Thoughts From The Helm

A "Why God?" Moment

2008-11-17T22:51:00.000-07:00

I wrote the following in March 2008. I'm not sure why I waited until now to post this story. Truthfully, I had forgotten I ever wrote it. I did not, and will likely never, forget what prompted me to write it in the first place.

I've said to friends and family alike that I owe many aspects of my happiness to my involvement in high school with the Westminster Choir at First Presbyterian Church. Indeed, any possibility of a life of singing was unlikely before I joined the choir in my sophomore year. I reminisce about the days before I started singing in public. When I sang in the shower, my family would often (politely) tell me to shut up. It was my experience in the choir that allowed me to experiment with singing and to grow as a person. It has largely shaped who I am today, where I am and who I know.

Because of all of this, I consider it a privilege to participate in the youth choir as an advisor these few years later. I now realize what a fantastic opportunity it is for young people to work so hard on something with a purpose greater than just themselves. That is the wonderfully refreshing part of the annual choir tour: it never feels like it's about meeting individual needs. It remains a pursuit of greater purpose, and I'm proud to still be a part of that.

Choir tours are generally positive experiences, highlighted by the spreading of "warm fuzzies" (encouraging, kind notes given to one another) and "God moments" (any spiritually sustaining experience, whether strictly religious or not). This past choir tour was no different. I personally experienced and witnessed a number of wonderful, encouraging things. Unfortunately, not everything on choir tour is warm and fuzzy. I also saw, along with my road companion, Noel, a tragic and upsetting element of life somewhere along our road trip back home. He and I came across a woman.

Although I can remember the details of that night, including the woman's name, the tone in her voice as she said it, even, and the exact town we were in, I think it best not to disclose all of that information.

It was Saturday, and Noel and I were driving a rental truck full of show props, costumes and technical equipment back to New Jersey. We stopped for the night somewhere along the way. There we found a motel, paid for a room and drove the truck down the street to the finest establishment in town: Denny's.

Our meal satisfied us after a long day of driving. The Denny's was actually packed, and it took a little while to get and pay our bill. Once we had done that, though, we headed for the door to go to the truck. As we left, I clearly noticed a woman turn to follow us. I held the door for her and twisted back to see that she put her hand on it before I let go. She quickly looked down and mumbled something that could have been a "thank you." I turned back around and started walking in the direction of the truck. She then said, louder but still with hesitancy, "Excuse me, fellas. Do you think you could help me out?" I knew even before she asked that she was going to - there was just something about the way she followed us out of the restaurant. Noel and I both assumed she was asking for money, and he replied, before I could think of what to say, "I'm sorry, miss, but we don't have anything." She apologized profusely and walked away. I felt bad, but I truly didn't have cash anyway. We walked toward the truck and I thought to myself that she hadn't even asked for money in the first place. I wondered what she needed.

We drove the block and a half back to the motel. It was an unexceptional place, about ten inches off the interstate. We parked the truck and walked to the back to retrieve our luggage. As Noel was unlocking and unpacking the truck, I noticed her again. She had followed us to the motel parking lot. I didn't see her hop out of a car, though. She seemed to appear out of nowhere. At first, I was a little creeped out. I didn't really know what she expected from us. She spoke first, apologizing again. She then reiterated her plea, "I really need some help." I went so far as to reach into my pockets in a show that I did not have any cash. I felt a few coins in my right pocket. It seemed insulting, but I pulled them out and placed them into her hand. Noel wasn't looking. I could tell he was uncomfortable, too. As I did this, I got close enough to her face to make out her expression in the harsh light of the motel parking lot. I saw her right eye and my heart immediately broke. I couldn't make out the different parts of her eye - it was all blood red. She was bruised, distraught. Noel and I offered some food.

"Oh, I'm not stupid enough to leave without provisions," she said assuredly. Her composure showed through her distress. She told us where she was from, hundreds of miles from the motel parking lot. She didn't seem like she was accustomed to begging for money.

"I'll probably go back, ya know? I just left to get some air," she muttered, looking at the gravelly ground.

I felt helpless to help her. Noel apologized again, saying he had nothing to give. "All we can do is pray for you," he said.

She looked up; her tone of voice changed. "Oh, no," she said. "That's wonderful. I could really use the prayer." She spoke as if she could have cried. She told us her name.

"Well, good luck," said Noel.

By this time Noel had gotten the bags out of the truck and closed it up. We walked toward our motel room. She turned to walk the other way, toward a car of people. That was the last we saw or heard of her. I wonder where she is now. I don't know the extent of her situation. I really don't know anything about her. I just sit here and think about how I don't pray. I don't have anyone to pray to. I have thought about her. I've wished her well. Is that the same thing? Is that "just as good?" You can ask, "Kevin, why are you posting this story?" The answer: I don't pray, but maybe I'm posting this story in hopes that you do.

"Un nouveau monde pour Barack Obama"

2008-11-05T19:51:00.006-07:00

Barack Obama is elected President of the United States to near unanimous world applause. So many questions come to my mind. How is it possible, for one?

I am young, and maybe that is why I believe there has never been a time when such a joyous global response erupted from a US election result. Is it just that I cannot remember? Has this happened before? Maybe it is because there has never been a time like right now. Barack Obama's was the first campaign for the 21st century, the first to embrace new technologies and to truly acknowledge a diverse American constituency. President-elect Obama also owns an international background, born to a white Kansan mother and a black Kenyan father, subsequently raised in Indonesia and Hawaii. He attended one of the finest universities in the world and graduated at the head of his class. A community organizer, a state senator, United States Senator, and now the President of our country. His personal story is international and yet utterly, completely, unequivocally, un-fucking-believably American.

I watched a slide show just a short while ago of photos from around the world, all taken on November 5, 2008. I saw heads of state congratulating Obama, and many, like Italy's President Giorgio Napolitano, congratulating the American people. They praised our country's unfailing democracy. I saw newspaper headlines from around the world. Unless one believes the entire world has been infected by the plague of the "liberal elite media," the front pages seemed incredibly inspiring. Many papers literally ushered in a new world order, like one French newspaper that declared "a new world for Barack Obama." I saw people celebrating in the streets, those with much and those with almost nothing. People of literally every race celebrated in Asia, Africa, South America, Australia and Europe. They cast imaginary ballots in honor and recognition of the remarkable American democracy. They drank in bars, danced on car tops, lit candles in hopes for peace, and carried the American flag high with pride.

That last part caused me to stop. I sat and stared and began to cry. Americans of my generation are unaccustomed to international understanding of the United States, much less admiration and praise. I know it existed at one time. I have heard about it from older generations, tried to conceptualize it for myself. I know that unity and solidarity existed after the great tragedies of 9/11. I remember it as an upsettingly fleeting moment, and perhaps history does as well. I also remember feeling chills of fear and sadness as American flags were burned following the invasion of Iraq. That was not a proud day for America, nor for me. I will never forget this day, though. Let it not be forgotten: On November 5, people on every continent, from every walk of life, carried our American flag with a genuine smile and a genuine hope.

A sobering thought: the world has seen better days. Perhaps international solidarity has been borne out of international crisis. Our next president faces unimaginable challenges, domestically and internationally. And one could argue that the stakes (and the expectations) have never been higher. Yet amid the uncertainty there are international feelings of renewal and hope for our world. For so many reasons - those I've named and the many I have not - this is a day to celebrate. It is a new world, un nouveau monde. I am proud to be a part of it and proud to be an American.

The Beach

2008-08-30T20:29:00.001-06:00

It is midday. The waves crash into the shore. The wind blows my short hair in its ceaseless tirade. If I close my eyes, I am on an oceanic beach. It is only the majesty of the landscape I can see in my mind and the conscious presence of grizzly bears that reminds me I am still in the Rocky Mountains.

Ceaseless tirade. I stand up and walk to a stand of cottonwood trees, away from the waterline, to escape the battering. Maybe ten feet from where I sat earlier, this spot provides sanctuary for plenty of small plants. A lone thimbleberry blinks at me from the understory. I have not yet tried a thimbleberry. The temptation is too much to resist. It tastes almost like cinnamon, I think.

I pick up a small rock, a reddish dot of argillite. It is just a fraction, a billionth of the ancient seabed that was deposited here eons ago. Below its hundreds of millions of years is a tiny brownish ant, an animal that will know no more than a few weeks of life. It scurries away as its shelter lifts away from above. Everything seems to come together here. The mouse mingles with the moose. The butterfly flutters over fields of fescue. Yes, even the Harley Davidsons are heard roaring from across the lake, ripping their riders toward the sun and over the continental divide.

This is the vortex of the universe – the universe as I know it. It is the Congress of the Planet. Everything comes together and everything is represented. The Earth’s long history has sent a delegate to this land. It is represented by the rocks, the mountains around me. They are billions of years old. They are the wisdom here, because they have survived for so long while others have faded. The Earth’s ever-presence makes her daily appearance as well. The wind blows and the waterfalls fall, always. Flora and fauna are aptly represented. Nearly 1,200 vascular plants lay their roots here in a growing season as short as 30 days. Mammals, lizards, amphibians, birds, fish and insects all come together in Glacier, some journeying from thousands of miles away just to be here for the great meetings of the Congress.

Though the other delegates are not always hospitable to him, the human history of the past few centuries sends its delegate as well. In truth, the human history has an unfair advantage. It has sent many delegates to this meeting: two million annual visitors, and also their cars, their roads and their buildings. It has sent helicopters and boats, Gore-Tex™ and #6 plastic. It has brought polluting air and a warming climate from around the planet. Although his presence is not always welcomed, the delegate of human history seems to command control of the meeting. In this great hall, he has held the gavel for only about 100 years. Before that, the local human representative was a much more respectful member. He was a part of the system and not a self-appointed ruler over it. The balance of power has changed though, and every day seems like a constant struggle.

Just the other day, the ever-presence of the Earth made her appeal with a storm. The Earth’s long history felt keen to assist her, having lifted the jagged peaks nearly two miles above sea level so long ago. Their combined efforts brought snow to the higher elevations of the park. Human history was handed a blow, his magnificent mountain road now closed because of hazardous conditions. He pleaded in front of the assembly, imploring that his powerful plows and government workers could open the road. Despite his pleas, the road remained closed for the remainder of the day - the snow continued to fall in the mountains. It was a check on the power of the human delegate, a reminder that he is not supreme ruler of this land, despite his efforts.

One can learn a lot from sitting in on the silent meetings of the Congress. The ebb and flow comes not just from the oceanic waves or the ceaseless tirade of wind but also from the push and pull of power. As I said, everything seems to come together here. Everything meets and exerts its power in this one place. At times these forces work together, creating the sweetest melodies ever heard. Other times, they work against one another, making the most violent noise imaginable.

I sit here in this stand of trees near the beach. I pick up a small piece of driftwood, maybe the size of someone’s thumb. It is soft and pliable with a cork-like texture. I crush it between my fingers. The driftwood is a child of all the members of that epic Congress. It was born in the rocky soils of the eons, in a tree of the flora. It was blown down by the wind and washed through the lake by Earth’s ever-presence, all the while breaking down and softening. Finally, it landed here on this beach, where I, a member of the human delegation, reduced it even further, to mere fibers of carbon. As I sit here in midday, near this rocky beach, I can almost hear the faintness of a kind, simple melody.

Peace Project

2008-08-20T16:01:00.007-06:00

True peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice.

- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

The real and lasting victories are those of peace, and not of war.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Peace is not the product of terror or fear.
Peace is not the silence of cemeteries.
Peace is not the silent result of violent repression.
Peace is the generous, tranquil contribution of all to the good of all.
Peace is dynamism. Peace is generosity.
It is right and it is duty.

- Oscar Romero

You can't shake hands with a clenched fist.

- Indira Gandhi

This was one day in Waterton, part of the Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park. The Japanese interns pictured above are involved in a peace project. They are here at Glacier to help visitors create 1,000 origami peace cranes. The cranes have come to symbolize peace after the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Our cranes will be sent to the Children's Peace Museum in Hiroshima, Japan as an offering of peace from Waterton-Glacier and its visitors.

The peace symbol in the other photos was found on the ground next to the Carthew-Alderson trail, which skirts the border of the US and Canada. It was litter, yes, but also a reminder: we all have something to strive for.

Peace.

Q & A

2008-08-20T15:10:00.010-06:00

Some readers might be interested in what kind of work I do for Glacier National Park. Well, I really do something different every day. Some days I guide a boat tour or lead an all-day hike, while on others I give evening slide shows or short talks at Logan Pass. On all days, though, no matter what my assignment, I answer questions for visitors. People come with all kinds of questions, ranging from “Where’s the best place to eat around here?” to “What do you think about this whole global warming thing?”

The following is a pictorial representation of a typical day’s interactions. Enjoy.

Q: Why are so many of the trees dying around the park?

A: Well, you’ll notice these trees behind me. What is happening is a complex scientific phenomenon. All of the species in the park are subject to the temperaments of the gods. The trees must have done something to anger them. Now these deities will cook the spruces’ goose and fry the naughty firs.

Q: Do you know where I can go whitewater rafting?

A: I do, but you don't.

Q: Excuse me, where is the nearest toilet?

A: To answer your question, I quote one of the greatest conservationists of all time, Mr. Ansel Adams. He said, "Millions of men have lived to fight, build palaces and boundaries, shape destinies and societies; but the compelling force of all times has been the force of originality and creation profoundly affecting the roots of human spirit." Sorry, the restrooms are at the next pull-off.

Q: How old is a whitebark pine that’s approximately three feet in diameter if found at 6200 feet? (A real question, by the way)

A: Uh...um...

Q: Where can we go to see a moose?

A: Moose? Oh, they’re all over the place. First, let’s practice saying the word ‘moose.’ Repeat after me. Mmmoooosss. What? Why are you walking away?

Q: You know, I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before. Is that possible?

A: Well it could be the last name. People often wonder if I’m related to Nobel prize-winning Russian national hero Boris Pasternak. It could also be that I’m really Matt Damon.

Q: How many mountain goats are in the park?

A: I don’t know that off the top of my head. Hold on for one minute; I’ll ask the park’s VISIT program (Visitor Information Service in Telepathy). Okay, there are 452 goats.

Q: So I see this shirt you have on says "Ford." What’s the deal with that?

A: Why are you talking about my shirt? Are you calling me fat? Listen, I know the cut isn’t very flattering. That’s why I wear the park service uniform most of the time instead of this beige smock. You know, when I got up this morning I knew it was just going to be one of those days.

Q: So how does one become a park ranger? My daughter is really interested in the outdoors.

A: You want to be a park ranger when you grow up? That’s great! I’ll tell you, all you need to do is be quick enough to make up an answer to anybody’s question. It’s really that easy!

Somewhere Under The Rainbow

2008-08-12T19:03:00.005-06:00

This is my rough panorama of a beautiful scene two weeks ago. Jessica and I were walking from the dorm to the visitor's center to catch a shuttle to hike. In one direction, the sky looked beautiful and blue, and in the other direction, it looked apocalyptic, minus the beautiful double rainbow over Singleshot Mountain.

A Lucky Day

2008-08-08T14:51:00.003-06:00

I looked around instinctively, hoping to spot someone running back on the trail to collect his or her lost item. Surely, he would notice quickly that a twenty-dollar bill had slipped out of his pocket, possibly as he reached for his digital camera. Maybe she had pulled a tissue from her purse and it had accidentally tumbled to that spot on the middle of the boardwalk. However it wound up in the middle of the Hidden Lake trail yesterday afternoon, I hoped someone was coming quickly to retrieve the crumpled note.

No. I picked it up as the people around me stared down. There was no one in front of us, no one running back. I was “roving” and basically giving a private tour to a very nice family from Illinois. The mother invoked the “finders keepers” principle, and they all chuckled a bit, mostly unable to take their attention away from the subalpine beauty around them. I assured them I would take it to the visitor’s center and hang onto it in case someone returned for it. Visitors come looking for their lost lens caps and their children’s socks. Why wouldn’t they come looking for twenty bucks?

I continued my rove up to the Hidden Lake Overlook. As usual, a number of mountain goats occupied the meadows near the trail, giving a dramatic and near-perfect performance. Two males sparred, possibly fighting over the best foraging grounds. An unusually large group splayed themselves across the remaining snowfields, allowing a few moments of relief from the hot midday sun. And of course, the goat kids cavorted behind their mothers, small bundles of snow-white cuteness. The typical passersby reactions ensued. “Aww,” and “Oh my God, Hal, look at that!” I’m pretty sure there was no one around named “Hal,” but the idea is the same.

The trail ends at an overlook, a beautiful spot overlooking the lake. A quick glance at my watch assured me I had a few minutes to hang around and talk to visitors once I arrived. It was a clear day and the place was packed. In just fifteen minutes, a ranger can provide the answer to the question, “What is that thing? Is that a big chipmunk?” at least 50 times (the answer, by the way, is “No, that is a golden mantled ground squirrel”).

A young couple stood near the railing right next to me. The young man said under his breath, “It’s just like Disney, isn’t it honey?” I looked around at him, and he quickly backpedaled. Perhaps he did not expect me to whisper, “It’s okay. Disney is my other employer! Shhh! Don’t tell anyone!”

They quickly asked what I did for Disney, and I told them that I was a monorail pilot at Walt Disney World. I had barely finished this sentence before the gentleman pulled out a WDW monorail co-pilot’s license from his wallet. I was clearly in the company of true Disney Dorks. Not only did this gentleman carry around a business card-sized souvenir on his person at all times, but he had taken the time and care to laminate it. This was his Disney Dork ID, his passport to Disney greatness.

I wondered whether the couple enjoyed vacationing more in the subtropical urban jungle of Walt Disney World or the pristine wilderness of Glacier National Park. This wonder quickly became introspective. It was not the first time this summer I’ve wondered which I personally enjoyed more. I am a city boy at heart, raised in the shadow of New York City. I spent plenty more childhood vacations at the developed beaches of New Jersey, on fuel guzzling cruise ships and at my home-away-from-home, the Walt Disney World resort, than I did at the nation’s parks. Nevertheless, my appreciation for all things natural has grown exponentially in the past year, to the point where I now work happily as a national park naturalist.

Simply running into a gentleman with a monorail co-pilot license brings up all kinds of emotions, ones that are already just barely contained below a thin surface. I am fully convinced that the American status quo is contributing to the degradation of the planet’s natural processes. In fact, I spend much of my time at Glacier preaching the gospels of the environmentally conscious. Glacial melt? Our fault. Destruction of habitat for already-rare species? All caused by human expansion. In many ways, Disney epitomizes all that is wrong with a fossil fueled world of modern living. The worst part is that I absolutely love it. Like some crooked televangelist, I find it incredibly difficult to practice some aspects of what I preach. Forswearing my affinity for Disney is like breaking an addiction. Cinderella Castle, in all its purpley nighttime glory, illuminates vividly on my cell phone wallpaper. In my personal war against all that is unsustainable, I am obviously losing this particular battle.

My internal distress is compounded by the fact that I’ll be done at Glacier in less than a month. I do not have the comfort of an upcoming semester, a new job or a burgeoning career awaiting my return to New Jersey. There are so many directions to turn - Disney is just one of them. In truth, I put more pressure on myself to find something meaningful to do by September than does anyone else. It is a self-created torture.

Yesterday was one of the more torturous days. My encounter with the young Disney Dorks had me thinking about Disney all day. I returned to my dorm room after a tiring shift at Logan Pass and began to unpack my things. First came the lunch bag, then the raincoat. I noticed Andrew Jackson’s face peering back at me from beneath the bug spray and sunscreen – it was the twenty-dollar bill I’d found on the trail earlier. I had completely forgotten about it! I guess the finders, keepers principle was upheld. It was my lucky day.

As much as I torture myself, I know that I am lucky. I am not lucky because I found twenty bucks yesterday, but because I am everything that I am. I am an American, loved and supported by my family and friends, well traveled and experienced for my age. As much as I can lament my nonsensical affinities and my sudden lack of direction, I can celebrate my freedom to make choices. I can try never again to feel burdened by good fortune.

Photographer's Paradise

2008-07-08T22:02:00.006-06:00

While I am new to the art of photography, my photos have thus far turned out better than I expected. I am convinced it is impossible to take a bad photo in Glacier National Park - the subject is so willing to cooperate. The following are a few shots from the past few weeks:

Mt. Gould from the Swiftcurrent Nature Trail

The Livingston Range and Lake McDonald

The same valley from the top of Apgar Mountain

Ever-social Columbian Ground Squirrels

The Hoary Marmot

A Young Ram (Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep)

Forth of July Fireworks at the KOA

Arrowleaf Balsamroot on the Iceberg Lake Trail

Cracker Lake after late-season snows

Sunset over Napi Point

A Fine Day for a Patrol

2008-07-01T21:53:00.004-06:00

“Yeah, me and Anna were probably gonna head down to TwoMed tomorrow and do some hiking,” Brian said. Brian is a law enforcement ranger who I would later find out has a penchant for rock skipping.

I invited myself along because it was my day off and I had nothing to do.

“Sure, that’ll be cool. I think we’re leaving at 7:30,” he said.

I walked early this morning to the apartments behind the dorm building. Brian was waiting in his doorway and asked me to come in. He informed me that Anna had yet to show up. She showed up a few minutes later, in uniform.

“Yeah, we’re meeting up with a backcountry ranger from the west side to do a patrol. I don’t think I told you that,” Brian now told me.

I thought that sounded cool. I also thought that sounded scary. “What does one do on a backcountry patrol?” I thought.

We drove the curvy roads to Two Medicine, one of the most beautiful and untouched areas of the park. Railroad robber barons did not decide to build a grand hotel there like in Many Glacier; automobile advocates did not push through a marvelous mountain road like in St. Mary and Lake McDonald. The Two Medicine area retains its wilderness character and is stunningly beautiful, even in the rain. Yes, it rained all day today. It hasn’t rained in a week, but today was soggy as can be.

We stopped first at the TwoMed ranger station to meet Danielle, the ranger from the west side who would assist on the patrol. Also in uniform, she was bubbly and excited to be hiking on the jagged and sweeping east side.

“I think we’ll have to ford the stream if we leave from the lake trailhead. It’ll probably be about waist-high,” Danielle shared with Anna. “Did you all bring sandals and stuff?”

She was looking at me and Brian. I didn’t know what to say. “Ford a stream?!” I thought.

“No,” I replied with a laugh. “I just have my boots.”

“Well, I think we should leave from the entrance station. From there we won’t have to cross the stream. That sounds like a better idea anyway,” Anna said, to my relief.

We drove to the entrance station and parked the government pick-up. The rain had just started to come down as a fine mist. I let the backcountry rangers take the lead and assumed my position as the last link of the chain. They moved quickly, but I had no trouble keeping up.

Our destination was Old Man Lake, about six and a half miles from the entrance station. The trail started in dense forest. The muddy ground squished beneath us as we walked because of all the recent snowmelt. Ensuing rains would only muddy the trail more. We strolled through the coniferous forest, past the Arrowleaf Balsamroot and the Beargrass, over the rocky stream banks and crisp, shallow streams. All that could easily be summed up by singing, “Over the river and through the woods to grizzly bear’s house we go.” Although it is prime habitat, we did not see any bears today. We actually didn’t see any animals or other hikers, save a ground squirrel or two.

The rain picked up and we stopped to put on our rain gear. We left the forest as we climbed higher and entered subalpine meadow and rocky slopes. The rain came harder and we walked faster.

As we approached the end of the valley and its tall, glacially-carved cirque, we entered another forest. Higher up and consumed by shade, this ground had yet to shed its four feet of snowcover. We hiked for about a mile over the snowfields, picking up the trail where we could find it. The falling rain caused some kind of reaction with the icy snow, and a mist rose to the trees. There was an otherworldly quality to this part of the hike. Although it is late June and my mind knew I was in western Montana, in that moment I could easily have been convinced I walked through an enchanted forest with some kind of mythical creature ready to emerge from behind a tree.

We soon reached the lake. It was shrouded in mist, too, and truly beautiful. I wish I could have snapped a photo, but the threat of rain damage to my camera didn’t allow me. We sat to eat a well-deserved lunch. It seems to be a growing tradition, or coincidence, that I have leftover pizza from the night before on the day of a long hike. In the rain, sitting in a relatively unfrozen spot beneath the canopy, I ate my cold pizza. My limbs quickly became as chilled as the cheese; the exercise of hiking kept us warm despite the rain and relatively cool temperature. When we took those few moments to rest, we all noticed the chill and decided quickly to perform the necessary duties and start hiking back.

Anna and Danielle dug out the pit toilet from its snowy shelter. They inspected the condition of the cooking area (mostly under snow) and the food hanging area (serviceable). After snapping a few photos of the conditions, we began our trek back through the snowy forest.

“Hey, I think I can see my shadow,” Brian said, breaking the silence of determined hikers.

Sure enough, the sun began to show about halfway through our return home. It came out completely before we reached the trailhead, changing the experience from a journey through mystical-fantasy land to a true summer hike in the mountains.

We drove back to the ranger station. Anna and Danielle went inside to complete their report while Brian and I walked down to the lake. Brian spent the entire twenty-five minutes skipping stones into the shallow water. To tell the truth, he is pretty good. I sat, soaked up the sun, and stretched my legs.

The girls came down to the beach and gathered us up before we headed out of the park. What lay before us was indeed the most exciting part of the day, and perhaps the most exciting part of any hike in the Two Medicine area. We drove to Serrano’s, a pretty decent Mexican place in East Glacier, just 15 minutes from TwoMed.

The salt of the chips satisfied me. The warmth of the food filled me. The salt and warmth of the margaritas intoxicated me.

“To a great day!” I toasted.

“To a great summer!” Anna replied.

To a great day and a great summer, indeed.

Bluegrass in Babb

2008-06-27T21:49:00.000-06:00

The band played for probably longer than they wanted to that evening. Midnight had passed two hours ago and this was likely more than they’d bargained for. An enthusiastic audience is almost always enough motivation to continue, though; I should know at least that much as a performer.

The guitarist thanked us, told us we were a better crowd than they usually had in Missoula on a Thursday night. I was glad the band continued playing. I danced that night like I’ve never danced before. My feet would later blister because I was wearing flip-flops. The floor grew ever stickier as the night wore on and people’s drinks became part of the laminate. At times, neither of my feet was firmly planted on the ground. I laughed heartily between each do-si-do. Even thinking about it now gives me the giggles: me, dancing to bluegrass with the cowboys and Indians in Babb, Montana.

Charlie’s Place in Babb, Montana is the only true bar for miles and miles. On band nights it is filled with locals, tourists, high school-aged kids from who-knows-where, park service employees, hotel employees. Everyone goes to Charlie’s, and despite its reputation for frequent bar fights, we certainly didn’t experience that kind of atmosphere on Thursday. I really don’t think there was a single person there over the age of 30, either.

I wasn’t particularly drunk. My mood was celebratory, given the fact that I had earlier completed my first formal program here at Glacier, a power point presentation about transportation. It went well. At that moment, I was purely content. Even if the smell of stale smoke never finds its way out of my t-shirt, I will always remember that night for the unclouded, unembarrassed abandon of bluegrass dancin’ in Babb, Montana.

Walking In a Summer Wonderland

2008-06-11T17:10:00.001-06:00

I expected my time at Glacier National Park would be different from my everyday life. Well, in just three days of living in the mountains and training with the park rangers, I can affirm that my expectations were accurate.

Firstly, the training itself has been unusual and endlessly interesting. The entire park’s interpretive staff is training this week at the Many Glacier Hotel, one of the original hotels built by the Great Northern Railroad in the early 20th century. This old, historic building has a few conference rooms on the first floor that offer excellent views of the beautiful Grinnell Point and Swiftcurrent Lake. This site was picked because its scenery resembles the Swiss Alps and the iconic Matterhorn.

Yesterday, two speakers from Blackfeet Community College came to lecture to us. The Blackfeet Indian Reservation borders the entire eastern edge of the park. My dorm, in fact, is about 100 yards from Blackfeet land. As I learned yesterday, the “Blackfeet” are actually three distinct tribes that formed a confederation a few centuries ago. Today, they live on three separate reservations, one in the United States and two in Canada.

Like many of the plains Indians, the Blackfeet were nomadic buffalo hunters. Also similar to other tribes, the Blackfeet were extremely efficient and used almost every part of the animal in some way. You can just imagine how thrilled I was when our speakers yesterday brought along their “Buffalo Box” to share with everyone. Contained in this box were preserved specimens of every piece of the buffalo, each labeled with its practical usage.

The items were passed along from person to person, like kindergarten show and tell. First came the bladder, an excellent water canteen apparently. Then came the “brain hide”, a piece of skin that was tanned with a mixture of eyes and brains; the sinews of the cow were used to thread together the hides. Third was a collapsed stomach, which could hold 20 gallons of water. The horns were used to light fire. The tail was used as a paint brush or fly swatter. The small, seemingly useless bones were even used as children’s toys because they somewhat resembled horses and such. Anyone who has ever seen me handle salami would probably have chuckled at the sight of me handling buffalo bladder. It was a veritable vegetarian’s dream!

Today a climatologist from NASA’s Goddard Space Center came from DC to discuss climate change. I am glad to say that I understood almost all of the concepts because of my Globalization and Sustainability course this past semester. Of course, he cracked a dorky scientists’ joke as he began his lecture. He said that clearly global warming was not happening - the only proof we needed was right outside the windows. He was referring to the remnants of yesterday’s snowstorm.

Yes, that’s right: this location in Montana received six inches of snow yesterday, with much more accumulating in the high elevations of the mountains. While my friends and family back home in New Jersey dealt with unbearable, record-breaking heat, I sat in my room with a bowl of soup, watching the snow fall on the parking lot. This is definitely different from any June I have ever experienced.

I hiked the Beaver Creek Trail yesterday in the snow. It is a fairly simple three-mile loop near the dorm and St. Mary Visitor Center. Walking through the meadows and forests yesterday, I saw not a single animal. My hiking companion and I seemingly had the forest to ourselves, although I knew the critters could not be too far away. What had been fields of Blue Camas wildflowers the day before were now blanketed in white. Small dots of blueish-purple and green struggled to poke through the otherwise whitewashed landscape.

The serenity on that trail would have been unimaginable to me before yesterday. I suppose a blizzard in the middle of June was kind of unimaginable, too.

This photo was taken in the same place, just four days later.

Bievenue a Montana

2008-06-08T23:00:00.003-06:00

I am standing in the produce section, a Fuji apple in each hand. I have just entered the supermarket in Columbia Falls, Montana, a five-minute drive from Glacier Park International Airport. I cannot believe I'm standing at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains buying the food I'll bring to my new dorm on the other side of the Continental Divide. The past few weeks are a blur, as I've flown halfway around the world and back, only to end up in this strange supermarket handling fruit. My ears perk up at the sound of something familiar. A recognizable tune comes clearly over the speakers: Claire de lune by Claude Debussy.

Hearing this wonderful music reminds me that I'm still on Earth, even if my surroundings seem strangely alien. Monsieur Claude Debussy indeed wrote music on this planet Earth, and I am humbled and gladdened to hear his work a world away from my home and his.

I smile and wonder for the first time where I am and what I am doing exactly. I have been expecting this uncertainty to arise, but perhaps not so quickly. At any rate, my daze is broken by the sound of a voice. Nathan, a tenured seasonal employee who has picked me up from the airport, is telling me about something interesting. I come back to Earth/Montana/the supermarket as he explains to me the dorm’s recycling program.

“Just to let you know before we really get started: the dorm doesn’t recycle glass or tin, but they do everything else. I’m not sure if that will affect your shopping or not, but I know my conscience won’t let me buy certain things.”

His conscience? I wonder anew, “Where am I?”

Soon thereafter Nathan and I leave the Super 1 Foods in Columbia Falls and head East toward St. Mary. I am immediately awestruck by the scenery going across the mountains. There is plenty of snow left on the peaks and mountain faces. The trees are green and varied. The railroad tracks parallel US 2 all the way through the valley and across the divide at Marias Pass, their trestles and bridges adding a man made beauty to this natural paradise.

Two hours later we arrive at the dorm in St. Mary. After hauling groceries and luggage to my new room, I am introduced to some of the other interns and rangers soaking up the sun on the front porch. I sit with them and casually listen to some of their conversation, all the while trying to comprehend the panoramic beauty around me.

I hear two conversations going on at once. Two girls are talking about Chicago and the influence of the World Columbian Exposition on the city’s art and architecture. A group of guys is comparing Bob Dylan to Wilco. They enjoy that both Dylan and Wilco are able to create amazing songs from such simple means.

At this point my brother would definitely wonder, “Where am I?” I myself wonder the same thing (again). In the first day of my adventure I begin to understand that the entire experience might just be made up of wonder.

The St. Mary Dorm building.

My kitchen. It may not seem so "wildernessy," but I don't have pots or pans!

The view from the front porch.

Friday Night Sonata

2008-04-12T00:12:00.001-06:00

"Decaf grande skim extra hot latte," she says. Hers is just another latte made on just another day at Starbucks Coffee. This particular "just another day" happens to be a Friday night. In my seven or so years at Starbucks, I'm not sure I've ever closed on a Friday night. I find myself here, though, fixing lattes on a prelude to a muggy weekend.

Her name is Dea. She lives in Connecticut and commutes to New Jersey five days a week to a nearby office complex. She comes into the Starbucks after work to get a coffee for the road. I've worked a few nights in the past week and learned a little bit about her. Chiefly, Dea is incredibly eager to talk. She needs her coffee to drive, even though it's decaffeinated. She hates the commute (nearly four hours a day) but can't do anything about it right now. She seems different. I wonder if she's crazy. Or enlightened. Or religious. All three perhaps? I conclude that if I had a two-hour drive ahead of me, I'd probably want to stay around and talk as well.

Tonight I address her by name, and she orders the above-mentioned drink with a smile splashed across her small face. I am somewhat surprised when she remembers my name as well. There are only two people working at the café and we are somewhat busy. I walk over to make her drink as we continue to make small talk.

"So are you in school around here?" she asks.
I point to John on the other side of the counter. He has his back turned and is brewing coffee.
"Yes, John just graduated from Montclair State. That's a state school around here. I'll graduate from there in about a month," I reply.
"Oh, congratulations to you both!"
"Thanks," we both mutter as we attempt to complete our tasks.
"What are you studying?" she asks me.
"Well, I'm a double major. I've studied music and communica..."
Her eyes light up and she struggles not to interrupt. I stop speaking and she jumps, "Music?! What do you play?"
"I'm a singer."
"Oh that's wonderful. Do you know? I was a music major. I play the clarinet, went to the Peabody Conservatory."
"Really?"
"Yes. So what are you going to do when you graduate?" That question comes so quickly. I am unprepared to answer it, as always.
"Well, I'm not really sure. I'm thinking of so many things at the moment." My anxiety begins to crescendo, a predictable rise. The truth is that I am reconsidering my career and feel completely ill-at-ease.

We talk for ten minutes about a whole bunch of related things: her days at conservatory, her current job (something super-technical about printers and copiers), Stanley Drucker's retirement from the New York Phil, my clarinetist friend and her struggles with injury and career.

"You know, we were meant to come into each other's lives," she says assuredly, in complete seriousness. Normally when someone implies something so way out, I think he or she is crazy. Or enlightened. Or religious. This feels different for some reason. I feel a wave of emotion push against my eyeballs. I respond only with a smile, but want to say, "I agree completely."

The coda to our conversation, perfectly orchestrated, comes unexpectedly: "Namaste," she recites, as she smiles. "That's a Buddhist saying; it can mean general well wishes."

"Oh, I know it from Yoga," I reply.
"Oh, Yoga," she recapitulates gleamingly.
"Good luck in San Francisco." She is heading there in a few days to lead a training session.
"Thanks, and best of luck to you. I can't wait to find out what you end up doing."

I've been worried all day about my future. Two months from now is fuzzy at best - two years is unimaginable. For some reason, I am relaxed by my encounter with Dea. Maybe it has something to do with the exhaustive list of friends she rattles off who majored in music only to turn their discipline and passion into successful business careers. Maybe it is just her sincerity and her kind smile. No matter the reason, I am glad for the conversation and the acquaintance. I can't help but think it was a good first Friday night to be making lattes.

Two Months Later

2008-02-26T11:04:00.006-07:00

Here is a post I started writing in December. I wrote practically the whole thing a few months ago and have edited minimally:

"Recently I found myself pondering some of the statistics about my experience here in Disney World. Just consider this: I'll be here between four and five months all together. Walt Disney World has been open for just over 36 years, or aproximately 433 months. That means I'll be around for a little more than 1% of WDW's existence to date. That may not seem like much, but maybe it depends on how you look at it.

On one hand, I am one of 60,000+ cast members currently employed at Walt Disney World. I am little more than a faceless number, known as 00357476. I will never meet senior management. As a college program participant, I will be replaced in the operation within a month by a fresh-faced student, as will 7,500 others like me. This cycle continues endlessly.

On the other hand, I am Kevin Pasternak, monorail pilot. I am proud to personally continue a tradition started decades ago by Walt Disney himself. It is my job to make people smile, to offer them those "magical moments" and to take them to their dreams and back everyday. It is my personal responsibility to make kids happy, and that puts me in the same league as Santa Claus or Mickey Mouse himself.

I have had the honor of working with some amazing people - those who genuinely care for each other, those who know not to take this job so seriously, and those who refuse to have the pixie dust shaken out of them. We may end up being a blip in the timeline of this magical place, but for right now we are its heart and soul.

I'm really gonna miss Walt Disney World."

That was over two months ago now. I do miss it terribly. I miss those carefree months that lacked responsibility. I miss my friends and the other monorail pilots. I miss the warm Florida sun. I got to feel that sun last week when I travelled to Florida as an advisor for the touring Westminster youth choir. I'll feel it again when I visit next month on Spring Break to work on the rails.

I know my visit won't be like the Fall college program; after all, I'll only be at Disney for six days. I'm okay with that. I'm happy to have returned to "real life" to pursue some of the things that matter to me most. I'm also happy to reflect on my time at Disney, though. I know I can look back on the college program as one of the best experiences of my life.

Does Anyone Still Read This Thing?

2007-12-14T14:26:00.000-07:00

So it has been over a month since my last entry. I wonder if anyone still checks my blog. I'm sure I would have stopped checking a long time ago. I've wanted to write, but I've frankly had too much fun. Fun is a wonderful thing, but it hasn't been particularly inspiring. That is a brief update on the past month or two: it has been the most incredibly fun time of my life.

At any rate, I have a long list of observations from my experiences in the last few months. It is a list of blog ideas that haven't materialized, mostly because the topics aren't interesting or substantive enough to create an entire entry. I call it the graveyard, because I figure most of the ideas will never be organized and published. Here are a few of my blog ideas from the graveyard:

1) Smokers at Disney have become second-class citizens. I'm not a smoker myself and I'm not really a supporter of "smoker's rights", but sometimes I just think, "damn...if you light up in the wrong place around here, you are putting your whole soul on display for the world to judge".

2) Disney apartment inspections are ridiculous. I've been in my apartment for two inspections, and each time it has felt like a Nazi raid. A group of six or seven people enter your living space, uninvited, and start checking every corner. They spray chemicals, flick light switches, inspect your toilet and your refrigerator. I understand this is not my property I'm living in, nor do I have anything to hide from anyone, but the affront to my privacy is still shocking.

3) Disney's merchandise is the crappiest consumer product line available for purchase...anywhere. It wasn't always this way. I still own a t-shirt I bought ten years ago. It features a big Mickey Mouse and '97 logo on front. Inside, one can notice "Made in USA" imprinted on the label. Although it is faded and stretched out these ten years after it was purchased, it is still intact and I can still wear it. On the other hand, I bought a t-shirt just a few weeks ago. The fabric is dark navy blue and yet it is thin enough to read a novel through in the right light. The tag is crooked and ugly. It reads "Made in China". The entire product line is made overseas, like everything else in our economy now. I've been here four months and have had daily access to Disney's many stores (with a 40% discount, mind you) and I've bought only the t-shirt. I can't imagine I'll buy anything else.

4) I wonder what the Imagineers were thinking when they wrote the ending of The American Adventure script. In it, Mark Twain recites the warning of American author John Steinbeck. He quotes the following: "We now face the danger, which in the past has been the most destructive to humans: success, plenty, comfort and ever-increasing leisure. No dynamic people has ever survived these dangers." If this were heard in the halls of congress or around the dinner table, maybe it would seem less ironic. And yet millions of tourists from around the country and around the world can visit a place created and maintained solely for "comfort and...leisure" and be lectured on its destructive power. I guess I'd just like to ask an Imagineer how he or she feels about that irony.

5) And finally, food costs way too much money. A trip to the grocery store can equal nearly a week's pay. This isn't particularly novel or insightful. It just sucks.

"Can I Do That When I Grow Up?"

2007-11-11T14:19:00.000-07:00

The feeling of swiping my key and pulling out of station for the first time on my own was just amazing. I was kind of trembling. I was trained for many of the things that could go wrong in a monorail's operation. Unfortunately, there were just as many situations I was not trained for. I tried not to think of that as I drove monorail red out of the TTC toward Epcot. Just three days earlier I had "checked out", or passed my monorail driving assessment. I was the man.

That was last Thursday. I've been driving less than a week. I'm as new as they come, yet I still know most of the common questions guests ask the driver...or pilot...or captain when they're riding in the front...or the nose...or the cab...

"How fast does this thing go?"
"Do you have to steer?"
"Are you even doing anything?"
"What are they building over there?"

It's astonishing. Guests come from all over the world and yet their questions are as predictable as the automated spiel that plays on the monorail. Interestingly enough, though, many of the guests from this past week were from one place: the great state of New Jersey. The annual teacher's convention in mid-November sends many of the state's families with school-aged children down to Disney World. I swear half of the people I actually started conversations with were from Jersey. I saw hoodies that read "Montville Cross Country" and "Bloomfield Basketball" and an unusually high level of Devils, Giants and Yankees apparel.

Many of the Jersey natives looked at my name tag and noticed where I go to school. They commented with surprise, usually turning to a family member and screaming brashly something like, "Look Hal, he goes to Montclair State. Didn't aunt Irene go there?" They then turned to me and asked something like, "What are you doing here?" I replied with a standard answer: "This is an internship-style program. I'm working at Disney World and getting credit from my school back home."

Some people were interested to talk further, and others were satisfied with that response. One family in particular was interested to talk to me about my experience. The mother kept relaying back and forth between me and her shy son. I'd say he was about 8 years old. We talked for a few minutes until a monorail pulled into the station. Just as they got ready to leave, the son turned to his mother and asked, "Can I do that when I grow up?" She didn't quite know what to say to him. I thought about myself and my own situation. I thought in that brief second how unlikely it is for me to be at Disney World right now, doing what I'm doing. With that, I turned to him and said, "Sure you can". He looked up at me and smiled a little bit.

Attack of the Disney Dorks - Part Two

2007-10-31T19:37:00.000-06:00

October has come and gone. Wow, that went quickly. Today is Halloween, although it doesn't seem all that special because it has been Halloween in Disney World since I arrived in mid-August. The months-long Mickey's Not-So-Scary Halloween Party has the same desensitizing effect as hearing Christmas music before Thanksgiving. Anyway, I started this month with a telling of my experience at the Haunted Mansion reopening. As promised, I will finish it out with an account of Epcot's 25th Anniversary. Enjoy.

"I wonder if anyone is going to this thing?" I ask myself as I awaken. I've heard talk of a rendezvous at Epcot but I'm not sure who is going, or when or where they're meeting. I decide it's too important an event to pass up. Sleep seems good, but a celebration of all things Disney seems better. I get in my car and make it to the Epcot parking lot by a little after park open at 9:00.

I notice the unusually large number of cars in the parking lot. This event promises to be the largest assembly of Disney Dorks in a long time. I recognize the feeling from the Haunted Mansion reopening: the same wind of anticipation stings my face as I exit my car. As I walk toward the entrance I notice cars with faded "Discover The Newest Wonder of the World" and "We've Just Begun to Dream" bumper stickers. People in vintage EPCOT t-shirts walk briskly and pass me on my way to the festivities.

A bubbly cast member hands me a commemorative button and guide map at the turnstiles. Disney has printed a limited number of special guide maps featuring both the present-day and opening-day versions - it is very cool to behold.

I wait in line to buy a limited edition anniversary t-shirt and immediately run into a friend, who herself has popped in to buy a limited edition pin for her collection.
You may recognize Hillary from the previous Disney Dorks post. She most likely caught a slightly more aggressive form of the Disney Dorkness than me, as she has a little piece of the magic permanently emblazoned on her ankle (i.e. Sleeping Beauty tattoo).

Hillary leaves for work and I join the masses of people gathering behind the Fountain of Nations for the rededication ceremony.
The ceremony is the tiniest bit disappointing. It seems half put together and pales in comparison to the spectacles Disney is capable of. Nevertheless, it is fun to be a part of something so monumental...

Uh-hem.

The rededication wraps up and the crowds disperse. I plan to walk around a bit and possibly explore the other special events. As I turn right to walk, I run into a mob of mad monorailers. They are led by Matt Carter, an Epcot fanatic with the amazingly creative nickname of "Mr. Epcot". I join the revelers, and we decide to head for the special Marty Sklar presentation.

Marty Sklar is referred to as the "Imagineering Ambassador". He is actually a pretty neat guy. He worked with Walt and Roy Disney, helped to "Imagineer" many of Disney's theme parks (including Epcot), and is the only person to open all 11 parks around the world, including Disneyland in 1955.

Marty gives his presentation in the Circle of Life Theater. No cameras are allowed at the presentation because many of the featured images come from the "Imagineering Vault". I find the presentation interesting. Enlightening. Inspirational, maybe. Apparently the folks in front of me find it too much to handle. They are weeping by the conclusion. I want to ask, "who died?" As Marty finishes, they bolt to their feet with a raucous ovation, as does most of the theater. It is just that kind of thing.

As a thank you to Epcot's cast members, the park throws an exclusive backstage party, similar to its lavish "Party for the Senses". Never wanting to turn down free food, we make our way to the pavilion to see what's up.

The following are a few pictures from the party.

A surprise. The nose of retired Mark IV Monorail Blue along
with Figment, an Epcot mainstay.

It just isn't a party without Goofy.

Here are all the Disney Dork Jr's from the monorail. Okay, maybe Chris Baker qualifies as a full-blown Disney Dork. Yeah, he does. Pretty good looking bunch of fellas, huh? Especially that purple dragon.

That is my second tale of Disney Dorkdom. I'll be sure to post again should there be any more sightings.

Versus

2007-10-17T11:16:00.000-06:00

It's amazing how much music has been written for the Disney Parks and Resorts since Disneyland opened in 1955. From the infectious songs of yesteryear, like "it's a small world" by the Sherman brothers, to today's modern pop ballads, nearly every attraction itself has its own theme song. Additionally, all the themed lands play music to supplement the visual illusion of settings like exotic jungles and period 1930s Hollywood. Every parade and every fireworks show, of which there have been dozens in the past 50 years, has its own full soundtrack. A person's hard drive could easily be filled to capacity with music from Disney theme parks.

I love most of the music. The different songs stir all kind of emotions in me. Some, like the Haunted Mansion's "Grim Grinning Ghosts", create emotion because they remind me of my childhood, while some, like the Illuminations soundtrack, stir emotion because they are carefully constructed pieces of musical genius. That's what I think, at least. I wonder, sometimes, what one of my professors from music school would think. I'm pretty sure the reaction would be slightly different.

I'm a music major. The kind of music I've been trained to sing, to analyze and to appreciate in the past four years is of a completely different nature than Disney's music. It is music for music's sake; it is art. I can imagine my professors would call this "real music", opposed to Disney's "themed music". I had the lucky opportunity last Friday to attend my former accompanist's piano recital in Gainesville and hear some "real music". I hurried after work to the University of Florida, a two hour drive from Orlando. I knew no one at the event and ended up sitting next to a local music teacher. We talked a bit before the concert about Gila and how I knew her. The woman remarked very candidly that I was lucky to collaborate with such a wonderful musician at my age. It wasn't until I heard Gila's fabulous Schubert and Mendelssohn and pondered the music teacher's comment that I realized just how amazing an experience it was to collaborate with Gila. I was so glad I went to her recital.

So Disney's music is frivolous and fun while classical, "art" music is serious and purposeful. Do I have to choose one or the other? No, of course not. The beauty of something like musical taste is that it can be wide-ranging. I can snobbishly evaluate every note of a classical musician's efforts while also fighting back the tears at a performance of Finding Nemo, The Musical .

Unfortunately, this conundrum is slightly harder to navigate when applied to my life. The Walt Disney World College Program has provided more unbridled fun than any other experience in my life. On the other hand, my achievements at home, including my senior recital last spring, brought me great satisfaction. Should I strive for "serious and purposeful" or revel in all that is "frivolous and fun"? I wish this question was easier to answer, or balance easier to attain.

Welcome [Back] to the Jungle

2007-10-08T23:28:00.000-06:00

I slept in my bed last night - I mean my bed in West Caldwell, NJ. That is strange to think about as I sit on my bed here in Orlando. Flying two days in a row can make one feel cosmopolitan and worldly (and tired). A jet setter I am not, but I did fly home to New Jersey yesterday to see my friend Andrea's absolutely breathtaking senior voice recital and fly back to Orlando earlier today.

I manged to see many special people yesterday in a short period of time. It's a wonderful feeling to be surrounded by those you love the most, even if just for a few hours. After a month of relative anonymity down here in Fantasyland, it was liberating to be the me that everyone knows so well. Surely I've met people and made friends in Florida. But there is a certain feeling that comes from relating to your closest friends, your mom, your brother, your professor and choir director, your old coworkers and even your dogs, that cannot come from anywhere else. OK, maybe I didn't relate to my dogs, but I certainly petted them.

Nevertheless, I could only take two short days away from my best friend of all, Mickey Mouse. I start a Disney course tomorrow morning called "Exploring Communication Processes at the Walt Disney World Resort". I can't wait to see what it's all about, even though it meant I had to fly back to Orlando today.

I had a wonderful flight on jetBlue. My window seat was next to a chatty snowbird couple. I had squeezed my German books into my carry-on bag, but of course I didn't even look at them. There were 38 channels of personally-programmable satellite TV, although I didn't really watch them either. For some reason, I couldn't help but look out the window for most of the flight. I followed the New Jersey coastline as I headed South. The higher the plane travelled, the more like a map the picture outside my window looked. Eventually the sight of the entire Cape May peninsula came into view and I became excited. I saw Wildwood, a strip of urban development against a backdrop of blue ocean and green pine forest. That is where I took control of this helm, and started this blog, over a month ago. It was amazing to view it at 38,000 feet as if it were a painting instead of a collection of people's lives.

The flight was quick, and the picture outside the window became Floridian in no time. The clouds above the Atlantic were spectacular. They didn't look like typical billowing thunder clouds but more like a city unto themselves. They were thick and stark white, dotting the sky like buildings and trees. They stretched as far as the eye could see and lasted until the plane descended below them. From below, they looked like any other cloud cover. Only from the privileged view point above could one see them for the city they truly were.

Attack of the Disney Dorks - Part One

2007-10-01T21:24:00.000-06:00

EPCOT Center opened on October 1, 1982, making it 25 years old today. Oh, you didn't know that, you say? Well, down here that is just about the biggest news of the day. Disney Dorks from around the world descended on Epcot this morning for an official rededication ceremony and various festivities. I actually set my alarm last night, something I haven't done in a week, in order to wake up for the event. I have often considered myself a Disney Dork. By many people's standards, I am obsessed with Disney. By my own judgement, after the things I've seen recently, I am merely a casual fan.

The Epcot celebration is actually the second Disney Dork assembly I've witnessed since I've been in Florida, the first being the reopening of the Haunted Mansion after its extensive refurbishment. The Haunted Mansion reopened two weeks ago, and its Dork story is the one I'd like to tell tonight. Look for the Epcot anniversary story in upcoming "Part Two". For today, Happy Birthday Epcot! And now, on with the Haunted Mansion...

"Oh no, do I really have to get up," I am thinking as my alarm rings. I remind myself of how excited I am, and suddenly it isn't so hard to rise. This Haunted Mansion reopens this morning, and I am prepared to be one of the first thousands to ride it. I am meeting my friends Hillary, Johanna and Momo at their apartment in a few minutes and I don't want to keep them waiting.

Hillary drives to the Magic Kingdom. We arrive before the "rope drop", or the official opening of the park, and there are larger-than-usual crowds of people around. I can sense the anticipation in the air - everyone knows this is different from most mornings. We enter the park at last and make a decision about which way to go. Hillary quickly asserts herself and takes the lead as the rest of us follow.

Meanwhile, Hillary is the one in the center of this photo and Johanna is the girl with strawberry blonde hair on the right.

Hillary's pants billow in the steady breeze. Where are we headed? The Haunted Mansion, baby. How will we get there? We don't yet know, but Hillary has a plan.

We'll plow through the Emporium shop, of course! No one is shopping at this hour of the morning. We power walk right through the store and avoid the commotion of Main Street. "This is quite a pace", I think. "I've never walked this fast in my life!" It's all worth it, though, as we make it that much closer to our ghoulish goal.

We approach the Haunted Mansion, and the crowd thickens. Some people are shouting, some are angry, while some, like these folks in the electric scooters, have no idea what is going on at all. It is hard to imagine this many people clamoring for a chance to ride something that has been open since 1971. We find ourselves here though, amongst the masses of Disney Dorks.

The throng of anxious, unruly guests slowly funnels into a small ride queue. This is the longest line I've ever seen for the Haunted Mansion, yet it still moves quickly. I see two of my managers and many of my coworkers as I snake through it, a testament to the pervasiveness of Disney Dorkdom. The ride is glorious, though, and we all agree that the experience is well worth the fuss.

Johanna has to go to work, Momo and I are tired, and Hillary is practically in pajamas, so we decide it is time to leave after we sneak in a quick turn on Mickey's Philharmagic. We head for the park exit with a proud sense of achievement. As we turn to look at the castle, we notice the all-too-familiar sky writing evangelist busy at work.

Okay, I swear I don't have an agenda with this blog, but I must comment on this: is it really necessary? Imagine you are the parent of a child with a terminal illness and you receive one short trip to Walt Disney World from the Make a Wish Foundation. Imagine you're in the Magic Kingdom for one day and your kid is more excited than anything to see Cinderella Castle. Now imagine you're Jewish, or Muslim, or atheist or anyone who doesn't want every family photo from his or her vacation to feature a "Jesus Loves U!" advertisement! That scenario is not far fetched here; rather it is a daily occurrence. To me, the whole thing seems insensitive. Oh well.

That was my first Disney Dork encounter. It was followed this morning by a second, more profound experience. There are photos for the Epcot one, too. If you're thinking, "gee, that's ironic given Kevin's last post", than you are right. Again I say, "Oh well!"

Here Is Someone Else's Picture

2007-09-28T09:19:00.000-06:00

My mom and aunt Bobbi were in town for the past week. It was really nice to see them; we had a great time hanging out. When I told them on Wednesday that I had to leave Epcot for a scheduled meeting, none of us could have expected that I'd actually be heading into the Magic Kingdom for a scavenger hunt. Given the nature of many of the events around here, though, that should have come as no surprise. Yes, my managers took me and the 16 other monorail "CPs" (college program participants) to the Magic Kingdom. We skipped around the park, bothered some cast members and rode some rides, whilst earning our minimal wages.

I left my camera in my car. Maybe I thought I'd look stupid with a camera. After all, this is a tourist trap: who carries a camera?! But seriously, at least ten of my fellow CPs had cameras, and I actually felt silly for not bringing mine. The following is a Disney's PhotoPass picture, taken by one of Disney's photographers roaming around the parks:

Isn't that precious? I wish I took more pictures. That is true of both the past few weeks and of my life in general. People don't talk about it, but I'm sure many wished they brought a camera to more places and just whipped it out at any given moment. If puppet-based musical theater is any indication of our society, than this is definitely true. For anyone who hasn't seen Avenue Q , watch this Google video from Regis and Kelly for an idea of what I'm talking about. In the song, "I Wish I Could Go Back to College", the show's main characters hearken back to the days of yore. Although the song is comedic, it shows a true sense of sentimentality and reality that the rest of the musical achieves as well. Princeton's line toward the end ("I wish I had taken more pictures") hits so close to home and makes me think. I want to live in the present, especially because I'm doing this fantastical thing. I won't be here forever, though. I really should take more pictures.

Magical Moments

2007-09-15T21:51:00.001-06:00

I guess it's a problem to think that I can have a positive impact on every single guest I come in contact with. After all, that amounts to thousands of people on any given day. I strive for 100% magic, but it just doesn't happen. Even so, I think I do a good job at answering people's questions and keeping them happy.

I remember a few weeks ago how proud I felt to wear my nametag and answer a guest's question. The novelty wore off once I answered the question, "Will this take me to Epcot?" a hundred or more times a night. Still, I enjoy going that extra step for someone, especially if that someone is an adorable (and polite) little kid, a newly-wedded couple, or something like that. Making small gestures like bowing for the little girls in princess costumes as they come up to the platform is the kind of thing I'm talking about. Disney calls these "Magical Moments" and encourages its cast members to perform them ad naseum.

Like I said, though, even the best of intentions can be squandered. For instance, there are times when the greeter on the platform will have to "cut the flow" of guests so that a train can leave, even if it is not fully loaded. This is done to keep the trains on the beamway moving. It's very hard to look a sweaty mother in the eye and tell her she has to wait even though there is still space on the train, especially when she pleads her case as if she were in a court of law. "Oh, but we have reservations at the Grand Floridian in 10 minutes", she'll say, with a look of desperation. At this point, it is up to me to make a judgement call. If the train is truly leaving the station, I'll simply say that I'm sorry and that the next one will arrive in just a few minutes. If I think the family has enough time to run to the first car, then I'll tell them it's the last call and that they had better run. The latter happened this evening, but instead of the family successfully making it to the train and off to their reservation, the driver decided to close the doors on them. And I don't mean slamming the doors in their faces - I mean closing the doors on their bodies. Needless to say, this did not result in a magical moment, and I was the one who got the dirty looks from both the family and the driver.

Despite my best efforts, I'm sure people have gone back to their hotel thinking, "damn that kid on the Monorail. He really sucked". I know for a fact that it happened last week. I was working again at the Magic Kingdom during a busy exit. I was just a few days out of training and was still asking a lot of questions about the routine operation. Two senior cast members told me that evening that I was not to allow people in rented Magic Kingdom wheelchairs to board the monorail. I thought it was strange that we would force injured or disabled people out of their wheelchairs, but I did as I was instructed and asked people to leave them behind. For most people, this was not an issue. Many wanted to leave their rented wheelchairs at the station anyway. For some, this was a problem, and I forced the issue as I had been told to do.

After the swarms of people had flooded out of the Magic Kingdom, I rode the monorail around the lagoon to the parking lot. I got off the train and started to walk down the exit ramp when one of the unloaders came up and asked me a question.

"Hey, do you know who it was that was telling people to leave their wheelchairs at Magic Kingdom?", he asked.
"Oh yeah, that was me," I replied, worried.
"Really? Why would you do that?" he asked.
"Well, I was told to do that by [blank] and [blank]."
"That's ridiculous," he said. "We never do that. Let them get on with their wheelchairs."
"Yeah, that seems right."
"Oh, this one group of people was pissed," he told me.
"Oh yeah?" I asked. I knew exactly who he was talking about.
"Yeah, they said some tall, skinny @#$% at the Magic Kingdom told them to leave their wheelchair and said there would be one on the other side for them."

There of course was no wheelchair on the other side, so the group of guys had to help a woman hobble to her car. Of all the un-magical moments I've created in the past few weeks, that is probably the most profound. Even though I'd never see those people again, I felt pretty awful about the whole thing. I had only one thought to comfort me: that guy thought I was tall and skinny?!

A Visitor

2007-09-11T11:40:00.000-06:00

Love, Actually is quite possibly the sappiest movie ever conceived. It throws a barrage of cute stories at its viewer, one after the other, so that the average person is rendered utterly defenseless against its myriad charms and happy endings. Yes, this Christmas movie is one of my favorites, and it just happened to be playing this afternoon in September on the USA network.

I may be the only one sitting on the couch in the middle of the day watching chick flicks, but I'm not the only sap living in this apartment. My roommates and I experienced the first invasion of our apartment by the dreaded anolis carolinensis last night. This beast is so horrifying that it caused widespread panic amongst the roommates when it entered.

Note Exhibit A:

Ok, yeah. It's just a common anole. They are only about two inches long and can be spotted on any short walk outside here in Florida. Some people find them annoying, but I think they're rather cute. That is, until one decided to enter my domicile. Last night there was a rumble of activity around 1 am. I was home from work as were two of my roommates, Mike and Sean. There were ambulances and fire engines out in front of my apartment. I didn't know they were there until I got a text from a neighbor asking if everything was alright just as Sean got a phone call to the same effect. He ventured outside to see what was happening. Satisfied that nothing was really wrong, Sean came back inside just a few moments later. Unknowingly he had invited a visitor into our apartment. The following can only be told with dialogue, exactly as it happened last night:

"Hey, what's going on?" I asked.
"I can't really tell, but it doesn't look like anything," Sean retorted.
"Hey, come look at this!" exclaimed Mike.
I walked from my bedroom to the front door, thinking that Mike had discovered the reason for all the comotion.
"Oh my God. How did that get in here?" I asked, seeing that our friend had made his way to the inside of our front door.
"Sean must have let him in."
"Well, how do we get him out?"
"Oh, just kill him," Sean said from behind, having overheard our conversation and walked back to the door.
"No!"
Mike and I practically shrieked as if the most barbaric option had been suggested. We couldn't kill him! We all stared at the creature as he peered back in fear. Somehow Mike ended up with a slotted spoon from the kitchen as I gripped a Tupperware bowl, complete with lid. Maybe we'd just scoop him in and set him free.
"Ok, you scoop him in", I said.
Just as Mike brought the spoon up close, our friend scurried his way toward the crease between the door and the molding. He had practically wedged his entire head into the space and was unmovable.
"This is fight or flight. His nervous system has shut down and he's not gonna move," I remembered from a class back at school.
Sure enough, we couldn't get him to move.
"Oh, just open the door and let him out", Sean said casually.
"NO!" Mike and I exclaimed back, knowing full well that the door would crush his little head as it swung open.
"Wait, let's think about physics here. Would it crush him or let him free?" I asked. Physics? Huh? We all looked around at each other, not knowing the first thing about door function. Brilliantly, Mike walked to the closet door and swung it open. A look of amazement splashed across our faces.
"Look, there's more space there!" Mike said. "I think he could get outside if we opened the door."
"Ok, you do it," I said.
"No, you do it," Mike said as he stepped back. "I can't look."
"Oh my God, I'll do it!" Sean exclaimed.
"NO!" we said once more.
Finally it was me who opened the door. I looked the other way, turned the knob, and quickly performed the act.
"Oh look!" said Mike. "He's gone."

Sure enough, our friend had squeezed out the door and left our apartment at the first sight of freedom. Unfortunately, something in our plan went awry. The poor fellow was found at our doormat just a few minutes later as we left to further investigate the comotion next door. He was still alive but didn't scurry away as most of his kind do. Instead, he just lay there, his lizard's eye still staring back at me.

"Well, at least our Karma is okay," Mike said, assuredly.
"That's true," I said. "We did try to help him. Now we have to get him out of here."
"What?"
"Well, you don't want him to just lay here, do you? Let's pick up the mat and place him in the grass over there."

Meanwhile our neighbors across the hall were watching our every move. They too had come outside to check out the action. I was slightly embarrassed, but the poor fellow needed to be moved nevertheless. We picked up the mat, walked over to a grassy patch, and gently dropped him to the ground. I didn't sleep well last night. His eye had burned a hole into my brain.

I couldn't help but look for our friend today on my way to my car. I looked only in passing but didn't see him on the grass where we had left him. Maybe he was okay and had scurried away. Maybe he had become easy prey for one of the complex' stray cats. Either way he was gone, and I thought about my roommates' reaction to his visit. I can't say that we're manly men. When Love, Actually isn't blaring from the television, one is most likely to find HGTV or Disney Channel. We're just a bunch of gentle guys, and that's no reason to be embarrassed. At least we have good Karma.

You Can't Judge A Teenager By His T-Shirt

2007-09-08T01:08:00.000-06:00

There are a few events each year at the Magic Kingdom that draw particular alarm from the seasoned cast members. The two most infamous "hard ticket" (or after hours) events are Grad Nights in May and the Night of Joy concerts in September. I was scheduled to work the concert exit earlier this evening. The "Night of Joy" is actually two nights of Christian rock concerts at the Magic Kingdom featuring the biggest bands and 22,000 of their fans.

The anticipation amongst the cast members in the know was palpable - I had heard horror stories all week. In monorails, some referred to it as "Night of Hell". My roommate Mike told me his managers had taken certain items off display in the Emporium store on Main Street in years past because of high theft. The crowd was said to consist of mostly Christian youth groups (read: teenagers away from their parents) with less-than-adequate supervision. Needless to say, I was worried.

I drove into the parking lot at work earlier and quickly gathered up my things. I was a few minutes late because of the traffic coming in. As soon as I opened my car door I heard the screaming of rapturous teenagers (no pun intended). "Oh no", I thought. "Everything they said is true. This is going to be a long night". Mind you where I park is a five to ten minute walk from where the monorails depart from and more than a mile from the Magic Kingdom itself. Those screams pierced the air and seemed like they could have been heard for miles.

I was deployed to the Magic Kingdom station, so I went up and hopped on a monorail around the lagoon after clocking in. I arrived around the start of the event, so most everyone was going to the Magic Kingdom rather than back to the parking lot. That made for a very slow few hours at the station because all of the work is done on the load side of the platform. I spent the first of those hours in anticipation of the horror to come.

It can get very boring during the slow periods on the platform. I've found that I'll usually approach a family and ask them how they're doing or where they're from just to pass the time. Tonight, I approached a young woman who was by herself and asked her if she had a good time at the concert and such. She told me she had a wonderful time though she was really just checking things out. She had actually won a contest through her local radio station and was selected to perform at the following evening's concert. She and her entire family were flown to Orlando for the event. The woman was grinning from ear to ear and seemed so genuinely interested in talking to me. A train soon pulled into the station and the woman walked toward the door. Before she left she told me her name was Rachael. Rachael was such a lovely person - I smiled for a long time after she departed. My anticipation of the worst was all but gone.

The worst never came. I found the crowd to be very similar to nights past (with the one addition of neon t-shirts featuring slogans like "Saved By The Ultimate Blood Donor"). These kids seemed more content with high-fiving the monorail pilots than stealing from the stores. Sure, it got crowded at the end...very crowded. But the experience was thankfully nothing like what I was promised it would be.

I'm realizing that I should ignore a lot of what the old timers say. Many of them are jaded and angry at the world, anyway. I can judge for myself which crowds of people are respectful and which aren't, or better yet, not judge the crowds at all. I can also get a kick out of a t-shirt emblazoned with the words, "Get STONED Like Paul! Stand your ground for CHRIST!" without judging the person wearing it.

"Kevin is 10-8"

2007-09-03T14:58:00.000-06:00

Forgive me readers, for I have not reflected. It has been a week since my last post.

I'm settling into my apartment and my surroundings. It's really nice to have a drama-free zone in the apartment, unlike many others I've seen and heard about. I see two of my roommates quite a bit, and one I barely see at all. He literally walks in the door, says "hi", and walks right out again. I wonder where he spends all his time.

It seems this week like the reality of everyone's work schedule is sinking in. Just about everyone is on nights. I didn't get home until three last night. It won't usually be that bad, but I can expect to work at least a few late nights each week.

The job itself is a lot of fun. The most challenging part right now is listening to the radio. The WDW monorail system utilizes utterly self important police codes (i.e. "ten" codes). Understanding the codes is just the first step to knowing what's actually going on. I stood with a handheld at my ear last night, listening intently, and didn't catch even the gist of the message, while one of my more tenured coworkers (who, of course was involved in conversation elsewhere) repeated the message back perfectly from across the platform. I'll get the hang of it, I'm sure.

It is kind of fun (in a geeky and self important way) to use the radio. When we check in for work, we have to radio Monorail Four, or the person in charge of personnel for the system, and tell him we are ready to be deployed. The transmission sounds something like this:

Me: "Monorail Four, Base"
Four: "Four, Bye"
Me: "Kevin is 10-8 for the night"
Four: "10-4, have a good one"

The "10-8" techically means "in service", but in this instance means something like "feelin' good and ready to go". Overall, I'd say I'm 10-8 on this program so far. I feel good about the decision to come here, and I feel confident in my ability to make it worthwhile. That doesn't mean every moment has been wonderful.

I went to a program-sponsored pool party last week. I wasn't about to pass up free food, so even though everyone I had met up to that point was busy, I went down by myself. Well, let's just say it's harder than I thought to walk up to strangers and say hello. Actually, I found it debilitating after a while as cliques started to form and the sun went down. Before long, there were hundreds of people gathered around a small pool and picnic area. I left without meeting a single new person.

Maybe I shouldn't beat myself up. Thinking back on it, I'm sure there were a number of people who felt the same way I did. I actually passed a lot of them over and over again, knowing that they were bored as they wandered aimlessly about. I don't know why I didn't strike up a conversation with someone. All I know is that I didn't.

Dry your tears, now. I've met some really cool people down here and I know I'll meet plenty more. In fact, I ended up spending that very same evening at the Adventurer's Club, a totally awesome place to get drunk in Disney style. It's part comedy club, part cheesy dinner theater, part Audio Animatronic goodness. I had a few drinks and enjoyed myself very much (and even met a few people).

In a way we're all being tested. Some people around me are crumbling for different reasons ("I hate this" or "I'm too far away from home"). I can see where they're coming from, but I still feel 10-8.

Insert Backstage Photo Here

2007-08-27T18:28:00.000-06:00

So I've spent the last few days starting my training for monorail. My grueling tasks yesterday involved zipping around the property of Walt Disney World, having a taste of all the transportation options available to guests, as well as walking through the Magic Kingdom and riding a few attractions. I really don't know how anybody does it.

I haven't taken any pictures in the last few days, though. This is because I've spent a good amount of time "backstage". The backstage areas are the ones that the guests never see. Behind closed doors there are power plants and garbage trucks and cell towers just like everywhere else. No one would ever know, though, and that's the point. Actually, one can be terminated for taking photos backstage. I really almost feel like it isn't my place to be there yet. In some way it's sacred to me. Seeing it all might ruin the magic for some, but it just makes me appreciate everything that much more.

Back home, school starts in a week. My friends, my brother and 17,000 others will all be going back to Montclair State. I miss everyone, but I'm so glad not to be going back there this semester. I didn't realize how much I needed this change until I got here.

Dreams Do Come True

2007-08-24T11:37:00.000-06:00

A "dream come true" seems like it could be an overstatement (as well as a cliché around here), but it would be hard to describe receiving the news of my exact work location as anything else. After all, I've had a die cast model monorail on my bookshelf for years now. I have a monorail on my computer desktop. Chances are, if you know me well, you've heard me talk at some time or another about the monorail at Walt Disney World. Needless to say, I got a little misty when I was told that I'd be operating one for the next four months. I'm sure there will be plenty of un-fairytale moments. For instance, I have to train to open the platform at 5:45 AM for two days next week and then train to close it at 2:30 AM the two nights following. And I've heard there can be hostility among the managers on "the rails". But I don't care about those things yet: I'm Captain Disney, and the helm I write from sits on a polystyrene beam 20 feet in the air.

The diversity of this program is unreal. If I take a stroll through the parking lot at my apartment complex, I can see license plates from states I've never been to. Oregon next to New Hampshire next to West Virginia. My three roommates, actually, come from upstate New York, Seattle and Baton Rouge. I haven't quite had this experience at Montclair State. Sure, I've been lucky enough to have great friends from places around the country. But by and large, Montclair is a pretty homogenous place. Here, everyone is an ambassador for his or her state. Some of us wear our accents proudly while others have already adopted a neutral kind of pseudo-West Coast accent (guilty). Either way, we're all trying to break the stereotypes people hold that those from the South eat road kill and everyone in New Jersey acts like The Sopranos (and so on).

I guess for this reason and others, it seems like a lot of people are dreaming. I mean, my feelings about the program have been confirmed: it's like college without the college. There are 5000+ college kids here just wanting to have fun and surround themselves with each other. The classes aren't hard, the apartments aren't dorms, and the perks of living and working here include palm tree-lined pools and free access to one of the most coveted and expensive places on the planet.

Like I said, working a 40-hour week will likely change all of our perspectives. Hey, we technically just worked our first day today and got those nifty name tags. But this experience seems special enough to be more dream come true than nightmare.

Well, I'm off to the parks! This is my forth day here and I think I've waited long enough!

My Arrival

2007-08-21T20:58:00.000-06:00

So I'm here. It's a lot hotter in the Carolinas than it is in Orlando (or it seems that way at least). It's also refreshingly city-like here. I guess I'm paying more attention to the surrounding area than I have when I've vacationed at Disney in the past. After all, this will be my home for the next few months. I just felt at ease as I noticed cabs whizing by at a traffic light. Compared to Confederate flag-waving pick-ups whizzing by on the interstate, I guess anything would put someone at ease. I also went to Downtown Disney and was met with Manhattan-like crowds of tacky tourists. I guess that will get old. Right now it just seems like home...with palm trees.

I met up with some people from Facebook for dinner at the House of Blues. There were something like 38 people who said they would come. Six of us showed up. And I must say, the six of us had a good time. Disney geekdom abounded. Again, I'm home.

Tomorrow I move into my apartment and meet my roommate(s). The real fun has yet to begin.

Do I Look Like I Need To Be Saved?

2007-08-20T20:42:00.000-06:00

Today's drive was relatively painless. I know many people look at me with perplexion when I tell them that I don't mind driving for ten hours at a time, but it really isn't a bother to me. In fact, after driving through the megalopolis of Philadelphia, Baltimore and DC, everything is extremely pleasant. North Carolina is noticable dry, though. Everything along I-95 is brown and dead looking, unlike the verdancy of the other states I drove through. I even noticed a few smoldering brush fires along the interstate helped by the extreme drought. It's amazing these don't turn into forest fires. I guess some of them do.

My goal for the day was to reach a town not too far over the North/South Carolina border: Florence. I thankfully reached my goal and decided to call it a day and find a motel. After checking in, I ventured out to get some food. I was perfectly content with walking, and there were a few places close by. I settled on a safe bet, a Burger King right next to the motel.

I walked into the bustling Burger King with an empty stomach and an open mind. It isn't easy to admit, but I did have to stop myself from feeling weird about having the only license plate from the North in the parking lot next door. "Who cares?" I told myself. I walked to the register and ordered my BK Veggie meal. The manager asked me to repeat my order a few times, probably most attributable to the fact that the last time a BK Veggie was ordered, anywhere, was when I last ate one in 2005. Anyway, he rang me up and I went to join the masses waiting for their food.

It occured to me then that there probably shouldn't be "masses" waiting at 8:30 PM for a hamburger at Burger King. In fact, all of the patrons seemed irate. Ten minutes passed and none us had gotten food. The store was understaffed and we were waiting. One guy had a receipt from 8:06 and it was now going on a quarter to nine; he only wanted three Junior Whoppers. At any rate, I just stood back and minded my own business. I had spent the day cramped into my car and it felt good just to be standing up.

I was staring at some onion rings, actually, when a man dressed in an EMT uniform suddenly stood in front of me and offered me a Bible Tract. I wasn't in Times Square, so I accepted it. It is one thing to say "no thanks" or not say anything at all when you are an anonymous heathen in a sea of millions. It is another thing to blantantly refuse an offer of salvation when you are the singled-out-sinner in the room. I thanked the man and left after receiving my food just a few minutes later.

A Bible Tract is a curious thing. It was undoubtedly given with the best of intentions, but it still begs of the question: do I look like I need to be saved? I don't mean this in a cynical way - I'm really asking. Did I look like more of a lost soul than any of the other tourists at the BK? The baseball coach dad? Or the two impatient worker buddies? I guess my soul was just calling out to this nice man in the EMT uniform.

Well, it was an interesting day on the road. I'm tired and I'm going to sleep. The interstate that I hear outside my room will beckon before I know it.

A very special going away cake...

2007-08-20T20:30:00.000-06:00

One example of a wonderfully heartfelt send-off from my family and friends

What Is This Helm You Speak Of?

2007-08-19T22:48:00.000-06:00

These are thoughts from the helm - the helm of a ship aptly called "What the F**k Am I Doing With the Next Four Months of My Life?" I am Captain Disney, and I am in control of this ship. The name was lovingly given to me by a group of high school friends seeking to epitomize my seemingly bizarre obsession with Disney and Walt Disney World. Maybe I've changed since then, but my status as the Captain has not. It is now resurrected as I prepare to direct my ship toward the ballsiest move I've probably ever made.

So, yes, I have a blog. That's right. I figure everyone needs a little self-indulgence now and then. I won't name names, but a certain person back home is really hoping for one, too. So here it is: this is a journal of my experience over the next few months with the Walt Disney World College Program.

Tomorrow I hit the road. I'm in Wildwood, Nj with my family as I type this. Spending just a rainy day and a half here, I can tell that I'll miss this place (New Jersey, that is). As scared as I am of dealing with tacky people from around the world for over four months, I was quickly reminded yesterday at a rest stop on the Garden State Parkway on a weekend in the Summer headed Southbound that maybe "those people" won't be so different from what I'm used to. And even if they are, would that be such a bad thing?

Oh New Jersey, I keed, I keed. I will miss you and all the people I love so much who happen to live in...you. Time will go quickly, though. I'll be back in a little over four months - back with stories to tell and maybe even a suntan to show. Yeah, I know. I'm not counting on it, either.

My alarm clock is set for 7:00 AM. I can't wait to get in my car and drive.