passengers in front of me debate Memphis vs. Nawlins. It's interesting to hear locals' takes on the matter. Now they're talking about pralines, crabs, the recession and how "now we're all indentured servants. Slaves used to be black, but now we're all slaves."

We pass through a city I believe is called Yazoo and it seems to be practically a ghost town. I wish desperately I could get off the train and explore these streets lined with empty buildings. I head to the Lounge car to plug in, and next to me, there is a rather loud conversation in which the n-bomb is dropped every second word. The fellow talking loudest suddenly announces, "if you made for school you ain't made for the street. If you made for the street you ain't made for school." I sit here for a while, uploading images, and I people watch. It is hard to ignore the obesity problem from this position, here in the Cross-Country Café. It's dark out, and I should be working on the flyers for the woman who's putting me up tonight, but there are no more outlets on these trains.

Wonky Anglification

2008-05-24T09:17:00.012-07:00

Friday in NO is ridiculously wonky, as we're stupidly tired from our previous evening's antics, and Robert still has a workday ahead of him. The puppy ate my shoe, which is annoying. Good thing I picked up these cheap sneakers. He drops me off on Magazine street where I can explore the city on my own for the day. Something I find utterly appealing and silly is the nature of the french used in New Orleans. Magazine street is an anglified version of the term, 'magazin', which means 'Store' in french. But it is pronounced like magazine, the book-form object. There are a million french names and words in place in this city, but they are so wonkily anglified that if I pronounced them correctly, no one would have any idea as to what I'm talking about. I find this charming in a silly way.

I set out on foot, and make my way through innumerable districts and areas, all immensely historic. I am enthralled by some of the destruction and wear and tear due to Katrina, and primarily follow that through the city. I particularly enjoy the Riverwalk area, but overall, it is an incredibly hot, muggy day, and I'm sleepy enough to feel a little dazed as I explore this soulful place. And it feels okay – it feels like that's how it's meant to be. Granted, it is ridiculously humid and hot. I end up in the french quarter milling about, and I am delighted that this is not where we spend our evenings. Cat calls a-plenty and lots of classic drinks, the signature N-O drink unfortunately called "Hurricane." Repeatedly, young rap/r&b kids are on the street trying to sell me their homemade rap cds. I help myself to a virgin daiquiri to cool down and wander north to find some sort of park to sit in and cool off in some shade and read some more On The Road. I must admit, this is exactly the right book for this trip, and I have been trying to draw it out and make it last the whole trip, but I have a feeling It'll be done by Chicago. I'll find something new there.

Now, Friday is where it's at in Nola… we return to the Spotted Cat this evening to catch the New Orleans Jazz Vipers, who are one of the best jazz bands to see live. Man, they really wail. Ohhh, they are a dancer's delight. The place is CRAZY packed, though. Everyone is sweaty as hell, but oh-so exuberant. Lisette, my hostess when I was in town years ago comes out and it's such a treat to see her. I make several new friends, and am just totally charmed by the sweetness of the dance experience of New Orleans. When one club's band takes a break, everyone just wanders down the street to a different one. Just get a walking cup for your beer and off you go. We listened to some great music, had some great dancing, and everyone goes to some trouble to put me in touch with potential connections for my travels. One fellow named Jody actually goes to the extent of calling a friend in Memphis on my behalf. Geez! All my dances on this great night are joyful, despite the challenge (and pain) of dancing on concrete. My legs are definitely suffering for it the following day. But the music is just so bloody good, everywhere! I cannot recommend more the Jazz Vipers. Hot Damn. We stay out until the middle of the night, despite being ridiculously tired. Life is good.

Saturday is a casual day at home with the dogs, since my train is an early afternoon train. It's nice to just chat and relax. Robert tells me I have good energy. Pondering this, I wonder if I have always had good energy. I kind of think no. But if this is indeed the case, I'm glad that I have changed this fact about myself, and I believe it's experiences like these that enable this. But I think that overall, I have mostly always been a happy person, and I celebrate all people who celebrate happiness. Robert tells me he "loves people," and I counter with, "I love good people." But I now wonder, should I expand that idea? The more love, the better for mankind, no? I don't know. I'm realizing that I'm really a go-with-the-flow kind of person. I hope this makes me easy to spend time with. I certainly know it makes a trip like this easier. Though I am traveling with various gadget luxuries (laptop, external drive, dslr, ipod, etc), I really don't think I'm very high-maintenance outside of these gadgets. I hope I am not. As long as I can charge these items (and most trains have outlets these days) then I'm a happy camper.

New Orleans was an easy place to be, with good feelings all-around. I really felt like I was experiencing the lap of luxury here. I have twelve days of exploration left, and I am feeling so thoroughly satisfied.

Fierce Soul in the Big Easy

2008-05-23T11:12:00.011-07:00

New Orleans is such a soulful city. Having been there previously, I already had certain notions of it, but I really wasn't sure what to expect, due to Katrina. We rolled in, and I certainly was able to recognize the immediate difference in the urban landscape… but was delighted to note the level of freshness of so much, despite the decay of so much. This city is full of fighters, and rebuilding is full of hope and promise. Though, three years later, I imagine many of the residents are angry at the level of work currently in place. Anyway, it was neat to speak to different people from New Orleans on the train and in the city, as clearly there is an influx of people coming back. I quote one gentleman I met: "It's home. It's just home. It's where we belong."

Robert, my host with the most, picks me up at the train station, and proceeds to not let me pay for anything for the rest of my trip. This man is the image of southern hospitality and gentlemanliness. These experiences I'm having simply would not be in the same realm of coolness, without wonderful people like these– people who seek to celebrate your arrival and show you joy in their cities. America is not liberty or justice or independence. It is not fast food or fried food or walmart or car-culture. America is people. Coming to a city that was so recently ravaged and traumatized, you don't expect to find this level of joy. I have felt this immense, weighty guilt deep within me since after Katrina – these wasn't just an imaginary place, but somewhere I'd been, and in which I'd developed brief relationships with good people. I felt so distant and helpless, but it was worse to know that I'd lost all contact information for the wonderful people I'd befriended. I felt like a real jerk. Then the media forgot about Katrina, and moved onto "Bigger, Better, Newer" things… and it was easy to disregard that sad regret inside myself. And that's bad. The only step I'd taken to regain touch with any of these people was to ask a friend about contact information. He never replied, and I never pressed him. Dear, sweet New Orleans – for that, I'm truly sorry. But what wonderful warmth with which I was greeted, despite this inaction on my part.

Robert's home, I had seen very briefly several years ago, but now I get the full experience – a huge house, a pool, even a hot tub (who on earth needs a hot tub in New Orleans?!). But the best part? The dogs! Glorious, glorious doggies! If you know me well enough, then you know that because of this, I'm tumbling with enough joy that if I never left his house during this period, I'd still be a happy camper. Duchess is his, sweet, well-trained, but full of energy and utter cuteness. She likes to make out. She's a kissin' machine. We play frisbee catch, and she rocks it. There's also a new addition to the family: Robert's roommate had adopted Saint, a sugarplum who's still a youthful troublemaker. But sweet as sugarpie, nonetheless. I bask in the dogness of it all.

We hit the Marigny for the evening, Frenchmen street, to be precise. This is sort of like locals' Bourbon Street. It's zero tourists, but all good music, and everyone pours out of the best clubs and into the streets and just dances there. I mean, that's… well, that's just exactly right, y'know? It turns out that Robert doesn't drink, which is really a welcome idea for me, except that it's a rather unexpected characteristic to have in the Big Easy. We start at the Spotted Cat, but the sound quality is kinda poor, so we move down the street to Apple something or other, where it's a little more country-rock 'n' roll. The music is really excellent, and there's the old, incredibly sauced dude with a giant hounddog that makes the whole scene complete. We see a few people Robert knows (he pretty much seems to know everyone) and chat with them a while. For some reason, there's almost nobody in there, and we get to dance to our own private band. And they're loving that we're shakin' our things. I should have gotten their name. We get home WAY too late, but we still get a little puppy time before lights out. Talk about a great evening. Just what the doctor ordered.

The World Tumbles By

2008-05-22T14:12:00.004-07:00

I have now been on this train for fifteen hours, and can expect about four more. Prior to this, I spent six hours in Greensboro, two hours on the train prior to that, eight hours in Raleigh, and nine hours on the train prior to that. Neither of these cities were deliberate choices for me, and after brief explorations of both, I was ready to hit the road. They were both too middle-of-the-ground suburban… neither offered me anything I hadn't seen before. Greensboro was interesting in that it felt like a very carefully controlled and executed city – as though they were a bit too big for their britches, somehow. Lots of pomp, but little to support it. I did get a damned fine cheesecake, there, though, and I recommend it if you're forced into a layover like mine.

My first experience in first-class sleeper cardom has been quite lovely. All meals are included, and having a realish bed to sleep in meant that I actually feel well-slept today. In these circumstances, I found the rocking of the train to be helpful to sleeping. I'm very glad I shelled out a little extra to do this. I can't imagine the people who suffer in coach from New York to New Orleans, let alone longer stretches. I'd go nuts for that amount of time. This privacy is a relief, and I am truly wrapped up in the American landscape today.

What I am seeing reminds me of how incredibly rich I am. I wonder about the individuals that live in barely-towns like the ones that pass before me. I wonder if they've ever lived away, or even thought of living away. I wonder if their grandparents' grandparents always lived in this region. It occurs to me that they were probably slaves. That's another thing that recently occurred to me. There is quite possibly some slavery in my own history. The name Fitzwilliam is obviously of British, or potentially Irish descent. When I was in Peterborough (a little city not too far from London), there were entire Fitzwilliam estates and establishments. Now how would my Trinidadian grandfather come by a name like Fitzwilliam? I can only guess that in a small country colonized by the British, it may have been through slave trade, as slaves often took their "masters'" family names. I should inquire to my grandfather about what he may know of this, in his family's history. It is not something I have ever heard about before, but I really wonder how else my family would have ended up with this historical name. Unless there was just some white marriage in their history. Which seems somewhat unlikely. Well, I can say that I am very pleased to have a rich mix of cultural history in my family, and I am ashamed I don't know more about the backgrounds from which I have stemmed. My grandmother is from Venezuela. My other grandfather is from Lithuania. My other grandmother is of Russian origin, I believe, though her family settled in Canada before she was born, if I am not mistaken. This is to be a new focus of mine. Hear this, world. I intend to spend more time speaking with my grandparents about our heritage and history. They have lived such exciting lives – lives that children of today could never possibly wrap their heads around.

At lunch, I sat in the dining car with a lovely woman named Leona Burrell who seems to be a curator of a Louisiana Underground Railway museum. It was a treat to hear her travel stories, and her excitement about relaying a grandiose trip she and a friend took to tour the historical route of the underground railways, all the way into Canada. She was very sweet, and strangely, is the third person now to point out my freckles. She actually said, "I love your freckles!" as she sat down to lunch with me. I hadn't realized my freckles are so pronounced. I really do look more Irish than my heinz-57 background. Maybe It's all the walking in the sun. Anyway, I didn't have my camera handy, but I do so wish I'd been able to take her photograph – she had such a sweet, regal soul.

Now, I am en-route to Nawlins, where the delightful Robert is meeting me, and going to show me the town. At first I was quite hesitant about spending much time in New Orleans, as I've been before, but now I really am glad to have set aside this time. My trip is basically halfway complete, guys. Wow. I was feeling a little kvetchy last night, waiting, waiting, waiting all day long, but now I'm reminded of how quickly this time passes. I thought this long train ride would prove to be quite tedious, and wondered how I'd fill my time, but I'm actually very content with this slow pace of simply looking.

Shout out to my mates at OCAD who are currently just polishing their set-up for the grad show that I am in the process of missing. May it go fabulously, may you all find excellent jobs and immense success in everything, always. :)

[ps: sorry about the perhaps disconcerting tense of my entries. Some, I write in present, some I write in past… perhaps I should start up with future, and then we'd really have a ball.]

Electric Buzzing with the Southern Express Blues

2008-05-21T17:13:00.007-07:00

Here I sit in Greensboro. Where, you say? Why, Greensboro, North Carolina, of course! It's this small little city that thinks it's larger than it is. It has a certain peachy sweetness about it, but it also seems ridiculous that is has three high-rise buildings, and thus, thinks its a big city. It has a far larger train station than any of the other southern places I have passed through the last while. Strange, that. I did find a few gems within this town, though. Anyway, it is simply an unintentional layover. Five hours in this small city. Following the eight-hour layover in Raleigh, I'm realizing this whole shebang is beginning to take its toll. I feel quite pleased with myself for shelling out the extra dough on a sleeper car, as I'll be on this final train for approximately 18 hours. All in all, including these layovers, I will have been just shy of two full days through this segment. That is entirely crazy. That said, it is quite a thrill to discover myself in this: to see what my response is to this situation. You never really know. I'm definitely starting to get a little stir-crazy. I am relieved to announce, however, that there is an incredibly talented guitaring dude sitting on the bench nearby, strumming music I would just soak in if I could. It is like a flamenco blues. I am drinking it in, thirstily. It helps keep me sane under these conditions… and probably helps the ten other people here frustrated by the layover. I'm going to call this tune the Southern Express Blues. He feels my pain. :)

I wandered around this city helplessly searching for a wifi signal, even going the distance of ringing Scotty to look it up for me. The stir-crazies are no good. Eventually I found something, pulled out my computer, and realized I didn't really have any doing to do online. I want to be on that train, in the bed, sleeping forever and ever. I am meant to be working on a freelance project at the moment, but I'm not sure if I yet have the stamina for it. It will be better after a good night's sleep. This is the first time I've felt lonely/melancholic/fatigued on this trip. I'm pleased to have made it two weeks without feeling these things, but wish it wasn't necessary. I just want to go to bed. And I want the blisters on the bottoms of my feet to heal.

The guitarist extraordinaire has pulled out a video camera and is clearly about to film himself playing. Interesting. It is truly a relief to hear the adept, gentle strumming and rich acoustic tone. It helps me to feel grounded, here. It has lent me focus, somehow. Every time anyone else makes noise, I will them to disappear suddenly and completely. I am inside these blues, and electric buzzing with them.

And he has wrapped up and disappeared. Time for Scott's This Train Is Bound For Glory mix. Something's got to keep me awake. That's my biggest fear for this trip – that I'll manage to sleep through a train, or something. But this mix is rocking my stockings. When this one wraps up, I have Natasha's travel mix to follow with. [ed note: both fabulous!] Thank you, my darlings, for these treats, as they are proving to be a perfect soundtrack to these visuals. I wish you were all seeing them with me.

South, Unfurling

2008-05-21T01:55:00.010-07:00

I am seeing an America. It is a little-leaguing, white-picket-fencing, single-vehicle-firehousing, enclosed-verandaing, backyard-ponding, porch-sitting, lawn-parking, finger-giving, church-going, stick-shift-driving, lucky-strike-smoking America. It is a factory-working, rule-following, walmart-going, popcorn-eating, new-world-old-world-clashing, merry-go-rounding America. It is a jalopy-driving, dusty, rural America, and I wish I was seeing it from more than a railcar window.

I have seen the future.

2008-05-18T23:06:00.003-07:00

I walk all over the city. I wander back through the garden squares and the cemetery. I take photographs of beautifulness. I am proud of retaining my positive energy despite my pissy Irishman. When I get back to the Hostel, he announces he's going to take a bus to the mall to pick up a GPS system, and invites me along. I feel doubtful, probably show this in my face, and he says, "what else are you going to do? Come, you'll find a bag." Sighing, I go with him, and I actually am quite pleased for the bus ride. I've managed a sunburn and major foot blisters and the A/C on the bus is a welcome change. Plus, it turns out that Savannah is almost 20 years in the future! Seriously, this is the bus, dudes. Worth every cent! The Mall is the most expansive ridiculous collection of plazas ever. Yeesh. I ultimately buy a miniature tripod and find a tote. So that's pretty good. It's just weird to think about how it feels clear that this guy doesn't seem to enjoy my company, but yet seems to want it anyway. I guess he'd no one better to hang about with and was kinda feeling lonely. I think it's an awesome feat to cycle the coast, and I find it hilarious that everyone he meets is shocked he's not traveling with a gun. Oh, you Americans kill me.

When we get back we hit the grocery store to pick up some food, head back to the hostel to eat, and Gareth announces he's going to bed. He tells me goodluck and goes away. And that's that. Well, he can go piss up a rope and my mum would say :) Despite his terrible energy all day, I realize that I loved Savannah. It would be an excellent place for a getaway with the one I love. Though the squares as attractions initially seemed a little silly (glorified parks to go with my glorified hostel)… I can now conclude that their charming structure, formality and dignified elegance really do give the city a je ne sais quoi. Also, I might add an important element: Savannah smells like heaven. Pure heaven. I'm guessing it's all the honeysuckle in which the city is wrapped… it made me drowsy and heady with southern mood. The air there is rich and alive, and buzzes with difficult histories, racial tension, intrigue and mystery. So there, Gareth. So there.

These have been long and factual posts. Sorry if they're dull...I must be tuckered out! More excitement is surely on the way, as my uberlong roundabout voyage from Savannah to New Orleans is just around the corner. Lets all dream up how long Jasmine can go without showering!

Keeping Company with A Cynical Irishman

2008-05-18T01:02:00.007-07:00

When I rise on Tuesday morning, a fellow named Gareth greets me in an almost-friendly way. He's the only other guy in the hostel, and cycled up from Miami. He's irish and cycling the states for the summer. He inquires as to my day plans and suggests we bum around the city together, and I think to myself, 'Why not?' though I have this deep-rooted knowledge that it will prove to be a frustrating experience. I shoo this away, as I want this trip to be about not passing up offers and opportunities.

We set out, and he immediately walks us forward, no stopping, wandering or looking. Just straight up to the main drag. He doesn't even look around as we walk through the main city cemetery or the famous Savannah squares. I quickly realize the level of pessimism in him and consider how I might be able to work around his bleak outlook. He makes fun of taking photographs in travel, and indicates that its a waste, and that all tourism habits are ridiculous. I don't deny there is ridiculousness in tourism, but I wonder how long I can stand this dude. Thank goodness he has a pretty accent, or it might've been intolerable. We go for lunch to an eatery that looks the same as every other eatery on the coastal block, and I mention my vegetarianism to him. When we sit, he orders the shrimp crab plate (a forty dollar meal!) and I suspect it is to spite my disinterest in the consumption of meat. Lucky for me, I'm not the type of vegetarian that shrivels at the image of meatiness. Jasmine 1, Irish guy, 0. I am indeed intrigued by the beastly way that the eating of a full crab is approached: break his legs and suck the meat out. It's kind of creepy, but, you know, whatever suits you meat-eaters. Gareth pulls up his claws and plays with them. Our waiter is the truest southerner, jovial hospitality pouring from his ears, and a pure and true accent that makes me smile. I offer to take the photograph of the retirees at the next table who clearly do not know how to work their digital cameras. After the first photograph, each one hands me his or her camera and has me rinse and repeat. I want to giggle, but I don't. I eat a soup and salad and remark on the fact that I do believe I've lost around 10 pounds in the last 12 days. Just walking about and such. I'm not denying myself food, and I'm not denying myself tasty food. So I'm feeling pretty good.

Gareth and I wander about for a fairly short walk, during which he makes snide remarks about what a waste of a visit this is for him. I start to realize I ought to give up trying to be cheerful toward him, as he isn't likely to respond to that sort of thing. We find a wireless café and hang about there for a couple of hours which is a relief. Then we wander down through the main streets and find the Savannah College of Art & Design Shop. Yes, they have a gorgeous local shop to sell the work of students and alumni. It makes me swoon. I am in love with a great deal of the work, but it is art-priced which means that it is not Jasmine-priced. I really find myself responding to this college, and am suddenly curious as to the possibility of grad-school options offered here. The architecture of the school itself is fabulous. I'm saddened to think about OCAD, who pretty much have rejected their entire history and tradition as an art school. I'm glad I am through with it, despite the fact that it was a rewarding experience for me. But the quality of the work being produced there really feels not as far-reaching as some of the stuff in Richmond or at SCAD. Anyway, I was seeking out a larger tote to manage all the things I am trying to carry, as the one Wendy so graciously gave me is looking like it's about ready to split. But I find nothing I can afford. We move on to Forsythe Park, and Gareth stretches out, and clearly has decided to nap. I've managed to get some interesting tidbits about his life, but mostly, his negativity is overbearing and I let him know I'm going to wander west to keep looking for a bag.

I feel full of relief to be rid of him, and interestingly find myself 'on the wrong side of the tracks.' This section of town is most definitely not a tourist haven… things are shut-down, windows and doors are barred, and I get the impression that this is an almost-entirely black and minority neighborhood. I ponder the fact that we America is still wildly segregated in way more ways than it would admit to.

As I walk back North, I notice the visitors' centre here was previously a main town train station. It's truly lovely. It gives me such a deep disappointment when I consider the crappy stations I've been coming through. In Charleston, the old station was vacated and then turned into a visitors' centre. I'm not entirely sure if we've been over this formally yet, but in the south, they closed all their downtown, main, historical stations, and opened up crappy ones in the 'burbs in the early part of the century, due to GM's partial takeover of the railways (in order to oust them slowly). It makes me sigh. I suppose it's a relief to know these building are still being used. My cab driver will later tell me that the Savannah main street station was once condemned years ago, then turned into a racetrack, and then revived as the visitors' centre. Neat.

The Deep, Lush of Savannah

2008-05-16T07:37:00.004-07:00

En-route to Savannah, a young Amtrak employee dude decided to hit on me, but in a rather strange manner – in a mean way, the way grade school boys tease the girls. Isn't it time to grow out of that at twenty-four? Nearby was sitting a comp-sci-turned-med-school student, and those two got into a conversation that every so often involved me. We ended up in a long chat about nothing much. I really couldn't care less about them, but this conductor dude kept insisting we go out for karaoke. Pfft. Suddenly, I'm wrapped in Savannah.

The trees here are absolutely magical, entirely otherworldly (must be the Spanish Moss). I had a hard time imagining all these 'squares' as being any different from run-of-the-mill parks, but somehow they are – they're more symmetrical and formalized, and somehow, have more impact. I want to spend my evening outdoors entirely, but I am told the neighborhood doesn't support ladies walking through parks at night alone. But I so desperately want to explore. This city feels like an adventure. Scott and I are coming back here for a getaway – this I know, and I have been here precisely an hour. The air here is thick, but not with pollution… with a deep, lush summer, a sticky promise of languid repose and the unhurried drawl of late afternoon honeysuckle.

My 'pensione' is a glorified hostel. It is upkept casually, like a low-end motel… and as a guest I feel a bit as though I am disturbing my host be being here, which is a little strange. He has a very New York attitude, but I don't know really where he is from. Sadly, this 1894 building has far more potential than its current state. But it feels like a slight afterthought. That said, I find it charmingly haphazard and unkempt. Kind of like its owner. He is slightly charming in a distracted sort of kinda-creepy way. This place is exactly halfway between the great reviews and the negative reviews, and it entirely depends on one's perspective on the world on making the most of it.

The (few) clouds are hung low here this evening, as though peeking in just to see what the land-ridden are up to. Why, I'm sitting on these old front steps, typing away, of course! I have a feeling that Savannah promises good things tomorrow. It's too bad I didn't entirely have my wits about me for Charleston… but I guess I needed a break from the doing, and so I pretty much hid in that Starbucks for half my visit.

I am sweetly lonely, eve-dreaming about Scott and this life I see expanding before me, practically tangible. I cherish all this alone time. I am proud to have stuck my neck out and chatted with those fellows on the train, but the truth is, I really was just in the mood to be with myself. The timing of this trip really is spot-on for me.

The mosquitos are nipping, so I think this makes it a good time to duck back inside and enjoy the 6 empty bunkbeds in my room. It is almost too much space. I'm just so relieved to have a place to sleep, here! It's quite surprising that no one has opened a real hostel here. This appears to be a city that supports travelers with money, more or less exclusively. Which is to be expected, I guess.

Oh, and dear readers… thank you for reading this. Really, thank you. Your support and interest in my little adventure means more than you realize.

A Charleston Daydream

2008-05-15T02:12:00.008-07:00

I arrive in Charleston at 5:30 am. I don't know what to do with myself, and am so bloody tired from having to sleep beside some random dude on the train. I wonder if it wouldn't be better to just try to catch an earlier train to Savannah. But there is no earlier train. So I wait forty minutes for a cab to arrive, and I head into the city. It is utterly ridiculous that the downtown train station was moved to be out in nowheresville. But this, we've discussed before. I musn't dwell. Sigh. I knew right away Charleston might be a bit of a let-down, and I knew it would be on me. As in, I am responsible entirely for my own fun. And I was okay with that. i needed to recover a little from the wonder that was Richmond.

When I arrived in town, everything was closed. I snapped a few lovely morning bench images, and then realized I ought to find some wireless to figure out where I'd be staying in Savannah. After lugging all my luggage to the closest Starbucks (did I mention there was no place to stash it in Charleston?) I settled in to try to find some Savannah lodging. This ended up taking all morning. Happily, there was a sweet boy sitting in the Starbucks who chatted with me. He worked in the local Library and was studying to be a dentist and that quick exchange of words somehow really made my day. Nice people make me feel nice. He recommended an area to wander around (campus: an utter haven which I am sure the students in Charleston under-appreciate), which I did, but dragging all my luggage wasn't exactly the most fun I've ever had, and eventually after exploring some of the shopping district and then scuzzier neighborhoods (isn't this stencil neat?), I headed up to the visitors centre which was finally open, and assured me there was nowhere to drop off my luggage in Charleston. So, I sat in the park all afternoon armed with some Jack Kerouac and a smoothie, and enjoyed the sun. Rung a cab, hit the station, and I was off to the races again.

–– reminder to those who are less familiar with blogger: If you click on the images I post, you can always see them larger! ––

Cozy Sunday, Richmond-Style.

2008-05-13T15:07:00.021-07:00

Well, first things first, missing from my last post: images of Ansel's. He & Katherine have got Style, yo!

And now, back to our regular programming: just exactly as I would dream it to be, my Cozy Sunday in Richmond felt like a warm, nurturing hug. We started it in utter luxury at the local, slightly posh yumminess that is Can-Can restaurant. It's the kind of place that ordered its 30-foot-long (ish?) zinc countertop straight from France. Every detail in there is exactly perfect. The fans, the speakers, the displays… oh, yum. Delicious beignets remind me of New Orleans, and the omelette is tasty (though not the best omelette I've ever had). The selection of alcoholic everything is impressive and I wonder at being fortunate enough to have this kind of luxury on this kind of haphazard trip. Once again, I am treated to my meal! Oh, how gorgeous it was to be basking in this kind of wonderful hospitality. Gosh.

After our visit there, we explore the architecture museum, for whom Ansel designed the wayfinding. This is a fabulous fact, because we get to tour otherwise inaccessible parts of the building due to being with him. It's like knowing a celebrity. Plus, he had tonnes of interesting tidbits of information about the place that proved delightful. The numbered windows, the origin of the wood carvings… anecdotes about the woman who once ran the rare bookshop from there… yum. We then wander down monument avenue again, with the purpose of ending up at the Marvin Lang building, Ansel's new design studio space. Our stroll proves fruitful in that monument avenue isn't for looking at monuments, but for admiring the rich homes that circumscribe it. Much gorgeous ironwork again, much jealousy emanating from me, and much sun, sun sun!

The Marvin Lang is fabulous. It's an old converted garage from the late 19th century that's quirky, sweet and delightful. I feel a little like a kid at mommy's office, playing and admiring the space. I particularly dig the long bookshelves constructed from reclaimed wood from the building. It was a special treat to see it before it assumes its polished state. The creative energy in there just buzzes with promise. I feel honoured to have also seen an example of Ansel's design process. It is always interesting to peek into a designer's structure.Once done here, we swoop over to the science museum, which was previously yet a second gorgeous old rail station in Richmond. It is full of coolness, but it is with a heavy heart that I think about all these rail stations that no longer are valued as such. Anyway, this museum has preserved some portions of the rail areas and much photographic happiness prevails.

From here, we looped toward home, stopping at a local wine store for some treats, and I am struck by the way the wine is colour-coded descriptively for our convenience. Why have I never seen this before? I can't wait to hit the winery tours in California. I am excited to foray into the world of wines more deeply, and to stop feeling like such a clueless dork. I had heavenly chocolate and fizzy pomegrante yumminess and my tastebuds gave me a big ol' thumbs-up. We said hello to the puppers and caught up with Katherine, who's just arrived home from work, and was on a mission to go to the local old water dam thingie for a photography assignment for school (remind me what this place is called, friends?). I'm so, so glad we got to this place, because it is truly a haven. It is an unexpected treat to be thrust into nature, and away from the city for a bit, and particularly lovely to see this impressive old building that stands unused, replaced with newer buildings. I'm told there has been talk of turning it into many things for a while, but simply no one has gotten around to this. The south is funny that way. The light was pure magic that evening, and I felt alive with wonder and appreciation for this country's unique properties in all senses of the word. Also, I incidentally snapped a shot of Katherine that is uncannily similar to one Ansel shot of me. She has far superior hair.

We quickly jaunted over to Legend's brewpub, where they host bluegrass on Sundays. Um, yay! I am turning into a veritable banjo nut. So very satisfying an end to my stay. Dinner and beer with friends, good music, cute kids running about (the one pictured was a sugarpie little dance maniac), and joviality all-around. As we walked to the car, a honeysuckle bush was pointed out, and I tried my first honeysuckle. It is exactly what its title would suggest: a flower which after a little fiddling, provides a honey-like drip to suckle on. It was a good way to wrap up, but certainly sad to leave such wonderful company and cheer. That said, I was ready for my next adventure. Except that the train was again late by two hours, Silly, silly silly.

I loved Richmond. I loved the city, I loved the people, I loved the experience. Its tagline is entirely accurate: it is easy to love. Scott and I will be returning, Richmond, mark my words :)

Somehow this entry feels incomplete, and I suspect it is because there is no real way to fully infuse it with the warmth and joy and positivity and silliness and general yumminess of my experience there. So, thank you to the wonderful company, treatment and kindness I received. I will always appreciate this. You (all y'all) really helped to make my voyage a wonderful thing.

ps: I'm pretty sure I wrote pieces of this in past tense and pieces in present. But it's just to keep you all on your toes. Sorry!

A Way of Life

2008-05-12T07:54:00.016-07:00

Saturday was grand… sleeping in, then meeting another neighbor across the way, sharing bagels with our little tight-knit-neighbor posse. Following that, we set out on a big ol' roundabout tour of the city, with Tonya leading us about, Ansel chipping in from time to time and Wendy astonished about all this new information regarding her city. This city is the capital of confederacy, and is built out of misery, despair and tears, but you'd never know it, for the positivity of its people. For example, the island on the river is called Belle Isle now, but used to be called Misery Island, due to the soldiers who'd been stranded there when the river was too high to get back across. We gazed at it from Hollywood cemetery, which is the largest local cemetery, and highly photographable.

That's an interesting point about the south, actually. Locals of the region are all seemingly very into death, in a way. Everyone seems a little superstitious, or very tied to the dead, somehow, as cemeteries and ghost tours are major elements that define the tourism in these places. It's interesting to me that in Savannah, the major city-centre cemetery is also part dog park. Seriously. Death is a way of life here in the south. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We're still in Richmond, darnit.

So, yes, we toured the city of seven hills, and I thanked my lucky stars I was being carted around, as this seemed to be the kind of city that wouldn't be manageable without a car. The local megaindustry of Richmond's history is ironworks, and so every home is far more elaborate than might be expected. The iron gates and fences and benches and details really do make me swoon, and this detail also continues throughout the south (whoops, there I go again, must remain in the present). We stop in a local hotspot called Lulus for a local brew (the Legend brown is quite satisfying) chitter chatter with the barkeep, get free grub (YUMMY jambalaya), and part ways. Gosh, Richmonders are so good-natured. Everyone is positive and chill. It helps that the crew I'm with seems to know everyone, or know someone who knows everyone, or whatever. I'm with the right people. Ansel and I duck out to go have a photo session in Richmond's gorgeous renewed Main Street Station, and I am truly in awe of this gorgeous and under-used station. I had to go to great lengths to get a train that stops there. Tonnes of money was poured into turning this place back into something special, and still it is barely used. Sad, that. It's a weird trend in the south (perhaps I've already spoken about this) that all these gorgeous downtown central train stations were shut down years ago in favour of nowheresville stations. I later find out that GM decided decades ago that the way to make money was to buy out all the trains and stations and close 'em down or reduce their usage, so as to promote the acquisition of cars. When complaints were received, people were encouraged to write to their local municipal officers to demand more highways. Ugh. Anyway, this station was saved fairly recently, redone and is a glorious haven for photography. Outside the station is the local farmers market/fleamarket area. I admire it aloud and am told this is where the slaves were unloaded and traded. It is hard to wrap my mind around living with this kind of history defining your home. It sets an interesting climate of behaviors and perceptions, I think.

Tonya's hair appointment means we wrap up the tour. I am curious about the struggle I would have expected for leading an openly gay lifestyle in a place like richmond. Tonya's probably one of the most people-persons I have ever met, so I am sure that's to her advantage, but I can't imagine the climate is entirely welcoming to a gay community. I hesitate to draw attention to this, because I wouldn't want anyone to make a big deal of it if I were in said situation. So I didn't ask, as I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. But the places I have lived really celebrate Pride as a full community and I am curious as to what kind of struggle exists for the GLBT community out in this region. Anyway, Ansel, Wendy and I walk back through Carytown, a hip little area where much cuteness and photo-ops lurk (for example, many antique shops and historic Byrd Theatre). History and tradition are important to the people of the area, it would seem, and again, I note the trend of informative placards and such located throughout the city. This turns out to be a southern trend. And I like it. I do find it striking that there are still people around flying the confederate flag, believe the south will rise again, and seemingly still in favor of slavery. Racial tensions run very, very high in this part of the country… but unfortunately, the contrasting neighborhoods are so far removed from each other that its a very easy thing to avoid seeing if you so choose.

We spend the late afternoon and early evening joining Katherine and nibbling through a little mediterranean smorgasbord of tasty treats, delightfully provided by Wendy. Porch-sitting at its finest… a very important Southern activity. Practically a sport. Our evening is full of pleasant laughter and casual intimacy, at least in the context of me being such an outsider, it felt intimate and wonderfully welcoming. I am thrilled to also get a glimpse at Ansel's home. It seems a perfect reflection of him, or what I know of him through his photographs: mid-century, appreciative of little histories, careful, deliberate, polished, but homey, welcoming and full of little eccentricities that lend it charm and a wealth of personality. It feels familiar to me, and I am reminded that I often feel that Ansel sees the same world I see, but with a more controlled distance, that seems to create a gentle wisdom. I could use me some o' that. I'm realizing I've left these images on my external drive, so I'll have to upload those another time. For now, you'll have to enjoy Kaiser, A&K's dog.

When we wrap up dinner, I am fortunate to be meeting with a local dancer named Catherine who (yay) picks me up and carts me over to the dance that she organizes weekly (and has been doing so for nearly 20 years!). Unexpectedly, I meet three people from LA (all very friendly and sweet) and two Norwegians (courteous, smiling and much more gentlemanly than most men I've interacted with on my trip to date. It was a nice change). It proves to be everything I could hope for in a local dance, and just what I needed to make my Saturday complete. Thank you world! I look forward to the opportunity to pay forward all the wonderful treatment I have received.

Comfort. It's Southern.

2008-05-11T00:45:00.009-07:00

My train ride to Richmond is entirely pleasant, except that the train proves to be, unfortunately, two hours late. My heart hurts thinking that the lovely Wendy, whom I have never met in person, waited for me at the station for 40 minutes. I felt so terrible. Wendy was immensely sweet about it, though, insisting that things in the south are simply slow, and it is always to be expected. There is a good-naturedness in the south that I am probably too quick to assume about… but I can't help it. Everyone I have met to date (including past Richmond) had been so… good-natured. I think it has a lot to do with the slow pace. When you remove desperation- to- milk- every- moment- for- concrete- accomplishment- value from the equation, suddenly, people take better things seriously and lesser things aren't as fussed about. There is such a thing as taking things too seriously, and I would venture that urban centres seem to be all about this approach. Forgive all my grandiose statements and assumptions, but this trip unfortunately is being built upon a (heh, heh) fast pace of travel, and thus short duration for drawing conclusions. Well, evidently I'm as bad as the next guy.

Anyway, Wendy's home is utterly charming… in fact, seemingly, it is practically a mandate of the region. Charm up the wazoo. She is in the middle of renovating ( a constant project, it would seem) and the space has a nice, classic sense of familiar comfort. I am delighted by this skinny, strange, spare set of stairs on the other side of the main stairs, that serve no major purpose. I get to meet the infamous Prissy (a cat who I found to be largely very camera-shy), settle in, and quickly, Ansel & Katherine are called over, as they are next-door neighbors to Wendy. A little Flickr-party did we end up having all weekend. We stopped in at VCU's (the local university) graphic design grad show, which was delightful to check out and kind of gave me my bearings in an odd way, and then we toured a bit of this art walk thing that happened to be coinciding with my visit. I heard a smashingly yummy brass band working it out on the street and felt so good inside, I wished I'd had a dance partner. Then, I was taken for delicious southern comfort-food at an establishment appropriately named Comfort. I had grits! For the first time, ever. I tells ya, this weekend I really aimed to become a Southerner. Speaking to Scott on the phone last night, he insisted he was hearing an accent. Heh ;) Ansel & Katherine ran into a photographer friend of theirs who joined us for dinner… and I do believe he had more energy and erratically entertaining behavior than I may ever have in one sitting. In any case, the evening was fabulous, and I have to say, It was inside me to pay it forward from the very sweet Jeff picking up my tab in DC, so I bought dinner. What I realize is that correctly perspectived, that money was so well-spent, and it gave me such great pleasure to spend it. I didn't know how else I could demonstrate my appreciation for these people, whom I'd never formally met. Ultimately, I kept being treated to everything throughout the weekend, that I did not end up needing even to spend almost anything else. What a rewarding experience it was to be in the company of such good people, with great positive energy: how am I so fortunate to have this type of situation happen again, so soon?! I was so very quickly at ease with this group of tight-knit neighbors. What I wouldn't give to have neighbors like these!

It was an utter luxury to sleep in a real bed, have my own space and feel 'at home' somewhere. To think that such warmth can emanate from someone so much that despite not really knowing me, I was welcomed into her home (and frankly, treated lavishly, as far as I'm concerned)… now that is a wonderful thing one cannot casually experience. This Richmond visit is something I will absolutely treasure... To be so fortunate so as to be bestowed with attention, warmth, tour guiding, friendship, and time… I am so damned lucky. I'd better stop here or I'll get gushy.

The South, Risen.

2008-05-09T13:18:00.000-07:00

It finally feels like the North-East mentality and I are parting ways as Richmond approaches. Très farmy, this stretch of time. Broked-down (not brokedown) cars and buses. Hand-painted signage. Vintage lettering askew. This is the America I was yearning for. It's neat to chug-a-lug past something industrial, and then minutes later, something farmy, continuously as we roll on. In fact, we just slowly crossed a gentleman in his car, parked, clearly to watch the train. This wasn't a man waiting for us to get out of his way. This is that wonderful time-space magic where people still have full hand-made train sets taking over their basement, celebrating the absolute phenomenon that is the railroad. This is that time, where trains aren't trains, but rail cars bound for the unknown. I am so happy to have this simple moment to simmer through as we're rolling into Richmond. It is so striking how quickly the visuals of the 'deep south' have appeared… and frankly, not so very deeply south at all! The sudden pure white wooden churches and rambling Virginia houses tickle my fancy. This unfamiliar world is gorgeous and full of truth. DC was nice, as far appearances go, I suppose, but not so rich with raw honesty as this unfurling landscape I am now seeing. I am already so very fulfilled by this trip, its difficult to wrap my mind around three more weeks of discovery.

It's weird, though – I remember a liberal studies instructor of mine discussing a famed european author's (can't remember the name offhand) first trip to the USA. He was so excited to cruise the mississippi river and live the tales he'd experienced as a boy through storybooks (by Mark Twain, for example). So off he went, to take a riverboat down the mississippi. He left disappointed. Later, when he went to Disneyland, he went on the 'huck finn' ride, and exclaimed, "now, that's what I came to america for!" I tell you this story to keep things in perspective. I am loving this trip o' mine, but I am not fooling myself into thinking I'm experiencing a pure America. I'm certainly not roughing it, and my entire trip is coloured by the kind folks who've been putting me up, taking me out, and showing me their cities. So I am seeing a certain America. Mine may differ from yours. Anyway, just wanted to keep all my thrilled babbling in perspective.

Back on the train, I am so caught up in seeing this scenery that I've forgotten to haul out the ol' clickety-clacker. So no photos of this portion for you. It's for my memory only :)

Facial Hair and Overt Attentions

2008-05-09T11:42:00.003-07:00

Two unrelated (or maybe, somehow deep-rootedly related) points:

1) All the men who work on Amtrak trains have big, bushy moustaches. Though this sounds like an exaggeration for effect, it really isn't. So far, that's been the story. This is a constant source of immense pleasure for a modern girl like me, who is caught up in a tizzy of affection for the past.

2) I keep getting hit on. I am sincerely struck by the forward tendencies of American men. So much so, that I am now starting to doubt as to whether I am actually being hit on, flirted with, and/or sized up. I am suddenly considering the possibility that this is plainly the consciousness with which these men have been brought up. What I mean to say is, do I need to interpret these actions according to a new code – an American code? Because if I stepped into the past, some of what gets said to me would have been interpreted as gentlemanly, innocent and sweet. For example, many men I have crossed paths with (literally, passed by) have taken a good look at me for a moment, and then followed it up with something like, "hi sugar/sweetie/darlin/honey, how you doing?" Generally speaking, sixty years ago, NOT to have said something somewhat like this (maybe minus the 'familiar' terms of endearment) would have been out of place. I don't know. Just feeling more eyes on me has been strange enough indeed. I am starting to build a better understanding of why America has one of the strongest rates of superficial self-consiousness. But I need to really consider as to whether just generally gazing at someone here, and making eye contact is setting me jumping to conclusions. Maybe it really just is more eye contact and general friendliness. Except that I haven't experienced it from any women yet. Hmm.

[In addendum, a few days later…] Nope, they're really just throwing it all out there, hitting on me. One dude told me about how things didn't work out with his baby momma, but that I'm real fine, and am I of age? Um. Another dude came up to me and asked if he could sit beside me (there were about 5 empty benches nearby), then introduced himself, asked for my name and told me I'm beautiful. Following this, he asked if I was married, or had any children. Seriously, Americans, what's this all about? I have taken to wearing my favourite ring (a gorgeous exotic-wooden graduation present to myself created by talented comrades at school) on my ring finger, just so I can say that I'm married and not feel so… hounded. The attention has been the same this whole trip, but the overtness of introductions and questions has been exclusively southern.

Back to the trip: I spent the next day in DC, but with a limited timeframe I caved and decided to go do the typical tourist monument stuff. It was a long walk all over the area, and mostly it really didn't suit me. The one monument that I did enjoy was the Lincoln monument. There was a casual interaction there that seemed lacking everywhere else. Overall, DC just didn't have as much impact on me as I think it's "meant" to have. In fact, there is one fallen soldiers memorial area (pictured) that I think had the opposite effect on me than it's meant to have. I don't want to get too political, but this monument made me feel quite uncomfortable. I don't like the 'dismissive of the individual' qualities that seem inherent in monuments like this one. But then again, I'm not a big fan of war. So maybe I'm the wrong person to be seeing this. I think it's supposed to feel like a tribute, but to me it just seemed to demonstrate all the ridiculously unnecessary death that comes with warring. I'm very glad to have seen DC, but I'm not sure I'd go out of my way to go back, quite frankly. It just generally felt like a really hectic place as well. Far more so than New York. Everyone near me was in a desperate rush, all the time, riddled with impatience. I hate that feeling, and that's part of the pull of the west coast for me. Desperate rushes are not good for my health. Anyway, I may have to further mull on DC for a while. Thank goodness I met Jeff and his family, for they infused it with a much greater warmth than I'd otherwise have come away with. It was interesting, but it certainly didn't feel homey or inviting to me. It felt good to get on the train to Richmond… like a new segment of the journey was about to begin.

Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty

2008-05-07T07:06:00.010-07:00

Hopped in a cab the morning after my Philly revelry and hit the train station. Have I mentioned that all the stations to this point have been gorgeous? There remains some mystery and stature in the taking of trains in North America. After a few hours, DC appeared and I decided that a long walk to the hostel would be worth it, to get a feel for the city. Of course, upon my exit, it turned out to be a rainy, gloomy day. But, walk I did. It was probably only about 25 minutes, but with my 100 lbs of luggage, or whatever it weighs… it seemed rather painfully long. I am constantly kicking myself for bringing as much as I did, despite the fact that I really thought I was packing light.

Upon arrival at the hostel, I decided to make it a casual day of internetting in the lounge, as the rain didn't look like it was about to stop. A Flickr contact of mine had been in touch with me the previous day about potentially meeting up, and so I set out on an excursion to meet him and his family in a rather hip little part of town. To my delight, the sun came out. This area was a nice contrast to what I'd seen of DC so far, which to me, felt quite stoic. The subways in DC all look exactly the same on the inside, which is different – vaulted cavernous ceilings that are a little ominous. But I had no idea how charming my evening would become. Jeff and his family are people full of laughter, warmth, positive energy and utter kindness. A rather military family, I felt unsure of myself as I've had no experience with anything Military-related, pretty much ever. But they were so full of laughter and celebration it put me right at ease. Johanna, Jeff's wife, has the sweetest laugh – it's catching. Tyler, their son, is a four-year old ball of buzzing energy, and has clearly been primed for photo-posing before. A ham, to say the least. Jeff's brother, Shaun, just moved across country to join them in DC, and we were eventually joined by Tyler's godparents, who are balls of energy in their own right. It was really good to just see a little snippet of the gay-in-the-military issue from a non-erratic-media-perspective. I mean, I didn't ask them their deep, dark concerns about the issue… but that's primarily because it all seemed to be a non-issue. Can i just take this moment to clarify my feelings yet again as to how ridiculously stupid the media is? Okay, got that out of my system. We had dinner at a cute diner, a roaring good time, and Jeff paid! For my meal! And everyone's! What?! I was pretty much dumbstruck. It was such a generous, sweet thing to do, and was obviously just a given for him – he's just good people, 'n' that's that. It just made me feel so alive with warmth and positivity. i didn't know what to say.

We followed dinner with coffee and hangin' out at a next-door café, and all was just loverly. Tyler is truly one of the most rambunctious kids I could ever think up – he's all over the place at all times, which makes him a photography gem – *if* he can just sit still for a second ;) It was such a treat to spend the evening with these formerly unknown people, who I could now feel connected to. It's a special thing, to believe in the goodness of others. To all of you in whom pessimism has made a comfortably sour home… take a moment, right now, and just… believe in people. Because it will fill you with joy. But you have to really do it. You have to sit there, right, now, staring at your computer screen, and know that if I could, I would do for you, the nicest thing I could think of. Right now, that would be giving you a big, huge, cuddly, snuggly hug. Not a violent bear hug, but a sweet, snuggly, squishy hug. Because you, my friend, deserve it. You do. And someone out there… many people out there, know that. Perhaps it's just not occurring to them right now. But if someone were to spontaneously provide these people with that kind of goodness, suddenly, they would remember. They would remember that you are wonderful. And they would make sure that you felt wonderful. And all the wonderfulness would pick up speed, with a fabulous snowball effect. My uncle Allan once gave me a t-shirt that I underappreciated when I was younger, but I celebrate its merits now. If I recall, it read, "Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless acts of Beauty."

As some of my friends know, I have lately been thinking a great deal about consciousness, choice and emotional/physchological initiative. This is surely going to become this redundant thing I touch on throughout this blog, and so I apologize in advance. But it warrants frequent repeating, I think. This wonderful headspace I am in does not have to do with fooling myself into anything. It has to do with increasing my awareness of myself and the people around me, the repercussions of my thoughts, emotions and actions, and the prerogative I have in effecting change in this respect. We have more power than we realize... we let ourselves get caught up in the brambles and miss the forest for the trees. Pessimism, or what I sometimes sarcastically refer to as realism, is a choice. You don't have to be pessimistic because something negative happened to you. Most of the time, it is your choice if you allow it to hound you. It is your choice if you wallow. It is a choice I've often made, and then liked to think I had no part in. Sometimes, it seems like we desire to suffer, and seek to wallow in our own misery. Self-pity is this ridiculous, easy thing. It's easy to say "things are unfair" or 'that won't work." But that's giving up. The challenge is to accept responsibility for our own feelings. If we challenge ourselves to choose happiness, celebration and faith in humanity, I can only imagine the wonderful world we'd be living in.

Gosh, I'm tuckered out while writing this, and I'm probably all over the map. Cheesily so. I'm thinking I ought to stop, and pick up this train of thought sometime when I have slept more. But just so you know… you're really cool. You're really, really cool. You have something special in you that shines out. I know this, because I would not be friends with you otherwise. Family also counts, because if you're reading this, you're not just family, you're a friend, too.

I believe in goodness.

A brief history of the future.

2008-05-06T10:31:00.010-07:00

Joy. Pure, unabridged Joy.
After ages of walking, and aching, ACHING feet, I stumbled upon the best possible thing I could dream up. Bicycle wheels. Broken brick. Cracked tile. Ceramics. Glass bottles. Toys. You name it. It's in there. And it fills me with such a glorious spirit.

Isaiah Zagar is a local artist/artisan who started building this magical wonderland on a double-lot he did not own, several decades ago. A short while ago, the owner of the plot of land announced the whole thing had to be demolished as he wanted to sell the lot. Quickly, Isaiah began a campaign to save this, what he called his "magic garden," and seemingly is very near to his goal of raising 300 000$. I was only too delighted to contribute a few bucks to the pot, and get to go in and explore. Truly, the greatest feast for my eyes I could ever have hoped to find on this trip. I can't believe that this was not the number one thing recommended to me for my Philly visit. Just… wow. Please, dear people of the world. If you are anywhere near Philadelphia, go see this wonder. My photographs certainly do not do it justice. Actually, I found their website, which has a useful little 360º tool to get a sense of scale in this place.

Can you believe that the day continued to improve after that? Well, it did. We cooked in at Jesse's. Christine turned out to be a hella-foodie, which meant happy bellies for the rest of us. I picked up some wine, some more of Jesse's friends dropped in, and we had utter deliciousness, which we followed by an excursion to a most authentic of classic Ice Creameries. Paper hats, bow ties, the works. Jesse treated me to a Banana cone of yum, and refused to let me pay him for it! We headed home after that to chill out, passing through an old cemetery square, where Christine and I explored, and the boys seem to hold superstitions. The graves were so thin in those days. Knocking over gravestones now actually seems like a doable thing. When we got in, I did the dishes while the rest of the crew kicked back, and then massages for all! Christine noticed a copy of Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine on the bookshelf and rhythmically, slowly read to us a full chapter. It was mesmerizing. I felt rich. Utter wealth I could not possibly know with any amount of cold cash. We stayed up until at least 3:30 in the morning, ridiculously all stretched out on the same futon, and then proceeded to challenge ourselves to sleep four to a bed! It was entirely ridiculous, no sleep was managed, and true happiness enveloped me. I believe in the wonderful goodness of people, happiness and life. Oh, yay.

-------
PS: I'm sorry for the tardy blogging. I'm writing all these blogs pretty far in advance of posting, but finding the time not only to get on the internet, but to upload and process my photos? More difficult than would be ideal, I'm afraid. It's actually quite welcome that Charleston is pouring rain right now, 'cause it gives me a chance to post this stuff. Thank you for reading, and thanks for your comments on Flickr as well. Though I am indeed blogging for myself for a myriad of reasons, I am much more empowered to write this with regularity, knowing that it is being read. I really enjoy writing, and it has been a rather long while since I invested into this pleasant pastime. Though I know I tend to go on. I am rarely what they refer to as concise.

sun, eccentricity, and a most delightful discovery

2008-05-05T07:40:00.006-07:00

The rest of my stay in Philly proved to be so awesome, I cannot fully describe it accurately. Philadelphia feels familiar and inviting, to me. It has an old, warm soul, and I delighted in it.

I took the morning off on my second day in Philly, caught up on important emails, travel plannings and so on. Just as I was on my way out the door, the lovely Christine (the other person who happened to be staying at Jesse's at the same time) came home with goodies for a big planned dinner cooked in in the evening, to which I was invited. She also invited me out to join herself, Jesse and another friend for vegetarian lunch while Jesse was on break from work. We got falafel to go and hit Rittenhouse park to sit in the empty fountains and eat. Yay to the lovely accordianist who accompanied our munching! I think I blogged a photograph of him in my last post. When we wrapped up there, we all parted ways and I decided it was errand-running time, giving me a chance to explore the city. A pair of sneakers were direly (and I do mean bloody-ankle direly) needed, as well as a pillow for the overnight train rides (utterly essential. if you have never toted a full-size pillow with you on a train or plane, you have no idea how potentially comfortable travel can be). I started by heading up to JFK Parkway, which is modeled slightly after the Champs Elysées in Paris… a long stretch of street off of which everything important lays. I followed that up, past all the old neo-classical architecture and monuments, and I sat in Logan Square/circle at the fountain, and just people-watched for a while. I saw one guy actually wade into the fountain, picking out change others had thrown in. I saw another sit by everyone on the benches and strike up random conversation with them. Yet another came up to me as I was putting a band-aid on my ankle, and offered me hydrogen peroxide. Yes, straightup. He said, "miss, do you need some of this?". But I then realized he was a parks worker of some kind, and had access to the wee hut off of the parkette. Still, strange offer.

Something I really appreciate about Philly is its historical signage. Every so often, you see an old building or area, wonder about it, and then suddenly notice the sign indicating its origins and a brief general history. It is such a unifying civic detail, and so powerful in branding the city concretely in the minds of tourists. Even locals.

I began to meander toward gorgeous city hall when I stopped to gaze at some historical signage. An older gentleman appeared from behind it quite suddenly, and introduced himself: Hecajiah B. Something or other. He asked if I could guess his age, and when I (deliberately) failed, he announced that he had just turned 70. He proceeded to ask me two questions, prefacing them with, "I've got two questions for you." First, he asked if I was married. Uncomfortable with the question entirely, I assured him I was, quite, indeed. He frowned jovially, and told me I'd disrupted his second question, which was going to be, "will you marry me?" Of course, the only way he could follow *that* up, was by telling me he was a new marketer of a very special product – a new, delicious mineral beverage, that he could potentially get me a taste of, in case I was interested in a few crates. Yeah. This gentleman was a charmer, though, I'll give him that. He announced his birthday had been two days ago, and that meeting me kept the celebration going. Oh, Hecajiah. I'm glad to have asked him if I could take his photograph, as I am typically too shy. But since he was so forward… come, now. Anyway, after we crossed paths, I headed through the infamous Love Park, as its locally referred to, and then passed through city hall, down the Avenue of the Americas, and just walked all over.

I walked and walked and walked and walked. Never did I come upon a Target or anything of that nature that could fulfill my errands. But what I stumbled upon gave me such a wild joy I cannot find the words to convey it to you, here. Instead, my next post and slew of images shall have to suffice.

(Rocky Theme)

2008-05-03T22:03:00.007-07:00

I don't know if it's just the sun, but Philly seems so much warmer than New York, and I'm not talking about heat. It feels so inviting. I enjoyed New York very thoroughly, but New York as a place to make a residence? Not for me. NYC fences everything. It's a small detail, but it's biting. The playgrounds, the parks, the grass, the courts… everything feels uncomfortably controlled. Man *conquered* New York, mastered New York, even. And I guess it turns out I'm not so in tune with controlling our environments to that degree. Though, perhaps my instinctive warmth for Philly is in its ambience: to me, it feels closely related to Montreal. Like, it has a history that it just really naturally evolved from, as though it shed some of its outer skin, but you still see the blood and guts and inner soul around which all was built. There are segments of the streets that still have cobblestone… all over the place, but there seems no rhyme or reason behind where it remains and where it does not. I guess that when the cobblestone was no longer in good condition, it got replaced, and where it remained in decent condition, it was left alone. The major architecture here is quite regal, and I believe it to be from the neoclassical period. You'd think it to be quite stoic, but it's rather warmed by the later architecture… a great deal of which strikes me as of 19th-century origins. But I don't know nearly enough about architecture to discuss it without sounding like a total dork.

Something that really chuffed me about new york, though, was the "effortless style". Though I am aware of how intensely effort-ridden it is, New Yorkers wear their styles so casually, somehow, despite the fact that they surely carefully craft every outfit with meticulous care. This is I know. I'm just impressed by how easily they turn effort into casual.

Jesse, whom I met at Swing Out New Hampshire, is so very kindly housing me in the most charming little house I could think up. Sharing it with his sister, it has three floors, which repeat one another on the way up almost exactly. It has an unfathomably cool character/aura/ambience/whatever-you-call-it. His street is called lantern square. And it's not much of a street, really. Mostly, it's a square. Full of lanterns. Does it get much better? Answer? Not so far! It is very good for me to be staying with someone who runs things (the local Lindy and Blues night). He is a good person to know! I wish I knew someone in DC. Knowing someone helps loads and loads. The Philly dance scene is likeable. Sweet, and fairly young, it would seem. Very college-kid. Though I must note that it was almost entirely up to me to ask leads to dance, very few asked me. It's too bad, I would really have loved to dance more with Jesse, and a couple of other leaders I met. No matter, I had a lovely evening, and hope to dance far more frequently throughout my trip if possible.

They gave me an out-of-towner jam, and though most friends know my stance on jams (negative, to say the least), I went with it. I figured, hey, when in Rome, go with the flow and all that. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the concept, a Jam is a big circle of people watching one or several couples dance in the centre. Generally speaking. In the case of most jams, the object is to get as many different people to 'steal' a few bars with one main individual who remains in the centre always. My feelings on the matter is that most of the time, jams seem to be about showing off… and most frequently the person meant to be at the centre of attention ends up dancing with people who don't care about them at all, and are just looking for limelight. The whole thing rubs me the wrong way. I don't mind natural jams, which are situations that just break out from cheering on a couple doing impressive things. That seems logical to me. But then other people get the urge to jump in and out do the first people- I don't like all the out-doing, and the competitive spirit of it. Anyway, at this dance, I came to realize the value of out-of-towner jams. It allowed me a situation where people were informed - hey this person is from afar, for one, as well as demonstrating that I'm a decent dancer, and that they should ask me to dance. Useful, that. Anyway, after the delightful dance, we met up with Christine from Atlanta, Jesse's other friend staying at his place, and headed home. Okay, this entry's a little long, and probably really dull for non-dancers. Let's conclude here.

Like McAdams Loves Gossling.

2008-05-01T12:45:00.010-07:00

This morning I slept in! I was a little suspicious of what it would be like to try to get any sleep at a hostel, but I was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was. But this hostel was quite unique. Everyone gets a private room. But the private room is precisely the size of a single bed. As in, the door to get in is more like a wee closet door, and the ceiling is actually just wood grating... thus, all noises of neighbors are 100% audible. But the privacy was quite nice. I woke up to a guy from the Bronx having a debate with a Brit about politics. I won't get too into the details of what they were saying, but it was interesting to get a New Yorker's perspective on the wars from the turn of last century through the turn of this one. He was very vocal, and I disagreed with him, but I guess what really struck me is how dismissive he was of what the British fellow would say. Based on two days so far, and my previous visit to San Diego, I would say that a New York trend (perhaps an American trend?) seems to be that many citizens are rather opinionated and certainly stubborn. Now, I could be wrong, so lets see what the rest of my trip brings. I can't help but draw early conclusions, but I really do intend to try to keep assumptions at bay.

I headed out to grab a brekkie and find some wireless. I will never understand those of you who think New York has better bagels than Montreal. Anyway, I got some emailing done, took care of a little bidness here and there, and then decided to hit up Magnolia and mack on some cupcakes. This meant meandering through downtown for a while, which would have been a much more pleasant walk, if it weren't for the rain. Anyway, I can assure you that Magnolia is as good as they say. I'm not even a cupcake person, but hot damn. It was a banana-bread cupcake with cream cheese frosting and pineapple/almond topping. YUM. It was totally an over-budget move, and I lurved every minute of it.

After that I manoeuvered my way uptown to Grand Central station, which sadly, my trains bypassed. But it was worth the special stop. It made me pull out my old 18-55 kit lens again! I'm glad I brought it. That wide angle is sure to come in useful. Also, at least 5 couples came up to me during my brief visit to ask me to shoot them in front of the grandieur that is Grand Central. Funny, these classic moves.

Then straight to Penn Station for me, where my train to Philly awaited. And here I am in Philadelphia. The sun is shining, and things is feelin' alright.

Singin' in the rain.

2008-05-01T12:32:00.004-07:00

So, my NY journey began with hustlin' off of the train and realizing that I was shortly meant to meet Carl, a sweet friend from Montreal who now lives in NYC, having been ousted from Canada. Being that I had been the unofficial navigator for my friends when last in New York, I hadn't been worried about managing the subway system, but I will now publicly admit here to you that upon arrival I was feeling timid, to say the least. I reminded myself then, however, that if I could master the London tube, then by George, I would defeat the New York subway. With vigor. Which I did… but not in record time. Poor, patient Carl. I blame the insistent rain.

Tardily, I found my hostel in the East Village and joined Carl fairly nearby for some truly tasty Thai food. It was well-earned after that microwave train pizza fiasco, I should think. We caught up, and I tell you, it felt great to see a friendly face, but especially Carl's, as it has been eight months since last I saw him. I just admire him so much for in the face of border-adversity, he responded by picking up and building a life in the hub of hubs. Now that's stickin' it to the man.

We then walked a handful of blocks over to Banjo Jim's, the teeniest little swingin' joint, where my always awesome friend Gord Webster was playing a gig. Yay. Lots of yay. It's great to get some dancing in, everywhere I go, but especially in such a ridiculously small, hot, and uncomfortably squished spot. Seriously, the band was killer. I think it might be a requirement of awesomely talented jazz bassists to look gaunt, have a strangeness about one's gaze, and wear a nifty little fedora. It was great. Walking home alone at two in the morning kinda frightened me a little, though. You know, NYC is kinda known for scariness. Not to worry, those of you who are sitting there cringing… I was very safe. It's good it was right nearby my hostel. But I was very surprised at how quiet it is at that time. I always figured NY for a city that never really shuts down. But the streets were basically empty. It was a surprisingly quiet way to end the night, which suited me fine as rain (and rain it did, all day).

Tender Discovery

2008-04-30T07:48:00.003-07:00

I spent my first train journey gazing at eleven hours of Canada geese. Isn't it a bit tardy for them to be coming back? Well, no matter, they gave me a delight. Even despite all the rain. The clouds are skimming the top of the mountains with tenderness here in New York State. The colours hanging outside feel like a familiar, ephemeral recollection of longing... soft amber tones and muted warm grey clouds. The American landscape feels shifty in the sweet rain and these soft lonely colours. It has been a moody voyage to set things off.

The gentleman from Brooklyn in front of me is jovial, sweet, mildly upset at something and is rather loud... and that seems to be a consistent trend on this train. Forgive this mass generalization, but thank goodness Americans are so… well, demanding… of certain conveniences and treatments, as I am realizing that I benefit from that immensely. Their sense of entitlement seems potentially greater than that of Canadians. I don't necessarily mean that in a negative way. Just an observation that where Americans seem to feel they deserve certain things, Canadians don't. I'm not sure who does or does not deserve these things, but it's interesting to see how our perspectives differ.

I have spent these long hours working on Ridiculously Romantic Vol 3 & 4 for Scott. Volume 2 is complete. Can you believe that I like enough cheesy lovesongs to fill multiple mixes? I guess I can get away with them, because a great deal of fabulous jazz classics fall into that category. I am having a wee bit of a difficult time thinking that I could be in San Diego with Scott right now... but of my own volition (not the requirement to finish school) I am prolonging our distance. I need to spend some quality train time in the future considering the varying values of this experience for me, just to remind myself on how to upkeep a healthy attitude (i.e. resist the urge to just hop on a train and head straight for him).

New learnings on this first voyage? $4.00 train pizza is not worth its weight in gold. It's not worth its weight in pennies. But my post-pizza disposition was much improved by a solemn tree, perfectly preserved in its entirety, roots and all, laying in the water like a dead body. Wow. That sounds dramatic… but it was simply neat. And then, somewhere between Poughkeepsie and NYC, I saw a ruined castle! I'm not kidding. Combined with the weather, I was convinced I slipped and fell right into a memory of Scotland. It was awesome. I guess it's the east river that we were following south (embarrassingly, I remain clueless about American geography). The castle was located right in the middle of the river.

Every stop between Montreal and New York seemed to suggest these locations were wee towns, as most of the time train stations seem to be right downtown. I wonder if these little stops were indeed the downest of these cities' downtowns.

Suddenly, and somewhat without warning, skyscraper central loomed, and everything felt really… well, real.

I am doing this.

And that, my friends, is for next post.

Work it inside out.

2008-04-30T07:17:00.009-07:00

Is anyone else in love with the new Devo track? Anyway, here are some supplemental images from the rail yards with Lara and Marty that belonged in the last post. I'm shortly going to post more travel musings and New York shots.

My apologies as far as strange, wonky layout of this blog. I can't see to get the alignment to agree with me. Working on it.

Red Head Walking…

2008-04-29T08:29:00.008-07:00

I am in the middle of my inaugural voyage. This, of course, means that I am on a train bound for The Big Apple. Right at this particular moment of writing this, I have been on the train for 9 hours, leaving two and a half more until New York. I curse the laptop gods, who somehow managed to forget to bestow wifi onboard Amtrak trains. VIA rail, 1, Amtrak, 0.

What can I say about setting off? Well, for now I shall preface it with Toronto wrap-up details. I spent the last few weeks in an intensely bizarre ritual of denying myself sleep paired with omitting the consumption of food from my memory. So long, thesis. It's been swell, but the swelling's gone down. Well, I presented t the very last minute (thursday evening), then rushed home to pack, and get the hell outta dodge. I managed to have a brief, but fabulously relaxing visit and meal with Ian & Eleanor, Scott's parents, and those two (heaven-sent) took care of a bunch of stuff with which I was helpless to do anything. Goodbye belongings! A quick drink with the girls and a sleepy, yawny goodbye, and then, off I went to Montreal. Photos of my sister, my mum and my mum's cat follow.

I spent a couple of relaxing days with my family, just unwinding, which was highly insisted upon by my body. Lara and Marty took me on a Montreal shoot yesterday, at some rail shipping yards (how appropriate!). The light was perfection, and puddle jumping was enjoyed by all. Not getting run over by an authentic enormous transformer-like machine was especially enjoyed by all. It is hard to put into words our gasping, then screeching, and then running for our lives with wildly flailing arms. Somehow, we escaped unharmed, and managed to get a couple of killer tomato sandwiches before we headed home for a wee gathering of my friends. Few showed up, so if you're reading this, those of you who didn't turn up… um… bye!

Oh, I neglected to mention that I ran into an old friend, someone who I hadn't seen in certainly five years… possibly seven or eight. Right in front of Lara's and Marty's place. Wha? Derreck Mansi, how random you are. Bus rides to school in 9th and 10th grade would not have been the same without your strange brand of sexual innuendo, and self-effacing humour.

Stupid things I managed to forget? Pillows. I brought my pillow to my parents, and forgot it there. My mum helplessly rung me to let me know, and swiftly Lara offered to give me one. Sounds like a happy ending, but no… I forgot the one Lara gave me, too. I am, officially… a dope.

Anyway, I shall post more en-route thoughts next time, whenever that may be. For now, enjoy photos of my very attractive bloodline! Actually, it might be sooner than later (I write my blogs onboard the trains and post later, so why not post two at once?)

Travels

2008-04-08T10:58:00.002-07:00

I'm about to have some.
Thirty days touring the states, in transition to resting permanently (ish) in San Diego.

As Flickr ultimately became my photoblog of sorts ( http://www.flickr.com/photos/jasfitz ) this blog ceased to be useful. Well, it's going to be useful again. I've been retreating into my head over the past few weeks, and I know this will increase yet further due to looong stretches alone on trains and such. So, I intend on keeping folks updated on my travels and thinkings, if interested. If not, don't worry, I'm not interested in you, either ;)

Well, so, see you soonishly, then. Check back here if you want updates on things. I'll probably be posting more photography content on Flickr.

Love.

casa loma belle.

2007-11-18T23:12:00.001-08:00

In casa loma, toronto's only castle. Canada's only castle, in fact.

Toronto Aglow.

2007-10-31T21:16:00.000-07:00

He got AIR, yo.

2007-10-09T10:13:00.000-07:00

What else is there to do at 11pm, once the dance wraps up, and you're walking down the street?

Who loves the sun…

2007-09-24T12:15:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologize for the somewhat 'boring' nature (heh) of this post. This is my first foray into the world of botanical macro photography. It delighted me immensely, but may make some of you roll your eyes. If that is indeed the case, I may have to challenge you to a duel.

These were all taken this weekend, on a picnic at Allen Gardens Greenhouses.

Care for some sand?

2007-09-16T16:31:00.000-07:00

Children are such strange wee things.

Something New…

2007-09-11T20:09:00.000-07:00

Weddings, weddings, weddings...

Rather a while, Hmm?

2007-08-24T22:14:00.000-07:00

I swear, I've been snapping away. I just have had trouble shifting from camera to computer. I begun shooting RAW in the middle of the summer, and thus started using Aperture. Which is a dream, except my system is too slow and lacks space. Finally, I figured out how to make everything work, and I now have uploaded all my photos. What to offer you, though, from the plethora of options I've created…? Let's start here:
Now, that second one is fairly standard macro stuff. But the third one may seem out of place: I didn't have time to adjust things, I was trying to capture Sasha going for the frisbee. What I didn't realize is that it was headed straight for my head. Thank goodness he was thinking on his feet!