Weird. So I found this post unpublished in blogger from spring break of last year. I figured better late than never, so here's a rather belated ramble

...Granted there was probably a reason I never got around to publishing it.
Like if it had absolutely no purpose or greater moral value.
But let's face it, I don't think anything I've posted here has been of the utmost importance.
Well maybe aside from that picture of the guy decorated with a dragon tattoo on his penis.
Anyway, ramble circa 2004:



I'm what you might call the "anywhere but here" kinda girl. Traveling is my passion, guide, and on occasional savior. Granted, I haven't been out of the country since I was nine. But it's all about imagination.

Spring break is one of the most popular times for people to gather round and fly to exotic locations like Cancun, Aruba, or Kuwait. Oh sure, lounging and tanning all day, getting absolutely plastered at night sounds like a good time. But I bet those kids didn't get to go to not 1, but 6 museums in one of our nations most historic cities, Philadelphia.

Pft, I didn't think so. While they were out tempting melanoma and sipping umbrellaed beverages, I got to enjoy an 2 and a half hour seminar on the significance of the crack in the Liberty Bell. This is what they call "getting cultured".

After a 23 women long bathroom line and a 62 people long entrance line I got to see one of the most remarkable exhibits ever.

Señor Salvador Dali's 18 room, over 200 work exhibit in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Dali, though greatly recognized, is usually the stereotypical favorite artist of teenagers and new wave adults. Usually, people brought up on the classics are often confused with Dali's bizarre yet infatuating world of surrealism.

However after a two hour stretch of standing on your feet staring at a piece of paper with some paint hung on the wall, one might begin to feel differently and start to look at his works with new eyes.

Some may call the man, Dali, a megalomaniac, a fool, and quite eccentric, but standing 2 inches away from his Persistence of Memory, the only word I could think to use was genius. At first I was jaded as the piece had almost become a cliche. Afterall, I had seen in countless times on posters and websites, but after taking a step back I realized I was looking at the actual masterpiece, the same one he had stood before and painted and my appreciation for it was renewed.

Alright, now enough of this passionate artistic appreciation nonsense.

After such a long day spent standing on my feet and staring at some of the best work of the 20th century, and most likely all of history, I was a little woozy. As having to absorb so much visual stimulation in a limited amount of time always leaves me a little off-kilter. Though drinking anywhere from 5-9 shots of vodka also seems to have this affect.

So, in closing, all I can really say is Dali is the shit, Philadelphia is a fantastic place, and my feet hurt.