Heath......and Batman

There are these certain things in life that everybody gets so obsessed with, and so you start maybe not liking these certain things as much because everyone else does. At least, I have sometimes fallen victim to this. I think if you're honest with yourself then you know that it is true for you as well.

Regardless, and as sad/cruel/etc. this may be, I began to regard Heath Ledger as one of these. I loved him in Brokeback as many of my friends scorned the film (probably because of their own closeted homosexuality). I watched Ten Things I Hate About You, and even though J Stiles did her best to bring it down, Heath made that thing at least respectable. And who could forget a Knight's Tale, the film in which he won over the hearts of every (young, old, moms) girl in America.

But even after all this, he wasn't idolized. Don't get me wrong here; people definitely liked the guy. But he just wasn't memorable enough for them, and then as I said, after Brokeback it seemed as though he plunged in the popularity polls.

I won't sit here and give you some monday morning quarterback spiel about how I could see the greatness in his acting and how I felt like, deep down, he was headed for a troubled future (my theater teacher this year actually claimed that she could see through Heath's acting that he was taking his roles too far, and this could be suicidal. Obviously she dropped this fascinating insight on us long after Heath was six feet under). But I certainly respected the guy's work, especially his decision to take a role that I am pretty sure 99% of the other A-Listers in Hollywood would have turned down. 

So yeah, he passes away, and suddenly, he is everyone's favorite actor. It's pretty sad if the man has to die for you to remember his name. He was a great actor, but he wasn't as good as people made him out to be after he was gone.

But maybe he was that great. Maybe I needed to examine his acting a bit more closely, not just his progressive role choices. But I didn't want to, because I was afraid I would see his movies through biased eyes, and subsequently would join the masses of all those hailing Heath.

Alas, I did it anyway. I headed to Blockbuster and rented A Knight's Tale and Brokeback Mountain. Ol' Ten Things was left off the list. I watched them both, back to back. And the answer, although I tried to fool myself into thinking it was, came as no surprise.

He was great. The best, perhaps. I know nothing about analyzing acting. I didn't need to. I knew--I know what feels real. I know what it feels like to be so caught up in a film that you told yourself you would never watch so that it not only completely engulfs you and makes you think that what is happening on screen is real-life, but it completely changes your perspective on the way you view the world. Heath's acting has...damnit, HAD the ability to do that.

And now he's gone. Now, a standard has been set. Henceforth, performances will be judged with one question: Could it compare to Heath's?

Ah well. On to the film I saw tonight. The Black Knight. Heath's last hurrah.

The first Batman movie (Bale era) was good. I am not a huge superhero fan. But it was good. I respect Christian Bale's skills. He's a very solid actor. Thankfully, Batman's love, Rachel Dawes, who was played in the prior movie by Katie Holmes, was replaced by Maggie Gyllenhaal. Completely on a physical basis, this might have been a bit of a downgrade. But Gyllenhaal's acting more than made up for this.

Christian Bale is a good Batman. It doesn't take much more then a stern, deep voice and a handsome face to pull off this character, and he does so remarkably.

Aaron Eckhart plays Harvey Dent, who later becomes Two-Face. He was boring during his time as Dent, but this is not a testament to his performance so much as his character. He really came alive though as Two-Face, showing flashes of anger rivaling Willem Defoe's Green Goblin.

The rest of the supporting actors, including one of my faveys, Morgan Freeman (who seems to be in a lot of supporting roles these days sadly), provide a good transition from the last film into this one.

And of course, Heath. The guy was downright scary. He really did not seem like himself. It didn't even feel like he was acting. I couldn't even imagine "the actor who played The Joker" to be sane because Heath was so damn convincing! A bit of a change in role for him, but I am really glad I got to see him in a film like this. It shows me he can really be phenomenal in whatever role he is put in. I was rooting for The Joker all the way. I really wanted to see him get the best of Batman. 

I don't even feel like getting into the actual details of the movie. It was two and a half hours long and it would take me forever to go back and recount the entire thing. Plus I am sure you are going to go out and see it soon, if you haven't already. I loved it, I bet you will, or did.

Goodnight. Rest in peace, Joker, you sly dog!

Roadtrip: Day 11

Another Hampton Inn, different location. Four hundred miles away from last night, we are now residing in Hagerston, Maryland. But we almost weren't staying here. The bitch at the front desk insisted we had to be 21 to check in. We told her we had had no problems up at the Marlboro Hampton the night before which prompted her to hit up the boss. Sure enough, the boss said it was cool and told her to stop being such a tight-ass (presumably). As we were walking away, she snidely said "No parties" which prompted me to cry (once safely out of sight) "Yeaahhhhh partyy!!!"

Well, we aren't partying. I think we're pretty partied out from Canada. But we are havin a good time. We ordered Italian food that was delivered to the hotel, and now we're watching American History X. A very chill night. 

It's going to be weird coming home tomorrow. It will be good to be back around familiar people, but it was great to get a break from all that familiarity. I was becoming way too dependent on it. I think that's partially why I am looking forward to college: I'll get away from the people I've been around my entire life. Don't get me wrong, I love these people. But I know that if I really want to grow, I have to get out there and meet new ones. It scares me, but I think I will thrive once I am thrust into it. And I will be literally THRUST. August 15th, I'll be shipping east to Wilmington whether I like it or not. 

But for now, I am still on those roadtrip, and I'll enjoy the last few hours on a Hampton Inn pillow, eating chicken parmesan and pizza, drinking coke, feeling like shit physically, and loving life.

Roadtrip: Day 10

Day 10: Tuesday, 10:45pm

Marlboro(ugh), Mass.

That "ugh" you see in parenthesis after Marlboro is not a dismayed utterance at the appalling town. In fact, Marlboro is quite a cool place, and this Hampton Inn that we're staying in here is arguably the nicest place we've stayed all trip. No, the parenthetical piece that follows Marlboro indicates its alternate spelling, "Marlborough." Surprisingly, as informed by my father and confirmed on Wikipedia, both spellings are correct, in a fashion not dissimilar from doughnut and donut. You know if you spell the same word in two different ways and the word processor does not put that annoying-ass red underline that indicates a misspelling below either that you are in the clear. And each Marl checks out (although if either had, by chance, incurred a small red squiggly underneath it, an allowance for a proper noun can certainly be made. For instance, when I spelled "Hampton" up their a little while ago, and now just a few words ago, each time the name received a red line). 

At this point in the trip, we are just in the "getting-home" stage, which is sad. Everything culminated in Bar Harbor last night, I suppose. From here on out it's just long days in the car and rooms at Hampton Inns for the night.

But I've gotta say, these things are sweet. The room is lavishly furnished with a flat panel and excellent wood trimmings. The beds are quite cushiony, and my body sinks right into them. And oh yeah, we have TWO of them. As much as I love Preston, it'll be nice sleeping a bit further than two inches from his face. Needless to say, this beats the hell out of last night's stay. Even though we were in a sweet national park, it was still a tent, and I woke from a dream in which I was asking my father if he knew how to massage a back to finding myself in excruciating back pain. I don't know if it was the gravel we slept on, a strange position I probably curled up into, the unfamiliarity with sleeping in a tent, or a combo. But my back was screaming. I tried to lie down and stretch it out, but it just spasmed, so I had to get out of the tent and go walk around. It felt fine after awhile, but I feel like it is starting to hurt again. Likely that's just in my mind, HA. 

It will probably be a little bit before I fall asleep at any rate. We just watched a pretty hilarious movie, "Walk Hard," a parody on the Johnny Cash film, "Walk the Line." It was great, totally going against all the horrible reviews it received while in theaters. I am usually pretty bad about following whatever those reviews say to a tee. I should probably be better about that and form my own opinions. Although who knows, someday that may be me writing the reviews. That'd be the dankness.

I can't watch any more Office. I say that now, but five minutes from know it's entirely possible that I will be curled up in my Hampton Inn bed, laptop by my side, watching an episode from season three that I undoubtedly know every word to. Ah, such is my life.

I don't want this trip to end.

Roadtrip: Day 9

Day 9: Monday, July 14

Jackman, Maine

We have officially entered the United States, bidding goodbye to our five-day stay in Canada. It was an excellent visit, but it does feel good to now see gas prices by the gallon and not the liter (very disheartening when you see $1.40, and realize that this price is not for a gallon, but for a much smaller quantity), as wel as signs that are in English. Once again, I speak the language that everyone else does. It's a great feeling.

Tonight, we are going to be staying in probably the coolest campsite, although it won't have much competition with the other two that we've stayed in. Even so, it's on the coast of Maine, so that has to count for something.

Some of these views in Maine are pretty spectacular. I've never seen as many trees as I've seen in Maine. I'm pretty sure it is the least-developed state in the U.S. Couple all the green with some stellar mountains, and you've got an environmental party!

The guy at the border of Maine was obviously not a fan of southern boys. He looked at us quizzically, and scoffed at Preston's possible intended major choice of German: "A boy from North Carolina majoring in German? Never thought I'd see the day." Nonetheless, he had to let as through after his thorough search proved to be unsuccessful in turning over any hidden alcohol or weapons. 

We just passed Moosehead Lake, and stopped to take some vid and pix. It was probably the best sight I have seen on the trip thus far.

Bar Harbor, Maine

6:50 pm

Maine is ridiculously beautiful. It is so wild, which makes it scary, but also extremely interesting. The campsite itself is awesome as far as campgrounds go, but it is impossible to get the tent staked into the ground. We set up near a soft area and got one stake in. Odds are the tent will have collapsed on us when we wake in the monring. I'm praying for the best.

The air smells like the sea here, but it is not a sea smell that I have ever smelled. It is fresher, cleaner...happier. Right now, we are cruising over to a rocky coast. Everywhere, cliffsides spotted with green loom up around us. This is truly an awesome place, and I think it beats out the Rockies. Sure, these mountains aren't as enormous, and they aren't covered with snow. But they are so pristine, and the water below is so green, it is hard to not place them above their West Coast rivals. 

I'll be sure to get some pix and vids soon.

Roadtrip: Day 8

Day 8: Sunday

Quebec City, Quebec 1:10am

It's amazing how cool this city is at night. Don't get me wrong, it is pretty damn sweet during the day. But when the sun goes down and the lights come on in the other QC, it is spectacular.

I was just sitting in the hotel room doing nothing a couple hours ago, so I decided to go for a walk. The town was extremely festive this afternoon, but I figured most of the celebration would have died down by 11 oclock in the evening.

Mistaken.

People still out in the thousands, getting their drink on, their hook-up on, their life on. It was so damn refreshing to say. Unabashed happiness, dry sex in naked view, French language everywhere (which, as much as I disliked prior to this trip, is starting to grow on me so much that I now nearly regard it as a turn-on in itself). I would really love to live here for about half a year, perhaps pick up some French, and certainly pick up some French women. 

I am not sure what tomorrow will hold for us, but it is essentially our last day, so we are going to make the most of it. I can guarantee you that.

I am not the traveling type, typically. At least, not internationally. I travel a fair amount throughout the states, and I feel like I have assumed this comfort level that stretches only nation-wide. So this trip was a bit of a stretch for me. Never have I immersed myself in a culture so different from my own. I've never been to Europe. I went to Tijuana once. That doesn't really count. Hence, this is a big step for me. And when I first arrived, I have to say, I had a bit of anxiety. 

Slowly, it has subsided. I never really got completely comfortable in Montreal. It was just too serious for me. I felt like they did not take too kindly to people who obviously spoke English first there, much less Americans.

Here in the QC, although it is even more French than Montreal, I sense a greater acceptance. Sure, they realize I'm a tourist. They probably see me and a few stereotypes pop into their head. But for the most part, they incorporate me into their culture. I love it. I really wish I knew French right now. I really wish I knew something, anything, other than English. I feel so dumb.

I have long regarded myself as not only a smart person, but also a fairly well-learned one. This trip has turned that notion upside down. I have not met a single person here who is not bilingual. NOT ONE. Imagine some shit like that in the USA. Fuck, even our PRESIDENT can't speak more than one language! And here, the bus drivers, the gas station employees, the MCDONALD'S WORKERS for Christ sake, all of them know French and English. Amazing, and braggable. I am jealous.

Quebec City, Quebec 11:47am

Just woke up a little while ago in this fair city. The bed is arguably the most comfortable I've slept in. Counter that with the fact that they keep the hotel temperature cool and I was slumbering with several beers in my system, and you've got a combo that is sure to push anyone's sleep past 11o'clock. 

Regardless, I am now well-rested and eager to get out and do what I do as a tourist: Force the people of Quebec to demean themselves by speaking English as opposed to French because otherwise there is no way I will understand them; repeatedly ask "Do you accept American Express?" as I purchase food after souvenir after beer; and cut through a few locals, causing a spray of presumed French cursings to rise into the air.

All of this, I enjoy. It is part of being a tourist. I like appearing completely and utterly foreign, pulling a huge map out and staring quizzically at its many contours and words that I do not understand (that's Preston's job).

I shall cleanse now, sir.

ASIDE from Montreal: "I'm not sleepin in the park again, I'M FUCKED!" The aforementioned quote belongs to a rather young, rather crazy New Zealander that P and I met during our stay in Montreal. Preston threw him a few coins; I skimped on this issue. The guy was freaking me out a bit, especially after he said that. 

10:53pm

Last night in the Cue Sea. It has been quite a two days, I must say. We drank a considerable amount of booze, flirted with numerous rather-attractive females, and probably demeaned ourselves a bit. But, it was quite the experience. In the beginning, namely when we checked in to our hotel in Montreal, I wasn't so sure I wanted to do this anymore. Now, I don't want it to end.

This trip ends, and so does, effectively, our childhood. We get home and we just have a few weeks until we head off to college. Who knows what's going to happen. The thing that is certain, the thing that scares me so much, is that nothing will ever be the same as it has been for these eighteen years of my life.

But enough about that. Back to the trip. The finale began at a local steakhouse with an extremely French name. I won't try to find out what it was. But it was damn good. The total bill tallied $38.38, tip excluded, but that is quite reasonable when you consider the meal we received. Started off with a creamy veg soup that was delicious. Even the forever anti-veg Preston slurped that shit up like a beautiful Milf's whole-grade breastcreme (2% breastlait for those on a diet). And those nipples dribbled as far as this soup was concerned.

Next came a salad. I'd go either way on this thing. Mom's made better, but it was sufficient in giving me enough ruffage to pinch off a solid one when I returned to my Clermont toilette, built by Cranada, a presumed division of America's Crane shittas.

Ah, now the main course. Fries and, above all, a tender Filet Mignon, expertly cooked to medium. Slightly pink, but charred just enough to give it that perfect crunch. As the juice ran red down my mouth, I gave a toothy grin to the waitress and mouthed two words: "Very good." Preston nodded in agreement. We were both pretty drunk after putting a few down back at the hotel prior to the meal. Once we got those pints going at dinner, we were sufficiently buzzed.

Dessert was okay, but I think I speak for Preston when I say that it was a bit too foreign for our tastes.

We got out of there and headed to our faithful corner store to pick up one last six-pack. Preston, who in his drunken stupors was becoming quite good friends with the clerk, James, a large Afro-French Canadian man clad in doo-rag and eyebrow piercing, threw his boy a dollar tip and gave him a stellar dap, a nice pound, and pleasantries, as well as numbers for the ensuing night, were exchanged ;)

Back to the hotel, where we got our gar and drink on. Currently, still getting that drink on. Should pass out here pretty soon, and that will do it for QC, and Canada to boot. Been a great trip. 

Roadtrip: Day 7

Day 7: Saturday

Montreal, Quebec 10:48am

Last night Preston and I participated in a bit of a send-off to Montreal. We did some pub-hopping and obviously got our drink on. It was an excellent way to end our stay.

There was some crazy stuff going on in the streets, a festival of sorts. I'm not really sure what it was all about. Preston claimed he saw live music. I heard none.

The second stop on our pub-hop last night turned out to be the best one. Though the beer selection was shitty, Preston and I spun around on our barstools to see that we were surrounded by literally hundreds of beautiful women. To say the least, this place was hopping. Definitely going to have to keep that on the list for the next visit.

For now, I am packing up and we will soon be departing to Quebec City. Should be good times as well. 

Quebec City, Quebec 8:34pm

This is one of the coolest cities I have ever visited.

The city itself is this year celebrating its 400-year anniversary. So you know it's cool. It's like everything is a constant festival, and it is crazy as fuck. Everything in the city is really old which is cool as well. To quote Preston: "It is the coolest town I have ever been in." I think I differ slightly, but not much. 

Now, we are watching 21 on on-demand. It sucks ass, and I wish Kevin Spacey were not in it because he is capable of so much more. I take it back, it is ok. But still not Spacey-worthy.

Roadtrip: Day 6

Day 6: Friday

Montreal, Quebec 12:36 am

Well, yesterday (feels like today) was a very solid day. Preston and I emerged from our hotel room at approximately 10:30 am and hit the metro. From there, we toured around an area of Montreal that was once known as Canada's Wall Street. To be sure, it had a ton of banks, but seemed chill as fuck, nothing like that Cocaine and Speed-Heavy city to the south of us back in the states. 

For lunch, we stopped in at Cafe Helios and had some excellent sandwiches. The waiter was a chill guy, and I could tell by his accent that he was a more prominently English-speaking Canadian, a change from the majority of what is scene here. Everyone seems to be French. I feel like this place should be a separate country from the rest of Canada.

We bough a frisbee at a Wal-Mart type place and Preston prompty threw it into the St. Lawrence River. To his credit, there was really nothing he could do. He threw the disc a bit high, some wind got under it, and carried it out. Although we were both pissed, as frisbee is a big part of our lives, we both laughed hysterically at what had just happened. Some kid rode by on a little motor scooter and turned to his father, saying "Dad look at their frisbee wayyy out there!" As he scooted off I said, "Kid, look at yourself riding with your dad on a motor scooter!"

The rest of the day was beer. We just started drinking. It started recreationally, but we just kept injecting ourselves with the booze if for no other reason than because we were capable of doing so legally. I had some excellent beers today. Ol' faithful in Labatt, and a new favey with another local brand, Boreale. Plus, the polar bear on the bottle is damn cute. And we finished off the night with some Sapporos, an import on all counts, stemming from Japan.

Sometime in the night, Preston began to feel like he was going to yach. He started creeping me out a little bit to be honest, lying there, seemingly about to keel. Fortunately this passed, and he was his old self once again.

Who knows what's in store for today. Probably more of the same. We don't really want to see much here, we just want to get drunk. Preston says that's not his perspective, "Although," he laments, "I fuckin love gettin drunk!?!?11wonwan"

I am listening to American Football right now and the stuff literally makes me hard. That sounds vulgar, but it is possible for music to stimulate a person, and Mike Kinsella is doing that to me right now...god damn.

Monreal, Quebec City, 12:14 pm

I rose very late this morning, approximately 11:30. Upon waking I was greeted by Preston's smiling face, Caramel Frappucino and pastry in hand, ready to give to me. It naturally put a smile on my face.

I pounded the goods, got a quick shower, put some hair gel in my hair (I am trying new things here in Quebec) and then headed down to the hotel lobby, where Preston and I sit now. We are going to go up on this cool mountainside-type thing today. Oh, I forgot to mention that Preston bought a new disc! So we shall definitely get some solid disc in today as well. 

This day will be straight as hell. Bye.

Oh, Virginia called me. She failed her driving test for her license. Hahaha. If you have her number, call her and give her shit! Just kiddin.

Montreal, Quebec 2:02pm

Been a very productive day. Left the hotel and then took a bus up to Parc du Mont Royal. It was a very sweet park indeed, dwarfing the common home park of Freedom. Preston and I threw some very solid disc in one of the meadows, then made our way to the summit of the small mountain on which the park resided. We are here now, drinking "Bacardi Breezers" and enjoying the view of the city. I looked in the drink machine and saw a Five-Alive, a delicious drink that I remember enjoying with my childhood friend, David Raphael. I grabbed one, and proceeded toward the checkout. Preston murmered, "I think I'm gettin a beer." I stopped, then remembered. "Oh shit!" I put that drink back and got myself a Bacardi.

But this was the first time I can remember on the trip when there was a bit of angst as we made the purchase of alcoholic beverages. The woman told me that she would not sell them to us unless we bought a food item. Preston got a dog. Problem solved.

Montreal, Quebec 2:56pm

Preston and I have predictably returned to one of Montreal haunts, McLean's pub. Boreales all around, and hopefully a sandwich if we can get some service. It's goodass motherfuckin times. They play some dank-ass American music in here, and I love it. Alright, back to boozin.

Roadtrip: Day 5

Day 5: Thursday

Montreal, Quebec

Whoops, forgot to write anything for this day. I suppose that since it is but 12:35am currently, I could call it Day 5 but I think for the sake of following the rules of time (can I get some props, God?), I will have to start a new entry in Day 6.

Roadtrip, Day 4

Day 4: Wednesday

Montreal, Quebec, Canada 9:06 pm

We have finally crossed the border. Took us long enough to get here (we got lost in a ghetto once we entered the city), but we finally made it. 

We arrived still too early to check in so decided to go down to a local bar and get our drink on. We took the metro down, arriving in style. The bar was a cool joint, following the guide's description quite well: It was "Dark" and had "Good hot wings and beer." I ordered a Labatt Bleue first off, nice and cheap and a good, light way to start the drinking. For the second round I got a little heavier with some sort of Irish cream beer. It was quite satisfying, but I was already thoroughly buzzed from the 20 ouncer prior and began to feel "silly" to say the least.

We left the bar and then headed back to the hotel to check in. It's nice enough, and beats the hell out of KOA.

It's been a pretty long day. I think I'll just grab one of the Labatts that we just purchased at the grocery store (so cool to buy beer at a grocery store for those who don't know), watch a movie and hit the sack. More from Montreal tomorrow.

Roadtrip, Day 3

Day 3: Tuesday

Rockville, MD 9:56 am

Jesus, I am a lot more allergic to cats than I thought.

I lay down on the couch in the living room for what I thought was going to be an excellent sleep. I was extremely tired after a tiresome day of walking around D.C. and whatnot. But this was not to be, for within thirty minutes of lying down, my lungs were filled with water, my eyes were burning, and I was wheezing profusely. Preston asked if I was ok. "No," I told him bluntly. I thought I might die. Honestly.

I decided to go out on the back porch and get some fresh air. That helped a considerable amount. So then I tried putting two chairs together out there and sleeping. That was not going to work. So I went back inside, closed the screen but opened the door, and lay down on the ground. A cat came and sat right next to me.

At this point I was getting really pissed off. This was supposed to be the night that I caught up on some sleep. And it wasn't going well.

At last, I decided to just screw everything and try to fall asleep on the couch. I had a t-shirt covering my mouth and nose, and fell asleep immediately. Turned out to not be a bad sleep.

Destination today is Woodstock, New York. We're staying at a KOA campsite. I am not sure how it'll be, but it will be better than having to deal with fucking cats all night.

Penssaugen, NJ 2:25 pm

We have just had the biggest debaucle of the trip thus far. We decided to exit the New Jersey Turnpike for some cold, caffeinated drinks, and got fucked. We ended being about 10 miles down the road because there was no place to make a U-turn. And it looked like we would never be able to turn around. We were headed toward this gigantic bridge when finally, we talked to a helpful toll-both employee who got us going the right way once again.

But for awhile, all looked hopeless. To quote Preston: "The thing is...I'm scared." That got a good laugh from the both of us. But I could definitely see his point. We were quickly getting lost in one of the scariest states of all.

Now, we are headed back to the turnpike and seem to be doing alright. 

Woodstock, NY 11:11 pm

This campsite sucks major dick. The temperature is about 85, with a humidity level that has to be pushing 100%. I feel sick, and feel like I might feel better if I just urinated all over myself in the tent then sat back and relaxed as the liquid cooled, refreshing my smoldering torso. Preston heartily agrees, adding "My life is a boiling mess of hot fuck."

We have had some alcohol, and some s'mores. And we have certainly had our fill of this KOA campsite. We played a little ping pong when we first got here, which was mildly entertaining but was hardly worth it, as we had to use a ball that was clearly fashioned out of two half-balls that were then forced together in a sort of puzzle-piece fashion. We bounced.

We set up the tent, and I was scared by all the spiders that were around. Brave Preston decided to come to the rescue, smashing one of them in the grass with a vengeance. I felt a little bored, and tried to entertain myself by eating snacks. It worked.

We bought a frisbee at the store (Preston conveniently left mine at our last stop in Rockville) and threw it around for some added entertainment. At one point, this giant siren started to go off. It was very loud, and my first instinct was to plug my ears. As I was in mid-motion, I decided I would hold off and play a bit of a game on my comrade. 

"Preston, why the fuck are your ears plugged?"

"That siren, it's so loud!"

"What are you talking about? You fuckin crazy?"

"The...the siren? Beeeeeeee!! You don't hear that?!"

"Uh...no," 

At this point I'm turning away to suppress my laughs, and Preston is flipping his shit. He starts walking off into the woods, worriedly pulling his hair back.

"Oh my god, is this the first sign of schizophrenia!? OH MY GOD!" His face is stricken with terror, and I finally decide that the joke has landed.

"Yes dude, I fucking heard it!" I yell at him with amusement. He looks at me incredulously, then reacts predictably.

"Fuck you man, not funny, I knew it you ass!" He is obviously relieved, but continues to argue his point that if he did have schizophrenia, "That'd be the first sign." I'll give that to him.

Goodnight, Woodstock. Goodnight, world.

Roadtrip, Day 2

Day 2: Monday

Big Meadows, Va 10:07 am

We rose at about 7:30 and got a run in. It was probably a bit over two miles. I went out way too fast and was in excruciating pain as I walked back to the tent. Probably would have yacked if I had had the mental toughness to continue running. Fortunately, I didn't.

The sleep last night was horrible. I maybe got about four hours. It was hot, wet, and darker than anything I have ever experienced. It felt like sleeping in the rainforest. I was very glad for the morning to come. 

We charged our phones for a bit and then bounced out of Big Meadows. Overall, the visit had its ups and downs, but it was definitely good for us. I think Preston and I realized how sheltered we have been up to this point in our lives as we tossed and turned out in the wilderness. But it was an excellent realization.

Now, we're headed to the D.C. area, where we will finally get to spend the night in a bed. Thank god. After that, it's back to a campsite, but that's up in New York. Hopefully it will be cooler up there and my sleeping bag, which was seemingly built for cold winter nights and not miserably humid July evenings, should be more effective. I hope.

Washington, DC 3:21 pm

We've arrived at our second destination of Rockville, Maryland. We got there and then took the Metro Train into D.C. It was a pretty sweet ride. The lights went off temporarily and these two women who were apparently "regulars" got off saying "That doesn't usually happen. We're gettin outta here!" Their words got the best of Preston and he quickly rose, saying "Dude, let's go, that doesn't usually happen they said." A guy sitting next to us just laughed and shook his head so I told Preston to chill out, and we stayed. We were fine.

Got into D.C. and started bouncing around the usual sights. We walked by the White House and noticed a small grassy park across the street from it. In other words, a perfect place to toss the disc. We had a solid disc session for about 20 minutes, and at the end Preston had a discussion with a Spanish man about how much our frisbee cost.

Then we made our way down to the Washington Monument. We were walking and walking, and my shins were killing me (I think I've picked up shin splints from all my recent running) and so we just decided to turn around. We'd seen it all anyway. 

We were stopped by a young guy from Belgium who was looking for a "I<3ny">

At a drink cart, Preston began chatting with a girl from the previous young guy's group who was from Germany. His trilingual skills were quite impressive, I have to admit, but not impressive enough for me to get motivated about taking Spanish next year.

Now I'm sitting in a giant Border's bookstore in the middle of the city. I have no idea where Preston is; guess I better go find him. I am going to get up now.

Rockville, Va 11:24

Day Two is coming to a close, and I must say that it was by far the best day we have had so far. I realize not much to compare it to, but it is surprisingly very true.

We are chillin at Preston's cousin's apartment that she shares with her husband. For dinner we had burgers and dogs on the grill, and all the brews we could drink. But, perhaps most importantly, even higher on the list than the low-calorie pilsner, is the fact that tonight we will have a real roof over our heads. This is quite refreshing.

The battery on the MacBook is about to die, and I am pretty buzzed. What's more, I have a Zyrtec swimming through my system (cats) so I am feeling extra tired. I think I am going to go watch "Gone In 60 Seconds" (a Cage classic) and hit the sack. Day Two in the books.

Roadtrip, Day 1

Day 1: Sunday

Charlotte, NC 9:18 am

The trip that could officially define the transition of our lives from children to adults has finally begun. We have quite a long journey ahead of us, and that includes the drive we have ahead of us today: a 5.5 hour one to the Shenandoah Valley. Preston's going to be doing most of the driving since I am still pretty new to a straight drive; I have been given the title of "head navigator." I think I like that. The jobs entailed are very vague and seem to be at my own discretion. But I'll figure out some way to pull my own weight. Hell, I'm blogging and videotaping the entire trip, that's gotta be worth something.

Elkin, NC 10:15 am

Seem to be running into a bit of traffic in the small mountain town quite near Camp Cheerio. Lyle's up here; wonder what he's up to. Preston and I have made a pact to visit him on the way back. We'll see if that actually happens. Lyle, if you're reading this, between you and me, don't count on it ;) Yeh dig?

To be fair, I did spend a couple solid years at the Camp. Well, I say solid, but probably the most memorable event was in my second year in which the aforementioned Lyle and I thought we were going to perish as a result of dehydration ("Mom, please send Gatorades. The water from the water fountain tastes like rust and Win Wah won't give us any." I didn't return.

SIDENOTE: There is this fucking Cadillac with a Virginia personalized plate reading "KELS' LAC," and seated within it is a large Afro-American woman. She is continually speeding by us and then maintaining an average pace in front of us. It is quite annoying, and I am not sure exactly what she is trying to accomplish. Perhaps she's just a bitch.

Fancy Gap, Va 10:40 am

We have officially passed into Virginia, and I must say that the views are pretty breathtaking. I like the Rockies, the snow year-round is cool, but it is really hard to rival the Appalachians. All the farmland, all the green. Pretty awesome. I remarked to Preston that it all looked like Ireland, what with the rolling hills and luscious green grass. In excitement and in an effort to quickly confer, he speedily replies  "Oh it is Ireland," says Preston. We have a stellar laugh.

SIDENOTE: In a manner similar to that of a young, black R&B artist's song, Rob Thomas has aptly titled one of the songs on his greatest hits album "Back 2 Good." Strange.

Pulaski, Va 11:11 am

Make a wish. I noticed Pulaski, Virginia and therefore we switched the tunes over to Sufjan Stevens (song "Casimir Pulaski Day"). Turned out to be a good call, the mood is set well. And in regards to Preston's "Ireland" quote, we just passed Dublin, Virginia. I guess it really is Ireland! 

Seen a couple of long-distance plates. One from New York, a destination of ours. The other from California. Quite a long fucking drive. We just passed the Cali family. Old man looks like he's been sitting there for days on end, slowly soiling himself when needed but pressing on. Surely his ass is rotting in his presumed jorts. He looks like a jorts man. 

We will be stopping for lunch in Roanoke. Maybe we'll get up with Preston's future XC teammate. Maybe not. Either way, it's going to be a good lunch in dat 'Noke.

Hollins, Va 11:57 am

We're stoppin in at a Subway--correction, Wendy's--in Hollins, home of Hollins University. They're solid :/ Not much to say about this town. It kind of sucks. They have a Kroger and a Goodwill. It is pretty fucking drab. Hopefully their Wendy's will be good. It's to hard to fuck up Wendy's, but if anyone can it is probably Hollins.

Hollins, Va 12:34Parking lot at Hollins Wendy's

Wendy's was about as expected: shitty. The food was sub-par as far as Wendy's goes. Further, Preston and I had to listen to the adjacent table's strange political analyses that reflected nothing in terms of modern politics ("Did you see Obama's wife on The View yesterday? Good lawd!"). We got out of there and decided to throw a little disc to loosen ourselves up a bit. Preston hit this green car in the corner of the parking lot. I had not seen that there were two men sitting inside. When I went to retrieve the disc, the one in the passenger's seat looked at me with a very lopsided, deformed face and said "There ain't no playground 'round here," very sternly. I nodded, but we continued to throw. Preston hit the car a second time, and at that point I didn't want to take any chances. So we bounced out of Hollins. 

Now we're back on the road. And I'm very glad.

Big Meadows, Va 9:13

We are in our tent, cozily. Finally.

Earlier, we were hit with a rainstorm that took us by surprise to say the very least. 

But before I get into that, let me talk for a bit about our first moments here. We arrived at around 3:30, and all was well. We tossed the disc for a hot minute, saw some bears and some deer, set up the tent with ease, and then went to the lodge. From there, we took a presumed three-mile hike to Lewis Falls. The trail was extremely rocky, and Preston had to retrieve some strange yet kind man's sunglasses from a rocky ledge. I applauded him, even after his daft decision to decline a $10 tip. The hike itself turned out to be closer to four miles, and the uphill second half walloped both of our arses with ease. Not a good sign for a future collegiate runner (wink) ("Fuck you man!" -Preston

We got back to the campsite and made a pretty decent fire with our charcoal. We were proud. We put some soup on the stove and then ate it, noticing with dismay that it was extremely undercooked and underwhelming. We didn't care. After, we decided to make some s'mores. I had just finished roasting my mallows when the rain hit. Hurriedly, I slid them onto my graham and whoofed it down, sans Hershey's goodness. 

We retreated to the tent, where I noticed Preston had the unmistakable goop of s'more remains on his hand. He licked it off, unphased by my stare, and muttered "What?"

Then it was a battle of patience as waited for the rain to stop. Which it didn't, and so it hasn't. But it slacked, and we cautiously emerged from our small home. The s'more supplies, which had been left outside, were ruined, and were disposed of accordingly by Preston. Feeling like men after just enduring a bout with the elements, we puffed out our chests and went to bum a cigarette from two adjacent campers. They said something about going to a concert. I thought they said Ani DiFranco, who I know commonly collaborates with Dave Matthews, but I think they actually said Anne Frank. Weird. 

After the cigarette, depression hit us for a bit. The rain was falling, the sun was down, and we really had nothing to do. We snacked for a bit, then retreated to the tent, where we now reside. Spirits have lifted; we've finally come to accept our situation. Now 12 hours into the trip, we have realized that it is not always going to be easy going. But we feel prepared.

And now, I leave you to go watch a couple office episodes with my comrade. Day 1, in the books.

MESSAGE FROM PRESTON:

 Don't get in the habit of going to sleep at 2:00 am and then expect to fall asleep at 9. You're settting yourself up for a helluva lot of frustration and strife, longing for a woman's embrace.

Backyard camping

Last night, in an effort to prepare for the few nights that Preston and I will be camping on our roadtrip and in an effort to simply switch things up, I set up my tent in the backyard and camped out. The tent is of the small, backpacking sort, so it was not designed for roominess. Honestly, it didn't need any more room than it had; it was quite cozy, and will be all the more so with a svelte J.P. Lennon sleeping soundly, adjacent to my Marmot bag.

I was a little timid about the whole thing at first, but as soon as I got out there, I knew that I would be just fine. But just to be sure, I set up camp in the area of my backyard that was bathed in spotlights fixed to the gutter of my house. You never know.

Supply list for this particular night was as follows: My iPod, which I ended up not even using; A Walk In The Woods, Bill Bryson's classic that I am having trouble finding at the moment; Two blankets, one sheet, two self-inflating "Thermarest" mattresses, and a cushiony down pillow that proved to be a bad decision as far as neck support went as I tried to read Bryson with the help of the artificial light pouring through the meshy outer of my small nylon home.

I read a few chapters, sipped a couple pale ales, and finally drifted off. From what I can tell, it was a great sleep. I awoke refreshed this morning, but much to my dismay, my dog had decided to urinate on the side of the tent and as I had not put the raincover on, urine had permeated the meshing, and puddled not an inch from my left ear. Yikes. But still I lay there for a bit, thinking that it was perhaps the spilled dregs of a Sierra Nevada.

And I tasted it.

Nope.

Ran inside, got some sort of cleansing product and a paper towel, disinfected the joint, and I was golden (pun..?)

I think I am going to head back out there right now and set up for another rousing night.

Away from the lights this time.

Davey

Wow. Just got back from Dave Matthews, and as usual, I am very impressed. For the next month, nothing but dear Dave will be coming out of my upgraded Pioneer sound system. And that is the way I like it.

At least as far as Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre goes, there is really no concert that can top Dave. The most common complaint about the venue is its lack of sound, as evidenced in Radiohead a couple months ago. Not so here. All of the instruments more than make up for what is obviously not a very acoustically-sound venue (a pun hidden in there..?). I can only imagine what it would be like to see Dave in an actually decent setting. Quite certain it'd blow me away.

I managed to weasel my way down to the front, and then from there hopped a small fence and got into a damn good section of seats right behind the pit. They were definitely the best seats I've had at Verizon, although all my prior experience comes in the Lawn. But even so, it was the dankness.

The song selection was good. I would have liked to hear a couple more classic songs, but that's just me. I must admit that I haven't been keeping up with Dave that much lately, and I didn't recognize a couple of his newer tracks. They were good though. Just wish I could have sung along to them, which I did to every single song I knew. When a song comes along that I know by heart, I like to sing it very loudly and proudly, sending a message to the rest of the people in the crowd, "Yeah, I'm a Dave fan. A big fan. Look at me, I know every word. EVERY FUCKING WORD! FUCK YOU IF YOU DON'T! YOU MUST NOT BE A REAL FAN!" But then the next song comes on and I don't know it and I just swerve around and maybe open and close my jaws a couple of times to give the effect that I may be singing. It's an endless cycle.

This concert was definitely better than Radiohead. And now, I shall set about downloading more Dave Matthews. Night.

....bwog?!?

I went to sleep at 10:30, but ended up waking back up at 1:30 and have been up ever since. I can't complain though. At least I got some sleep, which is more than I can say for many nights in the past week. Plus it gave me some time to chat with the fellow insomniacs online. However, even those have now crumbled; my Facebook tells me "No friends are available to chat." How sad.

I suppose I will try to sleep for another hour, but I believe I will be heading over to the J in about an hour to get a good workout in. 

I guess that's all for now. I thought I wanted to write something, but that notion was obviously incorrect. Oh yeah, well I am pretty sure this has nothing to do with me wanting to write something, but the Dave Matthews concert is tonight. That should be good. Dave is always good, despite the poor acoustics of Verizon. 

And now, hopefully one more hour of shut-eye before dawn. Goodnight.

I forgot to mention that one of my friends and old swim team buddies, Scot Robison, was in the Olympic Trials today, and he fucking balled it up. He was seeded around 40th going into the 200 free this morning and just destroyed his heat in the prelims. He qualified fucking 12th! So he was on NBC tonight. That was probably one of the coolest things I have ever seen. He ended up adding a bit tonight, but it was still fucking amazing. I think he will make the team in 2012. During the prelims, the announcers were amazed, they were saying "This Scot Robison guy is not that big, but he has a beautiful stroke." True on both counts.

Goodnight.