I went to Mexico a few months ago.  In the process, I stopped in Long Beach, CA to see some friends and meet up with my fellow travelers, 4 longtime friends from Chicago.  While the digital pictures of that whole fiasco, along with the documentation of all the food we ate, is hilarious, I think the roll of actual film I shot while in Mexico is a bit more interesting.

In order to get to Rosarito, Mexico (where our 50 mile bike race began) from Long Beach, we had to pass through the busiest land-border crossing in the world.  Remarkably, a car full of five unshaven yahoos failed to get searched.  Our luck continued all trip long, as our hotel was amazing, everyone rode strong and well, we got no flats, and successfully housed In N Out Burgers as soon as we were back in the states.

This was one of those trips that I don’t even like to talk about.  Everything went too well.  Everyone had too good of a time.  Everything went right.  Those 5 days simply went by too quickly.

Here, the analog:

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First off, I promise to get around to the Mexico trip soon enough.  I’ve been busy with a new job and such.  Here’s a brief update of fun from Memorial Day:

The Burg was in full swing this weekend.  Everything from riding in the backs of trucks while helping friends move to witnessing a cab jump the curb and hit a building on Bedford and an extensive amount of hanging out on roofs occurred:

The real fun, however, came on Memorial Day.  Promptly upon waking, my apartment’s crew touched base with my old friend Dustin’s and an entourage took off in separate cars for Riis Park (out in the Far Rockaways).  It’s an area of New York City that is completely not like any other part of the city.  Suburban, beautiful, bridges everywhere, waves, and backyards.  Best of all, we brought my roommate’s dog, Nico:

Here’s Phil and Brett, the other two people in our car.  Phil cowered in the back seat while Brett drove “like an 8-year old who got a hold of some Mountain Dew.”

After crossing “the ugliest bridge in New York,” we showed up to the beach and met up with Dustin, Laura, Celia, Simon, and Abel.  Some of whom are pictured here:

After a few hours of heavy wind, freezing water (which we did swim in), we headed back.  Little did we know, finding our way back to hipster-ville from the “real world” was as easy as following the signs along the road and the track bikes leading the way:

Strangely enough, somewhere in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, we found unfortunate historical practices still in full swing… and being propagated by a Reverand, no less!:

Mexico update soon.  I promise.

So I’m sitting in JFK airport right now, about to head to Long Beach, California. I’ll be meeting up with four friends from Chicago who were in Las Vegas last night and we’re all staying at some friend’s place in Long Beach. Afterward, we’re riding in the Rosarito/Ensenada bike race.  It looks to be a great time.

There will be a long-form post of all the pictures, words, idiocy, etc. on this blog at the end of the trip.  In the meantime, if you feel like keeping up, check out my Tumblr.

http://listlessintellectual.tumblr.com

Please wish me, my friends, our legs, and – especially – our livers good luck.  To the Conan The Barbarian-run state and Taco Bell-land I go!

This is where I am. Solo bike rides in 30 degree weather just for the view.

Upon arriving in BeanTown (at North Station), my traveling companion and myself walked along Summer Street across Fort Point Channel which gave a great view of the bridges on Congress Street and Seaport Boulevard, along with the Boston Children’s Museum and the giant Hood Milk Bottle.  Having no idea how pervasive the Hood Dairy Company is on the East Coast, the epically phallic monument to cow lactate had me aghast.

Upon dropping bags off at a custom framing gallery owned by my partner in travel, we headed back in to downtown Boston.  My Hipster-Sense kicked in immediately (it’s a lot like a Spidey-Sense) and I promptly found the most indie of cafés in a 6-block radius to aid my caffeine-stained brain: the Boston Common Coffee Co.

Left on my own to wander historic, downtown Boston, I made my way over to Boston Common.  I assume it’s only famous because of Anthony Clark’s stunning and cut-short sitcom by the same name.  Who cancels a new TV show that ranked 8th in yearly ratings… and who can resist the stunningly engaging Anthony Clark as a down-home Virginia outsider making his way through the big city in the Northeast?

I then made my way to the Massachusetts State House, whose sole historical significance is that of a symbol for antagonist Collin Sullivan’s ambition in Scorsese’s The Departed.

And what visit to historical Boston wouldn’t be complete without a Ben Franklin impersonator.  While he responded to my question about his syphilis ailment with much guffaw and accuracy, I, much like Dwight Schrute, am 99% sure that it was not the real Ben Franklin… 98.

Later on in my meanderings about town, I walked through most of the (expensive) Beacon Hill neighborhood – where the amount of perfectly-coiffed trees and historical homes were only outnumbered by the number of trust funders wearing Ugg boots and perfectly-bent baseball caps.

Rounding out my day on my train ride out to Wenham, MA (where I was staying in a secluded house in a forest), I partook in a cup of Bean Town’s finest coffee: Dunkin’ Donuts.  Rich, steaming, satisfyingly robust with a hint of burn, it was great to end the day with a coffee that didn’t cost three dollars while utterly lacking any sort of quality (Starbuck’s).

The rest of the weekend was spent relaxing with friends, drinks, Old Fashioneds that I prepared for my hosts, and helping a kid who was tripping on acid out of jail.  All in all, a complete success.

p.s. all photos except the milk bottle taken with my iPhone.  Apologies for the lack of quality.

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I’d moved into a new apartment.  It’s a proper den of idiocy near the Lorimer stop on the L train.  A converted warehouse where I reside on the top floor with two roommates.  We have roof access and we’re steadily doing our part to up the awesome factor.  Incidentally, this also entails upping the amount of wine we drink while looking at Manhattan from our spectacular view.  Enjoy the video tour (and more) after the jump.  Continue Reading »

It’s true.  It’s been twelve long years and, for some strange reason, I still skate.  I’ve broken my wrists and ankles multiple times, gotten a few concussions, been ticketed far too many times to count, and had to deal with condescending security guards and police more times than my ego will let me remember.

But even at age twenty-five, something compels me to go out and throw my body around.  I’m coming out of a period where I actively tried to resist skating so that I could concentrate on my studies (grad school), but I now have a modicum of free time.  Again, I find myself drawn to skating.  Somehow, going out and exploring the city I live in while attempting to change the way I view everyday structures (as obstacles, not as objects) still has some sort of hold over me. Continue Reading »

Today, I am flying from here:

To a location 2,158 miles away, where things should be different.  Au contraire.  I will likely see and walk on this:

Replicas of things always creep me out.  Replicas of the place I call home with the inclusion of neon lights?  Well, we’ll see how this goes…

My brain is already feeling more fractal than a Derrida hypothesis and I can feel the spirits of DeLillo, Pynchon, Wallace, and Thompson descending upon me.

Wish me luck.

That last post was a little harsh.  Anyway.  This is what’s really been happening:

On Thursday, I rode the subway all the way through Brooklyn, to the AirTrain, straight to the ever-festive, newly remodeled Terminal 5 at JFK.  I fly in and out of this terminal quite often, as I’m building JetBlue points for free trips to such charmingly demure locales as Bogota, Colombia soon.  Nonetheless, it never ceases to amaze me.  This place makes me feel like Schaumburg, Illinois took a Woodfield Mall-sized dump on Queens and JetBlue decided to jump on the shitstorm that ensued and open shop.  What results is an airport terminal complete with fountains, skylights, plants, a LaCoste store, numerous places to get drunk and eat Buffalo wings, and a food court:

A quick vid of Terminal 5:

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I’m currently in Illinois, in the suburbs of Chicago, and I just got done paying all of my medical bills.

I think this is about how I should be feeling.

Laced and happy, seething underneath.  Where is Brooklyn?  Where is cheap coffee?  Why is it that I have to drive a car everywhere in this town?