Driving Across America 2010: Part 4

Saturday started like any other day. But by the time it was over, we had totally immersed ourselves in the big city culture that Chicago boasts.

We (meaning Melissa) slept in the first morning until about 11:30 or so (Jay and I were up, bright eyed and bushy tailed by 8ish). We had a 2 o'clock reservation for Chicago's Historic Architecture Boat Tour (by that other group, not the Chicago Architecture Foundation or whoever is the official guide company of the city). First things first, we had to eat breakfast/lunch. Jay drove us in the G35 to a place called Jerry's on Madison. We ordered beer cheese as an appetizer, which comes with big soft pretzel pieces, little pretzel sticks, and some kind of fried pita to dip in the cheese. It was pretty good. For lunch, they have an endless list of sandwiches to choose from. The menu was so overwhelming, we ended up choosing blindly. Melissa got the largest burger I've ever seen, and it was topped with avocado, cheddar, and bacon (she designed it personally) with fries and mac n cheese as her sides. Jay ordered one of the specials - chicken shwarma sandwich with peanut pasta salad and potato salad. I ordered the John W I think, which was a turkey, brie, and something else with honey mustard, side order of fries and mac n cheese. All three were phenomenal. I highly recommend Jerry's to anyone who finds him or herself in Chicago.

We were running late, thanks in no small part to Melissa's aptitude for sleeping late. We drove back to Jay's to grab jackets and waved down a cab to take us as quickly as possible to the North Pier to ship off. The company recommends that you arrive 30 minutes before departure time. We showed up at departure time. The boat was nearly full, so we decided to reschedule for the 3 o'clock tour so that we could get choice seating. With 45 minutes to kill, we just wandered around the nearby streets. We met Gus, an 11-month-old French bulldog who went crazy if you scratched his back. His legs just gave out and he'd lay in an ecstatic crumpled heap on the grass until you stopped. Then, we meandered into Flamingo's, a hole in the wall restaurant, the ethnicity of which we could not determine. We got a round of drinks while a group of four next to us watched the Milan football game and accosted the bartender when he changed the channel out of the blue.

Once 2:30 rolled around, we headed back to the pier to disembark. The tour guide was a bit too educated, or so it seemed, on all things architecture and Chicago. She talked a mile a minute, taking breaks every time we passed under one of the many bridges of the Chicago River to gasp for air and sip her Starbucks iced tea. Between rambling on about the origins of the city's nickname - "The Windy City" - and telling cheeky anecdotes about previous passengers, we we realized we did not receive what must have been obligatory pre-tour literature on Architecture 101. The terms she used, the architects she mentioned, and the styles and theories she discussed were so far beyond what your average layman would ever understand, I'm not sure why they thought she was a good choice for the emcee. We were lost for the majority of her ramblings on conceptualism and postmodern flying buttresses. Fortunately, the real joy of the tour is the open views you get by taking the water route through the city. One thing Chicago has to offer that most other big cities don't is this open vantage point. Cities like NY and Atlanta and LA don't offer good views of their prominent skyscrapers because you can only reach them street-side, and you are too close to see much of anything. Pictures of the tour are on my flickr page.

After the tour ended, we walked up to the famous Navy Pier and got a fantastic view of the Chicago skyline across Lake Michigan. After wandering through the tourist trap on the Navy Pier and buying some world famous Garrett popcorn, we hopped in another cab to the building formerly known as Sears Tower (now, Willis Tower) to go up to the skydeck. The building allows people to purchase tickets to go up nearly to the top of the tower and walk out onto fully enclosed glass balconies - glass ceiling, walls, and floor - to get a bird's eye view of the city. It was about 6pm when we got there, and the wait was about 2 and a half hours, so we abandoned that plan and headed for the L (name comes either from the fact that it is elevated or electric, we're not sure which, and it might be both). The Blue Line took us back to Wicker Park (Damen stop), where we promptly collapsed on the couch and relaxed a bit before a late dinner.

Dinner
There is a pizza place near Jay that comes highly recommended. It's called "Piece," and it is apparently always crowded. They brew their own beers - we tried several of the brews, including the Goldenarm, the Worryin' Ale, the Wack Job, and the Full Frontal Pale Ale, all very good. After an hour wait, during which we made friends with a big group of girls who ended up being seated next to us, we sat down and ordered a customized pizza. This place doesn't offer the traditional Chicago deep dish with a 98% risk of immediate heart attack, but that doesn't mean the pizza wasn't top notch. We got a medium, feeds 2-3, red-style pizza with garlic, onions, green peppers, mushrooms, and spinach. It turned out Saturday night is live band karaoke, so we were treated to some quality amateur performances on stage. Live band karaoke means instead of a monitor and a DJ playing songs, you choose your song, and the band behind you plays the music while you read lyrics off a piece of paper. The people who went up were, for the most part, actually pretty good.

We headed home after that and called it a night around 11:30-12ish, don't really remember exactly when. Sunday on a Wrigley Rooftop was just around the corner, and we wanted to make sure we were well-rested. Stay tuned for Sunday's adventures, hopefully to come tonight.

It is currently Monday morning. I'm writing this while Melissa showers. Next up, we decided to finish our trip with one grand finale in Canton, OH at the Pro Football Hall of Fame. We reserved a Hall of Fame package at the McKinley Grand Hotel. The package includes two tickets to the hall, a welcome gift, a free breakfast, a 10% discount at the Hall's museum store, all tax and gratuities, and access to one of Canton's nicest hotels - 24 hour fitness room, indoor pool and spa, and more. See some of you Maryland folks in a day or so, then back in Phoenix on Wednesday for the SLA Conference from Thur-Saturday.

Driving Across America 2010: Part 3

We left the KC Best Western first thing in the morning after enjoying our second 711 meal in a 12 hour stretch.

The drive to Chicago was....wait for it...mostly uneventful!

Once again...picture uploading is failing me big time. Maybe it's a problem with Blogger's software. I'm going to do the write up anyhow, and I apologize for robbing you all of the full experience.

The drive from Kansas City to Chicago is about 8 and a half hours, according to Google Maps. This turned out to be pretty spot on. Despite our frequent stops and some seriously poor traffic outside of Chicago, we left at 10:30am and arrived at 7pm, exactly 8 and a half hours later. Pretty impressive.

I did some cowboy snoozing.

Outside of Kansas City, there was some serious flooding. It didn't affect us, but there were buildings partially under water, and cars that I can only guess were on blocks sitting in 2 feet or so.I wasn't quick enough with the camera to catch the submerged buildings, but this gives you the basic gist.


One of our favorite stops of the trip, thus far, was Springfield, Illinois. We decided to take the Business Route 55 through the city, as opposed to I-55 outside of the city, so that we might find a good lunch spot on our way to Chicago. We found an amazing little cafe called Andiamo. They have their own web site that does not appear to be functional, so that link is the next best thing. I took a picture of the amazing Tuscan Chicken Focaccia sandwich that we both got, and it looks as good as it tasted...We ate on the go, not wanting to delay our arrival in Chicago any longer than necessary.

As we got closer to Chicago, we ran into some bad traffic. So bad, in fact, that the woman in the car in front of us couldn't handle it. She was so mad that she took three separate opportunities to violently projectile vomit out her driver's side window as traffic slowed. Traffic and vomiting couldn't slow her down, though. She didn't even tap the breaks.

Finally, we arrived in Chicago, took a questionable route in to the city, and found Jay's apartment without any problems...except for the nearly impossible left turn from Division St. to N. Ashland (you local Chicago-ans/Chicago-ites? know what I'm talking about). So, just like that, our stay in Wicker Park had begun.

We had dinner reservations at Club Lucky in Bucktown, so we got cleaned up and headed out to enjoy some true-blood Chicago Italian cuisine. Lucky is always busy, and Jay had never managed to get a table before, so this was a treat for him as much as it was for us. We sat promptly and ordered some fried calamari and a Caprese salad to start. For dinner, I got a penne arrabiata, Melissa got chicken parmesan over penne, and Jay got a chicken tortellini dish. All were delicious. After that, we headed out for a mini-bar crawl. First stop was The Southern on North Avenue to enjoy their outdoor patio seating. In a subtle tribute to Kalamazoo, Melissa and I both ordered the Two Hearted Ale from Bell's Brewery. While there, we got in touch with a friend from ASU law who had transferred to another law school in Chicago this year. She met up with us along with two friends she had made doing a study abroad program at some point in her past. The five of us began to do a walking tour of the Bucktown/Wicker Park bar scene.

Next up was a German beerhouse, the name of which I cannot remember or spell. There, Melissa and I struck up conversation with a girl sitting next to us who was not friendly at all. She immediately began talking down to me, telling me that I deserved some humbling once in awhile. I don't know where that came from, but she was convinced. When I told her I was from Annapolis, she seemed pleased. Then we talked about other parts of the country. Then she said she summered on the Bay. I asked which Bay she meant, and she snapped: "Anyone from Annapolis would realize I meant the Chesapeake Bay, obviously...I summered on the Choptank River." From then, there was a serious downward spiral of belittling conversation. She didn't believe I was from Annapolis because I was not familiar with the seasonal blooming patterns of azaleas. She proceeded to comment that anyone from Annapolis should be familiar enough with the local fauna to know when azaleas bloom. I tried to tell her that fauna referred to animals, and that flora was the word she was looking for. But she said her degree from Harvard indicated otherwise. The nearest iPhone proved me right, but she persisted. In any event, that friendship ended as quickly as it began.

Next up was Salud, a tequila bar. Our stay there was brief, and our next stop was Nick's Beer Garden in Bucktown. Reminded me a lot of the Tavern in Tempe on Mill Ave. Nothing special about it. All in all, the night was a blast. On the walk home, Jay bamboozled some pizza from a truck on the side of the road. Melissa fought him for it and they ended up sharing the slice. I got the crust.

At home, we watched the Betty White episode of Saturday Night Live - an instant classic for anyone who has not yet watched it. It was an extremely long day, and we were all exhausted by now. Saturday had a ton of plans waiting for us, so we called it a night. I will write all about Saturday's excursions tomorrow.

For now, it's bed time again. We have a lunch date around noon before a 1:20 Cubs game at Wrigley Field.

Driving Across America 2010: Part 2

Note: I'm experimenting with picture formatting. Sorry that this post looks horrendous. It probably won't happen again.

Thursday
We gave ourselves a 7am wake up call so that we could get going early for our 14 hour leg through the deadly prairie lands of a tornado ravaged middle-America. Several looks at the doppler radar and whatever other radar weather.com uses showed us that a dark and treacherous journey awaited us. But we were committed. There was no turning back. Trip must go on.

But first, we have to have our cups of cereal with milk for which Melissa was brilliant enough to pack. I made the mistake of buying a 2 gallon milk on Sunday, not realizing we would not be in Tempe long enough to drink it. So, we packed it, some solo cups, some of Melissa's favorite cereals (Peanut Butter Puffins are literally more addictive than crack to her - she has actually abused me on account of them in the past), and had ourselves a free breakfast in the 'Burque.

One quick pass through Old Town Albuquerque for a couple photos later, and we were at the Walgreens getting mousse and allergy meds. Then she saw it. What drive is complete without an official driving hat? Obviously, not this one. (Author's note: I blame this hat entirely for a mishap later in the trip. Stay tuned.).

Old Town 'Burque Statue.

The same winery we stopped at in Las Cruces last year...but this time it was in 'Burque.

Needless to say, once we left Walgreen's, we gathered Silas, Josephine, Henrietta, and Abraham, yoked the oxen and hit the Oregon Trail for a long journey full of alkali poisoning, snake bites, low food rations, and raging rivers. The time was about 10:30am.

Marigolds? Dandelions? I don't know what we're looking at here, but it was a ton of yellow, and it was nice on the eyes.

We stopped here at "Clive's Corner" for a bathroom break, one hour in.

Melissa thought Doug would want to see this. Goes back to an old family trip to the Wagon Wheel restaurant? This is not the restaurant, though. Instead, it is a "town" built around a towing and repair shop called Wagon Wheel. The town consists of said shop...and... a junkyard. That is all.

Driving hats: they work. Driving is now 94% more chic.

Texas

Not a good state to drive through. We crossed in for the tiniest little corner of northern Texas. We thought nothing could go wrong. We couldn't have been less right. For anyone who has not driven on the wide open roads of Tex-hom-ansas, this is how it works: speed limit is 70 until you get close to a town. It swiftly drops in increments of 5s or 10s until you are down to 35-40 in the heart of the town. As you leave, it increases in the same increments.

One small town we passed through had other ideas. Melissa was driving, and we were conditioned for these town speed laws. But what happened next was not okay. As we got to Stratford Texas, we noticed first that the high school has a huge banner on the edge of town boasting the many state sporting championships it had won in the last 20 years. Then, we saw the population of the city: 1991. Fishy, but okay. It must be competing in the 12E District for high schools with enrollments under 50 students (I made that up). The next thing we saw were a bunch of 18-wheelers parked in random spots in the middle of the road. The road itself was decrepit. The signage was terrible. We're trying to find a place to stop for another bathroom break. All the while, we were trying to keep a close eye on the speed limit. Then a cop pops out and pulls us over. We are confident Melissa was going within 5 miles of the speed limit, so we were expecting a warning or something along the lines of "you guys are driving strangely, are you lost? Can I help?" You know, the basic southern hospitality.

Instead, the police officer demands license and proof of insurance (Texas doesn't care about registration). Melissa doesn't have proof of insurance. He tells us he clocked us at 35. We both look at each other and then back at him.

Us: "Officer, isn't the speed limit 35?"

Officer: "It is..."

Us: blank stares.

Officer: "Well, you must not have seen the lights flashing back there. This here's a school zone, speed limit drops down to 20. Proof of insurance, please?"

Melissa and I start looking for her proof of insurance while he goes back and runs her license. No luck. We have a slip from her 2007 Geico insurance from her Saturn. Then a 2008 State Farm insurance card from the Honda. Then a pricing quote from All State, her current insurance, that doesn't have an effective date of coverage, so that's not good enough.

Officer: Returns to car. "Did you find that insurance?"

Melissa: "No, I'm really sorry, the car is packed full and..."

Officer: "Alright then. Sign here."

Melissa: "I'm sorry, let me just look..."

Officer: "You have had ample time. I have to go. I actually have to be...right over here...now" Broadly sweeps his hand in the general direction of absolutely nothing.

Melissa: "Please, sir, I have insurance."

Officer: "You'll have to take it up with the judge. Call her within 2 weeks and you can work that out. I've already checked the box."

Melissa: "How much is the fine?"

Officer: Hands us a crumpled and folded blue sheet of paper listing all the fines, directions for payment, etc. Walks away.

We read the paper. Turns out going the speed limit when the speed limit mysteriously drops to a school zone with very little warning (neither of us saw a school zone sign, flashing lights, or a school, for that matter) is a $160 fine. Furthermore, it turns out that "failure to show proof of financial responsibility" is a $300 fine! Yes, $300, for not having proof of insurance. Court date is in two weeks. In Stratford, TX. As my brother has appropriately pointed out, we received this ticket not for speeding, but for being out-of-town drivers. And, I'm convinced we would have just gotten a warning if Melissa had not been wearing the goofy not quite cowboy hat. She didn't want to take it off for fear of panicking the police officer with 'sudden movements.'

Once again, internet is shoddy and picture uploading is no longer working. I will supplement with more pictures later tonight or tomorrow.

On our way out of town, we passed Tex. He was pointing his gun at us and laughing. "Suckers," he said, with his cold, hard cowboy stare.

We also passed a farm that stretched further than we could see in every direction, made up entirely of livestock mashed into tiny enclosures full of their own feces and waste. It was so pungent, we were coughing and gagging by the time we cleared the area.

All the while, we had been defrosting lunch on the dash board, as our cooler was a bit too cold. Lunch was two sandwiches - one salmon, one garden burger, that Melissa had made in Tempe.

Once she had settled down enough to eat them, we decided that they were awful. Dry, flavorless, and chewy. So we pitched them.

Instead, we decided to take a quick break in Hooker, Oklahoma to grab Subway at Love's. Love's, in Hooker, Oklahoma. Yep. This was tasty.

Shortly after that, on the road again, Melissa is back being a menace behind the wheel. Passing through the farmlands at dusk is dangerous. Birds are starting to go crazy, swooping across the highway looking for food. Generally, they do quick fly-by's and avoid the car well enough. This poor fellow was a little too fat and happy from the day's feasting, unfortunately. With a huge thud, he literally exploded all over our grill. Feathers went everywhere. He just missed rolling up our windshield. We checked the front of the car later, and it is splattered with a little bird and feather, which is probably now stuck permanently on the Honda's grill.

Fortunately, not much more happened after that. We crossed into Kansas. Lots of bright green, sweeping farmlands. Lots of one lane highway driving. Crossing through Wichita was uneventful. Kansas City was also uneventful. We ended up in North Kansas City at another Best Western around 1:30am. We grabbed a snack at 711 and quickly passed out.

It is now about 8:30am on Friday. We're doing the final preparations for the final stretch to Chicago, where Jay is awaiting our arrival. Stay tuned for more tonight or tomorrow!

Driving Across America: 2010 Edition

We're doing it again. It's time for the 2nd Annual Drive Across America blog! Because we have less time for interesting stops, this go 'round is going to be more of a photojournalistic interpretation of the journey, complete with meaningless candid photos of just about everything we do...as long as the camera is on hand. But enough about that - let's get going.

The plan is to hit the road Wednesday morning and be in beautiful Santa Fe, NM by Wednesday night. All we need to do is get packed up Tuesday after we finish our last exams, wake up Wednesday and do the inevitable last-minute car prep, and we're off. Except we barely did anything Tuesday night, we spent 4 hours Wednesday getting ready, and we didn't hit the road until 12:45pm. But the car was stuffed to capacity.

Car is stuffed.

And this is me frustrated for how long it took us to leave...


I had my blood checked at Fischer (most of you are probably unfamiliar with my Fischer Sports experiences, but that's not a story for this blog) and found out that my proteins are now digesting perfectly, and my blood is well-balanced.

First stop, sell back all of the text books that have been the banes of our existences for the past year or two. We figure to pull in a cool $100 toward the trip with the 15 books we had collected. College Bookstore on Rural actually ended up giving us $238 for maybe 8 or 9 of them, and now the rest are weighing down the car.

Baller.

At this point, it's about 1:15.

After Melissa had spent the morning cooking literally every piece of food left in the refrigerator to fill our cooler with snacks and save money, we decided we were not in the mood for any of it. So, one final In n Out trip was in order! Kicking the trip off right = good idea.
Nom nom nom.

By 2pm, we were actually on the road to Maryland by Santa Fe-Manhattan, KS-Chicago.

Obligatory pre-trip odometer shot.

The trip itself has been completely uneventful. Sadly, the scenery hardly changed. There were no swamp rats, no driving all night for sunrises, no almost running out of gas. We did stop twice for someone to use the bathroom...decided to get gas one of those times.

2:20pm
Entering Tonto National Forest, which actually doesn't have any trees. It's a cactus-ridden stretch of barren desert. But the cacti are in bloom, so that's kind of nice.

2:45pm
Outside of Payson, I was attacked (strangely, for the second time this week) by a bee! It dive-bombed be through the sunroof, made a bee-line (haaa....) for my right ear, and promptly exploded against my earlobe going 80 mph.I'm okay, no permanent damage.

3:30pm
Our first stop.

5:30pm
Our second stop, this time for gas as well. No picture, but this was a "Navajo Travel Center" off Interstate 40. As far as I can tell, the rampant use of "Travel Center" in this region refers to "gas stations with tacky souvenirs."


Random shot of highway scenery.

New Mexico
We weren't ready for the welcome sign - guess whose job it was to know the sign was coming and catch the photo - but we kind of got it in a mad rush.

More and more uneventful driving. This is probably going to be one of the least interesting blog posts I ever write. We listened to music. Talked some. We had an emergency re-routing procedure when we decided Santa Fe might not be the smartest choice of Wednesday night destinations. I guess this is what happens when you throw together a trip route without really thinking about anything but getting to Chicago by Friday.

A quasi-last-minute panic set in for Melissa, who became entirely unsure of our path with no notice. A quick phone call to her mom, and she was on her way to remapping our entire trip. This was due partly to the Armageddon sweeping the heartlands - tornadoes everywhere, flooding, and larger-than-softball-sized hail.

On to Albuquerque! We know virtually nothing about this city. The University of New Mexico is here. It's hard to spell. And we think it's a pretty big city.

9:05pm
We got our first glimpse of real city lights as we came upon the 'Burque (the local name for Albuquerque, because clearly it's easier to say and spell...but it neglects the middle 'quer').

Melissa's Navi-notes: I'm so excited because I was just starting to get really bored, especially after hearing "Forever" by Drake for the 7th or 8th time today. We are definitely stopping!

Unfortunately, navigating a city the size of 'Burque is not easy at night, with no previous knowledge, when you want to find a good, inexpensive hotel near a late night, quality, inexpensive eatery.

Melissa's Navi-notes: Lesson learned. Don't follow big green shiny objects, they'll draw you to the wrong side of the tracks.

She is now 2-for-2 choosing exits that take us straight to the hood (see: The Ozaka Incident). We were afraid to slow down enough to even turn around at one point, so this was an interesting little stretch. We made it back to the highway, found a Best Western, and slipped in to the Albuquerque Bar and Grille (the Zia Lounge, Melissa thinks, was the name of the room where the restaurant was).

My order of Tres Amigos tacos was pretty good, her man-sized Fajita Salad was delicious. The celebratory margaritas were very sugary and sour with not a lot of tequila.
But there was a special on Bud Light ($2) so we ordered the personal maximum (2 each) after we ate and took them upstairs to relax in front of the TV.

The internet in the Best Western Rio Grande Inn (they have so many names for this building) is shoddy at best, and the rest of the pictures will not upload. Hopefully, I can get them up tonight.

Today's plan:
Head to either Springfield, MO or Kansas City, MO, depending on which route best avoids the raging apocalypse in America's heartlands. Severe tornado warnings throughout most of Oklahoma, Kansas, and northern Texas, including flash flood warnings, are threatening our trip. If we make it through, we will be heroes. We spent about 30 minutes last night watching videos of the tornadoes in Oklahoma this week. Probably not a good idea for a worrier like Melissa. But we will be fine. We're mapping the route according to the storm's path.

It's about 8:15am right now. Time to shower up and hit the road! Hopefully, we'll be in Kansas City in about 13 hours.

New Year, New Me

It's that time again. The new year, and a new decade, loom ominously on the horizon. Looking back on the Aughts, I can think of a lot of things I should have and could have done better. But it was not all for naught, as I have accomplished many things that your average bear probably hasn't even dreamt up in his hibernation. But enough about the great things I've done, what is more important is the great things I have yet to do.

I've always said, somewhat jokingly but secretly seriously, that my purpose in life is to be remembered. I want to leave my mark on the world. I know I have a niche somewhere, but I am still searching for it. One day, however, I will find a way to leave this mark. Whether there is a building named after me, a street, a foundation, or a small blurb in a history book, I want my life to mean something long after I'm gone. And I want it to mean something to people who never met me and who were not related to me.

How am I going to do that, you ask? I wish I knew. But that is the point of ambition: you pick a goal, and you work hard, and you hit forks in the road, you climb obstacles, but you keep moving, you choose your paths, and eventually you reach your destination, a little battered, a little worn, but extremely accomplished and proud, with a list of achievements in your foot prints.

So as this decade comes to a close, I find myself way behind on my path. I envisioned myself doing much more at this point in my life. So this decade is a new beginning. I have a laundry list of goals, many of which I probably won't meet. But what I want to change about myself is the effort I put towards them. Anyone who knows me as more than a casual acquaintance knows that my life has more or less fallen together despite my lack of involvement in it. It has always been my way to put more effort in to putting less effort, when I should be putting that effort in to actually doing things the right way. But as I get older, I realize I'm only cheating myself. No one else really cares what I learn in class, what sense of accomplishment I feel on the inside. What people want from me is results. It's what we want from all of the company we keep. It's not the nature of people to want to be dragged down by those around them. We want to be achievers, and we want to surround ourselves with people of like minds. I've hidden my underachieving self deep beneath a calm, cool, and collected illusion of who I really want to be.

This year, I become a go-getter.

Gone are the days of taking short cuts and cutting corners.

Here are the days of motivation, aspiration, ambition, and achievement.

I wish you all the best in all of your endeavors, and I encourage you to check in on mine. Hold me to my word. A life like the one I want for myself cannot exist without the support of everyone around me.

So Happy New Year to all, and I look forward to walking down the right path with each of you by my side.

And now, for the fun part, a look back at a decade to remember. Some people weren't around for many of these experiences, but that doesn't matter. In staggered chronological order, the highs and lows of the Aughts, with some purposefully excluded for the sake of myself and others:

It was 2001, and high school graduation seemed like the biggest day of my life. A distant memory, the Equestrian Center in Upper Marlboro was packed with a raucous Annapolis High crowd. Three months later, and my new home in Blacksburg, Virginia comes calling. Pritchard Hall, and what would turn out to be "The Worst Roommate Ever." This kid was a nightmare: a cultural abomination, he was born to Koreans, adopted by Jews, educated in the ghetto, and associated with the upper middle class whites. His lack of identity made him stranger than fiction, and his quirks alienated him from the rest of our hall. That, and he made weird noises and stared at me through a conveniently placed mirror while I laid in bed.

Virginia Tech gets credit for my identity. I was an awkward high school kid who never really fit in to any group, but I had plenty of friends. I was athletic, but not a star. I was shy with some kids and a social leader with others. I didn't have a clique, and I was never satisfied with what I was doing. I was smart, but shockingly lazy, which embittered the dumb, hard-working kids and frustrated the smart, hard-working kids. All the while I found myself somewhere in between those genres of people, never sure with whom I belonged. But college was a new beginning and a fresh start. I made friends quickly. I was around people of similar minds, similar intelligence, similar work ethic. I had people to play sports with, people to study with, people to socialize with, others to play video games with. It was a perfect storm of all of my strangely unrelated interests.

And then I joined a fraternity. This opened up the doors. I was on MTV for a show that featured colleges across America (I Bet You Will..., created by Morgan Spurlock of Super-Size Me fame). And then we took the fraternity to new levels. We got it an official house. We established a reputation on campus. I started a charity event that now occurs every year and raises thousands of dollars for various organizations. I found a cultural identity that was missing in the religiously non-diverse schools I had attended in Annapolis, and I quickly decided it was not for me. I got my first job interning with the athletic department. I became a ridiculously passionate VT football and basketball fan. It was my first passion, and it will probably cut years off of my life.

As college drew closer to an end, I made friends that have lasted through the years, and who I expect will still be around until the day I die. I learned to keep in touch with people a little bit better (thank you, Facebook). I moved in to my own house for the first time with a couple other guys. Windswept, on Pheasant Run Ct., will never be forgotten. It is still the greatest estate in AEPi history.

Senior year was a blur. We traveled to all the away football games. And then graduation hit, and I was lost. I had a degree with no direction. I slipped in to the black hole that is the restaurant industry (though I do thank Liz for getting me the job, as I needed an income). I made more friends, but fell further and further from anything resembling pride and self-respect. I knew this was not the place for me.

I started writing sports for the newspaper - another in a long list of accomplishments that fell in to my lap. I worked hard and impressed my bosses, but never gave it the commitment it deserved. It didn't pay well enough to quit the restaurant job. Then Jay comes calling and offers me my first break. Again, a job that didn't require an interview. This is the 6th job of my life now, and still no official interviews. DVSport, Inc. was a great gig. Lots of travel, lots of sports, and a good amount of money. I lived in college football. It was stressful being gone all the time, but I loved what I was doing. I eventually got fed up with upper management, though, and decided my time was coming to an end.

Changes needed to be made. So on a whim, I chose law school and the LSATs. With little effort, I managed to score quite high and began applying to schools all over the country. Unfortunately, my laziness during college held my GPA a bit lower than law school likes, and my LSAT score alone could not get me in to my first choice schools.

It was back to another restaurant in the meantime, where once again I got in with a connection and had to do almost nothing to earn the employment. Money was great there, and I maintained my stint with the newspaper. Law school acceptances and rejections came pouring in, and Arizona State University's Sandra Day O'Connor College of Law became my new home.

It was another fresh start where I could begin anew. This trend is one that I enjoy, as I get tired of the same thing all the time. I easily slip in to routine ruts.

So here we are, half way through law school. I have quickly risen to the top of a a few student organizations and am leaving my mark there. My goals, if accomplished, will improve the law program at ASU for years and years to come.

This is the decade, in brief, that has passed. I hope to be able to include much, much more in the decade to come. Someone's first job is to name this one. The Tens? The Teens? Both are boring. Find me a catchy name and I'll celebrate it.

Giving Thanks

I supposed the inevitable result of leaving the comfort of my hometown and my family and loved ones, coupled with my relocation to an area heavily populated with Native Americans has changed my outlook a bit on Thanksgiving. It is a clash of ideals, but I think I've managed to focus on the really important parts.

To start with the bad, I have a friend out here who is particularly sensitive about the plight of the Native American people. Anyone who has spent much time with me knows I am not insensitive to others, but at the same time I am not at all sensitive myself when it comes to touchy subjects. That might not be clear: what I mean is, I'm empathetic to others, but I don't easily get bent out of shape by ignorant or derogatory comments directed at my own heritage, culture, background, etc. But this friend of mine, who is normally extremely easy going and laid back, gets very defensive at even the best-humored jokes about his people. And he hates Thanksgiving. He hates what it stands for, he hates how it came to be, its tradition, its values. He also hates the name, "Redskins," for all the same reason. Nevermind that he's a Giants fan. And I think he has every right to be upset about a holiday that is meant for giving thanks for all the things we are lucky enough to possess, but that is based on an era when we took and took and took and then just slaughtered the hands that fed us. I'm sure the real story is somewhere between what the average American thinks, what we read in text books, and what the Native Americans think happened. No one living at that time was going to write this story without some bias.

But while I understand his displeasure with the theme, I think its meaning and its purpose has made it something different. Some of the best inventions are the result of some of the worst decisions and mistakes in history. Thanksgiving might be one of those mistakes. What was done in that time period was undeniably horrible. But what has come out of it is one of the happiest days of the year for so many Americans. It is a time to embrace your family and your loved ones, to bring people together, to relax, to be carefree, to enjoy the best meal of the year with all the people who are most important to you. It is a vacation from the routine, an excuse to let down your guard, a reason to get in touch with old friends, a relief from the stresses of "the real world." Sure, it still symbolizes the meeting of the pilgrims and the Wampanoag tribe, if that actually happened (again, no one seems to really know what actually happened). The way the story goes, the two peoples came together for a joyous day of feast and festivity. That is the essence of the holiday. What happened before and after that celebration are not really a part of what today is supposed to mean.

So, with as much respect and sympathy and appreciation and recognition as I can give to the Native people (as family lore goes, I may even be part Native myself, a distant descendant of Metacomet, better known as King Philip), when an apology will mean nothing, I still celebrate this holiday as a reason to give thanks for family, for friends, for life, and for the amazing feast we are about to enjoy.

Many thanks to the Haiks for taking us in as a part of their Phoenix valley transplant refugee dinner, bringing us in to the family atmosphere that makes Thanksgiving so special.

Everyone enjoy your dinners and your family time. Appreciate that you are able to take this time out of your life, even if you aren't very close with your family, or if you don't get along with them. It's an important day, and it can create some great memories if you'll let it.

Lastly, congratulations to the Wittings for giving birth to healthy twin boys, Dylan



and Tanner Witting.