Boston (tres)

I will tell you that I snapped back to consciousness as I was trying to unlock the door to my cousin's apartment building with the waist string of my shorts. I found myself locked out, outside of the apartment building at 3 or so in the morning, no shoes, and no glasses. I contemplated walking all night until the day came, but I chickened out and woke my cousin with the doorbell instead.This is your sleep walking brain on beer. Kids, don't do this at home.

Today I explored the MIT campus. I planned on attending a seminar on microbots, but, again, I chickened out. Otherwise, it is the usual "covering the yet covered streets" before I take off tomorrow. Catching the Amtrak early in the morning. Boston was a wonderful place, majorly thanks to the college kids, the Big Dig, and my hosts. I tell you, I know how to pick these hosts. All of the people who have allowed me to consume their couch over the last months have been nothing short of heroes for me. My cousin Kirsten and her husband Andrew are certainly no exception. I would like to think I will see them again soon. I wish I could do all of my recent travels all over again, but I imagine I have a problem with those yet uncovered streets out there.

I have decided to take a break from the blogging. I have enjoyed very much condensing and filtering my true thoughts into what I hope has been a palpable journal entry for you. However, I am undecided on the value of the blog to my long term plans. Just know that I am, and always will be, far away from you doing my best to be myself, or a lot closer to you than you realize doing my best to better my concept of myself. Thank you for reading this as far as you have. If you need to get a hold of me, I am sure you already know how.

Sincerely,
Russell Knudson

Boston (dos)

Though much has transpired since yesterday, I feel compelled to tell a seemingly irrelevant story instead. I reserve the right to write fiction.

It is too easy to wonder while walking in warm sun, cool breeze. It is too easy to wander as you wonder. My wanderment brought me to Boston Commons park, which is a popular place on a day as wonderful as this. Images so cross legged, hair blown, and smile wide. I find myself needing more, something unexpected, and in this state of searching you commonly find it. As my mind crawled up the texture of a nearby wall, a man's voice made it snap back to me on a lightning spring.
"Any change for the homeless sir?" the man said.
Head shaking side to side, puzzled face I reply, "I have nothing for ya today man."
I look him in the eyes to try to feed him my seriousness and sympathy.
"Thanks anyways," he says and I continued past.
This scene has been all too common on my travels, so my mind replays the encounter almost instantly. On many similar occasions I have told a fib as a means of escape. Saying "I don't have any money", when I do. Upon personal reflection it is always an embarrassing and disappointing reaction, and today I reflected just like the others.
~Forty feet in front of me, a man in a wheelchair is holding his arms extended high. It appears to be a motorized wheel chair with accessory bags on the sides and rear, full of items. The bags exude adventure and turmoil, but not as much as the man's sun hat, and not near as much as the man's face. I am close enough now to see he has in his hands a fishing pole pointed up and in front of him. My first thought is that this man has a line hooked to the top of a park light post directly in front of him and he is pulling himself toward it. I imagine him getting around the city this way, with his hook in the crack of a building wall, with his hook in a pedestrian's back jean pocket. My eyes re-focus and see that there is in fact a fishing line going past the light post, right over my head. The man, aged skin and frail body, wears a confusing smile. Confusing, as I cannot tell if it is truly a smile of deep joy or the crooked smile that is formed from degraded facial muscles after a stroke. I am now right up to the man, and I am turning back 'round to see what it is that he is fishing for.
The thin white line stretches out through the blue sky and into the branches of the winter bare tree at ~fifty feet, but I know there must be more. I am talking to the man with a small portion of my functional brain, and searching the scene with the rest.
"What is going on here man?"
He may have answered, but I wasn't paying attention, because I had found it. ~Four hundred feet to the east, ~two hundred feet off of the Earth, a colorful kite is whipping in wild winds. It must be well beyond the edge of the park and over portions of downtown Boston. It appears that it needs to fly only ~ten more feet to land on a ~ninth floor balcony of the high rise condominium building across the street. At the site, a rush of warmth generated at my core and spread outward toward the underside of my skin. Barely bigger than a speck of red, yellow, and blue dipped then rose upward. A desperate dive and several simultaneous somersaults, with a tail of ~three ribbons following right behind. I realized I was laughing wholeheartedly, and I turned to find the man passing the fishing pole to me.
"hold...hold" he says with difficulty.
I grabbed the pole. A sudden recognition of duty came over me and I manned my mission. I said something to the man, but I cannot remember what. The line appears to be tangled in the branches of the nearby tree, but it is difficult to be certain. Regardless, she is flying strong.
"Do you ever lose her and half to go chase it down over there in downtown?" I ask.
The man gurgles a response that I do not comprehend. He is still locked on the flier with deep intent, and in this moment I saw the reason for my confusion regarding the man's smile. Thanking him multiple times, I handed the rod back to the stroke suffered man. Broken lips revealing crowned teeth, and a royal blue smile beaming from his eyes.

From Boston 10

Boston (uno)

Wonderful dinner last night with my cousin Kirsten, her husband
Andrew, and some of her husband's family. They thought they had a nice
evening planned, and then the bearded guy dawning the black trench
coat dropped in on them like a landslide of hobo energy. We had a good
time though.
I am off to walk the freedom trail and drink green beer. I go to
Harvard tonight to watch Joanna Newsom!!! This concert has been the
only scheduled thing in my life for the past month and a half, so you
can imagine the importance.

Yankee Doodle Bridge (1)

On my way to Boston. That is where The Pixies are from I'm pretty sure. My cousin Kirsten is there, so this should be a riot. Members of descent from the larger, more developed branches of the tree I grow are all leafy and wooden just like me. Riot.

I just crossed the Yankee Doodle Bridge as I ride the Megabus from NY. At long last, a great bus service! I had heard of this Megabus company back when they were getting big in Europe and just starting in the U.S. What's cool about them is, if you book early enough (and the ads will no doubt tell you this as well), you can get tickets for $1. I am paying $13 vs. $18 on the Greyhound, and Megabus is far better. The only problem is that Megabus is only in the Northeast quarter of the U.S.

What a time in NY. Thanks of course to J and KD for their times. We had such a times. I won't soon forget it, and I hope they remember how to speak proper English, because we have been straight silly all week.

Da Big Ol Apples (for-seven)

Last full day and night in the NYC. I spent it with my good ol' pals. I was fortunate enough to attend the first tasting of a new brewery's first beer today. Warm Belly Brews (c) from Brooklyn had a tasting of their first beer, "Winter Britches". It was pretty darn good and we believe the beer to have medicinal qualities that are lacking in other beers (which is right around none), but this was not proven theoretically or experimentally.

The final dinner tonight, was created by chef Justin Mac, not to distinguish it from the many wonderful dinners that I experienced here. Many of my favorite vegetables, legumes, sugars and spices were converted in this past week into the me that I am today. After dinner, Katie and I worked on an inside pocket for my guitar case. She did most of the work, but if you peeked in at the right moments, you could find me sewing and listening to the Rolling Stones "Exile on Main Street" album. I imagine the Rolling Stones and sewing are an appropriately balanced diet.

For some of your future references, here is how to tell if your infestation of "couch bum" has matured:

From Da Big Ol Apples

Day 1
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Day 7

From Da Big Ol Apples

Da Big Ol Apples (for-five/for-six)

GENETA

Disclaimer: The content below may be the result of blog constipation. I have not been blogging regularly like I should be.

After you and I last met, I went to meet my house parents at the New York Museum of Modern Art for Free Fridays.
1. The "MoMA" will not allow you inside with, nor will they hold on to ("check"), your guitar. Why? Because who in their right mind brings a guitar to a museum? This guy, and I am sure a handful of other people, that's who. They told me the huge franchise hotel across the street will hold it for $3. I hustled 'cross the taxi-cab artery because the red high five hand blinked at me violently. The hotel concierge says "Sir, we have never held public items, only those belonging to guests. Sorry, you are not the first that the museum has sent to us." What can I do? I can't hide it anywhere, this is New York City for crying out loud. No one is near enough to my heart to watch it. Wait a minute.. I am wearing a long trench coat. Yess.
2 .I really lucked out, because J and KD were looking for me outside the museum when I walked back. We talked it over, I slung it on my back and under my coat. It stuck out about a a foot behind my knees. I also looked like I was trying to perform mitosis out the back of my jacket. We squeezed in tight with a crowd pushing in past security. They are looking people up and down. I'm not going to make it. I made it. Walk fast, don't look back, don't look suspicious, don't look. I hear the guards say something behind me and my skin turns cold. I turn around. Justin and the guards are talking and it turns out the guard would not let him in because he needs to check his umbrella first. HAHA. I turn around and hustle around the corner. We wait for Justin of course.
2. Now I am in, but still paranoid at each turn because of my illegal device. It actually sparks an angry cell inside of my heart-brain, because something as friendly as a guitar should not be targeted, but of course I see why the rule is a justifiable one. I settled the angered cell with the appropriate neurotransmitter. In fact, I lost my paranoia as well, because I realized I cannot enjoy the museum in fear and also I doubt the inside attendants even know the rules on guitars. Boy was I right. I trotted all over this place, really enjoying myself. It is not like I was trying to play a concert in there or anything (though it did cross my mind).
7. The main reason we are here is to see the temporary Tim Burton exhibit, most of which are drawings by him related to his wonderful films. We are very excited for this. Down the first hall of the museum, we quickly find out that the Tim Burton exhibit is not free and is SOLD OUT. We did find a small collection of Burton's work outside of the exhibit. Demented Polaroids, early sketches of "Nightmare Before Christmas" (Zero!). We were sad, but we moved on with our heads high.
3 . The MoMA is great. To compare art museums of late (though I am not sure how relevant comparisons would be) the MoMA was better than the Chicago Institute of Art, but not as great as the New York Metropolitan Art Museum. Ahhh the colorful Kandinsky, and to my surprise the few pieces of impressionist (who I bash in a previous post) Claude Monet's "Water Lilly" series rocked my socks off. There was a crazy "performance art" piece going on that involved two ladies staring at each other at a table, which is supposed to go on for 700 hours total. Was disappointed to find no Salvador Dali.
5. The two floors of paintings beat our minds to mush meat, so it was time to leave. On the way out, as J hits the water closet, KD and I stumble upon the entrance to the Tim Burton exhibit. We start walking toward it, but sure enough a lady is stopping everyone and asking for their tickets. So we turn to sing our song of defeat. From behind me the ticket lady says, "Hey! Guitar guy! You made it in." And she smiles. I reply, "yes". She says, "You can come on in, it's cool." I got on my high horse to ride right on in to the exhibit (yeehaw), Katie and Justin following right behind. It was extraordinary! Gives me warm fuzzies to see all of the wonderful drawings and concepts Mr. Burton had put onto paper/canvas/microchips before and during his great movies. There was recognizable material from most of his great films. I was most interested in the "Beetlejuice" stuff.

I would love to stay in, or come back to, New York for "pay what you wish" Fridays at the Whitney and Guggenheim Museums. Very happy to have seen the MoMA.

Since Friday I have pretty much just been boozin' it. I will attempt to excuse myself by saying I have actually been dedicating my small moments of inspiration to even smaller creatures, little poems in my stomach, a drawing or two, and my capacity for smiling. Today Katie graciously let me play with her wood burning tool and it was thought provoking. Perhaps it was the fumes from burning wood, but for the first time in almost 4 and a half years, I found a name for my sidekick, teacher, and the supporting character for almost every single Blahg post, my guitar. I took the tool and burned the name into the back of her head like any true pal/lover/father/daughter/boyfriend would do. Maybe an ode to the birth of concepts, the genesis of   (insert word)  , maybe a heightening respect for the breakthroughs in the knowledge of the animal genetic framework, maybe for the band Phil Collins and Peter Gabriel started in, but mainly because I found it to be a pretty name.

Da Big Ol Apples (for-three/for-four)

Happy Friday friends. Don't read this, go out and play.

In order to show that New York has not swallowed me whole (yet), I signed up for a visitors library card at the main Public Library just so that I could make a quick post to you, my loyal blog readers. Contrary to my last statement, I imagine that I am swallowing more of New York, I can feel it in my hips.

Jumpin Jehozafats my library ID is long. My ID card looks like they tried to fit a majority of pi on the back.

Today I took the subway deeper into Brooklyn to visit Erasmus Hall public schools. This is where my friend Justin teaches and he asked the principal for the permission to have a visitor. It was, without a doubt, a very sobering experience. Not that it was a scene that I feel I was ill-prepared for, because it does not take a brainiac to know what the public education condition is going to be like in inner city Brooklyn. However, there are subtleties that they can't show you in the picture shows: kids passing through security scans every single day before class, large portions of the student body walking around the halls instead of being in class, and in my humble opinion very strange organizational decisions made by administration (the way teachers are assigned to classrooms, roaming students on lunch breaks, etc.). Thank the good spirits that there are teachers doing what they can. I believe it takes thicker skin than most to be an educator as is, but man oh man do they have there work cut out for them in these kinds of environments. I will give Justin a hug when I see him later. All the rest of you, go hug your teachers.

I did get to go to a pep rally at the school while I visited. One more thing I can check off the "Things To Do Before Your Biological Self Stops Working" list.

Like I said, I am in Manhattan now, going to some museums tonight, but more on that later.

Da Big Ol Apples (for-two)

The weather was so wonderful today I had no choice, but to go run around Prospect Park. Besides that the day was relatively adventure-less: listened to Miles Davis "Bitches Brew" for the first time (ya man!), apertivos with my house parents (Justin and Katie) Katie makes a mean margarita, and we drank our dinners down. J and KD bought tickets to see The Magnetic Fields (band), and I was planning on just staying in for the night, buttt I went along for the ride to Manhattan and boy am I glad I went.
 - Busking in the subway - Was really nervous for some reason, but once it starts pouring out of you it is tough to stop. Try to sing louder than the trains.
 - Busking in Time Square - The NYPD kindly asked me to "cease pan-handling in this sector", so I relocated 5 blocks up to 47th St. I took some pictures with some French tourists who must have confused me for an interesting American landmark, but they were really nice about the songs I was playing. Otherwise, I collected my usual mix of disgusted looks from younger girls, semi-appreciative looks from much older women, and scoffs from most men. On the rare occasion a male doesn't mock, he usually gives me a dollar or some change. I have natural reaction now to sing much louder and take a few steps after the men who jeer as they walk past.

It was a great night.

From Da Big Ol Apples

Da Big Ol Apples (for-one)

Woooooo!
I forgot how much the excitement of this place got me the excited too. I hope it lasts.

Amtrak has remained a good experience in my eyes' mind. The track from Chicago was a bit more bumpy than previous tracks. Bumps in the night, strange dreams, animal in nature. Animals and vegetables.

Found my good ol' friend J Mac (Mac-N-Sac, apparently his new street moniker here) at a Tuesday night beer tasting. We knocked back the tiny samples with the old times at the front of our brains and the delicious free beer dancing in the uppermost regions of our digestives. It was an easy block to J and Katie-friend's apartment where KD was preparing Sober Noodles (?). It was the jam-track, whoa. Tofu, kimchi, already two things that I know that I am not sophisticated enough for.

I am glad to be here with these guys and I was telling them tonight that this visit will be extra easy for me, as these two crazy cats may be the only people on the planet that laugh at me when I speak in my made up languages. I include that comment, because you will most likely be showered with abnormal volumes of broken English, vulgarity, and nonsensicals on these next several posts.

Prepare to be for-shitted on! (sorry Mom)

Sweet Home Chicago (six)

Went to an awesome sketch comedy show last night. So very impressed, but I just don't have time to write something creative about it here. If you ever go to Chicago (quick, get a pencil and copy this down) I recommend going to "Too Much Light Make The Baby Go Blind" at the Neo-Futurist Theatre. I creid a little bit, I laughed a whole lot, and I thought with deepness.

On my way to New York New York. Brooklyn, beers, and good friends.

Dear Chicago,
I had a wonderful time. I hope to see you again. Take care of Klevis for me, he and his roommate Tim were wonderful hosts (goats eeee!). Tell Michael Jordan that, next time, I'm going to find him.

Sincerely,
Russell Knudson, grand kid #6

Sweet Home Chicago (five)

Holy Guacamole! On the top floor of the Chicago Public Library, there are six "music practice rooms" available to anyone, anyone who can properly identify themselves (this means some form of government issued identification). Every room even had its own upright piano, amazing. I was excited to find this, but, perhaps for the first time in my life, I waited until the time was right before diving in. Plus, it was a beautiful Chicago day, and I thought it was a great opportunity to play on the street. The subway was taken, so I just went back to the front of the library. I have had a hard time lately finding an activity as spiritually cleansing as busking. You have to really forget about your strange worries and accept the worrisome looks from strangers, to the beat, on the street. It feels great, try it. Plus I made two bucks. Now it's time to get to the practice room :) Here is a silly picture I took in there:

From Sweet Home Chicago

After the jam down, turkey jam, Klevis and I rode the subway headed to play some basketball. It was either this or go looking for Michael Jordan. We went to play basketball. We are definitely not the basketball animals we used to be, but I gotta say, the young men of the Lakeview YMCA were not ready for the fast, bumbling, scoring goofiness that is we. And finally, there is no better way to replenish all of the tomatoe sauce and cheese that you sweat out playing basketball then eating a famous Chicago "stuffed" pizza from Giordano's. Yodi.

From Sweet Home Chicago

Sweet Home Chicago (four)

Yesterday was Chicago's Birthday. Happy birthday Chicago, glad to be invited to the party.

Every Thursday, from 5 to 8 pm, the museum at the Art Institute Chicago is open free to the public. Oh hells ya, I was there. Stories of Georgia O'Keeffe and the inspiration behind her paintings. The battles of the American modernists trying to show the Europeans that, they too, have deep feelings. I enjoyed the museum much, here is my critique:
Painting - Lots of American (both pre- and post- 1900), little European (disappointing) that were mainly the Impressionists (which I am not a huge fan of), and hardly anything else (which I am OK with).
Sculpture - .... I'm just going to end my review now, because I only go to museums to look at paintings. Ya, they had some sculpture, Asian/Indian artifacts, and a GIANT section of photography. You could find me looking at the artifacts and sculptures. You could not find me looking at photography, though I could use some lessons.

I played at the somewhat historic "Gallery Cabaret" open mic last night. Musically, it definitely wasn't my night: forgetting my lyrics, how to play guitar, and not shaking my hips enough. I was given even more of a shunning than my other heavily shunned appearances. The sound kept cutting out on me, that's my excuse. There were some really good folks that played there though, so I had a good time. After the bar, I ate hot dog #2 of the Chicago visit. My nutritionist would be outraged.

Tonight Klevis and I made our own ice cream and drank beer, like real men, right? We called it date night. Much to Klevis's dismay, we did not use goat milk or goat cream to make the ice cream.

From Sweet Home Chicago Klevis (c), scraping the last from the ice cream maker

Sweet Home Chicago (two, some of three)

Gotta hand it to this place. It is pretty smooth, pretty boppin', pretty jivin' despite the weather. I am sure most Chicagoans (Chicagonians? Chicagonites?) would laugh in my face when I say the weather is something less desirable today, compared of course to the winter they are coming out of. I am sure on certain days I would laugh in my own face for occupying this many brain cells with the weather, especially when there are concepts out there that need to be wrestled with, namely: chemical dependencies in humans, how to resurrect the spirit of Ignaz Semmelweis, and generating enough sustainable energy to light a giant billboard that reads "Hello. In order to save the planet, most of you need to leave."

Yesterday I got out there and did the usual thing. Bicycled to various spots in the nearby areas, took pictures, talked to street Corn vendors about competition in their territories. A man driving a Salvation Army truck saw me with my guitar slung on my shoulder and he asked for some pointers. I told him, "I say you should learn how to play some basic chords before anything else." He said, "Oh ya, chords, like with the frets and the thing..? ...!!.. %#$".

It has become a bit too commonplace for me now, this free-loading, walking, talking, picture taking thing I am doing. I have tricked myself into imagining I can sense the overall energy or spirit of a particular area after being there for a few minutes, or just long enough to count how many people honk there car horns for no good reason.

I wanted a picture of downtown Chicago from as close as possible to Lake Michigan so I stepped onto a low rock pier. You see this wave?

From Sweet Home Chicago

It attacked my foot and, in order to raise the energy levels of it's own internal water molecules, left my right (Rhonda) foot wet and cold.

From Sweet Home Chicago

I am just looking for excuses to post pictures now.

Sweet Home Chicago (one)

Chicago just about ate me up this morning. Where am I, where am I going, what? These were all questions that I asked myself and anyone standing close enough to here my mind buzzing. I was disappointed too, because the areas of Chicago I needed to get around are areas I had walked around on occasion in the last year. I blew a train ticket on a train that wasn't even running today. I bought a Dunkin' Donut's donut's donut to allow me to use the internet, only to find out they didn't have internet access. I ate the donut. All of these decisions, in hindsight, were due to my lack of planning before I arrived. I typically write in my journal the address, telephone number, and general directions on how to get there, but today I had only an address. So, I just decided to jump on any northbound train to distance myself from the downtown hoityness and find myself a place that would let me use the Yellow Pages or internet access. I blindly picked an exit on this particular train, walked up the street to a place with wireless internet, and BINGO! I had happened to get off the train just down the street from where I was trying to go. It could not have worked out better. What is the moral to the story? Well, I am sure Aesop has already covered it. Boy, does he have some good ones.

After I brushed my teeth and wrote a couple letters at a coffee shop, I was able to foot it, take mental notes of establishments I can buy pizza and take pictures. This afternoon I met up with my good buddy Klevis. Drank a beer, bought groceries (avocados are cheap here! Why?), and lifted live goats above our heads for exercise.

From Sweet Home Chicago

*I apologize if my final comment from yesterday came across as sexist, that was certainly not my intention. The scene truly did rouse that metaphor in me, but that is not to say that there aren't just as many males out there who don't dance, don't have anything to talk about, and don't get any attention at the party. Hell, I do dance (or some form thereof), do talk, but that doesn't mean the attention I get is positive by any means. :)

Kansas City, WA

Just a quick stopover in Kansas City, the Mizzou side. I decided to eat the metaphorical dog excrement and ride the Greyhound on to Chicago tonight. If I was riding a real Greyhound, I would be absolutely excited, but I'm not and I'm not. I get the feeling I frequently complain about this particular bus company, yet if they are so crummy then why do I continue to use their services? Well, I must thank them truthfully, because it has gotten me around for pretty reasonable monies. However, the organization, or lack there of, of this company continues to surprise me. Today though, it all ended up very nicely as I payed $67 for a ticket that was quoted online as $120. That's nice.

It feels good to be back out and moving. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, because it is never anything at all against the beautiful people who have hosted this dislodged creature over the last month. I just cannot help but feel the winds of freedom blowing through my luscious blond hairs as I am out perusing the alley ways of strange cities, or playing guitar in front of gas stations. I worry I may have contracted a traveling bug that I won't come back from fully, which was sort of the point I suppose. I don't know, we will see how chipper I am about traveling after I sleep with my head against the bus window tonight.

Here's a picture of the "Power and Light" area I stumbled upon here in KC. It reminds me a lot of the girl that went out to the party all dolled up, but she doesn't dance, she doesn't have much to talk about, and no one is paying her much attention.

From Manhappening, KS

Manhappening, Kansas (V)

Neil Young's performance tonight at the Olympics closing ceremonies opened my heart with a surgeon's smile and cut it into butterflies. It was my favorite event by far and he deserves one of those medals covered in six grams of gold. I was fortunate enough to only see two other Olympic events, and after watching the highlights, I fancy to say I saw two of the best of the entire competition: Shaun White's win + victory lap and the end of the Canada-USA hockey game. If I would have watched anymore television there is no telling how many energy drinks, personal hygiene products, and automobiles I would buy this week. We all know I need one of those items.

Tomorrow morning I say "so long, and thanks for all the fish" to Manhattan. It was a good time here, and nice to hang with my sister. I was given the level of serenity I had hoped to find, and this allowed me the opportunity to try new things, some of which I am happy about. However, I did find myself, on occasion, abusing my freedoms to a new level, embarrassingly so. For example, today consisted of sleeping late through an oncoming hangover, eating at a franchise fast food place, playing Super Mario World, and watching TV. I really blew it, and fear I will pay for it dearly. You live and you learn. You learn how soft around the middle you can allow yourself to become.

Off to Chicago. Chi town. Chi City. Home of Jake and Elwood Blues. Excited for the pizza and street people. Excited for the excitement.