trail of tears

Traveling through western Illinois and Iowa almost drove me to tears, seeing the glorification of one right wing icon after another. Sights include Ronald Reagan's boyhood home (thankfully closed yesterday), right off the Ronald Reagan Trail; Ronald Reagan's birthplace; Herbert Hoover's birthplace; and John Wayne's birthplace (don't miss out on the 100th anniversary celebration there this Memorial Day weekend).

It makes me wish my sister and I did drive the 90 miles to the Mother Jones Memorial in southern Illinois last week!

the perks of global warming

The thermometer nearly hit 80 in Chicago the other day, making it warmer than even southern California, which I'm sure delights that smug bastard Dennis Miller but hopefully rankles that other smug bastard James Inhofe.

It made the visit to Chicago quite pleasant to an outsider like me, though Greg and Belinda's kids complained about the heat during our visit to the Lincoln Park Zoo. I'm sure the heat only made the pig smells worse, as Lily here can attest (clarification: Lily is not one of Greg and Bee's kids, but is the daughter of their friend Joel, whom we met in Lincoln part Sunday morning).

I finally got to wear shorts Monday, when Scott and I played some disc golf. We played at an actual small ball golf course, which was a first for me. The baskets were near the putting greens at each hole. On the plus side, we got to play on a well manicured (albeit muddy) course. On the downside we had to pay to play, and also support an industry that generally isn't known for its eco-weenieness, er, eco-friendliness.

That was followed up by beers in the Pontiac Bar's outside beer garden area that reminded me of Zeitgeist, only without the fence.

This last shot was taken with an apocalypto filter (TM pending). OK, not really, I actually shot through the window of Scott's friends' apartment, right next to the El (it wasn't as loud as you'd think, since the windows overlook a station, so the trains come in and leave slowly). But I think the haze gives you a better feel for the unseasonably warm and sticky weather we had.

i'm getting too old for this shit

A couple of weeks ago I lost an earring, one of the silver hoops I wear in my right ear. This piercing has been giving me trouble lately. During the winter, that hole got infected, and a lot of tea tree oil and Neosporin did the trick and cleaned me up. So maybe there's an underlying message I'm missing.

Fast forward to New York City, and apparently I lost the earring while putting on or taking off my hat. Fast forward a little more, and I keep forgetting to buy a new earring. Until I get to Decatur, that is.

I find the only tattoo and piercing place in town, thinking I can find an earring there. In the shop, when asked what I want, I say an earring for my ear. The response is "What gauge?" Turns out they only have jewelry for body piercings. Their selection is limited to a bunch of silver hoops of various gauges, but they're all the same style, with the ball covering the connector. It's not what I'm looking for so I'm steered to a place called The Shop, which turns out to be a head shop.

Back in my day, men used to buy their earrings at these fine establishments. I drag my sister there, ask for a hoop for my ear and the owner replies, "What gauge?" It's the same deal -- they have stuff for piercings anything *but* your ear! This woman then steers me to the mall.

Even at the mall, my choices were limited to "fine" jewelry stores, a small number of tiny, crappy hoops, or stuff for your nose, navel or nethers. Like I said earlier, I don't think I've got it in me to do anything extreme; I think it's a bit beyond me at this point in time.

buddy

Fearing further persecution by the border cops, I took my leave of Buffalo/Fort Erie and headed to Decatur, IL, where my sister Anne and my brother in law Andy live.

Last year they adopted a miniature long-haired dachshund whom they named Buddy, who shouldn't be confused with the other Buddy. His fighting weight is a portly 9 pounds, which makes him smaller than both of his cat friends at home, but that doesn't stop him from harassing the cats.

Here he is with his proud parents. Some of you may recognize the pride bandanna he's wearing. It used to belong to my dog Paddington, but he hasn't worn it in years. Buddy has pretty much the same amount of fanciness, only in smaller package, so I guess that makes him fancier, pound for pound. But not this fancy (I hope).

And damn if he doesn't give Paddington a run for the money is the cuteness department. (Why, yes, I'm biased and am deliberately trying to skew the results by posting a picture of the monkey when he was a little pup.)

across the border

So I took my chances and crossed the border twice. OK, so it was into Canada, but regardless, those border patrol agents can be surly and combative. And those are just the Canadian guards. The US guards take paranoia and suspicion to pretty high levels. There's a sense of instant antagonism more pronounced than with the police. Good thing I didn't spend 88 dollars (not so) lite for that bottle of absinthe.

I spent my first two nights in Buffalo, and the last in Fort Erie, Ontario. Lake Erie was largely frozen, other than the shipping lane. Large chunks of ice were piled onto the shoreline from various thaws and breaks. Ed pointed out the spot where he broke through the week before.

st patty's day

I figured since I blew off Mardi Gras in New Orleans (leaving a day early), I should come to Boston for St Patrick's Day. In retrospect, I have to say it was one of the more interesting adventures on my trip so far.

It all started off innocently enough. Stouts and tasty jambalaya at Petra and Eliot's apartment. Then about 10 of us took the T downtown, and the fun started. All the Irish bars in the area had lines of people waiting outside in freezing temperatures to pay upwards of $40 to walk inside and proceed to pay more money for drinks (the picture at left shows us debating the merits of collectively spending $400 to walk into a bar). We opted to find a different bar, the Living Room, which is more of a stock-broker type place that seemed to play as much (read: none) Irish music as we heard from the Irish bars downtown, only it was much less crowded and (arguably) more enjoyable.

The bar closed at 1; we left to catch a taxi. We walked all over the area trying to find one, without any luck. So, rather than walk 45 minutes in the cold, we opted to hide out, Lee-Harvey-Oswald-like, in a nearby theatre. A couple employees hassled us a little bit, and initially let us stay after we pleaded that we couldn't get a taxi, even after calling around for one. One even gave us a package of M&Ms as we were also starving.

Eventually we were thrown out, and went down the street to a pizza place, happy to see a place open at 3AM. We devoured two large pies in a few minutes. Then, strangely, we walked outside and caught two taxis immediately. Those of us staying at Petra and Eliot's (another couple and me), stayed up until 4 or so, drinking water and getting advice from ninjas.

What strikes me as strange about all this is how the city of Boston would not be more accommodating on this day. Mass transit doesn't run late at night, so you'd think they'd make an exception, especially for a winter night in Boston. I hear maybe it's the taxi cabal keeping the night all to themselves, at the cabbies' and our expense.

a quick stop on a busy road

I was driving down to Boston from Portland while talking to my sister Anne when I noticed the subtle colors lining the roadside -- green conifers, white birch and, umm, red leaves, all dusted with ice and snow. Seemed snappable, so on Anne's suggestion, I pulled over and took a couple of shots. I don't like stopping on highways so I made it quick, and of course had passed by better compositions that I didn't want to walk back to take. Still, this should give you something of an idea as to what it was like.

The drive between the cities was fine. The roads were wet but not slippery at all, given the weather from the night before.