Basketball

The smell of wood and sweat mix with popcorn from the concession stand. A mix of cheers emit from the stand. The swish of the net as a basket is made. This is W&L basketball, a sport I know nothing about. Watching the W&L mens basketball game last night was an experience I will not forget. While knowing near to nothing about basketball made following the game a little hard to watch at some points, by the end I feel like I was able to figure out the point system, some of the gestures that the referees made, and even that the number on each jersey has no particular meaning.  I noticed little ticks that certain players had, like how one player would wipe his hands on the bottom of his shoes right before each 35 second block started. I remember noticing how all the players would smack each other on the butt, coaches included, gave whacks of encouragement with their clipboards. Meanwhile I was thinking, "Is this a guy thing? Girls sports teams don't do this..." Despite these random observations, I feel like the side conversations happening in the stand made the game for me. Sitting behind me was an old man teaching his grandson about the game. Behind and to my left was a cluster of men making comments on the players' stats and hometowns. I couldn't quite figure out of they were alums or locals but their conversation is what captivated me the most. Yelling in loud, raspy voices, they encouraged the Generals to make baskets, to throw the ball to certain players, etc. They were also making comments about which players should be playing better and what their stats were. It was entertaining listening in on their conversations and I probably learned more about basketball from them than simply watching the game.

Travel

Today I found out that I would be spending spring break in Buenos Aires, Argentina with my best friend Jen. This will be my first excursion in to South America and I am truly excited! There is nothing better than traveling to a new city or country. I love to explore the new sights, sounds, smells, and even tastes of a new place and really immersing myself in the culture.  One of my favorite memories of travel was when I spent three months in Amsterdam in the third grade. While January through March proved to be pretty chilly and gray, I loved the beautiful vibrantly colored tulips. Red, butter yellow, blushing shades of pink all added color to the cold cobblestone streets and gloomy green-blue canals. More than the flowers and ambiance, I loved the food. One of my all time favorite treats was Stroopwafel, a delicious little waffle shaped cookie dipped in caramel that can be served warm or cold. One night we went to an amazing restaurant called d'Vijff Vlieghen, or, The Five Flies. Filled with history, the restaurant was in the heart of medieval Amsterdam, set in a 17th century townhouse that had been beautifully restored. While I love exploring and seeing new places, my eight year-old self was not ready to get lost in the Red Light District. On our way to lunch with a few business clients of my father's, my family and I ended up taking a wrong turn and ended up in Amsterdam's famous Red Light District. It was day time and I was so confused as to why there were women in windows in their underwear.I remember asking my mom "Why are those ladies in their underwear?" and her replying with something along the lines that they were warm and trying to cool off.




Despite the possibility of ending up in a Red Light District, I truly love getting lost in a new city or country and stumbling upon little restaurants with delicious cuisine, old buildings with lots of history, and even encountering some new sights, sounds, and smells.

A Forgotten Life

You can tell a lot about a person based on what they throw out or leave behind. Out on Route 11 past Natural Bridge is an abandoned house, motel, and restaurant complex. While the restaurant is the most dilapidated of the three there are still plates, broken furniture, and various cutlery strewn about the crumbling cinder-block structure. Up the hill is the motel, a one level Norman-Bates looking building of roughly 20 rooms then a separate cottage for what I assumed would be the manager and check in/check out. While the floors are now caving in, each room still seems to have a bed (with the bedding on it) and various hotel furniture such as a night stand- though the rooms seem to be ransacked and abused. Some rooms have old childrens toys and clothes in them; other rooms have pentagrams and satanist markings spray-painted on the walls. While these two structures are more eerie than anything, the house is what really bothers me. A two story brick house, with black shutters falling off, and a dilapidated porch swing, the previous owners seem to have simply picked up and left one day. The kitchen, featuring a white 1980s refrigerator and yellowed linoleum floor still has a calendar dating to 2007 on the cabinet and glasses in the cupboard. More disturbing is the food left in the fridge: a jar of pickles, a casserole dish with something petrified in it, old bottles of soda. Other rooms still have papers in desk drawers, a turned over coffee table with magazines helter skelter on the ground. The house always leaves me with a feeling of emptiness, yet when I'm there I always have the feeling that I am not alone (I visit with a large group of people generally, but get a strange sixth sense). It's an odd juxtaposition to see wallpaper peeling off the walls next to old furniture and clothing. As I combed through the house one day I started noticing really personal items: a child's (John W. Wells) birth certificates, photo albums of a boy playing baseball in the 1970s, old newspaper clippings, and even a girl's journal. Simply by going through these things I have learned who John Wells is, what his family was like, that he played baseball, that his sister had bulimia and so on. I've never really liked the feeling I've gotten from the house but what is more bothersome is why such personal items have been left behind. I've never been able to come up with a reason but it is something that has bothered me since the first time I ever visited the house. I feel like I know this person simply through the things that his family (or him for that matter) have left behind, but why?

"In Case of Emergency, Your Seat may be Used as a Floatation Device"... Which Really Means You Hug Your seat and Kiss Your Ass Goodbye...

I tend to have a love-hate relationship with flying and this weekend I had the pleasure of spending a total of roughly ten hours on planes and in airports. Despite the paralyzing fear I get when crammed into a small propeller plane with 15 equally terrified passengers, I genuinely enjoy people watching. While the stench of overwhelming fear lingered throughout the cabin as this tiny plane rumbled and bounced through 'a touch of bad weather' (which really felt like what I imagine my socks go through on tumble dry) I oddly found solace in watching the middle aged businessman with a bad comb-over across the aisle begin to perspire...in buckets. Let's call  him Rogaine for easy reference. Now, I normally wouldn't succumb to such schadenfreude-like tendencies but this man had it coming. After nearly trampling me to get to his seat (mind you this is a propeller plane with a grand total of 7 rows of seating headed towards a storm- not everyone is clamoring to get into this deathtrap) he managed to smack me upside my head with his briefcase. So now that Rogaine is seated, he snaps his fingers at the stewardess demanding a drink (the duration of the flight is only forty-five minutes... THERE WILL NOT BE A BEVERAGE SERVICE). Told that there aren't any libations to be had, he begins huffing and grumbling under his breath (sir, we are all in the same boat, pipe down).

Flash forward to roughly 15 minutes before landing: I am jostled awake to see veiny fingers of lightning flash outside the tiny egg-shaped window to my right. Apparently I am a heavy sleeper and missed the first five minutes of pants-wetting turbulence. While I don't particularly like turbulence, and electrical storms while packed in an airplane the size of a cigar, Rogaine clearly is more distraught than I am. Had he not been rather rude during the first part of the flight, his complete and total meltdown over the turbulence made me feel like a little justice had been served. Rogaine's comb-over is now plastered to his head and beads of sweat are running down his face. He has even unloosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Other passengers begin to turn green (I feel like I'm in the scene from 'Rat Race' where John Cleese makes a bet with all of the other flight passengers to see who will vomit first as his pilot violently whips the plane around). One more drop and even my stomach is in my throat... at this point Rogaine has his head between his knees. Some teenage boy three rows back (unaware of any other passengers' potential horror movie repertoire) says a little too loudly "This is like Final Destination!," a horrible and very poorly timed movie reference.This is when the flight attendant reminds us that our seat cushions may be used as a flotation device (a whole lot of good that will do seeing as we are over NORTH CAROLINA AND TENNESSEE).  At that moment the otherwise silent grandfatherly figure -replete with plaid, flannel shirt- sitting next to me says "Well I guess we can all hug our knees and kiss our asses goodbye."

Thankfully our plane somehow managed to land on the runway shortly after this episode. I will never take a U.S. Airways "Sprint" Shuttle ever again, if I have any say in the matter.

In Cold Blood

         Recently, in my journalism class, we read Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, followed by viewings of both the movie "Capote" (starring Philip Seymour Hoffman) and "In Cold Blood" (starring Robert Blake and Scott Wilson). Each portrayal and medium brought to life the killers Dick and Perry as well as the very real crime they committed. What I would like to discuss today is how the combination of the different modes of portrayal and their variations created a well rounded and impressive take on the crime, the book, and the author, Truman Capote.While the book and both movies brought to light interesting aspects not necessarily found in the other, the combination of all three creates a much more in depth look at the story behind the Clutter family murders the writing of In Cold Blood.
         I want to touch on the movie, "In Cold Blood" first because I saw it as a less realistic take on the Clutter murders and the killers than the movie "Capote" and the actual book. While the movie accurately portrayed the crime, I felt like its adaptation from the book left something to be desired. The movie portrayed Perry as the loose cannon, cold blooded killer while Dick seemed to be more of a pleasant, all American boy who just took a wrong turn in life. The movie, "Capote" has the almost opposite take on the characters. While this movie focuses on Capote's experiences with the criminals and police, covering the story, and finally writing the book, it better depicts Perry and Dick.  In Capote, Dick is not so much a charming, charismatic con-man as much as he appears to be a dark, evil criminal, whereas Perry, though he is clearly a criminal, has a softer, intellectual side. This might have to do simply with the different casting choices between each film, but it certainly influenced my perceptions of the characters. While the movie did well content wise in the novel, I feel like it was just too Hollywood-ized in its overall demeanor and the use of various flashbacks to attempt to better understand Perry's character/ enhance the content.
         Not only is In Cold Blood the most important telling of the Clutter family's murder and the subsequent capture and trial of their killers, I am amazed at Capote's ability to remove himself from the plot and its characters. His skill was really brought to light through the movie, "Capote." The movie unearthed the relationship between Capote and the killers and greatly depicted the emotional strain writing the book had on Capote as a human being. The movie also better depicted Capote's relationship with Perry, one of the convicted murderers. I was really surprised at this relationship because it was both caring and manipulative at the same time. On one hand, Capote saw something in Perry and wanted to hear his story; on the other hand, Capote also needed him in order to finish the book. Perry, meanwhile, never truly gauged Capote's manipulative intentions, or at least he didn't want to believe them. "Capote" as a film depicted this relationship really well and gave insight into the ways Capote depicted Dick and Perry in the book. After reading the book, but prior to watching the movie I was surprised at how Capote focused more on Perry's terrible childhood while he stressed Dick's manipulative,con man, and pedophilic nature. After watching the movie, however, it was pretty obvious that Capote cared much more for Perry than Dick. The combination of reading In Cold Blood and then watching "Capote" really gave great depth and insight into the author and the characters Dick and Perry.While I am truly impressed at how Capote managed to remove his own opinions and emotions from writing In Cold Blood, I guess his choices in how he depicted Perry and Dick were his own way of barely implanting his views. Regardless of Capote's impressions, the combination of "Capote" and the book In Cold Blood formulate an eerily truthful and disconcerting take on a piece of literary journalism and its crafting. 
         While the movie "In Cold Blood" does a fair, albeit Hollywood, attempt at depicting Truman Capote's novel, it does not hold a candle to the actual book. Additionally, when the book is combined with the movie, "Capote," the reader and now viewer is given the complete package: the author's experience and emotions as well as the actual events.

Country Roads

One of the great things about living in rural Virginia is the abundance of beautiful views and country roads. There is nothing more relaxing than going for a drive through golden rolling hills in the early morning.Yesterday  I woke up around 630 a.m. and went for a drive down the Blue Ridge Parkway. The Parkway is not just a mountain pass to Lynchburg, it is also the setting for countless images of Virginia's hills, farms, and natural beauty. When I decided to go for a drive yesterday, there was still early morning dew on the grass and a mist in the air. It was peaceful and refreshing. Driving down the parkway I began to see the first golden beams of sun kiss the damp pavement in front of me. Since the last time I drove this mountain road, vines have taken over many of the trees and guard railings, transforming them into unrecognizable leafy monsters. I love the complete remoteness of this road from fast paced, high tech society and the way it feels like I have been transported back in time. Nature has taken over this area to the point where I almost expect to see a dinosaur or early explorers emerge from the trees.

On drives like this I truly enjoy discovering minuscule country towns, old building, and sight seeing. I love driving by fields and farms and seeing what people have left for the earth to reclaim. On one such drive down the parkway I came across a field with an old hay baler sitting unused and rusted. I have also seen countless abandoned cars and buses sitting in fields, melting into the earth. I think it's interesting to see what people have chosen to discard. I like to think of back stories and reasons for such forsaken items.


I am also including two pictures today. One is of the hay baler left in a field. The second is of the early morning dew that refreshes and completes the experience of an early morning drive.

Pink Cadillac Post Script

Due to a broken camera I was unable to take pictures of this experience. I intend to go back to the Pink Cadillac Diner this weekend (and hopefully my camera will be fixed by then) to truly document how wonderful and unique this place truly is.

Pink Cadillac Dinner

As you may or may not know, it has been raining to beat the band here in Lexington for the past four days now and as I sat in my room a few days ago, hoping that I wouldn't start growing mold spores, I realized there was a pit deep in my stomach, a pit that could not be filled with any old Twinkie or bowl of pasta or glass of chocolate milk... I needed the greasy, wholesome goodness of comfort food. There are some days where everyone needs a little edible pick-me-up to weather the winds of life, and Rockbridge County. For me, it's a grilled cheese with bacon sandwich. Having been hooked on these since childhood I have scoped out every diner and deli on the eastern seaboard (not every one, but at least all in the Tri-State) trying to find a place that will do the sandwich justice. In Lexington, Pink Cadillac Diner wins hands down.

A bubblegum pink house nestled in the rolling hills of southwestern Virgina, the Pink Cadillac Diner not only caters to those looking to take a trip down memory lane, but those seeking out delicious diner food and Hershey's ice cream. The interior is a technicolor-on-acid version of Al's Diner from Happy Days, replete with cardboard cutouts of Elvis and 1950s memorabilia. Outside, there is a baby pink, powder shine, Cadillac parked to the right of the building. To the left, the gravel parking lot is home to an eight foot tall King Kong, holding a miniature airplane in his skyward reaching hand. While his paint might be fading and peeling, he completes the scene that is the Pink Cadillac Diner.

It was on a cold, rainy day earlier this week that I made the ten mile trek out to the Pink Cadillac, searching for the perfect grilled cheese and bacon sandwich. The minute I opened the front door, I was greeted by the smell of fresh french fries, bacon, hamburgers, and all things delicious in this world. My server, a lovely older woman with a retro waitress outfit on took my order. Within minutes I had it: the one thing I wanted most in the world, at least for the next few hours. Sitting in front of me was my mecca of cuisine: perfectly buttery crisp white bread still warm from the grill, delicious white American cheese melting out of the sides, and in the center, a perfect row of crispy bacon. I take the first bite and it is delectable; the perfect mingling of salty and crunchy and buttery and greasy, rolling around on my eager palate. I'm in heaven. 

Post Script

P.S. I once visited the tunnel at night, but that was a little too much excitement for me.

Poor House Road

In the past two years I have spent at Washington and Lee University in Lexington, Virginia, I have come to find that this quiet little college town nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains is home to many curiosities. Route 11, which used to be the main road, prior to the construction of Interstate 81, features kitschy attractions such as the Pink Cadillac Diner and Foam Henge, yes, a life sized replica of Stone Henge made entirely from foam. Yet with these tourist traps comes a historic and sometimes macbre side of Lexington,namely, the Poor House Road Tunnel. Now featured on ghost hunting websites such as Haunted America and Vamp Investigations, the tunnel is one of my favorite places to shoot film, preferably in the day time. Carved out of the side of a hill, the Tunnel led to Lexington's Poor House that once existed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It was also the host to train tracks when trains ran between Lexington and Staunton. Local lore claims that if you visit the tunnel at night you can hear the sound of a train or childrens' voices beckoning you to hurry up and catch the approaching train. There have also been stories that lynchings occurred from the top of the tunnel, though there is little evidence to support this.  Today, the Tunnel has an otherworldly feel. The very narrow, somewhat paved road yields to old cobblestones when approaching. Old trees bend their branches around the tunnel's entrance like gatekeepers into another era. The river that runs along the side of the tunnel gives off a feel of wilderness isolation. The narrowness of the tunnel, in conjunction with the river creates the perfect setting for whistling wind and other generally eerie noises one would not want to encounter alone or at night. Maybe it is the ghost stories, or perhaps it is simply my own skittishness but I never feel quite at ease, or alone, when I visit. This out of element, slightly on edge feeling takes me out of my comfort zone. While this might not sound like a pleasant experience, I have found that letting my imagination run wild has helped me with creativity in my photos, and also letting go a little. The eeriness sometimes brings on a feeling of [almost] relaxing escape from the red brick, white columns, and infinite seersucker found on W&L's campus. Though these are all things I too love, it is nice to know there is a place not too far away where I feel out of my element and in another world altogether.