#OccupyAtlanta: From Beyond the Barricades

Recently Police put fences surrounding the park at Occupy Atlanta. Last night, While waiting to meet a friend for dinner near the site - here is some of what I saw...

West Bound Road: A Series of Absurd Essays About A Journey to the Coast (2)

Fade In: Kin & Courting

Odd as it were; I had only just seen my cousin a couple of months ago. I had only met her a few times in my life. She was of the older clan of cousins we shared. But I'll never forget, she said, "I want you to come. I want you to be here." And when I arrived, she said, "Welcome home." I didn't have a clue what she meant. I shrugged it off and accepted a glass of wine. My friend and I would be sitting with the family for dinner, throwing - jokes and jabs-- with three little munchkins who fell into the quick rhythm of dry humor. It was like a backwards family reunion with kin, connected only by the past and by the fathers who grew up on opposite ends of an awkward Irish Catholic upbringing. Nevertheless, it was where I was to stay for the next few weeks as I got my feet wet and made the best of a nomadic attempt to hide underwater. 

My friend and I had driven six hours from Phoenix to L.A. - and frankly we were both done with driving for awhile, at least that's what I thought, but if you've ever been in L.A. traffic, you'd know it's a pain the ass and no one has time, but then again be prepared to take you're time because you'll be stuck bumper to bumper for a while. The brightest moment between the two cities was the lonely gas station just outside the California border that had gas for less than three dollars and personal pan pizzas that I don't think went well for either of us in the end. Needless to say, the ride was over - and she was leaving while I was to make my way on the west coast from now until...well, whenever. 

I settled back into a mode of thinking that ultimately was a robotic way communicating among family types that seems so easily familiar and quickly gave me room to forget the reason I had come in the first place or why I had left in such a hurry from the last place. It wasn't as if I were looking for anything in particular, except a job in a town where everybody's and actor and a waitress - and pressing their luck with plastic surgery to get into the industry. 

The friendliness was fake, of course, and the routine of every meeting I went into, I felt like I needed to have a song and dance ready for an audition, -- media skills and production just weren't what they were looking for and I swear my height was examined every time I applied at a restaurant -- or maybe I didn't show off enough cleavage? Who the hell knew, but what I figured out was that this wasn't meant to be easy, nor did I have the time. Deep down, I don't think that I had the stamina to stay in big bad L.A. where everybody is somebody even when they're nobody and knowing somebody is the key to everything. How far was So-Cal?

Every day I went out to the field, accepted an interview, filled out a million applications and asked for the head of who ever was in charge. And every day, I came up empty. Blasted all. Then again, where was that guy that called himself Eric, with a successful media production company out of Georgia and California who had promised me a freelance gig editing material for various clients and when I showed up, he never did. No emails, no return phone calls and that promised meeting never came to pass. I had heard rumors about him that he was flakey and really just a jack-ass, and he wasn't proving them wrong. But I didn't have time for him, so I gave up and haggled with my other sources. I didn't know what I wanted, but I knew I had to find it. I was determined, I'd figure it out, at least that's what I told myself to get through the day. 

Meantime, I was doing my best to go to football games, cook dinner and offer anything I could to earn my keep. It was a full house and it was bustling all the time. Four children from age 3 to 19 - it was like a scene out of a Roadrunner cartoon, only with more characters passing each other day and night with feet that looked like faded circles; they were spinning so fast. Often the dinner table was the one moment where everything was calm and gentle laughter bounced off the walls of the kitchen. 

Then again, there the awkward moments of parents disciplining children or perhaps a flustered phrase that exceeded the normal levels of conversation and on such occasions, as I was not the subject for any of the loud noises, I escaped to the room I was given and tried to preoccupy my mind, not remembering I had left months of arguing behind. The safety of that small space was the only place I could go and certainly my own mind wasn't a blank sheet of paper anymore, it was over run with words and phrases and pictures and ideas that honestly weren't actually going anywhere. They were just there and I was not here, for I left here and fled into there, - the crazy was too complicated to really put down, only because the phrases on paper were too simple to really define what was going on in my mind. 

The weeks were passing quickly and it was almost Thanksgiving  - almost a month and I was ready to move on. One tried to convince me that I would not make it in LA, let alone California at all, another told me my decision to leave behind a steady paycheck and benefits was the stupidest decision I could have made and if I ever came back, I'd better be ready to commit, while still the days I was spending at my cousin's were growing weary for me, for her, for all. I was exhausted, I was very grateful and I was ready to be on my own. 

There was still no job offer on the table and I had accepted the fact that I didn't really want to be in a city where I was expected to compete with everyone I met on the street. San Diego looked promising and so I worked my way down for interviews and scouting. Would it work out? Hell if I knew, I was just ready to be somewhere a little more chill and a little less busy. This west coast thing was becoming a burden and LA was starting to feel like where I had come from. I was suffocating. Gotta go, new place, new space.

I was wearing thin...

#OccupyAtlanta: Social Changes

October 15-16, 2011


The second weekend of Occupy Atlanta proved to be a much different experience than when it began. Emotional, personal, and what started as an outcry for Economic justice seemed to have morphed into a protest, a movement against Social Injustices. Such is the atmosphere in the South, how fitting Atlanta has turned inward and demanding more from their own community. 

The introduction of changing the name of the park from Woodruff Park to "Troy Davis Park," has certainly resonated with many of the protesters as racial injustice, despite that many of them do not know just how convoluted the case of Troy Davis really was. While some, justly, protested the Death Penalty, there are still others who are concerned with what they call an unfair and racist trial for man convicted of ultimately, two murders. But neither here nor there, the passion over this man's life and death was evident among everyone who participated. 

On the day Washington D.C. was dedicating the Martin Luther King Jr. statue, The Almighty Movement of God church joined Occupy Atlanta. They set up a tent for church services and ministry. They held a press conference and attracted local news entities in order to show their support for the protesters. They led a March down to the MLK Memorial singing "We Shall Overcome," and preached the victory of the people in the Name of Jesus. During the speeches at the Memorial, one man stood in the middle circle - and what he said, I will not forget, he stated that he realized not everyone, including himself, was a person of faith, but that there was, "something holy about this place, and it makes me nervous." He went on to talk about the failure of leadership in the US - and King's message about the "urgency of now," and rallied the protesters around the desperateness need for change. Another man called out and shouted, "we are the solution," and urged the younger people to change their world. A young 20 year old said he didn't know much but knew that he wanted to make a better future- eliminating the obstacles of not finding a job, being able to live a life of freedom. Still another man, who was very emotional, admitted he was new to the movement but he didn't understand why the community wasn't working to help prostitutes and put an end to street violence. From eliminating racial tensions to increasing community care and participation - the outcries were not really about economics and taxes and corrupt capitalism. It was about the people. When they left the memorial, they continued to sing "We Shall Overcome," and chant. 

Later, when asked by a local media station, if they were now aligning themselves with the Almighty Movement of God Church and becoming a religious movement, their answer was, simply, was that they were a Social movement that was not aligning themselves with anyone, but accepting the help of everyone who offered to step in. 

Occupy Atlanta has made it evident they do not trust police, authority figures of any kind and are weary of even the kindest Officials - who ironically offered a protective police escort to and from the King Memorial Site. In fact, Sunday night, an announcement was read by a member of their Media Committee - stating that a young 19-year-old had been shot in the back by a Marta Police Officer while running away from a crime scene with his hands in the air-- following a football game. In response; the encampment held an immediate vigil, lighting candles and solemnly commemorating the boy's life. It was as if they had become more determined to fight. Still the Atlanta Police have not made a single arrest at the park. Mayor Reed has extended the deadline more than once to allow the protesters to stay at the park as long as they are co-operative with park cleaning and noise levels. With the social turn of debate it seems the Mayor has extended sympathies to the protesters and a certain report has formed between Occupy participants and City Officials.

But there was something, even more, that stuck out at the Occupy camp this weekend - They had wall, a wooden fence - and written on it were stories of Occupiers, citizens who are in protest of the system. And while some of them described losing jobs or not getting loans from the bank, many many more told stories of broken homes, addict parents, loss of security, homelessness, anger because they couldn't get an education, jealousy, and one even read, "So What's The Point Anymore?" My first thought was, this is Wailing of Wall of Occupy, the desperation of my generation and the one following. As I peered through the lens of a camera, eyes stinging in wonder and sadness, all I read were people who were broken. Sometime later, protesters dressed as zombies, fitting for those who feel dead in the world, spilled fake blood on the wall - and while some were quick to defend that it was ruining artwork, other saw it as a testament to what the words on the Wall read. I did. 

Of all the desperation that proved itself evident over the course the weekend, one thing brought a smile - how many of homeless were actually being taken care of, with jobs in the camp, food, responsibilities and given hope that they were worth enough to be trusted enough to accomplish something and contribute to a society, to a community. 

Occupy Atlanta is beginning to show itself less as an Economic protest against the banks and governmental injustice. Rather it is showing the faces of social and personal needs for a freedom many of them don't have. 

Their continued complaints against political systems are only the mask of far greater issue. As the advocates and protesters continue, one thing is for certain, they are persistent in creating a changed community. The only obstacle it seems is they have yet to define what it looks like when "their work is done." The question still poses, what does the current system and government need to do to show the Occupy movement that they've been heard?

Time will tell. 

West Bound Road: A Series of Absurd Essays About A Journey to the Coast

A Place To Go

It's not as if i was in the corner, like an imbecile scraping the carpet behind the couch for single penny and pressing my luck to a lottery ticket. The fact was I was completely thrown for a loop and landed in an environment that had reached beyond the threshold of my eyeballs and frankly, I was just tired of it. Nothing mattered anymore and I didn't give a damn who or what was next - frankly, the only thought that kept crossing my mind was, "I gotta get the fuck out of here." So I did. 

Heading west really just seemed like the thing to do. I didn't know if there would be any meaning or rational justification worth my while, but it was far away, the other end of the country, and it had an ocean. But sentimental thoughts about its existence weren't even on the table. It was just a place to go. 

I packed my bags and filled Uhaul, b/c well, this is life and that's how it's done. I called up a friend and we jumped in my little Honda, started for the road. Would it be adventurous? Maybe. But we were gunning it on the road, so, honestly? Who the hell really knew. She was my alibi. Whatever would happen, at least there'd be someone to witness it -- on an empty road headed west. And honestly, I admit, I don't think Highway 40 is any way to travel. It's more boring than you'd realize. I mean first, sure there the mountains, smokey - beautiful and majestic. I could feel it in the air, but unfortunately, late on that Sunday night, the most I ever saw were silhouettes against the blackened sky. It was hard to believe I had just left a city I had spent so much of my adult life in, and yet I didn't even look back. I was running. Maybe. 

By the time the first night fall passed we had left the state of Georgia...a long way behind, making our way through the South and sharing as much intimate conversation as two friends might do when all you have in the world...is time. And certainly time is exactly what we had - mostly due to the fact that a little Honda Civic with a Uhaul on the back only means your the slow car in the far right lane and as each driver passes you, yes even the hefty semi-truck driver; they look at you with disdain, honk and belittle your efforts to exceed 60 miles an hour...downhill. We were either a comedic sight for sore eyes or we were the zit on the road no one wanted to admit was there. It was laughable and rather frightful all in the same breath, especially because we were determined to continue moving the vehicle forward, avoiding at all costs - the agony of backing it up. 

I don't know if I thought much about anything at the time. It seems a blank sheet of paper existed in my head and the words I formed were out of robotic instinct to say something rather than emotional response to feel something. It was a soul-less time, where words and heart seemed to disappear and perhaps maybe once I dipped in the freezing cold of the Pacific Ocean, it would all wake up again. But if it didn't, I didn't care, I just needed to get somewhere that wasn't "here." People are often cruel to themselves when they have no handle to grasp, no life to celebrate and their very joys have turned in annoyances one too many times. Ultimately, their dreams are no more and therefore, their pithy plan to move up has given them the power to check out. Who knew this would ever happen to them? I didn't. You didn't. It just was. All that kept crossing my mind was, "change of pace, gotta go."  That and well, honestly, I just can't sit still long enough. I get fidgety - sometimes for the better, other times for the worse, either way, I like peeking over the edge of cliffs. The view is just too interesting. And who knows? Maybe I'll free-fall.

So there we were in the middle of South - Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas. The most interesting thing we saw between Georgia and New Mexico was a Cracker Barrel - and that's mostly because we were starvin' for a real food...or as close as we could get. Our goal was to make it Phoenix -- we had to make it California. She had a funeral and while I'd like to say I had a wedding, we all know this is a lie, so the truth is I had a business meeting (which turned out to be a fool's errand, but that's another story). Needless to say, much of our conversation had died down - and we traded off driving shifts to sleep. Of course, who the hell sleeps on a road trip anyway? The roads aren't exactly made for a solid cycle of sleep. Then again, neither is the passenger seat of Honda. Curled up, Squished, and even stretch out - it just doesn't work and you really end up running your body on fumes...the smoke smelling of body odor and disinfectant gel. At least the latter comes in handy after leaving a dirty outhouse behind the last gas station. 

By the time we reached New Mexico, the scenery was a little more interesting. Ok, so it was the desert, but a Cactus plant and a few tumble weeds make for fine scenery when, essentially, we've seen nothing of interest thus far. Then again, we both had tunnel vision and hitting the Arizona border meant switching every 30 minutes. We were almost there and we were dreaming a bed to sleep in, and well, more importantly, a shower. Going through the mountains the terrain seemed impossible to cross and my car was over-extending itself, even at the lowest 40 miles an hour. The moment I recognized my own blinking, I elbowed my friend and begged her to take over. She did. Then I did, Then she did...we finally made it - 9-am on a Tuesday morning. 

The site of our pit stop home was the most inviting thing I had ever seen. It almost seemed like a mirage. I may have had to rub my eyes a time or two to believe it. There was still no emotional attachment, no banter or grace. Just zombie like movement - having left something behind, racing to the coast, and absolute exhaustion from driving such a long way. 36 hours, I think we said. Our hostess and friend jumped up to greet us and make us a nutritious breakfast before letting our dreams take us into a peaceful dark cave. 

Have you ever stepped into running water, closed your eyes and drifted off a place where no one else could find you? I did. It was as if every drop coming from the shower head felt like the first drop I had ever experienced. The heat relieved my cramped body and I was soaked in the tears I could not produce myself. The world didn't exist, my destination didn't exist, my life up to this instant didn't even cross my mind, I was absorbing the moment. Time and space seem to simply disappear when the naked human body and the raw human soul come together for a single breath. It's as if all the senses come into play and a supernatural experience just...takes...over.

Later that day, I would visit with my grandfather, have wine with my aunt and uncle, settle into read. But for time being, the only thing I wanted, the only thing I could tap into - was my mind and body's need for silence, darkness, sleep. I was just hours from California. What would come next was yet to be determined - and frankly, I had no intention of trying to do that. It was just a place to go. It was there - not "here," the place I was. I didn't really care what was waiting for me. It had an Ocean and it had Sand and I could justify my odd collection of flip-flops. 

T-minus six hours...

#OccupyAtlanta: Observation of the Masses

"MIC check!" ("MIC check!") 
 

The crowd responded with some sort of wild enthusiasm, like that of an allegiance to a great leader, for which none seemed to emerge. It was surreal. But that's the price one pays for not having a proper sound system. 

The call and response, they called it the "People's Mic" and they told me was a way of making sure everyone in the group heard the message. Then again, I kept wondering why they just didn't use the bull horn a little more. By the second night, they had progressed and the Assembly Meeting etiquette was in better use. Not everyone has the ability to form short phrases for the rest to follow along. Still the system required -  follow one, follow all. 

The end of my first night with Occupy Atlanta participants was coming to a close. I had spent the afternoon and the better part of the evening wandering the park, looking to shoot photos and more importantly, seeing just how many of them I could get to come on camera and tell me about why they were living out of tents in the middle of the city. 

A warm Saturday afternoon grazed the skin and a slight breeze reminded me it was fall, as such; there were some who told me it was the "American Fall," a response the "Arab Spring." I was aghast at the comparison. The Arab world - Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Syria -- all came together against oppressive regimes, not whimsical financially ignorant governments who ran a campaign on hope or war on terrorism. The people's right to protest has never been questioned, nor anyone shot and killed. Perhaps their rhetoric was only meant to draw attention to the masses. Their inspiration to gather in a square, in the city streets and chant - it was coming from peoples across the globe who were brave enough under governments of totalitarian rule. And if they could do it there, why was this generation -- here-- not going out and practicing their very First Amendment Right? I had hoped it was that and not the former.

The Atlanta protesters, following suit with the rest of the country, fell into a movement that started in New York- on Wall Street no less, and their grievances began with the banks. Of course for some, it was the Federal Reserve, others objected to Capitalism itself. The dissatisfied group even went so far as to protest the Death Penalty and the Founder of Coca Cola in the name of anti-racism. 

Their first night out, Civil Rights Activist and Representative John Lewis attempted to address the crowd, even praise them. But after a matter of debate - in form of the People's Mic, and blocks made against a government official addressing them at all; they turned him down. As it were, there has been more outcry against their decision-- than for it - particularly because he was a Civil Rights hero and is esteemed high in this city. Lewis later said he wasn't offended, but then again, he hasn't responded to any other invitation to return. Ironically, a man who understands protesting better than anyone, was unable to offer any alliance. In recent days, even Andrew Young has come out and stated there needs to be leadership among the protesters and that it's an emotional outcry rather than a movement.


The propaganda being used to help rally protesters seems to have questions of its own. While it may be well intended, it seemed to lack a clear message on how to deal with outsiders or critics or even Police officials. In fact, one of the brochures seemed very distrusting and reiterated lines that read, " Police violence isn't meant to provoke us, it's mean to hurt and scare us, " another line read, " "Police can't be trusted. They may be ordinary workers, but their job is to protect the interests of the ruling class. As long as they remain employed as police, we can't count on them." and even lines that had no follow up explanation or 'how to' read, "the United States was founded on the extermination of indigenous peoples...for counter occupation to be meaningful, ... it should embrace the history of resistance extending from indigenous self defense and slave revolts." 

Ironically, there have been no reports of arrests or even stiff threats by any police officers in the area. In fact, most have been very kind, admittedly by many protesters and have only asked them to care for public property in exchange for making the park a camp ground. Even after police forces showed up and rumors that the Mayor would come down himself this past week, there were no riots and the tensions dissipated. Now, sources say, the Mayor plans to evict the protesters Monday evening - the October 17th. And the group's response? While many are determined to stand their ground and stay, Assembly Meetings have proposed inviting the Mayor to stay a night with them, which he told the AJC he was, "praying about it."

The Occupy protests seem to be stumbling forward and trying to govern by the masses. However, there doesn't seem to be acknowledgement that the masses needs representation. While the group works positively to create committees and sub-groups to deal with various problems and concerns, their organization and system of vote could continue to improve. Even major networks have poked at their mannerisms. Their demands are forming and there are groups that know what they exactly what they want, others may not be so sure. It seems divided between older and younger.

There is much to learn from the 60s movement(s) - from the Women's Rights activists to the Civil Rights activists to the Anti-War Activists. Even the Hippies and their psychedelics and music provided revolutionary ideas, that changed the way society was run. And certainly this group might find inspiration from that very era.

I will say this - I find it profound that there are this many people who coming out of the wood work, young, old and recognizing there are changes that need be made. No matter what side of the political line you're on, and even if you're not on one at all, there is always a need for people to be willing to step outside what they think is safe and comfortable to make change happen. It's been 4 decades since the country has exploded with such fervor. While different political lines want to blame each other and point fingers - the people have decided they're done with it, and whether it's a bunch of Hipsters, Gen X-ers or Tea-Partiers: something is happening and it's finally breaking through the surface.

#OccupyAtlanta - First Pictures - Part 1

 

 

 

These were the pictures taken only a day after the first major city-wide rally took place for Occupy Movement in Atlanta. I spoke to protestors and took there pictures. More to come soon, including video and commentary. Stay tuned...

Taken October 8th, 2011. All Rights Reserved Untamed Focus Media

The Story: Planes Trains & Automobiles -- III

"I guess this is probably a good time as any to tell you this. Our tickets are only good to St. Louis. St. Louis to Chi-town is booked tighter than Tom Thumb's ass."

(Del)

Hurricanes, Failing Trains & did I mention and Automobile?

Friday came fast - we had crossed AZ, NM, and were trudging through Texas. But to my dismay, I received an email on my smart phone indicating that my connecting train to Atlanta from New Orleans had been canceled...and no reason was given. Immediately I called the 800 number and talked to a representative to confirm the information I had received. She, indeed, told me the train had been canceled and it was due to a Hurricane warning, which of course was odd, because at this point, the Gulf had not been under threat - and Irene was headed for the Atlantic Coasts. I even asked her, "why not continue to with the schedule? Do you realize a lot of people will be left behind." 

I kid you not, her answer to me, the most indifferent tone I've heard yet, "yeah, a lot of people will be stranded, but you can take your ticket to the counter when you reach New Orleans and they'll refund it for you."

I'm certain disbelief crossed my face. Nevertheless, I hung up the phone, informed my car tenant and the couple of people around me, in hopes that the word would get around. (By the way: it didn't, nor did the Conductor ever make an announcement). 

Afterwards I went to the lounge car and met Nate. New Orleans was where he called home, he was beatnik, in his mid-twenties and had just finished riding his bike 4000 miles from New Orleans to San Francisco in two months. Seriously, that's way too true for me to make up. It certainly made for great conversation, as we spent most of the day bantering and swapping stories - like where he camped out and if there were snakes or why I thought Jack Kerouac was an fine author. It all made up for the time we spent at a stand still in Texas - building up the hours we'd arrive late to New Orleans. 

We chowed on questionable food from the Amtrak dining car, toasted to our adventure with a shot of rum from his secret stash and in the end raved about the live jazz scene I wouldn't get to see that night. 

Finally, at 9pm Friday night, Amtrak rolled in New Orleans Union Station. 

My dear friend LaDonna, who'd been waiting hours - was sitting on a bench studying and waiting for me. Nate and I said parted ways, promised to keep in touch and LaDonna and I took off into the night - headed back to Pensacola. She told me her husband wanted to get up the next day and join us on the journey to Atlanta...the last leg. 

So after we had our fill at a Applebees (really Salad is about the only I could stomach) - we headed for the Panhandle....to pass out.

Morning came, and the Automobile took me Atlanta.....

Taking our time Saturday morning, we ate breakfast, rushed in and out of the bathroom, and made a stop at and Office Max for school supplies. Hey, ya just can't be a 15 cent deal. 

The last leg, while it was the shortest, it was perhaps the most meaningful with good friends, heartfelt chats and sandwiches for lunch. I wasn't sure I ready to come back to a city I had left behind in haste, but ironically the two people who convinced me to move here in the first place nearly 6 years ago were the two people escorting me back and pushing me toward the next step in my journey...on the verge of a dream realized. 

Grateful for their friendship and weekend inconveniences, I did most of the driving and it gave me moments to reflect - driving always did that for me. Of course, when nostalgia set in, I subjected my friends to music from my San Diego Family...and hey - the hippies gained two new fans. 

It took a lot to get here and I probably had moments of questioning what I was doing. Ultimately though, I have never felt so much peace and patience through a complicated situation. Somehow, it just didn't bother me and I knew then, my Cali groove was finally showing through. It felt great. And in spite of the losses, there was always a conspiring gain that fit the puzzle and gave me story to tell - a week long adventure. Amazing.

All it was missing...was Steve Martin & John Candy - no?

One more thing: Peace and Love to all contributed to helping me along the way - you're beautiful!

Neal: "As much fun as I've had on this little journey, I'm sure one day I'll look back on it and laugh." // Del: "Are you sure?" // Neal: "Oh God. I'm laughing already."

The Story: Planes Trains & Automobiles -- II

"Six bucks and my right nut says we're not landing in Chicago"

(Del)

And then there was the Train...

Monday and Tuesday passed quickly. I got some extra sleep, took care of making sure I had my apartment set up, and sold my dead car for scrap money.

((Side Note)) While all this was going on, Libya was exploding. Rebels had reached Gadhafi's compound and I watched CNN reporter, Sara Sidner - dodge bullets over her head. In between phone calls, I watched in utter fascination and disbelief. The people of Libya were claiming their freedom. Reporters were making phone calls while on lock-down at a government run hotel and I knew going into work less than a week after this was going to be something else.

But back to the next leg of the trip.

Wednesday came around and I was supposed to hop on a train at 3pm. It would make a pit stop in Chicago and Washington DC before actually arriving in Atlanta on Friday-- late night.

At noon, I thought it wise to make sure I knew where the Amtrak station was and quickly did an internet search. I called my cousin and we confirmed -- there was no such station in Las Vegas. I was severely puzzled and concerned at this point - so I checked my ticket and called Amtrak.

Sure enough, I had a blond moment. Apparently, I didn't fully read the city stations carefully enough. No, it didn't say Las Vegas, NV. It said Las Vegas, NM. Really? Who the hell knew there was Las Vegas New Mexico? Well, of course, my dad told me, he did. He'd passed through it driving and it was a backwater town with tumbleweeds. [Insert Grim Face Here].

Anyway, I talked to a lady at Amtrak and she was able to re-route my train from Phoenix to New Orleans and then to Atlanta. But, I'd have to find a way down to Phoenix...that is Maricopa, another small town just outside Phoenix that I had once passed through while visiting from California. Deep Breath, what a mess. But it was going to work out, and in the end, cost me less.

So- I booked a Plane.

I called my Aunt Margie and explained the ridiculous situation I had put myself in and asked if she'd be gracious enough to pick me up from the airport and whisk me away to the train station in time to make a 1030pm departure. Frankly my awkward misfortunes and adventure played well in her favor as it would give us a chance to hang out, however briefly-- before heading to the other side of the country.

I wasn't excited about the trip to an airport. With TSA under fire for molesting people and the pain of having to carry what luggage I thought was so essential (including a travel backpack, a large suitcase on wheels with as many clothes, a pillow and a computer all stuffed in it, a guitar case, a camera bag and Partridge in a pair tree) --and airlines charging for checked baggage, my annoyance level goes on high alert. But for the first time in a long time, I tried to go with the groove of day - which hadn't been so bad, just busy. I briskly moved through the counter and even talked the woman into only charging me for two bags instead of three (no, seriously, they wanted to charge me for my sleeping bag, that, by the way, was attached to my backpack. joy.).

Security went smoothly and I can only guess that's because the Mafia is running the Las Vegas airport...and they recognized me. Finally, I was able to head to my gate and just sit down. Of course this meant that my scenic view consisted of slot machines - meant to tempt my fate and steal my cash. Thankfully, I don't carry any.

The plane ride was short sweet and to the point.

I hopped off and waited in the terminal for my guitar - which the pilot carefully and kindly retrieved for me. Headed for the baggage claim and called my Aunt. We fumbled with Maggie the GPS - and finally calculated semi-correct directions to the train station. After being told the train would be late, Aunt Margie and I went hunting for a place to eat. Surely - at 10pm, all the restuarants would still be serving food. Then again, our choices were slim: a bar with bad music, McDonalds and Sonic. This after discovering Subway closed, Panda Express didn't have half of what they're menu said and a pizza place that wouldn't fudge to a make us a couple of slices.

I mean really, no charity for the starving hippie and her Aunt? What do people do in this town? The answer was obviously: nothing. So we settled on bad food and tasty drinks at Sonic.

We parted ways and finally, it was time to take the train - which by the way? I still didn't board until nearly 1am Thursday morning. Thank heavens I had two seats to myself to fall asleep. My back would pay for that sleeping position later.

At least I would see the country side, sort of, on the south west, south side. And, my layover was an overnight in New Orleans...so I would just make the trip complete with a night on the town, live jazz music and a fine dinner on Burboun Street. Classy. I called my friend in Pensacola and asked her to join me. - Of course - she said yes.

Settling in, despite on the mishaps, things were looking great and I was going to enjoy the ride.

TO BE CON'T....

The Story: Planes Trains & Automobiles -- I

"When I'm dead and buried, all I'll leave behind are some shower curtain rings that didn't fall down. 

Some legacy, huh?"

(Del)

It started with a Car...

Less than an hour from Las Vegas, Nevada and my car had over-heated for the 3rd time. It was 6-AM and my friend Sara and I were on the ramp of ho-dunk town, California: "Baker," California to be exact. It was quiet and rather quaint - it had a gas station, a Big Boy restaurant and and an IHOP.

I rolled my eyes and thought, "well, car's done." I chuckled out loud and Sara swore in a mocking tone.

After two previous stops to fill up the anti-freeze, let it cool and take time for a nap, the car had buckled on its last legs. It was an awkward moment, like when two people choose to go their separate ways and no one has anything better to say. The ol' car just wanted to die, I guess. Still, there might be hope, right?

I called my insurance company for a tow. Yes, it was the second one in two days. I had grave suspicions that Firestone had not done a good job the day before. Ironically, I stood there on the exit ramp, trailer hitched to my car and waited for the Insurance lady to call the police, because heaven forbid we stop traffic for all of 6 cars in an empty town.

It took the police nearly an hour to arrive. And even then, he used the bumpers of his patrol car to guide into the gas station parking lot. It would be another hour before a tow got there.

The tow guy arrived (relief!) and jumped out of his truck to find out where he need to take the car - but unfortunately, his English was broken and my Spanish, not brushed up enough to make any communication go smoothly (lame!). Finally, I told him he'd have to wait as my insurance only covered the first 30 miles of a tow and I wasn't going to pay $7 a mile for 80 miles to Vegas. Thankfully, Sara was able to call her insurance and convince them to get us there the rest of the way for free (Hallelujah!).

We got the car to another Firestone - though I don't think they're a branch, just affiliated. It was more like a good ol' boy garage and I was happy to talk to men who were honest, more like my uncles and frankly, felt sorry for me. Ha.

Once they inspected the car and did a full analysis - all of two hours later (Thank God for Starbucks, never thought I'd say that) -- they informed me I needed a new motor, there was no oil in the car, the radiator wasn't flowing (i.e. San Diego Firestone didn't do the flush they said they did) and a host of other things on long list of repairs. Confirmed: Car Dead.

At one point my mother called, I answered the phone and I laughed. She scolded and said, "It's not funny!"
"Mom, it's totally funny."

There came a moment when I realized I just didn't care. I had the car for 7 precious years, it was 12 years old and it had been my sanctuary. But it was done, and it just did not bother me. I would figure it out. I always had. Besides worrying about it wasn't going to change the situation. It would only stress me out further and that was not something I needed after coming off nearly a year of un-stressing.

Needless to say, I made arrangements to stay at my Uncle's house - who, though not home, was able to put me in contact with my cousin and make the arrangements. My friend left for the airport. To top it off, my dad was able to graciously help me arrange to have my belongings in the trailer picked up and would later ship them.

Meantime: I made reservations for a Wednesday train from Las Vegas...

TO BE CON'T....

Nostalgia

I have never been to New York City - and now more than ever - I want to go. I dare say, a part of me has always wanted to see "America's City," but since 9/11 ten years ago, I have had a more urgent reason to see this place for which hatred dared to try and destroy.

I remember where I was that day - in a classroom in Kansas City, the middle of the US, watching a grown man cry, classmates express anger, sorrow and weeping. I remember sitting there bewildered and zealous. It was a like a whirlwind had stung the room and I kept wondering, "what's next?"

Hatred lost that day. 

Since then: The world has changed. I have changed. And so has everyone I know. As we've heard the stories, watched families grieve and as a country come together against extremists, there is one thing that remains vital: fear cannot stand for long. This year in particular, the Middle East, in my opinion, is reminding us of just that- dictators are fleeing and this generation is demanding change, peace, love, grace, equality, humanity.

We have a rare opportunity to come together again. This time, in far greater unity than we've ever known. As every news channel runs memorial specials and documentaries discussing the politics and reminding us of what happened ten years ago -- remember who you were then and know who you are now. The greatest hope for change isn't a Black President or a group of Tea Partiers making their way into Congress. Hope for change doesn't come in numbers or statistics. The greatest hope for change is humility. When we realize everything we can do better tomorrow for someone else and when we realize the privilege we have to live limitless and band together for the greater good: change-happens. The world gets a little brighter.

In the end: hatred loses, love wins, grace is found - and we're making the difference.