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.