Intangible Prints

New Blog

2010-01-01T22:23:00.002-05:00

For all those followers few and far between, I have created a new blog:

http://jkprints.tumblr.com/

so check it out!

The Run

2010-01-01T18:15:00.005-05:00

I run.

I ran today when it was cold outside. When the pavement was still soggy from the morning rain and the boardwalk groaned under my feet. I ran as the sun descended beyond the leafless trees. When the earth turned grey and cheerless. The damp air turned my sweat cold on my skin. Color faded from the sky and the birds above fought against wind. Florida bared her melancholy. When the long leaves of the pampas bushes reached for my face, when a misty spray threatened rain, when the long trail remained deserted, when home stretched miles away – I kept running.

Fall Semester

2009-12-15T23:33:00.003-05:00

Its been a long time since my last post, but I think this picture will sum up my blogging absence.

One day in the middle of exam week, I glanced over at my desk and saw my computer teetering under a mountain of critical essays, articles, papers and books. My poor desk, with its recent shattered glass top, showed the strain of the past three months.

It has been a difficult but stimulating semester.

School at Last

2009-09-13T16:47:00.004-04:00

Just when I thought this summer heat will melt me alive, the fever broke and a new season began. Summer graduation is over and the professors have started to return. Over stuffed cars, moms and dads, wide eyed freshmen, preoccupied seniors, and “bouquets of sharpened pencils” swarm campus.

This summer could be described as bi-polar: relaxing yet exciting; unstressed yet overworked. However I must admit, for the first time in many years, I am ready for school to begin. I would like to say I have long anticipated the opportunity to further develop my education and intellectual prowess in hopes of becoming more than a mediocre member of society.

But truthfully I just miss the coffee.

This will be the third year working at Jazzman’s Café. Each semester my friends ask, “Are you still working at Jazzman’s?”

Like every job, it has its frustrations – the temperamental coffee grinder, the repetitive music that haunts me in my sleep – but the bottom line is I love my job. How great is it to make and serve legal stimulants every day? On top of that, our Jazzman’s crew is the best to work with.

No matter how much studying I need to do, or how cold it gets to my warm Floridian blood, everything melts away at the first sip of a double shot, toffee nut white mocha with extra foam. Unfortunately this, Serge, last year’s retail manager, is leaving. He was an amazing boss and even better friend and I know he will be missed.

Being a senior, I look to life beyond college and I shutter with anticipation and apprehension at the unknown. There is so much to figure out! Still, let’s not get too worked up. For now I’ll do what I’ve always done with a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

The Apartment

2009-09-13T15:27:00.009-04:00

Finally, after struggling to collect various pieces of furniture and decorations, I think my colossal bedroom is finally coming together. It's a whole new world having space to spread out and sit at my desk for hours studying (well, the hours of study isn't all that great).

I just wanted to give a shout out to Karena for the freakin' awesome map and Rachael for the lamp and chair and mom for letting me use her guitar, camera, couch...(the list goes on).

One of our new addition downstairs is a coffee bar complete with espresso, mugs, and pictures.

Anthropology

2009-08-18T12:08:00.005-04:00

"It's a lamp with candles burning upside down..." my art teacher threw her hands up triumphantly, "It's Absurd!"

I stood holding a chandelier with glass bottles for shades and burnt candle sticks for bulbs. I had just finished the project the night before. Transforming my dorm room into a workshop, burning candles, hammering iron pieces, filling the hall with epoxy fumes, I don't know how I dodge my RA.

Finally finishing my work of art, I would have described it as: inventive, unique, artistic, Brilliant!

But absurd? As I stood there, I looked again at my chandelier, a bit taken back.

But she was right. I loved the dilapidated pieced together Frankenstein thing...because it was absurd.

Hours of working for Sedexo at the registration lines has prompted me to wonder through my favorite Internet sites. Sifting through Anthropology and Swedish blogs, I find myself looking for some image to inspire.

That's when I found old stadium bulbs used as decor pieces. I kept coming back to them, looking at them neatly arranged on the desk. It's just the creative food I needed. So random. So inventive. So absurd.

New Toy

2009-08-05T17:55:00.003-04:00

Dodging past racks of worn clothes and abandoned baby toys, I marched my way to the front of the store clutching a black Polaroid camera. I had found my prize.

We stopped at a local thrift store today, and I couldn’t help indulge my guilty pleasure of salvage shopping.

Buried behind plastic point and shoot cameras I spotted an unusual black box with silver lettering: Polaroid.

It was love at first sight. Next thing I knew I was at the counter, trying to play it cool as I asked the price. I held my breath as the cashier asked the manager. How much would I willing to pay? I wondered

A dollar fifty, she said.

I’ll take it, I said.

With a bag full of three vintage books and a new old camera, I climbed back into the car grinning like a fool.

The Gathering

2009-08-05T17:22:00.004-04:00

Seven sisters and homemade pie: life couldn’t get much better.

Last Thursday my mom and the rest of her sisters gathered around the table for a potluck lunch. Good food and warm conversation flowed like water. If this gang of white haired ladies is known for one thing, it’s that they know how to cook.

Yesterday my mom and I flew to Ohio for a ten day visit to Holmes County, our homeland. Coming back to my roots, I had forgotten the slower speed of small town life and the abundance of home grown ingredients.

More than the cuisine, spending time with my aunts was so much fun. Once a month the sisters gather together to work on a project, catch up on the news and share a meal. Reclining in the sitting room, everyone busied themselves with some needlework as I, forgetting my cross-stitch at home, penciled in Sudoku.

As we swapped recipes and talked of the old days, realized how similar my aunts were to my mom. I tried to picture them as Amish girls wearing bonnets and long skirts. I was only one generation away from being Amish myself.

I wondered in thirty years if my sisters and I would be gathering together to talk about our grandchildren and growing up? I could just picture the four of us with white curly hair, kitting sweaters together.

"Remember the time I used to shoot pictures for you?" I would ask Daisy.

"I remember when everyone was blogging," Karena would say.

"And Facebooking," says Melissa.

"And Twittering," says Daisy.

We would all sit back and laugh, "Those were the days!"

Sit and Sip

2009-07-26T20:22:00.004-04:00

I finally got to make use of my birthday present last week. There is no remedy like a cup of tea and some dark chocolate.

Climbing Fever

2009-07-15T17:14:00.003-04:00

Nestled on the top of a mountain, surrounded by luxury development and yet wildly untouched, is a boulder field called Little Rock City. This rock and woodland melody is a sanctuary for bouldering and just the other week I found myself spotting my three friends as they clawed up the rock face.

Now, as for me, if I want to dangle from a rock with just my bare fingers and toes, I prefer to have a rope attached and a nice, easy decent. Bouldering is a whole other animal. Climbers hang upside down, using every muscle in their body, and slowly pull themselves hand hold over hand hold to the top of the rock. The only thing to catch them if they fall is a firm crash pad, just six inches thick.

Nearly on a whim, several of my friends drove to Soddy Daisy, only 45 minutes from Cleveland to get a few hours of climbing in. At first glance this bouldering haven may seem a bit anticlimactic due to the lovely golf course viewed from the trail. However, once you finish your first climb, you will be hooked.

Bouldering is a growing sport, and it is not for the faint of heart. Except for white chalk marks on the cracks and crevices, there is no rout to follow on these climbs. You will need chalk for when your hands sweat and tape for when your fingers bleed.

The climbs here are some of the hardest in the South East, marking all the way up to v10. Rachael, Jack and Josh attempted a Dyno on one climb. In order to reach the top, they had to leap from the rock and reached with both hands for the top. Josh alone completed it. By the end of the day, we wore ourselves out.

And everyone left with bloody knuckles.

For all those tired of indoor climbing or just like climbing things, come to LRC. It is best to go with someone who knows what they are doing and take gear because these climbs are dangerous. Due to a recent injury, I am now the designated photographer. Yet watching newbies struggle up the rock and my old friends top out on a ridiculous climb is still a rush. There is nothing like the feeling of climbing to the top of a sheer rock using nothing but cracks and bare fingers.

Its A Boy!

2009-07-08T18:42:00.005-04:00

I was able to break away from the mundane of Cleveland and venture south to my hometown of Orange Park, Florida. Daisy and I decided to come for my sister, Melissa's baby shower.

The shower was so cute, complete with baby streamers, diaper cake, and bib painting station. I had a great time thanks to Betzy and Karena's great planning and I couldn't help taking a few of the adorable chocolate baby rattles.

More then anything, I was so relieved just to be home with family again. That night my dad, sisters and brother-in-law, Courtney, broke out into a spontaneous game of football. Being the first time we played the sport, it was not without moments of hilarity. I can still picture Karena doing a somersault over my dad on the ground as Daisy runs past them into the end zone. I could not stop laughing.

And of course, as always, I had to pay the ocean a long overdue visit.

Joy Riding

2009-06-15T10:43:00.003-04:00

For the past month I have been trying to secure my feet back on American soil again. With all the changes – new apartment, new job, new roommates, new state – I have kept myself busy. I was so focus on working weddings and picking up shifts that I nearly forgot the fact that only a month ago I was eating crepes in

France

Last Sunday I found myself driving along Dalton Pike to pick up something for my sister. It was a beautiful day and I soon felt like traveling again. I turned up Matchbox 20, rolled down the windows, and put on my aviators. Summer was here and it was time to enjoy it. I didn’t bother glancing at my speedometer and just let my hand comb the wind out the window.

All along this windy road I passed antique junkyards and stoic red barns. Endless lines of wooden fences followed the road and carved out the horse pastures and wheat fields. Huge dried hay barrels contrasted against the green landscape. Every once in a while I passed a single tree left standing by the road, but mostly the forest were kept to the rolling Appalachian mountains in the distance.

If you ever drive down Dalton Pike, you will notice the quirky and random things left along the side of the road. Once I passed an abandoned school bus with a “For Sale” sign in the window. Whoever owned it turned it into a mobile home equipped with an AC unit and small kitchen. They parked and left it, even their dirty laundry and salt and pepper in the window. Normally I would be wondering if there was a market for converted school buses in the Tennessee area. On second thought, I think there is.

Along APD 40, towards the Ocoee River is a school bus, parked just off the road with the words, “Ms. B’s Purple Bus” painted along the side. The faded purple bus with wooden stairs to the door is hard to miss. Inside, this automobile is transformed into a well stocked bead shop. Instead of seats, there are bins of assorted beads and all along the windows are strings of glass and shell necklaces. At the other end near the driver’s seat sits Ms. B herself next to the cash register.

Inside can get a little crowded, if more then one person is in the bus, as you might imagine. However, if you feel like creating some Hippie jewelry, this is the place to go. It may not have the

overwhelming plenty of Asheville’s bead shops, but it’s in a purple bus. For me, that makes all the difference.

In the past, my summers were spent in Florida. I was used to the broad beaches and mind-melting heat. I miss the daily thunderstorms that turned the streets and pavements into a sauna. Now living in Cleveland, I miss Florida’s open space. I feel the urge to get out and drive through the countryside. There is nothing quite like driving on back roads, away from city lights, with the specific purpose of getting lost just to figure out how to get back.

Now driving past grazing horses with nothing but blue skies above, I breathed in the freedom. It’s time to open the windows and see the world through my tinted sunglasses.

Whitestone Inn

2009-06-08T11:17:00.001-04:00

I took a trip just the other weekend to Whitestone Inn between Chattanooga and Knoxville. Beau Moffatt and I were headed into the sticks to photograph a wedding there. I was a little anxious, as usual, before the wedding, but my creative worries melted away when we drove up to the lookout at Whitestone.

I had not shot a wedding located this far outside of Cleveland or Chattanooga. However, I must say that this couple picked a perfect place to have a destination wedding. Whitestone started as a bed and breakfast located at the top of a ridge overlooking the head of the Tennessee River. A wedding chapel and a reception hall was later added making this location ideal for a beautiful wedding. Our shots turned out incredibly well with the 360 acres of camp grounds, cottage buildings with billowing lakes nestled between the rolling mountains in the background.

This place is ideal for city slickers wanting to get away. You truly are in the middle of nowhere. The resort is surrounded by farms and pastures with the more then occasional road kill to dodge on the roads. Because GPS is little help on these country roads, we located it the old fashioned way, map and directions.

However, for the locals, it’s just another small town. Populated mostly with farmers, life out these is slower and simpler. Rush hour is early morning columbine trackers and pickups pulling trailers. At the only fork in the road there is a convenient store as old as the town itself where you might see a group of men reclined back on their chairs drinking some morning coffee. I imagined it would be black and strong, they having never known nor cared for the specialties of Starbucks coffee.

We were hard pressed to find certain necessities out there. Beau and I drove forty minutes to Kingston, the next closest town, to pick up some lunch and grab a few pictures of the bride getting her hair done. At subway we asked where a coffee shop was, needing a caffeine fix. There was none. We were informed that a Starbucks opened a while back but it soon went out of business. The fact that Starbucks global enterprise, seeming able to survive anywhere like a resilient weed, was put out of business by this sleepy rural town made me quite impressed. And sad that I couldn’t get coffee.

All in all, the wedding and reception was absolutely stunning. The Bride and groom were so relaxed and beautiful that it made photographing them so easy. Shooting with Beau was fun and I still continue to learn so much from him. However, as the night wore on, I couldn’t resist slipping way for a few minutes during to look out over the valley. Illuminated by the moon and stars the whole valley shimmered with cool white light.

Homeward Bound

2009-04-25T12:39:00.005-04:00

It is Thursday night and I am curled up with a cup of tea, chocolate, and a laptop. For all the traveling we have done, it’s great to be in one place.

Last Friday we flew back to the United States: the land of the free, home of the hamburger. After the longest day of my life (17 hours of bright sunlight), I passed out for a couple days until I could figure out what time I should be sleeping. Truthfully, I didn’t mind. It was good to be back.

Our last days in Cambridge were spent collecting up last minute gifts, paying with pennies to get rid of loose change. All of us were throwing away clothes and books, praying that our suitcases made weight for the airplane.

We spent our last day in London and saw “Wicked” together that night. The production was incredible, everything from the costuming to the music.

However, it was all overshadowed with the expectancy of returning home. Saying goodbye to our friends and guides seemed more surreal than sentimental. On the one hand, I felt like I could live in England, yet on the other hand I was ready for some familiarity and permanence.

Walking off the British Airways flight, America greeted us with southern accents and fried doughnuts. I grabbed some food at the airport and the cashier smiled as I tried to figure out how to pay with paper currency again.

Eating my dinner, I noticed how our “regional cuisine” in America was hamburgers and Dunkin’ Donuts.

Now nearing a week after we returned, I have been anything but bored. I have to catch up on movies, get a tan at the beach and, most importantly, post hundreds (well, in my case, thousands) of pictures on Facebook. Somewhere, in between everything else, I will find time to finish up my research projects.

Despite my determination not to, I had my share of reverse culture shock.

I have to drive a car to go a mile down the street? I have to keep my cell phone charged and with me at all times? It costs how much? Where are the metro lines? Where are the bicycles?
If you see me wandering around with a backpack or biking frantically on the interstate to Chattanooga, don’t be alarmed. I am still adjusting.

I already miss the rest of our group from this trip. Two and a half months with the same 21 people will bind even the most diverse individuals together. We are family now. We’ve been through the good, the bad and the ridiculous.

Now at the end of the Cambridge trip, we find ourselves at a new beginning. Several seniors are preparing for life beyond. Others have caught the travel fever and are already planning their next adventures.

We are all splitting ways and going back to our jobs, studies and friends, but one thing is for sure: at the risk of sounding cliché, none of us are who we were when we left.

Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture

2009-04-12T16:22:00.004-04:00

I was reviewing the blogs on one of my favorite site, ReadyMade Magazine, and I stumbled onto a link that I found fascinating. It seems that you can now download a free photo editing program that turns digital photos into Polaroid picture format. Then all you have to do is print them out.

I had heard rumors before about a horrible travesty to the artistic community (they are discontinued manufacturing Polaroid film) and it sparked my interest in Polaroid photography. I used to think that nothing good could come from these mediocre point and shoot cameras, but after looking at some interesting "mess up" photos, I realize the possibilities. You get instant development, vignette edges, artistic expression, and in the end you are holding a real picture...Its almost better then digital photography.

Then, whether by some sign from God or the result of good marketing, I happened to watch two movies in which the artsy main characters used a Polaroid camera. I explained my enthusiasm to my friend and she casually offered to give me her old Polaroid camera! The heavens aligned as fate brought before me yet another artistic medium...Polaroid.

(now the trouble is finding film before its all gobbled up...)

All that to say, check out this link if you have a Mac. (I would have downloaded it by now, but they only have it available to Macs)

http://digital-photography-school.com/turn-your-digital-images-into-polaroids

Independent Travel

2009-04-09T22:31:00.003-04:00

Here is one of the Clarion articles I wrote when I was in Barcelona:

Last week I stepped off the plane in Rome with only my pack, passport and two weeks to get to Paris. The 21 of us, splitting into smaller travel groups, have been backpacking through Europe for the past week.

Hopping planes, jumping trains, riding ferries, wandering lost through streets, we have used every mode of transpertation to make it through some of the most spectacular places in Europe.

There’s no telling what’s coming next.
Now halfway through our travel, we are taking a little time out from our constant travel to rest on the beaches of Barcelona and enjoy some sunshine.

Though it seems like forever ago, it was only last Tuesday when I started backpacking.

After we were given our Eurail passes and a green light, three of my friends and I hopped on a plane from London and landed in Rome a few hours later.

As we quickly realized, Rome really is a city of fountains. Everywhere we turned there was some sort of flowing water display.

Through we only spent two days in Rome, we had time enough to witness the spectacular artwork in the Sistine Chapel, eat pizza outside the coliseum and make a wish in Trevi Fountain while eating as much gelato as we could hold.

From there we made a pit stop in Pisa to see its tower, a spectacular result of poor engineering, while on our way to Venice.

Venice was a completely unique city in every way. It was as though the whole town was a floating marina. It was like a small town and an ancient ruin in one, though it also felt surreal with its waterways and canals carving through the buildings.

The romantic city does have a double-edged sword, however. Stray but a little from the main streets of Venice and you will be hopelessly lost in the thick labyrinth of streets.
The Venetian streets should more accurately be called sidewalks and no map detailed enough could lead you through the maze. If not for the frequent signs pointing to the major areas in Venice, we might still have been looking for the train station.

Only a day later we left the mild city of Venice and hopped a train to Switzerland. There, we spent the day climbing the majestic Swiss Alps, which took our breath away.
We did not stay long but took a pit stop in Marsailles before planting our feet in Barcelona for a couple of days.

Other groups have wondered as far north as Amsterdam and as far east as Budapest.
At a chance reunion with another group in Barcelona, Sara Anderson advised that, “when traveling to Budapest, try the thermal baths. The changing rooms are a bit of a shock to the typical modest American, but swimming under the stars in Eastern Europe is incredible.”
Living out of a backpack isn’t a bad way of life. You soon learn that such things as clean clothes and sanitation are a luxury.

Everything you need in this world can fit into a backpack. With a new city, new country, new language every couple days, I had to accept the fact that we’ll always be perpetually lost.
“I’ve learned after traveling to eight different countries and hearing an array of languages sounding so foreign to my ears,” said Ashley Jackson, “that pointing and smiling is the best universal language.”

There really is a thrill in stepping off of a train with only a loose set of directions and having to figure out how to get where you are trying to go.

In one instance in Rome, a gentleman was thoroughly surprised when we told him we had no idea where the bus we were on was going.

For all its confusing and humorous moments, backpacking through Europe is the most incredible thing I have done.

Now nearing just weeks before our return to the States, I can hear Michael Buble’s song “Home” playing in the back of my mind.

Cambrige Competitions

2009-03-11T06:11:00.006-04:00

With spring right around the corner, all the Cambridge teams have come out of hibernation to take the fields again. Before I went to London, I caught wind of a boats race around the Cam river. I was not going to miss this.

As a tradition, Cambridge Crew teams hold a competition between all the colleges. At the start of the race, all the boats count off in order from the starting line. The object of the race is to bump the boat in front of them and the fastest boat wins. Once the Cambridge has its champion teams, they race Oxford, their biggest rival, in a huge annual competition.

Biking all along the river bank, I was able to catch up with the boats and follow them for a ways. I was not sure where to find them and ended up biking out of Cambridge county, along some grassy field, throwing my bike over a cattle gate, and finally stopping at a pub filled with spectators along the bank (I was tempted to pick up some barbecue that they were grilling). I was able to see the end of the boys competition and the start off of the girls. I couldn't believe the massive power and strength these girls had.

Soon after they all rowed away, I biked three miles back into town and met up with some of our group to watch a Lacrosse game. The Cambridge team in all white was facing off Oxford in one of the most violent sports I've seen. The game reminded me of Hockey except that there was no ice and everyone hit each other with their sticks. Sadly, Cambridge lost to the preppy Oxford team.

All in all, it was still a beautiful spring day in Cambridge town.

London Town

2009-03-07T16:48:00.004-05:00

“In a rainy London town, the sun was shining, everywhere!” I think these immortal words from Michael Buble sum up our London travels. We spent five days running through the rain and sunshine, busy streets and crowded subways, great palaces and deep towers, trying to soak in so much of the city in such little time.

This was my first experience with subways. We were given three day passes for all the underground lines and city buses, and in no time flat, we became pros at jumping here and there from bus to subway.

Each day we did one event together as a group and then the rest of the day was free. The first day we went to Windsor Castle (our first peak at royalty) and as soon as we checked into our hostel, a group of us took off walking to the Hillsong London Church. It was not until 20 minutes into our 45 minute walk that we realized how spread out London was. Hillsong was well worth the walk. They rented out an entire theater for their services and the worship was absolutely incredible. This was the first time going to a charismatic church service since I arrived here and I realized just how different the Old Faith was from the church I usually go to. At the same time, both congregations are Christian and united under one Faith. I thought it was great that Hillsong would just call themselves Church instead our American elaborate church titles such as The First Baptist New Life Seven Waters Worship Center.

This was just the start of our trip. We also went to Westminster Abby, London Eye, Globe Theater, Piccadilly Circus, Covenant Gardens, Big Ben, Platform 9 ¾ (from Harry Potter), London Tower, the crown jewels, London Bridge, Tate Modern Art Museum, British Museum and of course, the Theater.

This was the first time I saw Les Miserables on stage and it completely blew my mind (yes, my head exploded). The acting, the stage, the sets, the music…everything came together perfectly in their performance of this play. Other people in our group who had seen Les Miz before said that it exceeded their expectations. Even now, I find myself singing the songs in my head.

I could write on and on about all that we did and saw in London. At one point, like from a movie, Jessica and David and I were literally running down the streets of London in the pouring rain. Late to our play, Chicago, we were jumping over puddles and running down cobble stone alleys trying to find the theater. David, before he knew it, ran into a gay bar looking for directions. It was quite a night.

My only regret was that I accidently dropped and broke my camera lens the last day we were in London. I tried not to let it ruin my day, but I lost all the possible pictures from the British Museum and a few from Hyde Park. Now in Cambridge, I will need to fork out the money for a new lens.

I have little time to digest London before we start planning for our epic adventures in the European continent.

Ireland

2009-03-06T22:18:00.006-05:00

(Just an early morning delivery of Guiness to the local pubs in Dublin)

I slept in today, recovering from our vacation to Ireland. My three friends, Anna, Jeff, and John and I just devoured Ireland in five days, running from coast to coast. Our unsupervised independent travel started when we were dropped off in Shannon airport and picked up in Dublin.

Between these cities we somehow managed to teeter off the Cliffs of Moher, crawl to the top of Mt. Croagh Patrick, ride wooly horses, crashed someone’s pancake party, sneak into castle gardens, and still have time to run through Dublin’s art museum. In short, sleeping was pretty far down on the list of things to do in Ireland.

Mt. Croagh Patrick was an absolute spectacular experience. It was said that St. Patrick climbed to the top of the mountain and fasted and prayed for all the snakes to leave Ireland. Now Ireland does not have any snakes in it (literally). Now this 2,541 ft. mountain is used as a pilgrimage. Pilgrims would climb bare foot through the sharp rocky trails, stopping at three stations along the way. At the top was a small chapel. The day we climbed, the peak was covered in a cloud and it was not long before the whole trail was a whiteout. Suddenly, in the final assent to the top, the trail turned into a pile of endless loose rocks. It was hard getting our footing as the trail turned into a shifty field of stones. This was the most difficult and exhausting part of the climb. Just when I thought we would never reach the top, out of the mist appeared the lonely form of a white church.

Too exhausted and relieved for words, we huddled beside the side of the church as the wind whipped over the peak. I felt such pride for having made it to the top. It was absolutely like nothing I have ever experienced.

The people of Ireland are more relaxed and rural then Englishmen. Nearly every pub we went in to had some sort of live music that started at 10:00 at night. The band I remember most was in Westport at a little pub down the street from our hostel. Jeff was able to snag some video of their music. As you can hear from our commentary, we had just climbed down the mountain and were relaxing with some hot chocolate listening to music.

Lake District Inspires Poets and Stereotypes Alike

2009-03-06T22:17:00.001-05:00

This is an article I wrote after getting back from the Lake District.

I wandered lonely as a cloud…with sheep following close behind. Suddenly we moved out of the cities, and into the wild English countryside.

This week we took a five day excursion to the renowned Lake District, the place where it is said there are more sheep than people. Majestic mountains checkered with stone-walled pastures and woolly sheep, filled the landscape: a perfect home for Romantic poets, bearded mountain men and English hippies.

These meres and fells were the famous poet Wordsworth’s backyard. He used to walk 30 miles a day, meandering over hills and mountains.

To the world, he was known for his inspirational poetry, but to those who knew him, for his “grapefruit sized calves.”

Our tour guide, Dr. Hogg, took us on our own little “fells walk.” Unfortunately, I did not realize until I was battling the snow on the side of a mountain, that a fells walk is British for “icy Everest assent.”

We were underdressed, overly exhausted, and our chipper guide with his tweed cap was an unstoppable machine. I was beginning to understand the grapefruit calves.

For all the trouble hiking up our mountain, the views made it worth the while.

Standing at the summit with nothing but rolling grasslands and distant lakes below was indescribable. I could picture, as the wind blew off the peaks, the famous scene from “Pride and Prejudice” as Elizabeth stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Lake District. The locals of these rural villages are quite a contrast to the southern bigger cities.

In Cambridge I feared being properly reprimanded for walking on the grass, but here there are no rules. If you wandered into a lakeside pub, you would find the same grizzly bearded locals relaxing by the fireplace.

Our rock climbing guide, with his long hair and crooked teeth, lived an incredible life. He explained, to the envy of some of our boys, that he worked long to save some money, and then takes off on some wild adventure.

I admired his carefree spirit, and his refusal to settle down in a desk job.

The differences in regions were refreshing. Not until I watched a rugby match, however, did I realize the fierce rivalry in the United Kingdom.

Apparently every country has its own stereotype. A friend we met in Hexham explained jokingly that the Irish are seen as stupid, the Welsh make love to sheep, southern Englanders are prudish with their “bowler hats and umbrellas” and the Scottish are grizzly mountain men with huge beards.

All in all, it is easy to see why this laid back district inspired the minds of Wordsworth, Coleridge and the other Romantics. If I don’t watch it, I may find myself wandering the fells, composing lines of poetry.

The Joys of Bath

2009-03-06T22:15:00.000-05:00

Here is another article I wrote for the Clarion. I was surprised after our lunch with Dr. Conn that he not only read but enjoyed the articles I was writing!

Huddling around the small ornate water fountain, unwilling to pay for a glass of the natural water, we dared each other to take a sip from a leftover glass. It was clear from the grimace which soon followed on our faces that these “healing” waters of Bath were not worth the taste.
After our initial week in Cambridge, it was time to go on another excursion. We traveled two hours through windy roads to the small city of Bath, nestled between rolling hills. At night, the whole countryside is dotted with warm street lights up the side of the slope. The city is not a conventional industrial town; it is more like an ancient tourist city.

The Romans (it always seems to start with them) discovered these hot springs and built enormous bathing temples around them. Since that time, generations and generations of people have been discovering and rediscovering these hot springs. Finally the area has grown into the beautiful city we visited today, filled with spas and museums. It was after the tour of these Roman Baths that we seized the opportunity to slurp down some copper-tasting lukewarm water.

We did not stay in the city of Bath the whole time. We spent most of our time touring the ancient ruins that were still left in England. Beginning with the earliest druid stone circles to the city walls and grassy amphitheaters left by the Romans, we touched the remains of these once-
thriving cultures.

At first glance, standing on a pile of rubble in what used to be a stone hall doesn’t seem quite so majestic. Yet, after a while, the weight of history that surrounds these places becomes almost surreal.

The giant stone circles were older than any monument in the United States. Sitting on the edge of the Roman baths feels like a land and time so far removed to understand. At these exact places, other humans were seeing what I was seeing. I was separated from them by time, not space.

Now all that they leave behind is rubble memories. England is so old that there are ruins built on top of ruins. At one point we were able to visit a castle in Chepstow. It was quite refreshing to see this monument still standing strong. Looking up at the ramparts from outside the castle, I would not want to attack this place. The walls were 40 feet high and solid stone with arrow slits, catapults, and deadly contraptions.

I have never seen such a place made solely out of stone: stone steps, rooms, windows, lawns. I would not be surprised to stumble upon a stone couch and bed. Though this castle would be defensible, it would have been an awfully cold and hard place to live.
For all its lack of historical significance, I was quite satisfied sleeping on feather pillows at our hotel.

Roman Ruins!!

2009-02-19T06:27:00.004-05:00

After taking a incredibly fascinating tour of Hadrian's wall and running all around the half-walled ruins, we climbed into our coach, ate lunch, and headed off to yet another Roman ruins.

Though I was mildly interested in these rubbled remains, the boys could not contain their excitement. Two Roman ruins in one day was almost more than they could handle!

I was able to capture their enthusiasm as they poured over the ancient Roman artifacts in the museum.

Fells of England

2009-02-18T17:58:00.003-05:00

I have arrived back in Cambridge (and unlimited internet access) from the beautiful, indescribable Lake District. We spent four days in a hostel located literally on the edge of a pristine lake. This is the district where they joke that there are more sheep than people. Everywhere are rolling hills with stone walled pastures. I did not realize until I got there, but the Lake District is more mountainous than hilly. Amber, a girl from Colorado, said that it reminds her of home. Even in winter, the place was breathtaking with morning mists on the lake, colorful sunsets over the mountains followed by bright starry nights.
I was glad to get out of the city and start roughing it again. I joked to one of the guys that I want to climb one of the giant snow peaked mountains before we go. Little did I know. The second day there, we went for a kayaking trip on the lake and rock climbing in the mountains. I forgot how much I missed rock climbing until I was dangling off the side of a sheer rock wall high up the side of a mountain. The rush and determination to make it to the top was so rejuvenating. At one point I slipped off the wall and spun around at the same time so that for a split second as I was falling in midair, all I could see was massive mountains and open air.
The people from the Lake District are very interesting. One of our climbing instructors said that, now nearing forty, he still does not have a steady income. This long haired, lanky, English hippy worked only long enough to get enough money to pay for his adventures. On the off seasons he said he would build houses. At a quiet pub on the lake, next to the warm fireplace, you will hear all kinds of British mountain men with grizzle white bears and chunky boots.
Dr. Hogg, our tour guide and professor, is the best representation of the local country men. Clad in his usual tie up boots, tweed pants, striped scarf and hat, he out paced everyone in our group. The third day there, expecting a leisurely walk along the mountain hills, as we did the day before, Dr. Hogg took us for an authentic “fells walk.” This was anything but leisurely. Before I realized where we were headed, we were on the side of a mountain. Crawling up the icy trail, we were soon overtaken by a growing cloud of snow. It was pitiful watching our group of underdressed Americans blindly following our chipper guide three times our age.
For all the arduous climbing and slipping, the views were more than worth it. For a moment, arriving at the top of this snowy mountain, the whole world melted beneath me. I was eye level with the noble peaks.
The trek down the other side was like stepping away from civilization into the wild lands of “fell walking.” And walk we did, and sliding, down into a quite valley inhabited by a few houses and one pub. After a quaint lunch, we headed on and up another path winding through sheep pastures along stone walls. Everywhere, even over the peaks, is the checkered outline of stone walls created by the herdsmen at one time.
After our insane 1,600 ft mountain hike, we descended into the village in need of some warmth and shelter from the sudden rain. To my relief, we found ourselves at a quaint coffee shop. I ordered a latte with heart shaped chocolate dust on top and a piece of dark chocolate on the side. This life wasn’t so bad.

Snow Day

2009-02-04T17:06:00.001-05:00

Cambridge was transformed into a winter wonderland today. My amateur meteorologist reading would say it was about three to four inches of snow. I did what most any mature adult would do, grab my camera and snow boots and run out the door. Since I rarely see such large amounts of this white fluffy substance, I was overjoyed at just standing in a snow covered park as weightless flakes frosted my hair and eyelashes.

Even as a foreigner, I found that the simple joys of fresh fallen snow will unite people across any conceivable social barrier. Suddenly the stiff, all business looking gentlemen and the purpose driven student were found sauntering through the frosted streets with a half quizzical smile on their faces. Mothers with rosy cheeked children, old men walking their gleeful little dogs, young school boys rolling up massive snowmen almost became a more common sight than snow.

The night before, when we discovered freshly falling snow, several of our bravest (or stupidest) guys decided to sled off the side of Castle Hill. I tagged along to document and in case of emergency. Castle Hill is a thirteenth century monument left by the Romans during their occupation of Cambridge. Today it is simply a very tall random steep hill, and that night, it was the perfect place to sled. From the top, it looked like a thirty foot drop to the snowy lawn with a narrow gateway formed by the metal sign and a tree.

When we arrived, we realized that we weren’t alone. Tons of other students were sledding down its vertical slopes with anything from pots and pan to plastic windshields. The most peculiar sight was to see girls in skirts and tights, trying to gracefully sled (or more like tumble) down the hill.

I must confess that after watching John and Dave dive down the slopes a few times, I put down my camera, grabbed a trash bag, and went for it. After that night I was thoroughly cold and missing another button from my coat, but quite satisfied.

Cambridge News

2009-02-01T13:32:00.000-05:00

I am fortunate enough to be a columnist for the Lee University school newspaper, The Clarion, and being my first experience with journalism writing, I don't promise literary genius. All that to say, this is my first article printed for them, along with some more pictures I enjoyed:

Imagine a line of 22 students, wobbling along narrow stone streets with double-decker buses and cars rushing past. The 2009 Cambridge group has arrived in Europe from Lee University. For two and a half months, myself and 20 other Lee students will be touring England, Ireland and Europe.

We begin our distant travels in the town of Cambridge. Our base camp is the Hamilton Hotel, one of several old brick buildings squeezed together along Chesterton Street. Because of the narrow streets and the lack of parking, the entire town is overrun with bikes.Though this may not seem like such a difficult mode of transportation, trying to navigate the web of city streets while wearing layers of rain-proof clothing on skinny bikes takes quite a lot of skill. Not to mention the fact that we have to ride on the left side of the road. With the loss of all orientation and navigation nearly impossible, I find it best to just enjoy the scenery.

Cambridge is a melting pot of all nationalities. At the center of the town is an open market full of all kinds of booths, from antique British coins to produce markets. Each street has its own character. I came upon an old book store, barely the size of my bedroom, with stacks of antique books covering the walls. Right next door is an equally small and quaint coffee and tea shop with about two tables and a small deli case.

The University of Cambridge is not one single college, as I had assumed, but actually a collection of colleges, crammed together along the river Cam. Each college was built at different times, dating back to the fourteenth century. Kings College, built by England’s monarchs, is the most commonly known college in Cambridge.The chapel, with its intricate marble carvings stretching up the walls and flowing into a spectacular patterned ceiling, was absolutely breathtaking. I was able to go to the evensong service this Friday and listened to the delicate and trained voices of their boys choir as they gave the service.

Unlike the church services I am used to, with a stage and a center pulpit, the structure and seating in the chapel were quite different. The choir and audience lined along the walls facing each other with a center isle in between. The lesson was read from the back of the audience to emphasize Christ as the head and the collective body. We stood for the songs and the reading of the lessons and knelt for prayer. At one point, as everyone suddenly turned to the front altar, I assumed we were about to leave and grabbed my bag. I was about to make a dash for the aisle when I realized in time that no one else was moving.

These four days have already flown by and tomorrow we leave for Stratford-Upon-Avon, the home of William Shakespeare, and later we will spend a few days in Bath. I would love to stay and explore more of Cambridge, though it will be nice to not have to risk my life biking to campus.

Home Sweet Cambridge

2009-01-31T16:01:00.000-05:00

Ahh, finally we arrive home to our familiar surroundings in Cambridge. We have just spent the last week in Bath visiting the various roman ruins. We even got the chance to meet the actual Mayor of Bath (a quite interesting chap!). The highlight of the trip so far has been out visit to Wales and Tintern Abby.

The old monastery ruin was sobering and beautiful. What used to be the church was only a stone skeleton, tucked away in the Walsh mountains. It was this abby that had inspired Wordsworth to write “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abby.” In his time, the ruin would have been occupied by trees and wild shrubs instead of the well groomed courtyards.

We also visited Oxford (the ancient rival of Cambridge) and went to the famous pub, Eagle and Child, where C.S. Lewis and the Inklings met. The next day we were able to tour C.S. Lewis’ house (the Kilns) which was like a step back in time. It gave me the urge to relax by the fireplace with a pipe and a good book.

But for all our endless touring and hundreds of pictures, it feels oddly safe and familiar back in Cambridge.

Study Abroad

2009-01-23T06:57:00.000-05:00

I am going to Europe for two and a half months, seeing as much of the sites and people as possible. We arrived safe and sound and I was lucky to have my camera survive the trip in luggage hull. After exploring the colleges (which extend for what seems forever) and getting thoroughly lost through all the roundabouts and one way streets, I was able to steal a few interesting pictures. These are my favorite so far.

Vintage House

2009-01-13T12:06:00.001-05:00

I noticed this view from across my apartment. The dreary winter day created perfect lighting and contrast of the building stood out to me.

2009-01-13T11:54:00.001-05:00

I have recently bought a new digital camera (Cannon Rebel XT) from my sister. I love playing around with the manual settings. Here are a few of my favorite ones...

Girl Night

2009-01-09T21:54:00.001-05:00

Tonight, I found myself alone in my apartment. The quiet walls threatened to drive me insane and a bitter winter wind barred the door outside. Finally, unwilling to drown myself in yet another empty entertaining movie, I decided to fight the boredom and fatigue with a new weapon…
Poetry.
In a short time I was curled up on the couch under layers of coats and blankets (since we are trying to save money on the heating bill) comforted with the melancholy music by Sigur Ros playing in the background. A single candlestick shoved into a glass bottle stood poised on the coffee table, a small compromise for a fireplace. At last I was able to catch up with some of my most beloved authors.

New Years Not-A-Resolution

2008-12-30T00:02:00.001-05:00

New Years is just around the corner, and, as I have done for a number of years, I planned on boycotting New Years resolutions: “Lose ten pounds,” “Read all Charles Dickens,” “Run ten miles,” “Walk on water.” These over-zealous, unobtainable, hypothetical oaths that we force ourselves to make in the heat of the confetti cause only more mental damage and guilt by January. I am funny about “resolving” myself to things so I usually avoid as much “do it because you said you would” pressure as possible, especially coming from myself. There is no logical reason I should obligate myself to achieve some random goal I made up just because it is a new year.

Living happily with my uncommitted lifestyle, I happened upon an article in a Martha Stewart magazine featuring various people’s New Years resolutions. The title of the article was “What is on your not to-do list for 2009?” Some people wrote that they would not do office work on Sundays and others said that they will not freak out over the economy. However, the one that caught my eye was by Sarah Bartlett from the little state of Rhode Island:

“I won’t overcommit. I have weeded out all the things I have felt obliged to do in the past and have decided to participate only in the volunteering, social, and family activities that I truly want to do.”

Suddenly, this list of things “not to do” struck me as brilliant. Instead of adding another thing to do on my to-do list, I realized that I could resolve to not commit to another impractical goal. Like a double negative, it leads in the end to a positive, to freedom. I resolve not to worry about what I will be when I grow up, but just live and enjoy where I am. I resolve to not be self conscience. I resolve to not be a brilliant writer, so I will not give up when I write crappy things. I resolve to not freak out when I screw up, that way when I do, I will be achieving my resolution.

No doubt the well seasoned New Years Resoluters would say this is actually defeating the purpose, but I suggest you try it before assuming it counter productive. Let all the Type A people of the world take a year off and create a resolution not to do something. Don’t be surprised if you feel the euphoric freedom of un-obligating yourself and just be human.

Christmas Season

2008-12-20T11:13:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I cranked up the AC in my car. It seems like they are hording all the cold air up north.

For the past week I have been looking in vain for one of those classic Christmas movies that the TV stations usually play over and over. Where is The Grinch? A Christmas Story? Christmas Carol? This is the first time in a long time that I am not absolutely sick of Christmas music the week before Christmas. This holiday season seems both subdued and desperate. I almost feel bad when I hear familiar businesses beg and scream for my Christmas business. “FOR THE LOVE OF SHOES!...” I heard one advisement shriek over the radio just before I pushed mute. You can’t really blame them for trying to appeal to American’s materialistic appetite. Those poor suckers just want to make a buck like everyone else.

I am sorry guys, but my Christmas dollars are spent. Now I just want to relax and enjoy what I have.

In Transit

2008-12-14T22:35:00.001-05:00

Once again after a 16 hour day of outlet mall shopping and interstate traveling, I have arrived at my familiar doorstep in Orange Park, Florida. When the fresh wildly cool breeze greeted me out of the car, I was amazed at how quickly I forgot Florida’s relatively warm winters. This time my mom was able to help pack up my apartment and drive down with me. Her ingenious dexterity as a mom proved to be a life savor when I realize how much stuff I had to take home. By the time we hit the road, the car was a solid block of apartment matter.

I took the late night shift, the Lake City to Jacksonville no-man’s-land, armed with Oreos, granola bars, Rits Bits peanut butter cups, and an enormous cup of tea. Just to ward off any possible inkling of fatigue, I played the Newsies soundtrack. This musical has become my tradition when traveling to or from school.

My 500 mile commutes home mark the beginnings and endings each season of my life. For once I am forced to sit and think while I pass deteriorating billboards and small towns with water towers painted like peaches. Whether it is the monotony of the road or the exhilarating feeling of rushing forward at 80 mph, I forget all my screw ups and defeats, leaving them behind and rush headlong, optimistic into whatever future awaits me.

Road trips are tiring, boring, and long and I often become anxious for home hours before I arrive, but they are also a sort of metal detox. Don’t struggle to drown out the silence with loud excessive stimulation, but for once just be content in the transition.

A future new lamp

2008-12-09T00:48:00.001-05:00

With my new found "free-time" after exams, I was surfing on the Internet and stumbled upon an amazing lamp that would add a perfect artistic touch to our apartment. It was originally designed by Ingo Maurer as one of his many signature style lamps. I find his style fascinating and inspiring and I am determined to take on the challenge to come up with a similar yet much cheaper and workable lamp that can be my own expression of a crazy yet cohesive style.

Things I learn at school

2008-12-07T18:04:00.002-05:00

If you ever find yourself in need of high consentration on little sleep, I have figured out a few key ingredients that would help and compared both their pros and cons.

The following is a list of tested stimulants for staying awake:

Coffee: though this may be the immediate drink of choice when in need of mental energy, if overused or used improperly the result may actually be counter productive. The high off of coffee (especially straight espresso) is a sudden jolt of energy in which the drinker is lifted to a point of euphoric sensation, senses are heightened, hands start shaking, laughing easily. At this point you are in a self induced state of ADD, extremely wired yet easily distracted by shinny things. Coffee also holds a risk of dependence.

Apple: I once was told that an apple will awaken a person just as well as a cup of coffee. Now I am a little skeptical of that claim, but, to their merit, chomping down on a juicy sweet while pouring over your textbook hold a sort of awakening satisfaction. After you have finished nibbling the sweet fruit to its core, you can always amuse yourself by throwing the left over core at an unsuspecting student studying in the desk across the room, the one you always thought was a little two uptight.

Soundtrack Music: trying to write an essay in which you sound smarter than you are takes your full concentration and energy without having to battle boredom of sitting at a computer screen. The best way to solve that is with music, though not just any music, music without distracting words which get stuck in your head and the next thing you know your writing lyrics in your paper. Usually that would mean classical music (a sure ticket to drifting asleep), or movie soundtracks, complete with epic and compelling theme to energize your mind and no words that may accidentally slip into your paper. Now you can have the euphoric high of watching a movie and be productive.

Exercise: when you start to maul over the same sentence for thirty minutes, its time to take a joy ride. Get up calmly, walk out the library, and start running across campus. You will soon realize that this was a bad idea since it is cold and dark and 2:30 in the morning but by that time, you will be a good distance away from any of your things. Then you will quickly run back to the warmth of the building and your laptop which you left sitting on the table. That should keep you up for a good hour and a half

Tea: a good alternative to coffee is dark, nearly bitter hot black tea. Don’t bother with the herbal infusions and antioxidants, which will do nothing, more than give you a warm fuzzy feeling inside. Unlike coffee, you won’t spike into near delirium but the silent stimulant will keep you awake and alert long after you finished drinking. Caffeine is a diuretic, consider yourself warned

Water: when all else fails, or when you have ingested too much coffee and cant focus on anything, start chugging the water. It doesn’t take very far into the night to dry out but you must dehydrate your brain from time to time. This is also a good way to fight off the 3 am munchies when you’ve eaten everything in your dorm already.

Exam Week

2008-12-07T18:04:00.001-05:00

Early Friday morning I climbed into my car after completing yet another near all-nighter. It was cold enough to see my breath in inside the car and I amused myself by blowing smoky puffs of breaths while lumbering towards campus to deliver my finished project.
I too am caught in the epidemic of sleep deprivation which had broken out on campus this week. Everywhere I could see signs of the plague: sweat shirts, ponytails, haggard faces, students carrying enormous coffee cups, and friends wearing the same outfit for the last three days. For the first time all semester, it’s hard to find an empty desk in the library.
Whether because of the winter nights, or the lack of distractions, I found the most productive corner on campus in the basement of the library, tucked against the furthest wall and blocked off from the rest of the library by towering shelves of book. As an added bonus, each of these desks was separated with a wooden shelf-like barrier creating an ideal cubby. There I was free to make annoyed faces and frustrated twitches as I worked to perfect this stubborn essay while hidden from puzzled onlookers.
Perhaps the first symptom of this disease is the procrastination over the Thanksgiving Break which led to a reality shock on Monday and the subsequent late nights and early mornings. Usually in the middle of exam week I wonder if it would just be better to scrap the paper and take the hit on my grade or whether I should change my major to something that doesn’t require work (like underwater basket weaving). There are so many better things I could be doing.
But I have finished, survived, just as I was telling myself I would at 5:30 this morning. The days before blend together into intervals between coffee and brief naps, but now, in the growing light of dawn, I am more than eager to turn in the monstrous project.
Yet for all the mental battles between sleep and stimulant, no reward can be as satisfying as finishing and knowing, weather you made the grade or not, that you have tried your hardest. Finish strong.

Coffee shop

2008-11-30T22:42:00.000-05:00

As we gathered a group of friends for a post-thanksgiving "happen to be in town" get together, our first inclination for meeting place is the familiar green and white Starbucks coffee shop. Starbucks has become the only restaurant with an environment conducive to conversation and fellowship. The diverse wildlife in these little shops is quite entertaining: students pouring over textbooks, the table scattered papers; the book worms who can spend hours curled up on their sofa, and an occasional pair of men discussing life, wives, and football over a chess board. All three of my current brother-in-laws asked my father for my sister’s hand over a Starbucks latte.

Whether you have guessed it or not, this welcoming Starbucks atmosphere is no accident, but as a former barista, part of our training was to create this "third place environment" (the first two being home and work). Though this is a unique concept for a restaurant in the US, this may not be so unfamiliar in the European countries. The first concept of coffee shops originated in Italy. In Amsterdam, as I have heard, friends get together and have what they call, Hugah. Bundled up in the cold winter months, they would spend the evening with friends, teas, candles and good conversation. No amount of consuming entertainment or mindless movies could compare to just getting to know people, whether over a cup of coffee or in a warm living room.

The Beginning

2008-11-29T23:10:00.000-05:00

At the start of anything new there is a sort of exhilaration and fear. It is as if you make a commitment to start, there is an almost obligation to finish…if not an obligation, at least a curiosity of its eventual end.

All that to say, I have broken my stubborn determination to stay out of the faddish new medium of electronic blogging and created a virtual page to scribble my thoughts on – one of countless others.

So whether for the random readers who may stumble over this minor, yet widely accessible, publication, or for my own accountability to write more often, I have fashioned this virtual journal…

so it begins.