Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts

On Friday, I went to the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts (also known as "Arts Fest" or "That whole week I was blacked out" for Penn Staters).

The State College festival features about 300 vendors from across Pennsylvania and the United States. The event attracts so many people that it has gained significant sponsors over the years, including PNC Bank and The New York Times.

As for myself, I go for the art, but always leave disappointed. The artwork is phenomenal, but the prices make me cringe. The cheapest piece I found went for $45. That is tolerable, but the painting was about the size of a postcard. Something that size can hold its own only in a bathroom or a kitchen pantry. Any larger room would make the piece virtually invisible. 

The most expensive artwork I saw was an oil canvas painting -- tagged at $14,000. I know Penn State has some rich alumni, but that is the price of a small endowment for the elite, or the purchase of a car for those of modest means. 

Fortunately, the festival is free. Otherwise, I think many people, including myself, would find something better to do than gaze at artwork they can never hope to purchase.

I felt slightly out of place at the festival after I realized I'm too poor to afford anything of such beauty. 

There was one display, however, that made my visit worthwhile (and it was free).

Greg Glenn of San Luis Obispo, California, made a sand
"illustration" based off The Rhinoceros by artist James Christensen
at the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts in State College.

In a small park not far from campus was a man making a sand sculpture. His name is Greg Glenn, an artist from San Luis Obispo, California. 

Glenn said he travels across the United States with his family to various art festivals and makes sand sculptures. The piece he made in State College was inspired by a painting by artist James C. Christensen titled The Rhinoceros. The sculpture consisted of 25 tons of masonry sand, Glenn said. 

Out of every display I saw that day, Glenn's was attracting the most attention. Groups of 15 people or more would gather for minutes at a time to watch as he worked.

"And on the Eighth Day, He did say, 'Let there be sand and
YOLO T-shirts.'"

I've seen good sand sculptures before, like the Jesus sculpture in Ocean City, Maryland. But Glenn's piece, by far, contained more detail than any of the sculptures I've come across. 

What also captivated me was Glenn's spirit. Based off the brief conversation I had with him, it seemed as though Glenn is an easy-going person just looking to express his work and entertain his guests. 

To me, that's the true beauty of art -- not so much the piece itself, but the passion that goes into making it beautiful. The other artists at the festival possess similar passion, sure, but it gets spoiled when they put a price tag with three, four or five figures on it. 

I understand people need to make a living, but the best art will always be by the people doing it out of love instead of financial gain.

Defying the odds: The world's most awesome grasshopper

I tried thinking of a name for this grasshopper. Based off the story I'm about to tell, I think "Rambo," "Hercules" or "Evil Knievel" will do it justice.

I'm about to tell you a touching story about a man, a car, a grasshopper and its "I don't give a damn" attitude.

I left Mountain Top on Monday to return to Altoona for work. Before I got on the interstate, I stopped for gas at a Sunoco. When I finished filling the tank and got back into the car, I noticed something odd on my driver-side mirror. It was a bright-green grasshopper, about less than an inch in length.

Had it been any other insect, like a spider, I would've crushed it into oblivion and chanted an ancient hymn to send its soul to another dimension -- just to make sure it was truly dead. Grasshoppers are different, though. I always had a fancy for them because they're harmless, and I respect their jumping capabilities. They're like the kangaroos of insects, and who doesn't love kangaroos?

I figured this grasshopper would just fall off the mirror once I started driving anyway. So I started my drive and forgot about it.

Once in a while, though, I would get bored and look at the mirror and see the grasshopper holding steady. The only parts of its body that appeared to be out of control were its antennae. They waved furiously in the wind of the moving car, but the grasshopper showed no discomfort or worry.

I kept checking on the grasshopper for the next two hours of the trip until I decided to stop at a gas station near State College to take a break. I figured this would be the grasshopper's chance to depart, since it could escape without combating 70 mph winds. I left the car, went inside for about 10 minutes and returned -- and sure enough, that little bugger was still chilling out on the mirror. It was then that I began to ponder the grasshopper's motive for such a dangerous trip.

Was it in search of food elsewhere? Did it decide to carpool for migration this year? Was it performing reconnaissance for the rest of its colony back in Mountain Top? Did it possess a deadly virus that it planned to release in Altoona, thus starting a biological apocalypse that would allow grasshoppers to become the dominant species on Earth? Do I need psychological help? Whatever the reason, my curiosity was greater now than it was before.

I needed to see if this tiny insect would make it all the way to a destination almost two-and-a-half hours from its home while combating almost hurricane-strength winds. I realized I could be dooming humanity in the process, but I told myself that my destiny was now merged with this grasshopper. Plus, if I aided him in his journey, maybe he'd spare my family and me in the upcoming Insectmageddon. I returned to the interstate to finish the trip and possibly the human race.

Along the way, I encountered what I thought would be the grasshopper's doom. Several tall and dark thunderhead clouds covered I-99 near Tyrone, about twenty minutes from Altoona. I figured it was only a matter of time before the rain started. For the first time this whole trip, I grew concerned for my little green companion. He found a way to defy high-speed winds, sure, but rain was another story.

I sped up the car in the hope that I could out-drive the storms. Then it began.

Huge drops, coincidentally the size of a grasshopper, began to pound my windshield. This was it, I thought. My eyes switched continually switched between the clouds ahead of me and the grasshopper. I seemed to be more worried than the insect, however. He continued to sit there with a calm demeanor and a look as if saying: "Don't worry, bro. I've got this."

Luckily, the storm was brief, and almost no water made it to the mirror. We made it through the storm clouds. The sky opened up, and it became sunny again. It would be this way for the rest of the trip. At that point, I realized the little guy was going to make it.

Sure enough, I pulled into the parking lot of the newspaper, and after almost three hours of traveling, the grasshopper remained. I went inside for our 5:20 meeting and came out later to grab something from my car. The grasshopper was still there, and he refrained from eliminating humanity -- for the time being. I came back a few hours later, and this time, to my disappointment, the grasshopper finally left. I'm hoping that, since I'm still around to write this, the grasshopper spared me. Whatever the reason was for this grasshopper's journey -- sinister or otherwise -- he left me in a positive state of mind.

I don't know why this experience made me so happy. I'm sure grasshoppers and other insects manage to cling to vehicles and travel for long distances all the time. In most of the occurrences, though, we probably don't see them. They tend to hide in spots less obvious than on a mirror. That's what made this example extraordinary to me. Sure, the mirror blocked out most of the wind -- making it one of the safest spots for the grasshopper to travel. Regardless, had it moved too close to the edge, that small insect would've been swept away before I could blink.

Instead, it sat there and hardly moved the whole trip. It remained calm and refused to flinch when I would open or close the door. I'm trying to imagine myself clinging to the roof of a car for three hours. At some point, I would fall off because of the blustering wind or because I passed out from pure terror. I think the latter is what made this grasshopper so impressive. It showed resilience and perseverance that many humans don't possess. Some people are afraid of riding in a car at all. Try to tell them, "Oh hey, you'll be clinging to the door today while we drive for three hours."

What this little bug showed me was how it choose to brave uncertainty. It had no knowledge of what it would be up against or where it was going. It just decided to tag along for the ride. It could have jumped off any time it wanted, especially when I stopped my car near State College. But it stayed instead -- for whatever reason, I will never understand. This experience will always stick with me just because of how peculiar and inspiring it was.

It's hilarious that something as little as a grasshopper can make such a huge impact on my day.