|
November 22nd
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.
November 18th
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.
November 14th
Apparently, Los Angeles has really good sushi. So after working
all morning, my cousin Bree took us to one of the best joints in
town. It was here that I first recognized that everything in LA
costs money, especially parking. It was a small restaurant that
was part of a small strip mall and had a small parking lot. And
this tiny parking lot had two parking attendants and valet parking
that probably cost $39. California is an expensive place to live.
After lunch, Adam and I went to Venice Beach. As we drove towards
the ocean, the beating sun gave way to thick fog that was rolling
in from the ocean. Bree dropped us off on the strip, which had become
a surreal milieu of mist, beach, and palm trees. For whatever reason,
we looked at each other and chose to head to the left. It is funny
looking back on these moments and wondering what would have happened
if we went north instead. But we chose south and strolled down the
trip looking for some intriguing subjects.
I first noticed a couple holding hands walking towards us in a
group. The couple wasn’t interesting in talking, but their
friend was. He didn’t have much to say other than his aspirations
to smoke weed, which was quite endemic of the area. At the end of
every interview for the documentary, we ask the subject to look
into the camera and say whatever they want to America. This young
man summed up his thoughts with the drug slogan “420”
as his friend conveniently blew smoke across his face. Next, we
met a 22-year-old girl who was an aspiring actress turned interior
designer. She had come to LA when she was 18, but found a boyfriend
(who she is still with) and lost her aspirations.
We then came upon a group of kids hanging together, drinking, and
smoking. A large, friendly guy, aged around 22, approached us and
said, “Hey, can I show you a card trick.” We obviously
agreed and were quite impressed with his coy skill. The card trick
turned into an impromptu interview. For the past three years, he
had been homeless on Venice Beach and absolutely loved every minute
of the freedom he had found there. His father had died and his mother
addicted to crack, so it appeared as though he came there to escape
it all. To stimulate himself and forget about his problems, he likes
to drink, smoke weed, and do some LSD every now and then.
Near the end of the interview, we asked him where we thought he
would be in ten years. He calmly responded, “I’ll be
dead.” Our quizzical looks prompted him to continue, “Yeah,
I’m dying of Leukemia and a doctor told me that I will be
dead in four years.” Taken aback, I asked him whether he was
taking any treatment. Once again unperturbed, he responded, “There
isn’t really any point. Plus, I don’t have any money
or health insurance.” To the average person, our friend appears
to have an extremely tough life: His father is dead, his mother
is addicted to crack, he is dying of cancer, and he is homeless
and without any material possessions or “the little green
papers” to acquire them. But he didn’t want anything,
especially any sympathy because he was living life and he was happy—probably
more jovial then most people I know that have everything. Whether
it was the drugs he was on, the alcohol, or the community he found,
he felt liberated in Venice Beach.
While we were talking to him, the group that he was hanging with
was approached by police officers and eventually fined for drinking
in public. As we sat there amazed at this man’s story, we
noticed a nearby girl that was a part of this crowd. Now 20-years-old,
she had migrated to Venice Beach from Kentucky two years ago. She
was also stunningly pretty and had originally come there to be a
model, but was turned off when she was asked to do some compromising
things. She had several similarities to our previous interview:
First, she was living on the streets and split her time between
two homes: the beach and an underground tunnel a couple of blocks
inland. Second, she spoke of her love for the area and the liberty
it afforded her. And, like our large male friend, she was sickened
by tuberculosis. But she was getting treatment from a local medical
center that provided free healthcare, and she spoke about how great
California was to its homeless. Unfortunately, the interview ended
prematurely when her boyfriend pulled her away, yelling at us to
stay away from his girl. Once again, we stood their scratching our
heads—astonished at everything we had just observed.
Soon after, a sage-like man, who had been observing everything,
approached us. He talked about how most of these kids lacked any
parental upbringing and they sought community here on Venice Beach.
Like many people we spoke with in California, he asked me for money
and, like any time I am asked for money, I gave it to him. Moving
on, we received a live concert from a roller skating guitar player,
who was apparently a legend of the area. The sky had grown darker,
the fog thicker as moisture began to perspire on our cameras.
We then approached a bunch of skateboarders nearby who regularly
gathered among the cement obstacles of Venice Beach. Some had gone
to college, others not. We interviewed one animated guy who was
particularly loquacious. Like many of the people we conversed with
in LA, he was interested in becoming an actor. He said, “I
mean. I know what I need to do. All I need to get is my head shots
and then I’ll be fine.” If it was that easy, then we
wondered why he wasn’t already a Hollywood star. He also educated
Adam and I about the omnipotence of gangs in South Central, the
Bloods and Crypts rivalry, the significance of territory and colors,
and about the cycle of violence.
As we left the area, I was confused. Although I was inspired by
how happy these kids were with nothing, I was saddened by their
lack of ambition. Venice Beach seemed to be a retreat for people
with dreams, but an inability to achieve them. Moreover, it was
a haven for drugs, especially marijuana, and everyone seemed to
be there to buy, sell, or smoke it. We probably talked to 20 different
people and I think that every single one referred to weed. I had
trouble figuring out whether it was the drugs that ruined their
lives or whether it was the drugs that were a vehicle to escape
their ruined lives. Maybe it was the people we talked to, maybe
it was the gray fog, but I left the area saddened.
November 10
We awoke to the wonderful hospitality of my family in Alamo. Wigs,
Ben, and Adam left our temporary home base and ventured west into
San Francisco. At the University School, Wigs interviewed Ben Casnocha,
a young entrepreneur who is a world-renowned blogger. Politics Online
voted him one of the top-25 most influential people in the realm
of politics on the Internet. Ben has also designed an online solution
for citizens to interact with their local governments. Meanwhile,
Adam and Griz surprised our good friend Kane while he was teaching
at the Towne School in Pacific Heights.
In the afternoon, we all met up in Milpitas, CA at the Maxtor Corporation,
which has kindly given us 26 external storage drives to back up
our film and pictures. We updated them about our progress and finally
met the people that had helped support our project. We especially
want to thank Ann Lee who has believed in our project ever since
she received a cold call several months back.
We left the Maxtor Corporation and traversed Silicon Valley to
the Apple Corporation. While we were in Portland, we met a wonderful
man named Chris Riley, who works for Apple and splits his time between
Oregon and the Bay Area. At Apple, we met with Chris and some of
his co-workers. We all had a very intriguing conversation about
our project and Apple and showed them a clip from the documentary.
The day’s saturation within Silicon Valley brought me back
to a debate we have been having since day one: About whether we
should just jump in a car with a note pad and see what happens a
la Jack Kerouac or whether we should get sponsored, maintain a website,
and shoot a documentary. How would Mr. Kerouac travel the country
today? Not that we are trying to relive On the Road, but it is something
that we have thought about a lot.
Wee have chosen the sponsorship/technology approach, largely because
we needed funding and this new technology is a part of the four
of us, a part of our generation. As a young man in Madison, WI pointedly
said, “I need to be stimulated.” Although he was partly
referring to the fact that he needed to get his cocaine, he was
also alluding to the fact that people our age get bored easily and
need various mediums through which to learn. Some people like to
check the web daily, some may want to sit in a café and read
a book, while others may just want popcorn, a couch, and a film.
We hope to appeal to all of these people.
Maybe we have sold out, maybe we have not. We believe the road
is the same no matter how you travel on it. It is about soaking
up the experiences you encounter. It is about opening up your heart
and your mind to anything new. The times have changed, and we have
attempted to adapt to these changes.
November 6
The day began in the parking lot outside Gotham Building Tavern,
where we had our fundraiser the previous night. It was early, but
we had to get going. Now, I am a guy who doesn’t like change.
I get really sad when I leave people and places that make me happy.
So far this trip I have had to alter this mindset because people
and places filter through our transient lives on a daily basis.
Needless to say, I was sad to leave Portland, a city I had become
accustomed to, a city where I had made friends, a city where I had
many great memories.
We drove south on I5 arriving late in the morning at KLCC, which
is Eugene’s NPR station. Every Sunday Adam’s Uncle Brian
hosts a radio show covering various issues that of late has included
Hepatitis C, meth, and natural disasters. On this Sunday, they were
discussing The Young Americans Project, a topic that we have become
too accustomed to talking about. The fact that we have explained
our project 45,089 times has become a point of comedy. We each have
our own distinct version and we often like to joke around with each
other about it. For example, Wigs likes to say, “We are on
the road exploring the hopes, dreams, and ambitions of young Americans.”
In other words, we are on the road exploring the hopes, hopes, and
hopes of people our age. I apparently use my girl/phone voice even
though I may be talking to a 6’11” football player.
Ben likes to spice it up with comments that may or may not make
our project look good: A couple of weeks ago he told a reporter,
“We are like a boy band without the music.” Adam likes
to make it pretty obvious that he doesn’t want to explain
our project.
Over time, we have begun to take a page out of each other’s
book, and by the end of the trip we will probably be telling the
same story. When asked about our trip, we may respond softly in
unison, “It’s funny you ask because we hate talking
about it, but while we’re on the topic we are driving, moving,
and traveling across the U.S. to document our contemporaries, like
kids our age, in our generation. Oh, and we like to do puppet shows.”
Anyway, Wigs and Adam talked on air with Brian and his co-host
Claude for about an hour. They did a great job and it was cool to
hear people calling in and asking questions. By the way, if you
are reading this blog and happen to own a radio company, then you
should call Wigs because he has an amazing radio voice.
We, being Adam, Ben, Wigs, our new groupie Sarah (Ben’s girlfriend)
and I left Eugene for California. I drove, everybody else fell asleep,
it rained, rained harder, got dark. 5 hours, 3 passes, 49 mountains,
4 accidents, 5.6 billion raindrops later, we arrived in Dunsmuir,
California, where my mother went to high school. It is a pretty,
old Northern Californian town of two thousand people tucked in a
steep valley in the shadows of Mount Shasta. We drove up the gravel
driveway to the Foreman’s home. In the last year, Len and
Cindy Foreman moved to Dunsmuir when Len became principal of the
high school and superintendent of the county. He became friends
with Carl and Harriet Alto who were very involved in the local community.
My Aunt Shelly still keeps in touch with her old teacher Harriet,
who along with her husband helped set up our visit there.
We walked out of the cold, driving rain into the warm hospitality
of the group assembled, which included the Foremans, the Altos,
and the Raines (Sandy, Chris, and Jack, whom I profiled the next
day). We had an incredible feast and chatted about Dunsmuir, its
history, and our trip. Once again, we couldn’t believe how
people with such slight connections to us could treat us so well.
Thanks to everyone in Dunsmuir, you all are amazing!
|
|
