Time Zones

No, I'm not lazy; I'm still on Vegas time, that's all. Yeah, that's the ticket to why I didn't get out of bed until almost noon. Even the cat's looking at me like "Aren't you even going to spend part of the day looking out the window like I do?" Annie spent a good portion of the night and this morning on the bed. She'll get back to her normal custom of taking me for granted soon enough. Until then I'll enjoy the cat's dog-like attention.

It was a good trip. I went to places I never planned to go and saw a lot of things I never thought I'd see. Now without a 9-to-5 job to which I have to return Monday I have to get into a routine again.

I do have some video from the trip to edit, mostly shot from inside the Toyota Pious, onto which we put 2,341 miles. Good thing it got about 48 miles-per-gallon since gas prices ranged from $4.07 to $4.49 a gallon. It was great to see it here for $3.94. Never thought I'd say that.

Then again, I never thought I'd sit on the edge of the Grand Canyon, inches away from a thousand-foot plunge off a cliff. I must not be as scared of heights as I thought I was, though the description of the view at times as "breathtaking" isn't figurative. It was hard to breathe.

There's another part of a story for WEDU to shoot before I write that. That was supposed to happen while I was out west but the subject failed to show up. Great. Seems the quarterback for the semi-pro Sarasota Millionaires is as elusive off the field as on. We'll use another player. I'll call the running back. He's also the team's co-owner. His day job is a business that sells fancy rims and other parts for tricking out your car.

And I have to arrange to shoot the rest of a personal documentary project I started last month.

Back Home

Annie lectured me about leaving her for so long, as I knew she would. It was good to see her and judging by the purring once she had finished protesting she was appreciated seeing me. The term "happiness" might be too strong. Annie is a cat, after all, with a reputation of detached indifference to protect.

But when I got home and did not pass go, did not collect $200 and went directly to bed, it wasn't long before she joined me. She has spent much of the time since then in my lap. Ah, the comforts of home.

The flight from Vegas was delayed by about 10 minutes so we took off at about midnight Vegas time with the four-and-a-half hour flight landing at 7:45 a.m. Tampa time.

I should note that the "we" references in posts about the trip refer to my brother Jim and me. John is sometimes fond of writing about himself in the third person but he doesn't use the "royal we" to talk about himself. Jim didn't want me to reveal that he was out of town. He feared that you would break into his fabulous manse and steal all of his stuff.

Sorry about that.

It's 2:12 a.m.

And I should have a more exciting story to show for it than I do. But the fact that I can still type at this hour should tip you off to that. Ready? Here goes.

I awoke here:


And will go to bed here:


I'd prefer a happy medium. Or a cheerful clairvoyant. But only hookers of unknown disposition are available. We drove from the Grand Canyon back to Las Vegas today. The flight home departs from here tomorrow night. (Actually later tonight now) I wanted to stay on the strip if we could find a reasonably priced room, which we did at the Tropicana. We could wander around, take in another show, maybe even try blackjack.

I took a nap instead, sleeping through the chance to see Folies Bergere, another revue-style show playing here at the Tropicana. How old I am. When I worked as the sports anchor for the ABC affiliate in Lexington, Kentucky, I had to cover the University of Kentucky's appearance in the Music City Bowl in Nashville. We worked all day and played much of the night. I'd never been to Nashville and I didn't know if I'd ever get another chance. I'd sleep when I got home.

Now in Las Vegas, which I might also never see again, I simply don't have that kind of stamina any more. Or willpower.

I woke up at 11:30 p.m. and decided to at least take a look outside. I started down what I thought was the strip but was actually Tropicana Avenue heading away from the strip. It took me only three or four blocks to figure that out. Take two didn't last all that long. Too much light and noise. Funny that I rode through barren lands in Arizona and Utah hoping to see signs of familiar civilization and now I have more than I can process.

I mentioned the prostitutes. One reasonably attractive black girl gave me the come hither finger wag as she made a grinding dance move. The come-on came complete with a flickering tongue. It was supposed to be seductive. I wasn't supposed to laugh.

Another girl in high heels and a low top said "hi" in a way that made clear that the ensuing conversation was supposed to end in my hotel room. And I do mean "girl." This one's makeup tried to conceal adolescent acne. Maybe she was legal age. Maybe she looks too young because I'm too old.

I have to walk through the casino to get to my room. I'm sure that was a design accident. I found a blackjack table with an open chair but it looked like at least one of the other players knew what he was doing and didn't need some newbie screwing up his rhythm. At least that's my rationalization for remaining a Vegas gambling virgin. I will not play the slots. The people parked in front of those machines are as sad a sight as the girls selling themselves outside.

I should note that although the room has a TV, it gets only a handful of channels. No HBO; not even ESPN. There is also no Wi-Fi. The Tropicana doesn't want me to entertain myself in my room. Maybe they get a percentage from the hookers.

Long Hike

We ventured into the Grand Canyon today. The North Kaibab Trail takes you all the way to the Colorado River if you have the equipment, the expertise and the back country camping permit to make the 14-mile trek each way.

Having none of the above, we went as far as the Supai Bridge, a mere two-mile hike one way. (EDIT: Turns out the landmark is the Supai Tunnel and we hiked to a bridge probably a half-mile below that.) The park literature warns you that the trail is also used by mules and the first thing you notice when you get on the trail is that the mules are well-fed and that their digestive systems are assembly-line efficient.

The second thing you realize is how easy the going is on the descent. Part of me knew that the trip back up would be more taxing but that thought was amply subordinated by the part of me that is dumber than the mule dung I was trying to tiptoe around.

Let's do some math on this. A guy who lifts weights regularly but who is allergic to the treadmill, still fighting the effects of a cold, trodding up the side of a canyon at a more than 8,000 foot elevation.

I never doubted that I'd make it. At one point my wheezing mixed with a twinge in my left arm and I hoped I was having a fatal heart attack. Alas, my heart continued to pump, my feet continued to step and I made it back to tell you the tale.

I don't know if this happens to you but strenuous physical exertion always loosens my mind. I go into a zone where the little mice start turning the treadmills inside my head and thoughts pour out of my brain like the sweat coming out of my body. There are no noises to derail your train of thought. Just the patterns of breathing and the rhythm of my stride.

Same thing happens when riding in a car on long stretches with no stops. Even better if the radio is off, which has been common out here where in some places radio reception is as scarce as stoplights. I can daydream for hours. Or until I have to pee.

We've done a lot of driving, climbing and walking on this trip and I've had a lot of time to think. I wish I could report to you the epiphany I've had. I'd settle for a revelation for how to build my freelance business or advertise the personal documentary venture. But the revelation is probably a climbing out of a canyon metaphor. You put one foot in front of the other and keep doing it until you reach the top.

For reasons Freud could explain better than I, if he weren't dead and all, my mind has often drifted to the high school classmate I stayed with when I went to an alumni swimming meet at my high school last December. If forced to guess I'd say it was because I have no one else to occupy that part of the brain (likely within the "dumber than mule dung" part) that needs to dream about a girl.


We're at the Grand Canyon Lodge tonight so we don't have to drive anywhere tonight to sleep. We went out to one of the cliffs overlooking the canyon and sat -- admiring the view, doing more daydreaming and trying not to let the strong wind gusts blow us to a sudden and violent death. We also don't have to drive tomorrow to get here. We've seen just about all the places on the North Rim that we can reasonably get to -- and some a little farther out than that. We'll look at them in different lighting hang out some more then start heading back to Vegas.

Kanab

Apologies for the lameness of the prose in recent posts. I don't write well when exhausted. Add sleeping well to the things I've missed on this trip. I miss my cat; I miss my guitar; I even miss Florida humidity, whose benefits to my sinuses I never appreciated. Those aren't flakes of dandruff in my hair. That's remnants of a sunburn on my scalp peeling off. I now have to apply sunscreen directly to my head.

I am at this moment being tormented by a fly in room 108 of the Super 8 motel in Kanab, Utah. Kanab is about 80 miles north of the Grand Canyon, which is the closest place we could find a room for the night. I had made reservations for the Grand Canyon Inn in Fredonia, Arizona, which is about 8 miles closer but when we went there to check in, the office door was locked, no one answered my knock and the only ones around were a mother cat and her four kittens. They weren't any more welcoming than the locked office door.

The Super 8 front desk attendant recommended the Houston's Trails End for dinner. We ate overpriced food served by a 40-something waitress wearing a uniform consisting of flannel shirt, black Levi's jeans and belt holster complete with toy pistols.

"I didn't realize this came with peppers," I said when the waitress came by on that first check shortly after she has delivered the food to make sure she gave us the right dishes. Five minutes later I had just started eating when she came back.

"How is it now that you've picked the peppers out of it?" She asked. Thanks for your concern.

It was an aggravating day. We're running out of time and I'm afraid there are things that we should be seeing that we're missing. The best picture of the day was probably one of a lizard, whose cousins I see every day at home.


How about that? Jim just killed the fly. Maybe things are looking up.

Zion National Park

I love the novelty of HBO as much as the next guy but not enough to tolerate Little Women.

Maybe I should be out shooting or at least seeing something instead but I'm wiped out. I caught a cold or something in Vegas and I haven't shaken it yet. I haven't slept well the entire trip. Plus, though these boots might be made for walking, my feet seem to have forgotten that they were designed for bipedal locomotion.

But as much as I'd like to spend a day in bed trying to sleep, I may never get another chance to visit these sites so I drag myself up and down trails that wind around and onto incomprehensibly giant rocks.

Tonight we rest (Mr. & Mrs. Smith is on F/X) and tomorrow we head back to the Grand Canyon. To get a different view than we've already had, we're going to have to hike down into the canyon. I'll be wheezing and that green boulder you see trailside when you visit will be something I coughed up.

Bryce Canyon

I missed the Internet. I don't really miss TV. That's a good thing. Last night for a mere $165 plus tax, we stayed in Bryce Canyon Lodge. Its amenities included location just a three minute walk to the edge of the canyon itself inside Bryce Canyon National Park.


Its amenities, however, did not include Wi-Fi or television. We set a 5:30 a.m. wake-up call so we could catch the sun rise. The best light for photography happens then. It would help if I had a better idea how to use this ideal light. Below are some shots from this morning as and from yesterday. You can see how the light changes throughout the day.



The strange rock formations are called hoodoos. So I've had the lyric from an old Paul Simon song "Love Me Like a Rock" in my head.

Hoodoo? Hoodoo you think you're foolin'?

My brother tried to rescue me from this madness by chiming in with a bit of the George Thoroughgood classic (originally done by Bo Diddley, I know) HooDoo You Love.

Utah Parks Tour Continues

We've reached Bryce Canyon National Park and I miss my cat.

We started the day near Capitol Reef National Park. It's one of Utah's least visited national parks, according to the brochure back in the Whispering Sands motel room. I can see why.


Other than a natural bridge requiring only a one-mile climb to reach, Capitol Reef had little to distinguish itself from the canyons you see all over Utah. The park may have other worthwhile things to see accessible only by unpaved roads for which your car needs 4-wheel-drive.

Happy enough that our Toyota Pious still has four wheels, we weren't going to try to get to them.

One stone face did feature ancient carvings that park literature touted as historical records of early inhabitants.


They looked like grade-school children's drawings to me. What's the difference between graffiti and archeology? About 800 years.

By early afternoon, we were winding our way south on Route 12, opting for a scenic route that repeated much of the scenery we had already seen, and found a room in a town 10 miles outside of Bryce Canyon called Tropic. If you're keeping track, that means we have now stayed in Utah towns named Hurricane and Tropic.

A skinny girl with poor skin and breasts large enough to distract you from the acne manned the Bryce Valley Inn's check-in desk. She was a Russian student here on an exchange program. Sort of. When I asked another Russian student working in the restaurant next door if any Americans went over there, he said, "Not so much." Not so much of an exchange, then.

After dinner we went to the canyon. Mindful of this morning's disappointment, we hoped we'd see more than what we'd driven 120 miles through this afternoon. We went to a place called Sunset Point -- it was that time of day -- and saw a sign that said the area was best photographed at sunrise. Should we have gone to Sunrise Point? No. The sign said that all the viewpoints were best photographed at sunrise. Tomorrow night we have a room at the Bryce Canyon Lodge within the park itself. We'll drag ourselves out of bed for sunrise Sunday morning.

I'm in Utah!

Again on purpose!

It's harder to blog on the road than you might think. First there's the iffy Internet connection, without which you have to read each entry off my computer in person. And if you were here you wouldn't need me to describe the events of our adventure. Adventure being an exaggeration of a considerable degree so far, though we have put ourselves in danger of falling off the edge of the Grand Canyon several times and attempted to drive a Toyota Prius up a mountain gravel road.

Many motels now offer free Wi-Fi access but it doesn't always work and when it does, I usually just want to check e-mail before I rub aloe gel on that day's sunburn and fall into bed. Last night we got into Hanksville, Utah at about 9:20, ate dinner at the last open restaurant in town (of the three options available anytime of day that we saw), found a room at the Whispering Sands motel.


Eighty-eight bucks seems steep for a bare-walled room with a television the size of a postage stamp but when the alternative was sleeping in the Prius, we didn't hesitate to take it.

After which I rubbed aloe on that day's sunburn and fell into bed, where I now sit this morning typing this. We had a full day yesterday. We covered about 180 miles with frequent stops anytime we saw anything interesting. Or -- more accurately -- anything we thought would look interesting, including the Navajo National Monument, which even with no admission charge was not worth the 18-mile drive out of the way of our route.

There are signs to guide you to a place called Mexican Hat Rock. Interesting name for a town?


Nope. Just a rock formation that looks like a sombrero.

There was another called Jacobs Chair. Not a town, not a piece of furniture, just a rock formation that resembles -- you guessed it -- a chair.

Between Mexican Hat Rock and Jacobs Chair lies Natural Bridges National Monument. More simply, between two notable rock formations you find more rock formations notable enough to get the National Parks Service involved. A national monument is apparently a national park, junior. Enough there to justify charging an entry fee but not enough to call it a full-fledged park.

Natural bridges are formed from erosion and will eventually wear away completely. Nice to get yet another reminder of our insignificance: Nothing lasts, even stuff made from solid rock. The monument contains three natural bridges, all seen from lookout points near the nine-mile one-way loop you take through the monument. You can hike to all three of them but we didn't get there until 5:30 p.m. so we picked the one with the shortest hike, which was less than a quarter-mile, to see up close.


From there, we headed for Hanksville, which put us close to today's target -- Capitol Reef National Park -- and put us through the most interesting part of our journey so far.

Mountain climbing by Prius was not a bright idea we had, i.e. Let's try to strand ourselves miles away from anything by abusing the rental car! No. We merely followed the route from Page, Arizona to Natural Bridges National Monument in Utah that Google Maps laid out for us, not knowing until it was too late that the trip would entail hiking a mountain by car to complete it.

Here's the thing: Google maps will add a PORTIONS TOLL warning on a given road. But for UT-261, it couldn't tip us off about the PORTIONS UNPAVED or PORTIONS UP THE SIDE OF A CLIFF?

We Survived

Another day of climbing close to the edge of the Grand Canyon passed without anyone falling off a cliff. It is hard to capture the majesty of such a massive place. Things that look close enough to spit on are miles away.

Riveting as they are to us, I'm sure you'll think that the pictures look awfully similar. I agree. To get another viewpoint, we're going to have to get into the canyon itself somewhere. I'm not sure yet how to do this barring hikes that are beyond both our physical condition and expertise.



We are now in Page, Arizona. We chose that because we heard about a California condor release program at a place east of the Grand Canyon called Vermilion Cliffs. We drove past it and saw no sign of any public access. We are now working on Plan B.

Yes, I Am Scared of Heights

And, yes, I am standing near the edge of a cliff at the Grand Canyon. There aren't many railings and even fewer restrictions on where you can go. I guess the place is so vast there would be no way to police it all anyway so people are left to police themselves regarding where they can safely go.

Maybe it's a western mindset that people have to be more responsible for themselves. I don't know how much of this incomprehensibly massive wonder we'll get to see but we're going back several more times.

I'm in Utah!

On purpose!

You're thinking: John, you land in Las Vegas and turn up next in Utah? That must have been some bender.

It was actually the plan. Saturday, once we finally got out of bed, we went to the Hoover Dam. My blog buddy Gwen went with us. She's a professor at a college in Vegas whose Super Happy Fun Time Blog I stumbled across more than a year ago. She warned us about the insanely hot days and was a good enough sport to go with us even though we ended up going at midday when the sun shines directly overhead from a distance of approximately 46 inches.

Dry heat is still hot. I don't care where you are -- 103 degrees is 103 degrees.

Sunday we trekked to Red Rocks Canyon about 15 miles west of Vegas. We climbed a lot of red rocks and took a lot of pictures.


That night we decided to see a Vegas show. George Carlin was playing that night but we decided that 70 bucks was going to give us anything we hadn't seen in one of his HBO specials. A little Googling (I think the term was "Vegas Showgirls") led us to a show at Bally's called Jubilee. The show's web site featured the following picture:

We were in.

I found myself wondering as I watched: How does a woman dance differently when she's topless? The dancing didn't look all that arduous but they were trying to match steps to the music and to each other while parts of their bodies that usually stay under wraps were swaying loose. Doesn't that affect their balance?

I questioned only briefly the nudity's necessity. The numbers they did fully clothed looked no better than high-grade community theater. Bor-ring. But it wasn't a sex show. Most of the audience were couples. Just good, clean, wholesome fun for people 18-and-over with photo ID.

Today we drove to Zion National Park in southwestern Utah, passing through a town called Hurricane on the way. I'm not sure which is odder: the town of Hurricane in Utah or the one in West Virginia?

What Happens in Vegas...

...Doesn't happen until I get there.

I'm writing this while on the US Airways flight 571 to Las Vegas. In my rush to get to my 7:45 p.m. takeoff I didn't notice that its departure wasn't actually until 8:45. I could have finished the compulsive house cleaning I always do before I go on a trip. I don't know how the habit developed but I first noticed it when I lived in Lexington, Kentucky. For some reason I couldn't leave the house with a clear conscience unless the home was clean. Weird.

The vacuuming sends the cat into a panic. She runs off and hides and doesn't come out until after it's time for me to leave. Maybe the whole cleaning thing is just a way to avoid the tearful goodbye. I didn't know cats could cry, either. She will appreciate the clean toilet upstairs, though. I've caught her using it as a watering hole. I can't imagine what she thinks when she catches me using it as a toilet.

A copy of the St. Petersburg Times helped me kill the extra hour. Only $.25 and with two crossword puzzles, that deal is hard to beat. Sunday's paper costs only $.50 and it has three crosswords plus the usual motherlode of coupons that easily pay for the paper.

If only time would pass so easily on the flight itself.

The in-flight movie is Fool's Gold, in which Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson play the same roles they play in all their movies. At least that's what I gather from watching without sound. I didn't pay $5 for the privilege of listening to this epic through the airline supplied earphones. They set this version at sea for the apparent purpose of not having to work as hard to contrive reasons to show McConaughey without his shirt on. Hudson must not fill out a bikini too well because there's another actress who serves as the primary guy candy. No one has yet contrived a reason to show her without her shirt on.

Random bit of trivia noticed in a US Airways Magazine ad: "Barry Manilow is a registered trademark of Hastings, Clayton & Tucker, Inc. All rights reserved."

The pilot has interrupted the movie to announce that we are passing over northern Louisiana. It's clear from the frozen frame on the video screens that they're playing the movie from a VHS tape. The plane's in-flight entertainment system is probably newer than its engines. The second disturbing thing I glean from this announcement is that we're only about a third of the way through the flight. And I thought time on the treadmill went slowly.

Most people who have headphones aren't hearing the movie any more than I am. They brought their own. The guy sitting next to me, a 20-something artistic-looking type with small wire-rimmed glasses, is either listening to a comedy album or he's freaking insane because he keeps laughing. It's odd to hear laughter and not know its source. I mean, I know it's that he's listening to someting but I don't know what it is.

Note to self: If you see a Best Buy in Vegas, drop in and buy some earbuds. Try to download some comedy too. I do have a flash drive with about 5GB of mp3 music files to amuse myself with my laptop. The battery will last only about half the flight but between that and the crossword puzzles, I'll get by. Heck, the flight home is an overnighter so maybe I'll be so zonked that I fall asleep despite the back spasms these seats seem determined to cause.

Update: A scene in Fool's Gold features McConaughey and Hudson in bathing suits. It looks like the wrong one of them is wearing the bikini top. He has a bigger chest than she. She does have a luminous smile, though. Still I was wise to save my $5.

I'm lucky I got my drink for free. That luxury will disappear soon, according to an article in the aforementioned S.P. Times. And I'll be getting my last free checked piece of luggage on the return flight. Most airlines that haven't started charging for every checked bag will do so soon. As it is, I'm glad I brought some peanut butter crackers or I'd be hungry as well as bored.

Random bit of wisdom whose context I don't feel like explaining: Do not wear a necktie to a riot.

It's 11:50 p.m. Eastern Time. Less than an hour left. If you're reading this it means we're going to land safely.

Update: The pilot has announced that we're passing Albuquerque, New Mexico, 499 miles from Vegas. I have obviously botched my ETA calculation. Fargin' time zones. We still have more than 90 minutes to go and the flight attendants are beginning to deliver another round of drinks.

Relieved

We have rooms.

My brother Jim (not the Scottish wedding celebrant -- that's a different Jim McQuiston) and I leave tomorrow for a two week trip out west. We land in Las Vegas then venture from there in a rented Toyota Prius. Jim's original idea was to rent a room in Vegas for the first two nights and then stop and stay wherever we happened to find ourselves for the rest of the trip. It's not a vacation, Jim reasoned, if we have to be places at designated times. Let's enjoy the ride, roam where the spirit wanders and settle wherever we are when it's time to sleep.

I like the theory but we're going to wander to many places that might not have accommodations available for us to drop in. We're east coast people. There's a Holiday Inn or Best Western off just about every Interstate exit here. Out west? I only know from looking at the map and reading the warnings on travel sites about making sure you keep enough fuel in your car because gas stations are far and few between but let's just say that there's a reason the words "desert" and "deserted" are so similar. I feared we'd end up hungry and cold sleeping in the Prius. My spirit was not going to wander happily if that happened.

On the other hand, the trip was Jim's idea. He booked his flight, told me plans -- few as they were -- and said I was welcome to join him. I didn't want to turn into Brother Buzzkill (not the Scottish wedding crasher -- that's a different Brother Buzzkill) imposing a schedule we had to keep when one of his reasons for the trip in the first place was to escape the rigidity of the daily grind.

After checking for hotels himself, Jim saw my concerns and agreed that we should book rooms. Or try to. Many of the places book solid months in advance and here we were making inquiries less than a week out. But we did it. Between the two of us, we have rooms for all but three days which we decided to leave open. We'll spend one day each in lodging within Bryce Canyon and the Grand Canyon and the rest in places nearby.

I am much relieved. Now, please excuse me. I have to pack.

McQuiston News

I have a Google Alert set up to inform me whenever my name makes news. That sounds more vain than it is. I've read where it's a good idea to keep tabs on mentions of your name on the 'net in case someone tries to trash it. I don't have any reason to suspect that's a threat but Google Alerts is free and, I'm learning, sometimes entertaining.

You thought your drunken night in Vegas led to a surprise wedding? How about this event in Scotland officiated by a Jim McQuiston?

And if my life seems mundane, it could be that someone who may be my distant Irish cousin, Billy "Twister" McQuiston, has had enough excitement for both of us.

Big Bomb

Someone should have told Rick Dutrow that this has not been a good year for inevitability. Ask the New England Patriots. Or Hillary Clinton. But the trainer of the racehorse Big Brown continued to shoot his mouth off that winning the Triple Crown was a foregone conclusion.

Even if you did not watch the Belmont Stakes, you probably know that Big Brown, dominant winner of the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes, did not complete the sweep. He finished last after jockey Kent Desormeaux took him out of the race in the final turn. "I had no horse," Desormeaux said.

Dutrow liked to cite the horse's intelligence as a reason Big Brown was unbeatable. Maybe he should have thought that the horse would be smart enough during the Belmont Stakes to think, "Screw this! A mile-and-a-half is too far." Indeed a horse so bright might have been looking to the future. "My stud fee is big enough already, Ricky. Lead me to the breeding shed!"

But Mr. Dutrow, like Bill Bellichick and perhaps Mrs. Clinton before him, had to create such a loathing for his arrogance that when the inevitable became the unwinnable many people reveled in his downfall.

Adaptive Golf

The most recent story I produced for WEDU is now online. This was the one about the program that helps disabled people play golf. It comes at about 8:15 into the broadcast. However, the first story features puppies so you might not want to rush through it.

You might not want to rush through it, anyway. Even knowing what was coming after being able to supervise the editing for the first time, the final result dismayed me when it aired. I don't know why. Maybe I'm not as good at writing stories as I thought I was. Maybe I'm still adjusting to the format and to writing for someone else's voice. Whatever it is, I need to identify it and fix it.

At Last

The weight is off my chest. I don't know why renovating my web sites was such a burden but I felt like I was trapped under a tractor until I got them finished.

And now I have. Here they are:

JohnMcQuiston.com
Personal-Documentary.com

You're going to think: That took two-and-a-half weeks?

It did for me. I'll spare you the details. I'm still not sure if the color scheme works. If you have the time to spare, check it out and let me know what you think.