In a mere 13 days, the road trip begins.
THE PLAYERS:
Meet contestant #1: Miss Brittany Martin
Status: 23/single/female
Hometown: Bucktown, PA
Interests: dancing, singing, speaking Chinese, stupid jokes
(what do you call a cow with no legs?. GROUND BEEF!)
Meet contestant #2: Miss Katelyn Ransom
Status: 23/single/female
Hometown: West Chestertonfieldville, NH
Interests: free-styling, puns, speaking in accents, world domination
The ride:
Meet one Honda Civic, 2002.
Mileage: 89,000
Last recorded break-down: Unknown
SO...13 days from now, I will be flying out of Logan International Airport in Boston- en route to San Francisco, Californ-i-a! (Side note: I scored a remarkable deal, $110 one-way! Thank you, Jet Blue.) Once I reach San Fran, I hope to be greeted by sunshine, the entire cast of Full House, and the Golden Gate Bridge (...and Britt, of course).
The plan right now is to spend close to three weeks out on the open road. Twenty-one days of home-grown, American merriment, in which we aspire to meet all walks of life along the way! Our schedule and budget are relatively tight, so we're hoping to not have to spend any money on hotels or other accommodation. Consequently, this means we will be relying on the hospitality of both country-folk and city slickers alike to help house us during these desperate times. We've already identified several such residences, but if you know we're coming through your area and wouldn't mind the company, please let me know! (On another note: you will receive partial accommodation points if you can guide us in the direction of a 24-7 parking lot where we can curl up, safely, for the night.)
THE ROUTE-
Tentatively, our itinerary is as follows:
San Francisco, California (Let the adventure begin...)
Los Angeles, California (Venice Beach and the Ellen show!)
San Diego? (Noha, warm weather, and Mexican food)
Grand Canyon, Arizona (never before seen by man...until now..)
Zion National Bark and Bryce Canyon, Utah (scenic, hiking-encouraged national parks)
Boulder, Colorado (local brew pubs and outdoor recreation)
Denver, Colorado (friends in high places)
Kansas City, Missouri (Harrah's casino, barbecue-style everything)
St. Louis, Missouri (...which brings me to my mid-west roots)
Chicago, Illinois (deep-dish pizza, and the Oprah Winfrey show)
Washington, D.C (Obama's Kingdom, and a non-profit's dream city)
Bucktown, Pennsylvania (Britt's home sweet home!)
New York, New York (the biggest of apples)
West Chesterfield, New Hampshire (where the party goes all night!)
I plan to update regularly during these next couple weeks while we plan for our trip. For those of you who have done similar routes in the past, feel free to send advice/feedback/suggestions, what have you.
Know where the nation's largest shoe can be found? Me too..in a shoe-shaped store in Memphis, Tennessee. Whowouldathought. (Thanks to Liz Lagone for this information.) Britt and I are interested in all things random, so please don't hesitate to send random, seemingly useless information our way.
We want to do EVERYTHING and see EVERYONE we possibly can! So drop us a line...
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Potential road trip activities (judging from our past)
Brittany and I like to do many things together...
Sometimes we sing...
Dance...
Hang out with Elvis impersonators...
Get dirty...
Model...
And just have a good time!
THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD...
Sometimes we sing...
Dance...
Hang out with Elvis impersonators...
Get dirty...
Model...
And just have a good time!
THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD...
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Travel Costs
Monologue | Tuesday night on “The Jay Leno Show” on NBC: Well, all the major airlines have raised their fees to check in baggage. In fact, it’s getting so expensive now to bring bags on board, even people who aren’t terrorists are stuffing things into their underpants.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Formerly known as Me: The Millennium Throwback
A very good place to start:
Some of us manage to move smoothly and effortlessly through each of life’s unique chapters. For these individuals, the transition from adolescence to adulthood is seamless, and the course of life predictable. These might be the people doing the exact job they said they wanted to do while they were in the fifth grade. Or maybe, they are the ones who don’t look a day older than their high school photo, despite the fact they’re now in their mid-thirties.
To be honest, I find such kinds of people very intriguing. I am both envious and suspicious of those whom exhibit such an unquestioned sense of identity and self. Those of who seem to have ‘gotten it right’ the first time around, so to speak.
Like many people my age, I have trouble defining who I am and who/what I want to be. When I think back to my teenage years, a cartoon-like depiction comes to mind. I was a dramatic individual with many faces-some confident, others more shy.While I feel I’ve changed quite a bit in the last ten or so years, certain personality traits remain the same.
I’ve always had an insatiable appetite for change. Changes in routine, structure, and even appearance have been inextricably linked to my life thus far, and while there’s something to be said for those whom are unafraid to commit to routines, I feel that my desire and, ultimately, need for change has encouraged me to take risks, accept challenges, and has enriched my experiences.
Ch-ch-ch-changes….
I can’t count on one hand the number of ‘phases’ I went through in high school, but I can tell you that most were erratic, and more often than not, just plain embarrassing! Take my sophomore year for example…
Homecoming Queen and Lip Liner (My Diva Debut):
The year of my Diva Debut, I spent at least an hour each morning before school prepping and primping (waking up extra-early for this superficial regime speaks volumes, as high school already began at an ungodly hour). I was dedicated to primping, because in high school, the six hours in the school day represented anything and everything that could ever matter to a 15-year old prima-donna. I was popular that year—or at least I remember being so—and the importance of maintaining ‘hotness’ and ‘cool’ could not be overly-emphasized.
Each morning, my eyes were rimmed with charcoal liner and my lips stained with a juicy, cherry-flavored gloss. My wardrobe represented trendiness at its core, for which, of course, I felt proud. I sat at lunch with the Jenny's, Jessica's and Ashley’s of the class, girls whom were equally noted for their cool prestige and hot factor. My attitude never felt overly obnoxious, but let the truth be known: I was a materialistic, self-indulgent wannabe.
Green Granola (flirting with patchouli):
Something happened during the summer between sophomore and junior year. To this day, I can’t remember what sparked the sudden, summer makeover. Whatever it was, it left my attitude and physical appearance significantly altered. That summer, I put all of my makeup away. I shoved my black spandex pants and halter tops to the back of my closet and went on a different kind of shopping spree. That summer, used clothing was the name of the game, and I scoured through the racks of Salvation Army and other local thrift stores like I had gone mad. Desperately, I searched for the rattiest threads on the block.
I went to school that year looking like a second-hand flower child. I alternated between paisley skirts, corduroy overalls, and sported the hippie equivalent of the do rag around my head. I got my nose pierced a week before my 17th birthday at Amber Moon, a lavender-scented jewelry shop owned by America’s finest Draft Dodger. Free Tibet stickers adorned my binders, and I even remember trying to dread my hair while waiting in the grocery store check-out line. The dreadlocks were a failed attempt, thank God.
That year, I was exposed to a completely new group of friends. I met a group of kids who read the news, wore flannel, and were determined to save the Earth, one Go Green bumper sticker at a time. Junior year was, indeed, a fun and complicating time.
All good things come to an end, as they say, and I should have known that by the time summer arrived, another change would creep my way. I must have become bored with my inner Mother-Earth, as I became interested in an entirely new scene my senior year.
My Inner Misfit (a slice of punk)
The kids I met my senior year were even more different than the ones I had made during junior year. This new group was comprised of spiky, mo-hawked, self-described ‘punks.’ Together, they owned every Clash album to date…on vinyl! They were awesome because they just didn’t give a hoot n’ holler what anyone thought of them. Not to mention, each punk’s bicep displayed a freshly-inked anarchy symbol! Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating. Regardless, these kids epitomized cool.
Mid-way through senior year, I cut off all my hair. Before you think, “Short hair cuts can be cute,” I urge you to think again. There was absolutely nothing cute about my new do. The $13 haircut left me looking more like a boy than I did at my one day old birthday party. Imagine that! In retrospect, it probably would have been a better idea to have my father go at my head with a lawn mower…while blindfolded.
Nevertheless, after the initial hour of sobbing, I knew I had to rock this new haircut, and rock it hard. So, what did I do? Like any wannabe punk-rocker, I dyed it black.
Naturally, my Mother hated it. I, on the other hand, tried desperately to embrace it. Something about the way it appeared neon blue under fluorescent lights, though, made me a real sight for sore eyes. Another “M to the E” re-branding attempt gone awry.
So, What gives?
There are a couple of different reasons I’ve chosen to tell these stories. Firstly, rehashing such amusing, and at times, painful memories of my past allows me greater insight into the person I am today (True, this is an exercise in cheese, but at least it’s an honest one). While the majority of people my age may not have experimented to the degree I chose to as a teenager, the questions of identity and self-awareness are themes we carry with us throughout our entire lives.
There are still so many things I am uncertain about, but if my teenage angst left me with anything, it was a familiarity, and perhaps even appreciation for uncertainty and change.
One last thing…
I am happy to report that I no longer own those hideous caramel-colored, corduroy overalls, nor do I try to squeeze into that sequined halter.
Though admittedly, I haven’t actually thrown that halter away.
Some of us manage to move smoothly and effortlessly through each of life’s unique chapters. For these individuals, the transition from adolescence to adulthood is seamless, and the course of life predictable. These might be the people doing the exact job they said they wanted to do while they were in the fifth grade. Or maybe, they are the ones who don’t look a day older than their high school photo, despite the fact they’re now in their mid-thirties.
To be honest, I find such kinds of people very intriguing. I am both envious and suspicious of those whom exhibit such an unquestioned sense of identity and self. Those of who seem to have ‘gotten it right’ the first time around, so to speak.
Like many people my age, I have trouble defining who I am and who/what I want to be. When I think back to my teenage years, a cartoon-like depiction comes to mind. I was a dramatic individual with many faces-some confident, others more shy.While I feel I’ve changed quite a bit in the last ten or so years, certain personality traits remain the same.
I’ve always had an insatiable appetite for change. Changes in routine, structure, and even appearance have been inextricably linked to my life thus far, and while there’s something to be said for those whom are unafraid to commit to routines, I feel that my desire and, ultimately, need for change has encouraged me to take risks, accept challenges, and has enriched my experiences.
Ch-ch-ch-changes….
I can’t count on one hand the number of ‘phases’ I went through in high school, but I can tell you that most were erratic, and more often than not, just plain embarrassing! Take my sophomore year for example…
Homecoming Queen and Lip Liner (My Diva Debut):
The year of my Diva Debut, I spent at least an hour each morning before school prepping and primping (waking up extra-early for this superficial regime speaks volumes, as high school already began at an ungodly hour). I was dedicated to primping, because in high school, the six hours in the school day represented anything and everything that could ever matter to a 15-year old prima-donna. I was popular that year—or at least I remember being so—and the importance of maintaining ‘hotness’ and ‘cool’ could not be overly-emphasized.
Each morning, my eyes were rimmed with charcoal liner and my lips stained with a juicy, cherry-flavored gloss. My wardrobe represented trendiness at its core, for which, of course, I felt proud. I sat at lunch with the Jenny's, Jessica's and Ashley’s of the class, girls whom were equally noted for their cool prestige and hot factor. My attitude never felt overly obnoxious, but let the truth be known: I was a materialistic, self-indulgent wannabe.
Green Granola (flirting with patchouli):
Something happened during the summer between sophomore and junior year. To this day, I can’t remember what sparked the sudden, summer makeover. Whatever it was, it left my attitude and physical appearance significantly altered. That summer, I put all of my makeup away. I shoved my black spandex pants and halter tops to the back of my closet and went on a different kind of shopping spree. That summer, used clothing was the name of the game, and I scoured through the racks of Salvation Army and other local thrift stores like I had gone mad. Desperately, I searched for the rattiest threads on the block.
I went to school that year looking like a second-hand flower child. I alternated between paisley skirts, corduroy overalls, and sported the hippie equivalent of the do rag around my head. I got my nose pierced a week before my 17th birthday at Amber Moon, a lavender-scented jewelry shop owned by America’s finest Draft Dodger. Free Tibet stickers adorned my binders, and I even remember trying to dread my hair while waiting in the grocery store check-out line. The dreadlocks were a failed attempt, thank God.
That year, I was exposed to a completely new group of friends. I met a group of kids who read the news, wore flannel, and were determined to save the Earth, one Go Green bumper sticker at a time. Junior year was, indeed, a fun and complicating time.
All good things come to an end, as they say, and I should have known that by the time summer arrived, another change would creep my way. I must have become bored with my inner Mother-Earth, as I became interested in an entirely new scene my senior year.
My Inner Misfit (a slice of punk)
The kids I met my senior year were even more different than the ones I had made during junior year. This new group was comprised of spiky, mo-hawked, self-described ‘punks.’ Together, they owned every Clash album to date…on vinyl! They were awesome because they just didn’t give a hoot n’ holler what anyone thought of them. Not to mention, each punk’s bicep displayed a freshly-inked anarchy symbol! Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating. Regardless, these kids epitomized cool.
Mid-way through senior year, I cut off all my hair. Before you think, “Short hair cuts can be cute,” I urge you to think again. There was absolutely nothing cute about my new do. The $13 haircut left me looking more like a boy than I did at my one day old birthday party. Imagine that! In retrospect, it probably would have been a better idea to have my father go at my head with a lawn mower…while blindfolded.
Nevertheless, after the initial hour of sobbing, I knew I had to rock this new haircut, and rock it hard. So, what did I do? Like any wannabe punk-rocker, I dyed it black.
Naturally, my Mother hated it. I, on the other hand, tried desperately to embrace it. Something about the way it appeared neon blue under fluorescent lights, though, made me a real sight for sore eyes. Another “M to the E” re-branding attempt gone awry.
So, What gives?
There are a couple of different reasons I’ve chosen to tell these stories. Firstly, rehashing such amusing, and at times, painful memories of my past allows me greater insight into the person I am today (True, this is an exercise in cheese, but at least it’s an honest one). While the majority of people my age may not have experimented to the degree I chose to as a teenager, the questions of identity and self-awareness are themes we carry with us throughout our entire lives.
There are still so many things I am uncertain about, but if my teenage angst left me with anything, it was a familiarity, and perhaps even appreciation for uncertainty and change.
One last thing…
I am happy to report that I no longer own those hideous caramel-colored, corduroy overalls, nor do I try to squeeze into that sequined halter.
Though admittedly, I haven’t actually thrown that halter away.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Holiday Photo Shoot
Winter Wonderland.
The Ransom home, after a bit of snow.
Self-timer success...the whole fam!
On our best behavior.
The idea behind 'Alikat'
A stocking for all.
Bailey, the wisest of the Ransom's.
I spy Betty Boop!
Our decorated living room.
Christmas eve dinner.
Alison and her pup, Jake.
The frosty driveway.
Alison and JD, my soon to be brother in law!
Friday, December 25, 2009
Last Minute Holiday Steals!
As many of you may know, I am often both impressed and amused by the latest technological products. I suppose in all honesty, I’m intimidated by some of the products out on the market today, and find myself saying, “why didn’t I think of that?”
On a recent trip to St. Louis, I was reminded of my tech interest/ignorance when I stumbled upon my favorite piece of in-flight literature, Skymall Magazine. Skymall has everything you could ever want and nothing you would ever need. Nearly 250 pages offering you the most innovative, sleek products…the majority of which you would have to try with earnest determination to actually incorporate into your everyday lifestyle.
With that being said, I thought I’d take a moment to share a few of my favorites from Skymall’s December issue. I do this for two reasons. Firstly, I enjoy the being a source of wisdom and knowledge for my blog audience. Secondly, I write in the hopes that Santa might be reading.
The number one Skymall product, as rated by Smaps is….
The Marshamllow Shooter:
This clever pump-action device shots sweet, edible miniature marshmallows over 30’, and- unlike other marshmallow blasters—it comes with a LED sight that projects a safe beam of red light to help locate a target for accuracy. The easy to refill magazine holds 20 marshmallows (or foam pellets, not included) for fast, nonstop action. Barrel and magazine are top-rack dishwasher safe, and the back of the box includes a target for practice. $24.95
AWESOME!!
Also, some noteworthy honorable mentions:
THE AUTOMATIC MARSHMALLOW BAZOOKA: (along the same lines as product #1, with slight variation)
This battery-powered bazooka launches edible, full-sized marshmallows up to 40’. The integrated microprocessor allows you to launch up to five marshmallows in 60 seconds without manual pumping. Simply load a marshmallow into the chamber, wait for the LED on the reticle to illuminate, and pull the trigger to bombard your mark with confections. $49.95
THE ONLY DIGITAL CAMERA SWIM MASK:
A Hammacher Schlemmer exclusive, this is the world’s only swim mask that has an integrated waterproof digital camera, eliminating the need to carry an underwater camera, keeping your hands free as you swim. The 5 MP camera can operate to a depth of 15’, making it ideal for use when snorkeling or swimming in pools. The mask’s eye pieces are made of tempered glass and have integrated crosshairs that allow you to line up shots easily. $99.95
I don't know about you all, but I would be one happy camper to find any of the above hidden under the tree. So, what do ya say? Ehh?
On a recent trip to St. Louis, I was reminded of my tech interest/ignorance when I stumbled upon my favorite piece of in-flight literature, Skymall Magazine. Skymall has everything you could ever want and nothing you would ever need. Nearly 250 pages offering you the most innovative, sleek products…the majority of which you would have to try with earnest determination to actually incorporate into your everyday lifestyle.
With that being said, I thought I’d take a moment to share a few of my favorites from Skymall’s December issue. I do this for two reasons. Firstly, I enjoy the being a source of wisdom and knowledge for my blog audience. Secondly, I write in the hopes that Santa might be reading.
The number one Skymall product, as rated by Smaps is….
The Marshamllow Shooter:
This clever pump-action device shots sweet, edible miniature marshmallows over 30’, and- unlike other marshmallow blasters—it comes with a LED sight that projects a safe beam of red light to help locate a target for accuracy. The easy to refill magazine holds 20 marshmallows (or foam pellets, not included) for fast, nonstop action. Barrel and magazine are top-rack dishwasher safe, and the back of the box includes a target for practice. $24.95
AWESOME!!
Also, some noteworthy honorable mentions:
THE AUTOMATIC MARSHMALLOW BAZOOKA: (along the same lines as product #1, with slight variation)
This battery-powered bazooka launches edible, full-sized marshmallows up to 40’. The integrated microprocessor allows you to launch up to five marshmallows in 60 seconds without manual pumping. Simply load a marshmallow into the chamber, wait for the LED on the reticle to illuminate, and pull the trigger to bombard your mark with confections. $49.95
THE ONLY DIGITAL CAMERA SWIM MASK:
A Hammacher Schlemmer exclusive, this is the world’s only swim mask that has an integrated waterproof digital camera, eliminating the need to carry an underwater camera, keeping your hands free as you swim. The 5 MP camera can operate to a depth of 15’, making it ideal for use when snorkeling or swimming in pools. The mask’s eye pieces are made of tempered glass and have integrated crosshairs that allow you to line up shots easily. $99.95
I don't know about you all, but I would be one happy camper to find any of the above hidden under the tree. So, what do ya say? Ehh?
Monday, December 21, 2009
Looking to Thaw
I wake up in the morning to sunshine streaming through the cracks in the blinds. Beneath the slivers of illuminating light are pockets of pure blue, revealing a perfect, cloudless sky. Sensing what must signify warmth in the air, I hop out of bed, grab my robe, and head to the front door. I allow my face near the windowpane and immediately feel the cool, crisp air drift towards me. This isn’t the heat rush I had hoped for, but I drop my guard just as my instincts take over. I open the door and step out on the front porch. Without a moment’s hesitation, my entire body tenses up. Each nerve ending becomes sensitive to the mere whisper of the wind. My eyes begin to water profusely, and before long, my entire face becomes a source of liquid runoff. Human bodies operate in sync with patterns in nature, and this very notion reveals itself through my body's attempt to balance. While my eyes and nose continue to pour, my mouth completely dries up. I choke on the crispness of the air, and my lungs stop short of indulging in full breaths, for the very act of doing so freezes me entirely.
Whenever I complain about the cold weather, I’m met with unsympathetic responses. “You’ve grown up in New England, you should be used to this by now.” I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t think a lifetime here could ensure that I would take comfort in the bitter cold. It’s been two months now that I’ve been living back in New Hampshire, and as each day passes, I find myself slipping further into hibernation. If you saw me now, you would never know that I once possessed a great love for the outdoors. Spending time hiking, biking, and swimming outside gave me a rejuvenated energy. Now, though, my outdoor appearances have become scarce, and my fresh air fetish has been reduced to infrequent and involuntary outdoor occurrences. As if in hiding, I dart from car, to store, to bank, to restaurant. Not even my shadow can be seen, for my feet out-step the grace of its silhouette.
Perhaps in time, my body will adjust to the brutality that has become of the winter days in New England. But for now, I will continue to sleep through the nights, bundled in overcoat and long underwear, and hope that the morning’s rays bring not only light, but warmth.
Whenever I complain about the cold weather, I’m met with unsympathetic responses. “You’ve grown up in New England, you should be used to this by now.” I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t think a lifetime here could ensure that I would take comfort in the bitter cold. It’s been two months now that I’ve been living back in New Hampshire, and as each day passes, I find myself slipping further into hibernation. If you saw me now, you would never know that I once possessed a great love for the outdoors. Spending time hiking, biking, and swimming outside gave me a rejuvenated energy. Now, though, my outdoor appearances have become scarce, and my fresh air fetish has been reduced to infrequent and involuntary outdoor occurrences. As if in hiding, I dart from car, to store, to bank, to restaurant. Not even my shadow can be seen, for my feet out-step the grace of its silhouette.
Perhaps in time, my body will adjust to the brutality that has become of the winter days in New England. But for now, I will continue to sleep through the nights, bundled in overcoat and long underwear, and hope that the morning’s rays bring not only light, but warmth.
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