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November 24
Me: Hey, Happy Birthday!
You: What?
Me: Happy Birthday!
You: It’s not my birthday.
Me: Yes it is. It’s Turkey Day and you’re a turkey!
I’m sorry. I know that’s not funny. It’s just
that I’ve heard that joke twice in the past two days, so I
felt obligated to pass it around, like a chain letter or a really
good 24 hour flu.
But let’s talk about yesterday…
It’s tough to get a workout on the RV. We were gonna bring
along the Nautilus bench press/butterfly/lat pull-down machine,
but it didn’t quite fit. Same goes for the treadmill, exercise
bike, and elliptical trainer. So instead of toning up, we’ve
resorted to occasional sit-ups and push-ups, but mostly we’ve
just been getting fat (except for Wigs, who’s lost so much
weight that he almost doesn’t exist anymore).
Sometimes though, you wake up in the morning in a KOA campground
in Southeastern Colorado and there’s a basketball hoop just
waiting to be dunked on. That’s what happened to Matt and
me yesterday. We thought we’d play a little one on one to
start the day, get our blood pumping, and fulfill our need for competition.
The only problem: we were 6,000 feet above sea level. The other
problem: neither of us can dunk.
Matt and I played to eleven. I won’t say who won because
I don’t want to embarrass Matt, but it doesn’t even
matter. The game was about survival. I think it took us a half hour
to get to eleven points, and that was with four timeouts to lie
in the grass heaving like asthmatic donkeys on top of Mt. Everest.
When we were done, I had that sucking-on-a-penny blood taste in
my mouth.
From the campground we drove to The Great Sand Dunes National Park.
It’s this random desert that formed at the border of a mountain
ridge and level plains. Supposedly it boasts the highest dunes in
North America. Matt and Ben hiked to the top, then somersaulted
part of the way back down.
Wigs and I opted to stay at the bottom and nap in the sand. I also
made him film me doing some sicky freestyle jumping off the dunes.
I got big air. You’ll have to check out the documentary to
see it. On our way back to the RV, we played rock golf, throwing
rocks toward a target and seeing how many throws it took to hit
the bush, stick, or flip-flop. I was the bigger hitter, but Wigs
has a better short game. We ended up gambling on the holes, and
now I owe Wigs two milkshakes but he has to do my laundry for the
rest of the trip. I think I got the better side of that deal.
Back in the RV and off to Taos. Taos is a uniquely Southwestern
town, with lots of brown adobe buildings. I walked around, grabbed
a coffee, and met somebody from Bar Harbor, Maine. Typical. I travel
all the way across the country to New Mexico, meet one person in
the entire town, and she happens to be from my home state (which
isn’t a very big state, population-wise).
We ended the day in Santa Fe, another city that’s full of
low adobe buildings (for an interesting take on the history and
enforcement of the city’s building code, read Hampton Sides’
essay on Santa Fe in Americana). When Matt and I were walking home
from dinner, a young man stopped us and asked if we had any drugs.
We didn’t.
Hope you’re having a beautiful Thanksgiving.
Back in four. Email adam@tyap.com
to be notified when new blogs are posted.
November 20
You know what I forgot to say last time I did a photoblog? You
can't spell Ansel Adams without Adam. You also can't spell PARTY
without TYAP, but that goes without saying.
I'm starting this baby off with a bang. That's right. I took this
picture of the San Francisco bay area with my Canon Elph, and I
just asked Heiny to critique it, and he said, "It's better
[than any picture I've ever taken in my life]," which is a
pretty nice compliment even if I had to infer the second half of
it. So hey, guess what, my theory was correct: you could train a
stoned monkey to take pictures and he or she would do a better job
than half the "professional photographers" out there who
make their livings snapping portraits of "weddings," "bar
mitvahs," and "sunsets."
What is my uncle Brian looking at?
The dead chicken in his yard, which was killed by one of his dogs.
Brian had left the door to the coop open the night before and all
the chickens escaped, but nobody really cared because they were
just chickens and all chickens do is crap in the beds they sleep
in.
Here's Ben and Harry Denton in San Francisco. Harry is clearly
miffed at Ben about something.
In the grand tradition of the New Yorker and Maxim, I'd like to
turn this picture into a caption competition, so email me your best
caption and I'll post it in next month's photoblog. Have some fun
with it. Go wild.
This picture isn't part of the competition. It's just a really
good picture. By the way, when you're taking a picture with Harry
and you tell him, "Say something funny so I smile," he
says really, really naughty things.
This is the slot machine that made Ben 50 dollars. I think my favorite
"Vegas people" were the couples that attached themselves
to a slot machine and cheered each other on. Sometimes you see both
the husband and the wife tossing quarters in the slot, but usually
one is taking the lead while the other watches intently, offers
strategic advice, and sucks on a gin and tonic. Also, Ben's shirt
looks crazy.
I call this "Bush Doll with Out-of-Character AIDS Awareness
Bracelet Headband."
This is what I love about Las Vegas - they've recreated freakin'
Paris. What I also love about Paris - that L'Arc de Triomphe, good
as it looks from here, is made out of plastic. The whole city's
plastic, the municipal version of a Butter Face, which is probably
appropriate considering the kind of person you're likely to hook
up with there. Las Vegas is basically a metaphor for that girl you
see in a bar who looks good with the lights down low because she's
all done up, so you walk over to her, but then you realize that
she's not that great close up - mostly fake - but you go in anyway.
Then the next morning you wake up and realize that the make up has
come off and the girl doesn't look good whether you're near or far,
it's light or dark, or you're tanked or sober. That's the type of
girl you can find in Vegas, and that's the type of girl Vegas would
be if it were a woman.
Just seemed right to follow the Vegas caption with a cute baby
pic. This is my cousin Finn, and he lives the life, man. I'd love
to be like him. He just jumps around in this trampoline-swing thing
all day and poops his diapers whenever he wants. That's what I'm
doing with my life after I retire.
In case you can't read the top, it says IT LOOKS BIGGER WHEN YOU
WEAR A CONDOM. Easily my favorite poster from the Eugene, Oregon
HIV Alliance building.
Here's Wigs checking out the Grand Canyon, which is my segue into
what we did yesterday. After a great breakfast cooked by Harry Maldonado
in North Vegas (thanks, Harry. You're the man.) we drove to The
GC, then we drove to Provo, Utah.
The Grand Canyon was pretty cool but it's too big to have an echo
and I don't like heights, so I stayed away from the edge.
Back in four. Email adam@tyap.com
to be notified when new blogs are posted.
November 16
Yesterday was another sunny, hot, November day in Los Angeles.
Since I have now been here for two days, I’m kind of an expert
on the City of Angels and all its underboroughs (Beverly Hills,
Hollywood, South Central, you name it). So, since we’re stuck
in traffic, moving at negative two miles an hour, I figured this
would be a good time to field some questions…
Question: Speaking of traffic, is it true that
there’s really a lot of it in L.A.?
No. That’s not true at all. It’s not like we’re
trying to get out of the city right now, to head to San Diego, and
we’re sitting in city-wide gridlock that’s paralyzing
all of Southern California. It’s not like it takes three hours
to move five miles here. It’s not like most of the drivers
here would gladly cut off an ambulance if it meant hopping onto
the Freeway ten seconds earlier. Nope. It’s not like that
at all.
Question: Have you guys seen any celebrities?
Yes. In fact, we’ve been hanging out a lot with Bree
Turner, who is Matt’s cousin and who has appeared in many
motion pictures and television shows. (She’s also really,
really nice – she’s a great host and we’re much
indebted to her). We’ve met some of Bree’s friends,
who are in the business as well, and Ben and Wigs saw Tom Selleck
twice yesterday. Ben was excited to see Tom Selleck because people
used to say that Mr. Selleck looks like Ben’s dad, which is
weird because people used to say the same thing about Mr. Selleck
and MY dad, which is EXTRA weird because my dad and Ben’s
dad don’t really look alike.
Question: Did you, Ben, and Matt all get your
hair cut in The Standard hotel, the same hotel that appeared in
an episode of Sex & the City, the one with Vince Vaughn?
Obviously.
Question: Is there anyone in Los Angeles that’s
not in the movie business?
Yes. The waiters and waitresses are, for the most part, not in the
movie business. They would, however, give their right testicle or
left ovary to get an acting job. That’s why they go to open
auditions for Blossom: The Musical whenever they’re not waiting
tables. Even the homeless kids we met on Venice Beach are aspiring
actors or former models. It’s crazy. This is the one place
we’ve come where we say, “We’re filming a documentary
and writing a book,” and people actually roll their eyes and
feel sorry for us because we’re clearly delusional.
Question: Hey, I’ve always wanted to know:
Is it Ro-DAY-oh drive or Ro-DEE-oh Drive?
I’m pretty sure it’s Ro-DAY-oh.
Question: Did you get plastic surgery while you
were in Los Angeles?
Yes. I had my lips blown up, my crow feet spackled, my nose sharpened,
and my jaw enhanced. I also have breasts now.
Question: Is there anything that Los Angelans
get really defensive about?
Yes. Smog. They won’t admit that it’s there. They call
it fog, mist, clouds, or “God giving the city a big hug”,
but never smog. Okay, when we went to Venice Beach, Bree said it
was fog and she was right, but the rest of the time, it’s
definitely smog. It’s like if you went to your buddy’s
apartment and he had a big gorilla on a chain in the corner of the
room, and he acted like it wasn’t there and then you asked
him about it and he said it was just his dog. And then you asked
him a few minutes later what was up with the gorilla, and he said
it wasn’t a gorilla – it was his hamster.
Question: What’s better? The Coffee Bean
or Starbucks?
I actually had a couple iced coffees from The Coffee Bean and really
liked them, and Matt seemed to enjoy his mocha lattes (yes, that’s
his drink). But I don’t think The Coffee Bean can compete
with Starbucks when it comes to putting massive amounts of ecstasy
in their coffee.
Question: What did you guys do yesterday?
Good question. Matt and I went to lunch with Bree at the Cheesecake
Factory (thanks, Bree) and met her manager friend who gave us some
advice on how to make our documentary better.
Wigs and Ben had lunch with Ben’s uncle, Mark, at Nate and
Al’s on Beverly Boulevard and then went shopping for facial
cleanser, which is where they bumped into Tom Selleck.
Matt and Bree hiked up to the HOLLYWOOD sign and took in a sunset.
We all went to the apartment of Matt’s Aunt, Shelley, who
gave us a great meal and introduced us to some interesting young
Americans. We interviewed Ashley, a model/actress from the Bay Area,
Michael, a screenwriter who has managed to recover from a brain
tumor, and Sasha, who immigrated from Moldova when he was seven,
goes to Brandeis, and is in L.A. getting credit for working with
several film studios.
See – I told you everyone’s in the movie business.
Back in four. Email adam@tyap.com
to be notified when new blogs are posted.
November 11
This morning I woke up in the San Francisco apartment of Matt Stevenson,
my old college buddy, and nobody was around. Matt and his two roommates
were already at work – they had been gone for a couple hours
probably – and nothing better accentuates the difference between
what I am doing with my life and what they are doing with theirs.
I am the man that sleeps on someone else’s sofa (or yeah,
the guy on the couch) and they are the people who sleep
in their own beds in their own apartments and go off to their own
jobs. And supposedly these are paying jobs, a concept I’m
unfamiliar with.
But the great thing about my “job” is that all my friends
will read this blog, hear about the couches and the transience,
and be jealous. Their envy is the gasoline in my tank, the little
holes in my air hockey table, the water in my toilet bowl…
Across town, Ben and Matt were waking up in another friend’s
place. This friend is named Kane Russell and Kane was such a good
host that he serenaded the two boys to sleep playing his guitar,
then slept on the floor while Ben and Matt crashed on his couch
and his bed. I’ve said it before, but people are way too nice
to us.
Wigs was out in Palo Alto, interviewing a Stanford group that does
environmental consulting for corporations. Matt hung out on Haight-Ashbury
for a while, interviewing (among others) a homeless man and two
female gang members.
Ben, Matt, and I met Harry Denton, a good friend to my mom and
dad, for lunch at Scala’s, an excellent restaurant on the
first floor of the Sir Francis Drake hotel. Harry has been the life
of every party for the last forty years and he’s still going
strong. Thanks to Harry for his hospitality and for his solid advice
on subjects ranging from sex to careers to marrying older women
who have lots of money. He also suggested we go to Rio.
In the afternoon, Matt and Wigs interviewed Mark Zuckerberg, the
founder of thefacebook.com. For those that don’t know, the
facebook is an online community of college students and it’s
the way many university freshmen make friends now. A typical college
freshman now has about two hundred “friends” before
they ever take their first class.
Question: Isn’t that like 197 more friends
than you had after your last class?
Answer: : (
Question: hahahahahahaha
Ben spent some time with Adam (not me), a kid who lives in Oakland
and works in a Mexican restaurant in Alamo. He’s earned enough
money to put himself through college, and he’s a great dude
(you’ll learn more about him when Ben writes his profile).
Thanks to Matt’s family for an excellent dinner. They’re
taking great care of us in Alamo. It’s been a pleasure to
spend time with Ben and Wigs’ family (they’ve both got
connections out here. And by the way, Wigs’ mom actually introduces
herself as “Wigs’ mom.”)
People are way too nice to us (I think I already mentioned that
though).
Back in approximately four. Email adam@tyap.com
to be notified when new blogs are posted.
November 8
Meet a happy loser and you’ve met a loser. –
Harvey White, my grandfather
I grew up hearing that quote all the time, and I usually believed
it. It probably helped develop my competitive nature because now
I’m a person who doesn’t like to lose at ping pong,
beach volleyball, or Scrabble. And if I were a cock, I’m sure
I’d hate to fail at cock fighting. Lately though, I’ve
been feeling like a loser. And I’m fine with that.
Yesterday Ben and I took the Buddy Burger challenge at the Burger
Barn in Dunsmuir, California. The Burger Barn is owned by our new
friends, the Raines, and it’s a cute little building that’s
got the aesthetics of a barn, but none of the hay, animals, or poop
smell. If you complete the Buddy Burger challenge, you get your
picture on the wall. The prospect of our faces on a Polaroid next
to the cash register was enough to entice Ben and me to take the
challenge. You see, we’re both idiots.
This is the Buddy Burger challenge:
1 lb. of ground beef (in the form of four quarter pound burgers)
1 large basket of fries
2 medium drinks
The first burger tastes great. They use a special sauce on the
bun and the fries are just right – a little crispy on the
outside and fluffy on the inside. The second burger is more of a
struggle and by the time you hit the third burger, you can’t
even remember why you ever liked the taste of beef. The French fries,
so good at the beginning, begin to taste like those little white
things that you use to pack a cardboard box.
It was at this point that I threw in the paper napkin and officially
dropped out of the Buddy Burger challenge. I failed. But I feel
great about it.
Here’s the thing about accomplishment: you can define it
however you choose. For example, if I define accomplishment as completing
the challenge, then I definitely failed. Miserably, in fact.
I barely got halfway. But, if I redefine accomplishment
as not puking on myself just to get my picture tacked next to
the Burger Barn cash register, then I succeeded with flying
colors. Of course, by my grandfather’s definition, I am now
a loser.
This same issue came up a few weeks ago when Matt and I tried to
summit the Middle Teton. We didn’t make it to the top and
this frustrated Matt. In his mind we had failed. He defined success
as making it to the top, but I defined success as getting
a decent workout while taking in some beautiful scenery and NOT
killing myself in the process. Close to the summit, we encountered
a hairy section that was full of crumbling rocks and ice chutes
that threatened to send me skidding off a cliff.
So if…
one side = maybe getting to the top but probably dying
and the other side = not getting to the top but also not dying
I’ll take “the other side” every time. Just like
if…
one side = completing the Burger Buddy challenge but getting turned
into foie gras when my liver explodes
and the other side = not finishing my pound of burger, but feeling
like I can walk to the RV afterward without the aid of wheelchair
then I’ll put down my Buddy Burger in a heartbeat (and that
heartbeat will be clean and unclotted, which is good).
So what this all comes down to is accepting challenges
vs. being accepting of challenges. Here’s the difference:
if you accept a challenge, then you’re committing yourself
to a win/lose situation, where winning is inseparably tied to accomplishment.
But if you are accepting of a challenge, then you’re just
acknowledging that it’s there. You’re not taking a stand
on it, you’re not dissing it, you’re not embracing it,
you’re just letting it hang out. It’s the same way that
we’re taught to be accepting of diversity, opposing viewpoints,
and the loud woman that sits next to you on the bus and talks about
her daughter who’s about your age.
If you learn to be accepting of challenges, rather than just accepting
them, you’ll be a happier person, even if that makes you a
loser.
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Suggested reading: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
by Robert M. Persig
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I should mention that Ben completed the Burger Buddy challenge
and confirmed what he already suspected: he’s the man.
Also in the Burger Barn: a picture taken in 1928 of a football
player named Mike, who looked so much like me that I had to eat
with my back to him. Look:
Matt profiled the Raines’ son, Jack, a senior at Dunsmuir
High School. Jack’s an outstanding student who has been accepted
at Purdue’s flight school, but he might be more interested
in Air Force or Navy. He’s a pilot, a fly-rod builder, a filmmaker,
and he’s got a good hook shot too.
The other guys and Sarah (Ben’s girlfriend) went to talk
to Riva, a 101 year-old former English teacher who has published
three books and qualifies as a bona fide local legend. They talked
about her life, the town of Dunsmuir, English literature, and kids
these days. All the guys came away very impressed with her story.
Special thanks to the Altos for being wonderful tour guides in
Dunsmuir, to the Raines for feeding us and giving us a tour of Mr.
Raines’ fly rod shop, and to the Foremans, who put us up in
their home and treated us like family. People are way too nice to
us. Thanks again to all of our new Dunsmuir friends.
Back in four. Email adam@tyap.com
to be notified when new blogs are posted.
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