Virginia needs the most speeding ticket revenue. I saw six troopers with victims
pulled over heading south, and four more coming back north. Total for the other three
states: zero
Tennessee roads are the noisiest, lots of cement pavement
North Carolina has the nicest side-of-the-road wildflowers
West Virginia has the smoothest highways: when blacktop
West Virginia also has the roughest highways: when cement
Virginia has the most boring stretch: I-81 from Bristol to Wytheville
Tennessee's eastern mountains are the prettiest scenery on this particular jaunt
Virginia has the best rest areas
North Carolina and Tennessee tied for fewest rest areas: zero
Tennessee also has the fewest highway exits. Make sure you don't have to pee
in Tennessee
West Virginia has the most scenic overlook pullouts
North Carolina has the lowest gasoline price, West Virginia the highest
West Virginia has the fewest billboards
All states had very little litter on the side of the highways. Pleasant
Have I said anything about Alaska
yet? I'm goin' next month y'know. Yep, off into the land of the midnight sun. The
tickets and tour documents even arrived today in their own fancy little travel pouch.
Ten hours and 30 minutes air time to get there. For those who have flown from L.A. to
Sydney dozens of times (and I think you know who you are), this probably seems like a
walk in the park. Ten hours sounds like a sore back to me.
This year marks the 50th wedding
anniversary for Bob and Libby Clark, dad and mom. My brother Dave and I (yes us,
the Internet Brothers) will be joining our
parents for a fun-filled week in America's last frontier to celebrate their life-long
union. I'll be leaving from West Virginia, Dave from Colorado, and our folks from
North Carolina. Somehow, we all end up in Anchorage on the same day at nearly the same
time, or so it's planned.
We cruise from Whittier to Valdez
and back in the Prince William Sound. Because of the small size of the cruise boat,
we will explore many of the secluded inland waterways along the Sound that larger
ships are unable to approach. The next leg puts us on the Midnight Sun Express train
from Talkeetna to Denali National Park. Denali, or "High One", also known as Mt.
McKinley, is the highest point on the North American continent at 20,230 feet.
After a few days in the park we then
head to Fairbanks, the northern terminus of the Alaskan Railroad. It's back to the
planes from Fairbanks for the final journey home. What could be better? Glorious,
beautiful scenery — planes, trains, and ships — and a priceless renewal of
family bonds. No computers, no Internet, only real honest-to-goodness life.
A conflict has arisen between the
teachings of the 12-step plan I have been living the past eight years, and the most recent
advice from my counselor. It revolves around the concepts of optimism and expectations.
The recovery group is not a pessimistic bunch, perhaps careful is more like it.
Successful recovery programs suggest
an important structure
for continued sobriety is the one day at a time philosophy. If we are mired in the past,
or dreaming too far ahead, chances are the here and now will remain unsettled. Making
plans is one thing, planning outcomes is another. The latter can lead to
disappointment, and perhaps the resumption of drinking.
Conversely, my therapist asked me
to set some expectations for my future, to fill my heart with optimism thereby freeing
my mind of stress and worry. In other words, it seems to me, planning an outcome. If
the goal is established, patience is easier to maintain according to her.
I have many big, new goals. I believe
they are attainable, but the wait is very frustrating. Unfortunately, I am not in complete
control of the execution of these life changing events. From my days as an active
alcoholic, I understand all too well the inherent danger of being under the control
of others. Patience will allow me to achieve the prize in the best possible fashion,
but, boy is it hard.
Have you ever looked at cement?
I mean really looked at it. I took my lunch
today to a shaded picnic area on campus and found myself studying the cement
under the wooden tables. From a distance it appears smooth and finished,
even glossed, but up close the surface is filled with ridges and
abnormalities, pock-marked with tiny flaws and discolorations. Now, what is
wrong with this picture? So what? Who cares?
Exactly what I asked myself.
Why am I looking at cement? Here I am in the
woods on a nice hot, humid summer day enjoying my sandwich and I'm staring
at mortar. The answer that came to me was revealing. I've spent the past
half year of my life looking down. When I'm walking, eating meals, shopping
or just out and about, my head is tilted forward and my eyes are searching
the ground around me. I've become intimately familiar with the tops of my
shoes and the composition of paving substances, but I'll never step on gum.
My self-esteem has been
lower than the Marianis Trench so I avoid eye contact. I haven't been myself,
both physically and mentally, so I avoid most
contact period. Fewer explanations required that way. The normal human
chit-chat and interaction around the water cooler or park bench that
constitutes connection and expression has been superficial, or worse,
absent. What has all this navel gazing and introspection achieved for me?
I'm studying cement.
I spoke recently with a
friend about self-confidence. A very easy way to
take a broader view of our surroundings is to walk briskly with chin up,
head high, shoulders back, and with an air of comfort — not snootiness —
but the look and feel of a person comfortable in their skin. As I finished
the sandwich and looked at the leaves flittering on the warm breeze instead
of the lifeless ground, I resolved to straighten my spine, from neck to
tailbone.
Imagine the stimulating
sights and sounds I've been missing. My
therapist has been pounding into me repeatedly the need to lubricate more of
my inquisitive, creative right brain. It's no wonder this aspect of her
advice has proven so illusory. I've been looking at my mismatched socks
rather than the passion in her expressive hands. As I strode back across
campus, the crow swooped down and snatched the cap right from the
unsuspecting jogger's head. Yesterday I would have missed it.
Bringing years of experience and skill
in motion graphic design for television to the web, Melanie Goux offers a unique
perspective that, up until now, has been fairly rare in web publishing. Take today's
entry debating the merits of simplicity vs. visual complexity and you will understand
why Melanie's site is quick becoming a regular destination for artists and designers.
I am neither, but I like to read her stuff anyway. It's never too late to learn.
Go discover Brushstroke.tv.
