I’m not really big on the fourth of July as a holiday. It’s not a patriotic issue; it’s a nice USA moment, but I’ve never been overly thrilled about fireworks and the celebration of it. My only standout memory of Independence Day is being in a car somewhere, July 4th, 1976, the two hundredth anniversary. That’s my standout memory: being in a car somewhere.
And even though I’m not big on the fourth, I’m all about Bastille Day!!! It’s ten days now until Bastille Day. Okay, I’m not that big on Bastille Day, but I knew it was coming close and I always remember that one of my good friends has a birthday on that day. So in case I forget, Happy Birthday. I won’t forget, though.
In other news, I missed the extended family gathering tonight. I didn’t want to at all. However, after a relatively short visit at the ER this morning, I found out I have walking pneumonia. I’ve been in tremendous amounts of pain from some ongoing infections, so in combination with the pneumonia, I sat it out. I got a prescription for some antibiotics and pain medicine. I was relieved when I found out it wasn’t codeine; makes my stomach turn. But then, when I looked at the bottle, it’s actually codeine. However, I haven’t been sick and I think the trick is actually eating food.
Hm. Yes. I be smart. It only took me a couple of decades to understand what that warning on the side of the bottle about taking it with food actually meant.
It’s late in the evening now. I felt like a million bucks earlier. You know, in 2090 currency. But still. And I took some more codeine (after the properly allotted amount of time) and I feel pretty good again.
I’m using my down time right now to catch up on photos. Shortly, I’ll get to all of the video I shot over the past two months since my last update was a quick clip I threw together of nothing but the sounds of a train in the night. And believe it or not, I never did put up the photos from my last day of driving to LAX. The day I purposefully detoured into Watts. The day I purposefully detoured into Compton. The day I ran out of gas in South Central LA. Not purposefully.
But I was thinking about something else when I started this post and it was this: Early into the last day of driving here, to Charlotte, I stopped at a L’il Cricket gas station in one of a hundred small towns in South Carolina. I think I was in Whitmire. Can’t remember. Susan Smith country, though. There was a cluster of individuals hanging around outside the station; two men, one woman. People would drive up to get gas, get a beer… everyone knew everyone there and what they were doing. This was not a large town.
One of the men standing around began to talk to me. The usual questions. Then he told me his name and he shook my hand. He emphasized the importance of his name as it related to a famous baseball player. Of course, I don’t follow sports so it was lost on me. But it struck me at that moment that he wasn’t the first to tell me their name. He wasn’t the first person to introduce himself to me and tell me the catch to his name and how I could or should remember it.
Murphy. Jimmy. Sammy. Others. All of these characters stood behind a name. And all of them wanted to make sure I remembered. To make sure I remembered. (I’m getting into southern preacher mode where I repeat a phrase for emphasis. Can I get an Amen?)
I’ve thought about that off and on over the past couple of days. I’ve thought about my own person. I’m not really any different. Only, rather than standing at a gas station talking to anyone who walks up or sitting at a Starbucks taking an interest in the unusual but obvious passerby to and through town, I’m sitting here, behind a keyboard and behind a lens, saying, “I am Scott. I was here. Remember me.” Perhaps. Or maybe not.
I guess it comes back to living, really, and that I’d like to live as much as possible. I keep thinking I’m going to write a letter to Castro and ask him if he needs a personal photographer. Not that I have any political sentiments one way or another (although I’m sure I could be swayed if I listened to one argument or another) and I certainly have no political aspirations (unless you count wanting to rule the known world or, at the very least, a small cult). It’s just that it seems like it would be a gig I would remember. Maybe something else, though, would be more fitting for me.
I should probably get that notion out of my head. The last great notion I had was to drive across country on a 50cc scooter. And, well… yeah.
When I come back to Miami, I’m going to continue to shoot models. I’d like to get back to shooting people on the street, too. It’s been nice to see and photograph this country, but I enjoy shooting people so much more than anything else. This trip confirmed that for me. People are always so interesting to me; and they make beautiful subjects.
I’ll probably be doing some other stuff when I return.
I’ll feel so much more at home when I get back home. It’s nice being here with my parents. (I have to say that since they’ll probably be reading this before I wake up in the morning; kidding, I’d say it anyway. Who loves ya, baby?!) But like I said before, no place feels more like home to me than South Beach and as long as I’m going to live in the US, I’d rather be in South Beach than anywhere.
I’m taking care of my health, as much as I can. I’ve had issues for so long and they aren’t going away anytime soon. But I can’t continue on like this. This last half of the trip, from LA to here, has been hell on my body. The heat made things worse. When you have a sweat gland issue, and you’re driving around on a scooter in 100+ degree weather with 60+ pounds strapped around your shoulder, you’re kind of inviting problems. And I did. But I made it. In mostly one piece. For me, though, the trip isn’t finished until I arrive back in South Beach.
Speaking of the trip, I hit some milestones along the way. The 10K kilometer mark. The 15K kilometer mark. To date, since leaving nearly two and one-half months ago, I’ve covered roughly 7,200 miles. Like I said the other day, I’ll get around to some of the details of the trip.
So that’s kind of it for now. Happy Bastille Day in case I forget. Which I won’t.
In-Sha’-Allah, brother, In-Sha’-Allah. And if so, then Amen.