Cave City, KY to Nashville, TN
10.45am
After breakfast, ablutions, striking camp, that sort of thing, we went underground for a tour of the Mammoth Caves. As far as anyone knows, there have never been mammoth in or near the caves. Originally called Flat Caves after the original owner, they gained their current monicker when a visiting New Yorker forgot their name, and described them to a friend as “Mammoth holes in the ground,” which of course they are.
Cleveland OH to Cave City, KY
10.34am
We survived the night at Delaware Lake state park, despite Courtney’s fears. While checking in, a slow-talking local sparked up a conversation with us. Pat had scraggly long hair, a paunch, manbreasts and a pitted yet slightly effeminate face. Courtney was eager to get away from his unwarranted attention.
As we were setting up camp in the empty campground, Pat drove his enormous truck and caravan past and parked up a couple of sites away. Courtney looked worried, but we carried on as if nothing was up. A couple of minutes later she said, “Don’t stare, but he’s coming over.”
Pat ambled up to us, smoking a cigarette and carrying photos. “D’ya wanna see ma office?” He enquired, offering me the photos. “That’s ma office,” He said, pointing to the top photo, which as far as I could tell was a snap of two portable toilets in a forest. “See, ma office is portapotties!” he snorted.
Geneseo, NY to Delaware, OH
The car is packed, campgrounds have been reserved, our route is set. Today Courtney and I set off on our epic cross-country drive from Geneseo, NY to Davis, CA.
Lots of people say they want to drive across America, but many never do. We’ve said it ourselves several times, but now we really are doing it because later in September Courtney is starting her PhD in English Literature at the University of California, Davis. If we’re going to move all that way, we thought, we should see a slice of the country.
When Courtney first mentioned the idea I agreed, but with one condition: I wanted us to average four to four-and-a-half hours per day on the road. For an American a drive of such duration is trivial, but I’m not American. I come from an island so small that in certain places four hours is ample time for a journey from the east coast to the west. Split into Englishman-friendly chunks, our road trip will take just under two weeks to complete.
In his book, Roads, Larry McMurtry writes that rivers used to be the arteries of America. Now the big roads, the interstates, pump its lifeblood of commerce and migration. Life on the roads, like life on the great rivers of less industrialised countries, is very different to life a few miles away from them.
… villagers living only a mile or two from the Ganges know almost nothing about it, while the river men are similarly ignorant of conditions even a little distance up the shore. River and village, roadway and forest are two realities that seldom merge, however close they may lie to each other geographically.
For the next two weeks, Courtney and I will be as McMurtry’s river men, caught in the flow of petrol and the spinning of the wheels. Our focus will be on what lies to the sides of the road, its tributaries and diversions, but nevertheless we will be travellers, strangers, a degree removed from the settled communities we pass through.
In vino veritas? In Courtney’s case, I hope not. This is one of the many results (the others being four full stomachs and an atmosphere of bonhomie) of our friend Amy’s drunken dinner party last week.
My green card interview happens later today in Buffalo. Tomorrow the road trip begins.
Update: The Green Card interview, even though they kept us waiting three quarters of an hour, was a breeze. The officer “slam dunked” us through (his words, not mine). I am now a permanent resident of the USA, just like Kelvin.
I’m checking out a new photo sharing service offered by flickr.com. Big Chill pictures are here, stored at full-size, and in full resolution, in case anyone wants proper prints.
OK, the iBook arrived this morning. It’s slimline, sleek, stylish and fun. Blogging resumes tomorrow!
Courtney’s laptop died just before we went to the UK. We’re back, but the computer hasn’t been resurrected. I’ll be blogging again in full force (and some style) when our lovely new Mac iBook arrives in a couple of days!
The other night Courtney and I were photographing her cat, Skunk, in the hope of capturing an image worthy of mycathatesyou.com. We think we’ve achieved it. All we need now is a caption.
Use the comments system to leave your caption. I’ll give you… um… until we return to the US. That’s two weeks. Get captioning!
Listen to this, then check out Nagl’s site, where I stole the link from.
It’s nice to see Ben Folds has been keeping busy.
Even if you were for the war in Iraq, you have to admit this is definitely very shoddy behaviour. Next time someone tells me that they refuse to see Fahrenheit 9/11 because it wouldn’t be showing support for the troops (and someone I know did use this incoherent argument) I’m going to tell them about this:
Discontent in the ranks [of the US military] has also been stoked by reports that life insurance sales agents have been using compulsory financial planning sessions with raw recruits to sell them expensive policies.
An investigation by the New York Times found that many of the soldiers who signed policies had no idea what they had bought, believing that signing the documents was obligatory and that they were agreeing only to put aside savings. In fact, they had agreed to pay inflated monthly premiums for less coverage and benefits than the standard package offered by the army.
Source: The Guardian
The NYT article is here (and requires you to register with the site). Apparently the scam has been commonplace since Vietnam, but has naturally had a recent surge.
If you haven’t heard of bugmenot.com, now might be the time to try it out. Go there, type in the address of the site you want to view (but can’t be bothered to register with) hit return, and the bugmenot database will provide you with a username and password valid for that site. No need to give away your email address and other personal details. I love it.
It’s a bright summer day and as I sit by the front window of the apartment reading "The Art of Dramatic Writing" I can hear a distant trumpeter practising the opening bars of the Godfather theme. I wonder what music played at Marlon Brando’s funeral?
As you can see from this picture, the camping trip was no washout. A little thunder, a lot of insect bites, a spot of walking, plenty of good company and verdant countryside. On Saturday we ate lunch on a rocky outcrop overlooking the simply-named Lake #4. Left to right: Amie, Laura, me. Behind the camera: Courtney.
I have decided the Adirondacks are NY’s Lake District. Many of their attributes compare favourably, save the names. Lakes #1-6 are no match for the likes of Derwent Water, Grasmere and Windermere. Can you imagine Wordsworth writing a poem titled "Lines Left on a Tree Stump Overlooking Lake #4," or "For The Spot Where The Hermitage Stood on Island #6, Lake #2?"
There is no prize for identifying the Wordsworth poem I culled the title for this post from, but have a go anyway. Now I have email to do. I feel as if haven’t emailed anyone for a couple of weeks.
I passed the driving test, by the way. The instructor said I had a "touch of the cowboy" to me, and I wasn’t even wearing the hat.
A couple of friends and Courtney and I are heading off into the Adirondack mountains tomorrow. Here’s the weather forecast for the area. We’re going have lots of fun this weekend. I must remember to pack my waterproof everything.
Oh, and I’ve got my utterly redundant US driving test tomorrow too. If I fail I’ll probably die of shame before I get soaked to the skin and frazzled by lightning.
I’d sworn off these things, but… well… it’s Eddie.
Which Eddie Izzard line are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
I just saw this article on boingboing, the directory of wonderful things. I must admit that if next time I enter the US I am treated with the same unmannerly way as last time, I’ll be tempted to take similar action myself.
Of course, Mr. Miller was simply going through the metal detector. I’d like to know what he’d do when confronted by US immigration.
How squeamish is this Yahoo News report of the story? “Pants area,” indeed. What’s wrong with “groin?” And what was the “expletive” in the man’s bag?
More animal oddity at the Eastman House. There are similar horses dotted around Rochester, including one with a buffalo mane. This is the best of the bunch.
George Monbiot delivers a perceptive and persuasive article in the Guardian about a "scruffy comedian from Michigan." I think I’d like to borrow his words – because they’re more eloquent and better researched than my own – to illuminate my response to Fahrenheit 9/11.
Using my own words once more; the best account I’ve ever read (if you know of better, please let me know) of the dirty business of fighting in wars and the propaganda machine that reports those wars back to the public is George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia. In early editions of the book, chapters five and ten are analyses of the European press coverage of the Spanish Civil War of 1936-1939 (in later editions these chapters become appendices). Orwell checked through issues of newspapers from the far left, the far right, and all those in between to discover how their versions tallied with his personal experience of fighting against the fascists as a volunteer. He discovered that almost all reports, from the communists to the fascists, and on the very far right, the Daily Mail, were complete fabrication. Interestingly, in a footnote he remarks:
I should like to make an exception of the Manchester Guardian. In connection with this book I have had to go through the files of a good many English papers. Of our larger papers, the Manchester Guardian is the only one that leaves me with an increased respect for its honesty.
On the whole, I think the editorial stance of the Guardian today bears favourable comparison, although I did notice some inconsistencies in the reporting of the first few weeks of the most recent Iraq war.
I was mildly surprised to hear that Ray Bradbury, author of classic sci-fi novel Fahrenheit 451 was furiously displeased with Michael Moore’s hijacking of his title. I’d have thought that Bradbury’s politics would have been broadly similar to those of Moore’s. The full interview is on the website of Swedish paper Dagens Nyheter, but I can’t find any complete translations, only heavily editorialised presentations of carefully selected snippets. If anyone comes across an entire translation, please let me know, as I’d be interested to read it. Certainly, Moore’s appropriation of the title is somewhat clumsy, but does this qualify him as a "horrible human?"
As I was looking for information on Spike Lee’s new movie, She Hate Me (the wonderful Chiwetel Ejiofor, who played Okwe in Dirty Pretty Things has a role) I was unfortunate enough to read the imdb review. I have a love/hate relationships with the imdb reviews. They’re like car crashes – awful, but you can’t stop looking. This particular review is glib and generalised, but not a huge offender – until the final sentence.
Although it will open after Roger Moore’s more publicized documentary, attacking the President, make time to enjoy this treasure!
Would this be Roger Moore, the man who admits “I might not be as good an actor as Sean Connery Lawrence Olivier, but I’m taller,” or Roger Moore, the political satirist and documentary maker? I love his no-nonsense interviews: “I’m aiming directly at your groin, so speak now or forever hold your peace” (20 Junkopia points awarded to the first person – Courtney excepted – who can name the movie this quote comes from).
As Dave asked so nicely in the comments, yes, Courtney and I (and a couple of friends) saw Michael “Roger” Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 and came away feeling pumped up and pissed off. It’s a documentary that aims for emotional response rather than intellectual engagement, as does all of Moore’s work (Michael’s and Roger’s too, I guess). I can’t imagine the same style being used in a European political documentary. We didn’t stay til the end of the credits, but I hope there was a bibliography on display. Even if there isn’t, Moore lists all his facts and sources on his website.
Of course, I didn’t go into the movie waiting to be convinced. I already knew that Bush is a lying, cheating liability, whose malign influence has damaged both the US and the rest of the world. He needs to be removed from office before he does further harm. But Bush isn’t the problem: he’s just the biggest symptom. There’s a lot in the USA that needs to change. Sure, tackle one issue at a time. Get rid of Dubya, but once that’s done there’s still a lot more work to do.
I don’t agree with all of Michael Moore’s politics and methods, but Fahrenheit 9/11 is important because it’s a high-profile movie which has galvanised and unified the American left. In the face of at flood of spin and obfuscation that is American political journalism this particular movie stands firm.
And I just realised my closing metaphor makes quite a good pun on the documentarist’s name.
Terror hit the formal gardens of the ex-residence of the ex-captain of industry, ex-founder of Kodak and general ex-eccentric, George Eastman this afternoon. Terrorist spores, which it is suspected had been launched from Northern Korea and lain dormant for several weeks, grew at a blistering pace into lumbering tentacled carnivo-plants. Hundreds of them hurled themselves at the walls of the Eastman House, an American institution, in an attempt to spread fear and panic in the run-up to the Presidential election. Courageous locals armed with pitchforks and weedwhackers attempted to stem the tide of vegetable viciousness, but to no avail. Many were pulled from the clashes covered in sap. At the moment it is not clear how many lives have been lost, but the final number is widely expected to be higher than the redundancies announced by Kodak earlier this year.
In the light of these events, President Bush has declared a "war on nature" which will commence with the burning and felling of dark wood trees all around the country. Responding to claims that his surname suggests he was in some way involved with the plant life insurgency, the President said "I am in no way, and never have been a vegetable, nor have I ever had relations with a vegetable. I ain’t got no magic beans, neither."
Courtney and I finally visited the Eastman House today. It’s very good. Cameras from all eras including one that looked like a cannon and some lovely Leicas; a world travel themed photograph exhibit with some great snaps by Robert Doisneau and Martin Parr in particular; the formal gardens, which are currently in full bloom; and the house, a good quantity of which is preserved almost exactly as it was when George Eastman was alive. I swear the man was slightly eccentric. Anyone who regards this as suitable decor for a conservatory is a couple of banana trees short of a plantation.
And we rounded it all off with a screening of The Ghost and Mrs Muir, a Joseph Mankiewicz melodrama with a stirring soundtrack from Bernard Hermann, in which the ghost of an old sea captain (Rex Harrison) dictates a book of memoirs called "Blood and Swash" to a young widow (Gene Tierney). Marvellous.
The pictures of the Hopf family Independence Day turkey-fry are now online. I’ve given them their own gallery in the photos section. Click here to have a look at the scariest method of cooking a large bird I’ve ever seen.
Before we cooked the bird I convinced Courtney’s sister Maggie that the turkey wasn’t fully defrosted and that because hot oil and water don’t mix there was a good chance the turkey fryer would launch it, like a ball of flame, at the house. I’m proud to report she was genuinely worried that her home was minutes away from burning down.
Of course, deep fried turkey wasn’t the only bizarre food consumed this July 4th. Kelvin had some kind of multicoloured bagel monstrosity – for breakfast, no less.
…and very compelling. Nagl, over at Falling Sky points the way to some fantastic Polish movie posters. From the look of this one for David Cronenberg’s the Fly, the artist who created it saw the same things in the film as I did. There’s a really sexy one for Dirty Dancing too, sexier than the actual movie by about 20° C.
I decided the old design of the weblog was starting to creak a bit – it was nearly two years old, dang it! So I tinkered a bit today. I hope it all works well and looks good. If you spot any problems, let me know.
The comments will now be handled nice and elegantly by Blogger, so to comment on posts in the future, click on "comments." I’ll be disabling the old comments system in a couple of weeks, so don’t click "respond" to leave comments. OK?
Just a quick post to keep things bubbling while I work on the turkey frying pictures. Another Park Ave shot, the house across the road has dollar bills glued to the pavement (sidewalk) out front. I’ve not seen a single person fooled in six months.
The official period of mourning is now over, but everything was still at half-mast on Friday when Courtney and I visited the Port of Rochester Ferry Terminal. Everything that looks like a flag, at least. While checking the place out we caught sight of this:
I can just about understand a large number of Americans wanting to mourn Ronald Reagan, the ketchup-loving ones especially, but I’m doubtful that Canadians give two hoots that the old fool kicked the bucket.
Then again, the Maple Leaf appears to be flying at somewhat less than half-mast. Perhaps there’s some law which dictates that no flag of a foreign nation on US soil is permitted to fly higher than the Stars and Stripes. I wouldn’t be surprised.
