The Bloggy Blogface!

   The first time I watched The Jetsons , I was eleven years old, and I thought they were pretty neat. The way they zipped around Orbit City in their flying cars was a great departure from the way we used to travel. My parents owned a light blue station wagon then, where we'd all pack in and head to burger and ice cream places like Jumpin' Jacks in the summer, or the mall on Saturdays. They loved taking the back roads which meant the slowest possible way to get to all the places, so my sister and I often took turns riding in the back cargo space, sometimes both fitting back there. My sister, at the time, was taller than me, with her lanky frame taking up most of the back space. Watching George, Jane, Judy and Elroy fly through the skies looked way more appealing than getting jabbed in the ribs with my sister's foot. The Jetsons were not my initial depiction of futuristic things back then. That belonged to the inside cover of my mother's high school yearbook. Her ye...

Tucked away inside a storage bin at my parent’s rented garage sits a thick red book. Its pages lined like graph paper, I used it as a writing journal for a good portion of the 2000’s. The entries begin in July 2003, at a Starbucks on the north shore of Long Island. They begin there as that is where my thirteen-hundred mile trek wound up, all the way from an Amtrak station in Little Rock, Arkansas a day and a half earlier. I chose the train because it was relatively cheaper than flying, and I had some time on my hands. It is a long trip, and one where you have to change trains at least twice. My first train switch occurred in Chicago. In the couple hours I had in between rides, an old friend stopped by Union Station to say hello and catch up in person. It had been awhile since we saw each other, mostly due to our geography. Not that distance made our friendship challenging, but she was probably never going to leave the midwest, and that was perfectly fine. Myself on the other hand, e...