Let's begin with a dilemma.
One more thing before I continue with my travelogue. Last night I heard a headline on the radio about more newspapers ceasing publication, followed by the teaser "Will 15 million bloggers be able to cover this gap?" What a ridiculous fucking question. The fact that the the writer of that teaser lumped all bloggers together shows that the problem still isn't understood. 'Blog' started its life as a short way of saying 'weblog,' and that word refers to a nascent period of blogging when people were putting there thoughts and activities on the web as a different form of journal or diary. The news blogger arose sometime after the diary blogger, but somehow managed to retain the same name, despite having a different purpose. So, by lumping together both forms of bloggers into one question, the writer was actually asking "Will 14.5 million online diarists and 500,000 news repeaters be able to replace our nation's newspapers?" It becomes a ridiculous question, which I have no intention of trying to answer. It just irritated me that someone who can't be bothered to word the question properly lumped me into the problem (or issue). We need a new word for news bloggers.
When I left off last night I was on my flight from Atlanta to Philadelphia, back on Tuesday, 03 MAR. The reason I always pick a window seat when the choice is available is because my eyes are glued to the landscape for the 15 - 20 minutes of landing. I love checking out the city or countryside that I'm about to land in. Philadelphia does not disappoint on this level. Seeing all the brownstones and other brick buildings makes me nostalgic for my upbringing. On the east coast, everything is made of brick. On the west coast brick is scarce. The best surprise of our landing, however, was that we flew right over the Philadelphia Navy Yard just a minute or two before landing. Suddenly we were over water, and just as suddenly we were over aircraft carriers! It was an exciting view.
Landing in Philadelphia was also exciting because it meant that I was finally going to (re-)meet Russell. I've mentioned before how Russell contacted me through Facebook. He remembered me from school, but I did not remember him. In fact, sadly, despite all the re-uning and nostalgia of the past few weeks, nothing new cropped up to spark a real memory, which embarrasses me to no end.
I got off the plane, made my way down to the luggage carousel and figured I was likely to meet Russell there since it's no longer possible to go through security un-ticketed and meet your guests at the gate. (This is a barbarism I hope we as a nation can solve at some point. There is no greater joy than stepping off the plane and seeing your party waiting for you!) As the bags were in no hurry to show up, I began scouting around for Russell. I'd given him a description of what I was wearing, but, for myself, I was only working off a couple of his Facebook pics. In a few minutes, however, I someone who just had to be him go from one baggage carousel, read the arrivals board, then look at another baggage carousel. So, I whipped out my cellphone and gave him a ring, figuring any motion on his part to go for his phone would reveal him.
Naturally, he didn't answer the phone. But, he moved past the second carousel and over to where I was standing. As I walked towards him, sure I was right even without cellphone evidence, he recognized me. We shook hands and hugged, and a few minutes later we headed out of the airport with my bags.
Now here's the weird thing: we didn't seem to have an awkward phase. You might expect after not having seen each other for 30 years, that there might be an initial effusive greeting followed by a period of silence, but that didn't seem to happen. That is, if it did, I didn't notice. Maybe Russell will comment and say otherwise. Because we had exchanged so many emails over the preceding few months, it was very easy to slip into a comfortable level of friendship. For my own part, any silence on my part was due to returning to Philadelphia and, shortly afterwards, New Jersey. I'm always quiet with eyes wide open when I'm soaking in new or old scenes.
We took off from the airport and almost immediately established a report that was to last throughout the trip. Because Russell is a historian by trade and passion, he was a font of knowledge wherever we went. Before even leaving Philadelphia, we detoured off the highway and went past all the various ballparks the city has to offer. And, because I am so bad at remembering specific data, this will be the first time in this travelogue where I will not be able to pass on Russell's knowledge, as I've already forgotten. Anyway, it seems that Philadelphia had a football arena, a baseball park, and a hockey rink all lumped together in one big sports complex. At the time Russell asked me if I'd ever been to the old Philly ballpark, and I couldn't recall. I do recall going to Shea Stadium once as a kid, and I do remember seeing the Atlanta Braves play one of the local teams— but I have no idea which team they played against or what ballpark I watched the game in.
Leaving Philadelphia, it was beginning to grow dark, and we discussed plans for the next few days. We had already settled on a tentative schedule, but Russell wanted to know what particular sights in the area I was curious to see again. One of the first I mentioned was the flea market in Columbus, which produced a groan from him. Other than that it was a fairly easy list to determine.
There's one thing I've forgotten to mention already: As soon as I stepped off the plane, I was reminded what Winter is like on the east coast. It was only 22 degrees, and I felt a chill even in the airport. My heavy jacket was stowed in my checked bag, but I wasn't even tempted to pull it out when the opportunity arose. If you know me, you know I prefer cold to warm. I made it all the way to the car in just a short-sleeved shirt.
So now we're driving through New Jersey, and as soon as we pull off the highway, there's snow everywhere. Everywhere! A thick blanket of it. Not a ridiculous door-blocking drift, but enough to crunch through. On the highway, I saw signs with town names that produced memory spikes, but once we were off the big road, I was lost. Occasionally something would seem familiar, but I was otherwise at sea. Probably the most disconcerting thing for a boy straight off the plane from California was the complete lack of housing tracts and strip malls. There were actually miles and miles of open space. Occasionally we'd come to an intersection of two roads, and more often than not, there were just a few signs to guide traffic. Nothing else. If you happened to be on a bigger road, say a two-lane one, and cross another two lane road, there might be a gas station on one corner and a restaurant on another, but there were no strip malls cluttering up the landscape. It was a welcome relief for the eyes!
Without much warning, a few minutes after leaving the highway, we suddenly came up to my old high school, Northern Burlington County Regional Junior/Senior High School. It was night, however, and we did little more than slow down as we drove past. Russell was eager to come back the following day and tour the school, but I was a pessimist and said that I doubted we would be able to. He didn't understand why, but we let the issue lie for the time being. Seeing as how we'd come upon the school from the west side, we drove past and continued on, shadowing the path my bus took when going home in the evening. In fact, Russell began to ask questions about which route we took, which jogged my memory into recognizing a few roads well enough to guide us most of the way. At an intersection close to home, however, we went a different direction, a direction that lead us to Rahilly Road. Readers of my blog may remember the story I told a few months back of our family's adventure on Rahilly Road in the early 70's. By moonlight, it was nothing but a serene country road.
Bow, despite the fact that I am still on the first day of my travelogue, I think I'll break off here for the night. I hope you'll be back tomorrow to join me for the third part.
Until next time!
"The curtain rises on a vast primitive wasteland, not unlike certain parts of New Jersey."— Woody Allen
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