I jotted down a few quick notes during the week. Here they are in their entirety.
holy shit i can breath underwater. sea turtles! sweet!
holy shit those are fucking dolphins. holy fucking shit.
ow. the sun. it burns. ow.
I jotted down a few quick notes during the week. Here they are in their entirety.
holy shit i can breath underwater. sea turtles! sweet!
holy shit those are fucking dolphins. holy fucking shit.
ow. the sun. it burns. ow.
Schmap.com selected this photo, taken from the Lincoln Memorial overlooking the Washington Monument, to rep D.C. It’s some kind of social networking tourism site.
Pretty cool, I guess.
Programs like AutoStich will splice your photos together for you. Photoshop has a function called Photomerge that does it almost as well.
I’ve tried several of these methods and they work pretty well. Now I’m not saying they’re for wimps (they are), I’m just saying they’re no fun.
The panoramas that I really enjoy are those that don’t pretend to be seemless. A computer can create a panorama and hide the flaws amazingly well, but it takes a human being to make one that looks like crap.
I still haven’t been to Disneyland, Universal Studios, or the Hollywood sign, but I’ve survived the writer’s strike, an earthquake, and gang violence, not to mention six flags and a bunch of comedy shows.
We planned this trip using Google Maps, and we used nothing but our Google Maps printout on the road.
The chapter in which I move to California and Jeffy-poo comes along for the ride. Along the way we visit D.C., Graceland, Dallas (the X where JFK was shot), Carlsbad Caverns, and those awesome Cabazon Dinosaurs from Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.
The best: Dallas. We stayed with friends who showed us around. We got drunk, I ate the best Mexican food I’ve ever eaten, and Clay Buccholz threw a no-hitter for the Red Sox while I followed along on someone else’s Blueberry. Fun.
The worst: Somewhere between Phoenix and LA. The car started overheating, so we had to turn off the AC while we were driving through the desert. It was so unbearable that we pulled over in some nowhere town, planning on catching a movie while we waited out the heat. But when we found a theater, it wasn’t playing anything (literally anything). We played videogames in the lobby, which is normally a great time waster, but it was a half-hearted, impatient waste of time. No fun at all.
I plan to do this at every landmark I visit for the rest of my life. You’ll be able to watch me age over time while thumbs-upping.
No, I don’t print them out and use them as actual postcards. But I totally should, because otherwise I’m doing these for no good reason.
You might wonder why I’m wearing a Hawaiian shirt in Las Vegas. Sure, it’s a bit of a mixed message, a combination of two disparate Elvis movies (Blue Hawaii and Viva Las Vegas). But it made sense at the time.
Vegas is a city built on excess. Prostitution (something my sister, Miranda, was shocked to learn about), Gambling, Organized Crime, and Alcoholism are facts of everyday life here, and you’re giving me grief about my badass Hawaiian shirt?
I don’t gamble, I don’t pay for sex, and I don’t drink too much (anymore). I have dozens of Hawaiian shirts, but I’ve never been to the Aloha state. This is my excess. This is my symbolic approval of a city that is base, selfish and greedy.
I love it here, but damn is it expensive. Cirque du Soleil, Wolfgang Puck, Rollercoasters, you don’t need to be a slot junkie or a John to lose all your money. I can’t remember which phrase came first:
“It’s a nice place to live, but I wouldn’t want to visit.”
or
“It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here.”
Vegas is the latter.
There’s not much you can say about the Grand Canyon. It’s got an adjective built right into it. Presumptive, if you ask me.
How many smartasses do you think go to the Grand Canyon every year and say, “you know this canyon… isn’t that grand.”
…Probably not a lot. It’s really impressive.