Ramblin' Rovin' Rob

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The Cost of a Culture Festival

Back in February my roommate Will made up his mind that he needed to write more. Will’s already a great writer, he currently works at a digital advertising agency as a content writer. But, as one would expect, he became tired of writing about “Five Potted Plants that Look Great on Patios” and “Ten Creative Uses for a Self-Storage Unit”. In order to expand his repertoire and reinvigorate his writing prowess, he dragged me and my roommate, Mason, along with him to the Chinese Culture and Cuisine Festival. Make no mistake I was far from eager to experience what I imagined would be a few hours in a tourist trap. We pulled up to Margaret T. Hance Park, the one that’s literally on top of the 10 in downtown phoenix, to a scene of paper lanterns, Chinese characters and hundreds of tents serving as temporary vending stalls. I immediately felt skeptical of the ‘finanscape’ that I found myself in. Tents hosting the likes of Costco Whole Sale and the Arizona Republican Party were dotted

Roughly Five Shades of Rock

“Painted desert more like tainted yogurt.” “Nice.” Ed and I had fallen into our typical road trip routine of ironically bad jokes and playing the worst songs we could find. By now we had found our way to a road trip classic for us, “Pinch Me” by Barenaked Ladies. We had been driving for a good three and a half hours and now found ourselves on the I-40 just miles away from the painted desert. “Rocks more coc-“ “Wait, Ed, I think we’re here.” A vast expanse of prismatic rocks had just appeared before us. Shades of purple, white, red and brown rock were stacked on top of each other like multicolored pancakes. We continued along I-40 weaving in and out of valleys of purple and brown and over mesas white and rusty orange. A giant brown highway sign told us ‘PAINTED DESERT VISITOR CENTER’. We pulled off and got out of the car into a paved yet dusty parking lot. I looked around and saw just about what I expected, a ranger station, a gift shop, those dirty national park restrooms that ar

I'm a Bay Area boy

One of the quintessential college experiences is a spring break consistent of beaches and binge drinking. Yes, most of my peers found themselves wasting away to the chants of “Chug, chug, chug,” at the Mango Deck Club in Cabo, Mexico this past week. I never had that experience, however. Five days of suffering through a crowded and boozy beach for $1500 just isn’t my thing. In my pattern of deviating from the normal college spring break I couch surfed at an old friend’s apartment in San Francisco for a few days. I touched down in San Francisco to the confusing ballad Frontier Psychiatrist by The Avalanches with grey wet skies overhead. It was a fitting entrance considering the hellish week of tests and lab reports I finished before my escape into break. My friend, Eddie, who had flown in from Phoenix a few days earlier, and my host, Carter, picked me up from the airport in an old Dodge SUV Carter’s roommate from New York let them borrow. We drove from SFO to the Richmond District,

Road Trip Rob

I can’t stand the radio. “Hot 97.5 in the mix with today’s top tracks!” Really, Hot 97.5? Are they really today’s hottest tracks? Because, to me, they all sound the same played out pop music formula that’s been cut up and recycled so many times that its almost like no one cares what the final product is anymore. Oh cool, another lazy chorus sandwiched between some predictable pop beats, exactly what I was looking for. I won’t even touch on the disaster that is country music, I’ve shown enough of my self-perceived music elitism already. Anyway, here’s a playlist I made: The songs on here aren’t necessarily my favorite songs, they’re mostly ones that I like and think would set a good mood for a laid-back hip-hop/R&B infused road trip. Some of my favorite quotes from the keystone tracks: Like a Ship by Pastor T.L. Barrett and the Youth for Christ Choir: Just like a ship, without a sail. But I’m not worried because I know. But I know we can make it. Broken Cl

Early Morning Pizza at the Airport

People seem different when they’re at the airport. I’m not quite sure if I can say it’s a good different or a bad different, they’re just… different. Different in a way that makes them eat pizza and drink a glass of wine at 10:00AM. Different enough to fall asleep in public and not have any cares about people looking on. Different enough to yell right through complete strangers’ ears to get the attention of their children running amok around baggage claim. Yes, the airport, more than any other public space, changes people’s behavior to be different from the norm. I think that the strange behavior of people at the airport can be attributed to the liminal nature of the airport. Business women drinking champagne at 9:45AM and construction workers eating burgers in the next restaurant over both find themselves outside of their day to day routine. This departure from their norms accompanied with the stress of being on time for a flight seems to create some sort of confusion in which

Down the Street and to the Dam

I take my first step out of my house and suddenly I’m brought back to my infancy. I see my father waiting for me, arms outstretched, as I waddle toward him taking the very first steps of my life. The vision fades and I lock my front door and venture off my doorstep and onto the sidewalk. In the 21 years that I have been walking, I have become somewhat of an aficionado at putting one foot in front of the other. I do exactly this as I continue down my street. Cars whizz past me as I approach Hardy and Rio Salado. Usually, I’m on my bike and can keep pace with the strangers who have chosen to forego their bipedalism in favor of more rapid transportation. But today I trudge along as a mere pedestrian, the lowest man on the totem pole of transportation. I give the cross walk button one hard push and then a few more for good measure. Cars continue to be flung down the street in the chaos that is five o’clock rush hour. The light turns yellow and then red and I make all