
There was a big walnut tree in the backyard and in the summertime they would set a table and eat outdoors in the shade of the tree.Happiness isn't complicated.


"Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met.I wear Tupac with pride and hope and love, and I say to all da tru down azz bitches who tried to derail the Obama Express, I aint mad at cha.On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.
On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn-out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.
We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness."
"Baines appeared cheerful and talkative when the Los Angeles Times interviewed her in November as she cast her vote for Barack Obama for president, whom she said she supported because "he's for the colored people."
"I'm glad we're getting a colored man in there," she said."

Here's to Gertrude having a long, healthy tenure as keeper of the Rocky Cup.
Epiphany - A living child of former slaves makes you realize how the history of America has happened in the blink of an eye. In August, Maude Hopkins, recognized as the last surviving Civil War widow, died. In 1934 she married an 86-year-old veteran of the Civil War. Historians suspect that there could be surviving Civil War widows who just don't want to come forward. When you're tempted to think of the Vietnam War as ancient history, imagine these broads, who can recount their husbands tales of how the battle of Antietam was one fuck-up after another.
The blink of an eye.



I’ve been seeing the Grim Reaper around town, in glances so
tiny they border on subliminal. At
the gym a fallowed face bobbed up from the bank of stairmasters. In a black
Suburban I spotted a cloaked passenger in the back row watching a DVD, something in black and white - with
subtitles. And a customer at Starbucks hid
behind his New York Times, showing nothing of himself to the world but the boney
fingers that clutched the Theater page.
The lanky bastard is ubiquitous. He always has been, I guess, but I’m just starting to notice and it’s wigging me out. He's the brooding bartender who only perks up to announce “last call.” What’s the point of one more round if the fun is shutting down?
2. Spit in somebody’s food.
3. Worn a t-shirt that said “free mustache rides.”
4. Keyed a car.
5. Toilet papered a house.
6. Married the wrong person.
7. Lit a fart.
8. Mooned a nun.
9. Spoke pig latin.
10. Steamed open an envelope.
11. Left an “upper decker."












1. The Dutch John Wayne: Jaap Van BallegooijenAlso, on a recent business trip to the Central Coast town of Cambria I took time out to hang with this guy:
2. Gotta Sing, Gotta Dance: The Soprano's Final Episode
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They reminded me of Up With People
(Up! Up! Up with people/You meet 'em wherever you go!/ Up! Up! Up with people/They're the best kind of folks we know). They call themselves the Snickerdoodles, or something like that.


The Times sees Senator Clinton's newfound opposition to the Iraq War as
"a positive development" since voters would have to choose between her
and Senator Obama "on other grounds." This assumes that voters will
forget that during the rush to war, when history was calling for bold
voices of opposition, Senator Clinton strongly endorsed one of the
greatest follies in this country's history. Her vote was clearly made
with future political ambitions in mind. Well, the future is now, and
her "scrambling to get on what her party's primary voters deem the
right side of history" is as unseemly and offensive as the daily
headlines coming out of Iraq.
Rocky Petralia
Westwood, CA

Epiphany - Everybody calls the Times a "liberal" paper. But it's really an "establishment" paper. They hate the outsider above all else. They love the politician that's been around, has a lot of political IOUs and can't rock the boat. Look how terrified the were when Arnold first ran for governor. They ran front page stories about sexual improprieties, just days before the election, that made a typical Hollywood jerk sound like a serial rapist. They defended their much criticized series claiming it proved him unfit for public office. Fine. But two years later, two years of Arnold taking in more special interest money than anybody in state history, THEY ENDORSED the clod, against a mainstream, competent Democrat. What the hell? In those two years did he UNMOLEST all those secretaries? Nope, the Times just likes a guy who has sold out to the system. Apparently, Obama is not there yet. Now the paper is going after him.
Between those films he created his masterpiece, Dix Steele, the near murderously angry screenwriter of "In a Lonely Place." In a sense, the 1950 film was his farewell to the Hollywood he had known earlier -- that place where small-timers nourished their sad little dreams in marginal bars and bungalows.Call me a dope, but I'd never seen In A Lonely Place. So I Netflixed it. I wasn't going to wait since I was going on hiatus and since the movie had five things I love:
1) BogieI watched it last night. Great movie, kind of like Sunset Boulevard without the monkey. And there's a dame, of course, Laurel, a sultry blond with a round, optimistic face. A familiar face. It was so familiar that I had to stop the film and IMDB her. Her name is Gloria Grahame and she looked familiar because she played young temptress Violet Bick in It's a Wonderful Life. Seeing her flushed and aroused in this movie made me feel sorry for George Bailey and his missed opportunity.
2) small-timers
3) sad little dreams
4) marginal bars
5) bungalows

"Woman at the Window" - Angelo Petralia, 2002
I’m often asked why I don’t rest on my laurels. I respond with the old chestnut, “My laurels are prickly.”
Other uncommon names that carry some ugly baggage: Arbuckle, Capone, Ceaucescu, Delay, Dillinger, Dhamer, Dracula, Falwell, Farrakhan, Frist, Guckert, Hilfiger, Hitler, Hoffa, Kevorkian, Limbaugh, Oswald, Sharpton, Stalin, Winfrey and Vanilli.
It's
different with common names. If you meet a Ramirez, you don't
automatically think of "Night Stalker" Richard Ramirez. The name
is too widespread. Other names common enough to endure the shame of
individual members include Jackson (little boys), Robertson (asked God
to kill Supreme Court justices) and Brown (Hurricane Katrina). If
the FEMA head who bumbled around in his new Nordstrom suit while a city perished
was named Mike Petralia, Petralias everywhere would be screwed.
So we are achievers. I compiled a list of other notable Petralias. Their only relation to me, as far as I know, is their desire to be the best at what they do, and to make the world a more enjoyable place for all:
Fanny Palli - Petralia Greek Minister of Tourism - Organized the 2004 Athens Summer Olympics.
Eliano Mattiozzi Petralia
- Conductor - Musical Director of the South Pacific Symphony in New
Zealand. A grandson of the renowned Italian conductor Tito
Petralia.
Joseph F. Petralia - Wrote the definitive book on how to prospect for gold.
Mickey Petralia - Noted record producer and engineer.
Jason Petralia - Talented photographer.
Angelo Petralia
- Based in Milan, he is an Italian painter who describes his work as somewhere
"between metaphysics and surrealism." Which, coincidentally, is how I describe my love
life.
Peter S. Petralia - "Peter S Petralia is a producer, director, writer, curator and designer
who works in performance, theater, circus and installation arts. Peter
is Artistic Director and founder of Proto-type Theater in New York for
which he has written and directed numerous acclaimed works. In 2004 he
was named a nytheater.com person of the year."
Marco Petralia - The top D.J. in Germany. Check out his sound.
Jim Petralia
- PGA Golf instructor. Won the California State Open in
1979. Points out on his website, "You have to change behavior to
achieve growth." Word.
Ray and Michele Petralia - Philadelphia's top Real Estate team. Which reminds me, I just saw the trailer for Rocky Balboa. "I think there's still some stuff in the basement." Goosebumps.
Epiphany
- I just realized that I also represent the "Rocky" name. It's a
smaller club, but no less noble than the Petralia moniker. Maybe
I'll put together a list of notable Rocky's. But not now.
My basement is telling me it's time for a sandwich.

People think I’m all business, but I’m not. Saturday I stopped filling out TPS reports
and drove up to
played in his old house next door.

New house on left. Old house on right. Jogger in between.

Dave is not sure whether the beach is his frontyard or backyard.

I got a tour of the new house. As you can see, the Santa Monica Pier is nearby. Dave doesn’t trust the rollercoaster, but he appreciates being a short skate away from the corn dogs and cotton candy.

That barking sound means it's time for a little Chihuahua.
My pumpkin crop was a bust. I planted some seeds at the end of spring. Early on there were promising signs: some plants thrived and I had to cull the crop where I had planted seeds too close together. But as the summer wore on the vines withered. Promising yellow flowers gave way to limp brown leaves. Sure, I watered them. I may have over-watered some as their leaves seemed to mildew away. The bottom line is that if I want pumpkins I’ll have to go to the grocery store or to some lot where they toss around hay and give pony rides.

Mom was dipping apples in
caramel when I entered, but she stopped long enough to slice some
apples for me to taste. I decided on one
bag of Spartans and one bag of Red-Golds.
I petted Mom’s dog on the way out, breathed in the cool mountain air,
and headed home.
I didn’t even know that there was a Match.com in


Buona fortuna!
<< MORE >>Since Mac was still alive we went ahead with Saturday’s
potluck. He had just spent eight days in the
hospital enduring the mayhem of a ruptured appendix. Although he didn’t feel the actual cold
breath of the Grim Reaper on the back of his neck, he did hear heavy footsteps
outside of his door. The nurse, however,
pointed out that the icy Formica hallways are often trod on by lumbering
attorneys searching for victims of well-insured motorists.
Mac - Recuperating with a cold Newcastle.
The appendix is its own little epiphany. Most scientists agree that it has no
function. That’s all you need to know
about why it causes such trouble. People
are the same way. The man who awakes
without purpose is the one most likely to disrupt order. Consider Klansmen. These are not people who labor at two jobs
while working on college degrees. They
are our cultures inactive appendages, easily inflamed, and given to ruptures
which further spread their toxic karma.

Klansmen - In the spirit of the appendix.
I brought pies. Since
my people deserve it, I picked up two organic pies at Whole Foods – a cherry
and a honey apple. They were delicious
and followed nicely the grilled burgers, shrimp cocktail, fresh salad, and the
chip and vegetable medleys. I also
brought organic frozen chocolate bars, for the kids, who also enjoyed brightly colored
cupcakes.
Since every day is a gift, I was up before dawn on Sunday
morning, headed to

Watching so many people glide into the water left me in awe of the human organism. At some point millions of years ago, evolution explains, our ancestors were creatures of the sea. Then they flopped ashore, liked what they saw and never looked back. But I was looking back. This triathlon was a microcosm of the evolutionary cycle: the participants swam like Jurassic guppies, ran like upright Neanderthals being chased by saber tooth tigers, and biked like French winemakers fleeing belching Panzer tanks.
About once a month I sneak out to see a movie. I’ll leave my coat draped over my chair and a hot cup of joe on my desk. I also tuck a pencil behind my ear and tote along the Mulcahy file to confuse the office gadabouts.

(The guy driving is the President of the United States)
“Idiocracy” is not playing in a lot of theaters. According to Wikipedia, “The film was shown to test audiences around March, 2005. There were unofficial reports of very poor ratings from that viewing. Some re-filming purportedly took place in the summer of 2005. Release was even further stalled, possibly relating to a civil suit in which several companies (Costco, Starbucks and Fuddruckers) were unhappy with the way they were satirized in the film. The film's distributor has done nothing to promote the movie -- no trailers, posters, television spots or even press kits for media outlets are being provided. There is speculation in some quarters that 20th Century Fox may be intentionally trying to keep the film from being seen on a large scale, or that they may be reluctantly fulfilling a contractual obligation to release the film in theaters before releasing it on DVD.”
In the film, Starbucks has become a place where men go for handjobs (called “lattes”), Costco is a mile long building where the greeters chirp, “Welcome to Costco, I love you,” and Fuddruckers has evolved into “Buttfuckers” (though I think it still serves burgers). So I guess the movie doesn’t flatter these companies, but I thought that satire was protected free speech. How can they sue? And who previewed the film for them, anyway? “Have a seat, Mr. Fuddrucker, We’d like to show you one of our upcoming films and get a little feedback.”
My review? It’s either the crappiest movie ever or it’s so brilliant that its genius flew over my head. It sure seemed crappy at the time. Too over the top. I didn’t laugh much, and when I did it caused existential angst. For example, in the future the most popular TV show is “Ow, My Balls” that concerns a man who constantly takes blows to his genitals. In one scene he is walking across a construction sight and a wrecking ball hits him in the nuts and he yells “Ow, my balls!” The audience of the future is laughing and I laughed, too. But am I laughing at them for being so stupid, or am I laughing at the well crafted scene of a wrecking ball hitting a man in the groin - and wouldn’t that make me just as stupid? The movie made me lose track of who I was. Reality and fiction swirled and folded over each other like the gooey elements of a Cinnabon.
But in one of my mind’s dark cubby holes is this gnawing feeling that “Idiocracy” is genius. I recall how people blew off “Citizen Kane” when it first came out. Too over the top - a megalomaniacal media tycoon trying to rule the world – it was hard to fathom. Not anymore. We only need to look as far as Rupert Murdoch and his News Corp dictating public opinion and influencing public policy via a vast network of newspapers, magazines, TV stations (including Fox News) and the internet (including MySpace). He even owns 20th Century Fox Studios, the same people who are quashing “Idiocracy,” which brings us full circle so quickly that I'm dizzy. I’m draping my coat over my chair and stepping back out for a Cinnabon.
<< MORE >>The Greek hero Odysseus spent ten years fighting the Trojan
War. After the conquest of
Much like the Spartans of yore, cross country
runners are sent on a journey. Friends
and family are left behind as the young harriers embark on a quest for glory.
Like Odysseus, the runners end up where they
began, but the challenges and adventures along they way expose their souls and
harden their spirits.





Then
I realized: if a dog doesn’t have to stress over these weighty
questions then neither do I. The message, clearly from a higher
source, was to return to my pursuit of the perfect putting stroke.
It is in the quest for an ideal that one experiences total
consciousness. Which is nice.
Everybody
was buying Duke’s sheet, but with pari-mutual wagering you can’t make
any money running with the herd. I went with Bob. As I
handed him my three dollars he gave me a knowing wink that bolstered my
confidence. 





They open early and serve a tasty mojito.
Begun
in 1797, it took nine years to build. In 1812, a massive
earthquake struck during morning mass. The walls crumbled and the
domed roof caved in, killing 42 Indian worshipers. The locals try
to put a spin on this fiasco by calling the ruins “The American
Acropolis.” Right. And I am “The American Socrates.”
The
guidebook says that they date back to 1796 and were, “important to
early Mission life, functioning as clocks. They called the
community to meals, religious services, work, funerals...” It
seems like a man could grow to hate those bells. But I realized
that’s what civilization is all about: being on the clock. There
may still be places on this planet where people don’t worry about time,
but those are people with twelve-inch nose rings who pray to Coke
bottles. For better or worse, the clock is a necessary cog in the
machinery that drives progress. 

Expect
to someday see high-volume sales of merchandise featuring George W.
shaking hands with Bono.



It tasted great and made us feel spunky.
What I omitted was how I felt as I watched these freshly scrubbed Rhode Islanders file on to the train.
These were the extenuating circumstances that disoriented
me, leaving me envious of those coffee-toting travelers rushing towards
their jobs and away from their souls.
The
boat was on time, and it provided a smooth, scenic, air-conditioned
ride to the airport. By 2 o’clock I was checked-in for my 3:55
flight on JetBlue. I bought some magazines. I also bought a
sandwich, smoked turkey on foccacio bread, to eat on the plane.
A couple of things missing from my post on NYC's Penn Station:
While having cocktails with my luggage, I took out pen and notebook in order to jot down any stray epiphanies. What I noted instead was some bits of random dialog I overheard, including a man who sat near me and talked loudly on his cellphone. He was economical with the letter "s", uttering, "He all right", "She all right, too" and "They lock him up again he be in ten year."
Every so often the bartender would put a buck in the jukebox and play a couple of songs. He picked good songs that I didn't recognize. Despite working in the music business for a few years, I am a music dope. I don't know the new bands, don't buy music, don't pay attention to who it is I'm listening to. But the music was lifting my spirits, so I thought I would try to keep the fire alive and I put a $5 bill in the machine. This allowed me to put together a really crappy set list, and if I had any honor at all I would have personally apologized to everybody still in the bar by the time it played out. In order:
1. Boston - "More Than A Feeling" - Now this one, I don't apologize for. I think it holds up and it sounded good over the bar's speakers.
2. REM - "Everybody Hurts". How do I explain this dirge? I was on my heels. There was so much new music that I didn't recognize that when I came to a disc by someone I knew I latched on to it. People love REM, right? I don't, but Boston was already playing and people were looking at me standing over the jukebox and I wanted to sit down so I started pushing buttons.
3. Styx - "Miss America" - A bad song by a band I hate. I really wanted to sit down.
4. Carole King - "You've Got A Friend" - I don't know. I needed a friend.
5. Supertramp - "Logical Song" - Not so bad. Not so good, either.
6. Talking Heads - "Take Me To The River" - Not the good version from "More Songs About Buildings Food". Lame samba version from "Stop Making Sense". Didn't know this until it played.
7 and 8. U2 - "Bloody Sunday" and "Streets Have No Name" - Found this U2 disc and went to the well twice.
9. Van Halen - "Jump" - Now we're talking. Probably too late. Imagined the guy who left the bar during "Everybody Hurts" was on a ledge by now.
10. Hall and Oates - "Rich Girl" - Early in the set this would have been a smash. Now just part of a musical train wreck.
11. Who - "Behind Blue Eyes" - Just pushing buttons. My least favorite Who song.
12. Hootie and the Blowfish - "Time" - Nice finish, with Hootie-guy asking, "Time, why you punish me?" I never joined the Hootie backlash. I like their first album.
Epiphany - I'm borrowing my epiphany from Hootie-guy, who says "Time without courage, time without fear/Is just wasted, wasted, wasted time." You can't be on the road this long without having some awful times. And that scares off a lot of people. But you need to pack up your courage, give fear its own suitcase and hit the highway.
We lingered at the Country Inn this morning, had breakfast and did some laundry, then blew out of Kansas. We fueled up near Topeka, then crossed Missouri without stopping, landing in St. Louis and checking into a nice downtown hotel near the restored Union Station.
It was getting late by the time we cleaned up and started strolling the city. We impulsively grabbed a meal at a chain restaurant (sorry Mack Diesel) that neither of us had eaten at before - Hooters. The food was good. I had fish and chips and some of their famous wings. Bubbles had a quesedilla. Bubbles asked me what kind of fish it was, and I replied that it's usually cod, but the menu just said "deep fried fish..." We asked the waitress, who was very nice and cheery, what kind of fish it was. The question seemed to sadden her, and she thought for a moment then wondered aloud, "Why can't they put everything you need to know on the menu?" "Don't worry" we said, "It's probably just cod." Her face lit up, "Yes, somebody else asked, and it is cod!"
After dinner we explored St. Louis and discovered that they have a riverboat casino. Bubbles and I share a distaste for games if chance anyplace other than Las Vegas, but as students of the American zeitgeist, we knew we had to examine how the growing gambling phenomenon manifests itself in this quintessentially Midwestern city.
Our cabbie answered a lot of our questions. He explained how conservative St. Louis is, and how surprised many residents were to see the casino approved. But a big reason it got the okay is that across the Mississippi River, Illinois already had riverboat casinos, so St. Louis decided people might as well piss away their paychecks here at home.
But they have rules. We had to show I.D. and then get issued personal gambling cards. Everytime you bought chips at a table or put money in a slot machine, they ran your card through a computer. Nobody is allowed to lose more than $500 in a day. At one point at the craps table, I only had $5 chips, and I wanted to make a bet that required $6. Bubbles handed me one of her $1 chips and the dealer barked at us that it is illegal for one player to pass a chip to another. It would make it possible for me to lose $501 and the state would have to shut down the casino. Beverages aren't free, and the waitresses have to be paid in cash, so people have to fumble with their wallets everytime they get a drink, which means turning away from your chips, which you don't want to do because of the unsavory clientle all around you. So everybody ends up playing thirsty. And cranky. It was all a bit dreary and we didn't stay long.
Epiphany - At Hooters, epiphanies are as prevalent as halter tops. Why can't the menus tell you everything you need to know? I realized how much pain a lazy writer can cause. Let the word go out, from this day forward, that those who write about fish, or other entrees, be bold and be specific.
Beef Jerky - I had to go mainstream, had some Jack Links. It is what it is.
Went to bed in a thunderstorm, woke up to clear skies, so I went running through Pueblo. It felt good to get in some exercise. I jogged through a new housing tract, single family homes starting in the mid $100s. Pueblo is Colorado's third largest city and it feels bland. I wouldn't bite at those prices.
On this trip, we've started most days not sure where we were headed. It hasn't been a problem until today. This morning we started off towards Pike's Peak, not even sure whose idea it was. A little schism had developed. I guess living in close quarters it becomes inevitable. Both parties were a little cranky. I even drove past the Pike's Peak exit, thinking that our sour mood would just be magnified at 14,000 feet. But then we reluctantly doubled back and drove through Colorado Springs and entered Manitou Springs.
Manitou Springs is a bucolic little slice of paradise. Shady, cool, green and breezy. It lifted our spirits. We swerved into a tourist cottage to see what they knew. They had lots of info on Pike's Peak and Garden of the Gods, but our attention kept getting drawn to some rafting brochures. We realized that rafting was exactly the kind of team building exercise that we needed. Bubbles started calling rafting companies in Canon City, seeing if we could get on an afternoon trip. An outfit called RiverRunners had a 3:00 trip that we could make if we hustled. So for the first time on this trip we found ourselves doubling back.
We got there in plenty of time, checked in, signed liability waivers, and waited for the van to take us to the river. Our guide, John Nory, was a mellow 50-something guy who talked like a surfer from Torrance. To our surprise, he came from the town next to Bubble's home town in New Jersey. They even knew many of the same people.
Also on our boat was a family from Iowa. LeAnn, her husband Kelly, and their son Mark. Kelly brought his family out here because he is returning in the fall to hunt elk and he wanted to check out the area. They were super nice people and they invited us to their home. They had rafted before, and their skills came in handy as Bubbles and I were a little clumsy with our oars. This rafting thing put everybody in a good mood and got our trip back on track.
The guide, John, does his rafting thing in the summer, then, who knows? He might go to West Virginia, where they have fall rafting, or head out west. He will pick up work at ski resorts in the winter. I asked him if he lives in Canon City and he said no, he lives in a tent. He says he had to get rid of most of his stuff. I gave him my "you don't own stuff, it owns you" line. He agreed, though he admitted he had a storage unit someplace. This disappointed me. He pays more in rent for his stuff than he does for himself. But he was still the happiest person in the boat. He didn't even start rafting until his 30's. I watched him before and after with the other guides and they seem like a very close family.
I realize that with the helmet and the shades I look like The Unibomber. BTW-Ted Kazinski is actually in prison here in Canon City.
Epiphany - This post is taking too long. Come up with your own epiphany. Feel free to use the words "almighty buck" and "Henry David Thoreau."
Beef Jerky - Cracked open the jerky I got from John Huston on Highway 50. 4B Natural Jerky, made in Grand Junction, Colorado. It was a good, old fashioned jerky. Hard to gnaw into but well worth the effort. Check your dental plan before attempting to eat.
<< MORE >>
Highway 550 north out of Durango is sublime. And I never use that word. It winds through high mountain passes. Two lanes. Huge dropoffs with no guardrails.
After a couple of hours we descended into Silverton, an old mining town populated by locals who all walk around with big dogs, mostly labs and retrievers who are all wet from the neck down. Not sure what they were up to, but it was good to see, like coming across an SUV with real mud on the flaps. Good lunch at an old cafe called The Pickle Barrel.
Highway 550 from Silverton climbs back up into the mountains. Not good with adjectives, but in comparison all other scenic drives look like Sepulveda Blvd.
Took highway 550 north to the town of Montrose and then started heading east on highway 50, nicknamed "America's loneliest highway." With the exception of Day 1 from L.A. to Jerome, we've done a good job of staying off of the big interstates. Which I recommend. We stopped at an tiny general store. The old couple running it seemed glad to see us. I bought more snacks and drinks than we needed because it seemed like they could use the business. Bubbles found some postcards that she liked. As I was flipping through their jerky collection the old man, a John Huston type, started asking me about our car. He was really fascinated. I guess a silver Camry is a big deal on highway 50. He wanted to know if I'd ever driven a Prius. I wish that I had and that I could have regaled him with tales of adventure at fifty miles per gallon.
Bubbles needed a toothbrush. Huston went into the cupboard and pulled out a pack of 5 tiny toothbrushes. "Last one" he declared, "Guess I oughta reorder." They were single-use disposable toothbrushes, with the toothpaste built into the brush. I'm not sure what they taste like, but from the sound she made that night, when she put the first one in her mouth, it's kinda like jerky. And not the good stuff.
Much of Highway 50 runs along the Arkansas River. Near Canon City there are scores of whitewater rafting companies vying for customers. We passed them all up, as we passed up a visit to Royal Gorge, where some acid-freak built a bridge 1,000 feet above the river. He charges $30 to enter the park and walk or drive over the bridge.
We made it into Pueblo under dark skies filled with rain and flashes of lightning. Checked into an unsatisfactory Days Inn. Later, a close burst of lighting knocked out our cable and wi-fi at the same time. I moved away from my perch near the window. It didn't feel safe. Bubbles took my place. And lit a cigarette.
Epiphany - Canon City is actually pronounced "canyon city" There should be a tilde over the first n. But I don't do tildes. (Nor umlats, for that matter, not since Nirvana killed metal). But "canyon" sounds much better than "cannon." Shakespeare said something about a rose by any other name smelling as sweet. Shakespeare was a hack. Driving down America's loneliest highway I had time to contemplate how much flavor words have. How the right words provide seasoning to the objects they describe. Call a rose a moldy sock and it does not smell as sweet, Bill, because we are physically affected by powerfully descriptive words.
Beef Jerky - I'm saving the jerky I got from Huston, though it looks good.
Monument Valley is a twenty minute drive from our lodging in Kayenta, so we checked it out. At the visitor center we got some literature that boasted how it has been the setting for many classic films, "including Stagecoach, My Darling Clementine, and Back to the Future III." Really? BTTF III is a classic? The film was flawed on several levels, beginning with the idea that one hundred years ago Hill Valley was in Monument Valley. And the time-space continuum was exploited differently than in the first two volumes. Maybe director Zemickis was trying to incorporate advances in string theory into the franchise, or maybe studio meddling led to the contradictions. I don't know. I just think that our park service shouldn't play so fast and loose with the term "classic." Not with my tax money.
The park charges $5 a head, and this gives you the right to drive an 18 mile loop through the monuments on a dirt road. Which we did. And it's a miracle that we didn't leave our transmission out there hanging on a jagged piece of sandstone. Parts of the drive were like a Land Rover commercial, and they give you no warnings about that before you start. I saw some Japanese tourists in their rented Mercury Montego laughing like they were on a ride at Disneyland, but this was real world stuff. Some chump is going to buy that car from Hertz and wonder what happened when all four wheels shoot off as he is going down the 405.
Back on Highway 160, heading towards Four Corners, Bubbles took the wheel. Soon we were on the wrong road, Highway 64 heading East into New Mexico instead of Northeast into Colorado. It took us a while to realize her mistake, but instead of doubling back we decided to ride 64 into Shiprock, New Mexico and then turn north towards Cortez. Colorado. Shiprock, of course, made me think of the Flintstones episode with the singer named Dash Riprock. I tried to explain this to Bubbles, but she is not well versed in Flinstonology, and she was still trying to figure how to blame me for her bad driving.
The drive from Cortez east to Durango was as scenic as it gets. We saw alpine mountains and rolling green farmland, while driving through brief thunderstorms mixed with bright bursts of sunlight. And plenty of rainbows. Checked into the Caboose Inn.
Epiphany- They made me read a Robert Frost poem in high school about him coming to a fork in the road and taking the path less traveled, blah blah blah. I don't remember much about that poem, except how he mentioned "way leading to way..." The teacher tried to spell it out, as you must with meat headed high school kids. Your whole life can change when you take one path, because that leads to other forks and other paths and finally you're miles away from where you would be if you made a different decision at the first fork. But isn't life more like what happened to us? Bubbles took one path, but we knew where we wanted to go, so we adjusted and veered back toward our goal. No big deal. I'm not saying Robert Frost was a boob. But maybe Yogi Berra's take is more instructive, "When you come to a fork in the road, take it."
Beef Jerky - Tillamook County - regular flavor. A very good jerky, nice taste with just the right among of sponginess. Tried to get Bubbles opinion, but after spitting out yesterday's jerky, she claims she won't eat anymore jerky. Ever. We shall see.
Still in Jerome. Skipped the English Restaurant today and went to the Main Street Bar and Grill for breakfast. Saw our friends from Tempe there. Richie and the two girls were hunched over their coffee and eggs. Travis was in the bar, happy to see us and asked if we wanted a shot of Jack Daniels. Had to decline.
At ten thirty the annual 4th of July Children's Parade started. The locals warned us not to miss it, and we figured, when in Jerome do as Jeromans. All the kids in Jerome get to ride down the street. The only takes three vehicles: an old fire engine, a horsedrawn carriage, and a pickup towing a flat trailer full of waving kids. It goes by fast, but then they turn around at the old mineshaft and drive past again. Pretty cool.
Departed Jerome, headed north through Sedona, which still blows, and then up through some lovely forested country. Got to Flagstaff. I didn't realize that Flagstaff was at 7,000 feet, and it's not oppressive in the summer, but actually quite nice. We stopped in the tourist center and got our bearings, visited Walnut Canyon National Park, called "one of the prettiest places imaginable, with pinon pines and juniper trees clinging to the canyon walls.: Reminded me very much of the canyon scene as you pull out of Main Street Station on the train at Disneyland. Only not fake. Ended up talking to Nancy, a park ranger, about our cross country trip. She suggested that we talk to her colleague, Steve, about it. Steve was busy, so we hiked to the rim and back and then talked to him. He reminded me of Martin Mull, and he explained that he used to make cross country trips a lot "under different circumstances." Not sure what that meant, but those words are haunting me. Anyway, he says if you have ten days to cross the country, you should spend seven on this side of the Rockies, then race across the cornfields. Reassuring words, since we're still in Arizona. He also gave some good tips on worthwhile stops and overrated places.
Then we visited the nearby Sunset Crater National Park, a nice mix of lava fields and pine trees, where we hiked and visited ancient Native American ruins. Continued North on Highway 89 and then veared northeast towards Four Corners and Colorado. Checked into the Hampton Inn in Kayenta, the "Gateway to Monument Valley". There was an Indian Rodeo across the highway, which me missed, but we caught their terrific fireworks display at 10:30 before turning in for the night. Happy 4th of July.
Epiphany- Looking over the Navajo ruins near Sunset Crater I realized something about progress. It requires people willing to lead with ideas. At some point, some Indian looked around and said, "Listen, jerkies, living in tents and teepees blows. We can build stone communities into the cliffs here and be much better off. Here's my plan..." Committees and planning boards can't come up with that stuff. They get bogged down by the loud talkers with the bad ideas. Maybe the Indian's problem throughout the centuries has been a tendency to try to be too egalitarian. You have to value the ideas differently if the come from the guy named "Builds with Stone" versus the guy named "Runs with Scissors".
Beef Jerky- I got a pack of Arizona Mikes near Tuba City. Smelled kind of gamey, but I figured that was just the marinade. Tasted a little better than it smelled. I gave Bubbles a piece and she spit it out. Didn't finish the bag.
For a big trip like this you want to leave so early that you're rolling out of town with your headlights on. It was disconcerting, therefore, to be sitting in Venice at 2:00 pm watching Bubbles throw food out of her refrigerator. The movers came in the morning and now chores were being taken care of that should have been done days before. At around 3:00 pm we rolled onto Lincoln Blvd. I was sweaty and grumpy.
We took the 405 south to the 91 to the 10 and stopped at the border in Blythe, where the AM/PM has filthy bathrooms, but Blythe is filthy in general so the locals don't care.
We continued on to Phoenix and then headed north on the I-17. Stopped in Jerome and checked into the Connor Hotel. a historic old building in a former ghost town. It was after 10 pm and the front desk was closed, but we had made prior arrangements to pick up the key from the bartender in the Spirit Room on the first floor.
Miles traveled: 480
Epiphany: Emotional Doppler Effect (EDE). A city seems much less important as you drive away from it and much more powerful as you drive towards it. Los Angeles is feeling more and more like a village as it disappears behind us. And the cities in front of us seem to burst with possibilites.
Beef Jerky Update: I bought some teriyaki flavored Pemican brand in Blythe. Very dry, like eating a cereal box, with almost no hint of teriyaki flavor. I ate the whole bag, but not happily.


