Friday, July 25Smokey the Bear, Joshua Tree.
Palm Springs mountain.
Hoover Dam visitor center.
Vegas at dawn.
Thursday, July 24In Mexican Hat, Utah, I was making chitchat with Becky, the frayed native woman working at the gasmart. "Are ya going to the Grand Canyon?" she asked boredly. "Why, Becky," I said, "if I wanted to see a bunch of white people try to make sense out of a meaningless hole in the ground, I would have stayed home in lower Manhattan."
"Do what?" Becky asked. Then she sold me four packs of cigarettes and two liters of water for $9.84. ⊕
New York, New York Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas.
Ho-Made Pies, intersection of routes 9 and 89, Southeastern Utah.
Tuba City, Arizona.
Navajo Reservation, Arizona.
Bears Ears Peak, Southeast Utah, scary dirt road.
Wednesday, July 23Dust and rain storms, central Colorado/Utah border.
Tuesday, July 22Corn, Iowa.
Two readers, garden of the Art Institute of Chicago.
Super foggy Nebraska dawn.
Broken-down shortbus of teens that I refused to pull over and help, Nowhere, Utah.
Recockulous funicular, Moab, Utah.
Dateline: Denver. Well, last time I was here I totalled two cars and nearly killed two Mexican girls. They hate me still I bet. So. I'm not staying. The Rockies look smoggy and ugly. Denver of course is unspeakably hideous. I'm gonna go check out those mountains up close and personal, on some little back road that's closed six months a year. Yeah, that's a good idea. On the other side lurks the desert -- and probably no internet for a few days. ⊕
Monday, July 21Dateline: Chicago. Once again, we are hungry for a lynching. Chicago, the city where I learned to drive, flailing and shifting. I lost my virginity here, to someone, somewhere, just like I learned to drive. I learned to smoke here. I went blind from PCP for the first time here, at a mod party, mods with Vespas and parkas. I had my first drug interaction-induced blackout here, and my first job making bloody marys for hairdressers. So many great times in the city of imminent violence and dismay.
I lived here from 13 to 17 and I still can't find my way around. You have to know all of the Presidents in chronological order to navigate the streets downtown. I don't, and I never will. Adams, Jackson, Monroe, who cares? Everyone smokes menthols. There's not a man without pleated chinos in sight. This town makes me sad, it's the city where the poor look down on the poorer, and I'm not staying. I'm going west, to the desert for a few days, and then, most happily, to the coast, and The Guy. ⊕
the xml feed is here, and if you really must, you can delve into the past here.
thanks for spending a moment with me. perhaps you'd enjoy seeing who i see:
my girl gang will totally cut you:
→blaise →elizabeth →jennie →jonno →lance →leslie →meg →philo
gangsters from the block:
→aaron →anil →ariel →ernie →faustus →lisa →lockhart →mom →nick →richard →steve
join me for a meeting in town hall:
→gothamist →the morning news →world new york
clock some mofos who can write:
→alison →bob →dana →dong resin →mary →matthew →michael →mimi →skot
about this site:
©2000-2003, choire sicha. i use blogger for posting automation. the rest is handcoded by my squirrels. i am hosted by kinetic medium. this page is validating css.
thanks for spending a moment with me. perhaps you'd enjoy seeing who i see:
my girl gang will totally cut you:
→blaise →elizabeth →jennie →jonno →lance →leslie →meg →philo
gangsters from the block:
→aaron →anil →ariel →ernie →faustus →lisa →lockhart →mom →nick →richard →steve
join me for a meeting in town hall:
→gothamist →the morning news →world new york
clock some mofos who can write:
→alison →bob →dana →dong resin →mary →matthew →michael →mimi →skot
about this site:
©2000-2003, choire sicha. i use blogger for posting automation. the rest is handcoded by my squirrels. i am hosted by kinetic medium. this page is validating css.
