I think the evolution and growth or the fading and death of friendships could be the theme for my trip. Seeing all these people from my past that continue to have at least some impact on my present has led to some interesting internal dialogues. Of course, with Alex here in New York, her being an ex-girlfriend makes things a little more complicated. We are such good friends though it's a little hard to believe. It has been good to finally process some of the detritus from the end of our relationship last year, some things that were better said face to face than over the phone. I think our friendship is the better for it. And as always, we had fun together.
We went to the Dia Museum in Beacon, NY yesterday. This was recommended to me by McIntyre at PAM because of my reactions to Agnes Martin's paintings. Unfortunately, her show had been taken down a week before. There was still a lot of great modern art there though and I had a very strong reaction to Richard Serra's work for the first time. That was primarily because of the space, as the museum is in an old factory of some sort and they've made a conscious decision to use natural light for the vast majority of their pieces, even down in the basement. It makes for a stellar experience that I much recommend. The train goes there from New York and the museum is right off the station so it's an easy hop from the city.
I'm taking off here in a bit, heading towards Portland, Maine for the requisite Portland-to-Portland bragging rights. I'm not sure if I'll stay in Portland or start making my way a little further east. I've got about two weeks left to make it back. More adventures forthcoming.
We ate at an Indian restaurant last night. Good food, slightly mediocre service, and the headline above was their description of one of their naans. I will never get over the admittedly juvenile hilarity of things like that.
Monday, April 20, 2009
So much to do in New York!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Staccato romantic
I want to fall in love in New York City.
MoMA is great, the Met is even better. I can't decide between the Met and the National Gallery. I think I'll go with the National Gallery because I felt like spending even more time there, while somehow the Met's unfriendliness and in some ways shabbiness irritated me.
It has been good to see Alex.
Baltimore yesterday in the daytime was a great contrast to the previous day. The weather was gorgeous. I took the subway around everywhere. The American Visionary Art Museum, as recommended by Anthea from the museum, was amazing. The people behind the art are almost as interesting as the art itself, with their psychic visions and vivid dreams about Pakistani starfleets. Kenny Irwin might be my new favourite artist just for coming up with the hilarious concept of Pakistanis driving interplanetary taxis far in the future. Just like they do here.
Searching for parking this morning was a near-suicidal task. Driving here has its own challenge. The people in California are crazy but the streets are wide. Because most of the cab drivers are from the Third World and will not hesitate to hit you or honk at you, this is the closest one comes in America to driving in Saudi Arabia.
Alex has been working overtime. She was supposed to get off at 5. I've stalked her and am sitting at a Johnny Rockets near her place of work, drinking the Chocolate Madness shake. I'm mad for chocolate.
On my trips to museums across the country, I've seen Head of a Woman (Fernande) by Picasso four times. I'm tired of it.
Philip Guston is amazing. Henri Fantin-Latour is stunning.
I wish I was a better photographer.
A man handed me a flier on a street corner. I took it. I then stood off to one side, held my camera at the hip and took pictures of him trying to hand fliers to other people. Nobody took one. Eventually he made eye contact with me. I held it and I smiled. He walked up slowly, said "Pictures?" I tried to lie, badly, I said "Buildings." He said "No" and walked off back to the corner. I continued standing, he stared at me a couple of times and then took off down the street. He looked back nervously. I regretted bothering him.
I cut into traffic this morning and got a series of loud honks from a cab. They continued as I raced down the side street. I don't know how close he came to hitting me.
Ariel took me into the digitization room where she works at the Walters in Baltimore. She's taking pictures of old Islamic texts and books. I got to see a Quran from the 9th century. Their rig for photography is an amazing piece of custom hardware with a very high definition custom-built camera. The museum itself has a lot of historical and classical art. Beautiful space.
I'm terrible at this stalking. This is Alex's old workplace. Well, she has had four jobs since she moved to New York. I can't be expected to keep track. She's not too far and she's going to walk here and meet me.
Lovely women here. I was here in the winter last time and in any case was dating Alex. Now they are all out and beautiful in their finery. Somehow though I feel like this is a city full of lonely people. I don't think I'll ever live in New York City. But I'd like to, if only to be deliciously lonely along with the rest of the populace.
Cormac McCarthy writes some blood-soaked books. This book is bludgeoning me. Blood Meridian indeed.
I'm glad I finally got a drunken phone call from Portland. Thank you Stefan for remembering me in your cups. And the rest of you just need to drink more.
The people in Baltimore are very friendly. They make eye contact. They nod. They say, "How ya doin'?" It's got a bit of the south somehow. It's great to walk into a subway car and see no white people.
It sounded like all of France had decided to go to the Met with me. They stood proprietorially in front of the Monets, the Manets, the Cezannes. They disdained Picasso with facial and verbal expressions of distaste and dismissal.
On a side street, a father complains to his daughter that he's spending all the money. She says she bought her own MetroCard. The mother comes out of the store wearing a new coat and the conversation is forgotten.
People look at other people here. It's fun. They look at my camera. They look at me. I look at them. I hold eye contact. They look away. Some don't. Maybe I look like a tourist. Maybe I look funny.
My new hat got its first compliment today. I should have talked to her longer. She liked Edward Hopper.
I'm tired. I'm happy-sad.
View Leg 14: New York in a larger map
MoMA is great, the Met is even better. I can't decide between the Met and the National Gallery. I think I'll go with the National Gallery because I felt like spending even more time there, while somehow the Met's unfriendliness and in some ways shabbiness irritated me.
It has been good to see Alex.
Alex, disapprovingBaltimore yesterday in the daytime was a great contrast to the previous day. The weather was gorgeous. I took the subway around everywhere. The American Visionary Art Museum, as recommended by Anthea from the museum, was amazing. The people behind the art are almost as interesting as the art itself, with their psychic visions and vivid dreams about Pakistani starfleets. Kenny Irwin might be my new favourite artist just for coming up with the hilarious concept of Pakistanis driving interplanetary taxis far in the future. Just like they do here.
Searching for parking this morning was a near-suicidal task. Driving here has its own challenge. The people in California are crazy but the streets are wide. Because most of the cab drivers are from the Third World and will not hesitate to hit you or honk at you, this is the closest one comes in America to driving in Saudi Arabia.
Alex has been working overtime. She was supposed to get off at 5. I've stalked her and am sitting at a Johnny Rockets near her place of work, drinking the Chocolate Madness shake. I'm mad for chocolate.
On my trips to museums across the country, I've seen Head of a Woman (Fernande) by Picasso four times. I'm tired of it.
Philip Guston is amazing. Henri Fantin-Latour is stunning.
I wish I was a better photographer.
A man handed me a flier on a street corner. I took it. I then stood off to one side, held my camera at the hip and took pictures of him trying to hand fliers to other people. Nobody took one. Eventually he made eye contact with me. I held it and I smiled. He walked up slowly, said "Pictures?" I tried to lie, badly, I said "Buildings." He said "No" and walked off back to the corner. I continued standing, he stared at me a couple of times and then took off down the street. He looked back nervously. I regretted bothering him.
I cut into traffic this morning and got a series of loud honks from a cab. They continued as I raced down the side street. I don't know how close he came to hitting me.
Ariel took me into the digitization room where she works at the Walters in Baltimore. She's taking pictures of old Islamic texts and books. I got to see a Quran from the 9th century. Their rig for photography is an amazing piece of custom hardware with a very high definition custom-built camera. The museum itself has a lot of historical and classical art. Beautiful space.
I'm terrible at this stalking. This is Alex's old workplace. Well, she has had four jobs since she moved to New York. I can't be expected to keep track. She's not too far and she's going to walk here and meet me.
Lovely women here. I was here in the winter last time and in any case was dating Alex. Now they are all out and beautiful in their finery. Somehow though I feel like this is a city full of lonely people. I don't think I'll ever live in New York City. But I'd like to, if only to be deliciously lonely along with the rest of the populace.
Cormac McCarthy writes some blood-soaked books. This book is bludgeoning me. Blood Meridian indeed.
I'm glad I finally got a drunken phone call from Portland. Thank you Stefan for remembering me in your cups. And the rest of you just need to drink more.
The people in Baltimore are very friendly. They make eye contact. They nod. They say, "How ya doin'?" It's got a bit of the south somehow. It's great to walk into a subway car and see no white people.
It sounded like all of France had decided to go to the Met with me. They stood proprietorially in front of the Monets, the Manets, the Cezannes. They disdained Picasso with facial and verbal expressions of distaste and dismissal.
On a side street, a father complains to his daughter that he's spending all the money. She says she bought her own MetroCard. The mother comes out of the store wearing a new coat and the conversation is forgotten.
People look at other people here. It's fun. They look at my camera. They look at me. I look at them. I hold eye contact. They look away. Some don't. Maybe I look like a tourist. Maybe I look funny.
My new hat got its first compliment today. I should have talked to her longer. She liked Edward Hopper.
I'm tired. I'm happy-sad.
View Leg 14: New York in a larger map
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Which one's the White House?
The National Gallery of Art is simply the most amazing museum I have ever been to. There was so much to see that I was completely overwhelmed. Anybody who was ever somebody when it comes to art is in there at least once, if not many times over. I fell in love with Cezanne's work, there was a Philip Guston show in the tower that was stunning, Monet, Manet, Vermeer, Renoir, Van Gogh, Ruscha, LeWitt, Pollock, everybody. I even liked the Donald Judd I saw there. The building itself is huge, cavernous, especially the West building where all the permanent collection is. I don't think I managed to go everywhere in the almost three hours I spent there. On the way there, I saw the usual stuff (Capitol, Washington Monument, etc) and then took a peek at the White House, which was rather hard to find because there are so many other buildings that look about the same. But the White House is, indeed, whiter.
I smell like rain. I thought I would be okay without an umbrella, but I thought wrong. I'm now pretty soaked as I sit on the train back from DC into Baltimore. My jacket is soaked through, my jeans' lower reaches are soggy, my hat feels heavy and my shoulder hurts from carrying my bag. I think I should make use of the fact that I have this fancy convertible bag that can turn from shoulder bag to backpack. Would be gentler on my poor back and shoulders.
The woman sitting across from me is loaded down with bags upon bags. She apparently spent her day in DC shopping at Bed, Bath and Beyond, buying a whole kitchen's worth of stuff. She's been arranging and rearranging it for the last 20 minutes or so. The train that I'm on now seems to be a little faster than the one I took coming in. I must detrain now.
The best thing I saw in DC was not the National Gallery, however. That honour belongs to the license plates of DC residents, which, even on the police cars, say Taxation Without Representation. I love this official subversiveness so publicly displayed. It really does make no sense as to why people living in DC have no representative in Congress so it is a legitimate protest. I'm just surprised it's so mainstream to think this way.
I smell like rain. I thought I would be okay without an umbrella, but I thought wrong. I'm now pretty soaked as I sit on the train back from DC into Baltimore. My jacket is soaked through, my jeans' lower reaches are soggy, my hat feels heavy and my shoulder hurts from carrying my bag. I think I should make use of the fact that I have this fancy convertible bag that can turn from shoulder bag to backpack. Would be gentler on my poor back and shoulders.
The woman sitting across from me is loaded down with bags upon bags. She apparently spent her day in DC shopping at Bed, Bath and Beyond, buying a whole kitchen's worth of stuff. She's been arranging and rearranging it for the last 20 minutes or so. The train that I'm on now seems to be a little faster than the one I took coming in. I must detrain now.
Union Station in DC
The best thing I saw in DC was not the National Gallery, however. That honour belongs to the license plates of DC residents, which, even on the police cars, say Taxation Without Representation. I love this official subversiveness so publicly displayed. It really does make no sense as to why people living in DC have no representative in Congress so it is a legitimate protest. I'm just surprised it's so mainstream to think this way.
Into DC
MARC is what they call the train that goes from Baltimore to Washington. I'm sitting on the 9:52 heading into DC to go look at the National Gallery of Art and take peeks at other touristy things. I hope to actually come back fairly early and see at least one museum in Baltimore, the Visionary Art Museum, which is supposed to be amazing and different when it comes to museums. That is according to Anthea from PAM, who also hooked me up with a place to stay with Ariel in town. It was a longish and crowded drive to Baltimore. I hit Washington during rush hour and looped around it to get to Baltimore and it was pretty busy but never at a standstill. I'm slightly concerned about my car's transmission as it seems to have gotten a little jerkier over the course of the trip. I might have to drop by a Jiffy Lube tomorrow to have the oil changed and have that looked at.
Ariel works at the Walters Art Museum, and there's also the Baltimore Museum of Art too. I don't think I'll make it to all three but I'm going to try to get to the Walters as well as the Visionary. Baltimore is a run down town and I like it. It reminds me of parts of Detroit with the abandoned, burnt out houses and the alleys with broken glass and graffiti. There are cameras everywhere, supposedly in the high-crime areas (read black neighbourhoods). I am surprised considering how against surveillance cameras Americans in general are. It is odd to me that Americans, not known for being very private people, are against cameras while in the UK, especially in London, cameras are everywhere and the Brits are known to be rather more reserved. Perhaps this has all changed and I'm thinking of past stereotypes. The cameras here in Baltimore are a bit creepy. They are high up on poles like streetlights and they have blinking blue lights on top of them, making sure everyone knows they are there. The locals don't like them because they think it pushes crime into other areas and has made the crime map of Baltimore a hodgepodge, making it hard to signify a "good" and "bad" neighbourhood. Plus the cameras are like a scarlet letter for the neighbourhoods they are in.
The train has just stopped at BWI International so now it is filling up with passengers heading into DC. This is pretty affordable travel, I must say, just $7 each way. Sure beats driving and parking. The main stations, Penn and Camden connect with Baltimore's system via the elevated light rail, but the metro subway doesn't connect with the big stations, which is slightly odd to me. I remember in London, the rail from Heathrow went to Picadilly station where you could connect with a number of subway lines. I'm being demanding.The rain has been a constant companion since I've left Atlanta. I think this is the same storm that is hitting Baltimore right now. I stopped and saw Amy in Wake Forest and drove on US-1 on this side of the country after the much prettier drive out in California on the same highway. Amy and I went on three sort of dates back in college. It was a spur of the moment thing for me and I don't think there was much attraction on either side, but we became pretty good friends. She's one of the nicest and purest people I've ever met. She's now going to a Baptist seminary in Wake Forest after returning from a two-year mission trip in Japan. The conversation was slightly awkward but that's Amy, and I left after we had lunch to make my way to Baltimore.
View Leg 13: Baltimore in a larger map
Monday, April 13, 2009
Akaila in Charlotte
My dad isn't a very sentimental person, or at least not admittedly so. When I was young, on the rare occasions that we would go to Pakistan, we as in my mom, sisters and myself, would go first and then dad would join us later when he had time off work. Usually when this happened, he'd write us a letter or during a phone call he'd express his loneliness in a rather avuncular way, saying Abba akiala Jedday may, which means Dad alone in Jeddah. And today, I feel that way in Charlotte.
It's not often I've been lonely on this trip. I've been seeing a lot of old friends and meeting random people. But every so often, in a crummy motel room, like now, or even in a gallery at a museum I feel like it would be nice to have someone else around that I already know. I feel a bit stuck in Charlotte and a little bit plagued by bad luck as regards places to stay. Hoping that my Baltimore connection pans out because I'd like to see DC on this trip. Of course, partly this is the way I planned things, just dropping in on people and then playing it by ear. It is more fun and organic that way. I shouldn't complain. And there's always the bartender.
Sreeja and I had a good time catching up. It has been a long time since that first day of college as she sat nearby Rehan and I listening in on our conversation in a class where the teacher failed to show. We didn't become friends instantly but later on we did, and rather good ones at that. We both ended up at Oklahoma State together too, although we didn't see each other that often. I've always somehow felt a real kinship with her. I do wish she was better at keeping in touch but oh well, I've tailed off in that regard in the past too.
I looked up this quiet little neighbourhood bar called Alexander Michael's (Al Mike's familiarly). It is a Monday night, and that after Easter, so it's pretty quiet but there are some regulars here. I'm still in the South but it's getting more cosmopolitan. It doesn't seem like Charlotte is a very happening place but they do have a free paper called Creative Loafing that has a liberal bent and isn't too bad. Sreeja doesn't like it here much but it's where work is for both her and her husband.
The two girls next to me are discussing the boyfriend of one of them. I think she's trying to get rid of him and that he's the jealous type. The bartender, Milt, comes over and offers some sage advice: Life's too short. I'm eating fried pickles. Something I believe one is supposed to do around these parts.
The bar closes a bit early, 10 pm, and I chat with Milt about the economy, considering Charlotte is the second largest financial center in the US after New York. Then it's back to the motel. The Days Inn isn't too far from downtown and is cheap. It's run by a Pakistani family. Odd to walk in to see one of the TV shows my mom used to watch. I have a hard time knowing what to say when confronted with my compatriots sometimes, and I'm always unsure which language I should use or how friendly I should be. They weren't very friendly to me so I just asked them where they were from and they didn't volunteer much more than just Pakistan. I told them I was born in Lahore. Maybe they don't like Punjabis. It would be ironic if the only prejudice I came across in the south was from my own kind.
View Leg 12: Charlotte in a larger map
It's not often I've been lonely on this trip. I've been seeing a lot of old friends and meeting random people. But every so often, in a crummy motel room, like now, or even in a gallery at a museum I feel like it would be nice to have someone else around that I already know. I feel a bit stuck in Charlotte and a little bit plagued by bad luck as regards places to stay. Hoping that my Baltimore connection pans out because I'd like to see DC on this trip. Of course, partly this is the way I planned things, just dropping in on people and then playing it by ear. It is more fun and organic that way. I shouldn't complain. And there's always the bartender.
Sreeja and I had a good time catching up. It has been a long time since that first day of college as she sat nearby Rehan and I listening in on our conversation in a class where the teacher failed to show. We didn't become friends instantly but later on we did, and rather good ones at that. We both ended up at Oklahoma State together too, although we didn't see each other that often. I've always somehow felt a real kinship with her. I do wish she was better at keeping in touch but oh well, I've tailed off in that regard in the past too.
SreejaI looked up this quiet little neighbourhood bar called Alexander Michael's (Al Mike's familiarly). It is a Monday night, and that after Easter, so it's pretty quiet but there are some regulars here. I'm still in the South but it's getting more cosmopolitan. It doesn't seem like Charlotte is a very happening place but they do have a free paper called Creative Loafing that has a liberal bent and isn't too bad. Sreeja doesn't like it here much but it's where work is for both her and her husband.
The two girls next to me are discussing the boyfriend of one of them. I think she's trying to get rid of him and that he's the jealous type. The bartender, Milt, comes over and offers some sage advice: Life's too short. I'm eating fried pickles. Something I believe one is supposed to do around these parts.
The bar closes a bit early, 10 pm, and I chat with Milt about the economy, considering Charlotte is the second largest financial center in the US after New York. Then it's back to the motel. The Days Inn isn't too far from downtown and is cheap. It's run by a Pakistani family. Odd to walk in to see one of the TV shows my mom used to watch. I have a hard time knowing what to say when confronted with my compatriots sometimes, and I'm always unsure which language I should use or how friendly I should be. They weren't very friendly to me so I just asked them where they were from and they didn't volunteer much more than just Pakistan. I told them I was born in Lahore. Maybe they don't like Punjabis. It would be ironic if the only prejudice I came across in the south was from my own kind.
View Leg 12: Charlotte in a larger map
Wifi-less
Atlanta and me didn't agree when it came to wifi. First, the wifi at the first coffee shop went to didn't work. Then Lindsey's wifi at her apartment wasn't working either. And finally, as you'll see from what I wrote this morning at another coffee shop, there was a power outage.
Written this morning:
I'm sitting in a dark coffee shop called the Java Monkey. Yesterday I posted from the Dancing Goat coffee shop. I wonder what's next? The Sleeping Sheep? The Cavorting Camel? The Pernicious Piranha? Somehow I like my names alliterative. Java Monkey? Bah!
It's a nice shop if the power was on. Last night there were several power outages at the bar Lindsey and I went to after dinner. And this morning there is a massive rain/wind storm and the power is out everywhere, including the stop lights. There is no wifi so this won't be posted until later. I'm not sure what's happening with my next stop in North Carolina as Sreeja in Charlotte has her in-laws in town while Amy in Chapel Hill area stays in the dorms. Looks like I might be moteling it again. I was hoping to stay in Atlanta for another day but Lindsey's work schedule is a little crazy at the moment and I didn't want to be a burden.
Lindsey is such a beautiful woman. It was great hanging out with her last night. It's a bit odd, our friendship, because we only really got to know each other after I introduced her to Ryan (from Oklahoma City, who is now married to LindsAy, a different person than LindsEy). Prior to that we were just coffee shop acquaintances. One of the things that has been a common theme during this trip is that how all my Christian friends from college, while remaining Christian, have now grown up (like me) and like to drink. And that makes them even more fun than they used to be. The Brick Store, where she took me last night has a whole bar upstairs dedicated to Belgian beers and we definitely had some yummy brews. She knew everyone who worked there and I invited them all to come stay with me in Portland, and I met a couple of fellow soccer fans to boot. All in all a great evening, made even better by the insane dreams (I remember three) that I had on Lindsey's couch.
The power is still out. Perhaps I should just start making my way to Charlotte and figure directions out as I go along. I doubt I'll be staying with Sreeja anyway, so might as well drive on to Chapel Hill and stay in a motel there so I can have breakfast with Amy.
-end-
And now I've just read what Mr. Toady wrote in a comment below. I have to assure him that I haven't been to a Denny's yet, and actually that I will be avoiding the Waffle House too. Let's just say that it came back to bite me last night in rather uncomfortable circumstances. Here I am sitting at the bar with a lovely girl and all I can think about is my poor aching belly.
The drive today was quite eventful. At least three upturned trees, and some winds that made the back of my car feel like it was about to get blown off the road. I asked Sreeja in a phone conversation whether there was a tornado advisory in the area because the clouds looked rather ominous. Apparently there wasn't, and the winds had died down by the time I stopped for gas is Pelzer, South Carolina outside of Greenville. Sreeja also told me that her in-laws last day in town is today, so my timing is a bit off. I'll have to get a hotel room again. I'm sitting in a Panera Bread on the outskirts of Charlotte, North Carolina waiting for her to get off work so we can hang out for a bit. Feels like a bit of a waste. I must try to find something interesting to do tonight.
Written this morning:
I'm sitting in a dark coffee shop called the Java Monkey. Yesterday I posted from the Dancing Goat coffee shop. I wonder what's next? The Sleeping Sheep? The Cavorting Camel? The Pernicious Piranha? Somehow I like my names alliterative. Java Monkey? Bah!
It's a nice shop if the power was on. Last night there were several power outages at the bar Lindsey and I went to after dinner. And this morning there is a massive rain/wind storm and the power is out everywhere, including the stop lights. There is no wifi so this won't be posted until later. I'm not sure what's happening with my next stop in North Carolina as Sreeja in Charlotte has her in-laws in town while Amy in Chapel Hill area stays in the dorms. Looks like I might be moteling it again. I was hoping to stay in Atlanta for another day but Lindsey's work schedule is a little crazy at the moment and I didn't want to be a burden.Lindsey is such a beautiful woman. It was great hanging out with her last night. It's a bit odd, our friendship, because we only really got to know each other after I introduced her to Ryan (from Oklahoma City, who is now married to LindsAy, a different person than LindsEy). Prior to that we were just coffee shop acquaintances. One of the things that has been a common theme during this trip is that how all my Christian friends from college, while remaining Christian, have now grown up (like me) and like to drink. And that makes them even more fun than they used to be. The Brick Store, where she took me last night has a whole bar upstairs dedicated to Belgian beers and we definitely had some yummy brews. She knew everyone who worked there and I invited them all to come stay with me in Portland, and I met a couple of fellow soccer fans to boot. All in all a great evening, made even better by the insane dreams (I remember three) that I had on Lindsey's couch.
The power is still out. Perhaps I should just start making my way to Charlotte and figure directions out as I go along. I doubt I'll be staying with Sreeja anyway, so might as well drive on to Chapel Hill and stay in a motel there so I can have breakfast with Amy.
-end-
And now I've just read what Mr. Toady wrote in a comment below. I have to assure him that I haven't been to a Denny's yet, and actually that I will be avoiding the Waffle House too. Let's just say that it came back to bite me last night in rather uncomfortable circumstances. Here I am sitting at the bar with a lovely girl and all I can think about is my poor aching belly.
The drive today was quite eventful. At least three upturned trees, and some winds that made the back of my car feel like it was about to get blown off the road. I asked Sreeja in a phone conversation whether there was a tornado advisory in the area because the clouds looked rather ominous. Apparently there wasn't, and the winds had died down by the time I stopped for gas is Pelzer, South Carolina outside of Greenville. Sreeja also told me that her in-laws last day in town is today, so my timing is a bit off. I'll have to get a hotel room again. I'm sitting in a Panera Bread on the outskirts of Charlotte, North Carolina waiting for her to get off work so we can hang out for a bit. Feels like a bit of a waste. I must try to find something interesting to do tonight.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Signage
I wonder if it's intentional when states say pretty much the same thing on their road signs but in just slightly different ways. Some states go for simplicity (ICY BRIDGE) while others are a little more long-winded ($500 Fine for Throwing Trash on Highway in Georgia versus the more succinct California warning $1000 Fine for Littering). Alabama on the other hand seems to depend less on punishment and more on the good nature of people, asking rather ungrammatically Please Don't Litter: Keep Alabama the Beautiful. There's even variation in the simplest of signs, the speed limit. Most states do say Speed Limit but some just simply say Speed. Which does leave room for argument when the cop stops you. Some states also have speed minimums, usually 40, but this seems to be a southern Midwest and south phenomenon. Most states don't bother telling you how they are enforcing their speeding laws, but some do say Radar Enforced or Speed Enforced by Aircraft (that never makes sense to me; is it really cost-effective?). Georgia again comes up trumps with the oddest sign as regards this with the rather disingenuous Speed Enforced by Detection Devices. Right.
Atlanta is surprisingly green and it's a gorgeous day. The High Museum is gorgeous
architecturally, although the museum itself left me a little unimpressed with its collection. The interior and exterior of the building are great though, and oddly enough they have their very own Bosnian security guard who I had a lengthy conversation with. Much younger and way less cool than Miro of course, but a nice guy nonetheless with the strange name of Elvis. If any of my museum people read this, please tell Miro and say hi for me.
View Leg 11: Atlanta in a larger map
Atlanta is surprisingly green and it's a gorgeous day. The High Museum is gorgeous
architecturally, although the museum itself left me a little unimpressed with its collection. The interior and exterior of the building are great though, and oddly enough they have their very own Bosnian security guard who I had a lengthy conversation with. Much younger and way less cool than Miro of course, but a nice guy nonetheless with the strange name of Elvis. If any of my museum people read this, please tell Miro and say hi for me.View Leg 11: Atlanta in a larger map
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