When I was leaving LA I realized the reason everyone drives so recklessly insane is because 1) the road system is confusing and changes are sudden and 2) everyone else drives so recklessly insane. It's no big thing to pull an illegal move that in another town might get you jail time, or at least a ticket. So when my exit was suddenly three lanes over I understood that it would not work to sit there with my turn signal on-- "hi there will someone please be kind enough to let me in?" I cut in front of a pickup and swerved onto the exit ramp at the last minute, a triumph.

I stopped at a farmers' market and bought 3 fuji apples (to replace those taken by the fuzz), a bag of snap peas for $1, and two cactus pads, de-prickled. The woman told me to grill them and eat them with cheese and cilantro. Yes! I love any combination of cheese and cilantro, even if they involve a cactus.

I stopped and got In-n-Out again, because I was afraid it would be my last time. Always so crowded there.

Then, my belly full of animal-style burger, I went to the beach. There are many beaches in California and so they aren't crowded. I walked out and fell asleep on the sand. I took a picture, probably, and that will go here.



I took the Pacific Coast Highway down to San Diego.



The car felt funny, still, especially at high speeds. I drove through Laguna Beach and remembered the times in 2005-2006 when my roommates and I watched it, against our wills. We could not stop. For those who don't know what it is, Laguna Beach was a fakeish reality show about rich high schoolers living in paradise, sitting on their daddies' back patios talking about boys. They always started conversations like, "So now that it's the morning after the beach party and we just saw LC at the surfing boutique, what do you think about how she was flirting all over with Jason?" This is exposition through dialogue, and it is one of those most awkward techniques in modern storytelling. Later when they graduated some of them moved to Beverly Hills and MTV aired their trials and tribulations as "The Hills" and I showed this new show to Wylie who thought it was an ironic statement on society.



Anyway, it's nice in southern California, so nice you don't have to worry about weather or other external factors so you are free all day to obsess about your toenails.


By the way, I usually add photos after I write these entries so if you prefer to look at photos, or you are illiterate, check back later.

I enjoyed the night I spent in San Diego. Downtown has tall buildings, looks like New York, but emptier, and not everyone hates you. The Hostel where I stayed was awesome, three floors, huge lounge areas. I met a girl from the British Isles who was traveling alone through the US and then going to Peru. We talked while I looked on the internet for a nearby Honda dealership. It was time to have the car looked at.

You are cool in Los Angeles

On the way to Los Angeles:

Lake Havasu


Terrible.


Sunset near the Arizona/California border


In the morning Adam ran through a list of things we could do. But quickly we got on the same wavelength when I admitted I was perfectly happy to do nothing and eat burgers.

In-N-Out specifically. The best fast food restaurant in the nation, the universe. The menu is simple, but if you know how, you can order from the secret menu. For instance. Ordering something "animal style" makes it extra delicious. They put it on the receipt, too, and if I find the means I will get that receipt up here. Adam and I went to In-N-Out twice in one day. Thankfully the crew had changed. Here is food from In-N-Out:



We did do touristy-resembling things. We went to the Santa Monica pier. Adam drives his car quickly and with confidence. And he was especially forgiving of my gasps and shrieks. Then:

the beach. Adam was talking on his phone and I wanted a picture of that. For some reason I didn't. I got distracted.


me standing in the Pacific ocean. Posture rather like a shocked penguin.


pinkberry frozen yogurt


people watching



leaning on the railing over the pier and talking


a tour through town, including backalleys


this sign. When we passed this, Adam calmly pointed at it, then said something pithy, like, "welcome to California."


Okay here's what I thought about Los Angeles: It was sort of like if everyone at my middle school moved together and founded a town. That's the sort of feeling. I don't know if that makes any sense. Everyone thought that they were being watched; and they were all watching. I remember being in middle school and thinking as I took my tray up to the trash can that everyone was watching my every move. Then I went home and my mom called me out on it; she said, "Honey, no one cares."

Well, Los Angeles cares. The sunglasses, the black leggings, the drink in your hand. Everyone was sitting and waiting for the director to yell, Action.

grown up stuff

Oxford was fine. I had a different idea of what it would be, I think, but this is also true of most things in my life. The motel was a little shady and in the morning a man with a shopping cart in the parking lot asked me if I had a good night's sleep. Later I learned he was the cleaning man. Okay.

Oxford has a nice independent bookshop, and I bought there the new Mary Robison book. I asked/told the cashier, "She taught here, didn't she?" though I knew the answer. It was my attempt at small talk. She seemed to see through it, and she did not help me out. Being in a car is a bit isolating. When I told Wylie I was worried about getting lonely in the car, he said something about travellers attracting other travellers. I don't know; it sounded good at the time. But as I am already 1.5 weeks into my trip, I'll tell you, I think it's a little different. I have noticed that Wylie is one of those people that strangers like to start conversations with. I know this from when we would go to the grocery store late at night and crazy people would talk to him about, whatever, Hotwheels or ice cream. They never talk to me. Which is fine, about 98% of the time.

Then when I talk to the cashier at the bookstore she looks over me, not at me, like over my shoulder, like she was looking for a hidden camera, like maybe she was on a prank tv show, or maybe like she was looking for someone like Wylie to talk to. Well, a drunk Scotsman once told me I had a pleasing face, and I believe that. (For Rebecca: "My friends say I have intriguing eyes").

And so, the cleaning man with the shopping cart says hello, but those are niceties. Tonight I hope to stay at a hostel in Santa Fe, so I will make a concerted effort to talk to people in a natural fashion.

I don't remember what I was thinking when I set off, or what I had in mind. I got on some road that started big and then became small. It was an extraordinarily windy day and when I filled up for gas I imagined I looked cool and windswept, but I probably did not.

I stopped at Clarksdale, Mississippi, to get a picture of the crossroads.



The crossroads is where a young man sold his soul to the devil for the ability to shred guitar. The restaurant recommended to me by hipster guidebook was closed; a nearby place was also closed but they said they could give me food. It went like this.

I walked into the restaurant and everyone looked at me. There are some places where you will always stand out, either because it's a small town, or because you are wearing a miniskirt in Mississippi, or because you walked into a restaurant at 2:30 pm when everyone knows that's no time for a meal. "Are you still serving food? Or is there a place around here that is?" I asked. I tried to be casual, not smarmy or touristy or cutesy, but I probably was all three. "Grill's closed," a skinny man in a hunting hat said. "But he can fix you up something. Can't you?" This he directed to a tall black man who looked really scared to see me. I repeated myself and added, "I've been driving all day and I'm starving."

Hunting hat said, "We can't have anyone starving." Scared man said he could get me something and he disappeared into the kitchen. I was to follow. Is this against some sort of code? In the fridge room he shows me a shelf. I have never been in the fridge room, but isn't this where they murder people? No bodies, just tubs of things on the shelf. "Where are you from?" I said, "I'm from Baltimore." "Oh, okay. I'm Terrell." "I'm Liz." "Hi Liz, this is chicken salad, and this is egg olive, or, something else, what do you think?" I got a drink from the fountain while he made my chicken something. This time, unsweetened plus fruit punch. I was proud of myself. But it was actually grosser than sweet tea, if you can imagine.

While I waited another man said to Hunting Hat, "So I heard you were on tv last night?" He laughed and nodded. And did not elaborate. I paid and left such a big tip that a woman working there yelled after me that I forgot my change. Outside another man said goodbye. He asked if there was anything else I needed help with. "No, just passing through. Wanted to see the crossroads." "That ain't the real crossroads!" "What?" "The real crossroads is by old 49. Did you go under the train on the bridge?" "Yeah." "It's around there." "What does it look like?" "Oh nothing. It's just grown-up stuff now."

Whatever that means. I thought about it for the next 40 minutes.

The chicken salad had egg in it. And they gave me pickle slices which delighted me to no end. So happy that pickles still exist in the south.

For good measure, here's a possible contender for Most Frightening Thing on the Road:



It wouldn't have been so scary if it hadn't been creeping along at 5 mph and making a sound like a trash compactor filled with wolves.

Point taken, Macon.

I didn't think it was possible, but Macon, GA is a cuter and more southern than Savannah. And the municipal vehicles are more weirdly European. Quick, though--I didn't get a picture.

I went there for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Macon fancies itself the cherry blossom capital of the world. They also have a very good hot dog shop. If there's anything I like more than hot dogs, it's towns that declare themselves the (irrelevant thing here) capital of the world.

Everyone and everything is pink during the festival. Lots of elderly tourists are in town, too, and so it was sort of like Valentines day at the old folks home.
The lady at the tourist center (pink sweater in a wheelchair, with, I THINK, pink ribbons tied to it, though I didn't get a good look) told me that some dude came into town and decided to make Macon known for its cherry blossom trees. So he planted a boatload.



The blossoms are crazy. And the bees are just having a good ole time. The trees are densest in the affluent areas, and each little Belle Reve had its own pink wreath tied to the mailbox. Some cadillacs had pink flowers painted, too. Some other people might call it overkill. But other people are usually wrong.



There was some crazy festivities going on in the park, like moonbounces and free samples of coca cola. But I wasn't having the parking fees, so instead I drove around until I found some weird old graveyard on a hill, behind a warehouse. I took my own picture with some trees. I'm not very good at self-pictures.



Downtown Macon is small enough that finding the hot dog place was easy. It is called Nu-Way Weiners. So delicious. What was the old way? Who cares? I got a chili cheese slaw dog, all the way (mustard and onions). And a sweet tea. If that doesn't sound delicious to you, you're probably a vegetarian. Or a weirdo.



Usually sweet tea is so sweet it verges on undrinkable for me. This was no exception and I carried around my jug of sweet tea for an hour until it got warm and gross and I had to come to terms with the truth: I AM NOT A SOUTHERNER.

Way back in the visitor's center I picked up a great brochure about things to do in Macon. Lots of Little Richard stuff and sports and blah blah history but then, in the corner, a totally random picture of two little boys sitting on an Otis Redding statue! I hope to include the text that went along with this picture, because it was so powerfully written that it convinced me I had to find this statue.

Also, if you know anything about me, you know I am 1) a sandwich fanatic 2)an Otis Redding devotee. I found the statue at the end of a path that was unreachable by car. To my great surprise no one else was around--what?? Why? Probably at that cursed Little Richard memorial--so I could not take a picture of myself sitting on Otis's lap.



But I did get to take a picture of this sign. It has some great typographical errors, forever immortalized for the world to see.



Lastly, here is one of my favorite signs thus far. And I've seen a few (including the oxymoronic "Hunting Preserve" and the haunting church marquee "VICTORY IS SWALLOWED BY DEATH"). This sign is simple, to the point, and yet also hopelessly vague.



That will conclude my entry on Macon, GA, though the day was not over.