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trainingtofreedom · 9 months ago

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December 28, 2023, Amtrak Silver Star

While it was dark out, I kept trying to sleep through the "toot toot". About eight hours of my trip was in darkness. The seats aren't too bad, but my back injury wasn't kind. Still, even when my back hurts, what can I do? I took a THC edible and tried to sleep through it. I skipped all the "smoke breaks" for this one.

Amtrak smoke breaks are a big deal. Raleigh station itself is a smoke break; they schedule them every four hours at the better-equipped stops. The conductor lets everyone know, and they all stand outside for about ten minutes. The train crew takes a fresh air break, and the small group of passengers don't stray far from the train so that they don't get left behind. There's no "double-check" for anyone who gets off and on again.

Even though I'd rolled a few smokes in my cane, I decided it was too much trouble to concentrate on which stop was a smoke and which wasn't. I stayed on-board for all twelve hours of my Raleigh trip.

I woke up sitting up, because there's no lying down on an Amtrak coach trip. My back was killing me. I remember the guy across the aisle was a colorful, talkative dude who spent 50% of his trip laying across two seats. He was harassed frequently by the conductor not to put his feet on the seat. He got off in Cary without me.

The dude that filled in next to me around Jacksonville was very quiet, and I felt bad every time I had to climb over for the bathroom or the cafe car. I learned, though, it's unavoidable, we just accept each other as seatmates for hours and hours. We didn't talk.

Many, many people got off in Cary. It was a much emptier train to Raleigh; I even got the seat next to me alone for that trip from Cary to Raleigh. Back up, though: I'm still not that far when the sun comes up.

Once the sun was high enough, the announcement was made that the cafe car was open. I'd never traveled across cars, never ate on a train. This was intimidating for me. Still, I was hungry, and I knew I couldn't starve myself across the country. I clambered over my seatmate and stumbled down the train aisle.

I can't express strongly enough how nervous I was. I looked up how the train was constructed, to figure out which way to go. Once I was standing up, the train wasn't a smooth ride, so I would lose balance frequently. Thank goodness for those high-backed coach seats.

Crossing cars was scary, too. Walk to the door, and press the big pressure-plate handle, and the door automatically slid open to a loud, windy, wobbly chamber between cars. I couldn't close the door behind me, which was unsettling because it is LOUD in there. I had to walk across the car-joint, which is 100% safe, but it looks terrifying. Then hit another door plate by hand, it slides open. Now I have two doors open between the cars that I can't close. I stepped through, looked back. FINALLY, the first door is sliding closed. I waited for door #2 to close, and...I was still a few doors away from the cafe car.

Repeat a few more times. I got to see the whole coach section this way. The trains split the sleeper cars from the coach cars by putting the cafe car in-between. One side of the cafe counter faces coach, the other side faces sleepers. There's eight or so tables, too.

I stumble, unbalanced, into the cafe car. All of the tables are taken, and I see the area to fix coffee, but it's not at all clear where to get food. The cafe counter bumps out a bit, so it's not visible from the door. I walk in anyway, and then...ah! A menu! I stop and look for a while, until someone startles me with, "The menu is over here, too, come around."

I didn't see the dude behind the cafe counter. I didn't even know it WAS the cafe counter. He had only about six linear feet of space to do his cafe work, and barely wide enough to fit a human sideways. I had to slide past the customers to get to the register, too; I gazed longingly at the sleeper side, then focused on the least-obtrusive order I could make. There was hot food, but I was feeling pretty poor and like a sore-thumb in the moment. Just a muffin and a coffee.

There were still no open tables, so I guess I would stumble back through the train cars again to enjoy my breakfast. Remember how I kept losing my balance? I definitely had my hand covered in coffee by the time I got to my seat. I prayed the whole time, please don't spill on anyone. I hope I didn't. I know my coffee was empty enough not to spill on my seatmate, anyway.

More than one person asked me where I got the goods. Before boarding, no one explains how the cafe car works, or where it is, so I got there by a guess. There must have been a half dozen others on my travels who were too afraid to make that guess themselves. I was happy to overexplain the process: Walk through two cars, don't worry, you'll know when you get there. Just keep walking that direction.

The muffin was a welcome relief to my growling stomach. The coffee was a warm comfort from the cold train car. Goodness, I was dehydrated too. I was pleased with myself; something worked out, I finally got food and drink.

Cary was uneventful; many people got off, a few people got on. I enjoyed a mostly empty car. I was sore, though, and the train was already an hour or two behind. I was supposed to be in Raleigh at 9am, and I wasn't even close. Just watch the window and hope you don't miss it.

The conductors are good about that, though. They wake everyone up before their stop. They track every person's destination. So they knew I would stay seated in Cary, and they made sure I was clear in Raleigh before anyone else got on.

Raleigh's a smoke break, a bunch of us got off. I was only one of a few, though, who would actually leave the platform for my next adventure.

#amtrak #silver star

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abucketandapen · 2 years ago

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Box Dinner

Was it a box dinner? Yes – we didn’t have a dining car on the Empire Builder out of Portland until we hooked up with the #8 in Spokane at midnight. Was it awful? NO! It was phenomenal! Another score for Amtrak: consistently better food onboard than in any business class menu on any airline I have ever flown.

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#Amtrak #Dinner #Sabbatical #Trains

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paulpingminho · 3 years ago

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#noodles #Asian food #COVID-19 menu #Amtrak #Empire Builder #sweet and sour noodles #train food

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pandemicperipatetics · 3 years ago

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Two Weeks in Denver

The Verdict:

We spent 13 nights in Denver (well actually, just south of Denver in Greenwood Village). With the beautiful outdoors, friendly people, and the best/chillest drivers of anywhere we've driven in the U.S., it was our favorite stop so far! It seems like a wonderful place to live. Denver is large and seems to have lots of stuff to do in the city and surrounding areas, so this post covers just a fraction of the options.

Things to Do:

Hiking (Ranked in order of our most to least recommended)

Rocky Mountain National Park (~2 hrs drive): Check out our RMNP blog post!

Boulder (45 min drive): We didn't have a chance to hike in Boulder, but we hear it's awesome. We had hoped to stop by Chautauqua Park to check out the trails (we read that Enchanted Mesa Trail was a good 4-miler) or El Dorado Canyon State Park. We did enjoy walking along Pearl Street, where there are plenty of tasty treats (we enjoyed smoothie bowls) and appreciated the free parking in the city's covered parking garages (we parked at 1500 Pearl, which was a perfect location). Logistics: Waze told us there was a toll on the Interstate to Boulder, but Google Maps thought it was a toll-free drive. The answer? There is an optional toll lane on the highway, but you can make the trip in the toll-free lanes.

Red Rocks (30-40 min drive): This is a naturally occurring amphitheatre that is best known for evening concerts against an incredibly scenic vista. While we weren't looking for a crowded concert during the pandemic, we visited in the morning and were blown away by how beautiful the amphitheatre was (and how many stairs there were to get to the top!). We also walked the beautiful 1.4 mile Red Rocks Trading Post Trail loop, which also had a moderate amount of uphill/downhill. It was VERY hot and sunny when we got there around 10:30 a.m.; though the weather app said it was below 80 degrees, the sun was really beating down. Next time, we'd go earlier in the day (later can be tricker due to concerts in the evenings) for better weather and hopefully smaller crowds. Logistics: We just entered Red Rocks into Google Maps and it took us to a parking lot near the amphitheatre. The trail was just a couple minutes' walk from the parking area, near the Trading Post building. Parking was free and not too hard to find.

Vail/Breckenridge area (~90 mins drive): We didn't have a chance to visit, but it sounds like there's very nice hiking around here in the summer.

Garden of the Gods and Pike's Peak in Colorado Springs (~1 hr drive): When we got a nail in our tire and had to get the tire replaced, the nice guy at Firestone highly recommended we visit these areas for beautiful scenery. While we didn't make it, we read that Garden of the Gods can get very crowded, especially with Instagram-focused tourists more so than a hiking acrowd. We also read that it's not quite as nice as the Utah National Parks or Sedona. Pike's Peak also sounds touristy; there is a coveted tram that takes you to the top, at 14K feet of elevation -- after moderate altitude sickness at RMNP, we decided to sit this one out.

Denver Neighborhoods & Sights (Ranked in order of our most to least-recommended)

Denver Botanic Gardens (free with American Horticultural Society membership): This is one of the most beautiful botanic gardens we've ever seen, anywhere. It was also excruciatingly crowded on a Saturday morning and a very un-fun experience to find parking. Despite how stunning the gardens are, we preferred the much less crowded walk through Cheesman Park and the cute surrounding neighborhood. Logistics: If the Botanic Gardens parking garage and parking lot are full, park for free at nearby Congress Park, Cheesman Park, or on a random side street a 5+ min walk from the gardens. Be observant of street signs to make sure you haven’t parked in a residential area that requires a parking permit.

RiNo (River North Arts District): About a 10 minute drive from downtown, RiNo is a hip area full of breweries, street art, and run-down looking houses. On a Saturday around 2pm, street parking was sparse (but free) and the breweries seemed packed with people. We read that the street murals are at their best on 26th-31st streets between Larimer & Walnut, and we weren't blown away in comparison to Plaza Walls in Oklahoma City or The Mission in San Francisco. Due to the extreme heat we didn't stick around, but we were interested in checking out Finns Manor (cocktails + food trucks), Denver Central Market (High Point Creamery apparently offers an ice cream flight?!), and a few breweries. Maybe next time! Logistics: Street parking is free.

Washington Park: This is very nice park for a stroll. When we went on a Saturday evening around sunset, it wasn’t very crowded. The surrounding neighborhood looks very nice, and there seem to be good places to eat nearby (our friend suggested Sushi Den, though we didn’t have a chance to try it out). We saw someone paddleboarding on the water, which looked picturesque! Logistics: There are parking lots and ample street parking around the park.

Sloan’s Lake (near Highland neighborhood): The park has a beautiful lake with a sizeable trail going around it. It reminded us of Lake Merritt in Oakland. When we went on a Sunday evening, it was somewhat busy with people running, walking, biking, and on scooters/skateboards/roller blades, and there was lots of goose poo everywhere. The surrounding area wasn’t quite as nice as that around Cheesman Park or Washington Park, but we still liked the lake. Note there were no water activities allowed -- signs indicated the water sometimes gets too unclean to enter. Edgwater Market is a few minutes away (we recommend driving as the walk isn’t very nice) and has a cute outdoor patio and lots of different types of ethnic food to try out (we especially liked the veggie pesto crepe at the crepe stand). Logistics: There are parking lots at the lake and the market.

LoDo (Lower Downtown): The downtown area is meh, you can skip it if you're short on time. If you go, you can walk through Larimer Square, a small, cute block of shops and eateries with outdoor seating that is roped off from cars; check out Union Station, where the Amtrak goes and there are a bunch of places to eat/get coffee (including the overrated Snooze AM eatery - reserve your spot in line 1-2 hrs in advance if going and be sure to get the sweet potato pancake); walk the 16th Street Mall, a very touristy street of more shops and eateries (not as cute as Larimer Square, but a pro is there is a free bus that takes you up and down this long street); and walk by Coors Field if you're a baseball fan. Logistics: Parking lots are very expensive, but we didn't find it too difficult to find 2-hour street parking ($1/hour, you can pay by card at the meter or with the PayByPhone app; free on Sundays and holidays).

Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge (free, 20-30 mins from city center): This is a beautiful area in northeast Denver that you can drive through, listen to their excellent guided podcast, and spot some neat wildlife. The area is known for bison, deer, prairie dogs, and birds; we saw some of these animals. This was a great option to stay in our air-conditioned car on a very hot day, rather than being out for a hike. Logistics: There is a Visitor Center that you can stop by if you’d like (we didn’t), otherwise just download the Rocky Mountain Arsenal podcast on your phone and start the drive!

What to Eat (Vegetarian Edition)

We did not take advantage of Denver’s food options, so what we are sharing here are mostly recommendations from our friends / places we would love to try if we had more time here.

Safta (Mediterranean) - Upscale; close to downtown. Appears to have outdoor seating and advance reservations are recommended

Uchi (Japanese) - Upscale; close to downtown. Has a separate vegetarian menu including a multi-course tasting. Reservations can be hard to come by if you don’t book well in advance. They also accept walk-ins, and they do have outdoor seating if you’re COVID-conscious (or just like eating outside!)

Brunch places with hype: Snooze AM Eatery (multiple locations, get on the Yelp waitlist at least an hour in advance, known for excellent pancakes), Sassafrass (we didn’t try it), and Root Down (we also didn’t try it)

Markets: Denver Central Market (in RiNo), Edgewater Public Market (by Sloan Lake / Highlands neighborhood; we loved the crepes and thought the Ethiopian food was mediocre), Stanley Marketplace (Aurora)

Other places that were recommended to us were Ash Kara (Mediterranean), El Five (Mediterranean, good views), Sushi Den (Japanese), and Vital Root (which is apparently by a lot of good vegetarian-friendly restaurants + breweries near Berkeley/Tennyson Street), Sputnik

Dessert: I very much wanted to try High Point Creamery (multiple locations) as it seems to have many vegan options and an ice cream flight! Little Man Ice Cream also came recommended

Where to Stay

We're definitely not experts on this, but here are a few thoughts based on our trip!

Near Cheesman Park and Washington Park seem like a lovely areas to stay -- the parks are really nice and the surrounding neighborhoods seem pretty safe and upscale. We didn't come across any available airbnbs in this neighborhoods.

Greenwood Village (~20 mins drive south of Denver, close to Centennial, CO). We stayed in the Marriott Residence Inn Tech Center (the 2 bed/2 ba is good for two people working from home during the week) and loved the area. Within a 5 minute drive there are cute parks for a morning jog, plenty of fast casual eateries (we were partial to the Torchy's and Schlotzsky's nearby), and even the excellent Peak View Brewing Company (okay so it’s a brewery in a suburban strip mall, but the outdoor patio is great and the jalapeno pretzel and the peanut butter porter were a hit!). Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, and Safeway are within a ~10 minute drive.

#denver

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theurbanologist · 4 years ago

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Talking with Kevin as the train goes DUNK A DUH

DUNK A DUH DUNK A DUH DUNK A DUH.

Repeat.

“Hey, do you know what the sounds are all about?”

It’s the young man sitting in front of me——he’s wearing a face covering with the words “BLUES POWER” on it.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you”, he says.

No, it’s not a bother—we’re in a pandemic, sure——I desperately miss those train talks, those over-the seat conversations, so thank you—

“What’s your name?”, I ask.

“Kevin. This is my first train trip. I’m headed up to Kingstree to see my mom. I’m not really used to anything on board. Is there food?”

When someone asks me “Is there food?” on Amtrak, I usually have a baroque soliloquy on the recent removal of prepared food items, the controversy years ago about taking off china, but I demur and reply “Yes, there is food. Three cars up. But I should warn you that they are already out of a few food items, including the cheese pizza.”

I am doing a good job dialing it back because I also want to tell him that isn’t it interesting that the train, which left Miami at 8:10AM and oh look, it’s only 3:30PM or so, and they are already out of this Lunch Menu Staple and isn’t that odd Kevin?

Oh yes, I forgot to tell you—the young man’s name is Kevin.

I dial back my urge to Read the Amtrak Menu Riot Act And Complete Historical Outline and instead answer his questions about the DUNK A DUH DUNK A DUH sounds.

“Well, that’s the train in motion, the seats rocking back and forth while bumping metal parts and plastic parts and sometimes there is a loose tray table. Sometimes this loose tray table will fall down and hit something else and then you’ll hear another entirely different sound.”

“Okay, that makes sense.” Kevin looks puzzled and lifts an eyebrow. “But I watched these YouTube videos of trains in France. They took you inside the seating area and I didn’t hear any noises like that. I wish we had trains like that here.”

Kevin, that’s a much longer conversation.

Maybe after the pandemic.

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a-cai-jpg · 5 years ago

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this is how the story ends.

Sometimes, she can barely remember the way he looked.

She can still hear his voice—breath curling around her name and low baritones tickling her ears. Sometimes, if she closes her eyes and tries hard enough, she can trace his features with the tips of her memories—grasping at his eyes, the curve of his lips, the slopes of his cheeks—only for them to slip away like smoke.

He returns to her only as she drifts aimlessly between wake and sleep, teetering dangerously along the border as her eyes focus hazily on his smile. He fades in and out of her mind, and she thinks she can still feel the warmth his fingertips left around her wrist, on the curve of her waist, against the tips of her ears as he softly brushed back her hair.

As life shuttles her from one end of the hemisphere to the other, she wonders whether he had really existed. Whether they had really existed. But, even time and an aging mind can’t erase the scalding fingertips he had haphazardly left on her life.

[m a d r i d, s p a i n]

On the Amtrak from San Francisco to Los Angeles, she finds herself in Madrid, summer. He is next to her, an ice cream cone held loosely in one hand as he points with the other. They are laughing, her head thrown back as she lets the warm, slightly humid wind caress her cheeks. He pauses in the middle of suggesting Let’s sit at a café—the heat’s killing me to take in the way her eyes crescent and shine, like the blinking fairy lights drawing waves along their bedroom wall back home. She averts her attention from the scene around them—a street performer jubilantly strumming the strings of her guitar, a six or seven year old shrieking with laughter as his parents chase after him—and looks at him, head cocked to the side. He smiles and leans in.

[t o k y o, j a p a n]

She drags her suitcase through her apartment door in Los Angeles and ends up at the top of the Tokyo Tower, nighttime. The sweet scent of cherry blossoms wafts even to the height of over three hundred meters. The night chill is a sliver harsher up here than the central streets of Shibuya. She’s anxious, sweat pooling at her palms as she looks down at the twinkling city lights below. Her fingers inadvertently twist themselves into the hem of his loose, white t-shirt. He glances at her and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. I won’t let you fall, he whispers against her ear as he lightly brushes her hair with his lips. She smiles and huddles closer to him, feeling the warmth of his chest radiating against her side.

The scene is picturesque—the hum of the city dimmed as the two of them lean against the floor-length glass separating them from the hurtling descent back to the winding streets of Tokyo. They watch the lights slowly blink off one by one as the city settles into its pseudo-slumber. Staticky music plays in the background. Her eyes drink in the miniature metropolis, and she feels “acrophobia” become just another foreign word she can’t understand in this foreign country.

She wonders if this is what forever feels like. She wonders if this can last into eternity—her steadfastly leaning into him, stealing his presence and the scent of his Calvin Klein cologne, watching time pass them by.

What are you thinking about? He asks, nudging her slightly. She cranes her head back to tell him, eyes crinkling as a chuckle bubbles in her throat, and falls.

[l o s a n g e l e s, u s a]

She lands in a building on the edge of the LA financial district. She brushes through the office, balancing a thick stack of papers and a Starbucks coffee. Recently, her sweet tooth has abandoned her, and she finds the words an iced Americano, no cream or sugar please tumbling from her tongue.

She reaches her cubicle and drops the papers onto her desk. Absently, she drags a finger across the thin layer of dust that has gathered at corners of her unusually neat, organized working area. It looks exactly like how she left it, one Thursday afternoon after mechanically organizing and re-organizing the objects on her desk. The uncanny feeling that someone has broken into the office and replaced every single one of her items with an exact duplicate settles uneasily in her gut.

It feels foreign. The sticky notes lining the plastic divider, the handful of her favorite pens gathered in a metallic mug, the photo frame placed face down, the PC monitor with the light blinking orange. It’s as if she is here to replace the girl who had previously occupied this space, a shadow of who she had once been.

She turns around, and he is behind her, grinning as he offers her a cup of coffee from the office Keurig. He’s wearing a light blue button down, the first two buttons undone because she always claimed, You look too stuffy with it buttoned to the top. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows because he never liked the way it interfered when he typed. She can smell the rich warmth of the coffee tempting her to reach out and grab it from him.

His eyes twinkle as he edges even closer, the coffee mug the only thing separating them. Her heart races, and she swears the vibrations are transmitted through the cup and into his fingers and up his arms until they are in sync with his own heart beat. Three creams and one sugar on Mondays, right? There’s a bit of a giggle in his voice, connotations of an inside joke, warm and familiar, lightly dusting his words. She doesn’t reply and stands on her tiptoes and kisses him.

“How was the business trip?”

The question registers too loudly, too jarring to her ears—like the lights of a surgery room switching on and glaring down at her. She reflexively lifts the corners of her lips, but the smile reaches her eyes a half-second too late. She watches her co-worker’s eyebrows furrow, her mouth pursing like it’s about to open and say something, so she beats her to it.

“It went smoothly,” she says. “A bit tiring, but fine.”

She tries for a small grin.

It must be lopsided, because her co-worker stretches out a hand and places it on her arm. She tries her best not to flinch and widens her smile despite the strain in her cheeks. One last sympathetic pat, and the hand is gone. There’s the sound of a chair wheeling away, the delayed “click-clack” of a keyboard, and she finally sinks into her own chair.

She feels strange. Like she has unzipped her skin, stepped out of it, and donned a replica that is slowly shrinking and suffocating her—figuratively-literally squeezing the life out of her.

Her computer shudders to life, the bright blue Windows screen doing nothing to startle her from her reverie. Her arms unconsciously wrap themselves around her torso, and she digs her nails into her side as if about to rip off this flesh-colored cloak she has sewn on.

The sight of her wallpaper forcibly drags her out of her mind. She scrambles for the mouse, fingers slipping—right click, personalize, change wallpaper, default. Her cursor hovers above save, entertaining a brief, wrenching moment of hesitation before she presses down on her mouse. The resulting click is dull with weariness.

The steadfast pain pounding away in the hollow area in her chest intensifies.

She ignores it.

They have lunch in a café a couple of blocks down from the office building. A chicken salad for me and a breakfast panini for the lady please. He orders without looking at the menu. He knows too well her idiosyncratic love for breakfast foods, no matter the time of the day. Why? He had asked once, as he amusedly watched her wolf down a McDonald’s hash brown at dinner. Because, she had replied with a cheeky wink, I don’t like endings. He hadn’t asked further—maybe he understood, maybe he didn’t—but he never forgot. Good thing this café serves breakfast 24/7. For weirdos just like you. He stresses the last word, eyebrows raised and lips parted in the faint beginnings of a laugh, and leans back in his chair. She looks at the way he lounges comfortably in the wicker-woven chair, the midday sunshine dancing across the dark crown of his hair and highlighting the warm browns and reds, and thinks she might be in love.

She reaches across the table to take his hand, but the scene fades to black and white, and her fingers close over thin wisps of smoke ghosting across her palm.

[n e w y o r k, u s a]

Her fingers ache as she presses them against her iced smoothie. The sun is partially hidden behind the clouds, its rays fighting futilely against the stubborn, autumnal, and distinctly New York-ian chill. She’s sitting on a park bench, staring straight ahead with contemplative eyes, as if she is trying very hard to recall a memory long buried in the abyss of her mind. She mindlessly rubs at the condensation dripping on her plastic to-go cup before placing it down on the bench, next to the sandwich wrap she’d nibbled around.

The white noise of the New York office rumbles at a higher decibel than the LA one, humming a constant reminder that the day is fading. She had arrived early this morning to a nearly empty floor, but the space quickly filled up with the sound of office workers going about their routine—sharp peaks of laughter, chairs screeching as they drag against the linoleum, heels echoing as their wearers rush from one end of the building to the other. The sounds crescendoed as they bounced off the walls of her mind, and suddenly, the world was thrown into a sharper contrast and everything was a little more saturated than before. She took a deep breath she couldn’t let out, and then someone made eye contact and was walking towards her and speeding up and opening their mouth and she turned and walked down eight flights of stairs to the front door.

She takes another sip of her smoothie and feels someone settle their weight next to her. Why did you leave LA? he asks, reaching for the sandwich sitting in between them. He pauses, seems to think better of it, and rests his hand back onto his lap. He looks at her expectantly, but she continues to squint at the skyline.

He waits patiently and counts the number of bikers and joggers he can see. The wind crinkles the edges of the sandwich wrap, and he shivers.

An eternity or two passes them. Time expands and crashes, the momentum shocking the core of the Earth and rolling off in waves of tremors imperceptible to everyone but her. She blinks rapidly.

“So I can stop seeing you.”

She gets up, tosses the sandwich and smoothie away, and makes her way back to the office.

[I N T E R L U D E]

She sits at her makeshift desk, bedroom lit only by the singular lamp standing in the corner. Her hand is sore from gripping the pen and pressing the nib heavily into the ream of paper in front of her. Ink splashes lightly from the tip, and she drags it angrily across the sheet.

I thought You promised

We were supposed to go to Taiwan this year

Your mom called the other day

I can’t go anywhere without

I think I’m cracking from the inside out

Why

You lied.

YOU LIED.

YOU LIED YOU LIED YOU LIED YOU LIED YOU LIED YOU LIED YOU LIED YOU LIED YOU LEFT YOU LEFT YOU LEFT YOU LEFT YOU LEFT YOU LEFT WHY DID YOU LEAVE WHY DID YOU LEAVE WHY DID YOU LIE WHY DID YOU DIE

The sun had long set. She remembers watching the sky bleed splashes of fiery orange and navy from the living room floor, arms wrapped around her bent knees. She had sat with her head against the window for an immeasurable period of time, listening to the hushed echoes of off-tune carols and the sounds of her neighbor’s children welcoming their father home. The digital clock on her nightstand is blinking, red numbers flashing warningly.

She takes a deep breath and loosens her fingers. Her knuckles creak as she stretches them. She wipes at her cheeks and starts over.

It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow.

Your mom called the other day to wish me a Merry Christmas and ask if I was going to return home for the holidays. She said she wanted to make me dinner. She said I should visit home often, and visit her, and visit you.

I think she’s lonely.

On March 21st, I cancelled our plane tickets to Taiwan. They wouldn’t refund the ticket price because it was too close to the departure date.

You know, I think I was waiting. I think I thought you would come back, and in April, we would be driving from Taipei to Kaohsiung. You always said you wanted to visit the motherland. December’s almost over.

It’s really cold in New York. I don’t think you would like it. The snow isn’t the soft, fluffy kind you see in Michigan. Do you remember when we went to visit Jackelyn? It was the first time I had seen snowfall. I ran outside at 8PM and you had to chase after me with a jacket and a scarf. It didn’t matter though, because you ended up stuffing a snowball down my sweater.

The snow in New York is grey. It turns into wet, slippery slush as soon as it touches the pavement, and by the time it accumulates into a pile, it becomes dirty ice.

The other day, I slipped on a patch right in front of my apartment and cut my palm against the jagged pavement when I tried to break my fall. When I got home, I realized I didn’t have any Band-aids, so I had to go back outside to buy some. You were always the one with the first aid kits and disaster kits. If an apocalypse hit now, I don’t think I would last very long.

Like right now, the world is ending. The world is falling apart, crashing down around me, and I’m sitting at this desk. I’m writing these words on this sheet of paper, and when I’m done, I’ll stick it in an envelope and scrawl your name on the front, and then I’ll drop it in the mailbox and pray that God will take pity on me and it will get to you. But I know it goes nowhere. It goes in the shredder, and then the trash can, and then the landfill, and then maybe it’ll become one with the earth, and I guess in one way or another it reaches you. The paper, I mean. I don’t know if the words do.

I hope—

I’ve been having a recurring dream. I’m in our apartment in LA again. It’s morning, maybe a Sunday because the sun is already filtering through our blinds. I feel it warm my cheek. I can hear the sound of the water boiler in the kitchen. I roll over to feel your side of the bed, but it’s cold. Something in me jolts, like my body is trying to remind me of something I have forgotten. I panic, but then I remember. You’re probably buying breakfast.

I like eating ham, egg, and cheese bagels for Sunday morning breakfast.

The doorbell rings, and I get out of bed blearily, grumbling under my breath about how you forgot to bring the keys with you. A small voice in my head asks how you got into the building in the first place, but my brain is still sleepy and slow so the thought filters away. The doorbell sounds insistently, and it feels like I’m dragging myself through sludge. When I finally yank the door open, the shrill ringing doesn’t cease. You’re not there.

Instead, it’s me. I’m pressing the doorbell again and again. There’s a desperate look on my face as I increase the frequency of the rings. Finally, it’s just one long, sustained pitch.

Then, it hits me.

I realize it’s always going to be me ringing the doorbell. It’s always going to be me opening the door.

Suddenly, the me outside the door stops the noise. She places her cold palms against my cheeks and says something I can’t hear.

This is usually when I wake up, sometime between late night and early morning.

It’s during these hours that I miss you the most.

Lately, I’ve been seeing you less and less.

When I see your face, it’s blurry, smudged around the edges. When I hear your voice, it’s a wavering pitch, like it’s trying to find the key of a melody it hasn’t sung in a very long time. When I feel your touch, it’s the ghost of a breeze the wind leaves behind.

She stops writing and takes a shuddering breath. Her hand is trembling.

I’m afraid I’m going to forget you.

The pen falls from her grasp. The clatter interrupts the dark silence but is quickly swallowed by the night. Ink smears where her tears splatter across the page.

k a o h s i u n g, t a i w a n

The camera clicks, and she pulls it away to inspect the photo. There’s a streak of blue across the bottom, and then it’s the green of Cijin island and the striking white of the Cihou Lighthouse. She looks back up at the structure on the other side of the water and sees a movie play on the television.

She’s in LA, sprawled across the couch with her legs over his lap. He grabs the bag of popcorn she’s hugging in her arms and stuffs a handful in his mouth. We should do that some time, he says. Don’t speak with your mouth full, she admonishes, kicking her heels lightly against his thigh. Do what? He gestures at the screen. Drive around Japan and explore every lighthouse.

She takes the popcorn back. You do realize she’s just finding the lighthouses in the Setouchi region, right? Not all of Japan? He shrugs. Well, we can do all of Japan. Or find a list of the coolest lighthouses in Japan and go to all of them. She laughs. But the coolest lighthouses are probably the hidden ones that aren’t on any tourist itineraries.

He ponders that for a moment, watching the screen intently as the female protagonist smokes a cigarette. They sit in silence for a moment, letting the sounds of the movie filter into the space between them. Then, he wraps his arms over her legs and pulls them close to his chest.

You’re right. I guess we have to find them on our own then. It’ll take a while, wouldn’t it? We can take a week off every year and just drive up and down the coasts of Japan. I feel like by the time we’re 80, we would’ve covered all of them.

Okay.

Really?

Yeah. But, why?

Because lighthouses are great. She learns the contours of his history through the landscape of the lighthouses. Even in a coma, he is helping her unravel the pain and fear and confusion, guiding her forward with each unexplored lighthouse on the map.

The horn of the ferry sounds. She hands her ticket to the attendant and boards the boat. She leans against the railing of the top deck, watching as the lighthouse looms closer. The spring, April air smells sweet and young. Soft sunlight glistens off the crests of the rocking waves and throws patches of brilliant blue and green into sharp relief.

As the ferry draws her nearer to Cijin island and the lighthouse, the wind caresses the side of her face and whispers a question in her ear.

Are you still afraid?

She smiles and closes her eyes. Her reply is lost in the sounds of waves lapping against the edge of the boat.

author’s note

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bitchinparty · 5 years ago

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BP 2020 Main Con Info Post

Here is the ginormous, one-stop-shopping con information post, including registration, hotel, con schedule, travel, tourist, and concomm contact information, to be updated as we go. Don't forget you can follow us on Twitter or Dreamwidth for quick links to updates! You can also reach the concomm at pacificwriterscon [at] gmail at any time. General Information: When is Pacificon 2020? April 4 and 5, 2020, with an optional movie night and other activities on the evening of April 3. Where will it take place? At the Issaquah Hilton Garden Inn near Seattle, Washington. How do I sign up? The registration post—including detailed registration and payment information—is here. Full membership is $85, and is limited to 100 attendees. You must be at least 18 years old to attend. The current list of attendees will be posted soon. If you need some help with the registration fee, check out the financial assistance post. "Bitchin' Party"? Seriously? "Bitchin' Party" became the unofficial name of the con after some of the concomm had the misfortune of watching a gloriously bad TV show called Dante's Cove. Don't worry, we're not using it unironically.* *except that some of us totally are Hotel Information: The hotel is the Issaquah Hilton Garden Inn, located at 1800 Gilman Blvd, Issaquah, WA (here on Google Maps). The front desk number is 1-425-837-3600, and the fax number is 1-425-837-3635. How much does it cost? The con rate $124/king and $144/two queens, plus tax. A small number of cots will be available on a first-come, first-serve basis upon check-in. How do I reserve a room? You must reserve your room by March 3, 2020 in order to receive the con rate and be in the room block with all the other cool kids con attendees. If you're looking for a roommate, we'll link that thread once we get closer to the con. To reserve a room online: 1. Go here. 2. Select your arrival/departure dates, your number of rooms/guests, your preferred bed configuration, and then provide your information. Our group code is PWC402. (Note that you can only add ONE additional person's name to your reservation, so give some thought to who is likely to arrive first. It can also be changed later if necessary.) A credit card is required to hold the reservation, but no deposit is required. (They do have a disclaimer that they can place a hold on your card for the full amount of your stay, but FWIW, we've never seen that happen.) NOTE: If you have ANY question or problem with the reservation process (for example, if you did not get the correct rate quoted to you, or it says it doesn't have your preferred bed configuration available), PLEASE call the toll-free number at 1-877-STAY-HGI and talk to a real person (tell them you're reserving for the Pacific Writers' Conference). If for some reason that still doesn't resolve things, contact us at pacificwriterscon [at] gmail [dot] com and we will contact the hotel. To reserve over the phone: Call the main reservation line at 1-877-STAY-HGI and tell them you're reserving for the Pacific Writers' Conference (that is our sekkrit spy codename to civilians!). Make sure you specify whether you'd like a king room or two queens. Again, if you have any trouble—if they tell you our block is full or that the con rate isn't available—contact pacificwriterscon [at] gmail and we will contact the hotel. Hotel Amenities Room amenities include: - mini fridge - microwave - 42-inch HDTV - FREE wireless high-speed internet throughout the hotel Hotel amenities include: - on-site restaurant (including a bar) - room service - pool and hot tub - fitness center - free parking - complimentary shuttle available for transport within a five-mile radius of the hotel Check-in starts at 3 p.m., check-out is at noon. The con will be providing hors d'oeuvres and a cash bar on Saturday night, a full breakfast on Saturday and Sunday morning, and some snacks and beverages throughout both days. We'll post a complete menu a couple of weeks prior to the con. NOTE: We are NOT allowed to bring our own outside snacks into the meeting room. You are, however, welcome to eat or drink whatever you like in your own room. Area Amenities Within walking distance of the hotel, you'll find several fast food options, a couple of restaurants, a grocery store, a Starbucks (of course), and a liquor store. Within easy driving distance and within the range of the complimentary hotel shuttle, you'll find practically anything else you might need, including lots of food options, Costco, drugstores, Target, various banks, an organic grocery store, etc. Maps will be included with your welcome packet when you arrive. If you want to check out the lay of the land before then, Google Maps is your friend (see the hotel link above). Con events The con will officially run from 9 a.m. on April 4th until 5 p.m. on April 5th, with an optional movie night and other activities to get the ball rolling on the evening of April 3rd, and post-con movie-watching on the evening of the 5th. Panels Panels are being organized by the ConComm, with help from you. Final list of panels will be linked here once they are available. Always check out the panels tag for the latest info! Vidshow There will be a vidshow on Saturday night, details TBD. Check out the vidshow tag for the latest info! Room parties Room parties are totally encouraged (as long as noise is kept to a respectful level that won't get us in trouble with other guests/the hotel)! Please note, however: NO alcohol is allowed in the main con ballroom (except via the cash bar on Saturday night). Feel free to drink/eat whatever you want in your sleeping rooms. A list of things we will not have, because we are all casual and stuff: No celebrity guests (y'all are rockstars enough for us) No art show No dealers No free meals besides hors d'oeuvres on Saturday and breakfast on Saturday & Sunday What we do have is LOVE, people. SO MUCH LOVE. And bacon! Getting to the con: By air Airport You'll probably want to fly into Seattle-Tacoma (Sea-Tac) International Airport. Getting from the airport to the hotel The hotel is about 20 miles from Sea-Tac. The most affordable option is to take the light rail and connect to a bus; the light rail will get you from the airport to downtown Seattle for $2.50, and from downtown, there are several buses to Issaquah (average $2.50 fare) that will drop you off at the Issaquah Transit Center on 17th Ave NW, less than half a mile from the hotel (see the Metro Online Site for more info). Otherwise: - Taxi (in the vicinity of $55-$65 plus tip), Uber, or Lyft - Shuttle service - When the con gets closer, we'll open up a thread for anyone who wants to try to coordinate cab/shuttle-sharing with other attendees. - Rent a car (see below for driving directions) Getting to the con: Not by air The thread for roadtrip coordination will be posted closer to the con and linked here. By train or bus Amtrak and Greyhound both have stations in downtown Seattle. From there, you're about a 20-minute drive away from Issaquah. See below for driving directions. Local bus service is, as I said, not all that comprehensive, but it is pretty easy from downtown--the Metro Online site is here if you'd like to check out your options. By car: driving directions - As long as you are not east of Issaquah (including from Sea-Tac airport), take (as applicable) I-5 N, I-5 S, I-405 N, or I-405 S to I-90 E (toward Spokane). If you're east of Issaquah, take I-90 W. - From I-90, take exit 15 (WA-900 / 17th Ave NW). - Turn right at the light onto 17th Ave NW. - About a block down, turn right onto Gilman Blvd (by the Burger King). - The hotel will be about a block ahead of you on your right, behind the John L. Scott building. The hotel is here on Google Maps. Getting to the con: Other Travel by War Rig, Bifrost, tour bus, dog sled, Goat Van, stargate, wormhole, battlestar, firefly, TARDIS, Leviathan, Chevy Impala, Mystery Machine, or similar to be arranged by individual attendees. Roommates, rideshares, and airport transportation coordination Roommate, rideshare, and cab/Lyft/shuttle-share threads will be posted closer to the con! Weather It does not, in fact, rain ALL the time in Seattle. However, in the springtime, it tends to rain quite a bit. Bring a waterproof jacket if you have one, and maybe an umbrella if you plan to be out and about (though the hotel also has a few umbrellas you can borrow). Temperatures will probably be in the 50s/low 60s, but given climate change shenanigans, we cannot safely predict the weather. Basically, layers are highly recommended—not only is Seattle weather changeable (it snowed at our first BP; WHAAAT), but so are hotel temperatures (especially in meeting spaces, where they tend to crank the air conditioning), so being able to take off/add clothes as necessary is your best bet. Tourist information Downtown Seattle is about a 20-minute drive from Issaquah (up to about 45 minutes with traffic). For information about tourist activities available in the area, you can visit this site. Who's flying this thing? The mod team is intransitive, jedusaur, & pi. General questions/concerns/etc. should go to the ConComm at pacificwriterscon [at] gmail Questions about registration should go to the ConComm at pacificwriterscon [at] gmail as well. As we get closer, we'll update this post with panel, vidshow, and other contact info, but the entire ConComm has access to the above email, and the appropriate person will answer any questions that come up, so that email address is your best bet! We're trying to tag posts as much as possible for ease of navigation. To view all the tags for the community, go here. See you in April!

#bp2020 #bitchin' party

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kitwilsonsass · 6 years ago

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Since I’ve been putting it off due to lingering sicky feels, etc.

Here’s the far too long and far too unedited and written at 4am vacation rundown NO ONE ASKED FOR! (huzzah!)

So, yeah. I arrived at the new Amtrak station in the city which is a major upgrade from the trailer park reject of station the old one was. Way roomier. Could use a coffee stand or something but yeah. Improvement. Had to go underground under the tracks and back up to get to the very cold surface, it must suck in the winter.

About an hour, hour and a half into the trip I quickly realized that a.) all I wanted to do was sleep, and b.) that my throat was burning. I assumed this was due to the absurdly cold, non-stop dry ass air conditioning, but no. This bitch got sick for her entire trip. On the plus side I had the seats to myself for the majority of the trip, but still. I barely watched any CR or anything because I was miserable the entire time. Ya don’t wanna be miserable for 10+ hours on a train.

Got to Boston, to @conniecorleone‘s frightening apartment stairs. My bag was way too heavy and she troopered through taking it up them for me without dying. So if you ever need a tank in battle, call Rachel.

Hung out a little. Ordered some Five Guys. Watched a couple episodes of the first season of American Horror Story. I get the appeal but also never needed to see Dermot Mulroney’s ass.

Rach was busy with work stuff a lot early in the week, not helped by some dumbass school shooting threat the week before and kept apologizing while still going above and beyond as a hostess while I just felt guilty for getting snot on her sheets.

Day two I colored a bit. I can do a wicked water gradient with erasable colored pencils, for the record. Hung out. Relaxed. Used a lot of Zicam and Advil. Then we were on way to The Middle East for her conehead space boyfriend.

We waited like, an hour? In the chilly mist outside? The show started like AN HOUR LATE after that. The venue was nice but man, the mood was getting close to dead at points, especially since, again, FUCKIN SICK. But Planet Booty came on and while, a little on the bordering too raunchy side, put on a fucking amazing live show. Dylan has an absurd amount of energy that should be bottled and sold, but if it were it might result in the orgypocalypse. I saw a youtube comment that said he’s ‘very touchy lol’ and truer words never spoken. That man will grind on you and sing directly in your earlobe with his tongue if you are front row and happily, I was not. Yet somehow I still ended up with his sweat on my sweater sleeve thanks to someone being a dumbass and high fiving him after their set and not being able to handle the consequences. Ahem.

THEN TWRP TOOK LIKE ANOTHER GODDAMN HALF HOUR???

But I FORGIVE THEM because they were GREAT and played Daft Punk’s Celebrate in honor of motherfuckin Canadian Thanksgiving so... fine... I guess. My only complaint is they didn’t do The Perfect Product even though I get that’s probably a weird thing to do live. Also minimal keytar and Sung almost decapitated himself but you know... it happens. They DID do Tactile Sensation though which is a fucking jam. And Atomic Karate, ofc. And Meouch broke his fucking bass string which is like? Fucking hardcore? He came down like a foot away from us at one point. It was dope. They’re amazing live and have no right to be for dudes in ridiculous robot costumes playing synth in the year 2018 and rolling around stage on a hoverboard. Sadly I brought minimal memory cardage this year and didn’t get a lot of good video of them.

Afterwards, despite *someone* almost passing out, we hung out in the merch lines and did NOT accidentally cut ahead this time. I got a free signed poster because it was my birthday vacation ayyyyy and bought a couple EPs and the Together Through Time album. Then hopped over the PB’s line and got two hugs from Dylan who hung out and talked to/hugged/got selfies with every single person who got into line there and just? Good dude. Pure dude. Awful stache but... thumbs up human being. I got their Naked album and we headed out back to the apartment and some delivered Dominos (which was the only good Dominos I’ve ever had in my life.)

Day three I accidentally slept until like 4pm. Literally what else did we do that day? I cannot remember for the life of me. We might have went to Dunkin at like 9pm and she showed me a weird omnipotent plastic ear hanging on an electric wire? Was that this day? I have no fucking idea. Her Netflix and supply of Puffs tissues were my best friends this trip okay.

Day four she went to class and I relaxed and intended to walk to the mall. Unfortunately, my sick bleh hit and I didn’t feel up to going until about ten minutes before she got back. So we ended up heading over there together. I made her try Baja Blast, as is customary in my nation, and got her to try some green matte lipstick. Success. I was highkey hoping they would have a Build-A-Bear in the joint but they didn’t. They did have a Newbury though, that had the six-inch Roadhog pop which I’ve had a hard time finding locally, so I said fuck it and bought it.

That night was MST3k live! The theater was old as dirt. The kind of old as dirt where the flooring is bowing in. They had real strict rules on cameras and shit, which I get for the sake of spoilers but c’mon.... c’mon. Their merch sucked unfortunately though, so I didn’t waste any money on anything (for some reason they had 2017 tour stuff? It’s... not 2017?). The show itself was good, though I was wondering before it started how sick they must get of doing the same movie in different towns almost every other night. Pretty quickly realized oh, yeah, a lot of this show was likely pre-riffed. They did pull a kid from the stage at one point so he could guest riff off a script from Joel, which I’m thinking was a clever little insert fraction of the riff they did live between segments. I could be wrong, but on that front, it felt a little cheap. But it was still fun to see the boys and the bots live and have jokes cracked about not being able to afford the villains for the tour. And The Brain itself was........ I don’t know what I was expecting but..... it sure was.... something. The novelty was worth it and I will still gladly marry Crow T. Robot.

We went across the street to a little pub stop that was I think called Rock Bottom after that and got some much needed late night food. For some reason my brain was like “man, I could go for chicken fried steak right now” and don’t you know IT WAS ON THE FUCKIN MENU? WITH GARLIC CHEDDER MASHED POTATOES? Boston, much like with wings, does not know what country gravy is, but it was still everything I fucking wanted and did not expect to find, so A+. Also I was wearing a dress with shorts underneath it and stuck to the goddamn stool. Such is life.

Day five was rainy and miserable. I tagged along to university with Rach and it sucked, honestly. Being on a campus makes me feel awkward and the whole still being sick thing didn’t help. I ended up taking a walk way around the block to a Starbucks and getting the worst fucking frap I’ve ever paid too much money for. Went back around. Sat in the library. Felt even shittier. Started googling food places. Yard House wasn’t far but I didn’t want to deal with crossing a lot of traffic, especially if the rain started back up (it did, with a vengeance). So I ended up back around the block at some Olive Garden-esque fake Italian place with not an Italian in sight called Bertucci’s for some bland chicken-less fettuchini alfredo (because, as I’d reasoned with myself, I had chicken three times the day before). It was dimly lit, I had a booth to myself, and the water had the sweet skullet and braided beard combo I had liveblogged. People kept complimenting my tattoo. It was nice and no one seemed overly bothered that I was clearly killing time until I spent probably way too long in the restroom after trying to look alive. I tipped the dude ten bucks and left in the pouring rain with my umbrella.

From her school we took the world’s longest Uber to Parts Fucking Unknown in awful traffic and rain to find a Double Tree where @freakishlytallaustralian‘s parents were staying for a hot minute during their brief little US tour on their way to Europe. I’ve never met Mandi in person, but I’ve now met her parents who say she’s gotten to know a good bloke. She looks exactly like her mom. They were sweet. Anxious but sweet. And I am a freak who doesn’t talk and was sick trying to seem presentable at the bare minimum capacity.

Back ~home~ we ordered some JP Licks ice cream (BROWNIE BROWNIE BATTER!!! BROWNIE. BROWNIE. BATTER.), I watched CR and some stupid videos on the internet with her. Got some sleep. Sort of. Barely.

Despite Matt Mercer nearly succeeding at lulling me to sleep and eating my dreams, it didn’t happen, and I could not get comfortable for the life of me. The “coughing every five seconds in bed” started this night and was not having mercy. So I opted out of another day of hanging around campus to try and get some more rest. It didn’t really work, but I did eventually get a solid three hours or so, so it was something.

As the day progressed it was onward to the Science Museum to meet Ron the T-Rex. There was a wedding happening. How appropriate, for Bravier funko pops to have come along on the day of a blessed union. Coincidence? I think not. A turtle kept falling off a branch when he was trying to nap. There was some space stuff. It wasn’t great. But I got a little stuffed dinosaur and that’s Important.

From there we hit up the same movie theater we went to the year before and saw Bad Times At The El Royale. Do recommend. Chris Hemsworth as a Charles Manson was not something I ever thought I’d see, and I still don’t understand it, but it rather predictably works for me, so we’ll leave it at that. Good movie, good performances, good pacing and editing that could have easily not been. See it, it’s fun. Not perfect, but fun.

It was COLD AS BALLS after the movie and neither of us brought jackets or sweaters, so the walk to the train station and back ~home~ was a chilly one. We stopped in, got some warmth, and headed down the road past her old place to a bar. If we didn’t appreciate TWRP and PB enough already, the band she had to pay cover for us to get in for just to pick up food were about 8 upper middle aged men playing every instrument in the book. Afropunk, they said. No, we said. Offkey, we said. This place was dark as shit and loud as shit but you know what? They KNEW WHAT REAL, HOT CHICKEN WINGS WERE and for that, I am appreciative dammit.

Went back, got some more Dominos, and was finally introduced to John Mulaney’s (or two of) comedy specials. He’s genius and I *understand* it now, tumblr. I get it. We ate way too much and did my laundry.

The week had come and gone way too soon and I felt robbed of my good time by how shitty I felt. Hopping on the train the next day (after a godawful uber ride) was just as depressing as the time before. And even though I didn’t feel as miserable as the trip there, and once again had a window seat to myself, I found myself curled up against my hoodie crying trying to fall asleep again knowing I was already headed back home.

Once the initial depression passed, the trip wasn’t bad. The iced latte was good. The Albany stop not as confusing the second time around. The WiFi kept me company. Eventually my aunt texted me asking if I wanted to hit up Stevie T’s on the way home because they were 24hr and neither of us had eaten all night. It was a plan. Get off, get food, come home, faceplant on my own big comfy bed, vow to deal with my dad’s drama in the morning and call it a night.

Then *that* happened. Yeah. Last year? Every stop, regardless of time of night, they made announcements. They came by, checked the marker above your seat, and if you were due off at the next stop told you it was coming up, would help with luggage if needed, and directed you to the correct door to exit the train. This year? Nothing. They decided to stop making announcements right before the Rochester stop, and no one came by in our car to tell us where to get off. Stopped, myself and the other person due off at that stop, a late-teens girl, went to the door at the front of our car where every other stop had gotten off before us. We assumed since no one said differently, and no attendants were around, that must be it. We were idiots. Because by the time we realized hey, they’re not going to open this door and we should go to the far other end of the train, it was already moving again en route to Buffalo.

We found ourselves in the dining booths by the cafe car while the staff made vague remarks and the conductor acted like it wasn’t his problem. My aunt on the phone talked to the Rochester station, we tried to claim I didn’t even have a reservation until about two other people looked up my ticket. They said it was up to the conductor to get us a cab home, he laughed at us, claimed to know nothing about any of that, and asked if were were going to buy the bus tickets the other girl was looking up. The bus for 3am, in downtown Buffalo, nowhere near the station. When we got off the staff at the Depew station was a lot more sympathetic, and said since nothing else was being offered he would put us on the next train back home, but since it was a Sunday morning there was no train to Rochester until roughly 7:45am. It was about 1:30 at this point. I felt awful for encouraging the other girl not to pay for two ubers and a bus ticket with the only alternative being offered to sit alone in an empty, unstaffed station in the middle of the night for hours. And between the situation, being tired and still sick, and dealing with my aunt calling hotels only to get put on hold and lose the room she was trying to reserve - I put my bags in a corner, found the restroom, and had a panic attack. I don’t know why, but those tend to be stupid like that. It’s not even like I was scared, or confused, or that worried myself. I started out very ‘whatever, I’ll just get a room or stay in the station, I’m pissed but whatever’. But something about the constant calls and texts and my battery nearing 0 had me stressed and I was crying like a bitch. I just wanted to fucking sleep, and I knew that wouldn’t happen in a train station with nothing but some benches, a restroom, and a vending machine.

Rach suggested an alternative I felt guilty about taking but ended up going for: Get to her parents house just outside Buffalo, get their spare key, and sleep on their couch while they’re out of town with their blessing. So I called an Uber, and the first one passed me by, with the gps fucking up and saying I should be picked up ON THE TRAIN TRACKS. The second guy was smart enough to come to the cab pickup out front and was really cool. He said he was just thankful I wasn’t a fucked up drunk college party kid and the first all night. He didn’t comment on how I probably definitely looked like I’d just been broken up with in the world’s worst romcom. It was over 20 bucks and I tipped him the max. Found my way inside, set up the couch, and continued my momentarily on hold panic until I eventually passed out. My Aunt came to pick me up in the morning, I got carsick, we had mediocre diner breakfast and what’s after that isn’t news worth talking about. Isn’t it bad enough the tail end of the trip took up like a third of this post?

All in all... it felt like a disaster. I’m not gonna lie. In weird ways the stars aligned that TWRP would end up on Conan the night of their show and have to reschedule to the day I came to town, but I paid for it with otherwise bad timing and my body deciding against me having a good time. Fun was had, don’t get me wrong. The good was good and any chance to get away from... this, is appreciated, but it just seemed like everything went awry.

Mucho thanks to @conniecorleone again, for letting me crash on the futon and be my usual bland self, even blander while ill, and also buying me expensive cold syrup and a-many ubers.

We’ll see if Massachusetts and I ever cross paths again.

#sam does boston round two

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aryburn-trains · 7 years ago

Video

Dining car offers fresh flowers and good food on the Southwest Limited, an Amtrak train between Los Angeles, California and Chicago, June 1974 by The U.S. National Archives Via Flickr: Original Caption: Dining car offers fresh flowers and good food on the Southwest Limited, an Amtrak train between Los Angeles, California and Chicago. Train officials said passengers proclaimed this as one of the top two trains for food and dining room service. It offers a children's menu in addition to a variety of adult food fare and regional specialties, June 1974 U.S. National Archives’ Local Identifier: 412-DA-13528 Photographer: O'Rear, Charles, 1941- Subjects: Albuquerque (New Mexico) Environmental Protection Agency Project DOCUMERICA Persistent URL: research.archives.gov/description/555980 Repository: Still Picture Records Section, Special Media Archives Services Division (NWCS-S), National Archives at College Park, 8601 Adelphi Road, College Park, MD, 20740-6001. For information about ordering reproductions of photographs held by the Still Picture Unit, visit: www.archives.gov/research/order/still-pictures.html Reproductions may be ordered via an independent vendor. NARA maintains a list of vendors at www.archives.gov/research/order/vendors-photos-maps-dc.html Access Restrictions: Unrestricted Use Restrictions: Unrestricted

#southwest limited #amtk #amtrak #1974 #chicago #los angeles #trains #passenger train #history #dining car #diner

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sandwichbully · 6 years ago

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The Wedge Table (yes, again), 10 November 2018

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One time, Soft Kathryn called me Pasta Boi, a title I cannot deny, as I am, indeed, a pasta boi. Used to be I was a Pasta Slut but the word slut has been contentious for a while and only lately it’s starting to be OK to self-identify as a slut for certain things, like you’re a Train Slut if you fuck with some Amtrak or a Cathedral Slut if you’re down with the Vatican. I don’t know, I say fuck it, play it safe, don’t piss off the SJWs; Soft Kathryn calls me a Pasta Boi, I’m a Pasta Boi. Everybody on board with that? Anybody feel like calling me out for some shit? I’m a Pasta Boi, goddamnit. What problems could you possibly have with the Pasta Boi? ANYhoo, seeing as how I am - Wait. Am I a pasta boi or the pasta boi? We’ll figure that out later. Look, I was out of pasta and it’s 19° Fahrenheit (that’s -7° Celsius for my metric fanbase) and I figured that was a good enough excuse to go back to the Wedge and get that last sandwich. The tuna melt.

Goddamn, that is a blurry-assed photo. Anyway, I know I could’ve picked up a box of spaghetti from Hark’s across the street or even just gone down to the CVS for a box of spaghetti, but it was lunch time and neither of those places have a full-service deli with a limited line of seasonal signature sandwiches. And!? This is tuna melt weather. So I go in there and this time I’m greeted by a bespectacled young woman and I tell her I just need a tuna melt to go, she says sure, hands me my ticket, and I go off to get lost in the (two) racks of food trying to find pasta because, while I am a pasta boi, I’m not seeing the pasta I’m used to: The red and white boxes of Essential Everyday, the green boxes of Creamette, the blue boxes of Buy Any Other Brand But This Homophobic Shit; I’m having that classist crisis again, feeling out of my element, too working class and dumb to figure out how to navigate a co-op, here he is, everybody! Charlie from the Trailer Park! Can’t find his way through the tiniest co-op and doesn’t listen to Vampire Weekend! And then I nut up because, yeah, motherfucker, I am Charlie from Southeast Toledo and guess what: I like Black Sabbath, suck my dick. Where the fuck is the - Oh, here it is. It comes in... bags? Why the fuck - I thought these motherfuckers were supposed to be earth friendly, why is the pasta in plastic bags instead of recyclable cardboard boxes? What the fuck sense does this make? I pick up the pack of spaghetti and I look on the back. Under directions, it says to bring 5oz (150mL and I did that conversion, you’re welcome) to a boil and add 16oz (455g, again, I’m doing the heavy lifting) of pasta and I mutter, “What kind of maniac cooks a whole pack of pasta in one go?” Hell, even as one of a family of four, I don’t think I ever saw my mom cook a whole box of pasta in one go. I mean, maybe she did, it would make sense, there’s fucking four of us but does this manufacturer assume... I mean, who the fuck cooks a whole thing of pasta in one go? Jesus Jehosaphat. Maniacs. Absolute maniacs. So I got the fusili since I’ll be making a simple tomato and garlic sauce tonight that will love those little nooks and crannies to cling to. Yes, I have studied up on pairing my pastas and my sauces because I am a pasta boi, outed and confirmed. Then I grab a blood orange Hi-Ball and go over to the register and some old fart is just standing there with his back to it, not getting the point that I’m trying to get in line, thus a woman just walks around him up to the register and he looks at her and looks at me and looks annoyed - don’t give me that look, motherfucker, I have Aerosmith on vinyl, good Aerosmith, drugged up Aerosmith, I will knock you out in the parking lot. Anyway, nobody’s paying attention to the woman at the register and a line is forming and then one of the guys from the deli says he can get me on the other register and I turn to follow him but then my name is called and I grab my sandwich and I get rung up and I get outside, and I load my bag and I come home.

You and me, we’ve been on an adventure together, haven’t we? A real emotional roller coaster? We've had to deal with inwardly-directed class shame as manufactured by capitalism; we’ve talked about putting our money in the right places, like not certain pasta brands that come in blue boxes; we’ve discussed identity issues as prescribed by a person who identifies herself as an oven but uses she/her pronouns. We have been all over the map so far and I’m sure all you’ve wanted this whole time was to know how the fucking sandwich tasted. You want to know if you should give your money to these people. You want to know how tough of a call it is between Get Your Wings and Toys In The Attic because even though the track listing on Toys... has the obvious bangers, ... Wings has some definite sleeper agents that will fuck you up. For your patience, for your companionship on this journey, mon frer, I will now answer all these questions.

Holy shit, this is the best thing I’ve put in my mouth this week. Now, I didn’t look at the menu too close so, disclaimer, up front, I don’t know what kind of cheese they used. Swiss would be the obvious choice but I looked at the cheese itself and the holes were tinier and not round. I’m guessing, and I’d be surprised if I were wrong, this is havarti. It didn’t have the high-pitched notes of Swiss, either, which would have definitely stood out because, here’s the deal: You could taste everything individually on the sandwich. The tuna salad was creamy and I’m guessing they used an organic mayo because of course they would use organic and 1) this didn’t taste like Hellman’s and I’m a slut for Hellman’s so I would know, 2) this didn’t taste like Kraft, and 3) it didn’t taste like aioli because I detected no hint of extra virgin olive oil. Thus, organic mayo is my guess and it played nicely with the tuna, probably because the mayo to tuna ratio greatly favored the fish, so while I could detect the presence of mayo, what I was tasting primarily in that concoction was the tuna. Appearance-wise, the tuna salad looked like exactly every other tuna salad you’ve ever had: Somebody opened a can, emptied it into a bowl, threw in a dollop of mayo, and beat the shit out of it with a fork until it stopped looking like it was once a thing of flesh and now just shreds of unidentifiable protein. I get it: There aren’t that many ways to make tuna salad, so I’m not going to dock points for the look of the thing. The aforementioned maybe-havarti was smooth and creamy, which is how havarti ought to taste. I thought it could have stood to be a bit more melty, this is a tuna melt after all, and despite my visual inspection and my self-assuredness that this is havarti, the doubt still lingers because while it didn’t taste like Swiss, it didn’t melt like havarti, and we all know that Swiss is a bit obstinate when it comes to melting. It will do it but it takes a bit more cajoling than your softer cheeses like your jacks, your colbies, and, of course, your havartis. Again, probably not Swiss, but there will always be the doubt in my mind. Fuck it. I just looked at the menu. The answer we were looking for was gruyere. Gruyere. Just proving to you, once again, that I am capable of being wrong. I am human and I am just like you. So, yeah, the gruyere was good, even if I didn’t know until just now that’s what it was. It was smooth and creamy, just like havarti. But the important part is that I could taste it separately from and in concert with the other ingredients (even if I couldn’t identify what kind of cheese it was). But the real child star of this made-for-TV adaptation of a beloved series of child detective novels grown up to appear ironically on the convention circuit and still say their cutesy catch phrase thirty years later before snapping and mowing down a gaggle of parents with a hedge trimmer at a Chuck E. Cheese would be the pickled onions, sharp and sour at the same time, balancing out the low creaminess of the tuna salad and the cheese and the midrange of the whole grain bread with high notes in brassy timbres, maybe even acrylic timbres would be more fitting, like Ornette Coleman’s saxophone. It provided what other tuna melts are missing: A full spectrum of notes. This tuna melt was like the Italians at Broder’s and Kramarczuk’s and the Reubens at Colossal Cafe and Tiny Diner: It was perfectly balanced, minimally fucked with. And I know you’re probably rolling your eyes at me raving about a tuna melt and comparing it to some of the best sandwiches in the city but it’s like this: The reason you (and even me) think tuna melts suck is because all we’ve ever been handed is shitty tuna melts. The most creative we’ve ever gotten with them is using Swiss instead of American. Maybe we tried fancifying it by adding capers or putting tarragon in the tuna salad and it just didn’t happen right. And then we’ve walked into the greasy spoon and we see the tuna melt on the menu and we wonder how fresh is that tuna salad and we skip it and if we do order it (with every nervous caution in the world), what we get is a grilled cheese with tuna salad in it. We’ve had nothing but shitty tuna melts our whole lives so it never occurred to us that if we just treated them differently, if we just treated them like they could be good, if we just took a step back and considered the core components and asked what was too much and what was missing and saw this was meant to be different from a grilled cheese with tuna salad in it, we could have a good one. There’s a reason that this sandwich has its own name and isn’t just “grilled cheese with tuna salad” and it’s the same reason we don’t call a Reuben a “corned beef and sauerkraut” or an Italian a “three meat and banana peppers” or a Club “turkey BLT triangles”. It’s a distinct and established entity and, unfortunately, people have stopped treating it like one and instead started treating it like a grilled cheese with tuna salad in it. Not saying the Wedgetable has brought back the sandwich like it’s the fucking messiah, I’m saying that they’ve treated it right. They’ve done right by it. It was a damned good sandwich and I don’t regret paying the eight bucks for it. And what it lacks in size, it more than makes up for in flavor. You can taste everything individually and everything compliments everything else. It’s worth at least one visit in the Wedgetable’s direction, I would encourage you to give them your money. Also, this is, I believe, our first tag for “tuna melt”. Oh and Toys In The Attack has for sure three radio hits but Get Your Wings has “Lord of the Thighs” which is just a thousand percent of your daily recommended dose of raunch, nast, and sweat pressed into wax, so that’s a winner.

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#2018 #Whittier #Tuna Melt #Aerosmith #Pasta Boi

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paulpingminho · 3 years ago

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#shrimp and andouille #Cajun food #dining car #Amtrak #COVID-19 menu #Lakeshore Limited #New York state #travel #train food

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years ago

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Until I Can Go Back to My Favorite Restaurant, This Jerk Paste Is the Next Best Thing

I don’t know how I lived so long without a jar of Walkerswood jerk seasoning | Elazar Sontag

Walkerswood Jamaican jerk seasoning has quickly become a kitchen staple

I smear the dark brown paste on everything. I pat it onto salmon filets before I slide them into the oven and sneak it between tightly stacked leaves of cabbage layered into a steamer basket. I use my hands to massage it into Brussels sprouts, roughly chopped carrots, and broccoli florets. And every time I pull the container from my fridge, I ask myself how the hell I lived so long without a jar of jerk seasoning.

I didn’t grow up eating much Jamaican food in Oakland, California. This city, awash with some of the best Ethiopian and Eritrean, Filipino, Mexican, and Laotian food in the country, has comparatively few spots offering flavors of the Caribbean. And neither of my vegetarian Jewish parents were making a whole lot of curry chicken or braised oxtails.

My introduction to jerk chicken — its skin soaked in the flavor of sweet smoke, of Scotch bonnet peppers, allspice berries, ginger, and green onion — was during my first year of college, across the Hudson river from a New York town called Kingston. That’s where I had my first meals at Top Taste, where you’ll find the best — and more or less only — jerk chicken, curry goat, and oxtails in town. The snug restaurant, painted with wide stripes of yellow and green in the colors of the Jamaican flag, and set on the corner of a sleepy residential street, sells all sorts of groceries you can’t find elsewhere in the area: ackee, saltfish, canned callaloo and Tastee Cheese in vacuum-sealed aluminum containers.

As soon as the door swung open on my first visit four years ago, I was greeted by booming dancehall coming from a boombox propped above the entrance and the smiling faces of owners Melenda Bartley and Albert Samuel Bartley, known to a stream of friends and loyal customers as Sammy. For many, Top Taste brought familiarity and reminders of faraway homes. To me, everything about the experience was new, a welcome and deeply needed change of pace and scenery from the always-boiled, never-baked food of my college dining hall. I didn’t own a car, but whenever I could convince one of my new friends to drive me there, I was at Top Taste.

This wasn’t the sort of recipe I could transcribe, fold up, and stash away for safekeeping.

Over the years, Melenda and Sammy became friends, and their restaurant felt more like home than the cement-block dorm where I slept. I’d order from the menu scrawled on a piece of neon green cardstock on the wall, and while Melenda was filling my square plastic plate with rice and peas, stew chicken, oxtails, and plantains, I’d walk around to the restaurant’s snug concrete patio, where a plume of smoke tipped off the whole neighborhood that Sammy was making a fresh tray of jerk chicken.

That chicken was like nothing I had eaten. The meat was almost blackened by the time it absorbed the smoke, and while the skin was crisp, it gave way between my teeth. The flesh was ever so slightly past the point of juiciness, the fat and connective tissue broken down over hours of gentle cooking, so that the meat melted with each bite, mixing with starchy sweet plantains, steamed cabbage and peppers, and a dot of ketchup and scorching hot sauce.

A few months into my often twice-weekly trips to Top Taste, I asked Sammy how he made his jerk chicken. He sat down next to me with his spice-smudged apron still on, and explained the process in very matter-of-fact terms: The meat gets marinated overnight in a rich jerk seasoning blend (very, very heavy on the ginger), and the next day — rain or shine — he lights a spark under the pimento wood in his old barrel grill, caked with a thick layer of seasoning from good use, and cooks the chicken until it’s done.

I’d known as soon as Sammy first walked me through his process that this wasn’t the sort of recipe I could transcribe, fold up, and stash away for safekeeping. He’d made the dish on so many occasions that each step was second nature: an inkling that more scallion, garlic, or Scotch bonnet was needed, a sniff test confirming the salt, heat, and herbage was balanced to his liking.

When I moved to the city after leaving college, I made it a point to seek out jerk chicken whenever and wherever I could, always comparing it to the meat that came off Sammy’s grill. Some restaurants in Brooklyn had plantains more plump than the ones at Top Taste. Others had the perfect rice and peas, each grain and bean whole and separate, never mushy. Many served a jerk chicken that was good — exceptional, even. But despite following every recommendation, no one’s chicken compared to Sammy’s.

I came back to Oakland to spend the first month of shelter-in-place with my family. But like so many others who up and left cities with no real plan, a month turned into three, and then four, and now here I am, writing from my childhood home six months later. When I lived in Brooklyn, I hadn’t once tried to make jerk chicken in my own kitchen, knowing when a craving really hit — which it reliably did — I could buy an Amtrak ticket for $38 and be perched comfortably at one of Top Taste’s plastic-upholstered booths by lunch. Now, I feel pangs of sadness thinking about Sammy and Melenda and the plate of jerk chicken and rice and peas I could be eating 3,000 miles away.

But on YouTube, where I spend so much of my life now, I recently came upon Terri-Ann, a Saint Lucian home cook who walks viewers through hundreds of incredibly appealing recipes. They include pandemic classics — banana bread and dalgona coffee, our old friends — but also some favorite dishes I didn’t get a chance to peek into the kitchen and watch Sammy or Melenda make on visits to Top Taste. Terri-Ann has recipes for oxtails robed in velvety gravy, flaky golden beef patties, and, to my great satisfaction, jerk chicken. In one video showing viewers how she makes her chicken, Terri-Ann pulls out a glass jar of Walkerswood Jamaican Jerk Seasoning, a pre-blended mixture of spices and herbs which she says she swears by. She plops a generous spoonful of the deep brown mixture into a bowl of chicken drumsticks, along with a big spoonful of her herby green seasoning blend and a drop or two of browning sauce for color. I hastily switched tabs and bought three jars of the seasoning blend with expedited shipping. It wouldn’t be the same, but maybe it’d do the trick.

Since then, the Walkerswood blend has become a staple in my kitchen. The spicy mixture of scallions, Scotch bonnet, allspice, nutmeg, and plenty of thyme finds its way into more or less everything I cook. It’s notably lacking in the generous heaps of grated fresh ginger I know Sammy adds to his blend, but still, it’s excellent. I live just blocks from Minto, one of few Jamaican markets in Oakland, and I regularly stop in to add new sauces and seasoning blends to my growing pantry. I have a jar of browning sauce now, and I’ve bought as many of the hot sauces I remember seeing on the tables at Top Taste as I can find. But nothing I’ve added to my pantry since coming home comes close to my jar of jerk seasoning. In addition to using it in recipes from Terri-Ann and other Caribbean and Caribbean-American YouTubers and food bloggers, I add the paste to fried rice, to tofu, to — you get it.

The boldly flavored mixture is a perfect match for chicken, but that’s where I use it least, instead opting to put it on a thick slab of salmon or slather it on vegetables before roasting. Perhaps there’s just too much dissonance when I pair it with chicken, the bar too high to meet.

I miss Sammy’s jerk chicken like I’ve never missed food before. It’s a yearning that’s become familiar during this pandemic, for those things I know I can’t have. There is no takeout order that will meet the craving, which is as much about the environment surrounding a plate of chicken as it is about the blend of spices or the kiss of smoke that permeates each bite. Those meals were colored by a sort of care and hospitality that you can’t pay for and that’s hard to even seek out. The extra steamed cabbage and carrots because Melenda knew I liked to run the mixture through a pool of curry goat gravy on my empty plate. A piece of bubblegum set on the table as I finished eating, just something to chew on during the drive back to campus. Later, Melenda would send me off with a warm slice of her homemade rum cake wrapped in aluminum foil. It sat in my coat pocket and warmed my hand as I boarded Amtrak to go back to Penn Station.

The first time I bit into a piece of baked chicken I’d marinated in the Walkerswood seasoning blend, I felt pulled in two directions: It was delicious — fragrant and hot, every spice and herb present but not overwhelming. I also felt a little disappointed, as if I’d really expected my thrown-together Wednesday night dinner to taste anything like what Sammy pulled off his smoker after hours and hours of slow cooking and constant attention. I know now, as I go on seven months without a single meal in a restaurant’s dining room or even on a reopened patio, that what’s missing isn’t a handful of grated ginger or the smoke from pimento chips (though both would improve my chicken game dramatically). What’s missing is something only a restaurant like Top Taste can provide, that can’t be found in a jar of seasoning. But right now a jar of seasoning is what I’ve got, and until I find myself in that tiny dining room again, this one is pretty damn good.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/32ZNWqa https://ift.tt/3mNPQlT

I don’t know how I lived so long without a jar of Walkerswood jerk seasoning | Elazar Sontag

Walkerswood Jamaican jerk seasoning has quickly become a kitchen staple

This wasn’t the sort of recipe I could transcribe, fold up, and stash away for safekeeping.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/32ZNWqa via Blogger https://ift.tt/2EBMbWY

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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searchsocalproperty · 5 years ago

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Pennywise Moves for Retirees

Downsizing to a new home that requires lower upkeep ushers in the start of a new life of less responsibility, no job to report to, new friends to make, and working your way through that bucket list. But one thing holds true, if there are discounts to enjoy, a wise retiree on a fixed income should take advantage.

Many newly retired folks move to a new city and don't necessarily know where to find specials and discounts meant just for them. Listed here are only a few to check out in your new community.

Where to go, what to ask

Big ticket items seem like they wouldn’t come with deals for seniors, but you only need ask, “Do you offer a senior discount?” to find out. Thinking of taking a cruise? Many well-known cruise lines offer special deals for seniors include Royal Caribbean that offers “reduced senior prices only on selected sailings exclusively for guests who are 55 years of age and older” and Carnival Cruise Line’s “exclusive savings for Seniors, age 55 and older." So, don't just book your trip, check to see if specific ships or dates have a better discount. Other travel deals include RV rentals, bus excursions, flights, Amtrak, National Parks, and hotels. Try this site for more information.

Another big-ticket item is car insurance discounts. Check with your current provider. If they don't offer a discount, you can find one online. Just search for "senior discount car insurance." Then, see if you might get a discount on a mortgage refinance by talking to your bank or mortgage lender.

Groceries are another area to pop the question. Several market chains offer discounts of specific days to patrons. Check out this link for the best, most up-to-date listing of grocery stores with discounts. And along with groceries, check out this list of restaurants offering special deals for the mature crowd. If you’ve moved to a new city, utilize your restaurant discounts to meet new friends and explore different foods.

Not to be left out, the fast food and casual-fast industries offer special deals, up to ten percent off your meal, early bird specials, senior menus, free coffee, and more. Don’t be timid about it. Ask at the register and keep a list of your favorites.

Dress in style with retail discounts at popular stores. Some require specific days while others have particular age limitations, but with some deals up to 20 percent off, and even more at well-known thrift stores, you can shop til you drop.

Finally, save on prescriptions at all the national chain pharmacies, so be sure to ask about what's available for you.

If you’re wondering what special deals might be available to you, talk to your senior living real estate specialist for recommendations.

For more information about Pennywise Moves for Retirees , visit our website.

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Things You Need to be Pre-Approved for a Mortgage

Which Moving Company Should You Use?

What to Look for in a Foreclosure Deal

How to use Natural Lighting to Enhance Your New Home

5 Factors to Consider Before Purchasing a Vacation Home

5 Tips for Families Living on One Income

What Does That Mean – Mortgage Type

Mortgage Loan Rejection: What Next?

Pennywise Moves for Retirees

Tips for Dealing With a Debt Collector

Advantages of Using Furniture Pads When You Move

First Time Home Buyers’ Incentives

Get Rid of Dark Spaces

Some Compelling Reasons to Start a Home Garden

Thinking Outside the Box Lamp

Novice Moving Day Mistakes and Expert Solutions

Should You Install Skylights?

Are You an Ambitious House Seller?

Prepare for a Home Search

Apps for Monitoring Your Energy Use

Pick Up a Smart House Device Without Breaking Your Budget

Why You Should Be Cautious About Home Size

Should You Buy A Home Outside Of Your Budget?

Things You Need to Consider Before You Host a House Showing

Reasons to Tailor Your Home Search to Your Budget

How To Make Flat-Pack Furniture Seem Built In

Tips on Creating a Luxurious Indoor Swimming Pool Area

Key Reasons to Trust a Home Inspection Report

Tips to Remember When Staging Your Home to Sell

Execute a House Selling Plan

Common Home Selling Problems and How to Avoid Them

Step-by-Step: Creating a Cubby Bookshelf

3 Reasons to Buy a Small Town Home

Why Invest In Real Estate In California

Creating Your Real Estate Investment Plan

Understanding How The California Real Estate Market Is Different

Myths Of Real Estate Investing

26 Principles For Buying Real Estate

28 Principles For Selling Real Estate

Important Tools, Resources, And Websites For Real Estate Investing

Common Mistakes When Investing In Real Estate

What To Look For In A Professional Realtor

Main Site of Commercial Real Estate Illinois

How Corona Pandemic (Covid-19) Affects Commercial Real Estate Market

Commercial Real Estate- The Key Factors About Lease Provisions That Become Detrimental To The Value Of An Investment Property

Residential And Commercial Real Estate Now Listed As Essential Service – March 28 5:30 P.M.

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