Wrapping Up and Shipping Out...Where 2011 Is Taking Us

One shot of our new place...

Dan and I were married on August 21st. By the end of August, we were living in Watertown, South Dakota on our next work contract. It is now nearing the end of December...and indeed the year. 2011 will begin in South Portland, Maine...in a little beach cottage right on the coast. In a wrap up of our last contract, I've discovered a few things about myself...life...and even Dan and myself. Every contract leaves you with a chance to learn a bit more about this life and what you want and need from it.

Perhaps yes, we were living in the suite. It was actually, in fact, larger than the cottage that I had when living in Pennsylvania even. However, ohhh...we NEED a full kitchen!!! I can't wait for Maggi fried potatoes, BACON, tossing a pizza in the oven...everything that I've missed for 4 months. We'll have a washer and dryer. Our own. No need to share with anyone...and you don't know the value of that unless you've never had the experience of laundromats and shared laundry rooms. We'll be 3 blocks from the ocean...I'm looking so forward to where I can really expand my photography site and business. These are things that I look forward to.

Portrait Sarah took of me...Dec. 2010

These are the people...and things...I'll miss.

Sarah Kay Pekelder: You have truly become one of my best and dearest friends (family)...and I'm so happy for that. You have truly made my stay (and I know Dan's as well) easier. You are an AMAZING photographer...your work speaks for itself. You keep on believing in yourself...working hard...and following all your amazing dreams, and someday you will be a force to be reckoned with! I can't wait to see how far you are going to go...and I'm so proud of how far you've come even since I've met you. You are an amazing friend...and I love you. Always remember you are worth that.

Paul Waldner: I'm STILL not used to having a housekeeper, but I could never have asked for a better one...or the friend you've become. You likely mean more to me than you realize...and I love hearing your stories, picking on you, being picked on, and the amazingly compassionate person that you were in helping Dan and I fulfill a Christmas for 3 little kids...and a very deserving family. You give more of yourself than you take. Remember to spoil yourself a little. You are worth it.

Shirley: Your family...and you...are beautiful. You are raising a loving daughter whom even I find myself proud to have gotten to know. You have overcome adversity in your life...and yet find fun and humor in every little thing. You are a great comedian with a blossoming career. Don't give up on your dreams, because you are going to really headed places. I believe in you...and hope to stay in touch.
There have, of course, been others who have come into and out of our lives...and I thank all of you for that.

Breakfast always prepared for us?! Where is the bad in that? I'll miss stumbling downstairs half asleep...and eating my breakfast hot pockets and english muffins with Dan as he came home from work (usually bearing Starbucks in bed for me!) I will miss Watertown...for what it is. I've learned to crochet and knit since being here...we've found a few favorite haunts and taken some amazing photographs. Spending Christmas with a family (for you are not just staff) was perfect...and our holidays were perfectly amazing. Thank You.

And now...we leave. Suite 303 will no longer be home. South Dakota will no longer be my environment. New places, new people, new chances with every contract...and I must take them and enjoy them for all they are worth for the time we are there. Is it hard to leave people and places we love? Every time. Is it worth it for this lifestyle? Always.

And now, we pack. In a week and 3 days, we'll live in Portland, Maine. Stay tuned friends...and this strange gypsy journey shall continue!!!

Time Zones: Eastern, Central, Mountain, Pacific, CLEVELAND...

If someone asked you the time zones of the United States, you'd likely list off Eastern, Central, Mountain, Pacific, and Hawaii. You'd only be partly correct. You'd be missing Cleveland...which seems to have decided that it is going to just split from the Eastern Zone and create it's own. There is nothing in Cleveland that makes sense when it comes to time.

We lived on the 6th floor overlooking the House Of Blues...

4th Street in Cleveland, OH...it's ALWAYS like this...FUN.

Dan and I got a contract in Cleveland and lived in a loft downtown. When I say downtown, I mean DIRECTLY downtown. We were right in-between the 2 stadiums, next to the House of Blues, around the corner from the happenings of 4th Street, and down the street from Tower City...which is one of the 2 malls within walking distance from where we lived. Across the street was a building called "The Arcade" in which there was a hotel, several shops, and a little food court. We moved there just before Thanksgiving and lived there well through after Christmas. Now, I lived in NYC. I'd been to more cities than I can really count up until that point. I THOUGHT I understood how cities in general worked. Cleveland, however, had not received that particular memo. 5pm seemed to be their idea of appropriate closing time. This included the CVS, the local drug store. This included the corner deli, Starbucks, and the mall. THE MALL. It was right before Christmas and the mall closed at 5pm. On the weekends, closing time was even earlier...with them shutting the doors at 3pm. Now, maybe it's just me, but that's downright stupid. Dan working at nights made it even harder. Coming home at 7am, he would wake me with Starbuck's Coffee each morning, eat breakfast with me, and then go lay down and sleep until 4pm. It was then a mad scramble to figure out dinners or shopping needs in the hour we had until things that hadn't ALREADY closed DID. Should I want milk after 5pm, I had to drive out into the outskirts. There was even a sub shop across the street that took this to even harsher levels. They may have said they closed at 5pm, but I assure you...they lied. They closed when they ran out of bread. No ordering more. No stocking up in advance. They just decided that when the bread was gone...so were they.

At this time, I was having a full Crohn's Disease flare-up...and was seldom able to get out of the loft for long. 4th Street wasn't too hard...and on good days, I'd be able to head out to dinner with Dan. However, I was so sick much of the time that my doing the shopping before things closed was seldom possible...leaving Dan to have to scramble for us both. It was not ideal in the least...particularly in winter. Had it been almost ANY other place in the United States, it wouldn't have been an issue. Even in Mt. Vernon, IL...a town of fewer than 10,000...there is a 24-hour grocery store and CVS.

We aren't certain WHY Cleveland operates this way...although several reasons were explained to us. None of them, by the way, made sense. Least of all was the explanation that a local politician believed that if things should close by 5pm, it would in effect "force" families to be home together in the evenings...thus enforcing stronger family values. That all sounds perfectly lovely until you also realize that as the CVS was locking down their doors, the "Porn Van" was driving down Euclid to pick anyone who wanted up...and drive them out to strip clubs before later dropping them back off. So much for family values. Maybe Mr. Smith DID get out of work at 5pm. He may have wanted to buy his children dinner or his wife flowers...but no. He had 2 choices. Go home empty-handed or hop on the "Porn Van" and tuck those family values into some panties. I won't pretend this makes sense to me.

Cleveland did lend itself to quite a bit of strange types of experiences...but those will wait for other days and other blogs. Now living in South Dakota, I rest comfortable in the knowledge that I can go shopping at 3am...and there has never been an issue. For all those in Cleveland who are reading this...it's 3:30 Eastern "Cleveland Time" right now...better snap up those last few hours you have!!!

Rotting Chicken and Q-Tips...How It All Began

It began with rotting chicken and Q-Tips. Or, if you want to go back even a bit further, it started in the hospital.

I get asked quite often how I began this life of traveling, if I'm ok with moving so often, and even sometimes judged for Dan and myself's lifestyle. And so, for my part, I will now set the record straight.

This was my cozy little Bedroom...

I have always enjoyed traveling. I had also, in my life, moved quite a bit simply for the joy of new places, people, and experiences. Being a gypsy by blood, I guess maybe it really IS just in me to love the gypsy lifestyle. Then, due to unforeseen (my Crohn's fell back out of remission) and tragic circumstances, I found myself living in Erie, Pennsylvania in a little cottage all my own. I loved that little house. For the first year. Then I found the itch to leave was too great, and yet I had no ability to do so because of my Crohn's really causing so many issues. I lived in that little cottage for almost 3 years. Then along came Dan.

We met online casually. I had no interest in dating, as I was sick and not comfortable with putting that on anyone. So, we struck up a friendship and wrote for awhile. Then, I found myself in the hospital...yet again. Dan offered to come visit me. I didn't want him to see me like that, so I told him, "Sure. You can come. If you can find me." Now, I knew full well I was under a protective order that meant hospitals would never confirm or deny if I was a patient. What I did NOT realize is that Dan was intent upon this challenge. So of the 4 hospitals in town, he walked in...showed his medical badge...and said he needed to know which room his patient (me) was in. Sneaky little bugger. Next thing I know, there he was...tucking his hair behind his ears, Affliction shirt, motorcycle jacket...bearing flowers...shy as could be. I, for my part, was 89 pounds, bald, and laying drugged up in a hospital bed. We talked for 4 hours, but I was convinced I looked so horrific that it would be the end of him.

It wasn't.

Dan's Living Room...

Dan...against all odds...LIKED me. Despite my opposition to dating AT ALL, he finally got me over to his house. That's when I knew. In his living room, there was a broken futon, a milk crate as a side table, a little bookshelf, a lamp, a lawn chair, a box fan, and HUGE Flat Screen TV. He knew I liked Reese Cups, and there...in the fridge...were 3 things. Rotting chicken, a 48-bulk pack of Reese Cups (for me!), and 2 Q-Tips. I just knew it. He was going to be the man for me. I LOVED how he had the house set up. It wasn't, say, MY style...but it was endearing.

His concern was how I would take the traveling lifestyle. Most women want that home...to nest...to travel for vacation, yes, but to return home. Even owning furniture and choosing your decorating style is often just taken for granted but something that most women WANT. I won't say I didn't enjoy setting up my own little home. Whether my places in NYC or my little home in Erie, I was a bit of a Suzy-Homemaker (almost much to my horror...Hehe). However, I am NOT most women. So, I'm sure there was question in his mind if I'd stay with him when it came time to begin traveling again. I'm sure he was concerned about my health and traveling...whether or not I'd be able to physically handle it. (I am now in remission, and have been for 8 months now) However, after having lived together for a time and getting engaged, it was time to make that choice. To decide whether or not it was something that I could (or indeed would) do. So, away went the furniture. Off came the art and photos from the walls. A storage locker was rented and suitcases came out. It's still always somewhat intriguing to me how little one ACTUALLY needs to live for a 3-4 month contract. The rest remains in storage.

The offers for permanent jobs come and go. It's not that we can't take them. It's simply that when we discuss it over as a couple, we still go back to this traveling gypsy life. Top of the line cars are provided for us. Housing is arranged and provided for us. To a degree, we get to pick where in the country we will take contracts. Sometimes only one contract is open, and so that is the place we go. However, no matter where we go, it's an experience...and we soak it up the whole time. Now, a year and a half later, we are married and still chasing the dream across these United States. I am a professional photographer now, and take photos of all we see and do...and in fact now sell my prints online. It's a profession that lends itself well to constant travel...although I attended college for Criminal Justice, Social Work, Sociology, and Psychology, and went to NYC to join the NYPD once upon a time.

Our loft Living Room in Cleveland...

Some say my husband and I do this because we can't keep a job. Some have said we can't keep a house. Comments have been made that demean my being on disability and thus becoming a photographer. Our motives are constantly questioned and then judged. People simply don't understand it and oftentimes even get cruel because of it. I will tell you this. We OWN a house. We OWN a car. Anyone can get a job and a house...and "live the American Dream" as they see it. This just happens to be OUR American Dream...and whether it's a 3-story townhouse in Montana, a 6th floor loft in downtown Cleveland, or a hotel suite in South Dakota...I'm not looking to have my life any other way.

To think it all started because 1 guy took a chance on a girl in the hospital, and 1 girl took a chance on a guy with some rotting chicken and Q-Tips. Love can't be explained, but we love one another...and we sure as heck love our crazy little life...

When I think about you...

Everyone seems to think that I have an odd sense of humor, and well, maybe I do.  I suppose if enough people say it, I have to assume that if I'm the only one that finds something funny that must be because I'm thinking of it differently than others.

One of my favorite things that I ever was around was a little on the dark humored side, so bear with me.  It was about 2 AM one night and a tech friend of mine had a patient with a noticeable heart murmur going on.  We worked as partners so that if one person would step out of the room, the other would go ahead and cover for them.  So my friend decides that she needs to go to the break room, get some food, maybe smoke and come back.  No problem.  So she heads out and the rest of us are keeping an eye on her patients when all the sudden we realize that her patient no longer has just a heart be irregularity, it's a full blown a-fib attack with long - I mean long - pauses in heart rhythm.  So one of us heads into the patient room to get them sitting up and awake while the other calls the Dr to find out what they want to do.

The Dr knows the patient and tells us to hang up and get an ambulance over there to pick them up and take them to the ER while he calls a cardiologist to meet up with them at the hospital.  We have to scramble to run in and pull all the equipment off of the patient before the EMS people get there.  We get everything but the heart monitors off and hand the patient over to them.  They get the patient loaded up onto the gurney and rushed out the doors and into the ambulance.

As the patient is going out the door, 1 of the EMS starts doing chest compressions while the other starts getting the defibulator unit charged, the original tech comes out back, face flushed, wondering WTF is going on.  We let her know that it was her patient that was headed out and she turns this amazing bright shade of red but goes back into the control room to monitor the others while the rest of us take a deep breath after rushing around so much.

A few days later, the tech calls me and wants to apologize for dropping everything on me that night.  I told her it was no problem, but she insists that she really owed me on that one.  The last thing I remember hearing before I dropped the phone from laughing was her saying "I always knew that masturbation was bad, but I never thought it would be like that..."

Legendary Patients, vol. 1

One of the things that I love most about my job is some of my unusual patients.  Obviously, I'm not about to name names or even give away anything even so much as which contract area I was working in, but there are some stories way too good to not share.  This is one of them.

I had a patient that came in, small little guy, that complained that he never felt rested, his partner said that he moved alot in the night, and that he had an odd problem with his breath / taste in his mouth in the morning.  Now, usually any time that someone comes into the sleep lab that is skinny, athletic, and twitchy at night, I'm not thinking they have a breathing problem, I'm looking to see if there is something else, usually neurological, at work.

So I hook the guy up, he heads to bed and he falls asleep fairly quickly.  As I'm watching, he all the sudden lifts his arm, scratches further and further down his back and in one brief moment, all the sudden jams a finger into his ass.  Not just the ass area, not just into the crack, but YAHTZEE, right in the bullseye, more than knuckle deep.  A few minutes later, he snores or moves a little and whips his hand out of his ass and in one of those hand movements that most of us know from frustrated people, he wipes his hand on his face.

I was both horrified and vastly amused.  This didn't happen once, this happened every 20 minutes or so ALL night long.  I mean, in the morning, the white tape on his face wasn't so white any more.  This easily explained the foul smelling breath and bad taste in the morning.  (oh, trust me, I know - I went there).

Now, as a traveler, and only having been there for a few days in that area, they had the chief tech going through the study in the morning and the next day I came to work and everyone bust out laughing.  "I see you had a crappy patient last night" and "Seemed like they had a shitty night" and "I bet he feels like crap".

Now, the mockery was fun enough, I mean, I would have done it.  But what did fascinate me would have been to have been in the Dr's office when he had to tell the patient what kind of issue he had in his sleep. "Well, sir, on a good note, you don't have sleep apnea.  You do, however, have an easily treated condition of medical Asshat syndrome."  I mean, think of the horror when the guy gets told what he does, possibly shown a video of his actions, and then he remembers that one of his major complaints was the bad taste in his mouth in the morning...

Take the Challenge

People are always asking me about what it takes to travel, why do I do it, and ironically, I constantly hear the question on what did I do wrong that I can't get a permanent job.  Even more amusing to me is that people turn around and ask Erica about why her husband isn't good enough to find a job and settle down and have the 2.2 children... ect.  Apparently people don't actually understand what I do and how it works, so for those that are out there that wonder what my job really is and for those that are curious about living a different life.

I trained as a sleep tech for almost 2 years working 40+ hours a week learning about how the job is applied before I started travelling.  I had a permanent job and could have easily stayed at it, the same as most everyone out there at the job that you are at now.  I had a few friends where I was living, but no family, no reason to be there other than for work and to hang out with friends.  I had heard about travelling medical jobs and realized that I was exactly the type of person that they look for - good at my job, no reason to stay where I was at, looking for a raise in pay and benefits.  It was a rumor at the time, people always talked about travelers but no one ever seemed to do it, like some ninja skill you had to learn.  So I went and researched and now, years later, I can explain it...

So here we go...

Hospitals, private sleep labs, VA medical centers and other facilities occasionally have to deal with a staffing change, either from them having to fire someone, a pregnancy, or any other reason that jobs become available. Now, it's not like they can take someone off the street and instantly train them to do the job, training can take months to years, and there are only a limited number of actual registered technologists for sleep, if they can't find someone in the area to come work there, then they have to hire someone like me to come in and help them.  They contact either a traveling company or a medical firm that puts the word out to find a traveling tech and they wait for resumes of those available to go through before they figure out who would be the best fit.  They always have a choice between multiple technicians and they get a full copy of their resume.  Now, this isn't some 1 page form showing where you lived and the imaginary list of skills that we all just put down on an application to fill in our rough job duties.  They get a list of all jobs, printed transcripts of what my references have said in the past, post contract questionnaires fill out by the managers or doctors of EVERY place I have ever been, good or bad, drug screenings, a test showing my competencies in my field, criminal background check, and more.

So, they narrow it down to 2 - 5 people that they feel had good enough information on those forms to interview over the phone, either by the manager, the doctor, peer interview, or all 3.  You have 10 minutes to 'wow' them on why they should pick you to fill in knowing that you are going to get almost 0 training.  In fact, when you show up to the job, you have 1 night, if that, to learn all of the paperwork needed which can be vastly different from location to location, how they want everything done, all the important information that they think you need to know (scrub color, what type of patient, are you working alone).  Now, you have to reassure them that you are good with ANYTHING that they can throw at you and better than anyone else that they are going to call.

If they are happy with you and you are happy with them, it goes to a mediator / representative to negotiate what the pay would be.  I am most likely responsible for reporting to work within 1 week of getting the phone call.  This means that I have to arrange my bills, figure out where I am going to live without seeing it, take another drug test, PPD, sign and fax forms to those that need them, pack, and be on the road in 3 days or less to drive either 1 state over or across the entire country even in winter.  I get there, sometimes I have to go through hospital orientation for 2 days, then turn around and go right back to working nights the end of the second day.  Many times I just have to show up that night to meet with another tech to work for the night, most of the time with my own patients.  That means I have 30 minutes to learn the location, see where everything is, and then have 2 people that I am responsible for to hook up with new equipment and sometimes even entirely different software.  From day 1, I am fully responsible for whatever happens after this with a full report that goes to the next location at the end of the job I'm on...

No stress right?

Now.  How many of you would function OK if they changed from Windows to Linux overnight at your current job? How about told you to drive to a new job in a new city with changes in what type of people you work with as well as that change in software?

People think that I am a 'temp' worker.  This isn't like that.  This isn't taking a person who is untrained to fill it, they only take the best of the people in the field.  So tell me, after all that, are you up for the challenge?

Come see the country, live in a new town every few months, meet exciting people, never have to deal with on the job politics, make decent money all at the risk that if you don't bet out up to 100 people out there also applying for that one travel position, you become instantly unemployed.

I travel because I can, not because there is some reason I can't do something else.  The next time that you go to the hospital or doctors office and they have a traveler, be happy, it was the best the country had to offer, not just the local community.  Don't look down on them just because they found something different.

BTW - shout out to Cyndi, the best recruiter ever and who made me believe I could even start traveling.

Slip of the Tongue

One thing that constantly catches my attention when we travel is the odd phrases that we hear come out of people's mouths, both where we are living as well as at work from my patients.  I thought I would pick a few of my favorites and try and break them down a little for fun.

Slip of the tongue - Everywhere - I can understand a Freudian slip (of which Cheers had the best example - when you mean to say one thing and end up saying a mother), or stuttering, or blurting, or even word vomit.  But a slip of the tongue?  Where did it go that you didn't expect it?  Was it icy in someone's mouth?  Did someone spill marbles in there? Is this like mixing french kissing with ass kissing?

Ho-down - Southern Illinois - Ok, there are a few of these phrases and words to describe going to an event; shindig, fete, hoopla, whatever.  But a ho down?  When I hear someone say that they are going to a ho down, I am stuck with competing images.  Either there is a hooker who just fell into a massive hole into the middle of the earth or well, the ho went down.  Either way, if you whip this comment out that you are going to a family reunion ho-down, which family member are you insinuating belongs in the donkey show?  (And please, don't tell me your mind didn't get to what I was thinking before I did.)

By the balls - Seattle - Now, this is a pretty common expression which sounds like it should have some meaning, as in "I have Bob by the balls, he'll do what I want now".  Yeah, sounds good, until you realize that if someone has a handful of your manly jewels and is putting pressure on them, your odds of doing or going anywhere are about none.  If someone is threatening me, I'm either going to take the pain to break out of the hold or I'm going to fall on the ground and whimper like a small child.  There really isn't any way that the phrase will get you what you want.  Having them by the short hairs really isn't much better either.

Bless her heart - Southern Illinois - This is one of those phrases that gets added to the most horrible things you can say as if it will magically make it better.  "That guy is a total jerkwad who deserved to have his face eaten off by small rodents in his sleep, bless his heart" or "That bitch slept with my boyfriend, I hope she gets the herp, bless her heart." Kind of ironic in that I have never heard someone say "he had a heart related problem, I hope it gets better, bless his heart".  They will bless the worst about humanity, but never if it has something specifically to do with the heart muscle itself.  People who use this phrase should probably catch immediate fire, have a plane land on their families, and grow intense facial hair from their eyelids.  Bless their heart.

Cold as a witches teat - Montana - At exactly which point in history or anything else did this one come into being?  Do witches have cold chests? Are they really, really cold? Did they used to think that anyone who had cold breasts and hard glass cutting nipples was automatically a witch?  They would probably think that Dolly Parton would be the super grand master of all witches if you caught her in a snow storm then.  But what I want to know is this - If witches teats are that cold, when can I get forced air circulating teat air.  I mean, I can find air conditioning, but i'm always too warm when Erica is too cold.  If I had a shirt made of witch teat I could stay cool all the time.  Witch teat bottled water, self cooling teat beer.  Lets face it, this could be the best thing since, well, ever.

For the love of Pete - Anyone with Scandinavian history - I think Pete must have been a stalker or maybe the best lover ever.  I mean, for both men and women to be going along and just drop this statement every once in a while, Pete must have been the best one ever.  "I can't find my car keys, for the love of Pete!" What exactly did you think that Pete's love did to the keys?  Did he put them in naughty places? Did he touch them inappropriately? Did  he love them so much he took them and put them in his home in his collection of stalkery goodness?  I mean, for the love of Pete, that's just gross...

Common Sense - Everywhere.  Ok, this one is simple.  I hear people say this all the time.  "You shouldn't drive on the wrong side of the road, that's just common sense." But lets think about this.  What is common sense? The things that everyone does and calls it normal? How about going online and listening to a song you don't own? Yeah, it's 'common sense' to know what your getting, still illegal.  It's 'common sense' that you are supposed to pay attention while driving, and yet, how many are changing CD's, adjusting their GPS, eating, on the phone.  We all know it's not good to date someone from work, that it's common sense, but 30% of the population still finds their spouses that way.  It's common sense to not abuse the people you love, but go look at the statistics on that one.  Don't follow common sense.  Try just doing the right thing... like not using any of the phrases listed above in your English.

Beached in the Homewood...

You may think, "OH! I love my spouse. As long as we are together, nothing else matters." You may even think, "TV? I don't need TV when I have the love of my life with me." While those are perfectly adorable sentiments, you would be wrong. Living for over a month in a hotel room with 15 channels (4 of which are ESPN) is not at all romantic or ideal. It's tragic.

Shortly after the New Year 2010, Dan and I found ourselves extended on a contract at the Cleveland Clinic. Until that time, we had lived for 3 months in a 6th floor loft downtown. However, upon extension, we were put up in a hotel room at the Homewood Suites in Beachwood, OH. Allow me to paint a picture for you...despite how painful this picture may be.

This is the hotel room we found ourselves living in...I DID make it cozy...

I am by no means entitled or snotty when it comes to living conditions. Having myself been somewhat homeless for several months when I was 24, I'm pretty solid when it comes to adapting to my environment. However, truth be told, the Homewood Suites WERE NOT our idea of ideal. While I was able to make the room cozy, that's about where it ended. We did, indeed, have a kitchen. One that was broken. The cabinets would fall apart if you should try to open them. Maybe it's just me, but I like my cabinet doors to stay intact when using them. The one burner on the stove simply didn't work. The really thrilling part of it all was that ANYTHING we decided to cook would set off the fire alarms. This includes boiling water. The heater either did not work, or it worked too well...and we'd have to crack the window open in the middle of snowstorms. What I found interesting is that when we'd call maintenance, we'd get BLAMED for the issues or flat out told that they didn't exist and we were lying. 

Dan works 3 nights a week...and sleeps during the day. That's all well and good until you realize that the bed then needed sectioned off. He'd sleep on one side, and I'd lounge on the other watching the 15 channels this particular hotel boasted. Four of them were ESPN. If not for it being the Winter Olympics, we might have gone even crazier than we were. There was a chair with several stains and a few holes over in the corner, and the choice must be made to have either used the chair or to be able to open the closet. There was less than 2ft. on either side of the bed, so it really isn't as spacious as the photo may indicate.

Housekeeping was a non-option. No change of towels. No change of sheets. No vacuuming. We had to take out our own trash. Should we have wanted what I consider even a semblance of basic human cleanliness, I could have obtained it to the tune of $35 even for a towel or sheet change. So...Dan and I just cleaned ourselves. In terms of the bathroom, that too was a treat. The shower didn't SHOWER a bit. It sort of spurt and dribbled. To top it all off, the place was pretty dirty...and Dan and I both caught some itchy foot situation and let's face it...that is just gross. (I've NEVER so much as even had my feet smell...much less ITCH)

In the end, Dan and I found ourselves laying in bed, traces of shampoo in our hair, fire alarms going off, the heat going in and out, feet itchy, and watching Olympic Shuffleboard for a month. So, travel advice for you: Should you find yourself in Beachwood, OH, stay at the Homewood Suites. I assure you...you'll LOVE it. We did...

Code White

My first travel contract was in Waterloo, IA.  I didn't know what to expect, but I didn't mind it.  The only thing that went through my mind was that it was in tornado alley and I would occasionally go outside and watch the coming storms.  I used to love watching the thunderstorms roll in, see the sky turn dark and feel that crackle in the air; it was glorious.  In some ways, it's why I looked forward to going to southern Illinois.

While I was in Iowa, I would watch the weather channel fairly often.  Now, I'm not insane, so I can reasonably say that I took everything that was said with about 4 cups of salt, but if they had some storm warning up, I would at least go outside and verify it.  When I was at work, however, there were no windows, no way to look outside which sucked.  I would occasionally hear a thump from a close blast of thunder through the wall, but if you like thunderstorms, it's like a dry hump compared to an Asian brothel; yeah, it's nice, but it's not the same.

I was working in the sleep lab alone one night and I had gotten there early so that I could get everything set up in advance.  After about an hour, there was still no sign of any patients and I was like "kick ass!".  One of the steps that I had to do, though, was call downstairs and verify that there was no one down there waiting, give it another hour or so, call the patients, then go home.  So, I went into the control room and called down to registration to see if any or both of my patients had failed to show up.

"I can't send your patients up right now" was the response from the operator.  I was kind of shocked and responded with "do I need to come down and bring them up with a wheelchair or something?"  Now, this thought was kind of a sucky one.  I don't mind helping people with disabilities, but it does make the night longer.

"Oh, no.  They will be able to come up in a few minutes."

You could have heard my mental crickets chirping over the phone.

"You must not have heard.  There is a code white for the hospital, when it's over, they will be upstairs".

I told her okay and hung up.

WTF is a code white?  25 Dr's running through the hospital naked except for their lab coats? A terribly horrific flu like bug that spreads instantaneously?

I went and pulled open the lab policy and procedure book and looked up code white.  (side note, they never tell you what a code brown is.  You don't want to know).  Code White - tornado visible from hospital, do not under any circumstances go above the 1st floor.

I don't know what was worse.  Sitting in the sleep lab wanting to see the tornado that apparently was within visible range wishing I could see it, or knowing that I was sitting near the windows on the 4th floor that could soon suck me outside.  Instead, neither happened, but I still remember the day I completely and epically failed to either see a tornado or fly in one.

Bring the Assault Rifle...Leave the Pepsi...

Currently living in South Dakota, the inevitable question gets asked every 3rd day. "Have you been to Rushmore?!" It is always asked with a surprising amount of flair and excitement, and when I would answer, "No, we've not gone to Rushmore ever. We've driven PAST it a few times", we were met with a bevy of questions as to why we wouldn't go see this fantastic wonder of America. Le Sigh. So, Dan and I decided that in the interest of no longer needing to explain we felt no pull towards going to Rushmore we would stop off there on our way to vacation in Montana.

Here we are...we DID go!!!

                                                                

Driving up the winding road leading to this apparent wonder, we were met with billboard after billboard proclaiming the next brilliant tourist trap on the way. Finally we got to our intended destination and realized that you could not even VIEW Rushmore unless you paid $10 to park your car and enter "their way." So, we paid and parked. We had been given a flyer about Rushmore and the rules and regulations of the park. This is where it got intriguing. 

Among the list of things that were strictly banned from the monument are: Smoking, beverages of any sort, animals, and food. What WAS allowable, however, were firearms. This was very clearly stated and laid out for you in bold writing lest you forget to leave the soda in the car while grabbing the assault rifle from the back seat. The fact that we had received such a brochure at all was amusing to us. The fact that they ENFORCE this is even better. Oh...there was a LOAD of people bearing weaponry. Men with rifles slung over their shoulders, those who had chosen to strap a pistol in their waistbands, and I myself was even carrying my typical SWAT knife. However, the couple with their little dog carrying a Coke? NO! 2 armed security officers approached them and instructed them to return to the car and leave the contraband there. 

Now maybe it's just me (although I suspect not), but it strikes me as an odd set of rules to have instated. I am all for the right to bear arms. I just don't know why I can't do so while sipping on a refreshing beverage. Then again, maybe we as a country have not been informed of the terrible tragedies that can arise when one is allowed to run free with a bag of chips and some Pepsi. Who am I to judge?!

So we did, in fact, view Rushmore and take the obligatory photos. I, however, feel I missed a little bit of the experience. Should I return, I'll be sure to leave the cigarettes and bottled water at home...but make sure that M16 has ample ammo. 

Happy Easter!

One of those normal days in Cleveland, I did what I normally did which was wake up in the afternoon and stumble my way to the nearest form of caffeine.  Where we were staying in Cleveland, the fastest form of coffee was the Starbucks directly across the street.  It was one of those shops where it was in the lower level of an incredibly tall building, I want to say that it was about 50 stories or so.  I had been in Starbucks there more than a few times, but while I was standing there waiting for my quad shot IV drip to be made, I noticed that people kept coming in from the other side of the store.  Now, as I said, the coffee shop was in a huge building, so usually those are full of some corporation hell bent on living the corporate life style; cubicles, phone lines everywhere, customer service people - the normal hell.  I decided to wander towards the back and I didn't exactly see what I thought I'd see.  What I saw instead was what appeared, at first glance, to be a jungle. Now, I knew I didn't have my coffee in my system and before I could go explore, they called me over for my drink, but I saw someone else walk through the door and now I NEEDED to know what was going on in there.

What E and I saw every night looked like every other downtown.  Nothing fancy and in fact, quite a few times, we would grumble about how there wasn't anything truly interesting downtown to look at.

Example 1 - boring

Well, as I staggered back across the street to the apartment building, I had begun drinking my espresso and I was getting more intrigued by the moment.  I went upstairs and told E that she needed to get dressed because I needed to go check this out and 'No' wasn't the appropriate answer. We finished our coffee and made our way across the street, back into Starbucks, and I led her to the back and opened the door.  Inside, there were waterfalls, plants everywhere, fountains, small tables to lounge at... heaven in a concrete box.  It was amazing to find.  We decided that we would call it an Easter Egg building since you have no idea what is in the center.

Swearing up and down that this was the most unique building I had ever been in, we decided to start taking pictures.  This lasted about 10 minutes before a security guard came over and asked if we had permission from the building owner.  We told him honestly that we had no idea who to ask as we had never been in there before and the guard let us know the owner wasn't there.  We snapped off 2 more pictures and made a break for it.  What I thought was unique, however, turned out to be almost anything but.

Cleveland is full of Easter Egg buildings down town.  You look at the outside facade and all you see is windows and cement, but go into the main lobby and you think that you went into some twilight zone of goodness.  We would wander around and just pop into buildings to see what was on the inside of this one or that one.  Now, at this point, I could say that this is how a lot of people are - judge a book by it's cover and all that, but, I for one, am not a humanitarian by nature.  I am more likely to run someone over like a squirrel than sit there and wax philosophically about someone's spirit or soul or purity.  So if you read that into my statements, I hope you wander in front of me in traffic.  I was talking about a building.

Anyways.  If you ever find yourself in Cleveland, go check it out.  It's highly entertaining to park your car, wander into a building and look for the fountain of youth.  Bring your camera, the security guards love chasing people, I swear.

Freaky Feet On The Freeway

I don't know about the rest of society, but I have this thought that speed limit signs on the side of the road are basically 'guidelines' for what the speed minimum should be. I mean, if the sign says 70, that's the governments way of saying "we're short on money, so we'll charge you a special tax if we catch you going faster". If I see someone doing the actual speed limit or under it, I think of them as someone to pity. They are the ones who think the drive is the adventure instead of the cool things you see when you get to your destination. I play a math game and always do about 10% faster than what the sign says. Yes, I drive too much when math games become normal.

Near Billings, MT, I was driving east on I-90 doing my customary 10+ over the speed limit when I see what looks like a caravan of stupid people driving well under the speed limit. They were going just slow enough that I thought there might be something interesting to look at - you know, roadkill hit so hard that it landed in a nearby tree, car fire with people running around on fire, you know, all the things that we say that are horrible but when we are driving, become the thing we look for to break up all the monotony. (Oh, sure, some of you are saying that you never would think that was something good to look at, but then tell me why NASCAR is the number 1 sport (its not a sport people) and its not because you wanted to see how well they can take a left turn, its for the horrible accidents.)

Anyway, These cars are doing half what I am so I get into the left hand lane and drop my speed back to something that would be considered 'reasonable' which means I was still going faster than them. I get up close and I don't see anything going wrong and just keep on driving, still looking for this horrible accident or whatever. As I continue not to see anything interesting, I decide I should just merge back into the right lane and punch it back up to normal cruising speed of mach 2. When I looked out the right window, I finally found out what people were going slow for.

This...

There is this monstrous ostrich running as fast as it's little freaky feet can carry it down the middle of the freeway staying perfectly in the right lane where I couldn't see it until I was passing it.

I'm no saint. Yes I have inhaled. Yes I drank the Kool-Aid, but that was a long time ago. This was not a hallucination, but I still had that total surreal feel as I look out the window and see this 6 foot tall bird hauling ass. Just after I passed it, it ducked behind my car, ran into the median and all I could think of is "wow, that's going to be an interesting story if someone hits it and has to call that one into the insurance".

For about the next 100 miles, I kept having the feeling it was going to happen again, but it didn't. I haven't seen it since. I think that's a good thing because I may need therapy if I look out the window and see Big Bird making good time on the freeway.

Unlocking Trust

When you go to the store, to restaurants, even to your own house...what is the first thing you typically do? If you are like me, you turn off your car, take your keys, lock the door, and carry on with your business. Even if you don't lock the door, I'm willing to bet you turn off your car. This is something I've simply never really given much thought to. It's simply what you do. I can't even really blame it on being cynical from having lived in New York City. No. It's simply what you do. Or so I thought.

Snow has come to South Dakota. It began with the brutally cold winds. Temperatures of 6 degrees. A freezing mist descending upon our fair town...causing traffic troubles and even walking issues. I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but freezing mist causes a thin layer of ice that one can not SEE, but trust me...it's there. I diverge. Then the snow came. It continues to fall. This morning, Dan and I decided to go out for coffee and then to a few stores for some things we needed, as well as a Christmas tree and decorations. So, as usual, we pulled into our parking spot...turned off the car...and got out and locked the doors. It was then we realized it. Yet another phenomenon of human behavior I was previously unaware of. EVERY CAR around us was running. The keys were in the ignitions. The cars were unlocked. The drivers were, presumably, shopping. Now I found this intriguing for even a TYPICAL car, but then we noticed the Miller Lite beer van. Running. Unlocked. Full of beer.

Maybe it's just ME, but in the middle of a town KNOWN for practically handing out alcohol and weaponry, an unlocked beer truck just seemed somewhat brazen. The minivan with the soccer mom wearing a track suit was running and unlocked. The Dodge Ram Diesel with custom pipes was unlocked and running as well. I could go on, but you see where I'm headed with this. It appears that the rational is that it's 4 degrees outside and snowing. Why NOT just keep your car warm...wipers on to keep the snow clear...perfectly ready and waiting for you after you've done your shopping?! I myself can think of more than a few reasons, and, no matter how much people seem to feel this is a viable option, the Dodge Charger is going to be turned off and locked.

I give props to those who have unlocked their trust issues...but at the end of the day (or shopping trip), I'd just as soon prefer my car to be there waiting for me. Cold---covered in snow---and all.

Shacking Up At The Casino

The first place I encountered the "shack casino" phenomenon, we were driving across country to Montana...and stopped at a gas station/casino/arms/liquor store in South Dakota. It intrigued me that although this particular way-station did not even have any basic fast food or shopping joints, it DID however have a 1-Stop Vice Shack. Fill up your tank, gamble away your money, load up on some discount alcohol, and make sure you are amply armed...and have a nice trip! As I wandered into the gas station in search of a snack and drink of sorts, I was hit with a cloud of stale cigarette smoke...looked to my right...and saw 3 crusty old men bent over video slots with lights hanging out of the corner of their mouth and a drink in hand. All acknowledged me with a slight nod and grunt before turning their glazed eyes back to the screen. I carried on...but I began realizing this was really a popular sort of thing to have in some of these states. South Dakota really seems to have taken it a step further.

Casinos to ME had always been fairly elaborate. Vegas, Laughlin, Niagara Falls, Mohegan Sun, Foxwoods...all the glitz and glimmer...combined into hotels, concert halls, and 24-hour buffets. Not so here. Oh no. Now living in South Dakota, I realize that if you own a gas station...or a garden shed...you can own a casino! That lot on the corner for rent? Snatch it up! Toss a garden shed on it...painted in garish colors (florescent orange and green seem wildly popular)...install about 5 video slot machines...sell cigarettes and alcohol...and you have yourself a gambling center. Oh...and they are POPULAR. The cracked linoleum floors flex under the men and women hunched on their bar stool over the machines for hours...ashtrays overflowing and alcohol at the ready. The irony of the gigantic billboard installed across the street with a list of all local churches and the proclamation that "Jesus Loves You" is lost on the faithful Sunday crowd who stop at the casinos on their way to and from church. It's a matter of time before they just merge that into the mix. Guns, alcohol, gambling, and God. It's the fabric of what makes up this particular stretch of country...and in our town alone (a community of about 20,000), I've thus counted over 40 of these gas station rooms and little shacks.

I've got to admit, I've not yet gambled at one of these places...although I've more than been checking them out due to an equal mix of fascination and concern. I would be remiss NOT to head down to the local shack and throw away some of our hard earned money. You can't live in a place that offers this and NOT experience it.

Nothing like shacking up at the local vice hole...

Biker country

Driving from Cleveland to Bozeman, MT this last spring wasn't exactly the best drive ever, but we had 3 days to do it and so to us, that means it's time to explore a little.  We made the conscious choice not to sleep in South Dakota - this came as a clear choice after seeing all of the billboards in the state, but there were a few things in the region we did want to see.  Now, I'm not going to say that I'm a 'biker', but I do own a motorcycle and I enjoy the hell out of it. So if you own a bike, love to ride it, then there is only one place you think of when you are driving across country.

My bike even dreams of being taken there.

Sturgis

It is the mecca of bikers around the country. A man's man destination of where to go every summer.  Testosterone runs freely like streams in spring, 60 year old men with even older beards and leather jackets sling their testicles over their shoulders to be used as straps by the person riding bitch behind them, most likely a skinny woman with a face like dried leather.  There are constant man hugs, guns being fired, people dressed like skeletons... manly man heaven.  (Just describing this scene makes me feel like randomly flexing my muscles and grunting a little).

So, when E and I were driving, we decided that we needed to stop and see where this man laden land is laid out for future reference.  We pulled off I-90 for gas and found the swag shop; endless amounts of t-shirts and energy drinks, post cards and posters of semi-naked women, shot glasses with skeletons on it... we had found it. We were there.

Apparently, others had realized that there were marketing potentials for the most manly of men and were trying to find a way to capitalize on it.  And thus, in a long semi trailer, we found it.  That line that says you've gone one half step or even a half mile too far...

Beer Lube.

That's right.  For the man who isn't comfortable with being with you how you are, there is a way to trick him into doing the things that he normally wouldn't.  How?  Make the Va-jay-jay smell and taste like his favorite beer product. And, we'll find the creepiest place to sell it.

Now, I know you all think I'm kidding.  How can anyone think that's a winning product?  I know I didn't buy any, but, I'm not a beer drinker.  Now, if they made an energy drink lube... Maybe on the next road trip around this fun country.

FrankenPC

So, back before I first started travelling, I used to have fun playing a lot of video games, pick one and I played it.  I didn't have a ton of money, so I would save for the parts for one and then I would put them together once I had almost everything.  I figured that I needed to have one of those PCs that made everyone envious when they saw it (forgetting the fact I'm so shy that I wasn't exactly going to take it in public) and I looked for what I thought would make the coolest case and PC ever.  I got a black case with a acrylic siding that let you look directly into the motherboard and then added glowing red wiring, a fan that had red and blue rotating lights; the most freaky lightning system I could find at the time.  It was a thing of beauty (if you are a fan of Frankenstein) and I was pleased.

I few months later, I got my first travelling sleep contract to go to Waterloo, IA and I knew that I would go into a serious case of shock if I didn't have some kind of entertainment.  I had one of those 22" monitors, the big size ones that would throw out your back if you picked it up, so I knew that wasn't going, but there was no way in hell that I was going to leave my glorious PC behind.  I knew I could just buy a monitor once I got there. I had almost no luggage options at the time; 1 small suitcase and a duffel bag.  I shoved my PC into the suitcase and all the cords into the duffel bag with what little clothing I did have.  I didn't want anything to happen to the clear side of my PC case, so I made sure that I put that side up in case the baggage handlers were a little over zealous that day like usual, because nothing should happen to my art.

It was in this way that I strolled down to the airport for my flight to Iowa.  Black bag in one hand, suitcase in the other.  I dropped them off at the baggage counter and made my way to Iowa.  5 T-Shirts, undies, socks, and a PC.  I really didn't think too much about it - I had a plan for entertainment and it was a good one.

What I didn't think about was security x-raying my bag and just about shitting themselves at FrankenPC.  I wish I could have seen their faces when they opened my suitcase and saw a glowing red motherboard with wires everywhere like a gigantic freaky bomb.  The only thing missing was a timer looking back on it.  When I landed in Iowa, there were 2 security there to ask me if it was my bag.  They didn't stop me or question me, they just looked at me as if I was a complete freak of nature.  I had a 10 minute drive to the hotel I was going to be staying in and when I started to unpack everything, I found 17 inspection flyers saying how someone had gone through my suitcase.  I don't know why they kept having to put new ones in there, but I think I managed to get the entire Rochester, NY security's autographs as well as a few from Chicago.

I was looking at the tags in the suitcase when I re-evaluated how my suitcase looked once opened.  There was no monitor, just a box of glowing wires going to no where, no mouse, no keyboard, just this box for them to see. I found I had an extra cord they must have used to plug it in and test it and I will always wonder if they had one of those bomb shields put over it when they fired it up.  I also wonder if they still talk about the moron who had to bring the full size tower and cause one of their security officers to wet himself in fear for a moment.

I have since upgraded to a laptop.  A move I believe that causes much less stress for all involved while I travel.  I think I may get a bio-hazard sticker for it though.

Maturity takes a swim...

One thing I've come to realize is that neither Dan nor myself can be entirely trusted around hot tubs or pools. Sooner or later, I'm going to get throw from one end of the pool to the other. Dan will decide to cannonball into the hot tub to see how much water he can splash out and collect on the floor. We'll set up the camera and self-timer shots of our shenanigans. Then, we happened upon Rapid City, SD...

One of the good things about staying at the Country Inn & Suites is that we rack up Gold Member Points, which can then be used for free nights, instant upgrades to the best rooms, and other various perks. Recently, Dan and I decided to take a few days and go on vacation...using some of our points to stay free nights along the way. One of the Country Inn & Suites we happened to stay at was in Rapid City, SD...and the fantastic rumors that it had a water slide were true. We stayed there both on the way to and from Montana, and on the way THERE, we very quietly and maturely just wandered in and sat in the hot tub and watched all the kids running about and enjoying the slide...pretending to ourselves that we weren't both jonesing for it. But realistically, while most adults would be able to sit aside and take enough joy in watching kids enjoying themselves; Dan and I are not most adults.

On the way BACK, we knew we needed to go down that slide. Screw all the little children who would likely be shoved out of our way as we fulfilled this goal. To hell with all the adults that would look upon us with dismay as their own children had to stand aside for US. No...we were going to enjoy this. Within 15 minutes of checking in, we were in that pool room. With the camera. Excitedly we noticed that there were, in fact, NO children around. There were only 3 couples all in their 50's and 60's sitting about in the hot tubs and in the chairs in the area. So we went for it. Dan began his ascent to the top...as he was going to have a go first and test the whole experience. SPLASH! It was thrilling even to watch...and I immediately went for my first go at it. SPLASH! Wonderful! I scurried over to the hot tub to warm up, and it was then that we noticed a combination of complete disapproval and intrigue on the faces of those also in the pool room. At a time like that, there is nothing like a little peer pressure to get things going. So that's exactly what we did. Before long, the graying man who had been sitting in the hot tub with his wife...her face twisted with obvious concern at our sanity...was flying down the slide as well. His hands were in the air and he let out a "Woo-Hoo" as he flew down into the water over and over again.

This quickly morphed into what can only be described as a complete rediscovery of childhood wonders. Before long, several of us were all flying down the slide...timing it out only long enough so that we didn't hit the other person in front of us. Photos were taken...there were shouts of glee...hands tossed up...new techniques tried out for maximum speed and effect. We went along splendidly for almost 30 minutes...and then...INVADERS. A family showed up...their children all antsy to swim and play on the slide...and just like that, we went back to sitting in the hot tub and "acting our age." BAH!

I like to remember though, that no matter how repressed that lady in the corner may APPEAR, she's probably got her inner 5-year old just clawing at a chance to slide free.

Gas for Rambo

As we have traveled across the country, one thing is for certain everywhere we go; we'll have to fill the tank with gas and we're going to complain that it costs too much. When we're driving to a new contract, we're constantly on the look out for where the cheapest gas is within the next 50 miles as well as which one is going to have the best snacky cakes to munch on for the next 5 hours (oh, and they BETTER have Mt. Dew in IV form for me). Now, I had always thought that almost every gas station was created equally. I mean, you have the gas pumps outside, you go in and there is a variety of different layouts and sizes, but most will have a few isles of candy and chips, maybe an isle of medicine directly across from the candy - never understood that logic, and then there is an area of crap. By crap, I mean T-shirts, trinkets from the area, maybe some post cards (and if you know Erica, she's hoping for the post card racks) as well as fun things like 'Pheasant dropping candy' or 'buffalo chip chips' or something odd like that. These things we assume normal and natural for the all-American drive cross country.

I was unprepared for Ramboland.

Here in South Dakota and nearby areas, there must have been a law passed that stated something like "You have the right to bear arms AND have everything you need within a convenient 24 hour shopping location for your killing needs". The first thing you will find is that as you pull up to the gas pump, instead of flyers saying what kind of cripplingly highly carbonated drinks are on sale or what candy is BOGO (really? was it that hard to just put buy one - get one people?) there is instead flyers for the killing machines. FREE REMINGTON SHOTGUN - apply for your credit card inside and use your points for a new rifle. 50% off any knife in stock with the purchase of 10 gallons of gas!. Yes, these are the new announcements. When I'm taking a break from dealing with drivers who apparently graduated from the Helen Keller driving academy, I want to be stress free, not shown pictures of the weaponry I could have at my disposal while driving down the road. I do not need to be encouraged to kill other drivers.

This should be enough. It's not.

Inside the gas stations of Ramboland, there isn't the customary first display of energy drinks. No. That has been replaced by rows and rows of ammo and stuffed heads of what you can kill if you buy ammo and walk back out the front door. Now, I'm not 100% sold on the idea of taxidermy in the first place, but we can let that one go for now I think. Either you agree with putting dead things on the wall, decapitated and creepy with marble eyes, or you don't. But I like to think that we can all agree on a few other things. 1) There comes a point where at 3am, if you didn't buy enough ammo the night before, you don't need it in the middle of the night just after the bars have closed. 2). Finding a gun rack before the coffee machines in the morning is not acceptable for anyone. I am a coffee freak and if there is something blocking my ability to get to the coffee or a line in front of me to get to it, I am likely to want to grab what is close and use it to get to said coffee. Putting bullets next to me and telling me to wait? No, not so smart.

It isn't like there are SOME bullets in the store, there are walls and walls, and pallets of them waiting for you. If I was a serial killer, this would be like some kind of disneyland of fun.

Dead body in the trunk - check
rope - check
shovel - check
gas - crap, well we can stop and get some, I was out of lethal projectiles anyway. Wonder if I should replace that shotgun now or later?

See? That type of conversation shouldn't be ok in my head. And in case you think I'm exaggerating, I snapped a picture on the way to work today because I want people to understand that giving me the chance to have weaponry when headed to work isn't in anyone's best interest

The Liberation of Skully

It was perfect. Glorious. Fun. Exactly our style. What we were needing in our life. It was a skull. And it was hanging on our neighbor's fence.

When we moved to Montana, one of the 1st things we happened to note was, in fact, a skull that was hanging on our neighbor's back fence. It was displayed nicely enough...as displaying skulls goes...but CLEARLY not valued for the masterpiece it was. 2 perfect horns arced up and out, there was a few slight tufts of fur still clinging on, it had been bleached nicely by the sun, and upon closer inspection, one could still make out a tooth or 2. How could we NOT stand on our back deck and look with wonder at this brilliant find. Only here it was...just on the fence in someone's backyard...hanging over a broken grill and not even within eye-shot of any window. Its owners...a couple of college kids from the local university...had hung it there. However, the girl who lived in the house had expressed disgust over the OTHER skull (this one still had a full spinal cord attached) that was displayed proudly on the front porch of their townhouse. She didn't WANT skulls around.

Now, I'm not one for just stealing from people. That...would be wrong. But, as Dan and I reasoned, this skull had CLEARLY been forgotten and was not even really wanted. It would potentially be doing everyone a favor if we just...say...liberated it. And so, cigarette in one hand...and the other extended, Dan stretched across the patch of yard still snow covered to reach for the skull. Careful not to leave any footprints or trail OF COURSE...as that would just be obvious and rude, Dan safely liberated "Skully" from his place upon the fence...and he found his way into our townhome...brilliantly displayed in a number of locations. Had we held a dinner party of any sort, we reasoned that we could suspend "Skully" from wires and tuck red LED lights into the eye sockets...and have a bit of fun with the guests.

Life is better with a skull or 2...and as we drove back across country from Montana to Pennsylvania, I'm pretty sure the looks we got with a horned skull proudly displayed in our car made the entire liberation more than worth it.

67, 3, 45, 98, 6, Hennepin, 9...Misadventures of Minnesota

Driving about the country as we do lends itself to a certain amount of extreme creativity and a certain amount of insanity. Then you begin noticing things that you just may not typically think about.

I first became aware of the state of Minnesota's county problem driving from Pennsylvania to Montana. I was somewhat aware that the numbering system made no sense, and as we sailed along I-90 I was reading off the county signs. "County 34. County 5. County 98. Hennepin County. County 76." Naturally I was concerned for Minnesota's apparent lack of mathematical sense, but it was what it was...and I carried on. Driving BACK from Montana, we achieved a feat of sheer insanity by driving 36 hours straight. Perhaps you yourself have never spent 36 straight hours in a car. I'm going to have to say...we had fun...but it's not highly recommended. By South Dakota, at 3am, we were trying to identify and photograph roadkill. By Minnesota, I was in no frame of mind to deal with the senseless system of numbering...and as I again read off all the county numbers...ALWAYS dramatically out of order, I found myself becoming more and more agitated by it. Likely because, by this point, we had been in the car for longer than any human SHOULD be...but I still maintain that Minnesota needs to work on this issue. I'm aware there are probably some of you reading this who ARE from Minnesota. I'll admit...I have no problems with the state, it's residents, it's sports teams, or those who enjoy vacationing there. In fact, other than this sticking point, I enjoyed Minnesota. I only take issue with the counties. Perhaps it's just me...but should I have been the one settling and colonizing uncharted territory, I may have taken the time to NAME the counties...or at least put them in reasonable order.

THESE are the things that enter ones mind when they are sleep deprived, hungry, sore, and I find that once you've sunken to the level of who can name the roadkill...maybe counties SHOULDN'T be my biggest problem. But it was. And Minnesota may need to get working on that.

Something stinks here

So I was working in a sleep lab in Mt. Vernon, IL this last summer on contract.  I can't say that Mt. Vernon is a place that I would ever want to live as it was so constantly warm and humid that I felt like I was living in some sweaty guy's armpit.  During the night, after the patients were in bed and asleep, I would go to the front door and pop it open to watch and listen to the sound of the thunderstorms which were so amazing.  Many times, the storms would be way off on the distance and you would see up to 3 or 4 lightning flashes every second, but there would almost never be any thunder.  You could watch the lightning start off on the horizon and it would ripple across the sky almost as fast as you could blink.  Without the lightning flashes, with the cloud cover on the edge of the sky, it would be almost totally dark with only the one street light out on the road which was out of direct line of sight from the door.

One night I went out to the door and I was looking forward to the sound of the thunder since I knew the storm was closer than normal.  I popped open the outer door and this stupid cat starts to dart into the building.  Now, I don't know if you have ever had cats around, but they always have this massive need to run for any open door.  I have a cat and I know how this works, I have been trained and trained well.  I knew that the appropriate response to a cat invading an open door is to take my foot, put it under their stomach and just push them back out the door.  Now, I can't say that I always do this maneuverer correctly as I have a tendency to get a little air under the cat as I make sure that I give myself a little bit of time before they run for the breach again.  Cats are fast little suckers and you know that if you don't buy yourself some time with a good launch, they will know that it's a guarded door and their ninja training will help them get past you.

Now, with my foot still sticking straight out in front of me, the cat flying about a foot off the ground I was suddenly informed by a brilliant flash of lightning that the cat was of an unusual color; black with stripes of white.  That's right, boys and girls, the kitty wasn't a kitty, it was a stinky kitty - El Skunko.  My heart instantly lost 2 beats, cold sweat and I felt a little vomit rise.  I was not prepared for this change.  I instantly closed the door, pressed it shut and held it and tried to come to grips with my sudden mortality, or at least, stinkality.  About 3 very quick breaths later when I realized that the butt bomb had not gone off, I sighed and figured I was safe.  I was not.

At that moment, this golden retriever came running out of nowhere barking at the stunned skunk at which point I decided that I was no longer interested in the lightning or in wild kingdom.

Now, they say that every story has a moral or something that can be learned from it.  What I have learned is this - if you have a cat like object trying to get into a door, do not think about terms like 'animal cruelty' or 'abuse', you punt that little bastard.  Aim for the far side of the street, you make it count.  One can not take chances.  This rule may or may not apply to crawling children as they too come fully loaded on scent glands.

In the Kill Zone...

Bozeman, Montana. Mountains. Forests. Waterfalls. Rivers. DEATH. It was here that Dan and I discovered "The Kill Zone."

To the South of Bozeman is the Gallatin National Forest...which eventually ties into Yellowstone and carries down through the mountains, along a river, and it's amazing in all it's beauty. Day trips are something we try to do wherever we are living. To see the sights of the places that we go and to mesh into the current locations. Researching Gallatin, we found that just about 15 minutes from our house was a trail-head that lead to 2 waterfalls...and we were interested in going exploring one day. So off we set...cameras in hand and hopes high. Arriving at the Hyalite Canyon Road entrance, we were rather saddened to see that it was blocked off. As far as we could tell, there was simply no reason for this. The snow had long since retreated...at least to the point where all roads were clear of any snow or ice. The website had clearly stated that Hyalite Canyon was open. Everything...at first glance...looked to be in order. It was simply a mystery.

Not immediately dissuaded, we parked the car and wandered down to the river. On one side of where we parked, the river was glittering in the sun...trees lining it's banks. To the other side, a hill rose sharply up...also thickly covered in trees...sun glittering off the slight snowpack that was still left on the ground. It was perfect...no reason not to get out...take some photos...and goof off. Which is exactly what we did. Posing on top of a little rise on the banks of the river, I had no idea that surrounding us was death. A lot of it. Dan suddenly encouraged me NOT to pose in that particular location...and pulled me down. It was then that I saw the leg. Or rather, LEGS. Several of them. Then the ribcage. I was a bit taken aback...and moved off the hill to the pavement...and we began walking up the closed road. Until Dan suddenly jerked to one side and told me to watch where I was stepping. "SNAKE" I immediately thought. Panic coursed through my entire body. It was not, however, any snake whatsoever. It was another several legs...scattered about on the pavement and onto the grass next to us. It was then we saw another ribcage. A head. Some other scattered body parts.

At home, I researched what had been going on. We had identified AT LEAST 6 bodies...and limbs to many more...arched in a circle of death around the parking area at the canyon entrance. It was then it became clear. Mountain lions. They were on a killing spree...to the point that the officials had to close down the whole area. Apparently, one poor soul had been walking his dog, when, WHAM...Mountain lion...leaping out of the tree and snatching Fido up. After this had happened a few times, it was decided maybe Hyalite Canyon wasn't safe. Then we thought about it. The bodies had been fresh. No birds had chirped. No sounds really AT ALL. They had been there...watching us...that close to snacking on either Dan or myself. Perhaps off-putting to some, this excited us, so we decided we needed to go back at dusk...to hopefully catch a kill in action. So off we set...and I won't say I wasn't aware of the notion that as Dan got out of the car to wander over to the corpses scattered about that I didn't envision him suddenly becoming a bedtime snack for some rogue animal. And there we sat. And sat. And sat. Eyes peeled and cameras at the ready...certain we were about to witness an epic kill. I report, with sadness, that this did not in fact happen. But "The Kill Zone" became one of our favorite pastimes...a place to go to check out the latest killing activity...snap a few artistic shots of death...and sit in the car long after the sun had gone down.

I'd go back. But maybe this time, I'll stay in the car.

Stick Man

Last Christmastime, E and I spent Christmas in Cleveland, OH living downtown.  When I say 'downtown' I mean literally down town, in between the two sports stadiums. The entire city of Cleveland for some reason, closes down at 5pm every night of the week.  It's the most annoying thing that you can do to someone living in a big city is take away the ability to do anything other than drink after 5.  If we wanted milk, we would have to hop into the car and drive about 10 miles out into the suburbs in order to get to a store that was open.  We would constantly ask ourselves why the city didn't want to be open at night and we would occasionally just wander out of the loft we were living in and just stand on the street and watch the locals go by.

There was this guy that would wander by every night.  Coolest guy ever.  He would go about 100 blocks from the city center and grab a few branches from trees and then as he walked back to the heart of Cleveland, he would carve the branches into walking sticks and then sell them for $20 - $40 to pay for food and tea and coffee and the like.  It's a brilliant idea, an easy way to make money and for E and I, it was a great way to get her dad a present.  E's dad loves hand crafted anything, and the idea that we knew the artist was perfect - pay him in advance for a walking stick and POOF, perfect Christmas gift for a good price.

So I paid Stickman in advance to make me a nice walking stick and he carved the most amazing face of a wizard with stars and rainbows and other flowery crap into this elaborate mosaic.  He asked if he could take it home and lacquer it a few times so that it would bring out the texture in the wood.  I wasn't sold on the idea of this, but, I was willing to go the extra mile here to get that perfect gift and I had his cell phone #, so it's not like he was going to escape or anything.  I mean, hey, the guy had his name in the paper for doing this, what could go wrong?

Death.  That's what can go wrong.

So the day before we are supposed to get the ultimate gift for Christmas, Stickman goes and dies.  I'm sitting in the loft grumbling to myself because now I'm out of ideas for what to get, I'm out $25 for a homeless man that was now no longer in need of money and it's probably in his back pocket at the funeral home.  The worst part is, is that I couldn't stop thinking about how I wanted to go to the funeral and before they put him in the ground be like "Hey, see the last thing that he was working on and that you are burying him with?  I own that. Pry open his hands and fork it over."  I know it's rude, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.  I remember thinking that it was totally unfair that the Grim Reaper had intervened to keep me from giving someone a nice gift.

Death.  It can be a jerk.

Sign Language

One of the best things about traveling the country is the signs that you find that someone, somewhere, thought was the right sign for the area and the right way to phrase it.  I go out of my way to look for signs of things that amuse me.  Anyone who thinks that all signs are created equal, well, they're not.

The Rattle Snake and testicle festival is one of the signs that I know that I have seen but I have not been able to get the right snap shot of.  I did, however, find some other ones that are well worth people seeing.  Anyone who thinks that the grape candy is innocent is probably prepubescent, children that run at the speed of light, and books that maybe shouldn't be funny to everyone, but damned if it isn't funny to me....

Take your pick.  And the next time that you see a sign that looks perfectly normal, take the time to think about how some one else may view it.