Just about one third land surface of the Earth is covered by the desert. Deserts are sometimes maybe hot (BWh) or cold (BWk) because of its inadequate rainfall annually, thus there are only limited people or animals that can survive here. During daytime desert’s temperature range from 45 °C/113 °F and drop down to 0 °C/32 °F during winter.

On the other side, deserts are also engage in tourism. As you can see in various movies, deserts are being used as plot of the story. In some desert areas, car racing sports are also present. The dryness of the place is also ideal for the preservation of fossils and human artifacts.

This should also win a award. Brilliant photos. It's a sand-storm on the left side I think.

Fact of the Entry: Astronauts get taller as they are in space.

This is James and Gretchen and their dog Shea inside Revolution Skate Shop

the new NIMH skates came in so we took some product shots

this lady was trying to escape the arizona heat

revolution skate shop hosts weekly skate sessions. this was a park out in prescott, az, where chad was flying all around the park

broken neons

the az heat burning everything up

breezy working on the mobile kendama skills

jon jenkins is always filming but still has some tricks up his sleeve

some random street art downtown phoenix

it's perfectly normal for Joey to be bleeding from one of several wounds at any give time

Hanging out at the French Brothers place, always living life 5 minutes at a time

This was the stunt Joey decided to try first.  No warm up, brand new skates.  Very very talented skater.  

the last day of the extra air flow model

These shoes were a gift from Shannon in TX.  The ran their course, and Jon gave me a replacement pair which happened to be an old hand me down from Mike French.

clearly labeled danger

we took a trip out to california and stumbled upon this crazy spot in the middle of the desert.  some guy built it as a memorial to the human race for future visitors of our planet. it was a really bizarre, complete with engraved marble sculptures, a pyramid, and a church on the hill... oh yeah and a 50+ stair rail.  google "center of the world plaza" to see more about this cult ... i mean... community

very symmetrical

?

feel like a cult yet?

this is damien and his mom

casey vs. a parked semi truck

Damien's pro wheel

Jon doing fake tricks for his myspace page

James and the giant Beast

ruins

the guys checking the footage of Joey's last stunt which ended up being the Revolution ad you see at the end of this post

clean energy!!!

We ate Roberto's at least once a day

When we stay at Damien's we always crash in this RV 

Jon hanging out on the yard couch getting fleas

James making some updates on an early morning bucks stop

Damien gave us a tour of where he works. His company makes custom fittings for all sorts of law enforcement vehicles.  Police, SWAT, FBI, Riot Control ... it's a pretty wild place.

Joey hanging out in one of the police vehicles making some changes in the system

This thing slides out, unfolds automatically, connects via satellite, and plays a mean Xbox 360

Tour of the mobile command station

these are some of the custom cases he's built

damien's a smart guy

i have no idea where I shot this but it looked crazy so there you go

I love trying new foods, and I finally found something I absolutely cannot stand.  Saladitos have to be by far the most disgusting thing my taste buds have come in contact with.  It amazes me that some people might actually consume these.  If you ever get the chance, get a pack and see for yourself.

The Rat-Tail Distribution warehouse full of new NIMH skates

Floor to ceiling, great work guys

nimh, fully skater owned and operated, the way it should be

new prototypes?

random knife we found while skating some ditches

Joey and Damien about to get beat badly in beer pong

EXTREEEEEEEMMMEEEEEE

Santee built the worlds most intense potato gun known to man

Casey should never be armed.... ever

yet another robertos stop

The guys led us on a mission to a "hidden spot" way out in the middle of nowhere, crossing rattlesnake territory to get there.

hey, snake skins... GREAT

this was the spot we ended up hiking to and it was the worst thing EVER.  then Nick mentioned if we keep hiking further, he knew of a pool we may be able to go skate.

Sweet pool Nick

toxic sludge?

finally leaving the failed mission

can somebody tell me what this is supposed to mean?

perfect cali days

we wanted to get some shots of joey at the ocean, and almost got him swept into the pacific in the process

These hills weren't made of solid rock, but rather millions of huge rocks and boulders

more crazy boulder mountains

There was a lot that went happened on this trip that I didn't have a chance to get photo's of, or that I shot but can't post on here because they were for a client. The 2nd day into the trip we got held up at gunpoint which was pretty intense. Things worked out ok, just the wrong place at the wrong time. Ironically, it happened exactly one year since the last time I got held up at gunpoint, and each time I had my ipod lost or stolen the day before... weird right? Joey ended up shooting somewhere around 18 print worthy photos in the coarse of the 10 days, and I was really impressed with how much he's progressed over the years ... and also amazed that he can skate like he does with some of the slams he takes on a daily basis. Hmm what else... Mike Leaf met up with us one day, and on his first trick the rail shattered into 3 pieces and impaled him in the side. It was unreal. We hiked through the desert in the pitch black to shoot portraits of Casey and saguaro cacti. Santee was a really fun time, I never know what to expect going in, and they're always going strong 110%. All in all it was a successful trip with lots of good times. Big thanks to James and Gretch and Revolution Skate Shop. Here is a preview of the first ad from the shoots from ONE Magazine V3#3.

El novelista francés Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio ha sido galardonado por el honorífico premio Nobel de Literatura 2008. La Academia Sueca que premia con 10 millones de coronas suecas (1,4 millones de dólares), al ganador, alabó al autor de 68 años por sus novelas de aventuras, ensayos y literatura infantil. “Su obra tiene un carácter cosmopolita. Francés, sí, pero más que nada un viajero, un ciudadano del mundo, un nómada”, expresó Horace Engdahl, secretario permanente de la Academia, en conferencia de prensa, tras anunciar al ganador del galardón.

Esta decisión estuvo manchada por la controversia, luego que Engdahl dijo que EE.UU. estaba demasiado aislado y no participaba en el “gran diálogo” de la literatura. Estos comentarios enfurecieron a escritores y críticos de Norteamérica con airadas respuestas, se quejaron de que el comité del Nobel tenía prejuicios contra los autores de ese país. El novelista Toni Morrison fue el último ganador estadounidense del premio en 1993.

Le Clézio, nacido en Niza, pero vivió en Nigeria desde los 8 años, escribió sus primeros trabajos “Un long voyage” y “Oradi Noir”, durante el viaje de un mes de duración. Estudió inglés en una universidad británica y dio clases en instituciones de Bangkok, Cuidad de México, Boston, Austin y Alburqueque, entre otras. Pasó largos años en México y América Central. Se casó con una mujer marroquí en 1975. Su primera novela fue “Le procés verbal” escrita cuando solo tenía 23 años. En Francia ganó el premio Renaudot.

Considerado un escritos experimental en los 60’s, Le Clézio estuvo abocado a investigar temas sobre el medio ambiente y la infancia. Alcanzó el éxito en 1980 con su obra “Desert”, del cual la Academia Sueca calificó de que “contiene imágenes magníficas de una cultura perdida en el desierto del norte de África, contrastadas con una descripción de Europa vista a través de los ojos de inmigrantes no deseados”.

El presidente Francés, Nicolás Sarkozy se sumó a los saludos y alabó a Le Clézio por haber sido galardona por este prestigioso premio. “Un niño de Mauricio y Nigeria, un adolescente en Niza, un nómada de los desiertos americanos y africanos, Jean-Marie Le Clézio es un ciudadano del mundo, un niño de todos los continentes y de todas las culturas… Un gran viajero, encarna el alcance global de la cultura y los valores franceses en un mundo globalizado”, dijo el mandatario francés en un comunicado.

Todos, excepto uno de los premios, se empezaron a conceder en el siglo XIX, patrocinados por el descubridor de la dinamita, Alfred Nobel, y se entregan desde el año 1901. El galardón de Economía lo estableció el Banco Central de Suecia en 1968.

Comparé à Nathalie Sarraute ou à Michel Butor, l'écrivain a été distingué comme "l'explorateur d'une humanité au-delà et en dessous de la civilisation règnante".
Influencé par la littérature française mais également anglo-saxonne (Joyce, Stevenson) "JMG" a été distingué très tôt comme écrivain d'exception.
A l'âge de 23 ans, il reçoit le prix Renaudot. En 1980, c'est le prix Paul Morand de l'Académie Française qui lui a été décerné.

Réalisme de Sartre, poésie transportant dans un au-delà, cet au-delà des mots que Jankélévitch reconaissait à la Musique, sa technique narrative, appréciée des philosophes Deleuze ou Foucault, a pu être qualifiée de "métaphysique-fiction"

"Ils étaient devenus, depuis si longtemps, muets comme le Désert, pleins de lumière, quand le soleil brûle au centre du ciel vide, et glacés de la nuit aux étoiles figées."

Désert reste incontestablement l'oeuvre la plus emblématique de l'auteur qui a pu s'attacher aux thèmes de la solitude ou de la souffrance. Ourania quant à elle concentre son message sur l'impossible fondation d'une société idéale.

Jean-Marie le  Clezio reçoit le prix Nobel de la littérature et s'inscrit auprès des plus grands noms de notre histoire littéraire.

Le prix Nobel de la littérature, institué en 1901 a précédemment été décerné à

Sully Prudhomme (1901) Frédéric Mistral (1904) Romain Rolland (1915) Anatole France (1921) Henri Bergson (1927) Roger Martin du Gard (1937) André Gide (1947) François Mauriac (1952) Albert Camus (1957) Saint John Perse (1960) Jean-Paul Sartre (1964) Claude Simon (1985) Gao XingJian (2000)

msm

Last autumn, when we decided to go on a long road trip, from Bay Area to Las Vegas, it only seemed appropriate to visit Calico ghost town, which was on our way.

We had started early from Bay Area and had arrived at Calico ghost town about 4. Even here, 150 miles away from Zabriskie Point of Amargosa Range in Death Valley, the mountains retain some of the unusual colors of gold and amber. It had appeared more amber in the light of the setting sun.

This town had boomed for fifteen years between 1881-1896 and was a ghost town by 1904. At the entrance, while paying the fee on my visa card I knew I wasn't exactly in for a 100 year old ghost town experience. What looked romantic from the outside turned out to be like a Western movie set. More like "Good, Bad and Ugly" and less like "Treasure of Sierra Madre". The highlight appeared to be a train ride which we looked down our noses as too touristy. But the live shooting show turned out to be entertaining. Somewhat. Although he looked like a saloon operator from a Western, he was a good shot.

Visit to Skidoo happened much later in the trip, when we were homeward bound via Death Valley. We started driving from Stovepipe Wells village. We kept driving and it kept getting more and more remote. If the rented Ford broke down, we would have to hike back 10 miles or more but 10 miles on a nice autumn day was not so scary.

When we finally reached the end of the road, we were in Skidoo, the GPS system in the car said so. Besides, there was no where else to go. There was emptiness all around, nothing but an interpretive sign. No rotting houses or fences, no piles of anything, nothing at all. Was I expecting to see the noose that claimed its one and only victim in Death Valley? No, but I was not expecting an uninterrupted view of the blue sky, desert shrubbery and salt flats either. It was a ghost town alright.

Skidoo was actually called 23 Skidoo. No one seems to be sure why 23 skidoo. It is a slang that means "go away". I heard a tale about a 23 mile long water pipe. Then there are others - 23 mining claims, claims filed on 23rd of January, 23 men who founded the town and so forth. This town was even younger than Calico, it was at its height between 1906-1907 and had petered out by 1917. It was the longest standing and most productive mining town in Death Valley!

One could see the mining holes. Some were covered up by chicken wires. Their entrances looked barely wide enough to let a small child through. I was reminded of the 180 lb plumber who had crawled underneath our apartment through an entrance that had looked equally small. We found some beer cans that looked relatively new, probably some illegal camper.

On our way back from Skidoo, a few miles from the main road, we stopped at a cabin. We explored around a bit. There were remnants of a disused mine in the vicinity. The cabin was well preserved and had a relatively newer cot. We would learn later that there is a community of homeless people who move around in Death Valley and live in abandoned cabins. We also learnt that wood was expensive in Death Valley since the local vegetation is mostly desert bushes and hauling from faraway places is difficult. So, when one mining area was depleted, people broke down the buildings and re-used the materials elsewhere. That explained the nothingness of Skidoo.

Two ghost towns, less than 200 miles apart, similar origin but vastly different finale. In one, I had found a movie set and the other had vanished entirely. Nothingness was better, an empty canvas where the interpretive sign had sketched a bare outline - my imagination filled in the rest.

Ingredients:

• 18.3 ounce Betty Crocker Fudge Brownies Traditional Chewy Brownie Mix
• 2 cups canned pure pumpkin
• 2 tablespoons reduced-fat peanut butter, at room temperature

Preparation:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Combine pumpkin with the brownie mix in a large bowl and stir until smooth (batter will be very thick, but don't add anything else!)

Spray a square baking pan (9" x 9" works best) with nonstick spray and pour in the mixture. Spoon peanut butter on top and use a knife to swirl it around the top of the batter. Bake in the oven for 35 minutes. (The batter will remain very thick and fudgy, and it should look undercooked.) Allow to cool.

Cover pan with foil and place pan in the fridge for at least 2 hours. Cut into 36 squares.

Makes 36 Servings.

Per serving, if used exact same ingredients: 66 calories, 1gm fat, 57mg sodium, 14g carbs, 1g fiber, 9g sugars, 1g protein.

Looking up through a canyon off of the Burr Trail in Capital Reef, UT

Serves 4

2 cups pecans ,toasted.

6 tablespoons (packed) golden brown sugar

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 cup unsalted butter,melted

3/4 cup cream

6 0z bittersweet or semi sweet chocolate,chopped

21/2 pint baskets raspberries

1/4 cup seedless raspberry jam

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Finely grind pecans ,sugar and cinnamon in processor. Add butter and process until moist clumps form. press dough onto bottom and up sides of 4 -inch diameter tart pans with removable bottoms.

Bake crusts until golden brown and firm to touch,about 30 minutes. transfer to rack and cool completely.

bring cream to simmer in heavy medium saucepan. remove from heat. Add chocolate;stir until melted and smooth. Pour mixture into crusts,dividing equally . Chill until set,about 1 hour. (can be made 1 day ahead.Cover and chill).

Arrange raspberries over tops of tarts. Stir jam in heavy small saucepan over low heat until melted. Brush melted jam over raspberries.

Of course on our search, we were hassled by all the restaurant waiters to come to their restaurant because they cook more authentic then others. My favorite one was when the guy said he only uses his mother's recipes and they are top secret, right.

After circling around and e-mailing our parents from the cyber cafe near by, the winner was Lemipamis. All the tables of the restaurant were outside in one of the ruins of some old building. One of the walls was covered with pretty green vine which was blooming. Local musicians were playing Greek music.

I finally figured out what is aubergine. Interesting how they don't use word eggplant anywhere in Chania. The ingredients for Moussaka gave it away for me. Aubergine is my favorite vegetable now.

For appetizer we ordered Greek Salad and carafe of wine. For main course I got my favorite stuffed aubergines and John ended up getting rabbit with some interesting sauce. Believe it or not, we were completely full. When the waiter brought us a bill with complimentary desert I wanted to cry from eating more food, but how can I waste cheese and honey pie?

Love Chania with it's delicious cheap food and free desert when you least expect it.

I'm of on holidays at the weekend and my excitement is tinged with a few nerves 'cos my four girl pals and I will be venturing somewhat into the unknown. We're spending eight days in Dubai and although I did spend five days there last year, it seems so long ago and it was barely enough time to taste the true Arabian flavour.

The majority of my holidays are spent in Spain - I know it well, love the food, the culture (and the siestas!!), the people and the weather. But I like new things too and this holiday will definitely be an Arabian adventure. Last year I mostly soaked up the rays and the food but this time I want to do more than that; I want to experience Dubai.

Unlike my terrible experience in Morocco (not because I am a slapper and ignorant to different cultures but because it's a horrible country and the men are intimidating and rude), this holiday is going to be a discovery holiday so I can return to Dubai year on year and know what's what.

On the agenda so far is sunbathing (well, it would be rude not to squeeze a bit in while we're there), a desert tour including camel rides, bellydancing and henna tattoos; a dinner river cruise to soak up the Dubai nightscape; shopping in the souks; skiing in the world's biggest indoor snowdome; and possibly a water park. We quite fancied the newly built Atalntis water park, where you can swim amongst the sharks, but rumour has it that there is no water; kinda essential for a water park wouldn't you say?

Still cannot find myself in this place... Something's missing out there... I cannot explain. I just have a few issues to settle first.

Thank you David for the pictures that you sent me, they reminded me of me and memories of the people I hate, standing between us, or passing by... Fact is, I hate everybody. That includes me. Just don't ask me why. Perhaps I'm just trying to make myself appear more interesting than I really am...

Still cannot find myself in this place... Something's missing out there... I cannot explain. I need some time to calm down. I need some time to calm down. Need some time to calm down.

« Desert Near Forest » - The Only Non-Classical Album You’ll Ever Need (2005)
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Serves 6

3/4 cup creme Fraiche or Sour cream

9 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 171/4 oz package frozen puff pastry (2 sheets) thawed

1 small Golden delicious apple,peeled ,cored,finely chopped

3 small Golden Delicious apples,peeled, cored, cut into 1/4 inch thick slices

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

Using electric mixer, beat creme Fraiche, 3 tablespoons sugar,and vanilla in a small bowl until well blended. Cover and refridgerate until ready to use. (can be made 4 hours ahead. Keep refridgerated.)

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Roll out 1 pastry sheet on floured surface to 1/4 inch thickness. Cut out three 5 inch rounds. repeat rolling and cutting with 2nd sheet,forming 6 rounds total. Place rounds on heavy baking sheet with rim. Sprinkle rounds with chopped apple,dividing equally. Using 1/2 an apple per tart arrange apple slices in concentric circles atop chopped apple,forming flower design. Sprinkle each tart with 1 tablespoon sugar. Dot each with 1/2 tablespoon butter.

Bake tarts until apples are tender and pastries are golden brown,about 30 minutes. Using metal spatula,transfer tarts to rack and cool slightly, serve warm with creme fraiche topping.

When I was younger I worked for a brief time as a mover. I moved all kinds of things in all types of trucks. Actually it was all by accident.

When I was 23 years old I decided to leave New York City and head to California. I had become sick by all the snobism and poverty of living in Brooklyn. I felt like I was giving everything I had to New York, and it was giving nothing back to me.

So one morning, without paying my last month's rent, I bailed. I took that money as an investment for the future and drove West.

I wasn't too worried about the rent. In my mind it was all fair. They were ripping me off this whole time, I thought, and I'll rip them off.

Along the way I bought a small tent, and slept in the open under the stars when it was too hot to sleep in the car. I lived off small portions of Vienna Sausages, cans of Del Monte corn, oatmeal, and whiskey.

Sometimes after driving for some fifteen hours, I'd start thinking about my life. What am I doing with myself? Why the hell am I going to California? What makes me think that I'll find whatever it is that I'm looking for there that I didn't find here?

Doubt and sadness have a way of becoming lonesome companions on such journeys. It's at these times that a man makes his most impulsive decisions. And it's at such times that man becomes engrossed by them, and sometimes succumbs to them.

It was on the border of Arizona and Neveda that my pockets ran dry. I only had $100 left, and I knew that I wasn't going to make it to California. There was nobody back home that I could borrow money from. And in general, if I could, I wouldn't have. I was always like that, I wanted to do it all on my own.

The town was called Bullhead City, some 100 miles from Las Vegas, and right across Loughlin, Nevada.

There was not much too it. You're typical hot, steamy, dusty and nothing-to-do type of place. Small office buildings, plazas, palm trees, water treatment facilities, animal hospitals. The people were usual -- old men in cowboy hats, young man in crutches from Iraq, young women, dressed in hot steamy cloths beneath the desperate sun with hairstyles reminiscent of the 1980s.

I did notice a few things that stood out. The Colorado River flowed beautifully between the two states, and beyond it I could see the mountains in Laughlin. The skies were filled with white clouds, and the stench and the heat invaded me.

I parked the car at a gas station, lit a cigarette, and started walking down the streets. I did this type of thing often. This was the way I'd get to know a town. You could tell a lot about a town by the things you see and the way people view you.

At midday the town seemed abandoned. As if everyone who lives and works had left for the day, and a strange kind of sensation came over. The kind you see in Western movies, where the tumbleweed blows through the dusty roads, and sooner or later a grizzly sherriff is going to kick your ass out of town.

I passed a few roads and headed towards the far hills across the water. I thought that I go nearer to the river I'd surely find some form of life.

As I walked a clear gust of wind blew through my hair, and I noticed how a group of young girls walked from a strip mall toward's their car. They all got into a small blue Geo Metro and sped off. I wished to be sixteen again.

By the time the cigarette was done I was walking along Long Ave, past 6th Street, when I noticed a bar.

At at a time like this the first thing you do is go to bar. You have to have a drink to cool off, to think things through. Only a man who travels alone can understand such things.

The bar was called St. George's Pub. A divy hole with a pubbish feel. It was almost empty. Two barfly's played pool, and the old bartender eyed me as I sat down.

"Let's see you're Id." He said whiping a glass.

"Here ya go, Sir."

New York City Id's look like fake Id's. They're made out of what looks like cheap cardboard, fake lamenation, and printed with ink that seems to have been runnning way low.

"What are you having?"

"Give me a shot of your cheapest whiskey and your cheapest beer."

After two more shots I was begining to feel it kicking in. That strange and wonderful glazed feeling, when your heart begins to warm to the sounds of the world around you, and the mind becomes naive and vain, and it starts to say to itself, "don't worry, you're not a hopeless romantic whose not going anywhere, this will all make sense somehow, this will be allright."

I took out a small pad and began drawing. I was trying to retrace the steps from here to the car, so in the darkness I would find it, just in case I ended up blowing everything at this bar.

At times I'd put the pen down and look outside through the small window, smoking cigarettes. Sometimes I'd check my phone to see if any of my friends had called or texted me, to see how I was. But there was nothing.

I ordered another shot from the bartender.

"So you're a New Yorker?"

"Not really," I said sipping down the Pabst, "I'm originally from Cleveland."

"Oh, I thought you was with them video crew in Loughlin."

"No, what video crew?"

"There's a video crew, filming some mad junkie out in the desert."

"Really? What junkie?"

"Oh some fool, some damn fool has been livin out there in the desert for some 25 god damn years now."

"What's he doing out there?"

"Prayin to God or some sort of shit like that. They say he's some wise man. But I think he's just a damn fool."

"Why's that?"

"He lives out there all by his-self. No runnin water, no lectricity, no nothin. He don't even have a house, just sleeps out in the middle of nothin, wearin nothin but a towel."

And that was all the bartender told me.

It was seven o'clock and some people began walking in. I check my phone, it was nine o'clock already.

Stepping outside the whole landscape had changed from when I had seen it earlier. It looked completely different. There was darkness, and the city of lights of Laughlin reflected in the river, and the stars shined brighter then I had ever seen them on my voyage.

I walked back smiling about something. I was hungry. And there was a strange happiness within me. Here I was, a young man with only $80 to his name, going back to an empty parking lot to pitch a tent near the desert, to chew on a cold can of small Vienna Sausages and sweet corn, to fall asleep under the dying stars. And I was happier then I had ever been.

That night, as I slept beneath a quite glow of the moon and the stars, and the Earth became cold, I wondered about that insane man in the desert. And I felt I understood him completely.

September 19, 2008, Brooklyn, New York.

     "Hi Mom, hi Mom," Ala said as she stepped through the door.
     Giselle was bent in origami shapes over a big blue leather book. Her hair was greasy at the widow’s peak, but dry at the ends, and she spoke quietly to herself Ra em pet in imaginary syllables. When she moved her lips, you could see the cracks only halfway filled with store brand chap-stick. They broke out like the veins of marble monuments, spreading from her philtrum down to her chin.
     Doby came in after Ala. He held the rib cage behind him, with his hands, and walked awkwardly to the left side.
     "Hello sweet," she said, looking up.
     "Doby’s here but not for dinner, we’re going to go outside and excavate and maybe snack on things, and do you have my seven dresses ironed like I asked, the silk ones?"
     "What?" Giselle said. "Your—"
     "It’s okay, I’ll have Frederick do them. He knows how to set the right temperature."
     "Ala," she said sharply.
     "What?"
     "Try not to get dirtier outside, please. Daniel is coming over again tonight, and he’s going to take us to dinner."
     "Out?" Ala said loudly.
     "To the chicken restaurant. He’s—Daniel is going to move in with us soon, and he wants to celebrate by taking us for chicken."
     "You’re getting married? Am I the Maid of Honor? Doby must be the Best Man. Or we could both get married at once. Frederick," she said, "could give you away."
     "Who’s Frederick?"
     "Congratulations," Doby said.
     "Thank you, Doby." Giselle looked down at her book—An Introduction to the Egyptian Hieroglyph—and again repeated the Sentence Two of Chapter One. "You can go outside now, sorry."
     Doby moved with his back to the stained wall until he reached the glass door beside the torn-up yellow chair. In the back yard, he and Ala planted the rib cage underneath a lightning-scarred oak tree, with roots that burped out from the earth in tiny mountains.
     "If we find more," Ala said, "we’ll be sure. That it’s the sand." She pressed her right hand to her heart; it was tightlipped in its beating, shaky, as if uncontrolled by time.

finds every shade of golden

to wear as earrings.

Dresses in rock strewn oaks

and prickly pear,

silent and calm.

While she dresses,

Cooper's hawk guards

her modesty

over the dunes.

6 Oct 08,

Collection:  Desert Notes.

Its cracks filled in with a plaster

of communication.

We can be anywhere

at any time,

in the distilled memories of a thousand travellers.

Our lives laid bare,

and opened to the inquiring eyes

of those who pass us

in the ocean of

electronic night.

I long for the desert,

and the encroaching dark,

the silk of your voice and

the metal of your eyes,

waking me from the sleep of this life,

as you tend the soul fire

and feed me the sparks of experience.

I am off to Phoenix, Arizona for a business trip on Wednesday.  I hope to get over to the Desert Botanical Gardens again (one of my favorite places) to do a little morning birding.  Then once the conference is over, I will have a few days to dedicate to birding in Southeast Arizona.  I'm totally jazzed.  Stay tuned...I'll blog from the road.

Have you posted your bird photo this week with Birdfreak?

This is something I wrote a few years ago, after I returned from a long road trip through the Southwest. Although it partially escapes me now, I remember the feeling of excitement and joy I felt about the whole thing. For your enjoyment.......

Through Painted Deserts

The road is America. I think the concept of the open highway has become ingrained in our culture, the result of countless works of American literature (Kerouac, Steinbeck, etc.), music (Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Woody Guthrie, The Grateful Dead, etc.), and film (Easy Rider, Thelma & Louise, etc.) Or maybe it has something to do with our obsession with cars themselves. Either way the road is a very attractive idea because it represents an open call to adventure and maybe even a new life.

Road trips in particular are distinguishable from regular vacations or other types of travel because the essence of them is the journey rather than the destination. Robert Pirsig, who wrote Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, says: "To live only for some future goal is shallow. It's the sides of the mountains that sustain life, not the top. Here is where things grow." So maybe the reason road trips, like all journeys, are so endearing is that they represent a kind of inner growth and change that come from completing something long and arduous. Donald Miller says "everybody has to leave; everybody has to leave their home and come back to it so they can love it for all new reasons, because every person has to change like seasons, or they die." I've always liked that idea.

I've taken many long trips by car before, but they always had some glorious ending destination (actually most of them were not glorious at all, but I was nonetheless always glad to get where we were going). But I have always had a dream of setting off somewhere just to drive, with no real purpose. In particular I have always been fascinated by the idea of Route 66. The highway, which runs from Chicago to Los Angeles, is synonymous with American road culture. The road has a history of westward migration beginning in the 1930's when families from the Dust Bowl came to California in search of a better life. There is something very romantic about the whole thing.

So, despite the fact that it was winter, I convinced Sandy to live the dream with me. We left the day after Christmas with all our stuff and planned to be gone for about 2 weeks.

We mostly wanted to stay in the Southwestern portion of the country (drive to Chicago in January? Hell no!) And we didn't stick exclusively to Route 66 because there were so many amazing places off the road. So our trip found us winding and weaving through California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas just going wherever we felt like. The main "attractions" we wanted to see were the national parks, so we hit up Joshua Tree, Death Valley, Zion, Bryce, Grand Canyon, and Petrified Forrest national parks, but the vast nothingness out there in between them was every bit as beautiful. We hiked and camped and took lots of pictures and drank beer and played cards, but mostly we just drove. We drove miles and miles sometimes without seeing anyone. We stopped in every little (and big) town the Southwest threw at us: Barstow, Tucson, Gallup, Flagstaff, Las Vegas, El Paso, Roswell, Phoenix, Tombstone, Knaub, Tucumcari, and so on and so forth. We camped when we could but because it was so cold (and sometimes snowy) we stayed in mostly seedy small-town motels. We saw some amazing sunrises and desert sunsets. And we took in some much needed silence. We did almost nothing for 2 weeks. And it was wonderful.

I highly recommend hitting the road sometime, just to do it......... preferably when we've discovered some alternative fuel sources I guess. Believe me there is nothing really worth driving out hundreds of miles to see in the southwestern U.S. (except possibly the Grand Canyon), but it is one beautiful country. It's an experience that is worth far more than it seems at first. I promise you'll return with many stories.

"No matter how you travel, how 'successful' your tour, or fore-shortened, you always learn something and learn to change your thoughts."

-Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Well said.