What's Your Passion?

I can't really complain about my evening. Aside from getting some concert tickets, I purchased bus tickets to Chicago for $10.50, some self-adhesive mustaches for the yet-to-be-planned mustache party (couldn't pass them up for $1!), perused some used books, munched some tacos, laughed til my side hurt at Jon Stewart, geeked out at Stephen Colbert's Harry Potter reference, and soaked up the imensity of Radiohead on the The Colbert Report. All in all, a good night.
But, even as I sit here,  contented with my evening, my heart swells at the thought of my step-dad and his sister, as about now they are probably opening their eyes, giving sleep the hoof with one final yawn, zipping up their luggage, and heading out for day five of their 11 day European tour. I've said this multiple times in the last 5 days, but I am so excited for them. Jim and Charla work so hard here in the heartland. So hard, they very rarely get to escape it, even to other parts of the U.S. But in a moment of what I'm going to call "clarity," Charla looked around and said something like "Hey. I think there might be more to life. Jim, let's go see the world."
And they went.
And my heart, as mentioned above, swelled.
It swelled because they are doing what I love above anything in the world: traveling. It swelled because their eyes are going to be opened in the way that only travel can. (Mark Twain seems to agree with me.) It swelled because by them taking this trip, somehow I feel more connected to them. And I feel more connected to them because, no matter their thoughts on this trip, they are partaking in what I can only call my passion.
Google (or use one of those cool, old, bulky things known as a "dictionary") the word "passion" and you'll see a heavy relation to the word "suffer." Indeed, the very root of the word means "suffer."
Funny, suffering is not usually what comes to mind when I hear the word "passion."
I blame Hollywood.
But put a "The" in front of it, and you find a pretty intense image of passion as suffering.
Buddhists also link passion and suffering, though their method is to elimante passion (desires) so as to eliminate suffering. Probably why I'm not a Buddhist. Nice temples, though. But I get it. I get why one would wish to eliminate passions/desires. As we've seen in the etymology of the word, to have passion can ulitimately cause suffering. I've seen it. I've been apart of it. I've prayed and cryed and begged for longings to be taken away from me. Having unfulfilled passion hurts. A lot. It hurts so much it often feels like your heart is going to rip itself out of your ribcage, burst through your chest, and hurtle itself to the floor in a temper-tantrum-like protest.
(Reminder-"passion" doesn't only refer to "lusty desire for another person"..or even have to be about a person at all)
But on the flip side, passion, when fulfilled, brings life. The night I broke into the U2 concert. The few precious days I get to be at the ocean. The moment I clear security, strap on my backpack, and for the love that is all pure, holy, and good, get to travel. These moments when passion is fulfilled are the moments that  make my blood pulse in my veins so hard I can feel it. They cause my legs to do unintentional jumping and dancing motions. They make my words come out in a short, somewhat unitelligible manner. (More than they already do.) In short, I am alive, and it is things such as travel, music, writing, the ocean, nature, and yes, sometimes even my bookclub that bring me life.
But I've noticed...
SO many people are content to live a passionless existance. "What brings you life?" they are asked. And they shrug. They don't know. They haven't thought about it. And I'm blown away. I am disheartened and honestly quite sad for them. I mean, I guess if they're happy, fine, go along with what works for you. But I don't get it. I cannot fathom a passionless life. I can't do it. I refuse to do it.
So, if you haven't thought about what brings you life, what you are passionate about, what makes your heart hurt with longing without it and swells to the point of bursting with it, I urge you to think about it. And if you know what you're passionate about, share them here. Or at least with someone. And then, find a way to incorporate it into your life today. Because your life deserves more than a shrug.

Travel N Twain

Thoughts In Airplanes While Up In The Sky

Somewhere I presume over the western slope of the Rocky Mountains. Listening to Zeppelin’s “Going to California,” because I am.

Ah….traveling.  This is what I need. Somehow the chaos centers me. The moment I walked into the airport, I somehow felt at peace, more with and more like myself. Just being there, walking in, bags in tow, seeing people scurrying this way and that, it makes me stop and think, “This is right.”

Folks keep asking me if I’ve decided what I’m going to do with my life. First family, now even friends are posing the question. The fact that I’m nearing 30, unmarried, unsettled, this does not bode well for most people. It is, in fact, strange and people perhaps have begun to wonder what is wrong with me. I sometimes wonder what is wrong with me.  Then, in these instances when I feel most like myself, I am able to remember, I am able to articulate, “Nothing. This is me, and I love it.” Even those who have met me momentarily are able to see that this is what I need to be doing.  I need to be out in the world, observing, processing, writing, ever in wonder of this vast and varied world. I miss this greatly about being in Korea-the mentality that one does not need to surrender to the great “American Dream” involving settling into dometicality and a single location. These two things are two of my greatest fears. I want to want them. Really, I do. But this, being out, traveling, wandering, exploring….this is who I am.

I meant to start writing immediately upon hitting 10,000 feet after departing Sioux Falls. My mind was already alive and churning madly with thoughts of the need for travel, being at home in travel, as well as a general political geeking out and further contemplating polarization. See, while awaiting my flight out of Sioux Falls, I stopped to fill up my water bottle from the fountain. I turned around to see a recognizable face, so when I did a double take by turning around again, I was shocked to see the very tall and rather tan Senator John Thune waiting behind me.

“Hi, how are you?” he asked.

“Hey!” I beamed cheerfully, totally politically crushing. “Good! How are you?” That was pretty much the extent of our conversation despite a host of other thoughts simultaneously careening through my head. Thoughts such as

Did you get my letter?

Do you need a staff writer?

Do you remember me from camp?

Can we talk about polarization?

I continued to dance around in line, due to the 12 ounces of caffeinated coffee I had just ingested, trying not to gawk at him. It was then that cemented the idea that I really do need to amass my writing on a professional website and print business cards for such a time as this. It would be so handy to be able to whip one out, hand it over, have its recipient pour over my writing and be completely taken aback by it and demand I write for them, while paying me a pretty fee no less.

But, alas, I did not have such life changing business cards. So I just got on the plane and immediately took out my notebook and began scribbling down all the thoughts I would soon be typing once electronic devices were permitted.

But those thoughts have been put aside until now, this second leg of the journey, the flight from Denver to Sacramento. Because as much as I like to put in my headphones, block out the world, and hammer out my  inner thoughts on little black keys, I even more enjoy conversations with strangers on airplanes, particularly when they are with a young Catholic priest who wears combat boots and has the Dead Kennedy’s on his iphone.

As Tyler Durden was to the Narrator, Father Peter was “by far the most interesting single serving friend I’ve ever met.” Wearing his priestly collar, looking friendly and roughly my age, I struck up conversation even prior to take-off.

Rather than the basic, "Hello, where are you going today? " I just pointed to the collar. “Does that mean stimulating theological conversation throughout the flight?” I asked. He laughed and agreed that would be enjoyable.

After admitting a lack of intellectual theological conversation in my life as of late, mostly due to my lack of continued theological education, we dove right into the Pope. Hmm, perhaps that’s not the best choice of words given unfortunate light Catholic priests have cast upon them. As conversation does, it evolved from papal authority, to “calls” from God, to intellect and reason (or lack thereof) within the Faith, to books to be read, and music to be heard. Quality music this fellow enjoys, and band names were exchanged for each of us to check out. Hoorah, new music!

And in an intuitive manner that I’m not sure stems from seminary training or his personal nature, he pretty much pinpointed me as in need of constant travel, confirming that this need will not relent, but will need constant tending throughout my life. How right he is. We soon started to descend and it seemed to me the flight went too quickly. These sorts of instances with strangers are what draw me to this traveling thing. They are rare, precious, and to be cherished. “Don’t talk to strangers,” is great and necessary advice when one is a child, but should be a discarded mentality shortly thereafter.

It is when traveling that I most feel the blessings and I daresay even the presence of God poured out upon me. Someone call up Lonely Planet and tell them I need a job.

Music Snobbery (Why Pop Radio Blows and Music Snobs Have A Handle on Something Grand)

I’m sorry if you think I’m pretentious. There’s more than a good chance I come across that way. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve discovered I’m a self-proclaimed snob. And I think I am not alone. There are countless others out there in the world just like me, strutting around with our heads held high, sure to make it known that we like what we like and it’s better than what you like. Again, we’re not trying to be rude (okay, some of us get off on being rude, but I don’t count myself as one of them. I actually worry about being rude.) but we just happen to be thoroughly convinced that what we like IS better than what others around us like, for good reason. Let me clarify, folks like me who know what they like, which is most likely contrary to what is popular with the general masses, are the ones who come across rude or pretentious mainly because what we like is in fact not what is embraced by most of society.

What is the meaning of all this blathering, you may be asking. Let me back up a bit. As per usual, this blog post is simply stemming from things that have been stewing around in my head for quite some time. Usually, after things have been stewing for quite some time, something I see, hear, overhear, or somet unknown muse sends a spark and the whole batch of stew erupts like a gas station falling victim to a careless smoker (a la Zoolander). Suddenly all that has been swimming around in my mind comes spewing out of my fingertips and into words read here or elsewhere. As I’m bad (aka lazy) about editing, I fear that often these words stay a jumbled unorganized mess, but since I know what I’m saying, I simply leave them be. There’s always time for editing, I tell myself. It’s nice to tell yourself things sometimes. This is not where I’m going with my self-proclaimed snobbery post, but is indeed a preview into the chaotic inner-workings of my mind. Perhaps what you read here or hear me say in person will now make a bit more sense with the knowledge that most of what’s written and spoken by me is simply verbally processed spew…which in itself aids in the mental processing, uh, process.

All that to say, as I was on my way to my coffee shop the other afternoon, something lit the match and the gas station erupted and now I’m spewing wordy flames, sorting out the idea that somehow it became okay for music to cease to be art and instead become a mindless opiate for the masses. And that’s when I started to think about how I sound (and probably am) really pretentious. Yet, I remain firm in my convictions.

The music I like, the music my friends like, and that several of my friends make, is in fact better than most of what is heard on popular radio. Let me clarify by what I mean by “better.” Let’s be honest, if we’re basing what is considered “good” music solely on numbers sold and amounts of money amassed, then the majority of true music is not considered good, and therefore definitely not better than what’s on popular radio. But herein lies the problem. Good music doesn’t sell. I mean, it does, but not nearly in the amounts that its popular counterpart does. I suppose that what I mean by “better,” is mostly “higher quality.” So if good music doesn’t make millions of dollars, what constitutes as good/true music?

One word: artistry.

It is the time, dedication, hard work, and yes even natural abilities that makes one a good musician.

Just because someone puts on a pair scrubs, tosses a stethoscope around their neck, that doesn’t make them a nurse. In the same fashion, just because a person is handed a guitar, a microphone, or even a recording contract, that doesn’t make them a musician. I hesitate to even use the term “recording artist” as the word “artist” is involved. If it didn’t make them sound like a small woodwind instrument given to elementary school students, I would just call them “recorders.” So…what do we call the individuals who get so much radio play today, but do very little besides gyrate their bodies while scantily clad? Who cares! It’s sexy, and sex sells. And besides sex and money, what really matters anyway?

I’d like to know who is responsible for deciding music no longer needs to have any sort of quality before being fed to the masses and punch them in the face. You know, if I wasn’t a borderline pacifist. Maybe I can just glare at them intensely and make them uncomfortable with my unwavering stare. But it’s not just their fault. Folks line up to buy this fabricated crap (Well, not so much anymore. Now they click their little keys and make sure gratification is nothing but instant.) The masses feed the industry that feeds the masses.

Okay, obviously not all popular music is terrible. It’s catchy and thus fun to listen to. That has to count for something. I’d say it’s fun to dance to, which given the right crowd, it can be. But dancing these days has turned into nothing more than rubbing against one another’s genitals in a public space with lots of flashing lights…and generally really off-beat.

I often have people ask me how I learn about the musicians that I listen to. It starts with turning off the radio. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? Wanna find out about good music? Turn off the radio! Hmm, no, turn off pop radio. Feel free to leave it on the classic rock station, the classical music station, or NPR (I promise they’ll play you good music and not turn you into a flailing socialist.) Also, stations like KEXP and The Current do a good job at playing music that wasn’t written in 45 minutes by some dude with a computer in a cubicle. Though, theoretically, they’re tied to public radio, so return to the NPR comment and move on.

Fellow music snob friends help, too. It’s important to keep the cycle flowing of telling folks you know about a new band you just heard, so that they may return the favor. And on and on it goes. And you know, the internet might have a little something out there about music. I’m not sure. It’s pretty vast.

Let my conclude by showing you two videos. One is of mega popular multimillion dollar pop star Rihanna. “Her” song “Rude Boy,” was a chart topper written by several dudes (okay, in her defense, she helped) whose native language isn’t even English. Hope you don’t have to dial 1 to understand the lyrics, cuz you know, it would be absurd to be a multi-lingual nation. Wait….that’s off topic and being saved for another blog. Honestly, I think I’d prefer Rihanna’s song in another language. If I couldn’t understand it, I wouldn’t feel the need to douse my eardrums in Holy Water every time I’m unfortunate enough to fall within earshot. Obviously, singing about sex isn’t a bad thing. It’s a totally natural event that people think about on a daily basis. Good music and art and the like lose their power if they aren’t engaging in that which makes us human, both good and bad. But, if I want to hear a woman describe how she’ll give her man an erection, I’ll just hang around the condom aisle in Wal-mart.



The second video is by Drew Grow (formerly of the band Five O’Clock People) who while makes a decent living, continues to play sold out shows to possibly hundreds of people. He is a working artist, constantly developing his craft. Ever evolving as an artist and human, rather than changing with the passing trends. I chose to pair Drew Grow with Rihanna relatively arbitrarily. He just came on my ipod as I’m finish up this post. So I went to his website where he has a post that touches on things similar what you’ve just read. He, as a quality musician should, wrestles with the larger questions and struggles of life and invites his listeners to do the same. He, like a quality musician should, convies emotion and moves his listeners, with and without words.(Close your eyes and listen instead of watching the video.) He might even talk about sex sometimes, who knows. He's playing here with The Portland Cello Project who also find themselves to be pretty outstanding musicians. He also often plays with a band and together they are called Drew Grow and the Pastor's Wives, if you should feel so inclined to check them out. You should feel so inclined. :)



I know stylistically these two songs are super different. Apples and oranges if you will. I'm not so much focusing on that though. For the moment, ignore style. Focus on quality.

You’re free to like what you like, and we're all going to stick with what we like anyway. But I'm going to  stick with quality artistry. (Okay, with the occasional guilty pleasure of music that falls short of the title of “good,” because, damn, that mass-pleasing music is catchy!)

At last, the soap-box is free now. I’m off it.

++It should be noted that simply because someone writes and sings a song in a language other than their own, it doesn’t have to suck. Example here.

East Coast Party (With "Geeking Out" Being A Prominent Theme)

In flight blog-Take 2-The Return

 Little fluffy clouds hover below me as I make my departure from the Eastern Sea Board. I have left the great paradox that is Baltimore. The Midwest is on the horizon…or will be anyway, in an insignificant amount of time. Currently flying over…Pennsylvania? West Virginia? Ohio? I need to look at a map, and could, if I once again wasn’t too cheap to pay for in-flight wi-fi. In this ever changing world of quickly developing technology, I wonder what sort of world my kids will live in when they are my age. You know, so they decide to exist. Hey…a map just showed up….on a napkin with my Coke. Looking at it, I’ve decided I must be above Western Pennsylvania.

It certainly was a good trip. I was met by Skye on my birthday(Wednesday) and promptly taken to a delicious Thai dinner, followed up by birthday presents and homemade birthday cake. If anyone wants to watch the first season of Sabrina the TeenageWitch, come on over to my house.Thanks, Skye!
Throughout the trip, I found myself geeking out quite a bit. Last Thursday, I got super nerdily excited when Skye and I found the grave of Edgar Allan Poe. Then I wondered how improper it was to get excited about finding a grave. We decided it’s ok when it’s that of literary superstars. Poe is buried in a small church graveyard just around the corner from the best crab cakes in Baltimore. At least, that’s what the sign says. I’m inclined to believe them. They were delicious, and though my crab cake experience is limited, they were the best I’ve had. Good fries and coleslaw, too.

On our way home from Poe's grave, we saw a sign that said "Poe's house," so we drove around in circles like madwomen for several minutes before finding his former home. Inside, I started a new "collection," you might call it. I've decided when I visit a city or foreign country, I want to buy books written by author's from there. Someday I'll have The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings purchased in Oxford, Harry Potter purchased in Scotland, The Fairytales of Hans Christian Andersen in Denmark, Pippi Longstocking in Sweden....well, you get the idea. Here in Baltimore I began my collection by purchasing 3 Poe books not only in his city, but in his very own home. I'm also guessing this will be the cheapest set I'll get too, as I paid $5 for 3 books. Here is Poe's house.

Crab cakes and poet’s graves were followed by bar tending at an art opening in which Skye had a couple of pieces. Skye’s friend, Jason, was curating, so we volunteered to help out. Drinks were complimentary, so Skye and I spent the evening pretty much pouring wine and opening up cans of Natural Bohemian, which turns out to be the “only-available-in-Maryland-PBR.” When folks found out I was on vacation, they seemed surprised that I was “working,” but I’m so glad that I did! I got a chance to meet and chat with a ton of new people, who all really liked me since I was handing out free drinks. If I hadn’t been behind the bar with no choice but to chat with folks, I most likely would have stood around quietly while strangers looked at art. After the show, several of us went out for drinks and ended the evening gobbling up Korean food. Mmmmm, kimchi.

 Hmmm, it seems I am now flying over a Great Lake. Erie, it turns out. It gives the illusion of international over the ocean flying. 

 

Friday, we fetched Cindy from the airport and headed to Washington DC. Further and more extensive geeking out ensued. We stopped at the Finnish Embassy because, well, I’m me. But also because there was a really great exhibit up that consisted of clothing made of recycled material. (Derelict? :)  Driving down Embassy Row made my giddy. Passing the buildings host to so many cultures and people, with loads of different languages being spoken around me, folks coming and going in the world wide hustle and bustle all on one street….ahh, so good. Following this, we made our way through the city and checked into our hotel. After a lovely walk next to the Potomac, we found ourselves outside of the Holocaust museum. With the happy thought of a sushi dinner to come later, we decided to depress ourselves and go inside. Now, every single museum in DC is worth your time, but you should probably go to this one. It’s hauntingly beautiful and that’s pretty much all I can say about it. Go see it for yourself. 

After being taken down a few notches by the museum, we wandered a few blocks north of the capitol building to find our sushi. It was tasty. The area was full of young folks like myself in nice suits. Washington pages and interns, I imagine. I kept thinking to myself that I was seeing the future congressmen/woman of the US right before my eyes.

With a belly full of rice, vegetables, and raw fish, we made our way back to the hotel to grab the car. We had come to DC in order to check out another art opening, this time for Skye’s friend Andrew (who hung out with us the previous night at Skye’s opening and at the Korean restaurant.) This time we didn’t serve, but simply enjoyed the wine while taking in the art. Good job, Andrew!

After a short bus ride from our hotel to the mall (the one with Lincoln not Old Navy) I drank the most expensive cup of cheap coffee I’ve ever had, then we were Smithsonian bound. Cindy and I hit the Museum of Natural History while Skye headed to the Portrait Gallery. (She goes to the Natural History Museum quite often for work.) Lion and tigers and bears, oh my! Not to mention the giant squid, a replica of Lucy, a mummy, tyrannosaurs Rex and some other dinos, the hope diamonds, a crocheted coral reef, and the coolest animal ever, the duck billed platypus. As well as a bunch of other ridiculously cool stuff.

We met up with Skye after our selected museums and headed to the Museum of the American Indian. This is one of the newer Smithsonians. It’s a beautiful building with the outdoor architecture meant to mimic the landscape that the natives in the Southwest US inhabit. It was full of well done displays depicting the art, history, and even modern lives of the American Indian (both North and South American.)

We then made a short jaunt to the National Conservatory which is just next door to the capitol. With it being a rather rain and chilly day, it was a lovely respite with flowers and plants from around the globe growing in a beautiful glass roofed building. 

After a full day of museuming, gaping, and generally being in awe, we were sure tired. Fortunately, Skye had a fantastic treat in store for us. I squirmed with glee as we sped down a Virginia highway to a DC suburb where the Korean delight known as jimjilbang (sauna/bath house) awaited us.

Ok, to be honest, when I heard that we were going to a “Korean spa,” I had in mind some shimmery and expensive day spa with mud baths, seaweed wraps, and cucumber water. These sorts of places are fantastic, don’t get me wrong. However, they are not the same sort of environment as the beloved jimjilbang. I assumed what we were going to was the basic American day spa with some Asian décor and perhaps some Korean masseuses. I literally did a little skip motion when we walked inside and I was suddenly 7000 miles away. This place was jimjilbang to a Tee. We left our shoes in a small locker in the front room, changed into the pajama thingys given to us by the Ajumma at the desk, and hit the sauna. All of them. Let me explain.

Decades ago, before indoor plumbing was a commonality in Korean homes, families strode on down to the local jimjilbang-basically a public bath house. Men and women go to separate locker rooms with large pools for bathing. I know…it sounds kind of gross. It’s not. There are also usually steam rooms and dry saunas as well as showers. However, before heading to the pools, it’s common (and fun) to meet your friends and loved ones of the opposite sex in the common area. Keep in mind, everyone is wearing the same sort of pajama things. Surrounding the common room are several different sorts of saunas/hot room. My particular favorite is the one where the floor is covered in warm tiny red clay balls which you lay in. Each sauna has a different substance on the walls (and in some cases, as just mentioned, on the floors) which have different health benefits. Essentially, one goes in a particular room, sweats out all her toxins, and then exits the sauna. In the center of the common room, folks sprawl out on wicker mats chit chatting, snacking, cuddling, what have you. There is also a little café where smoothies and  Korean dishes such as kimbap, bibimbap, and my personal favorite, kimchibokkembap can be ordered. It’s really a lovely experience, hanging out with a few buddies in public pajamas, snacking on goodies and sweating like pigs. It was to my great surprise and joy to find such a place here on US soil.

We left the jimjilbang feeling fully relaxed and refreshed and headed over to Jammin’ Java where I was stoked to watch John Mark McMillan. As expected, it was good.  We drove back to Baltimore late that night and promptly crashed (asleep, not the car.)

 Sunday morning Skye showed us her studio in downtown Baltimore and from there we walked to a lovely cafe where we sat outside munching on sandwiches, soup, and of course, sipping on some fine tasting coffee.

Sunday afternoon was another prime example of me pretty much geeking out. Really, this is the best term to describe myself over the last week. Skye took Cindy and I to The Walter’s museum in downtown Baltimore which is ripe with art and artificacts from ancient to medieval periods.However, we stopped briefly on the way at the Library of the Peabody Institute, where I pretty much just wanted to lay in the middle of the black and white shining floor and gaze up adoringly. Several floors of books surround a common floor area. Most of the books there are quite old and the only people allowed to go up the steep stairs to fetch a book for you are the librarians. I was in geek heaven.

(Side note-since I wrote that last sentence, I've landed, drove back to Sioux Falls, and am now sitting at work :(  finishing up the blog )

  

Once we arrived at The Walters we checked out some oddities and princely paintings, but spent the bulk of the time at the special exhibit called Treasures of Heaven: Saints Relics and Devotion in Medieval Europe. All of those hours spent in class working toward my Theology degree sprang to life. Up for just a few weeks at The Walter's, I'm so glad I got to see it while it was there. It was an exhibit full of ancient and medieval reliquaries, and occasionally an actual relic. If you choose to believe they're real, I saw slices of the "True Cross," a tooth of John the Baptist, and a piece of bone from James, the brother of Jesus. I try side on the side of rational thought most times, so I'm guessing those things I saw were random items collected by the medieval church in order to buy folks' devotion and further fund the already greedy church of the time. But that's just my opinion. Mostly there were highly decorated boxes, bibles, necklaces, etc which were from anywhere between 300AD-1600AD which had at one time housed the relics of past saints. It was a really fantastic and interesting exhibit.  I couldn't photograph in that exhibit, but these are pictures from other parts of the museum. Try to disregard the crookedness.

Sunday evening found a walk through the city and dinner at a delightful Afghani restaurant.

On Monday we had to say good bye to Cindy who was flying back to Minneapolis. In her own words, "I'm done vacating." Skye had to work, so I dropped Cindy off at the light rail and then headed north to explore the city, where I found Charm City Cakes, featured on the show Ace of Cakes on the Food Network. I wanted to check the space out, as we used to watch this show at work quiet often and laughed at how stoned we were pretty sure several of the crew were. I peered in the dark window and saw an outline of a woman working, which made me feel silly for poking around, so I looked away and kept walking. The surrounding air seemed fairly smoke free. :) I walked a few more blocks from Charm City Cakes and found myself on the campus of Johns Hopkins University. Seeing as how I have very little intellectual stimulation these days (in my real life, not during vacation) I wandered around the campus, and was pleased to find Krieger Hall. (Krieger is my paternal grandmother's maiden name.) I heard the term "neuroscience," used twice in a matter of minutes. I picked up a paper and an "anarchy in the UK" latte and sat outside absorbing sun and intellect.

Eventually, it was time for Skye to get off work, so I headed back to the neighborhood. I wandered around a bit and stumbled upon the house of F. Scott Fitzgerald just a few blocks from Skye's house.Naturally, I got a little giddy once again.

Skye and I went out for dinner when she was done with work at a place called Golden West. It was in the same northern neighborhood I had been in earlier that day, but I was quite surprised when one of the Charm City Cakes fellows walked his most adorable black and white pooch right past us. I felt pretty ridiculous as I was staring at him, trying to figure out if it was him, when we made eye contact, and I quickly looked away thinking, "Oh, man, sorry dude!" I found it funny, however, that it was the one guy I laughed at most on the show as he was the one who stood out as being the most high. His pupils seemed properly dilated that evening. :) Cute dog, too. 

I also went to a well respected coffee house, Spro, back on the northern side. I was surprised to know the barista when I walked in. I had met him the night of Skye's art show and he had gone out for drinks and Korean food with us. It's always fun having a neighborhoodesque experience in a new city. Baltimore's got the goods on neighborhoods. It started raining while I was there so I busted out my ipod and listened to "Raining in Baltimore," by Counting Crows, because that's the sort of nerd I am. I love that sort of "connectiony" stuff.

Tuesday, Skye had to work again, so I took to city alone once more, though this time exploring the southerly side. I walked around the harbour which happened to be right next to Camden Yards where the Orioles would be playing the Twins that night. It also happened to be Joe Mauer's birthday, so watching the Twins beat the Orioles would have been delightful. However, we didn't go to the game, and Mauer is on the DL anyway. It was still fun to see the stadium. I remember going there in 8th grade on a school trip to DC. We took one afternoon to go to the Baltimore Aquarium and our teachers took us to Camden Yards because the scoreboard was made at Daktronics in Brookings (where I was going to school.)

Wednesday morning, I woke up for my last day on the East Coast. I tried not to think about that. Skye once again was working, and I have a friend from high school who lives in DC and I was eager to spend some more time there anyway, so back down south to the capitol city I went.

This time I took the train, which is always fun. Taking trains is always fun. There's a lack of them in the midwest. From Baltimore to DC's Union Station it's about an hours ride. Outside Union Station is a Christopher Columbus monument, which to me looks like it should have mermaids hanging from it.

From Union Station I walked....and walked...and walked. Throughout the day on Wednesday, I walked a good portion of Washington DC. It was grand. It was a beautiful day outside and there is so much to see. I wanted to see the National Archives but the line was around the corner of the block, so I just kept walking. I walked around the capitol building and across from the Supreme Court and Library of Congress. I walked next to the Senate offices where I wanted to go in and find Mr. Thune for that cup of coffee I mentioned in my letter to him that I'm sooo sure he read. Polarization and all that nonsense....

I walked through downtown, past the FBI building, and the National Treasury (I waved to my money) to the White House, where I started to feel sort of odd and slightly creepy when I realized I was probably being watched from all sorts of places I wasn't aware of. Big Brother hangs out on 16th and Pennsylvania, I'm guessing.

 


As it was April 20th, I wasn't surprised when a block away from Obama's house, on 15th Street, there was a weed parade, protesting for legalization of marijuana. I was surprised, however, at how small of a crowd was walking in it. On 4/20 I imagined there would be a whole large protest in DC. But I guess that sort of thing requires a lot of motivation and organization with a lack of snacks.

From Obama's house, I walked back through downtown admiring all the people and architecture and world renowned buildings. Then I got on a subway and headed up to Bethesda to meet my friend Mary for all you can eat sushi. Mmmmm. She gave me some good suggestions for the afternoon. After our post-sushi coffee from Caribou (good to give Minnesota some love while so far away) I heeded her advice, and took the subway to DuPont Circle, where folks sit around outside chit chatting about life, love, politics, and whatever else they fancy. I noticed when I got there that it was on the end of Embassy Row. Seeing as how giddy I got just driving down the road a few days earlier, I decided to walk it. I ended up having what I decided to call my "Embassy Easter Egg Hunt." There were so many that would keep popping up here and there, it reminded me of being a child at an Easter Egg hunt. Once you see one, they keep popping up unexpectedly all over the place. I saw Kenya, Korea, Romania, Estonia, Philippines, Guatemala....oh the list goes on and on. I walked around like a....well, like a ridiculously excited child at an easter egg hunt, to be redundant. So much culture, architecture, so many languages...definitely a "me" sort of place. Though I have to say, I was a little disappointed that there was not a single tulip in front of the Netherlands' embassy.

From that particular end of Embassy Row, I walked to Georgetown University and its surrounding area. I sat with my shoes off on the shores of the Potomac in front of the Swedish Embassy and watched Georgetown Crew practice. That's one sport I wish I would have gotten into. It looks so fun.

 With that, it was time to head back north to Baltimore. I took the bus from Georgetown back to Union Station, said goodbye to one of my new favorite cities, climbed aboard the train and headed back for my final evening in Charm City. It was evening when I returned, so Skye, her husband Eric, and I walked downtown to the Owl Bar and grabbed some of the best pizza I've ever eaten. The next morning, I walked with Skye to work, where we parted ways. We hugged farewell, and off I strolled to the light rail which would take me to BWI. As if knowing I wanted just a bit longer in the east, my flight was delayed by 45 minutes. But eventually, I made it back to the great midwest, and here I sit. Ready, in fact in need, of another adventure.

Baltimore Bound Birthday Blog (in flight!)

OK, so since I wrote what you'll read below, I've landed in Baltimore, eaten a delicious Thai dinner (yes, two nights in a row, thank you) complete with Singha,  enjoyed a homemade birthday cake, and thoroughly enjoyed time with one of my oldest friends. However, on the flight from Chicago to Baltimore, I wrote the following:

This is my first ever inflight blog. I’m somewhere between Chicago and Baltimore at the moment. Granted, this won’t be posted while in the air, as the wi-fi on this particular aircraft is broken, and I’m too cheap to pay for it anyway. None the less, it’s still rather exciting for me to be typing away at 37,000 feet. I’m easily amused.

Anyway, I think it’s going to be a good vacation. There have been a few little things that have occurred in my time leading up to this East Coast venture. I’m visiting my friend Skye, who’s been one of my closest friends since second grade. I timed my trip just right that our other good friend Cindy will also be on the East Coast visiting family. She’s been in New Jersey and New York for a few days, and will come meet us in Baltimore on Friday. Then the three of us will head down to DC for some touristy activities. Smithsonian’s particularly. We’ll cruise around DC on Saturday as well, and then Saturday evening is the event I’m perhaps most looking forward to. Here we find another little occurrence falling into place which makes me think this vacation will have me smiling. See, just before I booked my flight back in February, I was super excited to learn that John Mark McMillan was going to be playing in DC during my time there. Then, the day I bought my plane tickets, the show sold out. I tried not to be too bummed. Well, two weeks ago, as I was looking on his website to debate attending a different East Coast show, I noticed there were no longer large red capital letters spelling “SOLD OUT” across the DC line. I was perplexed, and slightly hopeful. I happen to “like” John Mark on facebook, so I posted on his wall, asking what the deal was. Was the show sold out or not? Honestly, I wasn’t expecting a response, but to my surprise, the next morning he’d commented on my post. They opened up a larger room at the venue and the show was no longer sold out. HOORAY!! So I promptly bought 3 tickets for Skye, Cindy, and I to avoid any further bummedness of a sold out show.  I eagerly look forward to belting out, along with the crowd, pretty much every single song lyric that night…save the new songs, I guess. He’s been working on a few I think.

Yesterday, I made it to safely to Minneapolis after working the night shift. Upon arrival,  I bought a new pair of TOMS thanks to my aunt and my grandpa (two of my most favorite people). My old TOMS have a hole in the toe as I wore them rather excessively. Exclusively even.  I bolted out of the Mall of America as it was far too beautiful outside to be burdened with roofs and stuffy recycled air and I made my way north to St. Paul where I happened to know of a lovely Finnish Bistro. While devoid of Karelian Pies (sadly, next to impossible to find in the US) I did enjoy some pulla (Finnish desert bread) and a cup of coffee while sitting outside, absorbing the warmth of the sun on my back. And consequently, my feet as my new shoes are black and thus sun soaker uppers. I ended the evening with a tasty brew and the spiciest Thai food I’ve ever eaten (including in Thailand) while watching a chick flick at my friend Cindy’s. Yes, that’s right, the same Cindy who is currently on the East Coast and will share the joys of it with me in two days’ time. Trusty folks, we mid-westerners are. J

I woke early this morning and enjoyed coffee and a blueberry scone just across from the bus stop. After a short bus ride and short light rail ride, I arrived at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. I wanted to arrive with plenty of time to spare, as I’ve heard things are even more inconvenient these days than ever.  I should have slept in. Despite rumors of huge pains in the ass and heightened security measures, never in my life has it been easier or speedier getting through the airport. From the time I stepped off the light rail at the door of terminal two, I was checked in and through security in under 15 minutes. I walked right up to the check in counter without waiting for a single other passenger. Perhaps that gaping hole in the roof of last week’s Southwest flight deterred a lot of folks, though the flight I’m currently on is full. Yay for middle seats! Ugh. Anyway, it felt like some strange apocalyptic scene or alternate universe, the great empty airport. Nevertheless, I made it to Chicago sans holes in the roof or landing on the island of Jack Sheppard. I had a two hour layover in Chicago’s midway, so I treated myself to a lunch of overpriced pizza and Blue Moon given that I was on vacation and it was my birthday.

When I boarded my flight 1476, I made way to an empty seat toward the back. Walking through the aisle, I noticed a flight attendant with glittery purple crazy shaped glasses, purple feathered boa, and a shiny and pointed purple hat that said “Birthday Girl.” I smiled. It gave me an idea. Though the chances o were slim, I thought, hmm, maybe they’ll give me a free beer since it’s my birthday. HA! As “Birthday Girl” came around to take drink orders, I smirked and asked, “So, do I get a free beer since it’s my birthday too?” She gave a kind of sly grin and just asked, “What kind do you want?” The selection was small, but a free beer, a free anything on an airline, was too great to pass up, so I ordered a Heineken, which I’m sipping now as I hammer away at the keys. Oh, we’re descending already! Three cheers for Baltimore! Off with the electronics! I don’t want to single handedly crash this bird. J

A Distraction Of Words While Cleaning My Room

To my passport,
Cleaning, I tuck you away safely beneath folded cotton
in the far corner of my room.
You are so neglected these days, my love.
Forgive me.
It is a parting neither of us desire,
but a necessary evil in these days,
the days of interim.
In this time of quiet,
I pray that you keep well,
and dream of better days ahead.
Days filled with ink for your pages,
and the breath of life for me.
A life that for now,
is stilled in dream,
as you are stilled,
safely beneath folded cotton,
in the far corner of my room.

Some day, my dear one,
the far corners of the Earth.
For now, rest well, until for us both,
the time of resurrection uplifts us,
if only in coach.