…southern home of urban sprawl, long commutes, and much Christmas shopping. The drive out here was a bit shorter than I thought it would be, which was a pleasant surprise. I'd have come out here more often in the past if I'd have known that it wasn't so terrible of a drive.

What I'm including below is the text of a letter I just sent to Andrew Granade, an old friend of mine. Over the years, when I've gone places, the process of sitting down to tell Andrew about the trip has often been the moment where my thoughts about my traveling experiences coalesced into something coherent and worth telling.

For a bit of explanation—he wanted to hear about my experiences in New York, about Rent (which I saw on Broadway), and my thoughts on finally seeing the Holocaust Museum.

The photos are here.

Andrew -
Don't feel bad. If I wanted a big fuss made of my birthday, I would've said so months in advance. I try to make it a day (and if I'm lucky, a week) that I do things that I want to do. I'm not much hung up on other people remembering—though it's nice when they do.

I didn't realize how much I needed to get away for a short while. (I had an utterly different start to this, and then accidentally lost it. Then I realized that Andy was looking over my shoulder, so everything I had in my mind has now gone away.)