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.

Where Are You Going Next?

Monday: Front Desk Staff: "Where are you going next?"

Tuesday: Front Desk Staff: "Where are you going next?"

Wednesday: Housekeeper: "Where are you going next?"

Monday: Myself: "We don't know."

Tuesday: Myself: "We don't know."

Wednesday: Myself: "We don't know."

The fact remains that we don't know. And I don't want to. This is something so foreign to everyone I know that it's both amusing and slightly appalling. This is our life. It's not something I really think about...other than realizing that after 3 months, my body even starts to ask me..."Come on...it's time to go..." And we do. Yet, almost everyday, there is at least one person who is compelled to ask where we might head next. Pull out your map of the United States. Toss a dart. You have a better idea doing that then we ever will. Contracts come and go. Locations pop in and out. In one day, Hawaii, Maine, and Colorado may all call. Then we move to Montana.

Somewhere, in Pennsylvania, we have a storage locker. Inside is everything we own. But it's not with us. There is no furniture. No rent to pay. No car insurance to bother with. No heating or electrical bills. There is, however, an entire country full of possibilities...new people...strange sights...and truck stops. There are 36-hour road trips. There is sleeping in the car...curled up on the floor. There are suitcases...and suitcases...and more suitcases. There is timing out buying shampoo and toothpaste and brushes...all last 3 months...and I never have to pack the little things. This is a pay-as-you-go life. I love it.

This is our life. And the musings of 2 wandering wolves...

A Pawn in the Game

Erica and I are currently living in South Dakota spending time in between Sioux Falls and Watertown. South Dakota isn't exactly what I had expected after having driven through so many times on I-90. If you find yourself driving through the state on I-90, you will find out very suddenly that there is apparently no limitation on how many billboards you can have for any given location. If you think you need to eat deep fried breading and you think that it may be at some restaurant sometime in the next 200 miles, you can be certain that you will start seeing billboards for it about every mile until you get within 5 miles of the exit in which case you will start to see 4 or 5 of them at a time, each will a different special that they are running. The only thing that is more important than telling you that there is apparently the best hotel or the best eatery coming up is the state's inability to stop promoting Wall Drug. If you have the option, DO NOT go got Wall drug. That's another story, however.

One of the things that we have found about South Dakota that has been more interesting than other places we have been is the amazing amount of pawn shops that we have come across. Someone looked at Starbucks in Seattle and thought to themselves, "well, self, I think if we open a 3 pawn shops on every block in the city, people will bring us their items and we can sell them and make money. lots of money". And this is still the business model that is working for them. Every street becomes a boulevard of broken dreams with little stores advertising sales and specials and how much money you might make if you bring them the items that you saved up for but can no longer afford to hold onto.

We like to think that every item in the store has been liquidated by the owners in order to keep them in the latest meth or heroin addiction. When you view it that way, the items inside the pawn shop become a magic mystery tour of broken hearts and, I have to say, it makes me giggle. The tricycle in the corner with the Fisher Price record player that's 30 years old sitting on it's seat? Yup, there is a child sitting on the sidewalk somewhere wondering where the music and the fun sunset rides on his bright red tricycle have gone while mommy is in the house in a drunken stupor. The power tools for building houses that are so well used? Daddy hasn't been to work in awhile, he's laying in a gutter after telling his wife he was going to work strung out on crack. The rascal scooter that is sitting outside of the store in all it's glory? Some handicapable grandmother is sitting on the wooden chair in her living room wondering where her tweaking kids have taken her scooter to be "repaired". Every item in the store has some great story - I know it!

Which means that when you see something totally out of the ordinary, it makes you wonder what could have happened to cause this and it allows E and I to come up with amazing stories. In one of the stores we came across a wall of guitars, but there, just in the corner, was a very clean, very loved banjo. That's right, someone who was low on money thought that the best way to raise funds was to bring down their beloved banjo because that's what they thought that they could expend. Some senior citizen is sitting out there in the autumn breeze sitting on a wooden chair with a mouth full of tabaccy, occasionally spitting into a bucket next to him while his fingers slowly play on an instrument that isn't there any more. There is no more dueling banjoes, there is only the sound of crickets, oh, and the sound of the bong being hit again.

And to make it better, if you tell anyone else from the area that pawn shops are the place to go for an entire day of fun and story making, they look at you like you just grew an extra genital out of your left eye socket; somewhere between horror and fun fascination. We told someone in the hotel that pawn shops are entertaining and the stories that we have come up with and what we heard back was "but we had to sell some stuff for gas"

While I would never settle here for life, I love that any time that I come to South Dakota that I can walk into a building and see where the latest collection of Nazi memorabilia, collector plates with pictures of wolves or kitties, a plethora of handguns and knives, and walls of items that someone had originally thought would have been a pretty damn good addition to the hoard they are working on for their home.

A beginning

A few years ago, I thought that travelling around the country for work was a dream, something that other people talked about but that no one really ever did.  I imagined that it would be a job where everything was free, that people just would be so damn grateful that they would instantly recognize that I had give up a home to help patients in a strange location and that I would make great money doing it.  Well, that's not exactly how it happened.  Out of all the above, the only thing that I have discovered is that 'strange location' was the only correct thing that I was going to find.  There are so many people that I have met, patients that I have worked, stores, items, and just random curiosities that I have actually stopped being able to process what I see and now I have just hit a point where I wanted to gather some of the stories, thoughts, and musings that have come up while I have traveled the country over the last few years, at first alone, and now with my wife.  I would love your feedback, good or bad, as I share with you the world, not as I see it, but as it has been thrown at me.