Aili MacDonald with Crab
Waimanalo Beach
Waimanalo, O'ahu, Hawai'i

Besides the typical 80 degree weather, Christmas in Hawai'i isn't so dissimilar from the mainland. We have a traditional Christmas lunch with the relatives after opening gifts in the morning. As is custom, I am always the latest to rise, and my family patiently waits for me to roll into the living room before opening gifts. The highlight of this year's presents was a new pair of cargo pants from my sister to replace my "uniform" which had accompanied across 35 states this year.

After a leisurely lunch, it's off to the beach. You have snow, we have sand. You have cold, we have warmth. You have ice, we have surf. See, not so different at all.

My Sister
The Contemporary Museum of Hawai'i
Honolulu, Hawai'i

Back home in Hawai'i for the holidays with the family, and my sister insisted that we go up to the Contemporary Museum to look at some prints for our mom, but more importantly to try to take a picture for her belated holiday cards. This particular installation is composed of a ton of branches from some native plants (i.e. guava), and although I don't if she'll select this particular photo, it's my favorite.

The Last Supper
Pizza Hut
Washington, PA

I left New York on August 4. I've traveled nearly 18,000 miles. I've seen 35 states. I've gotten one speeding ticket.

My windshield needs to be replaced. I need new glasses. I have to go get my teeth cleaned at the dentist.

I've eaten more fast food and beef jerky than I care to admit.

My lower back is a mess.

I've listened to the John Mayer CD more times than most teen-aged girls, and many more times than a heterosexual male should.

I basically wore the same clothes the whole time (t-shirt and cargo pants).

I took my photo at Pizza Hut with the camera that's attached to my laptop.

Now it's time to rest until the weather warms up again.

And then the last 13 states will be mine...

Hope Train Station
Birthplace of Bill Clinton
Hope, AR

A modest house sits next to the train tracks in Hope, Arkansas where Billy Blythe grew up. Billy's father, William Blythe II was killed when he was thrown from a car into a ditch while Billy's mom was seven months pregnant. Billy's mother subsequently married Roger Clinton, and young Billy Blythe eventually took his step-father's name and became William Jefferson Clinton III.

Without a husband, Virginia Blythe and Bill were forced to live with Virginia's parents, Eldrige and Edith. Virginia went off to nursing school in Shreveport, LA, so Bill was raised in the early years by his grandparents. Clinton's grandfather ran a small store in the racially segregated town, and was one of the first to offer credit to the black population. Seeing his grandfather interacting with the blacks during a time when segragation and racism were alive and well in the South allegedly gave Clinton an true affinity for the black community.

The home is now joined by a visitor's center that is filled with memorabilia from the Clinton years, and the town is also adorned with likenesses of Clinton, although "likeness" is a generous term given the disimilarity to the former President. And despite all the indiscretions of the former President, the people of Hope seem to be proud of their little piece of history.

My Broken Windshield
Caruthersville, MO

The average piece of windshield is composed of two pieces of glasses that sandwich a piece of polyvinyl butyral, giving the glass over 1000psi of tensile strength. So really, breaking a windshield takes a tremendous amount of force. But a semi kicking up a small rock flying at a vehicle traveling 80mph (er, 65 mph) could very well do the trick, and in the past week, I've somehow managed to crack my windshield twice.

The first was a small crack in the lower left that managed to grow about 1/2" per day until I got to the auto-glass shop in Oklahoma City. The technician told me tht the crack was much too large to repair and the windshield would have to be replaced. But, he noted, the strength of the windshield was not compromised because the laminate was still in position.

Then today, a rock flew at my car creating a loud pop sound, and suddenly a nickel-sized crack appeared in the middle right. Ah, the perils of traveling on the highway. Fortunately, I have a comprehensive, zero-deductible policy for such an occasion.

Incidentally, I-55N from Little Rock to the MO border is the fastest stretch of highway I've traveled on, with vehicles easily averaging 90mph with no cops in sight.

Donkeys for Sale
Rosedale St.
Hostton, LA

There isn't much going on in upstate Lousiana besides gambling. Shreveport, like many states, circumvents the law restricting land-based casinos by permanently attaching a ferry boat to the Harrah's hotel downtown. This makes for a three-story, extremely long and narrow casino. But even on a Monday night, patrons could be seen in a filled casino losing money at every turn (I couldn't possibly be talking about myself, now could I?).

You can tell the authenticity of a southern BBQ joint by the number of trucks in the parking lot. The number of camoflage hats is also a dead giveaway. I was probably a bit out of place at Padnuh's BBQ with my bright orange Patagonia raincoat, but no one minded, as everyone was engrossed in their BBQ. I did a repeat of Houston by ordering brisquet and sausage, and sadly, the Shreveport-version wasn't as good, but it was still smokey as hell. I will pretend for a moment that the pain in my heart hasn't been caused by the massive quantities of red meat I've consumed on this trip.

I headed off towards Arkansas, and had the opportunity to drive the two-lane "highway" through upstate Louisiana in search of a postcard for my sister. And it soon became apparent that there isn't much noteworthy in these parts, just a lot of empty towns with derelict one-story structures, and lots of people selling junk on the roadside. But should you ever need to buy a donkey or some worms, you'd best do yourself a favor and head down Rosedale St. in Hostton. I can only surmise that the worms were for sale based on inference. But then again...

Road Kill
Radio Station Rd & LA84
Mansfield, LA

Like the ubiquity of the Golden Arches around the roadsides of the US, you can't escape the foul sight of road kill. Dogs, cats, deer, elk, rabbits, wolves, they are all represented as flattened, two-dimensional representations of their former selves. And I can't help but wonder about the circumstances of the hit and runs that I've encountered. I can understand hitting a stray cat on the side of the road, but when you see a dog splayed out on the freeway, I speculate about the idiot who allowed their dog to jump out of their car, or maybe the back of their truck. Dogs might be man's best friend, but we certainly aren't their best friends.

Running into roadside stands selling fruit, vegetables or flowers is fairly common from Maine to California. So I wasn't so surprised to see the familiar white tent that so many vendors use while driving through Cleveland, TX. But I was puzzled as I rounded the corner and saw "WORDS" in bright red. A few seconds later, the signed revealed itself, and I was still utterly confused because it read "SWORDS." Why anyone would need to pick up a sword on the side of the road is beyond me. I should have stopped to ask.

Gulf of Mexico
Galveston, TX

The beauty of traveling to new places is crushing old preconceptions. I had a notion that Texas was a very homogeneous place with little culture and a lot of bullshit Texas-size pride. And sure, Texans have a lot of pride in their state and their history, but Houston is an interesting place. Very large asian and middle eastern populations co-exist with the caucasian and hispanic populations, so much so that I saw signs in multiple languages beyond just English and Spanish. Then there is the culture. Houston boasts a very vibrant museum scene, and Menil Collection is one of the larger museums, and one that I had never even heard of before.

Heiress to the Schlumberger oil fortune, Dominique and her husband John, collected one of the largest private art collections in the world (valued at between $75 and $150 million), and in 1987, the Menil Collection opened with over 15,000 pieces of primarily 20th century works in a building designed by Renzo Piano. Beyond the main exhibition building, there is also a non-denominational chapel designed by Mark Rothko with architect Philip Johnson, and a Byzantine Chapel with frescos on permanent loan from Cyprus, from where they originated in the 13th century. The collection and the setting are staggering, and definitely worth the visit.

It so happens that when I was in Dallas, I emailed my friend, Dr. Amit Sarma, who I thought had a fellowship in Austin. But in fact, he was a fellow in oncology in Houston, and he informed me that my other friends, Jeremy and Gretchen Zucker were visiting him that weekend. So I bypassed Austin and made my way to Houston, and was treated to some homecooking, and Amit's crazy home theater system. We also went to Goode Co. BBQ the following day for lunch. The Texas BBQ is so different from the stuff I had in the Carolinas...all ketchup-based, and the real flavor comes from the smoking. Delicious.

Since I had already dipped my toes in the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans on this trip, I figured the Gulf of Mexico was the last large body of water to hit. So I took the 70 mile trip southeast to Galveston, walked out onto a stone jetty, and dipped my hand in the water. It was cold and salty for those that were wondering. But it felt good to have done it anyway.

Sunset
Alfred P. Murrah Building Memorial
Oklahoma City, OK

Until September 11, 2001, the Oklahoma City bombing had been the worst terrorist act in our nation's history. Today on the same plot of land, stands a dramatic, but serene memorial to the men, women and children that lost their lives on April 19, 1995 at 9:01 am. When I was a child, I couldn't understand how something like a piece of music or a sunset could make a person cry. I couldn't understand how people could be "overcome with emotion." But life experiences change all of that. Experiences contextualize the events that happen to us every day. And as I approached the memorial, I started to feel my chest tighten and my eyes watering. I had witnessed the worst terrorist act in US history, and this one was no less tragic.

I remember driving across country from New Haven to LA in May of 1995 when I passed through Oklahoma City via I-40. I argued with myself over whether to stop to see the site, still uncleared...I looked at my watch, and I passed through without stopping. I regret that decision even today.

A shallow pool filled with water sits between two towering walls, and on a still day like today, acts as a mirror for those who come by to visit.



168 empty chairs sit adjacent to a reflecting pool, representing the lives lost. Smaller chairs for the children.



As I walked away with a heavy heart, I noticed a crowd gathering at the museum next door. I wandered over to find that I was only minutes away from witnessing a rare copy of the Declaration of Indepence being delivered as part of the traveling US Post Office exhibit. As a local high school band played the Stars and Stripes, two postal employees carried the hard-shell case housing the document to a celebratory crowd. Such a strange day it has been from witnessing Dodge City to the Oklahoma City Bombing site to watching the Declaration pass in front of my eyes.





A strange, and wonderful day to realize our storied history.

Roadside Table
Buffalo, OK

A curious feature of the US highway system is the prevalence of roadside tables. A blue sign marks the one mile mark before these small, often covered picnic benches appear just feet away from speeding traffic. In 1919, a young highway engineer named Herb Larson, who had campaigned to save old trees along the budding highway system, was frustrated by the lack of areas to picnic and cook while enjoying nature. His contribution was the creation of roadside tables. I haven't actually seen anyone using the roadside tables yet, but maybe that's because it's about 40° outside.

As I passed highway workers in Kansas and Oklahoma, I noticed that all of them waved at me. And in fact, I think one of them was upset that I didn't wave back. I thought to myself how terrible New Yorkers are, with our reluctance to even say hello to a neighbor. A little further into Oklahoma in Fort Supply, however, I saw a sign that indicated that the highway workers were from the corrections facility. A sign a few miles from the jail read "Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates."

So maybe they weren't just saying hello after all...


The back of the truck reads "Haulin' Liquid Chicken" and then in smaller type "INEDIBLE." I'm not sure what it is, but my BK chicken sandwich with light mayo tasted really good today.

Boot Hill
Boot Hill Museum
Dodge City, KS

For the second year in a row, Dodge City won't be on my Top Ten Most Fragrant Cities in the US list. Along with Harley, TX, Dodge City smells like a big, nasty cow. But it wasn't always that way...

As the white settlers moved west and started the trade industry, they took advantage of the Santa Fe Trail that had been established by the Native Americans. Not pleased that their land was being invaded, the Native Americans started attacking the convoys that came through their territory. The US set up Fort Dodge as a westward outpost in 1865, but while the trade lines boomed, the traders were still succumbing to the superior fighting skills of the Native Americans.

In response, the US Goverment decided to call on men to slaughter the buffalo herds on which the Native Americans relied on for food, clothing and tools. The slaughter of millions of Buffalo led not only to the decline of the Native American stronghold on the area, but also the near extinction of the buffalo.

In 1872, Dodge City was born to manage the rapidly growing cattle industry, and along with the creation of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe railroad lines that ran on Front Street, Dodge became one of the largest western outposts. With the large population of cowboys and their associated behavior, crime became a problem within the town leading to its notorious reputation. Men were shot and killed and often buried on Boot Hill, so named because men were buried with their boots still on. But lawmen like Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp became legend for their tough crime fighting ways, which led to the popular phrase, "Get the hell outta Dodge."

Earp and company were so successful that they ran themselves out of a job, and Earp eventually left Dodge. In 1885, a cattle quarantine law destroyed the cattle industry, and Dodge City turned to the more peaceful business of farming. These days, however, cattle has come back along with farming, and dairy farms and slaughter houses are abound. The acrid scent of cow permeats the air in many parts of the town, and gives visitors a new reason to "get the hell outta Dodge."

The Drive-In
Sonic
Guyman, OK

Next to apple pie and freakish entertainers like Michael Jackson, what could be more American than the drive-in? Although the drive-in conjures up images from the 50s with rollerskate girls serving up shakes, the drive-in experience is still alive in chain-restaurant form care of Sonic - America's Drive-In.

Of course, you need a lot of cheap land to set up a place where cars can pull up in droves (cars, droves, get it?), but space isn't really an issue in the midwest. Push the button to order, and a few minutes later, a happy Sonic employee brings out your food. If it's warm enough, they'll even give you a tray that hangs off the ordering contraption. Since it was freezing today, I was given a bag with my toasted bacon cheeseburger, and cold fries. But you can't beat their fountain soda with crushed ice. I love crushed ice, and it shows.

Buckaroo Motel
Tucumcari, NM

The two lane highways that run across the US are littered with small towns that are only a few blocks in length, and whichc seemingly exist for the benefit of the few truckers that pass through. Tucumcari is a New Mexico border town that leads into Oklahoma, and like the other towns that dot the blue highways off I-40, it's littered with derelict motels. But a few survive.

I passed the Buckaroo Motel, and then pulled an illegal u-turn to take a picture. An "Open" sign hung on the door of the flourescent-lit lobby, but no one was inside. Who are the people that stay in places like the Buckaroo?

A little further down the road, I pulled over for gas and some washer fluid. As I went up to the registered, I encountered my first beef jerky dispenser. This wasn't a jar filled with Slim Jims. Oh no, this was a plexiglass cabinet, sectioned off for the different flavors of jerky that were available in what I can only describe as sheets. A pair of tongs rested on the handle. As I pulled up after taking the photograph, a man gave me the most puzzled look -- a "why is that boy taking a picture of jerky" look. You know the one.

The man in line in front of me was buying "Big Truck Trader," and was going on about how he had sold "the only 4-wheel drive station wagon in Amsterdam" that day. Then it was reminiscing about how he used to have a foreign sports car with the driver's side on the right, and how he'd have fun with the cops when they would pull him over in the rain and have to squeeze next to the guard rail to talk to him. Big Truck Trader...

I have, for the most part, not sampled the cuisine that the country has to offer. This is mostly because the majority of the country has no cuisine to offer besides McDonald's and the occasional Applebee's, which we New Yorkers don't quite consider fine dining. But Santa Fe was different -- a place of culture, and natural beauty, so I felt compelled to treat myself to something other than a #6 Super Size.

The Old House at the El Dorado Hotel is the only 4-star restaurant in New Mexico. I'm not sure who's handing out stars and what they mean, but we're programmed to think 4-stars is pretty darned good. And you know what? 4-stars is pretty darned good. While the salad left a little to be desired, the crab cakes and the sirloin were incredible. I tried in vain to peruse the dessert menu, but my stomach was about to burst. Just another bite, sir.

And then, of course, in the morning it was off to the spa. Damn those who will mock my metrosexuality, I think spas are cool, and 10,000 Waves was definitely cool. With a Japanese aethestic, the spa featured massages and baths, and accolades galore. There is something very cool about going into a therapeutic bath set in the outdoors. Ah, nature.

Getting Kicks
Route 66
Gallup, NM

If you ever plan to motor west,
Travel my way, take the highway, that's the best.
Get your kicks
On Route 66

It winds from Chicago to LA
More than 2,000 miles all the way
Get your kicks
On Route 66

You go through St. Louis, and Joplin, Missouri
Oklahoma City will be mighty pretty
You'll see Amarillo, Gallup, New Mexico
Flagstaff, Arizona, don't forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino

If you get hip to this timely tip,
When you take that Ca-li-for-nia trip
Get your kicks
On Route 66


Everyone's heard of the Continental Divide, but who actually knows what the hell it is? As it turns out, I passed the Continental Divide driving on old Historic Route 66, so I stopped to ponder and medidate the question...

The Continental Divide
Elevation 7245 ft

Rainfall divides at this point. To the west it drains into the Pacific Ocean, to the east, into the Atlantic Ocean.

Now you know.

Eduardo Rubio
Meteor Crater
Meteorite Crater, AZ

50,000 years ago, a 150 foot meteor slammed into the desert in Northern Arizona. Travelling at 40,000 mph, the mostly iron rock vaporized on contact and left an impact crater 3 miles in circumference and 700 feet deep. In the late 19th century, the crater was misidentified as a volcanic caldera, but in 1902, a mining engineer named Daniel Berringer became convinced that it was actually the result of an impact. He reasoned that there would be an abundant amount of iron buried in the crater (which was very valuable during those days), so he received three mining permits from the US Government. Berringer built a small home at the rim of the crater in 1910, which eventually burned down during the mid 1940s, but the remnants of the house still exist including an old stove.

Despite many drilling expeditions around the crater, no significant veins of iron were ever found, but because Berringer had mined the area for 27 years, he became the owner of the land under antiquated mining laws. Although he died virtually penniless, his family inherited the land , which was eventually leased to a private corporation called Meteor Crater Enterprises, which runs the museum and tours today. The crater has been featured in such movies as Starman and the Sean Connery disaster, Meteor.

In 1964, two American Airlines pilots took a cesna aircraft and flew it into and around the crater only to find that the winds had picked up significantly. Unable to pilot out of the winds, they crashed into the wall of the crater, survived, and much to the chagrin of tourist everywhere, returned to work for the airlines. The wing of the plane still sits on the wall of the crater, gleaming in the sunlight.

Eduardo Rubio is the head guide at Meteor Crater, having taken the job 7 years ago after many years as a Spanish translator for a California HMO. He always vowed that when he was able to go into semi-retirement that he would find a low-key job that would allow him to interact with people and enjoy nature. And that is how he spends his time now.

Josh Singer
Thanksgiving Dinner
Los Angeles, CA

Despite my pleas to go out, Josh insisted that we cook a Thanksgiving feast at Deborah's house. Deborah protested too, but in the end, we found ourselves assembled in her kitchen with several hundred dollars worth of food and cooking implements, and a skull-full of headaches. Having spent 110 hours at the French Culinary Institute in New York, I figured that I was at least partially qualified to make dessert, but Josh insisted on using his mother's recipe for Pumpkin Pie. So instead, I picked up my camera, snapped several shots, and spent the bulk of the afternoon watching football.

The meal was delicious. Note to self: go out next year.

The day after Thanksgiving was comprised of our not-so-annual Movie Marathon which began many years ago on Christmas Day. Back when I was working like a dog, I wasn't able to get home to Hawaii for Christmas, so instead, I spent the day with a couple Jewish friends (Josh and Cathy) running from theater to theater trying to see a minimum of four movies in a day. Starting off at the Mann Chinese Theaters 6, this year was no different (although we sorely missed Cathy who is now located in San Francisco), and we managed to see Bad Santa, Shattered Glass, The Station Agent, and 21 Grams. I liked the first three movies, but 21 Grams managed to give me a headache from the handheld camera shots. I also found the non-linear storytelling and processed colors too reminiscent of Traffic, which also starred Benicio Del Toro. And that ends my movie review.

Heading east soon....

Me
Sunset on CA 1
San Simeon, CA

Everyone who's driven it, has raved about CA 1, aka The Pacific Coast Highway (PCH). This mostly 2-lane highway winds its way from above the Bay Area down past Los Angeles along some of the most scenic coastal routes the US has to offer. Having driven from LA to SF on the less-than-scenic I-5, I decided to try CA 1 on the advice of a number of friends on the way back to LA.

Much of the road reminds me of portions of O'ahu, and I was really enjoying the ride, until the curves started to come fast and furious. I have a little issue with motion sickness ever since I was eight and I rode the "Spider" at Busch Gardens. It was at that moment that I realized I wasn't the invincible child I thought I was. Since then, I've fallen victim to the Road to Hana, a small dingy in Kaneohe Bay with blueberries and tiny fish, and a number of stomach-turning encounters. While I didn't get sick this time, I did manage quite a headache (which is still pounding in my skull).

The drive is fairly solitary, and rather than take boring scenic shots, I got off my lazy ass, and pulled out some of my lighting gear that I've been hauling around for the past 14,000 miles. And rather than pack it up after I used it, I just threw it in my car, still mounted on the lighting stands. This proved to be key as I witnessed a very spectacular sunset. I pulled my gear out, sat on a rock, and pretended that I was someone important for this "hero" shot (that's what we like to call it in the "biz").

I shall digress now.

I've been much more social on this leg of the trip. In San Francisco, I managed to hang out with a bunch of old hotjobs.com colleagues (Richard Johnson and Emily Hickey), and with a couple of great photographers (Brad Mangin and Grover Sanschagrin). In San Jose, a late night dinner at the Gordon Biersch Brewery with photographer Karin Higgins went awry as our waitress forgot my hamburger. She had delivered Karin's food and my appetizers, and a few minutes later when I asked about my hamburger, she flashed a panic-stricken face for just a second and headed to the kitchen. Since it was past closing time, we figured the hamburger wasn't coming, and indeed, we were right. No matter, she comp'd us a huge piece of carrot cake.

I love carrot cake.

Lastly, when you have high-speed internet, and then you don't have it, you realize how fast "high-speed" really is. And when you twist an ankle or are having a bad day at work, you think back to how slow a modem connection is, and you realize that a turned ankle isn't so bad after all...

Oh heck, one more photo:

Stefanie Atkinson
Emmy Award Winner
San Francisco, CA

Despite winning an Emmy for her work doing motion graphics for CNET TV, Stefanie Atkinson decided to drop that work to pursue a line of work that had more significance for her. Her work with a breast cancer survivor led her to the Eddie Adams Workshop where I met her last month. Earlier this month, a show of her work helped to raise over $40,000 for breast cancer programs.

Atkinson has decided to continue documenting the lives of breast cancer patients because the problem has really reach epidemic proportions with one women dying every 12 minutes from the disease. Despite years of research, there haven't been monumental changes in the way patients are treated in the past 30 years, and incidence rates (particularly in younger women) have only increased.

Unlike her first subject, her current subject isn't projected to live as the cancer has spread to her bones and liver. Confronting difficult emotions have become commonplace for Atkinson as she tackles her project, but she feels content to work at a subject that is important to her.

Joan Barickman
"Open Forum" at the ACES
Bedford Hills, NY

Housed within a former church near the railroad station in Bedford Hills is a tiny alternative high school founded by Joan Barickman in 1977. Having had success with a tough group of kids in the "conventional" high school, Barickman got the approval, blessing and budget of the principal to start something for the misfits that nobody wanted.

But unlike other alternative high schools were chaos runs rampant, this tiny school comprised of 15 students and three faculty show how small class size and an environment where everyone is treated as an adult can breathe life into kids who didn't know they could succeed.

Drug addicts, alcoholics, attempted suicide victims, rape victims...they are all here at the ACES (the Academic Community for Educational Success), but you wouldn't even know it unless you were told. The students have jobs and organizational positions within the school ranging from the hospitality committee to the disciplinary committee (DC). The DC meets weekly to issue subpoenas for behavoir that violates the student handbook, which was created by the students. Caught lying? 5 detentions after the other students decide that an infraction has truly been committed. The kids, by and large, recognize the value of education and that is why they come back every day to the ACES instead of cutting class.

On one day that I visited, the school was having their weekly "Open Forum," where any item of concern is discussed. After a few seniors discussed their anxieties about their future, the forum leader, Michael, passed out a worksheet for an exercise he had done in his drug rehabilitation session earlier that week. Students and faculty participated in what I can only describe as a humbling experience.

I chatted with Jackie who told me about how she hadn't fit in at the local high school, so she started cutting class. She never thought she could succeed before she came to the ACES, but now thrives running numerous committees including the upcoming pie sale for Thanksgiving.

I will continue to cover the ACES for the duration of the school year.

Rob McGarry
Beirut Tournament at The Big Easy
New York, NY

Although drinking and socializing are a part of almost every nation and culture, the excesses of drinking games seems to be uniquely American. "Beirut," better known as "Beer Pong" is a rite of passage in many colleges, and for those recent graduates, can follow them into their young professional lives. The Big Easy, one of hundreds of bars in Manhattan, plays host to an annual Beirut tournament that drew fifty-five, two-person co-ed teams from around the city. The illustrious pack included some nationally ranked Beirut teams (who knew?) with skills and superstitions that would make baseball players blush.

The premise is simple: throw a ping pong ball into a cups filled with beer, arranged in a triangle formation. Each time a team sinks a ball, the opposing team must drink. Continue till the cups are gone and the team is eliminated. Sounds easy, but the task is complicated by the increasing effects of alcohol. The $30 team entrance fee is offset by the chance to win the $1000 first prize.

Wilted Cactus
California Wildfires
Scripps Ranch, CA

The smell is much too familiar. It's the acrid smell of burnt life that I first encountered on September 11. But this time, it's 1 million acres of the state of California. And while the toll in human lives is significantly less, thousands of homes and consequently thousands of lives were affected by the fires which burned out of control for a few weeks.

Driving northbound on I-15 leads you an 8-lane highway surrounded on both sides by scorched earth. And at first maybe you think you're seeing things, but it becomes apparent pretty quickly that the magnitude of destruction is enormous. Entire hillsides are black with ash, and the guard rail posts that surrounded the highway have been incinerated by the intense heat.

Ironically, there are communities just feet away from the destruction that have escaped unharmed. A green lawn with a park table sits oblivious to its near death. And people go about their day with an attitude of "business as usual," because they have to. People are still wandering about at the nearby malls with their designer shopping bags as the Parks department clears away fallen, burnt timber. A Parks department employee tells me about how he saw the fires on both sides of the highway, but I get a sense that he's more in awe at the enormity of the conflagration, than he is at its destruction.

Finally, you might be inclined to believe that there are actually no people in America since my photos have been devoid of humans for the past few months. I'll fix that soon.

66 °
The World's Tallest Thermometer
Baker, CA

Driving along I-15 from Las Vegas to San Diego takes you through the Mojave Desert National Park, which is the home to Death Valley, the hottest place on earth. In keeping with the superlatives of American life, it is only appropriate that the world's tallest thermometer jut out of the barren landscape to announce the highs and lows of desert life. But if you're also looking for the world's largest supply of mercury, you'll be sadly disappointed to find that the thermometer is digital and that computers run everything now.

P.S. Vegas is nuts on Halloween.

Tree
Thompson Springs, UT

When I arrived in Denver last night, it was 73 degrees. When I woke up this morning, it was 27 degrees, and all my windows were completely iced over. Unprepared, I had to borrow an ice scraper before heading out. As I drove away from Denver, things got worse -- the temperature dropped to 22 degrees and the rain was freezing on my windshield, and visibility was down to about 100 feet. I thought this might be the day I died on an icy road.

Strangely enough, by the time I reached Eagle County (Kobe, Kobe, Kobe), it was already 65 degrees and all the ice had melted from my car. Several hundred miles later as I entered Utah, it was 73 degrees. But after the sun set, the temperature dropped precipitously, first to the mid-50s, and then all of a sudden 29 degrees.

Soon, I had hit two snow storms and a hail storm. I thought this might be the day I died on an icy road. But wait! Who would take care of my three plants? Clearly, I couldn't perish on this day. Eye of the Tiger, Allen, Eye of the Tiger.

760 miles later, I reached Las Vegas where it was a balmy 65 degrees. The last hour from Mesquite, NV to Vegas was a killer. I really have no desire to ever drive again. This woman I was talking to in Denver last night told me her brother decided to walk from Denver to Boulder one day. I'd need to get some good shoes to make it back to New York.

Utah is a completely surreal place. The landscape is so funky that it really feels like you're on Mars. I drove by way too fast, and I need to make it back at some point to see Moab and Zion National Park.

I forgot to mention that I've reached the halfway point of my journey. It's taken 12,500 miles and three months. And all I've realized is that I haven't done justice to the 25 states I've visited. America is....Big.

Home, Home On the Range
Wireframe Buffalo
Kearny, NE

Why is it that gas stations seem to always have the largest flags? I mean this flag was huge. I could see it from a couple miles away. I'm thinking our whole dependency on oil makes the gas companies rich, so the gas stations fly the American flag to remind us to fill up our SUVs on a daily basis. Well, I suppose it beats flying a big flag of Saddam Hussein. Damn that Saddam and his Bathist loyalists.

Last night as the temperature hit 32 degrees in Iowa, I thought to myself how much the start of the latest jaunt sucked. But this morning when I woke up, it was already 65 degrees, and as I was cruising through the glorious state of Nebraska, it hit 84 degrees. So I rolled the windows down at 80 mph (speed limit is 75), enjoyed the warm air momentarily, and then rolled the windows right back up because it really isn't so pleasant to drive at 80 mph with the windows down.

About a year and a half ago, my former boss coerced me and a friend to drive with him out to his new home in Jackson Hole, WY from New Jersey in the middle of a snowstorm. Besides all the jack-knifed trailers we saw, the only other thing I really remember was this huge building that spanned I-80 somewhere in Nebraska. So when I found it again on this trip, I decided to stop and see what all the hubbub was about. Over lunch at the local Pizza Hut in Kearny, NE, I struck up a conversation with the waitress who told me about the "Archway Monument."

"Yeah, I used to work at the Wendy's out by the monument," she explained, "but they didn't advertise so well, so people didn't know there we were there...So I switched jobs to here." If you imagined her with an accent, you imagined wrong. People in the midwest don't have accents. It's not like the South or New Yawk. Someone once told me that newscasters come out to the midwest to work to eliminate any trace of an accent, and who am I to doubt that?

The monument is more properly named "The Great Platte River Road Archway Monument." A privately-owned non-profit decided that the middle of Nebraska would be a great place for an Epcot-like monument complete with the audio guided tour headphones. The whole operation is pretty damn slick, but let's be honest. What the hell is it doing in the middle of Nebraska? Sure, it's all about the Great Platte River Road that runs through Nebraska, but who is really driving through Nebraska thinking that they should visit the Archway Monument? That's the beauty of Americana, I suppose. Who would have thought that anyone would go out of their way to see the largest ball of twine? And yet, last year, I drove 2 hours to Cawker City, KS to see it.

The wireframe buffalo was just on the side of the road on the way to the Archway Monument. No signs. No explanation. So I took a picture.

Finally, I pulled over in Brule, NE for gas, one of the last towns in NE before I-80 runs into Colorado. As I pulled off the highway, I scanned the horizon for the big Exxon or BP sign jutting out of the earth. But there was none to be found. Instead, there was Happy Jack's C-Store, an independently operated, family owned gas station and mini-mart. No electronic pumps with the credit card swipe. This was an old school gas station with analog meters and the little lever on the side of the pump to reset the gauges to zero.

The lady with too much mascara at the counter told me they were one of the very few, and had been family-owned and operated for the last 30 years. "Stick it to the man!" I thought to myself. What's more American than that?

The Autumn Leaves (Les Feuilles Mortes)
Notre Dame
South Bend, IN

I finished a whole bag of beef jerky today, and now my jaw hurts. It wasn't the soft & moist, girly beef jerky, it was dry and tough -- salty to boot. How can such thin strips of beef be so tough, yet so flavorful? So dry and salty that you would contemplate drinking seawater. Beef Jerky is clearly an American thing. I must search out a beef jerky factory.

I'm driving fast. I'm not screwing around. I need to get to Las Vegas for Halloween, so I'm not taking my normal, leisurely pace. As such, there isn't much time to dillydally, but I still managed to stop by Notre Dame since I stopped overnight in South Bend (I'm not a football player, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express). It was cold and windy, but I managed to stumble into the LaFortune Student Center in my student disguise, where I snarfed down a Subway sandwich and then bought some ugly postcards.

I sped over the border into Illinois, thinking to myself that I had to stop somewhere along the way to get a postcard for my sister (I'm sending her one from each state), but all of a sudden, I crossed the Mississippi River ("What's it doing up here?" I thought to myself), and was in Davenport, IA. So I pulled off and drove back into IL to get her a very ugly postcard.


Back into IA. I'm driving along and all of a sudden, the most spectacular sunset ever. EVER. Ok, maybe the best of the past week. And I'm in Brooklyn, IA of all places...So I pulled off and took a picture. Pictures never do sunsets justice. And more importantly, I've realized over the past 3 months that life is about shared experiences. Telling you about this sunset has little meaning and value, but if you had been there with me, you too would have reveled in its beauty. But I digress.

Dinner in Des Moines. People sure are nice in the midwest. Well, the girl at Notre Dame who sold me the postcard wasn't so nice. But the girls who told me where the bookstore was, were. I somehow found my way to Court Ave in downtown Des Moines and first tried to go to some spaghetti restaurant, but the hostess told me the wait time for one person was an hour. Very strange, very strange. I went across the street to the Court Ave Brewing Company, and was told 40 minutes, so I tried my luck at the bar. The friendly lady next to me told met that "Thoroughly Modern Millie" was opening at the Civic Center that night, which explained the rush. The CABCO, as they call themselves, allows patrons to "buy a mug" for the year, which means you can have your own personal mug hanging from the ceiling, which is used whenever you come in. You effectively lease the spot above the bar. Makes people feel like they are a part of something, I suppose...The food was good and cheap (by New York City standards). Satiated, I hopped back in the car, and found what I think is the state capitol, and took a picture.

I decided that Lincoln, NE would be the destination for the night, and started driving. The temperature dropped to a precipitously low 32 degrees. How was Iowa colder than New York City. When I finally made it to Lincoln, I found the room I was staying in had a sliding door that didn't actually shut all the way. Not so good when it's cold outside. I switched rooms, and felt much better.

Moby & Gwen
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
Cleveland, OH

When people ask me what I'm going to do on this trip, for some reason I always say, "I'm going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!" as if it's the epitome of Americana. In truth, it's not. Sure rock-n-roll is cool and American, but the Hall of Fame is a recent addition to the Cleveland landscape, with a Louvre-type pyramid building designed by the same architect, IM Pei.

Taking pictures inside a museum usually sucks. But in this case, I didn't even have the option to take sucky pictures, as the museum staff notified me that no cameras are allowed because it was a condition from some of the artists who donated/loaned their paraphenalia to the museum. So all you get is the neon signs from Moby's "The Southside" video which I sneaked on the elevator on my way out.

The Hall of Fame is pretty cool with its deluge of instruments, costumes, and interactive features. Highlights included some very rare live cuts from Jimi Hendrix playing stuff like "Blue Suede Shoes" and "Johnny Be Good." Also, a U2 retrospective, which was entertaining if only because they had original rejection notices from record companies in the 1970s who appreciated the band sending in their material, but they weren't interested. I'm sure *that guy* got fired.

Orange Team: Chip Somodevilla (Team Leader/Detroit Free Press), Tracy Boulian, Scott Squire, Ryan Reed, Christopher Capoziello, Genevieve Russell, Karin Higgins, Stefanie Atkinson, Jim Korpi, Max Morse, Allen Murabayashi
Eddie Adams Workshop - Barnstorm XVI
Jeffersonville, NY

Once a year as the foliage turns to bright reds and golds, 100 students descend upon the farmhouse of Eddie Adams, the Pulitzer Prize winner who took the photograph of of Gen. Nguyen Ngoc Loan executing a Viet Cong prisoner by shooting him in the head. For the past 16 years, Adams has put together a scholarship-based workshop for students and professionals with less than 3 years of experience to interact with the best of the best. All the faculty and staff volunteer their time so that the future of photojournalism can be witness to and inspired by the top photographers in the world.

Two days of intense shooting was surrounded by lectures and panels with everyone from Joe Rosenthal, the 92-year old who shot the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima and Nick Ut who photographed a naked girl (Kim Phuc) running down the street after the Vietnam Napalm attack, to Benjamin Lowy, a recent Barnstorm attendee who shot extensively for Time Magazine in the Iraq War. With little sleep, but inspiration to last a lifetime, the Orange team descended upon Sullivan County to shoot a project entitled "Our House."

It's impossible to describe the feelings that went through my head during the short four days. As an aspiring photojournalist, it was humbling to be in the presence of such greatest, but to also realize that I had made it there, and that had counted for something. I cried as the now 40-year old Kim Phuc was introduced by Nick Ut, and she recounted the day when she was burned by napalm, and how Ut put down his camera to assist her after taking the Pulitzer Prize winning photograph. Still a teenager at the time, Ut was prescient enough to know that his subject was more important than the photo. He also realized the power of the photograph and revealing the truths that are often hidden from the public. Kim Phuc ended by telling us not to view the little girl as crying out of fear and pain, but as a cry for peace.

The members of my team are phenomenal photographers. And I have no doubt that they will one day win many awards, as some of them already have. More significantly, I have no doubt that one day, some of us will create the photographs that have the power to change history.

The Parthenon
Centennial Park
Nashville, TN


Just down the road from Tower Records and Borders Bookstore, is the only full-size replica of the Parthenon in the world, located in the heart of Nashville. The Parthenon was originally built for the 1897 World's Fair, and included other monuments like the Pyramid of Cheops, but the Parthenon was the only full-scale structure. Originally constructed of plaster and meant as a temporary display, the citizens of Nashville decided that they wanted to keep it, and between 1920 and 1931, they rebuilt the Parthenon with pebbled concrete, which gives it that brownish hue today.

When my friend Liz told me about the Parthenon a few weeks ago, I thought that it would be a bit of a joke. She thought it was a quarter-size replica, and I was thinking "Stonehenge" from Spinal Tap. But in fact, the Nashville Parthenon takes their work quite seriously, having obtained much detailed information from the British Museum to build exacting replicas of the carved figures (including a massive Athena statue covered in gold leaf), columns, and other features that adorn the huge structure. And considering the state of disrepair of the real Parthenon, it's pretty neat to see a completed structure, even if it's not made from marble.


With Elvis #1 Hits blazing on the car stereo, I drove 3 hours west of Nashville to spend an hour at Graceland. I had a conception that Memphis itself would be a small little town, and Graceland would be some nice little house where Elvis lived. But Memphis, like Nashville and Knoxville, is a huge, sprawling city. And instead of being set back on a nice country road, Graceland sits on a multi-lane street lined with every fastfood joint in existence. I helped myself to the Tender Roast combo at the KFC next to the Heartbreak Hotel before spending $25 to tour Graceland.

Despite being robbed on admission, the tour was fun and well-done, and Elvis was, well, the King. And "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hounddog" is one rockin' tune. America is Elvis.

p.s. Because Tennesse has no income tax (and a huge budget crisis), the sales tax is 9.8%. Don't plan on doing any shopping in this state...