A year ago today. and two years ago today.

NYC and DC and San Francisco.

Last night, I went to our local gym for the first time. I sported my new Asics (which for some reason I keep pronouncing ASSics), my new super-strength bra, and a new Adidas zip-down. Since it’s across the street from us, I didn’t take much with me, just my keys, my wallet and my iPod.

When I got there, it was only me. I had the entire place to myself. The guy running the place handed me a towel. I stretched for a bit, and then put my stuff in front of the treadmill and hopped on.

Treadmill makers must be schizophrenic. There never seems to be a standard set in place surrounding the way they work. I have been to several gyms over the years, and I can’t think of two who shared the same type of treadmill. Even if they’re just little differences, they’re differences, and it can take the duration of an entire workout sometimes to figure them out. Usually, I just give in right away. My routine usually begins like this:

Machine blinks the words “ENTER WORKOUT” I punch in manual.

Machine blinks the words “ENTER LEVEL” I punch in 2 or 3.

Machine blinks the words “ENTER WEIGHT” I put in 140.

Machine blinks the words “ENTER SPEED” I put in 3.5.

Machine blinks the words “ENTER INCLINE” I put in 5.0.

Machine blinks the words “ENTER TIME” I punch in 33 minutes.

And this is how we talk to one another. I like the manual mode because once I’m warmed up, I can tell it to do whatever I want. That’s a good thing. Control.

But last night, I was thrown. I had no idea what this machine was doing. Red shit was moving across the screen like a marquee on the Jersey boardwalk. I couldn’t read it, let alone crack the code in time to fill it out. So I just started to press buttons, one right after another, PRESS PRESS PRESS. OK. OK. OK. PRESS PRESS PRESS? OK. OK. GO!!

And so he counted down 3… 2… 1… and I was off.

It moved so slowly. Apparently, what I hit was WORKOUT: THREE-YEAR-OLD. I think I was doing 1.5 with an incline of zero. So I punched it up a bit. I moved the incline to 5 and the speed to 3.5. About two minutes in, the thing began to move south. It just spitted and lowered itself to the floor, back down to an incline of nothing. What happen next, and how it happen still remains a mystery to me. As it lowered, it began to wobble as well. You know, much like an over-used restaurant table. I started to freak. My fat ass BROKE the god damn machine!

I looked down, confused. Lying before me and underneath the (YES, UNDERNEATH) the treadmill was my iPod and my brand new, lovely pair of super awesome headphones Toby had just purchased for me. BOTH are pinched beneath the treadmill. And I can hear them screaming. THEY’RE SCREAMING! My iPod had become roadkill. But not even REAL roadkill, no. It’s been run over by something that doesn’t even MOVE! I jumped off the treadmill (after hitting stop of course.) I tried and lift the beast from crushing my iPod and its headphones. I couldn’t lift it. And contrary to what everyone says about mothers who, when in shock, lift cars from their baby’s body, I was unable to lift the monster from crushing my iPod. I just stood there, and listened to it scream. I watched the life seep out of it and spill onto the carpet below. And all I could think was THANK GOD! NO ONE IS IN HERE TO WITNESS THIS CARNAGE!

Suddenly, amidst all the chaos and death screams, I had an idea. I got back on the treadmill. It’s blinking “PRESS ENTER TO CONTINUE”. I did so. I hit an incline of like 10 or something and it began to rise, releasing my precious iPod from its grasp. I then hit a speed of 5 and hop down again, onto the floor. I grabbed my iPod and the headphones and took them both to safe place.

I know this next part probably sounds absurd. But after the trauma, I figured since it’s probably going to be bad news, I might as well wait to find out about its condition until after I had a decent workout. So I didn’t test it right away.

Later, after leaving the gym and finishing my workout, I turned the thing on. It’s dented a bit, there’s a scratch on its back. My headphones-I have no IDEA how they weren’t in a gajillion pieces-had a few indentations and slits within the foam. But otherwise, they seemed ok.

On. Scroll. Press. Select. FUCK!!! OH!! Release hold. On. Scroll. Press. Play.

I waited.

It worked. IT WORKED!! Hit and run by a treadmill and my iPod still works. Sure, it’s dented, but the thing works, headphones and all.

I love you, Apple.

These boxes and this note was sitting in the lobby to one of our floors yesterday. If you knew where I worked, it’d be really quite funny. I laughed and took pictures.

And this sits quietly on Sanchez, in between 25 and 24th.

A year ago today. And two years ago today.

My word.

because it’s so good, even I can’t talk about it.

—Modest Mouse 4.7mgs

Our stuff finally arrives tomorrow. I am so looking forward to this. First, Door to Door storage is dropping off the huge blue bins. Next, some unloading company is coming over to move everything up the stairs and into our sunny apartment. Finally, I will have some fall clothing. Finally, we’ll be able to eat at home. On plates. Finally, I’ll have my cds, tv, dvds, books, candles, pottery, art supplies. It will all be here tomorrow. I feel like throwing a party.

Most of America is entering a three-day weekend. Which couldn’t come at a better time. Toby and I might explore if we get everything deboxed in time and he gets all the work he has completed. I’m thinking of kicking around Golden Gate Park, then stumbling over the bridge, maybe hiking around Sausalito until we fall down. We could wander to the beach, which we have yet to do. And I can stare at all those rocks that jet out from nowhere, and wonder again about how the ocean does this. (When I was a kid I used to freak myself out. Imagine finding yourself on one of those bizarre ocean zits! Just sitting there, in the middle of the Pacific watching the waves lap up on every side. Which would get me thinking, that if I were on board the Titanic I would have jumped or swam to that iceberg who took her down. I was such a smart child! I never thought it out, though. I just figured, I wouldn’t have to sink and, in turn, get water in my ears. I probably would have waited there, frozen to it like a finger on a metal ice cube tray and wait for a seal to take me home. Or Orca. Maybe I’d just scream really loud until the passenger boat going to and from Disney World from the camp ground heard me and took me to land.) Smart kid, I was.

Lastly, I discovered another bothersome word. I have always disliked the word “Renege”. I especially dislike it in its past tense, “Reneged”. Do words bother people? Or is it just for this person?

We scan alot of film where I work. Today, I was told that I should study up on the scanner we own in order to ensure my production of speedy yet excellent scans.

This morning I spent hours getting to know the scanner. We have an Epson 4870. It’s superb. Here is what I spent today reading along with recreating his (film) exercises using our own in-house imagery. I have never been more impressed with a scanner.

Just thought I’d share.

I have always thought there might be a genetic predisposition behind the fear some of my family members have of clowns. Both my older brother and I fear them as if they were spawn of satan. I once locked myself in a closet after one entered the video store I worked at in college. Damn clowns. No business they have lurking around like that with fake smiles, fat ugly noses and huge feet.

But when clowns with names such as Spanky are arrested for things like child pornography, I start to think my brother and I stand a chance at starting an anti-clown organization and bringing the conspiracy to the ground. Didn’t this fella learn anything from Gacy? You’re supposed to kill them as well.

Thanks, Nifkin for the linkage. and a new set of nightmares.

Last night, on my way home I noticed a cute girl on MUNI. She was about my height. She had blond hair. It was styled yet messy. Her roots were showing slightly. They were darker than the hair around her face. But they weren’t the crop of a lazy gardener. It was the hair color of an active girl, one who spends time in the sun. She wore thick, dark-rimmed glasses. She wore a green sweater over a gray T-shirt. She wore fitted, faded blue jeans and a black belt. Her belly was slightly exposed, but by accident. She looked good. No, she looked great. Her clothing wanted to be there.

There was me. I wore a red over-stretched cardigan I purchased while I was in college. I wore jeans. They are blue as well.They don’t fit me properly. But I got them on sale in the men’s department. My cardigan covered a black sweater I purchased at Target. I don’t wear my glasses because I don’t need them. Even though I like the way they look. My hair is totally in need of a trim but having just moved here I don’t know where to buy bread let alone where to go for a haircut.

If my clothing could vote, it’d choose to be draped across a more attractive, active body. There are times I am forced to free my clothing from a fat roll. There are other moments where I am forced to separate my shirt from my breasts. It’s as if they’re always fighting. I hate pulling them away from one another while we’re in public.

I haven’t felt too good about myself, lately. And it’s amplified now that I’m new to a place, now that I’m different. Before we moved west from Washington D.C. I was doing yoga four times a week. I was also watching what I ate and following a pretty regular routine. And now? Now, I buy a yoga magazine and think about going to the local studio (every once and a while). And I eat donuts. I haven’t ever cared for donuts, but I have been eating them lately. And there’s nothing good about this cycle. Except that I’ve grown really very good at admiring other women and what they wear. Something needs to change again. Something.

I am discovering that (sometimes) all it takes is to notice someone on a train and be intrigued enough to explore imaginary trails. And to understand that there’s always room to change your real ones. I have always envied those who chase possibilities and discover new places without knowing what it was he or she might find, if they should find anything at all. Yesterday, as I caught my self-loathing reflection in a San Francisco storefront window, I realized I am living the life of a person I have at one time admired, one who explores change.

I’d like to believe that the green cardigan-wearing gal I saw on the MUNI yesterday notices her reflection from time to time in a storefront window and discovers how good she looks. And today, I’d like to take a moment to thank her for pushing my sorry ass into joining our local gym last night.

(Joining a gym means you automatically lose weight, right?)

Last night we were placing imaginary bets on who’s going to die on the Sopranos. Toby had a few ideas, I did as well. My guess was so uneventful and safe. (This is why I’m a bore to gamble with. I’m way too conservative with my money).

So, who’s gonna bite it and by whom? Learn me something.

I, Michele, hereby swear that I will never, under any circumstances, talk about my job on, over, on top of, near, around, or in front of the internet. This means that no matter how funny and/or unbelievable and intoxicatingly weird said job becomes I will not mention said weirdness here. And in the event of strangeness happening (as we all know it will), I will not cave in and express, nor will I hint at the fact that weirdness is happening. Furthermore, if I am in need of discussing internet unmentionables, said internet unmentionables will only be mentioned within the parameters of my own home or among close friends. No matter how bizarre this job becomes, no matter how intoxicating a story is, no matter how painful it is after meeting someone fabulous and horny and keeping it from the masses, I must abide by this rule.

I vow to never break this rule. I vow never to break this rule.

And thus my non-disclosure agreement is paraphrased.

(This is going to be unbelievably difficult for me. You have no idea.)

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Toby’s feet. In the sun while we sip wine outside.

Napa off route 29. This is not a shot of grapevines. It’s a shot of hay.

This is a shot of grapevines.

This is a closer up shot of some more grapevines.

And another. I figured there are actually grapes grown in Napa.

The grapes’ version of an old folks home.

The view from the Groth winery.

Another view from the Groth winery.

Here, Toby and Amanda stand out back.

Here is some guy taking a dirtnap. I hear this happens often. After a few glasses of wine, everyone wants to take a nap. And what a perfect place to do so.

Two guys, inches away from taking a nap.

Three people and one picture-taker who could really use a nap.

Toby.

This was taken outside the Coppola winery, the Disney version of a winery. But it was still nice sitting outside.

Cherry pits in a wine glass.

Toby, smelling his own sock.

Apparently this staircase costs over a million dollars. Again, in Coppola.

And again.

And again.

Here we are at Atlas Cafe in the Mission. Toby and Soung.

David.

Matt.

A heated game of Scrabble between two ladies I do not know.

Manny Tan.

Yes, it is. Again. I’m not even going to count how many of these I have had over the span of my fifteen working years. Every time I come to one of these, I consider pulling a stunt like the one Jack did in Five Easy Pieces. Not the one where he really wants to order toast. The other one, where he leaves the car to go to the rest room and climbs aboard a truck going elsewhere.

That’s not really true. I just have new-day jitters, that’s all.

I leave in one hour for work. My frist job on the west coast. Wish me luck!

Who would have guessed that allergies could be so damn bad in San Francisco? I feel like my head is about to explode. Help. Me.

In follow up to a few links I posted yesterday, Ms. Washingtonienne has been revealed. Her name is Jessica Cutler. Wonkette has an exclusive interview.

You can still read some of her sex-filled stories here. You can also read the latest fake (but kinda funny) Washingtonienne here. (I still think this is the work of a gay man.)

I would like to thank missy. for dragging my curious (and bored) nose into this scandal. I sort of became, for lack of a better word, obsessed.

Well, we’re off to Napa Valley for the day. I start work on Monday, so perhaps I’ll swallow the wine in an attempt to drown my sorrows.

Two years ago today.

The wonderful Nifkin is back as well as Toby. And BSmith started something new. My gal pal Gina is saying stuff out of Detroit. And recently, Missy introduced me to this site because of this blog and the scandal behind it all. And lana’s writing from the land down under.

I have been seeking out new (to me) or rediscovering old haunts as of late and have been frequenting the following sites:

Heather Champ | bluepoppy | Powazek | blurbomat | External Monologue

Any and all of the above is so much more entertaining that my drivel. And I’d love to discover more.

Soung and David are here this weekend. And last night Toby and I went met up with them to play some pool and get some eats. I have developed a really bad habit since moving to San Francisco. My older brother’s wife gave us a Zagat guide at our wedding party (as part of one of the greatest cross-country drive packages ever) and I can’t stop reading it. Lately, I have begun pulling it out as we walk through San Francisco neighborhoods such as the Haight-Ashbury, Cole Valley and the Tenderloin (which are a few of the areas we were hanging out in last night).

By the end of our time here, I will know every restaurant in the Bay Area. I am sure of it. So last night, as we wandered by restaurants in the Haight-Ashbury area, I began reading reviews out loud for everyone to hear.

By the time we had made our way through Haight-Ashbury and into Cole Valley, I had read over 7 reviews, out loud, as we walked down the street. How annoying is that? And how important has food become to me? Very.

Anyway, we finally settled here as my trusty new bible gave it a 24 for food, a 19 for dining, and a 21 for service. This is what the review reads:

Cole Valley’s bacchanalian boite has taken ‘mercy on the recession-inflicted’, ‘jumping on the small-plate bandwagon’ and offering ‘lower-costing entrees’—all the better to ‘taste everything’ among the ‘taller-than’ the-Transamerica-Pyramid’ ‘Cal-Asian fusion’ dishes and ‘match it with flights’; the ‘cutting-edge’ interior also has had a ‘marvelous’ makeover, but the ‘signature shitake dumplings and bananamisu’, and the ability of walk-ins ‘to order in the adjacent wine bar’ remain.

I’m not entirely sure what all that crap means. I tend to get lost within all their quotation marks. But what I can say is this: The food was excellent. It really was. And the dumplings were indeed ncredible. My face salivates thinking about them now. Soung and I had something called a Tuna Tower and-in spite of the name-was also quite good.

So today is David’s Birthday (shown on the left) and I think we’re going to see them again later tonight after they have a huge birthday dinner and we have eat sushi with Cathy. I can only hope, that judging by the quickness of our having east-coast visitors, we’ll be blessed by many more and frequently.

Who’s next? I want to go here before the chef moves to New York.

I liked this post. I think becuase I ended up learning stuff.

And, crazy as this may seem, I have finally caught up with the old site’s content. The comments didn’t move over, but the posts did. So, now I have a link from two years ago as well.

I find it pretty amusing that two years ago I lived in NYC, a year ago, DC and now in San Francisco. I wonder where I’ll write from next year as I link back to today.

We’ve been here for one week’s time. As of yesterday evening actually. I was offered a job yesterday. At first, I was overjoyed with having them interested. And for the most part, I still am. I have gone on two interviews with them. The first one went smooth as pie and I liked both individuals quite a bit. The second interview went well, but there were bumps. And by bumps, I mean weird questions were asked such as “What do you do when a boss tells you you HAVE to change something even though you know it’s right or you think what you’ve done is better?” And still another was “What is it you’d say you’re terrible at?” Another person asked me if I knew that this meant long hours and that “most of the design team is the last to leave at the end of the night”. (The word “Night” still rings loudly through the caverns of my head.)

Again with this job shit, you know? I want to make sure that the next job I take is great for me. I want to make sure that I’ll be there for a year or more and that they’ll love me as much as I love them. (I’m exaggerating). I want to make sure that if I need to take a day off to take my kitty to the vet or get my teeth cleaned, no one is going to freak out and give me shame-one-you looks and more work the following day. (Yes, I have seen this done OVER and OVER again.)

I wish it were possible to see three months down the road and know what it is you’re to do ahead of time. Three months isn’t too much to ask for, I don’t wish to know EVERYTHING from this point forward, but it’d be nice to have a glimpse.

And I’d have to start Monday. And I still don’t have my stuff.

But I’m sure I’m gonna say yes.

May the online community welcome another kick ass chick. I was overjoyed to see her on my stats this morning. Yay, Gina! Finally, Detroit has a voice.

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We barely took anything of California. But that’s ok, I have decided. Because we live here now and we’ll surely be taking hundreds. So I have two lonely pictures and will then finally shut this thing down.

2 humans, 3 cats and 10 cites in 4.5 days.

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Nevada. I was obviously getting sort of bored of driving at this point. Plus, I started to worry for the cats. I stopped taking pictures for some reason. I’m not sure why, Nevada intrigues me. And I’m going to probably regret that for years to come.

We saw numerous weirdness along the way. We drove through Battle Mountain (An aside: The Washington Post deemed the “Armpit of the Nation”. In response to this, Battle Mountain boasted on roadside signs along Route 80, “Come MAKE US YOUR PIT STOP!” Funny.) We drove through the high desert, which was beautiful and bizarre. We drove by several prisons. Signs reading “Do not pick up hitch-hikers. Prison area.” We drove by buffalo and cattle, trailers and patches of nothing. Interesting bird, Nevada is.

I have to correct myself about something I said previously about Nevada. Before this trip, I had only ever driven through southern Nevada (route 15—from Vegas to L.A.). Southern Nevada is much different from northern Nevada. Southern Nevada is flat desert. Northern Nevada is hilly and green and there are a few more signs of life, might be prison life, but life none-the-less. Northern Nevada was quite pretty, actually.

Our hotel room in Reno. For some reason, we took pictures of our ugliest two rooms. These were, by far, the worse two. But who cares. Reno was cool. I won 93 bucks on the slots and 50 on Blackjack. I’m a winner.

Downtown Reno, just before pulling out of town in the morning.

Found this bumper sticker pretty funny. The colors might not run, but they will fade. heh.

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Here we are just inside Utah. It was cold and gusty here. I never would have thought this area would have been cold. But it was. There were big drops of rain as well. It was as if a strainer above were clogged. The drops were HUGE and they were spread few and far between. I called them “Summer Drops” Summer here and summer there.

A self portrait of myself. No clue what I’m doing with my face.

A bit more of the terrain.

The picture below best illustrates the deterioration of my mental state as we drove from where Route 70 ended and north, along Route 6, which led us north into Provo and Salt Lake City. From that point on, we began to leave the green behind. Those mountains in the distance were as daunting and cold and desolate as they appear. As we drove towards them, they became bigger. As they became bigger, the greenery became smaller and smaller, until there was none. The rock turned red and began to form into contorted roadside ghosts. And this was cool for a little while. But then I felt sun-shocked and totally alone and small. After driving through this stretch in Utah, I am sure there are alien machines named “The Rover” or “Qubert” inhabiting parts of Utah, reporting back with images to some other species far, far away about how the terrain seems barren, but there does appear to be signs of life. I’m just sayin…

But I didn’t take pictures of that part of Utah. And I am only now regretting this. I missed the photograph of the dead horses, the little mormon towns, the weird red rocks, the lack of signs of living and life. I totally didn’t capture what looked like how I imagine the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean to be. I am sorry to say I have no record of desolation. Which means these images will probably haunt me for years to come.

This was taken right outside Provo, after coming down off a massive mountain, thousands of feet above sea level. Storms were setting in again. There were several of them. We didn’t know it yet, but we’d hit them from now until the Nevada state line.

Here is an image of the most southern tip of the Great Salt Lake. This lake is quite nightmarish, if you were to ask this easterner. I don’t know, it just sits there all still and murky. Plus, it’s huge. Anyway, here is a photo. This was also taken right after we picked up Route 80.

These are some of the lesser popular salt flats. We pulled over for a bit to take some pictures. The earth here is squishy. One might not sink, but one doesn’t feel too comfortable going too far out (though Toby did.) I kept expecting him to disappear into an unknown salt-flat, undercurrent.

Out here is where the army testing grounds once were (are?). They are miles off the main highway, but there are signs of such along the way. My imagination took me places, picturing those HUGE mushroom clouds poofing out over the horizon at one time.

More storms. I do wish pictures could do this justice. I just don’t have the eye nor the equipment.

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I’ll begin by saying that we were both in bewildered awe over Colorado. You will notice that by the number of pictures we have here.

This will be Toby and me in 35 years.

Toby charming the freak off Pookum. He did this, he played the kitty-whisperer. He calmed them down when they were TOTALLY FREAKING THE HELL OUT. It was good. Toby is a wonderful man.

Colorado is an interesting state. This is how it looks when you come in from Kansas. And it looks like this for nearly 2.5 hours or so. Finally, the hills start to bloat and then, off in the distance, you start seeing something glimmering. It’s sort of cloud like, but stationary. These cloud-like things can play funny tricks on your eyes until you realize what they are.

We pulled off for a bit to take some pictures.

A stop sign. I am willing to bet this Stop Sign was put to work less than 100 times since its erection.

You probably can’t see this, but if you open this image you will notice that I am being threatened out of the driver’s seat by something entirely fuzzy and orange.

That same Stop Sign. I put it to work that day.

TobyJoe. We might be living out west, but I have proof that he’s an easterner at heart.

Perhaps in my next life, I’ll take pictures of out-of-work street signs.

A glimpse of Denver.

The mountains begin.

This image is sort of terrible. But I put it up to sort of illustrate what I was speaking about earlier when I was talking about the weird cloud-like things. They are called The Rockies. For being so huge, they sure do sneak up on you. One minute your world is flat as hell, the next minute your gasping for air in more ways than one.

The next several shots are why we stayed in Glennwood Springs. Amazing views. Truly outstanding. And, we found a nine-foot pool table.

The photograph isn’t in focus. But I wanted to show a tunnel. We drove through several between Denver, Aspen and Glennwood Springs.

This was our view from our room at dawn. I got up super early every day while we were traveling. I have always been fond of morning.

Another view from the Hotel. We stopped at an internet cafe where I posted something about John Denver.

See what I mean about the cat-whisperer? Who wouldn’t love this boy? (Yes, I mean both of them.)

The next several shots are of our trek from Colorado into Utah. These were taken as we travelled through western Colorado, through towns like New Castle, Rifle, and Grand Junction. Below, are pictures of storm clouds (which left me speechless.) Plus, some of the most amazing natural light I have ever seen.

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This is Kansas City. I’m still trying to figure out why Kansas City is in Missouri and why it wasn’t named something more appropriate.

Ahhhh Kansas. As I said on a previous post. We heard nothing but horrible things about Kansas. And I was actually kind of fond of her. In Kansas, we started taking many more pictures. I think we found ourselves inspired. Either that, or we began leaving more bread-crumbs, as we began moving further and further away from home.

This is TobyJoe. We’re at a rest area in Kansas.

This was taken from the parking lot of the Best Inn in Salina, Kansas were we stayed for one night. I just learned, only after saying it several times to strangers, that Salina is pronounced Sal-eye-na and not Sa-lee-na. Oops. So now I CAN name my daughter Sa-lee-na.

We left early that morning. And we hit some pretty amazing storms. I guess it’s a good thing we made such great timing because the evening following on morning we left, Kansas and Oklahoma were both blasted by tornadoes. Someday, I do hope to see one.

We’re kind of silly. We found ourselves really craving Starbucks coffee. I am not sure why. Anyway, there aren’t many along route 70 in the midwest, so when we found this guy, we were both quite happy.

And of course, like any good Starbucks, there’s a nice RV dump in the back. Shitter’s Full. Mmmmmmm coffeeeeee.

This is another reflection shot of myself looking in at Tucker.

You can’t see this very well. We nearly missed it. But it’s the sign marking the exit for the Colorado border town in Kansas called “Kanorado.” Yes. I wish so much there was one of me from Kanorado and that the one of me from Kanorado played the guitar and could sing songs.

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This is a sign reminding me that we’re heading in the right direction. Yes, we DO want to go to St. Louis. I am in search of the Arch.

And here she is. As Chandler mentioned, it’s as tall as it is wide. I did not know that.

A TobyJoe, self-portrait. Ain’t he cute? Makes for the best roadtrip companion.

This is me. I’m smiley.

We took ZERO pictures while in Illinois. We seemed to only be there for a very short time.

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I totally forgot to buy an Indiana magnet. I am only now realizing this. Damn. But we’re in Indiana now. This is Indianapolis. Somehow, we missed Columbus entirely. I think I took a 200-level road, which by-passes the city. Too bad. I would have toasted Julie as we drove through. Next time.

This is a shot of something. I am not sure what it is. But whatever it is, it’s in Indiana.

This was taken of our first hotel room just outside of Indianapolis in a town called Greencastle. We ate pizza from a not so good pizza joint who claimed to know Chicago style pizza. While we waited for our not so good pizza, I took pictures of a transvestite’s hands.

More of our hotel room—an unmade bed. The room sort of scared me, quite honestly. I think they do actually rent these rooms by the hour. But I don’t ask questions anymore.

Here is Toby. He’s taking a picture of himself in the mirror. The flash went off, oops.

Here are some things along the way. I wish it were possible to get paid to travel and take pictures from one’s car. That would rule. I could probably do that for a while.

Things like this never lose their beauty.

I like pie. Not as much as cake. But pie is good.

Here we are at the Silver Lakes Rest Stop.

This is the closest I will ever come to taking a picture of myself in the bathroom.

A mirror-project shot. There’s a telephone inside so you can call your pet.

Here are some blue things on a big truck. Would you believe me if I told you we DID actually edit this down quite a bit?

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At a rest stop in Ohio, there was a description of why and how Route 70 came to be. We read about it. And we took pictures.

This is me, back on the road again. I got it in my head that I wanted to drive the ENTIRE way across, with no help from Toby. (Much later, in Nevada, I nearly gave in and handed the wheel over to him. But after a quick break and some Red Bull, I was back on track again.)

I didn’t take many pictures while in Ohio. But I did call Missy half way through to tell her how pretty I thought her home state is. She said:

You must still be before Columbus, in the hilly part. It’s really pretty there. Later, it flattens out.

She was right. But it was quite lovely at first.

And, two little guys in the back seat.

We took ZERO pictures while in West Virginia. I think because I didn’t know we were IN West Virginia until they thanked us for being there. At which point I think I said something like “We were in West Virginia?” And we may have made some jokes about pigs and squeeling. Because we’re original and all.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

I’m from Pennsyltuckey, so I guess that’s why I didn’t feel the need to take pictures. I think Toby got a few of the Amish invasion we experienced at a rest stop on 70. (He called them Amish, however I think they were Mennonite.) Anyway, a busload of them got off and headed for the restroom (all at once, mind you.) I was attacked by a gaggle of teenage girls while sitting on the pot, he was attacked by a herd of teenage boys while standing at the urinal. The boys were wearing suspenders and hats and black pants. Beneath the suspenders, they wore blue button downs. The girls had on pink shirts beneath their overall dresses. I finished first and waited for Toby. Upon seeing Toby, I began to laugh uncontrollably. Not for any other reason than I am apparently stupid and can’t handle gaggles of religious teenagers while driving through my home state.

We order Coffee. While standing in line at Starbucks, one teenage boy comes over with his coffee cup. He says:

Hey, do you all have coffee?

The counter girl replies:

We are Starbucks. That’s what we have, coffee.

He says, still holding his mug:

Do you serve Maxwell house? Is it Maxwell house?

No. We’re Starbucks. We have Starbucks.

This went on. As did my giggling. There were no pictures taken while in the rest stop. It’s moments like these that don’t need images. They are right there in my head and probably always will be.

Now that the rant is over. Another image of nothing.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

Here Schmitty and Tucker sit patiently waiting to get out of the car again. Not realizing of course, they have 48 hours left.

This is of me driving. I am getting to know my new home, i.e. a white minivan.

Tucker trying to come help. He did this often. Especially in higher elevations much later. It was horrible. Poor kitty would try and run from the pain/pressure. Toby eventually had to lock the little guy up while we were up high.

I realize this is absurd, my putting up 110 images all in one day. But separating them all onto different pages is hard given the way my site is set up. What I have done here is separate them by posts. In other words, each state will be differentiated by a section titled “And Another Thing.”

I made each thumbnail image smaller in hopes of lessening the download time. I do hope this helps. Each thumbnail is clickable, a larger image will appear.

While organizing everything, I noticed that I didn’t buy a magnet for Indiana. I completely spaced on Indiana. And I haven’t ever seen one for D.C. So those two are missing. But every other state we drove through is present, even if we did not take pictures while passing through.

Lastly, I must clarify something. The images I have put up are not meant to be artistic. Photographs taken from a car while driving 80 mph will do no subject justice. These images taken by Toby and me, as well the documentation of our journey, act more like cliff notes, jogging a memory to a bigger story later. I realize that many of these images might seem a bit of a bore. Some of them are for me as well. I consider this more of an attempt at creating a low-budget documentary about a trip across the country—sharing as best I could a week which ultimately exists only in my head.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

Here Schmitty and Tucker sit patiently waiting to get out of the car again. Not realizing of course, they have 48 hours left.

This is of me driving. I am getting to know my new home, i.e. a white minivan.

Tucker trying to come help. He did this often. Especially in higher elevations much later. It was horrible. Poor kitty would try and run from the pain/pressure. Toby eventually had to lock the little guy up while we were up high.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

I’m from Pennsyltuckey, so I guess that’s why I didn’t feel the need to take pictures. I think Toby got a few of the Amish invasion we experienced at a rest stop on 70. (He called them Amish, however I think they were Mennonite.) Anyway, a busload of them got off and headed for the restroom (all at once, mind you.) I was attacked by a gaggle of teenage girls while sitting on the pot, he was attacked by a herd of teenage boys while standing at the urinal. The boys were wearing suspenders and hats and black pants. Beneath the suspenders, they wore blue button downs. The girls had on pink shirts beneath their overall dresses. I finished first and waited for Toby. Upon seeing Toby, I began to laugh uncontrollably. Not for any other reason than I am apparently stupid and can’t handle gaggles of religious teenagers while driving through my home state.

We order Coffee. While standing in line at Starbucks, one teenage boy comes over with his coffee cup. He says:

“Hey, do you all have coffee?”

“We are Starbucks. That’s what we have, coffee.”

He says, still holding his mug, “Do you serve Maxwell house? Is it Maxwell house?”

“No. We’re Starbucks. We have Starbucks.”

This went on. As did my giggling. There were no pictures taken while in the rest stop. It’s moments like these that don’t need images. They are right there in my head and probably always will be.

Now that the rant is over. Another image of nothing.

We took ZERO pictures while in West Virginia. I think because I didn’t know we were IN West Virginia until they thanked us for being there. At which point I think I said something like “We were in West Virginia?” And we may have made some jokes about pigs and squeeling. Because we’re original and all.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

At a rest stop in Ohio, there was a description of why and how Route 70 came to be. We read about it. And we took pictures.

This is me, back on the road again. I got it in my head that I wanted to drive the ENTIRE way across, with no help from Toby. (Much later, in Nevada, I nearly gave in and handed the wheel over to him. But after a quick break and some Red Bull, I was back on track again.)

I didn’t take many pictures while in Ohio. But I did call Missy half way through to tell her how pretty I thought her home state is. She said:

“You must still be before Columbus, in the hilly part. It’s really pretty there. Later, it flattens out.”

She was right. But it was quite lovely at first.

And, two little guys in the back seat.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

I totally forgot to buy an Indiana magnet. I am only now realizing this. Damn. But we’re in Indiana now. This is Indianapolis. Somehow, we missed Columbus entirely. I think I took a 200-level road, which by-passes the city. Too bad. I would have toasted Julie as we drove through. Next time.

This is a shot of something. I am not sure what it is. But whatever it is, it’s in Indiana.

This was taken of our first hotel room just outside of Indianapolis in a town called Greencastle. We ate pizza from a not so good pizza joint who claimed to know Chicago style pizza. While we waited for our not so good pizza, I took pictures of a transvestite’s hands.

More of our hotel room—an unmade bed. The room sort of scared me, quite honestly. I think they do actually rent these rooms by the hour. But I don’t ask questions anymore.

Here is Toby. He’s taking a picture of himself in the mirror. The flash went off, oops.

Here are some things along the way. I wish it were possible to get paid to travel and take pictures from one’s car. That would rule. I could probably do that for a while.

Things like this never lose their beauty.

I like pie. Not as much as cake. But pie is good.

Here we are at the Silver Lakes Rest Stop.

This is the closest I will ever come to taking a picture of myself in the bathroom.

A mirror-project shot. There’s a telephone inside so you can call your pet.

Here are some blue things on a big truck. Would you believe me if I told you we DID actually edit this down quite a bit?

We took ZERO pictures while in Illinois. We seemed to only be there for a very short time.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

This is a sign reminding me that we’re heading in the right direction. Yes, we DO want to go to St. Louis. I am in search of the Arch.

And here she is. As Chandler mentioned, it’s as tall as it is wide. I did not know that.

A TobyJoe, self-portrait. Ain’t he cute? Makes for the best roadtrip companion.

This is me. I’m smiley.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

This is Kansas City. I’m still trying to figure out why Kansas City is in Missouri and why it wasn’t named something more appropriate.

Ahhhh Kansas. As I said on a previous post. We heard nothing but horrible things about Kansas. And I was actually kind of fond of her. In Kansas, we started taking many more pictures. I think we found ourselves inspired. Either that, or we began leaving more bread-crumbs, as we began moving further and further away from home.

This is TobyJoe. We’re at a rest area in Kansas.

This was taken from the parking lot of the Best Inn in Salina, Kansas were we stayed for one night. I just learned, only after saying it several times to strangers, that Salina is pronounced Sal-eye-na and not Sa-lee-na. Oops. So now I CAN name my daughter Sa-lee-na.

We left early that morning. And we hit some pretty amazing storms. I guess it’s a good thing we made such great timing because the evening following on morning we left, Kansas and Oklahoma were both blasted by tornadoes. Someday, I do hope to see one.

We’re kind of silly. We found ourselves really craving Starbucks coffee. I am not sure why. Anyway, there aren’t many along route 70 in the midwest, so when we found this guy, we were both quite happy.

And of course, like any good Starbucks, there’s a nice RV dump in the back. Shitter’s Full. Mmmmmmm coffeeeeee.

This is another reflection shot of myself looking in at Tucker.

You can’t see this very well. We nearly missed it. But it’s the sign marking the exit for the Colorado border town in Kansas called “Kanorado.” Yes. I wish so much there was one of me from Kanorado and that the one of me from Kanorado played the guitar and could sing songs.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

I’ll begin by saying that we were both in bewildered awe over Colorado. You will notice that by the number of pictures we have here.

This will be Toby and me in 35 years.

Toby charming the freak off Pookum. He did this, he played the kitty-whisperer. He calmed them down when they were TOTALLY FREAKING THE HELL OUT. It was good. Toby is a wonderful man.

Colorado is an interesting state. This is how it looks when you come in from Kansas. And it looks like this for nearly 2.5 hours or so. Finally, the hills start to bloat and then, off in the distance, you start seeing something glimmering. It’s sort of cloud like, but stationary. These cloud-like things can play funny tricks on your eyes until you realize what they are.

We pulled off for a bit to take some pictures.

A stop sign. I am willing to bet this Stop Sign was put to work less than 100 times since its erection.

You probably can’t see this, but if you open this image you will notice that I am being threatened out of the driver’s seat by something entirely fuzzy and orange.

That same Stop Sign. I put it to work that day.

TobyJoe. We might be living out west, but I have proof that he’s an easterner at heart.

Perhaps in my next life, I’ll take pictures of out-of-work street signs.

A glimpse of Denver.

The mountains begin.

This image is sort of terrible. But I put it up to sort of illustrate what I was speaking about earlier when I was talking about the weird cloud-like things. They are called The Rockies. For being so huge, they sure do sneak up on you. One minute your world is flat as hell, the next minute your gasping for air in more ways than one.

The next several shots are why we stayed in Glennwood Springs. Amazing views. Truly outstanding. And, we found a nine-foot pool table.

The photograph isn’t in focus. But I wanted to show a tunnel. We drove through several between Denver, Aspen and Glennwood Springs.

This was our view from our room at dawn. I got up super early every day while we were traveling. I have always been fond of morning.

Another view from the Hotel. We stopped at an internet cafe where I posted something about John Denver.

See what I mean about the cat-whisperer? Who wouldn’t love this boy? (Yes, I mean both of them.)

The next several shots are of our trek from Colorado into Utah. These were taken as we travelled through western Colorado, through towns like New Castle, Rifle, and Grand Junction. Below, are pictures of storm clouds (which left me speechless.) Plus, some of the most amazing natural light I have ever seen.

(Descriptions, if any, are above each picture.)

Here we are just inside Utah. It was cold and gusty here. I never would have thought this area would have been cold. But it was. There were big drops of rain as well. It was as if a strainer above were clogged. The drops were HUGE and they were spread few and far between. I called them “Summer Drops” Summer here and summer there.

A self portrait of myself. No clue what I’m doing with my face.

A bit more of the terrain.

The picture below best illustrates the deterioration of my mental state as we drove from where Route 70 ended and north, along Route 6, which led us north into Provo and Salt Lake City. From that point on, we began to leave the green behind. Those mountains in the distance were as daunting and cold and desolate as they appear. As we drove towards them, they became bigger. As they became bigger, the greenery became smaller and smaller, until there was none. The rock turned red and began to form into contorted roadside ghosts. And this was cool for a little while. But then I felt sun-shocked and totally alone and small. After driving through this stretch in Utah, I am sure there are alien machines named “The Rover” or “Qubert” inhabiting parts of Utah, reporting back with images to some other species far, far away about how the terrain seems barren, but there does appear to be signs of life. I’m just sayin…

But I didn’t take pictures of that part of Utah. And I am only now regretting this. I missed the photograph of the dead horses, the little mormon towns, the weird red rocks, the lack of signs of living and life. I totally didn’t capture what looked like how I imagine the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean to be. I am sorry to say I have no record of desolation. Which means these images will probably haunt me for years to come.

This was taken right outside Provo, after coming down off a massive mountain, thousands of feet above sea level. Storms were setting in again. There were several of them. We didn’t know it yet, but we’d hit them from now until the Nevada state line.

Here is an image of the most southern tip of the Great Salt Lake. This lake is quite nightmarish, if you were to ask this easterner. I don’t know, it just sits there all still and murky. Plus, it’s huge. Anyway, here is a photo. This was also taken right after we picked up Route 80.

These are some of the lesser popular salt flats. We pulled over for a bit to take some pictures. The earth here is squishy. One might not sink, but one doesn’t feel too comfortable going too far out (though Toby did.) I kept expecting him to disappear into an unknown salt-flat, undercurrent.

Out here is where the army testing grounds once were (are?). They are miles off the main highway, but there are signs of such along the way. My imagination took me places, picturing those HUGE mushroom clouds poofing out over the horizon at one time.