LOS ANGELES, CA: “If you want to do that to me, you have to buy me dinner first.” (09/25/09-09/27/09)

Two things are obvious to those who know me:

1) I go everywhere I’m invited.

2) I can be talked into just about anything with promises of booze, food, and high fives.

I had been in California not an hour before I realized that I flew across the continent for a birthday party I was invited to over a text message. Yeah. My darling friend, Jake Pitkow, was the culprit who bribed me with a memory foam pillow and a kiddie pool of old fashioned. His twenty-first birthday had actually been a surprise for me, as he’s one of the most qualified boozehounds in my acquaintance. While this is undoubtedly why we get on so famously, it never occurred to me that the legal drinking age applied to him. Nevertheless, across the country I did fly and into the open arms of friends Jake, Finn, and Annie.

Life in “The Valley” began for me at 11am. Here’s some fun facts I learned straight off:

1) September is the hottest month of the year.

2) L.A. is a god damn desert.

Annie and I adjusted to L.A. by the pool as Jake and Finn went to go prepare for an interview that Mrs. P had set up for Finn as a surprise. This left Annie and I alone as Jake’s friend Anastasia came by to introduce herself. Anastasia is a lovely girl from Jake’s acting class. Quintessentially “L.A.”, she immediately ran into a torrid account of the last 24 hours of her life, ending with “It’s so damn hot out here, I’m gonna go take my clothes off. Be right back.”

Again, Annie and I adjusted to LA by the pool as an alert came over Twitter that a taco truck was near Finn’s interview. We piled into Anastasia’s car, rolled down the windows, and headed to Encino. Rolling down the windows doesn’t work in LA. The breeze is hot, not cold, like sitting in front of a blow dryer for a New Englander like me.

Twitterly unreliable, the taco truck was MIA, so we adjourned to the California Pizza Kitchen as Finn headed off to impress a legal head-hunter, Annie talked about the possibility of being kidnapped, Anastasia touched up her manicure, and Jake and I drank (Ironically, Sam Adams is EVERYWHERE in LA).

Due to a late but lovely birthday dinner that night, we got a lazy start the next day before heading out to see the sites- or the Grand Central Mexican Market. It was here we met up with another long lost friend, Kierra. The market itself is a sprawling promenade of pupuserias and vendors of nuts, fruits, and pharmaceuticals. We saw the Hollywood sign as we wound our way through Laurel Canyon back to the San Fernando Valley.

We dressed for success in preparation for the long night of bar crawling ahead, and the limo Jake’s very generous mother acquired for the evening picked us up to take us there. Jake was afraid this would recall memories of prom, but I had a blast at prom so this was a-okay with me.

First stop was Varnish. You walk through Cole’s (the restaurant that allegedly invented the “French dip” sandwich), and double doors are opened, leading you into a dark room filled with dark booths with dark walls that have dark sconces and a fantastic bar. Books line the ledges between the booths, but because this is LA- these books were all reviewed in “Highlights” magazine. The drinks and ambiance were lovely and the bartenders extremely helpful, if the wait staff less so. Our waitress asked what everyone would like to drink and I said “Well, Jake likes the browns.” She looked awkward and said “People?” “Just read me the bourbon list, please- I didn’t bring my glasses.”

Next was another of Jake’s phenomenal selections called Seven Grand. Although Jake was carded, he was not wished a happy birthday by the bouncer. I dropped a hint and the muscle man immediately remedied the situation. This made Jake happy (it doesn't take a lot). Seven Grand is my favorite place in LA. It is the mothership for the New England transplant. Set up as an English lodge, the carpet is entirely plaid (this held my attention for quite a long time- it doesn't take a lot), the wood paneled walls sport deer heads (as this is LA I assume these are fake), and the bar specializes in the browns (and they know this means liquor). Enough said.

Our final location was Bar 107. Mama don’t play the “wait in line” game, but as Jake and Finn were desperate for a smoke, we waited whilst they finished and eventually we made it to the front. All the guys were patted down. The bouncer got to me and I told him, in no uncertain terms “If you want to do that to me, you have to buy me dinner first.” He was a cheap bastard, so I was left untouched. We squeezed our way through a horde of USC students to a back room, where we experienced collegiate culture shock and downed our PBRs as fast as possible so we could make an exit. We ran back to the limo, as one does in LA.

We dropped Kierra off at her home in West Hollywood and headed back to Jake’s for a night of amazing snacks, drinks, and stories.

Around 3:30 I said goodnight and goodbye to the kids, as I had an early flight the next day, which, amazingly, I did not miss. They all went to the beach. Assholes.

Arriving at the airport three hours early left me a lot of time to sample local fare. I told my waiter to send my compliments to the bartender for keeping the Sam taplines so clean. He said “right on” and gave me some sort of surfer hand gesture.

On the plane, I entertained a fantasy of marrying the gorgeous guy next to me, as he watched documentaries on fashion. It took me six hours of Karl Lagerfeld to realize my traveling companion was just not that into my kind…

We touched down in the glorious land of humidity and weather in general, but I missed my friends, so far away…

* Because I am lazy, all images are courtesy of wikipedia.org.

BOSTON, MA: “I know everything about Jim Koch” (09/11/09-09/13/09)

Oktoberfest comes but once a year. In the grand old tradition of the German festival, Sam Adams holds their celebration in September, NOT October. Two days of music, games and rowdiness take over the Boston Plaza Castle and magical unicorns and rainbows create the happiest happiness in all the land.

I arrived late Friday night and met up with my dear friend Laura, who after letting me settle in, whisked me away to a bar whose name escapes me, but whose images will not. Almost immediately upon stepping inside, Laura and I were accosted by a man I thought was Eastern European. Turns out he was just a terrible dancer. His friend, however, had some great moves. This might have been fact, or it might have been because I found out he works in the art department at Sam Adams. Either way, we didn’t hang around long, as social graces at Solas, a more laid back, Irish pub, were beckoning.

Considering we closed the bar and were up until all hours, we did fairly well making it to brunch at a reasonable hour. Maybe the fact that it was well into morning when we went to bed contributed to my having two breakfasts later that day. At the same time. No, I really do want eggs, vegetables, home fries, toast, a full stack of pancakes, and a superfluous fruit salad. Do I look like I’m finished? Come back when you hear scraping on the plate. It was awesome.

After paying the remarkably inexpensive tab (the place caters to the firehouse next door), Laura and I headed over to my uncle’s home in the Back Bay, where we were able to spend some time with my aunt, uncle, and two cousins: Ryne and Cooper. My aunt Christine, aside from having great taste in men (read: Uncle Ed), shares a birthday with me. She is gorgeous and has a similar sense of humor to me (read: sick). Thus, she is one of my all time favorite family members (and I do have a ranking system). Ryne, one of the sweetest guys I know, is 16. Cooper is recently 5, which explains why when I gave Cooper his birthday present he played with the box. But at least I got to see the moves he learned in karate (pronounced kah-rah-tay).

Spending time with them allowed us all to catch up on news involving family and Spongebob Squarepants. Cooper had some additional secret news for me. I cannot tell any of the secrets I learned from him, but I can tell you the feds will never catch him- he’s that good at being sneaky. I knew these were secrets, and not to share with the world when he jumped on me, held my face in place, and began talking in my ear. The TOP SECRET secrets were the only ones that were whispered. When Cooper was ready for me to tell him a secret, he threw his ear to my face. My nose eventually recovered. Sadly, after three hours and a cartoon documentary on Egypt, Laura and I had to head out. This was much to Cooper’s chagrin, as he had just cast us as key players in a film he was directing.

A quick stop to peek at the gurgling cods at Shreve, Crump and Low was followed by OKTOBERFEST AT THE BOSTON PLAZA CASTLE.

The Castle was festooned in flags and images of Bavaria, Jim Koch, and the brewer and patriot himself: good ol’ Sam. Your prize of admission, a beer stein filled with Oktoberfest, a felt mountaineer hat, and more stickers than you can imagine. There was a band on one wall playing all the latest and greatest in polka, tables the size of houses selling beer, and trivia lined up against the walls. I love trivia. I’m not good at a lot, but I’m good at trivia. Kind of. I just really love Sam Adams (I’ve been on the tour three times- which is a lot for someone who doesn’t live in Boston). Laura and I strolled up to the trivia tent, where I promptly challenged “give me a hard one, I know everything about Sam.” He tried. He failed. I dominated and won a beer koozie. Laura also impressed him with her skills and we toasted our koozies and steins in JUBILATION! Spanning the length of the hall, German beer hall tables had been set up to accommodate the hordes, and we had the biggest game of flip cup going in all the land with so many new friends. Eventually, however, the event became overwhelming and we said goodbye to Sam.

We spent that evening at “Drink,” which has no menu. You just go in and order what you want or what you’re feeling like and they make it. Naturally, I got a mint julep, because I love the south, and one day I will be one of them- you know- one of those people of the south…

Amazingly, we were in bed by eleven, which was perfect for our morning plans of a walking tour through Brookline (Laura’s hood) and brunch at Tattee, an Israeli coffee shop with coffee served in bowls the size of my head. No- seriously. This amount of caffeine was just the amount of substance I needed to say good-bye to Laura and head over to lunch with Kate Shanahan, another long lost friend.

Kate and I ate interesting Thai food in Quincy Market, which I’m surprised didn’t kill me. We had a nice long chat about the reality tv show for little people (that was filming right next to us) before I went on my way, back to the big bad city.

I like Boston. Honestly, I do. I like it more and more every time Oktoberfest rolls around.

*All images courtesy of wikipedia.org

ITHACA, NY: "The Beauty Way" (08/08/09-08/09/09)

Ithaca, NY is a town about four hours north of the city. Though everyone in the city knows of it, few have been brave enough to venture to this gem in the Finger Lakes region- it’s marvelously crunchy. The amoral platitudes expressed in Manhattan tend to wax nostalgic about the “natural beauty” in the Hamptons- home of the season’s annual polo event, not Ithaca- home of the world’s largest human peace sign. Nevertheless, the town of Ithaca is a source of pride in the state, as its breathtaking landscape and progressive mindset have made it a haven for the universities in the region.

Shamefully, prior to August 8, 2009, I was Ithaca Ignorant. In fact, when some of my Combat Paper friends from Savannah invited me to join them up there, I said, “Um, I don’t even know where that is.” “Finger Lakes region of New York. Very pretty,” replied Paper Nate. Paper Mike opened his home to us and The Great Savannah Reunion (plus a few new faces) was set.

My co-hort and coworker, Xtina, by virtue of sitting eleven inches away from me, was Ithaca Intrigued by this point. Under the pretense of protecting my virtue, she invited herself on the adventure (I’m glad she did this- the trip would not have been the same without her). Twenty-four hours later Rosie the Rav4 was laden with bagels and heading north by northwest to the home of all things Ithacan (excluding Greece).

The drive to Ithaca winds through the Pennsylvania Poconos and the New York farming countryside. This is a verdant area peppered with ads for “Holsum” bread and big shiny silos. Xtina had never seen one before, or at least, that’s what her vociferous glee led me to believe because she screamed at every turn until we arrived at Paper Mike’s pad.

We pulled into Mike’s drive and were greeted by a statue of a beaver, and a watermelon filled with vodka. If this was any sign of things to come the four and a half hour drive was already worth the trouble.

After taking a brief moment to settle in and meet our hosts, Mike’s landlord, Jonathan and his dog Snowy (“He’s deaf- so don’t bother telling him to quiet down”), we began a trek to Buttermilk Falls State Park to find out why “Ithaca is Gorges.” (NB: It’s because there are gorges of limestone hewn by glacial melting, and the gorges are gorgeous.)

Hiking down Buttermilk Falls Gorge was an education in map-reading, “well, we are hungry here, but we want to go there. Where should we hike to?” This topographical ingenuity brought us about halfway down the falls, to a vista of a Home Depot superstore nestled among the rolling hills of green pine trees. Xtina saw a spider.

Our moment in nature induced both Xtina and I to breathe a little easier, a little deeper, but for the boys it was another moment altogether. Nate and Mike were coming off an ages long tour of god’s green earth to bring people together, veterans in particular, by making paper out of their old military uniforms. The process is a cathartic way to deal with their war experiences and to have a visual, active, and creative aid in their transition back to civilian life.

I can only imagine what this moment was for them, at the end of a long trip which was just one of many journeys they would make. There was a moment of calm at the bottom of the gorge as we looked out over the Home Depot Superstore. Finally Nate and Mike said “Let’s go get Louie” and we started back up the falls.

As Mike’s fully laden Saturn chugged up the steep hill to Louie’s home, we got the rundown of the man himself. Louie had been working for peace for over forty years, beginning with the Vietnam War, and was a close friend of the boys whom they admired very deeply. They spoke with fond determination of Louie, and of a veterans healing center they are going to build in Ithaca and of how it would be a safe space for vets to come, to be understood, and to “get right.”

Louie himself is a tall man with a noble face. He wore camouflage colors in solidarity, with messages of peace emblazoned across his chest. This is a common theme for all the boys I met both on the roadtrip through the south, and up in Ithaca, and is important to understand when considering the Combat Paper Project. A great deal of their clothing from their wartime travails has been pulpified and turned to paper, but some vestiges remain. One carries their gear in an army bag, one wears camo cargo pants cut off at the knees, even Nate wears his dog tags every day. I can only speculate that this is partly out of solidarity with the men and women they want so desperately to bring home. Hearing them speak of it is heart-wrenching. The sheer number of people who are currently in war-zones makes it impossible that the boys know all of them from their time serving, but to hear them speak of it, you would think each one is a sibling, a lover, definitely a friend. Intriguingly, it’s not politics with these guys. Of course, they have their leanings one way or another, everyone does. But with these guys, it’s just about getting people home. Home. Home. The word is repeated and it brings tears to the eyes.

Louie seized on Xtina and I as a captive audience and spoke so earnestly about peace. To be honest, I don’t even know what peace looks like. Is peace the absence of war? Or everyone getting along? Is peace Utopia? Is peace Ithaca with all its crunchiness or Afghanistan without war, without soldiers there and a Taliban government that sprays battery acid in the faces of young women who try to go to school? Is peace thousands of returning moms, dads, sisters, brothers, friends, teachers, lovers coming home and being safe and healthy and not scarred by what they’ve seen and done? What is peace? Louie desperately loves peace and speaks of the world needing it as Heathcliff spoke of needing Catherine. She is right where he can see her, and would complete his life if only she were within his grasp. Maybe peace is the completion of life. Cynically, maybe peace is the completion of life, and Heathcliff and Catherine are united in death. I hated “Wuthering Heights”- I never read past when Catherine died, and I changed the ending a lot every time I read it. Working for peace is Louie’s way of trying to actually, and meaningfully change the ending of a real life blight.

We waxed philosophical over a mound of blueberries Louie’s incredibly lovely neighbor, Claire, gave us, as we waited in Mike’s car for the remainder of our party, Nate’s identical twin, Jim, and a childhood friend, Jeremy. Unsure of what we were looking for besides an identical twin, Xtina and I exchanged looks as a 1983 top to tails maroon Cadillac eased around the corner loaded with friends, family, and food. Hell yes.

We picked up some beer and headed back to the house to prepare the dinner of gorgeous vegetables Nate’s and Jim’s mother had given for the trip. Jonathan, an accomplished chef, took one look at me, and, despite my assertions that I can, like, do stuff, cooking wise, said “You can make the salad. Follow me.”

I followed Jonathan to his small patch of garden as he negotiated his way through a mojito he had just finished, and beds of greens. We spoke of his plans to rent out plots of his land to less privileged families at a fair rate so they can experience working the earth, and get food out of it. A noble profession. I asked if he had the proper insurance for that.

A local writer joined us on the porch later on, and read some of her work for us. Her work focused on the human (very human) fallout of the war(s). Nate read some of his work, and we spoke about Louie’s recent stint in Nicaragua.

Stories continued on the porch over dinner as we were dazzled with tales of the more hilarious parts of the Combat Paper road trip. Beauty Way (a mix of berry tobaccos) and watermelon were passed around. The night wore on this way, and though the cloud cover obscured the stars, we were not lacking for shine. The company, beer, and beauty held up as the mild seventies dropped to the chilly sixties, and we gathered around a campfire for warmth,

Mike’s home is a haven of peace festooned with Tibetan prayer flags and flanked with quiet art installations depicting Mike’s journey from birth to war, from war to peace. It’s a recognition of self and others, and it was to here we adjourned when it got too cold to stay outside, joined by Mike’s new roommate, a lovely young woman whose name escapes me.

The next morning, we banded together to make a delicious bfast of vegetables from the Nate’s mother’s garden (Thank you Mama Lewis). I was trusted with stirring zucchini, and a gorgeous spread that included the bagels we brought from New York, prepared us all (even the migraine suffering Xtina) for the day ahead. (To be honest, I have no idea how Xtina would've made it if not for drugs, and the very kind concern from Jim, who mercifully kept her company throughout.) We bade a quick farewell to Jonathan, Mike, and Snowy, and headed down to the Ithaca Commons.

As a college town, Ithaca needs some place to get a beer and grow facial hair- the Commons are just this sort of locale. Souvenir stores with overpriced t-shirts are set adjacent to used bookshops, where bargains are to be had on everything from treatises on the Soviet War Machine’s threat to Cold-War era capitalism (Nate), to Dinosaur Origami kits (me).

The boys went to a deli for snacks while Xtina and I ran to a coffee shop for some much needed post-herbal-tea caffeine. Much to Xtina’s surprise/secret delight, the coffee shop did not have splenda. Or Sweet and Low. Or Equal. Only real sugar and vanilla syrup. Xtina, responded with “Wow, y’all ARE crunchy.” They made a flower with the foam in her coffee. It looked like a Bavarian hop.

A thunderstorm blew wide open, so we said our goodbyes to the boys and went our separate ways. Xtina and I made pitstops to gawk at gorgeous Cornell University, get ice cream, and attend an ATV rodeo- which was cancelled due to inclement weather.

Patience was maximally tested for the 8-hour ride home through interminable traffic, but the fun we had and friends we made, quietly living life “the beauty way,” if only for 30 hours, was worth it.