Matty where the hell have you been? Dawg, I never see you. Matthew, are you coming home? Are you alive?….I feel like I have been hearing a lot of this lately, so I will attempt to quickly summarize the past eight months (Rules of Attraction style) since Harvey drove into port.
Take trip in January to Galapagos with family, enter a world where there are more turtles than humans; Learn about the cycle of life and the power of nature, assimilate the experience with a previous knowledge of Darwin’s theory; Walk away with a strong sense of humility and awe at my existence in a world whose rules are really governed by your placement in the food chain and a fight for survival; not a fight for power or for money or for a certain belief system, but a fight to procreate….
Head home, reconnect with friends, ponder life after college, begin sifting through TYAP material; Spend month of February in Italy working as a runner, covering Snowboarding and Freestyle skiing for NBC Sports at the Winter Olympics; Quickly realize that being a runner is not that sweet, but telling stories through a visual medium such as TV or film is; Spend most of the time there in a small, mountain village named Sauze D’ Oulx, where there are more Brits then Italians and the percentage of the population that gets drunk every night is near 100….
Get back to the states in early March with a new group of friends, an expanded knowledge of TV, and a desire to sleep; Feel somewhat lost and scared about the prospect of living with my parents with no job; decide to move to Boston after several weeks to be closer to Whitey and Wigs and hopefully heighten the level of TYAP productivity; adapt to new lifestyle of writing and editing, teach myself Final Cut, edit short on our experience in New Orleans; Begin putting together larger doc w/Wigs, spend much time with him at the Film Department at BC, made me feel old; Revise and revamp heinemanphotos.com; Realize it may be hard to objectively edit doc, begin search for editor by putting ad on craigslist, mediamatch, get almost 500 responses, spend several weeks sifting through options and meeting with the prospects; Meanwhile, get call from NBC producer/friend offering me a job on the Dew Action Sports Tour; Longing for some structure and a pay check, accept the opportunity and move back to the NYC area in the early summer….
Through summer been balancing time between producing TYAP doc and job at NBC, where I’m part editor, part logger, and part tape library organizer; Physically between an apt in NYC and a hotel in some city (Louisville, Denver, and Portland so far) across the country; the New Orleans short, Overcoming the Storm shown at festival alongside Oscar-nominated Street Fight, cool experience.
Long story short. I’m alive, but never home. TYAP is alive, and hopefully creating a new home in computers, IPods, TV screens, bookstores and maybe even theaters across America.

It should be noted that this blog is being written a week after the fact at my family’s home in California—Life on the road seems very distant, yet still vividly alive. I will try and recreate the penultimate day of TYAP.

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We awoke in the comfort of the Sanborn’s house in Glyndon, Maryland, a quaint, little town twenty minutes outside of Baltimore. After downing some delicious homemade pancakes courtesy of Mrs. Sanborn, we got on the road heading north towards home. The United States map that has been plastered to Harvey’s outside wall for the past few months was virtually filled—only Delaware and New Jersey still left blank.
On the way, we decided to stop at a mall in Delaware because there is no sales tax and we needed to do a little Christmas shopping. When we first arrived, Wigs and I did a Cribs-style exposition of Harvey, showing the public what they’ve always wanted to see: the inside of our little RV. We then did a little shopping for our secret Santa gifts (thanks to Ben we decided to do an intra-TYAP holiday gift swap), grabbed some food, and walked around.
As a Christmas present for his lady friend, Adam wanted to send her a loving music video and we decided to take care of that before we left the mall. The sun was falling as were Adam’s clothes as he strutted around shirtless atop Harvey with Ben’s guitar, lip syncing to the song More Than Words by Extreme. The second scene took place inside Harvey’s master bedroom as Adam seduced the camera with his soothing voice and animated guitar solos. The result was priceless, and you should email Adam to see if he’ll send you a copy.
With the sun down and the video done, we got on the road to Southern New Jersey, where we were staying with Ben’s cousin Andy and his wife Jamie. This was our final stop and we all felt a little weird and nostalgic as the end was nearly upon us. After devouring Jamie’s delicious meal, we began to clean up Harvey.
Afterwards, we interviewed each other about the trip. Some of the questions included: What is the person/place that has affected you the most? If you could run away with one person whom you’ve met along the way, who would it be and why? Have you changed as a person? What was life like on the RV? (Once edited down a little, we will hopefully post these interviews on the site.)
Personally, it is hard for me to grasp everything that occurred in the last three months. To sift through all the memories and the people from the road will be an ongoing process. Of course, I can recognize now that it has been an unbelievable experience—to be able to walk up to any stranger in the country, flash a little business card, explain what we are doing, and then have somebody talk about their life and their beliefs is a unique privilege. In the twelve weeks on the road, we encountered very little hostility; a protestor in Portland is the only example that comes to mind.
I was both surprised and moved at how open and willing people were to talk. They wanted their voices to be heard and universally had strong convictions about something. There were differing opinions of course, but almost everyone was tolerant or understanding of others. The country we saw was not black or white; it was not blue or red; it was not fat, skinny, rich, poor, Christian or Muslim. We saw a mosaic of individuals that in some way melded together to form our generation. There was the waitress in rural South Dakota whose livelihood was based upon oil and agriculture and whose opinions were made accordingly. There was the hard-working Mexican immigrant who was grateful to be here. There was the newly married couple that was struggling to get by and figure out their next pay check. There was the homeless ex-con who was scared shitless and pondering his future. There was the passionate musician looking to make it big. In the end, they all wanted the same thing—happiness. For some, happiness was painted in the color green. For others, it came in the form of a family or maybe a successful career.
I hope that we can harness the power of these past three months in creating discussion amongst men and women our age. What do we believe in? What do we want? What kind of world do we want to live in? Our generation needs to step up and answer these questions. Technology has leveled any barriers in communication and allowed us to speak across geographical, religious, and social barriers. More so than any other generation, we have the ability to get our ideas out there and we should harness this power. My final two interviewees, both of whom thanked me for asking them the questions that we ask everyone and forcing them to think about their beliefs, encouraged me. Expand that to a broader scale with more people and more talk and more ideas and less barriers and maybe something good will come of it. That is my idealistic hope.
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I want to end my last trip blog with an enormous thanks to the friends, family, and strangers around the country that helped make our trip possible. It was truly amazing to get so much love and care from people, many of whom we didn’t really know, and the four of us are very grateful for that. And thanks to anybody who has been reading my blog. Ok, I am crying now. I won’t be back in four days.

Think Globally
Act Locally
Commit Individually

Harvey’s heating system runs off of the auxiliary battery system and the propane tank. When we aren’t plugged into an electrical outlet, it runs out pretty quickly and decides to beep really loudly at intervals just long enough to allow you to fall asleep. It ironically has enough power to beep perpetually, a frightening fact that dissuades us from using the thermostat when we aren’t plugged in.

Needless to say, sleeping in Harvey unplugged this past evening was slightly less than desirable due to the biting cold. And when I awoke early this crisp December morning, I welcomed the warm air blowing on my face as I got us on the road to UVA. The drive to Charlottesville was gorgeous as we headed north into Virginia. Ice and snow from the recent storm glistened in the winter sunlight along Highway 85.

It was high noon when we arrived at UVA and dropped Adam off to increase the size of his diminished pectorals. Ben and I headed into town to look for a place to dock Harvey. While driving down University Ave, I took a fateful left turn into an alleyway, following a sign for public parking. It was a tiny road that led to a tiny parking lot fit for a tiny car—not a place you wanted to drive a 30’ foot RV. After getting some advice that we wouldn’t be able to turn around, we tried anyway because we’re crazy like that. Half an hour and 97 points of turning later, we finally got out of the predicament. Thanks go to Ben for directing the maneuver from the outside and to Wigs for being able to sleep through the entire thing on the inside bunk.

Later in the afternoon, Adam and I met up with Amanda Paige, October’s Playboy Playmate of the Month and currently a senior at UVA. We hung out at Starbucks, walked around campus, and then went back to her house to do an interview on camera. I feel like a broken record, but like many people we’ve met this trip, she broke many preconceived notions. Not to anybody’s surprise, she was blond, busty, and skinny—a real life Barbie doll. Yet, she is in several honor societies, has a 3.9 GPA, and is currently in the middle of her thesis dealing with how artificial reproductive technologies affect family dynamics. Near the end of the interview, she admitted that she might come off as ditzy or stupid, but she was actually really book smart. When asked whether we should care that Brad left Jennifer for Angelina, Amanda came up with one of the most intelligent and unique answers of the trip. She said that we should care, but only for the fact that it is indicative of the sociological trends of divorce in our country today. I was impressed.

Amanda personifies how your life can change forever in just a single moment. One afternoon of her first year, Amanda was walking across a field behind frat row and this guy came up to her and handed her a flier seeking Playboy models for their “Women of the ACC” edition. Moments later a talent scout approached her and asked her if she would model for the magazine. Without telling anybody–most importantly her parents–she was topless in front of the camera the next day. It was not until one of her father’s co-workers brought it up that her parents found out. Over the summer, she was selected to be Playmate of the Month, and she is currently in the running for Playmate of the Year.
As one might expect, Amanda gets a fair amount of attention at school and over email, but says that Playboy has not really changed her as a person. It has, however, changed her plans after college. BP (or before Playboy), Amanda was planning on going to law school. AP, she is planning on moving to LA, living in one of Hugh’s houses that he offers to his girls, and attempting to start a modeling career. Amanda thinks that she might attempt a career in law later down the line, but for now she is going with the options that have been laid before her. Our clever blond spoke adoringly of Hugh Hefner and the month she spent living at the Playboy mansion this past summer, and that is one of the reasons she wants to go back. She says the mansion wasn’t as crazy as most people think and that most nights are spent lounging around the house, playing board games or watching TV. One night she got to play dominos with Mr. Hefner, which was quite a treat.

Amanda says that the attention she gets is almost always in good fun with the occasional sly glance from a jealous girl. Amanda does, however, get a few interesting requests. One example occurred a couple of weeks ago over email, when she was asked to give up a pair of her pantyhose by a man who collects these garments from famous women. Amanda wisely did not.

After we finished up at Amanda’s house, we went to dinner, did some work over coffee, and then went to see Syriana. If you haven’t seen it, then you must head to your nearest movie theater. Along with Crash, it is probably the most powerful and thought provoking movies that I have seen in a long time. In essence, the film is about the detrimental implications of oil in a global context. Like Traffic, which was also done by the same director, Syriana melds several different subplots into a large picture showing the various players in the oil business.

As we were discussing the movie on the way to Harvey, I looked up and noticed a massive white halo encircling the hazy moon. It was a pretty unbelievable site and something that is still baffling us. To compound the mystery, when I took both pictures and video of the phenomena, it didn’t appear in the shots. If there are any astronomers out there reading my blog, could you please let me know what it was. Otherwise, I am sticking with the fact that it was a sign from some otherworldly being.

That’s all folks, things are sadly coming to a close.

Wake up to small dog running around house in Nashville where we are crashing on couches, fall back asleep, dog breaks wine glass in living room, wake up, curse to myself, fall back asleep, wake up again, this time to Adam’s cell phone, remain awake; check email, make a few phone calls, thank our hosts; drive few miles into Nashville, but Magellan is temperamental so we get lost, it finally gets it shit together and takes us to Café Coco, where we grab breakfast/lunch, find interview subject in back porch of said restaurant, get her on camera talking about her drug use, Nashville and exams in no particular order; get back in Harvey and drive to Centennial Park, home of Nashville’s faux Parthenon built around turn of the 20th Century in an attempt to ingratiate its citizens and appear cultured, laugh because the wrongly colored Greek homage looks ridiculous standing on hill in America’s country music capital; drive to Love Circle, a small street that snakes its way up a hill with best view of the city, get beauty shots, meet lonely girl looking for a boyfriend, Wiggins can’t fulfill that role but interviews her about relationships in our generation; leave Nashville and head northeast into Kentucky, attempt to catch up on work in RV as Ben drives, procrastinate by watching live music footage from previous night, get back to work, pullover on highway to pee, stop at grocery store to stock up on food; drive to Blockbuster to rent movie, three others guys spend 42 minutes picking out Willy Wonka; move Harvey 27 yards around corner to parking spot for the night; nuke TV dinner in Harvey, spill TV dinner all over the place, nuke second TV dinner, successfully eat TV dinner; get back to work, guys watch movie in the master bedroom, fall asleep, and look cute together; while working at table observe cop slowly driving by; barely past, cop slowly reverses to position himself next to me, open window to converse with Officer Billy Badass who tells me we need to leave unless we got permission to park there, we hadn’t, so I said we’d leave; while driving out, drop Willy Wonka in night slot at Blockbuster, almost slip a disk on the icy puddle formed under driver door, drive across street to sketchy truck stop where cop told me to go, pull Harvey into cozy little spot, lean back ready for bed, but suddenly see flashing lights again, same cop pulls up , questions why it took so long for us to leave, then asks what we were doing in front of Blockbuster, tell him that I was dropping off DVD, tells me that he thought we were suspicious and that there had been a lot of break-ins lately, then asks me whether someone had been loitering around in front of store and then hopped in RV, tell him nope sir, just me dropping movie off, Billy then asks for license and registration, but tells me I can’t get it in the back of the RV, so Wigs gets out of bed to do get license and registration, Billy questions me about the owner of the vehicle, I refer him to the stickers plastered on the outside of Harvey, but he wants papers, Wigs gets them for him, Billy does background check, lets us go, and thanks us for letting him waste our time.

I am supposed to catch up with Nontra Yantaprasert at 9:30am in the Starbucks downtown. We had first met the past evening while she was serving Wigs and I at B & D Burgers. For some reason, I didn’t think that she would show up, but she arrives half an hour early; pink polka dotted boots and all. The fact that she wanted to meet at the global coffee chain was an interesting choice for a SCAD (Savannah College of Art and Design) student. According to Nontra, most of the students like to think of themselves as creative individuals who frown upon large corporations. Nontra doesn’t buy into this artistic cliché and realizes that such businesses have their advantages.

In her final year at SCAD, Nontra is a fashion design major who wants and needs a job. Just a few days ago she flew to Minneapolis for an interview with Target, a corporation that appeals to her because of its benefits as well as its ability to reach such a large audience. Like most of her college counterparts, she anxiously looks towards her future and this was the first day she was supposed to hear back from her potential employer. We chatted over some coffee at Starbucks and then headed two doors down to B & D because it was quieter and she needed to get ready for her eleven o’clock shift.

In many ways, Nontra is a normal 21-year-old girl fascinated by boyfriends, Lindsey Lohan, the OC, and shopping. She describes herself as bubbly and talkative and, from what I observe, she is telling the truth. From the outside, you might not realize that Nontra is almost obsessively organized and driven to succeed, has a perfect 4.0 GPA, and won a competitive design scholarship last year. In addition, she is living on her own, wholly autonomous from her family and working six days a week.

Both of Nontra’s parents were born in Thailand and came to the U.S. for work, but that was before they knew each other. Her father came first and began working in a restaurant. One day his boss asked him to pick up her daughter from the boat. He ended up marrying this young woman and had Nontra soon after. Both of her parents were extremely hard working, a trait that clearly rubbed off upon their daughter, and struggled to make it in their new country. Nontra’s parents lived their life paycheck to paycheck mainly in the restaurant business. When she was 16, her father had a heart attack, an event that forever changed the nature of her family.

Although she had already been working full time since she was fourteen, she was forced to fend for herself financially. Her parents had saved almost nothing and because they owned their own restaurant at the time, had no health insurance. All of their subsequent income needed to go to pay off medical debts, leaving little for Nontra’s education. That is why she pays for her own food, rent, car, and education. As somebody who didn’t have to worry about paying for my college tuition, I listened, amazed at Nontra’s independence and initiative.

After chatting for about an hour, Nontra leaves to get ready for her impending shift as I park myself at the bar, awaiting her free moments to chat. She keeps stealing her favorite pen that she leant to me for note taking. After I use it, I put it on the table and then it disappears again. I notice about seven other similar looking pens positioned neatly side by side on her waitress apron. I ask, “Did you just steal my pen again?” She bats her eyelashes, reaches into her apron, grabs her “favorite” pen that looks strikingly similar to the six adjoining ones, and playfully says, “just kidding.” I felt like it really said a lot about her character, about how she is organized and fastidious, but ditzy and cute at the same time.

Nontra bounces around the room like a little ball of energy. She wasn’t only friendly to me, but appears to show off her infectious smile and perfect white teeth to everyone she spoke to. When she was off serving a table, I ask her co-workers to describe Nontra. They unanimously agree that she is always happy and has an uncanny ability to make those around her happy too. Nontra overhears us talking about her and offers her own character description, “Straight A’s or else! Jeans or else!” as she clinches her fist and pretends to be stern. It’s hard to take her seriously because, in the two hours or so that I have been with her, I have seen nothing except for a smile. Yet, this quote speaks to her duality, to her desire to succeed as well as her love for fashion and clothes.

In many ways, life is about work and play and it seems like Nontra is doing a good job of combining the two. Using her grade point average, her positive nature, and her inner drive as indicators, I am going to predict that Nontra gets the job at Target and might even go on to fulfill her dream of launching a children’s fashion line. For now, she is rushing off to submit her design for another scholarship due at 3pm.
While I was profiling Nontra, the guys were checking out Savannah and getting some work done. We met up after the interview and got on the road to Charleston, South Carolina, arriving at the Cleveland’s house early that evening. Thanks to my mom, we got in touch with Mrs. Cleveland, whose son Will went to high school with my brother. We were treated to some wonderful southern hospitality and had a lovely dinner at Fleet’s Landing.

Similar to what we heard back in Savannah, Will told us about the gentrification process that was happening in Charleston. Essentially, the wealthy white population is expanding into the outskirts of town, where land is cheaper and further marginalizing the poorer black population. This is a trend that we have begun to observe and I would like to study it more before I say anything else.

Anyway, Will toured us around his hometown that is filled with such a rich and storied history. We saw the waterfront mansions, the market place, and the canons that fired upon Fort Sumter. We all had a fun time and it was great to catch up with my old friend.
The following morning Will took me on a more in depth tour of the city in the bright daylight of this bluebird day. I saw a lot, but nothing more interesting than the 18-year-old kid named Bud Scaggs that I met in Battery Park. I was there taking pictures and, as I absentmindedly strolled down the sidewalk and heard a voice calling from somewhere nearby. Looking around, I identified the thick southern drawl as coming from a young, scraggly looking young man sitting alone on the park bench. He hair was short and he wore a goatee, weathered blue slacks, and a grey long underwear top. His teal and flannel jacket was wrapped around his well-built torso and his bike stood erect in close proximity. His name was Bud, and he was just saying hello. I reciprocated and walked over towards him. He explained how he was just sitting on the bench doing some tricep extensions and I explained how I was driving around the country writing a book and shooting a documentary and asked Bud whether he would be able to spend a few minutes chatting with me. He said yes, and gave me his goofy laugh that follows most of his sentences.

Bud was a migrant worker who had been out on his own since he was he was 15. “I just wanted to be free. Prove something to myself. You always hear people saying ‘you can’t do this, you can’t do that.’ You can do it. They can’t stop you.” He is from a rural, two stop light town in the hills of western South Carolina and was noticeably hesitant about describing his past. Bud did tell me, however, that his step-mom beat him and was the impetus for his leaving. “My step mom was abusive and I ain’t have the courage to hit her back, so I just left. I think that was better than going to jail or doing something stupid.” He hasn’t talked to his family in three years.

Bud left home for Florida and then went on to Willow Gray Military Academy in Colombia, SC where he graduated last December. I asked him why he didn’t continue with the army and he said, “I thought about it. But then I’m like, ‘I might get shot.’ And I said I better not do that because I want to have a family when I get a little bit older.”
Bud has been traveling ever since and thoroughly loves life on the road. “It’s the feeling of being free and nobody there to slow you down.” He travels from city to city via bus or train, living in hotels, and finding work as a carpenter or auto mechanic. Bud doesn’t like to stay put for long though: “Whatever pops up in my head where I wanna go, that’s where I’ll be in a couple of months.” What drives him every day? “Just thinking it’s another day. Another day, another dollar you gotta earn. You gotta survive. Just getting to know that you’re free when you get up in the morning instead of somebody telling you what to do every morning. Somebody yelling in your face.”

When asked whether he was unique, Bud didn’t think so. He looked at me and concluded that we both like traveling. He thinks that our generation is different on the outside, but the same on the inside. “Peoples different you know. Different strokes for different folks…..You see some of these, ya know, you see preppy folks, your lower class folks, and your red neck folks. You’ll see the preppy folks making fun of the red neck folks. But then you’ll see the red necks making fun of the preps and the lower class folks. It all ties in together, because nobodies perfect. Ya know. It all goes together someway. We’re all brothers and sisters.”

Bud doesn’t really buy into pop culture and would rather listen to Hank Williams Jr. than Britney Spears. “I don’t know nothing about the opera and all that oops I did it again stuff.” Does he feel trapped or liberated by technology? “Trapped!” he says definitively and gives his characteristic chuckle. “I don’t mess with that technology too much. Growing up in the mountains, I’d rather just take a shotgun, go out and kill a turkey. And these computer things—I don’t mess with them either. Computers are confusing.” This is quite ironic coming from a kid who would build hydrogen bombs—similar to those used in the Oklahoma City Bombings—from fertilizer using information that he got from the Internet. When he was younger, he and is friends would send lawnmowers out into their fields and blow huge craters into the ground. Pretty scary stuff. While Bud is skeptical of the government and filled with conspiracy theories, he said he was only doing it for fun, and would never want to harm anybody.

Bud is very much a product of his environment, but is trying to escape it at the same time. He is out on his own and seems to be happier than ever.

We woke up in Mobile, AL and thanked our hosts, the Potts, for a wonderful stay in their beautiful Southern city. We drove west into Florida and made our first stop in Pensacola to see Pete Lilly, our good friend from Dartmouth. Pete is a lieutenant in the Marines and currently in flight school to be a pilot for the corps. He showed us around the area and gave us a little history: Not sure if you knew, but Pensacola was the first settlement in America, before Jamestown or Plymouth. He also pointed out the commonplace usage of second floor balconies, known as galleries, which we had first begun to see back in New Orleans. After Pete treated us to a wonderful seaside lunch, we went back to his place and got him on camera for a few minutes. As I have always been, I was impressed with his drive, dedication, and humility. Pete optimistically spoke about the many leaders of our generation and how there are a multitude of ways to serve our country, not just in the Marines.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t stay long with our good friend and got on the road to the University of Florida in Gainesville, where Adam cfwanted to profile a real life freshman girl named Charlotte Simmons. If you read Tom Wolfe you’ll understand, if not you will have to read his profile.

There are lessons in life everywhere and on our ride to Gainesville a gas pump was our teacher, Wigs the pupil. Some states have those pumps that you can press, lock down, and leave. For others, you must maintain hand contact with the grease covered plastic handle and get high off the gas fumes emanating through the air. Our mentor was of the latter type and, as Wigs attempted to transport the gas through it, he was quickly presented with a loud click followed by silence. He tried again, and again the pump stopped almost immediately. After repeating the process several times, he yelled, “Matt, this pump is f’ed.” Now, I won’t say who, but somebody went over to help him. Instead of aggressively pressing down on the handle, this savior slowly applied pressure and with time the pump began to flow. The longer he waited, the faster it would pump, and the happier we all were. After taking a piss in the bathroom, little Matty Wigs learned that patience brings prosperity. Ok, that is my pointless allegory for the day.

Wanna hear something else trivial? Later that night, while working in a 24-hour copy store, a girl came up to me and asked if I would make a copy of my “man chest” on one of the copy machines. I said yes. She laughed. I tried, but it didn’t work.

That’s all for the day.

I was profoundly affected by our recent recent visit to New Orleans and the current state of affairs almost three months since Hurricane Katrina hit.

I want to begin with a roughly edited short film clip that I made while walking through the one of the most damaged sections of the city, the Lower 9th Ward. The area had previously been quarantined by the government, but this day marked the first time citizens were allowed back into their houses to assess the damage from the storm. I will never forget my interactions with the protagonist of the film who was coming back that day, and I hope you all have a chance to hear his words.

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I am going to attempt to give you a feel of what I saw through a description of some of the photos I took (Click here to be taken to more pics):

Although some businesses were in disrepair from what seemed to be looting, most in the downtown portion of the city appeared to be doing fine. These pink pieces of paper indicated that the businesses were approved for re-opening. In the harder hit areas, orange pieces of paper signified that a structure was unsafe and prohibited the owners from entering. These orange leaflets were commonplace in the 9th Ward.

Most of the skyscrapers in downtown New Orleans seemed unharmed, although there was the occasional blown window that remained as a reminder of the storms.

Broken street signs and decapitated trees provided other examples.

Across the street-facing façade of every house in the affected areas was graffiti left by the national guardsmen who had searched it. Every house was branded with some version of the black writing at the top-left corner of the window. From what we gathered, this shows the date on which the house was searched as well as the unit that was involved. The zero indicates that there were no bodies found inside. Every search party usually added some information about what they found, i.e. the info about the dogs.

The power of nature was evident everywhere. Cars were flipped onto houses, crushed to the ground, or filled with debris. Some were left where they were before the storm, others were probably carried for miles. Here are some of the cars that were being removed by a truck.

On the left is a foundation. On the right, is the house that seems to have been picked up and dropped twenty feet away.

This is Matt Greiner, an insurance adjustor whom I met at the entrance to the 9th Ward. He allowed us to come with him while he was assessing this house. Matt told me how regular home insurance only covers wind damage and not flood damage, which is very unfortunate because most of the damage in these homes was a result of flooding and not wind. All Matt could do for this family was provide them with a new roof, but this won’t do much because their house is ruined inside and will probably have to be leveled anyway.

Matt believed that people from the house on the right used this board to avoid rising floodwaters and escape to higher ground.

Wigs illustrates where the flood line was on this home. Flood lines were visible on most homes, except for where the water rose above them. The familiar graffiti shows that the house was searched on September 16th.

I took this photo from atop the canal levee, which had fractured three months ago during Katrina and caused much of the damage in the lower 9th Ward. This enormous barge had come through the 800’ breach and, when the waters receded, seems to have landed atop a school bus. Wigs provides some scale on the left hand side of the picture.

The area around the levee break was almost totally wiped out. A Red Cross worker told us that the waters were flowing through here at 200 mph.

Most of the previous photos were taken on November 30th, which was the last day that this section of the 9th ward was quarantined off and also the final day of hurricane season. The following pictures are all taken on December 1st, the first day the area was open to the public. A group of Red Cross workers were to there to help out with both supplies as well as grief counseling.

I met this man while he was in line getting supplies from the Red Cross. He offered to drive me over to see his house—that he had grown up in—for the first time since the storm. We arrived to find out that it had shifted from its foundation to the lot next door. The porch was the only portion left intact and can vaguely be seen under the telephone pole in the picture on the right. He was adamant about getting in the house to see if he could recover anything and first tried the front door. After getting it unlocked, it wouldn’t budge, probably due to some debris blocking it. Grabbing his hammer, he tried every window, but they were either blocked or covered in security bars. Throughout this process, he spoke stoically with his mom, walking her through everything that was happening. Eventually, he gave up because he needed to get back to his construction job.


It was very tough to look inside the homes, and it something that I’ll never forget. The smell was as oppressive as the sight and it was hard to stay in them for more then a couple of minutes. To think that this was someone’s home, someone’s belonging’s, someone’s life—was heartbreaking. Everything, from the big to the small, was tossed around like it went through a cycle in the washing machine. In two of the houses, gravity had brought the waterlogged ceiling to the floor, which was then covered in a thick layer of mud.

This is a refrigerator/freezer that had somehow ended up balanced between some electrical wires and the side of a house.

My brother astutely pointed out that this is not a roof, but a hardwood floor.

Harvey spent the night in the Bricktown section of Oklahoma City; lonely in a parking lot nestled between several buildings near the faux canal that queerly snakes its way through this unsuspecting section of the city. The same security guard, who had greeted us the night before, awakened us and declared it was our time to leave unless we wanted to stay for another day. We didn’t want to, so we got on the road.

Our first stop this late November day was at a gas station so Adam could get his coffee fix. As we drove in, I noticed a bunch of people hanging around what seemed like a garbage can in an abandoned parking lot. My curiosity was piqued so I walked over to check it out and was surprised by what I would find. It took me a second to figure out exactly what was going on. There were several people sitting in a bow shaped arrangement, others were standing, and most were paying attention to a speaker I couldn’t see. I repositioned myself to see better. Intermittently, the speaker would point at somebody and members of the crowd would follow, extending their arms and spreading their fingers, all in the same direction. I soon realized it was an evangelical preacher proselytizing to a group of homeless men and women gathered before him. The transient church was also providing food and coffee to the congregation.

I’ve always been very wary of organized religion and especially evangelical churches, but there was something about this scene before me that challenged my skepticism. The congregation of homeless people had nothing, no food and no home, just the clothes on their back. But this preacher made them feel hopeful, like they had worth to their life. Whether there is substance to this hope and to this belief is not for me to judge, but at least it made them feel a little better for the moment.

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We drove for the rest of the day, east on I-40 to Arkansas (in order to hit every state) then southwest towards Texas. We drove by Eufaula Lake, across the Cherokee and Choctaw Nations, through the gentle hills of Southern Oklahoma and down into Texas, bypassing Dallas and arriving in Austin around 10:30. It was a long day of driving, so it felt great to step foot into our good friend and host Dave’s house.

Dave showed us around Austin. On this Saturday night, the city seemed to be teeming with people, but according to Dave it was just an average night. We walked around the infamous 6th Street packed with bars and a remarkably diverse crowd that seemed to coexist peacefully. Every forty feet or so there would be a new scene, often characterized by a different sound emanating from within. One of these sounds that so attracted me from one of the open aired bars was the bluesy guitar playing of a Stevie Ray Vaughn-like character, who both looked and sounded the part.

We all enjoyed our night with Dave and Wigs’ cousin Benny-Boob and gave Austin a very good review. As somebody in our group so eloquently put,, “Austin…more like awesome.”

The day began with a short little jaunt up Red Rock Trail on the outskirts of Boulder, CO. Our good friend Parker, Ben, and I quickly cruised up to the top of the rock spires and enjoyed the view of the city backed by the looming Flat Irons. It was a gorgeous morning and good to be with our old Dartmouth buddy who was a great host to us.After backing Harvey into a tree and severely denting our bike rack, I swore, chastised myself, met up with the guys in town, hung my head and told them what happened, and finally headed to Denver. Our first stop in Colorado’s capital was Invesco Field, the home of the Denver Broncos. Probably unbeknownst to many, it is also the home of the Denver Outlaws, an expansion Major League Lacrosse team that has recently drafted Ben to its roster. We got an exclusive tour of the stadium from Brian Reese, the general manager of the Outlaws. As we walked around, Adam, Wigs, and I felt special to be part of Ben’s entourage, envisioning our positions as agent, manager, and personal assistant to big #9. Besides walking around the field, one of the highlights of the visits was entering the visiting team locker room. For some reason, the Bronco’s mascot was housed in this part of the stadium and his outfit was hung up in one of the lockers. Ben donned the horse head, we laughed, but as his agent I thought it might have been bad for his image. Also, hung along the walls were various posters telling the players to make sure they buckled up their helmet and hit with their heads up. Hmmm, you think that they may have learned by now.

We left Invesco and headed downtown to grab some food and walk around. I made my way down to Riverside Park, where I made some friends who were practicing their Karate skills on a warmly lit hillside overlooking Denver’s skyline. I’m not that funny a guy, and they laughed hysterically at everything I said or did, so I concluded that they must have been on some mind-altering substance. Later that evening, Parker, Wigs, Matt (our friend from high school whom we met up with), and I grabbed the camera and went out in the city looking for some street interviews. Since we had our two friends along with us, Wigs and I were hoping for some fascinating conversation. The initial interviews weren’t great, largely because they didn’t have a ton to say.

Our third and final one was unbelievable, not in the positive sense, but in the Wow, I cannot believe what they are saying sense. They posited that we are “Generation Skull Fucked” and they hoped that China took over and killed us all. They were both going to art school in the city and used this medium to shock and alter perceptions of normality. Straight faced, they explained how they used their own feces and blood in some of their paintings. For those of you who are enticed by such art, just know that “you must coat it so that it keeps.” When asked what they wanted to say to America, half of the duo responded, “We’re fucked. We should just kill our children and start over.” To summarize, they were anti-Bush, anti-establishment, anti-America, anti-happiness, and all the while sipping their Mocha Frappuccinos from Starbucks.

I strongly believe in the goodness of humanity and that people are generally telling the truth. Throughout our trip, I think that people have been incredibly candid and straightforward with us. This was one of the first times that I thought our subjects were not being wholeheartedly truthful and, instead, attempting to be sensational for the camera. Yet, if you distill all the comments about death, destruction, worshipping Jeffrey Dammar, there laid some facet of unhappiness with the current state of affairs in our country. They clearly manifested this despondency in overt and extreme ways probably in an effort to get their point across. They have a voice, and it is a voice that is as necessary to record as any other.

I’m sorry to disappoint all of my fans (hi mom and dad), but this is going to be a very short blog due to our crazy schedule lately. Las Vegas was a haven of deceit, greed, and sex. I’ve never been to a place with more sprawl, faux buildings, or people trying to sin. I guess that is part of the allure of the place, but I just felt gross when I woke up to the KOA security guard banging on Harvey’s starboard side door telling us we had to leave the RV park adjacent to the strip. We had stayed up all night on the town and I don’t know whether it was the casinos or strip clubs that made me feel worse about myself.

One positive thing came out of our late night visit to the strip club was that Wigs made a contact with one of independent contractors who works there. We wanted to find out the bare truth about our generation, so that afternoon we met up with April, and Adam did a profile on her. Not surprisingly, she was blond, flirtatious, and bubbly, but she was also a normal college student at Chico State who wanted a family and kids. I’ll leave the rest to Adam’s profile.

We left the interview, and headed to North Las Vegas to stay with Harry and Lisa Maldonado. Harry recently graduated from Dartmouth College with Adam, Ben and I, but his story was a bit more unique. He entered Dartmouth in 1989, but had to leave a couple of years later because he could no longer afford paying for school. He dabbled in the business world for a little, but decided to join the Marines and ended up serving for ten years. Harry was honorably discharged after being injured and decided he wanted to finish up his education with his military benefits. Harry has an incredible heart and loves doing things for others. Fittingly, Harry and Lisa treated us like kings and we crashed early because we had stayed up the night before.