Consider the Lobster

Like I've been saying all along, this road trip was never about us. At the forefront of our minds this entire trip has been what influence each one of our decisions--which national park to see, who to visit, what music to listen to, and what rest stop to nap at--would have on our readers. So, with the knowledge of how carefully we've thought about what you are about to see, I present this very long post of our journey from Chicago to Maine via Minneapolis, Michigan, and Erie P.A.

Let's begin at the very beginning. Chicago. Chai-Town. Showerville. Chicago is now one of my favorite cities. I absolutely loved it. I've decided that it's pretty arbitrary whether or not you end up liking this or that city--arbitrary in the sense that often it comes down to who you are with and what you decide to do as opposed to the fixed features of the city like the people, its look, and layout. I used to dislike London because it seemed too crowded, and every time I went I spent too much time in the tube, and all I did was visit dusty old museums which should have been destroyed in the war. But now I love London and all it took was a long weekend visit last summer with the right friends and going to the right places. I think this is what happened with Chicago this time. It was summer, two of my brothers were in town in addition to Joey and his friends, and we did a lot of fun things like the zoo, a White Sox game, biking, and Millenium Park.

 We spent forever watching this polar bear. Of all the animals at the zoo, he was by far the most interesting and happiest. The Gorillas all seemed depressed and the lions just paced back and forth roaring. But this guy had a gigantic pool which he swam back and forth in playing with his toys. Every minute or so he would make a pass at the glass where all the people were watching to take a look at us.

 Leo is Joey's friend from way, way, way back before Joey met better friends. They met when they were ten at a summer camp. Leo lives in Chicago in the up-scale Humboldt Park neighborhood where he runs his own failing art business called Shiner. It's a really cool product which Leo invented himself. You can see it (and buy it) here. Love you Leo!

The "Bean" at Millenium Park. I think Peter was talking about how he was going to link his interests in the Balkans with global environmental history at this point. Like the bean, it seemed like a stretch.

 Like I said, two of my brothers also happened to be in Chicago at the same time and we hung out. The encounter between Nathan and Joey's cousin Michael was pretty hilarious. Joey's been telling me about Michael forever. All of Joey's pithy and crude maxims about life apparently stem from Michael ("don't argue with retards" is one of them). He's a loud, fast-talking, opinionated, but warm guy who left day-trading because it was destroying his soul. At the same time, my brother Nathan is exactly the same way--apart from being a Manhattan playwright. Joey and I just sat silently as Michael and Nathan loudly shouted at each other their various opinions about movies, literature, and the best omelet to be had in New York (the red omelet apparently). It was like watching two waves meet and spike and double in height.

Moving on, one of the most interesting parts about Chicago to me was the Ukrainian and Polish neighborhoods. They were right next to Leo's apartment. It seemed like Ukrainian and Polish were really the main languages still spoken in these enclaves. This seemed really unique to me--that there were still pockets of insulated immigrant communities in America speaking their own language. And then I realized I was just being Eurocentric and that plenty of Asian, Hispanic, and other insulated, ethnic neighborhoods exist all over the country. In any case, the Ukrainian village was especially interesting because of the current crisis. Ukrainian flags were everywhere, and signs saying "Pray for Ukraine" and "United We Stand with Ukraine" hung in all the store windows.

I had to find a restaurant with borsch of course.

Our next stop after Chicago was to Minnesota to pick up Joey's friend who we'll call "The Good Book". The Good Book needed a break from the hustle and bustle of the twin cities and her 80-hour a week job selling antique books. So we swung by, nabbed her, and headed up to Duluth. A lot of these photos our out of order but there's a picture of Lake Superior down there along with the Mackinaw Bridge. The U.P. was a strange but beautiful place. The culture seemed a bit like Alaska's: sparsely populated, remote, and (therefore?) full of guns, separatists, and strange accents. They call themselves "Yoopers".

Above: Duluth. My brother told us that Duluth is known as the "San Francisco of the North". It's definitely really far north.

Next stop: Old Mission! After the Minnesota backtrack, the work part of our road-trip was over and we could start our vacation. So we went to my family's summer vacation spot in Old Mission near Traverse City. The pictures you'll see below depict the following: the chapel where my parents were married in 1971 and where I was married in 2014, some black raspberries we picked, and the trip to our friend Logan's cherry orchard where we got to see how cherries are harvested. Watch the video! It will blow your mind.

From Old Mission we headed down to Erie P.A. to stay with my sister Cathy and her family for a night before arriving in Maine. Sophia, Cathy's 4-year old on the Good Book's lap, is known wide and far for her charismatic one-girl acts. She didn't disappoint during our visit. When we arrived, she went straight up to Joey and demanded "Who are you?!" "I"m Joey, Tim's friend" he replied. Sophia immediately retorted, "You look funny" and walked away. True, but not something you usually say directly to someone with a funny face.

Ok, here we go. We've arrived at the Maine part of this blog. My readers may remember that in my first post I exuberantly stated "I'm dying to see Maine and eat lobster until I puke". Well, apparently I wasn't just overstating my excitement to eat Maine shellfish. I was quite literally looking into the future. The first night in Maine we went to a restaurant across the bay and ate a mountain of clams. Hidden in that mountain was one evil clam which had been predestined for me. After a pleasant evening of learned discussion, poetry reading, and puzzles, we all retired for a well-earned night of restful sleep. At about 1:30AM the house awoke to the sound of my retching. I had at first hoped that my puking would blend in with the sound of the waves washing against the rocks outside, but that hope was dashed pretty quickly. I'll try to refrain from going into detail but let's just say it was so loud that even the Good Book who wouldn't even be awoken by a Tsunami had her sleep disturbed.

To my credit, I got back up, wiped that puke off my face, and ate lobster and oysters (not without some trepidation) two days later. I had come to Maine with a purpose and wasn't going to give up that easily.

Lobster time. As we approached Maine, we read David Foster Wallace's "Consider the Lobster" essay out loud. If you haven't read this essay, read it now. He discusses the debate over whether lobsters (and animals more generally) feel pain and whether it is ethical to boil them alive. It's mostly interesting to me for the questions he raises about what it even means to feel pain or compare animal and human consciousness and our uneasiness in considering the ethics of live lobster boiling. Needless to say, we had a long debate about this in the car afterwards but eventually agreed we would all eat lobster anyways and just not think about it.

I can't gush enough about Maine or Joey's family's hospitality. We stayed in Joey's mom's beautiful home right on the coast halfway up the state, ate seafood every night, and saw Portland and the rest of Maine by day. Joey's mom runs a cute, little general store stocked with only the tastiest products she finds at the food fairs she travels to all year. She basically let us plunder the store for breakfast and lunch.

This post has got to end now because it is too long and boring and I am about to jump on a flight here in New York to Frankfurt. I know this is kind of an anti-climactic ending to the road-trip blog so I'll write an epilogue including some reflections about what this trip means to history when I get to Germany. So long!

Showerville

All great endeavors and expeditions have challenges to face and overcome. Columbus got stuck in the doldrums, the Titanic met an iceberg, and Bush lost a crucial primary in New Hampshire. It seems too that the greater the benefit to humanity offered by a grand undertaking, the greater the challenges it will have to face. Joey and I can definitely say that this historical maxim has held true for the second leg of our expedition. I'll spare you the grim details about just how filthy we got after six days in the backcountry. That would go against our stated goal of inspiring, edifying, and firing the imagination of those who would follow in our footsteps. But boy, did we look haggard. It's funny how being really dirty for more than a few hours is such a rare occurrence in modern life. We didn't shower for six days and by the end of that time our skin was covered in alternating layers of bug spray, dirt, sunscreen, and sweat. And Joey's white shirt...no, I can't bear to describe it. Our skin stuck to the sleeping bags, we found dirt on our toothbrushes, and no matter how hard we tried we couldn't remove the dirt from under our fingernails. Add to that the awful grimy and zombie-feel that comes with not having slept for several nights in a row. We began to refer to Chicago as 'Showerville'. I'm sorry to go on like this. But if this account is to be a true history then I can't airbrush any of it. Maybe a few photos will do better than words.

But now, safe in Chicago with the dirt and tears washed away, it's hard not to remember the past fondly and only think about the good times. I think I'll go ahead and share a few of those now with some pictures.

We were in Utah for several days seeing family and friends. It was too hot to venture out during the day except for brief media appearances and photo shoots or to cool off your paws.

We then headed up to the Grand Tetons where we went backcountry camping up Paintbrush Canyon. This was a spectacular spot overlooking the valley below. We were all by ourselves and had been trained to clap and yell 'BEAR!!!!' every now and then to ward off all the bears that lived there. On the way back down in the morning we actually did come across a bear just a few feet off the trail foraging for berries. We only saw his ears and shoulders as we moved through the undergrowth, but it was nonetheless exciting.

Everyone told us that the Tetons were stunning and much better than Yellowstone. The Tetons didn't disappoint. But because of these reports, we didn't expect much from Yellowstone. Maybe that is why we were so blown away by the geysers, and hot springs, and the subtle but interesting landscape.

After Yellowstone we headed to the Badlands. We were tired and dirty by then but decided to head out for one more night of backcountry camping. We didn't hike too far but it was slog nonetheless. This was probably the most isolated place we've been so far. The light pollution in the Badlands is supposed to be the least of anywhere in the US and we stayed up late staring at the stars. In the middle of the night, around 3AM we were both awoken by a coyote howling right next to our tents (closer to mine) which freaked me out.

We had so much leisure time after getting to each of our backcountry camping spots. We mostly spent our time playing chess, swimming, or looking at stars. As Joey said, this kind of leisure was unimaginable during orals.

But taking in the natural splendor is only a fraction of what happens on the road. I've found amusing the recurring conversations and entertainment we find to pass the time when all there is to do is drive from one place to the next. For example, the hypothetical game: would you rather be the lead man in your own local band or the anonymous guitarist of Paul McCartney's band where you just shut up and play what he tells you to? Or the running conversation we're having about how ridiculous car names are. Most of them seem to be just made up words that sound exciting or play on another dynamic word. Sorento, Elantra, Optima, Fiesta, and so forth.

Anyway, that's it for this post. We're now in Showerville, resting up and getting ready for the next leg. I leave you all with Sufjan's "Chicago" which is the song I had in my head as we drew closer to our destination. It seemed fitting.

Chapter 2: The Oregon Trail

Our journey didn't have the most fortuitous opening. We forgot the cooler and got lost on our way to San Rafael. But apart from a massive argument about Ukraine after which Joey threatened to separate from the road trip, everything's gone smoothly. I'm just kidding. We've only bickered once about how to properly dispose of banana peels. But I made Joey apologize and everything's good now. On a long road trip when it's just you and one other person together constantly, it's easy for little differences or disagreements to sour relations. You can't take a break from that person and every decision or action has to be negotiated and agreed upon. This is when communication skills and being ready to say you're sorry can go a long way. That's why I'm keeping a tally of how many times Joey says sorry to me on this road trip so at the end, in Maine, I can show him how much he's developed over the course of the road trip and how someday he can be as good a communicator as I am. I think this road trip will bring us a lot closer and help straighten him out.

Anywho, this post will mostly consist of photos of scenic Oregon coastline and forests with little commentary. I feel the pictures mostly speak for themselves. So let's begin!

The grand departure! There was no way Danny was ever going to fit in this car with us.

I had to post a picture of Coos Bay. This is where Steve Prefontaine grew up. A shout-out to all you runners out there. And an electric car charger! So far Oregon seems to have a lot in common with California except its Prius per square mile count is 6 while California's is 45.

Oregon's coastline is pretty dank. Well, rocky and dank. After that, we headed inland to Portland and stayed with Ari's family. We got a tour of the city and all of its bridges which Portland schoolchildren apparently have to memorize.

Then we headed to what was probably the best part of the road trip so far: the Bagby hot springs deep in Mt. Hood National Forest. We had to hike to it through a beautiful, moss-covered rainforest.

The hot springs consisted of a couple wood structures housing three or four big wooden tubs each. You turn on the valve to let the hot water fill it up and then pour in cold water from a cold spring to balance it out. Some Russians who live in Sweden were in the tub next to us and we chatted with them for a while.

And Mt. Hood...

And beautiful coastal sand dunes...

But this is mostly what our trip has been like so far...

And now we are in Utah for a couple days where it is scorching hot...see you all at the next post!

Chapter One: The Road-Trip

It's been almost four years since I last posted anything on my blog. At the time of that post I was studying in England, waiting to hear if I had gotten in to any PhD programs and thinking my Californian classmate complained way too much about English cuisine. Now, after three years of graduate school in the Bay Area, I'm about to return to Europe for another year of study and to annoy some other American about the wilted German produce, the scarcity of avocados, and having to grow my own basil. I really hope, though, that this blog doesn't turn into a catalogue of complaints about how Germany will never match up to California. I'd much rather this blog be about what Germany is than what it isn't and about my experiences and insights there. So, in that spirit, I begin this blog. The first few posts won't actually be about Germany. I don't get there until August 16th. I'm first driving across the US as one long goodbye and celebration of by far the greatest country in central North America. My driver, Joey, will first be taking me to Portland (the city popularized by Portlandia) to visit my friend Ari who grew up there. We'll then make our way across Oregon, see some stuff there, then spend a few days in Utah County visiting wineries and saloons. Then it's off to Yellowstone, the Grand Tetons, and across the plains to the Badlands. After camping and backpacking in those parks, we'll stay with some family and friends in Chicago, before heading to Maine where Joey is from. I'm dying to see Maine and eat lobster until I puke. Joey told me that in Maine they crawl right out of the Ocean and into the boiling pots all by themselves. I kind of doubt that but there's only one way to find out! So long Cali!!!! (post beautiful picture of sunset over Golden Gate Bridge and queue "California" by Joni Mitchell).

dialogue

I have been thinking lately about the nature of dialogue. I have in mind principally religious dialogue, but this extends to any and all groups or individuals who undertake to express themselves and to understand others. The only bottom line is that participants show respect for the other. As you can see, I have a very wide definition of 'dialogue'. 'Dialogue' for me includes talking with, being with, working for, listening to, and a number of other verbs followed by a preposition that reaches out to another individual. The key element is the reaching out to another to bring that 'other' into some type of relationship with yourself. This is what I take to be the essence of dialogue. From what follows below, it is clear that I want to combat a narrow sense of dialogue that sees it only consisting in 'negotiating' differences in propositional belief in order to try to eliminate those differences and find the 'truth'. This is very far from what I consider to be the purpose or spirit of dialogue. True, 'unity' is the key to my definition of dialogue, but it is not one that consists of doctrinal unity, but rather a unity of spirit and love that is strongest when it emerges out of diversity. I feel strongly about this because dialogue simply signifies the desire to have a relationship with someone or something. And, at least, on an ideal or institutional level, we should be constantly seeking relationships with others. The significance of the act of speaking, listening. or the act of being together, to me, lies more in the act itself than in anything exchanged or said.

I am a bit pre-occupied with this topic at the moment because I recently read some statements by an evangelical who decried the attempt at dialogue by a Utah pastor at a recent event at which Mormons and Evangelicals spoke about Christianity together. This particular evangelical felt that, above all, interaction with 'cults' like Mormons had to be centered on proclaiming their error and pointing out the difference between the 'truth' and Mormonism. He writes:

"I [intend] to address the way we approach others of different faiths with the gospel. What happened at this event is not about becoming friends and learning about other faiths or even understanding their worldviews; God is concerned that we could and ultimately will be influenced by another's religious beliefs if we get too close, even becoming completely deceived to the point of compromising the gospel of Christ."

We'll come back to this in a second.

So as not to appear unbalanced, I will relate a similar attitude displayed recently by a mormon towards another group. I recently attended an Anglican service with a few mormon friends. During the pastor's short sermon, one of my friends got my attention, gestured at the text of the sermon, and mouthed the word 'blasphemy!' very intensely. When I asked him why he felt it was important to see another's belief system in such evaluative terms, he explained that he is doing his own belief system and the Anglican system a service: he is taking them seriously and not trying to water down our differences. Whenever he is in a foreign worship service, he scans the service and only participates in that with which he could agree.

These two attitudes towards belief are admirable on one level: both of them have a healthy respect for difference that sees compromise on that difference as a false value. But I fear that, in the first case, this attitude can never lead to true 'togetherness', i.e. the understanding and love that comes from seeing theological difference as only one aspect of a much larger relationship. I feel his view egotistically focuses on getting across his pet project, beliefs, and concerns to the detriment of communication. I do not see how any relationship could be healthy on that basis. Both sides need to speak. Not even a relationship with God, in my view, can be one-sided. God does not force-feed us truth, but lets us grow independently and speak for ourselves. In other words, God and man should be constantly in 'dialogue' for the relationship to be healthy. As for the second attitude, it is an improvement, but, once again, I think it focuses too narrowly on what we think we 'know' as being the deciding factor in who we identify and commune with. I have a strong aversion to sharply dichotomous ways of viewing the world. In effect, I think it is dangerous to base one's actions and one's interaction with others on the basis of it only being this one way because, simply put, the world is rarely only that 'one' way. If we stake everything on it being that way, we may end up having a painful, conflict-ridden existence.

To both of these individuals, 'dialogue' in the sense of seeking some type of common ground in order to have a conversation and be together, threatens the integrity of theological differences between them. I don't think it has to be seen that way. I, of all people would hate to be caught defending a notion of dialogue that simply erased individuality or difference. To be honest, I see only one thing being lost in dialogue: pride. I think what we implicitly express by seeking to find commonality as opposed to trumpeting difference is that we are more interested in being together than in putting ourselves and our own beliefs above another. I doubt that anyone would claim that Christ was expressing moral relativity by associating with marginalized and traditionally unclean groups. Rather, what Christ expressed with all of his striving to enter into dialogue with diverse peoples, was that, even above belief and manner of life, love and respect should unite us. Recently, a friend of mine made the point that Christ left us, essentially, only two things: a community and a meal. I love this because these two things express 'togetherness' more than 'right thinking'.

“Die Wahrheit ist also einem Saamenkorn gleich, dem der Mensch einen Leib giebt wie er will; und dieser Leib bekommt wiederum durch den Ausdruck ein Kleid nach eines jeden Geschmack, oder nach den Gesetzen der Mode.”

(The truth is like a grain to which man gives a form after his own preference; and this body receives again through that expression a dress after each one's tastes, or according to the laws of fashion.) (ZH I 335) Johann Georg Hamann

From Goethe's Faust:

GRETCHEN: ... Do you believe in God?
FAUST: My darling, who can (really) say:
I believe in God!
You may ask priests or wise men,
And their answer seems but a mockery
Of the questioner to be.
GRETCHEN: So you do not believe?
FAUST: Don't misunderstand me, you lovely sight!
Who may name Him,
And who declare:
I believe in Him.
Who can feel
And dare
To say: I do not believe in Him!
The all-embracing one,
The all-preserving one,
Does He not embrace and preserve
You, me, (and) Himself?
Does the sky not arch above us up there?
Does the earth not lie firm down here?
And do not with kind glance
The eternal stars rise?
Do I not look at you eye to eye,
And does not everything press
Upon your head and heart
And weave in eternal mystery
Invisible and visible around you?
Fill your heart, as big as it is, from that
And when you are completely blissful in the feeling,
Then call it what you like:
Call it happiness! Heart! Love! God!
I have no name
For it! Feeling is everything;
(The) name is sound and smoke,
Enshrouding heaven's glow.
GRETCHEN: That is all quite fine and good;
Much the same thing says the pastor, too
Only with slightly different words.
FAUST: It is said everywhere (by)
All hearts under the heavenly day,
Each in its own language:
Why not I in mine?


So here are two of my favorite quotes on the nature of transcendence. As with almost everything, I stop just short of saying that I take these ideas to be the "truth". I am more interested in the searching and in the striving to express what we understand and feel than in actually saying "I am certain". And maybe that is exactly what I like about these approaches to transcendence. They express the idea that the form in which we express our feelings will never perfectly approximate the nature of ultimate reality; or rather, that whatever form those expressions do take is ultimate reality. The truth can simply appear under an infinite number of names (God, spirit, love, heart) or a variety of images. So the question I want to ask is one that I've gone over with a lot of friends: how consistent is this approach? Does it do too much violence to the individual's experience? Or can we accept the individual's experience as valid, but simply recognize that the infinite is not limited to one form? But is this still inconsistent when we consider those whose experience "tells" them that there is only one form? One expression to truth? Am I really just being paradoxical in saying that I am sure that truth cannot be contained in only one word or image and then saying that I am sure of this? (You'll notice that I stopped short of being 'certain' though). Thoughts welcome