Graphotos

In the past I have called them non-photos. Now I'm calling them graphotos. Basically, short vignettes of scenes I didn't capture on camera.

My most recent one was driving though some of the mountains on the way to Los Angeles through the area of palm springs. I came through the valley if the wind mills just as the sun was setting behind the mountains. There were more types of windmills than I had ever seen before: double bladed, small triple bladed, large triple blades. Dozens upon dozens of windmills churning in the rosy sunlit valley.

Good eats: Road food

So far I've stuck to my rule of "no fast food". It's been only local food, such as the carne adovado in albuquerque or my godparents home cooking. That all ends right now, kind of. I stand before an In N Out burger, the west coast treat that should be partaken in at every opportunity. the fact that I'm insinuating it even somehow compares to the plebeian fare of burger King or Wendy's is punishable by excommunication in some California cities.

In n out really isn't anything less than a California specialty. Hemingwayesque in the menu's simplicity, they do a burger that is up there with anything. Take your Gorgonzola, shallot and mesclun greens burger and save it for next week; I may eat nothing but double-doubles when I'm eating by myself here. I swear they must really be made from unicorn, not beef, and seasoned with a leprechaun's tears.

Good eats: Turbo mate latte photos

The Godfather, Part 1

Yesterday I arrived in Chandler, AZ a suburb on the far extent of the Phoenix sprawl. I don't particularly like Phoenix; Arizona in general is beautiful, but the sprawl here is just a little too much.

My reason for stopping here is to visit my godparents, Zhou and Tan, who I haven't seen in over 20 years. More accurately, they haven't seen me in 20 years. I have no memories of them whatsoever, since they moved away from where I grew up before I was  able to form lasting memories.

My stay has been fairly uneventful, but I've gotten a chance to catch up with them, show them pictures of me and my family, discuss their lives, and of course, eat their Chinese cooking.

Zhou is The Godfather. He's a software engineer at a company that makes chips for Blackberries. He's an audiophile - Tan chides him for the number of high end speaker sets he owns - and introduced me to the Japanese new age artist Kitaro

Tan is a kind woman with a kick-ass chile pepper oil recipe. I had homemade Chinese food smothered in it; very hot, very good.

This afternoon I make the drive to Los Angeles to visit the Badger. I'll have a couple hours to burn somewhere between here and there, as I try to time my arrival to miss LA's rush hour traffic. Joshua Tree is tempting, or I could go on a quest to find a T-shirt for Buddy. Cal-State Bakersfield, Long Beach State, and Loyola Marymount are all on the list.

Me, Zhou and Tan by their pool

Aaaaaaaaaalbuquerque, or, things I'm not proud of

Albuquerque was not supposed to be on my itinerary. Instead, I was supposed to be up in Taos to ski, but a scheduling change meant I had two days to get to Phoenix from Oklahoma City instead of three, therefore, Albuquerque. This was not all bad news, as it provided me an opportunity to seek out some frybread tacos or other southwestern fare NOTE: NOT the same as Mexican (more on this later). But there was bad news: I don't know anybody in Albuquerque, and I didn't have money for a hotel room. This left me with two options 1) slum it in a Wal-Mart parking lot 2) Paratrooping. If you believe that I have some level of decency, you should probably just stop reading this post and preserve that illusion. If you already know that I am depraved, look up the term "paratrooping" on Urban Dictionary and keep reading.

I planned it out so that I would arrive in Albuquerque around 9, so I wasn't sitting at an empty bar for too long, but still had enough time to get in several salvos of pickup lines and even a venue change if necessary. Of course my first move was to go to a grocery store and buy some Chimayo chile powder (more on this in another post). After having to walk all the way back to where I parked my car to drop off the Chimayo, I went to a bar that the guy at the burrito joint I ate dinner at told me to go to. This entire night was kind of ad libbed, so bear with me.

Monday nights in ABQ are dead. The first bar I went to was a total dive. There were two hipsters playing ping pong in back, and two guys that looked and spoke like they went to Ridgemont High at the bar. The only thing I got out of it was an awesome tip on a breakfast burrito. The next bar I tried was a tapas and tap house - decent, but it was only groups of people and the only really cute girl was the waitress, who both busy and having none of it. Beginning to wonder if I would have to ask my iPhone to find nearby Walmarts, I went to the highest rated bar on yelp that was within walking distance. It's a bar on the second story of a restaurant and as soon as I walked in, I knew that if it didn't happening here, it wasn't gonna happen: decent crowd, some cute girls, and they even had O'Dell 90 Schilling Ale on tap! The bartender commented on my Wisconsin license and a couple people around me started talking to me about that. One of them was a homely girl whose family was from Neenah, WI. There is only one thing to say about Neenah - it has a foundry that makes manhole covers found all around the world. She found this fascinating. I could have bit the bullet, completed the mission right then and there, but there was a  brunette across the bar and I wanted that. So I wished the sure thing a nice evening, ordered another O'Dell, and waited to operate.

Accompanied by a cute friend and some guy, the newly acquired target was a gorgeous girl with dark features and flowing hair. I pretty much just cold-approached her and it turns out she was both a model and a total bitch. Obviously my mistake was talking to her first, so I tried to right the ship by shifting my attention and chatting with her friend, who was actually very interesting. A photographer and a runner like myself, we talked for a while about various thing including linguistics, of all topics. I began to think that maybe I could get the guy out of the picture, who seemed to be into the nice girl, and I would complete the objective. Then the model came back and I found out why they were out. The photographer girl and the model girl were going to do a photo shoot in the middle of the night and decided to get drunk first. Apparently this was needed because the model would be photographed dressed as a prostitute. My second, biggest mistake, was somehow not seeing this shoot happen. I mentioned that I would like to join them, since I had nothing better to do, but the bitchy girl was having none of it. I should have insisted, done whatever it took, because it would have been a fantastic story; I will probably have several fantasies about what would have happened had I found a way to go with them. But, rejected, dejected, drunk and out of time by this point, I resigned myself to a night in the parking lot.

The night was not without collateral damage though. On my way back to the car, I, for whatever reason, tried to open a door to a closed down restaurant/bar. I will never know why. There must have been something out of place, like it was a little ajar, because, to my complete shock, it was unlocked. Naturally I went in to explore. Then I found the bar, an almost full bottle of Blanton's single barrel bourbon and went into klepto mode. I stuffed it under my sweatshirt and snuck out the door to an empty street, taking pulls from all the way back to my car. Having already said "fuck it" to just about everything that day, I climbed into my passenger seat, put on my jacket and stocking cap, and just went to sleep parked on the side of the street.

I will add that, until I had that breakfast burrito the next morning, I did not feel really good about any of this. Maybe it's a sign to start living virtuously. Maybe the universe is just on "expert" mode right now and I'll need to up my game to continue. Anyways, I'd like to publicly apologize to the owner of a bar in Albuquerque. But it's not like anybody was drinking that anyways, it was mostly full.

Thanks for reading my confessional, now enjoy Weird Al

OK!

Oklahoma City it probably the last major city in the United States that I would ever consider visiting for pleasure, below even Houston and Newark. All else equal, I'd book a flight for Cleveland before I came here. But OKC is a convenient first stop on the way to California and my friend Anders lives here, so I have a place to stay and a person to hang out with.

He lives here, because he is a world-class lightweight rower and two Oklahoma energy companies, Chesapeake and Devon, have ponied up the cash to create a national Olympic training center. People tiptoe around the issue, but it's the “boathouse that fracking built.” Nonetheless, Oklahoma is now a hotspot of rowing (and flatwater kayaking). There is a man made “river”, with perfectly graded banks, accomplished by damming what would otherwise be shit-trickle running through downtown. The amenities are astounding – racing shells that cost as much as a house, an altitude simulating training room, erg tanks, world-class weight room. They even have a contraption that is like your standard gym rowing-machine, except you kayak on it. Truly, Anders is living the post-collegiate dream.

Anders proved more than worth as a host. In the short time I was there, we managed to see the boathouse, go out in the Arts district, take a boat tour of the course and check out his favorite coffee shop. And his driving tour of and commentary on downtown OKC was interesting. Oklahoma City is also built on energy money, it's most prominent feature is the as-yet-uncompleted billion dollar Devon tower, which unfortunately looks like an uncircumcised phallus, allegedly with a large ball at the base. Oil derricks, the giant iron pumps that slowly rock up and down, are everywhere, even on the lawn of the Statehouse. The influence of this money seems to put the city at odds with itself. OKC is definitely trying to find an identity, but at this moment it mostly seems disjointed. The downtown area, where the skyscrapers and the Thunder basketball arena are, is a ghost town at night. Major infrastructure projects are everywhere; apparently the city is moving all the interstate interchanges to the outskirts of town. Neighborhoods of un-tastefully large, Italianate houses exist two blocks from dilapidated strips of fast food joints, dollar stores and empty storefronts. In many places, buildings exist just as islands, awkwardly placed too far apart from each other. The average age of marriage for women is 20 or 21, and I'm told almost all the others are actively looking for Mr. Right. At the same time that it felt a world away from where I come from, familiar markers indicated that it really wasn't. This is in contrast to a place like Miami, where it feels like you're in another country. It doesn't have the fake feel of Orlando or Las Vegas, but the general culture in OKC seems so unoriginal – according to Jared, a native Oklahoman, the local food and drink specialties are “fast food” and “whiskey”. Yet I found myself somewhat charmed by parts of the city. That is, the hipster spots.

Anders had done a good job of scouting places and took me to some cool spots. He lives near the arts district, a small cluster of art galleries, bars and restaurants. Apparently every friday the galleries are open at night and have wine tastings, which sounds really cool. We, along with his friend Jared - think pre-weight loss Jonah Hill with an OU hat and a love for designer drugs - and roommate/teammate Vince, went to “the Other Place”, a bar with egyptian-themed murals, small rooms with sofas and drapes, for privacy, and an enormous back patio. Lots of flannel, dark framed glasses, lots of tattoos and piercings. I imagine in summer it's necessary to be outside. We didn't get to sit in one of the secluded areas, but it looked like a place I could hang out in again.

Anders scored again in the morning when he took Vince and me to the Beatnix Cafe, his favorite coffeehouse to eat breakfast and read Sherlock Holmes in. Another hipster-y place, Beatnix has eclectic décor, good coffee, and lots of Yerba Mate. The cost of living is extremely low in OKC – you can buy a house for $40k – so a good avocado, egg and cheese bagel was only $2.99. Anders mentioned to the barista/owner, Dave, that it I was visiting from out of town. Without hesitation, Dave said that I should try his signature drink, the Turbo Mate Latte, on the house. It quickly became apparent that this portly middle-aged guy in an Orange County Choppers tee was a Mate aficionado. He knew exactly how much theobromide and niacin was in each of his mate blends. The Turbo blend is specially crafted from several other Mates, peppermint, guarana, and ginseng; soy milk and a ingredient I didn't catch are added in to make it a latte. One of its features is that it contains all three types of caffeines – those found in coffee, tea and chocolate. The Turbo Mate Latte is Dave's special contribution to this world and he talks about it like it's his baby. He is definitely on to something; if you are ever in Oklahoma, find a way to get to Beatnix and get this drink. It tastes like green tea ice cream that was melted and heated up – creamy, aromatic, it tingles the taste buds and smoothly fills the mouth. Not overpowering, just enough. And it has the equivalent caffeine dose of 15 cups of green tea, so you get really buzzed, but not a jittery buzz, more like your brain is suddenly a helium ballon hovering rising up to meet the cranial dome. As we were tasting our Turbos, a regular came in, ordered a coffee, and simply walked behind the counter to open the fridge for creamer. Neither Dave, nor his other barista, who looked a lot like Skrillex, seemed to notice or care.

Certainly, I hadn't given OKC enough credit. But I doubt I'll be back, at least for a while, especially since Anders will likely be leaving in less than a year. It seems as though I'm as unsure about what I think of the city, as the city is unsure of what it thinks about itself. 

Ain't Nothing in Kansas Ain't Nothing in Kansas Ain't nothin in Kansas

Day one, on the open road! I decided to start my trip with the most brutal drive of the entire trip – a 12 hour straight shot from Wisconsin to Oklahoma City, crossing the spare landscapes of Iowa and Kansas on the way down.

The drive was going ok until I passed Topeka, Kansas. Lost in the emptiness of the flatland, halfway to Witchita, I suddenly noticed that my gas gauge had dropped significantly. Confident in the fuel efficiency of my Honda Civic, I decided to press on. However, the needle continued its precipitous drop towards “Empty” and I began to worry. I asked my iPhone where the nearest gas station was: 20 miles, back the other way in Emporia. Unfortunately there aren't really any exits on this part of the interstate, since there is literally nothing around. Not even trees or bushes, just grass and dirt. Also absent are places to turn around, so onward I pressed, the next dot on the map as far ahead as Emporia was behind. As long as the gas warning light doesn't come on. It came on. Dammit, not on the first day, I can't believe how stupid I am.

Once before have I been in a similar situation, on the outskirts of Chicago. Exit after exit passed with no indication of gas nearby, until I finally just took one, asked for directions to the nearest pump at a Red Robin, and made it safely to a Mobil station. That time I went 15 miles with the warning light on.

Shit, can't be sure I'll make it if I turn around, Emporia being 20 miles in my rearview mirror (had I been in an old western with a Native American guide, he or she probably would have actually been able to see it). So I took my chances, variable as the gusts of winds sweeping across the Kansas plain. To save on fuel efficiency, I tucked in behind a double semi-trailer. It wove back and forth in the lane, played with by the wind. I am either going to die when this thing jack-knifes or run out of gas in the middle of nowhere on my first day, not sure which is more humiliating. 10 miles went by. There is still nothing as far as the eye can see. I pass an RV, noting that they might have a gas can if I can flag them down from the side of the road when I inevitably run out of gas. There were no landmarks to gauge how far into the void I was going, just the slow tick of tenths of miles on the odometer. I hit 15 miles, now in both literal and figurative no-man's land. Suddenly, there is a tower off in the distance. Please let that be something. I need it to be something. Sixteen, seventeen. It grows slowly larger, some more buildings become visible. Maybe it's a town, maybe it's a mirage. Then, 18.6 miles after the low-gas light flickered on, an Oasis appears. Phillips 66! I am invincible, nothing can ruin me. My knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel. I relax as I coast off the interstate, up to the pump. A road sign says “Next fuel, 33 miles”. Still on the line.

Go West, young man!

Like many Americans before me, I am about to embark upon a journey towards the Pacific Ocean. However, in stead of searching for gold, land, or a place to practice polygamy, I am in search of ski slopes and fresh powder, the best local food and alcohol, and an escape from the shit winter I've been dealt in Wisconsin.

Yes. A road trip to go skiing, in the warmest and least snowy winter in a while, in a month when gas prices are as high as base depths are low. But I don't really care. I will be meeting friends throughout the trip, some I haven't seen in a very, very long time. My trip breaks down into three basic parts:

I. The trip to San Francisco
II. Northern California
III. Skiing my way back home

Leg one of the trip will begin this Sunday, as I drive the long, boring stretch of the heartland between Wisconsin and Oklahoma City. I'll be dropping by my friend's place for a night; he's promised me a good time. I'm not sure what he has in store for me, but he is reliably fun, so I'm not worried. After that, I'll take a drive across the Texas Panhandle to New Mexico, where I won't do anything. I'll probably just sleep in my car that night. Brutal. The next day I'll haul ass again to Phoenix, where I'll get to meet my godparents for the first time I can remember. They haven't seen me in a very long time and have been very excited at the thought of a visit. I'm planning to take them out to dinner to catch up. I move on to hopefully sunny southern California the following day, where I'll crash with the Badger. Badger is a friend of mine from work (before he moved away). He's graciously offered to take vacation the day I'm there, so I think there will be some beach and maybe some clubbing, which is kind of his thing. After partying in Malibu my plan is to make a leisurely drive up the beautiful Pacific Coast Highway, stopping in Santa Barbera for sure, probably wherever I just see fit. Good thing I'm bringing the DSLR. Which brings me to ...

San Francisco.

My brother recently moved there for a job. I haven't visited him yet so I'm excited to see his "very nice" apartment in Pacific Heights. It's been almost a decade since I went to SF with my family, so I'm excited to do the grown up thing. I'll arrive on a Friday night, so I'm hopefully not too tired to go out for a drink. Apparently wine bars are big there, can't imagine why. I'm staying the whole week, so I have plenty of time to check out the Bay Area. At least one day will be spent in Berkeley. At least $200 will be spent on food in the area. I will probably eat Dim Sum every day for breakfast. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. I've got some recommendations of places to check out from some trustworthy sources, certainly more to come on those after I go to them.

I've just realized I don't have a lot planned that week. I hope I can keep myself busy and mostly out of my brother's way.

The last part is the focus of the trip. This entire thing is only happening because I am going skiing with several college friends in Vail, CO. At the time gas was cheaper and since I had the free time and did want to visit my brother, driving around the Western US was only slightly more expensive than flying. Then flight prices dropped and gas went up, but I was so caught up in what I could do in between  San Francisco and Vail - shred that gnar gnar - that I said "fuck it, lets do this". So, in the span of about 12 days I will be skiing 8 times at Kirkwood, CA, somewhere right on Lake Tahoe, Snowbasin, Alta and Vail (and maybe Beaver Creek). Snow is starting to fall in greater quantities as I type, so I'm hopeful I'll get some untracked powder. In all this, I will pay a visit to my buddy Glenn, who lives in Western Colorado. When I asked if I could stay with him he said, "there is plenty of bear meat and homemade wine". Count me in!

Vail in particular will be exciting. I'm meeting with a group of my college buddies, something I've been doing for several years now. Unable to score the ski-in-ski-out condo one of their parents own, we will be cramming into a 1 bed with sleeper sofa rental. Lots of Lucky Pierres, aka the guy who has to sleep in between two other people when sharing a bed. Lots of awesome O'Dell beers. Lots of laughs.

Underlying all this is a quest to find Buddy, my cantankerous boss at the running shoe store, T-Shirts from as many Division 1 NCAA basketball teams as I can. I have a list of all the schools he doesn't already own shirts from that are within 100 miles of any city I'm stopping at, along with shitty directions as to where they are.  It is as follows:

arizona: arizona in tucson......california:cal poly in san luis obispo...cal state bakersfield...long beach state...loyola maramount in la...offhighway #1 above marina del rey, north of lax and south of santa monica...pacific in stocton...just east of sf...pepperdine in malabu...and santa clara in santa clara...adj. to san jose.....colorado...denver andnorthern co. in greeley..north of ft. collins...nebraska...creighton in omaha...oklahoma:  oral roberts and tulsa , both in tulsa...utah:   utah state in logan, way north of slc...utah in slc...weber state in ogden, north of slc


oh Buddy.

for anybody following, I'll post updates almost everyday. Hopefully there are some funny stories to tell.

Next time on Stranger Here ... "hey Andy, remember the time you stayed in a Walmart Parking lot and had to escape meth addicts who thought your car was a giant spider egg sac?"

"Drinking Update" Update

It appears as though this blog has developed a bit of an international following! Thanks to Blogger's dashboards, I see that a particular post, "Drinking Update" has invited many comments, most of which I cannot read. Those that are in English seem to decry my stances on New Belgium brewery and certain trends in the micro breweries.

Two years, later, I'd like to revisit my drinking habits. In the intervening years I got a lucrative job then quit, so I'm in about the same financial position I was when I wrote the first drinking update - with limited cash flow. This fact, however, has not prevented me from nurturing my expensive tastes.

Still living in Wisconsin and the micro breweries continue to flourish. My excitement for Capital and New Glarus, however, has waned. There is a new favorite brewery in town, Lake Louie, from Arena, WI. Across the board, Lake Louie's beers are blowing the competition out of the water. Tommy's Porter, what I consider to be their flagship beer, is thick, rich and smooth; the best porter around.  Their other darker beers - Warp Speed Scotch Ale and the seasonal Mr. Mephisto's Imperial Stout - deserve mention and a try, if you can get them. Like many Wisconsin microbreweries, you can only find Lake Louie in Dairyland.  The last jewel in King Louie's crown in the Arena Premium, an American Pale ale whose combination of hoppiness and drinkability makes in stand out, albeit not in a crowded field.

Seriously, if you're coming anywhere near Wisconsin, the beer here is worth the detour. The drinking culture remains strong.

I've taken a liking to tequila. That is all I feel obligated to state.

Which brings me to my true love - whiskey. Bulleit Bourbon is still king around here. Honestly, for the price, I don't think there is a better bourbon around. The discovery of 1.75 liter bottles of Bulleit has been both a blessing and a curse - the saving over three handles equates to a free fifth. While a great whiskey, and value, Bulleit is not the smoothest of drinks. Since Stranahan's Colorado Whiskey is no longer available at bars, when I need to celebrate with a bourbon I'll upgrade to Booker's or Blanton's.

Beware: Bourbon is a gateway whiskey. That, and the fact that my buddy Snacky has gotten me to enjoy cigars, has led me to start drinking single malt scotch. After sampling whiskys from Laphroig 10 year, to the Macallan 12 year and Glenmorangie 10, I've settled on the Oban 14 to be my single malt of choice. When I make it back across the pond, I'm definitely going to Scotland. My friend Jamie has assured me that I would love Edinbourgh and I want to do a distillery tour very badly.

I have yet to do the Bourbon trail. My guess is that won't happen for a few years, which is unfortunate. I will, however, soon be going to California, and a day in Sonoma or Napa is definitely on the agenda. More on that in an upcoming post.

To the haters - New Belgium has grown on me with the introduction of the Ranger IPA (what? did I just admit to liking an "overly hopped" beer?) and my discover of their 1554. But I maintain that O'Dell is the better Fort Collins brewery. I'll also maintain that there are a lot of ho-hum micro breweries out there. I appreciate the experimental nature of them, but there is a new paradigm and making an array of beers that is than MGD 64 and its ilk isn't going to cut it anymore. And just because your beer is hoppy enough to make a lemon pucker doesn't necessarily make it good. Avery Brewing Company's Maharaja is a great example of what an Imperial IPA should be: bitter yet fluid, highly alcoholic without an overly warm mouth feel. As I'm going to tell my children and grandchildren: Nobody gives you a medal for drinking beer with a high IBU count.

Til next time, check out Three Sheets, a travel show about drinking customs around the world.

Cheers, na zdravi and salut!

travel mode upcoming

Destination: Colorado, USA
Mission: find fresh powder
Submission: get Stu sauced every night

Heading back to Colorado to ski and hang out with some buddies. Three days on the slopes, two nights on the town. Should be a bit different that last time, when I went to Vail for some spring skiing. With any luck, there will be some snow falling while I'm out there. As usual, look for beer updates, I can't find O'Dells anywhere where I live so there will be plenty of that being drunk.