The Great Waan North

People I Drink With

2010-04-30T17:45:00.006-06:00

This wasn't supposed to be the theme of this post. But reviewing the last few months' photos, I cannot deny reality.

Stanimal turned 31 in February. All of the new graduate students (and me) helped her celebrate.
It was a progressive drinks party and my house was the second stop. Things got off to a really quick start once I handed out French 75s, which are Champagne spiked with brandy. It was like riding a booze sled down Mt. Everest.
We needed it though. Stress in graduate school is like the tide.

Continuing the escapist theme, our warm-ish winter had left us all slightly loopy from the lack of snow in the valley. One sunny Sunday I grabbed a couple of our Irish undergraduates and headed for Helena. It's not exactly a destination in Montana--basically a lot like any other sleepy government town--but I'd never been. There's actually a lot of cool stuff there, but I don't know why it hasn't taken off. Maybe the people are just boring?

We stopped at the Grant-Kohrs Ranch National Historical something-or-other. It felt good to get sun after having been cooped up all winter.
The Deer Lodge Valley is just pretty.

Helena has a couple of breweries but, moreover, has the state historical museum. It's full of Charlie Russel paintings, which are very cool. It's worth a visit but was basically dead on a Sunday afternoon.
I like the big skull out front.

A few weeks later I had my 31st birthday. However, my actual birthday was spent sitting in front of a machine shooting lasers in to zircons at Washington State University. It was tedious and tiring but getting it done was a great way to cap two-plus years of anxious anticipation. Eight days of shooting zircons left me completely wiped out.

We celebrated awhile later. It was a speakeasy party.
None of my photos really do it justice. You'll have to take my word that it was the best birthday party I've ever had. And yes, the Creepy 'Stache is 100% real. It was birthed by my prior facial occupant, Ugly Homeless Beard.

Somehow I managed to pick up a scholarship at the end of my very last semester. I'm blowing it all on obtaining more radiometric dates from volcanic ashes in my field area. But to do that, I need samples. So I found a snow-free day and ran down there to grab some.
Thunderheads built over the Anaconda Range and dropped bolts in to the mountains. I watched from afar between flurrystorms and blasts of sun. Summer doesn't really get going around here until July.

I graduate in August. There are many things I'd like to do between now and then, but first and foremost is to finish the thesis.

Bastards

2010-03-02T19:07:00.004-07:00

What my old house looked like when I bought it in 2004:

Aaaaand what it looks like right now under "new management":

Somehow they made it even uglier.

Roundup

2009-11-17T18:16:00.015-07:00

Sorry. It's been forever since I've written.

This summer was mostly spent in The Field. It was actually pretty tedious.
A clast from an undated debris flow "colonized" with obvious pedogenic features like root mottling and oxidation halos. Not that I actually know what that means. Pencil for scale.

A channelized sand and adjacent cut-bank. Hammer for scale.

A chert/quartzite conglomerate in channelized and cross-bedded sandstone. Hammer for scale.

Blah blah blah. Staff for scale marked in 20cm increments.

The reason it was so freakin' tedious was because I had to dig out my outcrops with hand tools.
The final sum was 250m of stratigraphy all hand-dug. I had a strong back by the end of summer.

The other reasons it was so friggin' tedious was because of rain and mosquitoes. And rain. And rain. And rain. And unholy buzzing hordes of mosquitoes.
Oh, and forest fires.

But it turns out the perks were pretty nice. Yeah, we had a wet summer. Yeah, the mosquitoes pushed the limits of my sanity. But man, that scenery...

Things could get kinda lonely out there. A cop rolled up once to check out the truck and didn't see me way up on the outcrop. We ended up chatting for 20 minutes about geology before a single-car rollover pulled him away. He was probably as bored and lonely as I was.
These two dudes on Segways got me excited. Who's the bigger nerd, me or them? I chewed on that for awhile. And look! The paint-striping truck! Whew-wee, high times baby.

I hired on my friend Adam C. to help me rappel some outcrops. Like this one:
We hiked in about 200lbs worth of crap, only to finish way ahead of schedule and dump out most of the water we hiked in ... which we replaced with buckets of samples anyway. Adam is in far better shape than me--he's summited Denali three times--so I was super happy to have not only a climbing guide but a porter as well.
Oh, and of course it rained:
I was at the bottom of some cliff when Adam yelled out and then wouldn't reply. I couldn't figure it until a few seconds later when dime- and nickel-sized hail started pelting me. Good thing we had helmets.

Sometime in there I managed to tear away from the field and go to my friends' wedding in Portland. It was two days before Joe C's ... ah well.
I stayed with the ever babe-tacular Megan 1.0.
And drove Zippy.

And took slow-shutter photos of the wedding dancin'. They came out pretty well, I must say.

Zippy and I drove home listening to In Rainbows. It was a wonderful trip.

Sometime in September I drove a friend to Laramie where we attended a Big Oil job fair. I stayed with EEB and ate honest-to-god Indian food. We don't have that in Missoula. J and I ended up touring a rig somewhere near Rawlins, WY--aka the end of the earth.
Fittingly, the roughnecks had nude pin-ups. They didn't swear or scream at each other though so we were kinda disappointed. A couple of weeks before, another Big Oil company took us on a tour of some local caves just for fun.Alas, Big Oil doesn't want to hire me. Yet. They're not hiring many people at all, actually. I'm still not sure whether to be frustrated or relieved.

Then I returned to Oregon for a conference in October. I stayed with the same people who'd gotten married. Danizzle was the first person I met in Oregon back in 2004. She and Mark put me up for a few days and showed me around town when they weren't working.
Their ridiculously cute kittens love me, so I didn't eat them.

Then there was Halloween.
Yeah!

Then I returned to Laramie! Follow so far? Big Hole, Oregon, Laramie, caves, Portland, and now Laramie again.
Laramie isn't too far away from Denver, where the USGS has a Core Research Lab. I stayed in Laramie and commuted to Denver during the day to look at tiny little well cuttings from a 1980 exploration well in the Big Hole. East Coast driving skills thankfully returned quickly in Denver traffic.
Data. Gonna have to work on that color balance a little.

I once again stayed with EEB.
EEB's dog is a walking, barking stomach. He'd roll out in to the living room at 3 a.m. and start emitting horrible dog smells. I took it as a sign of mutual respect.

The drive home was fantastic: clear and warm, which is pretty unusual for eastern Wyoming in early November. The elevation is something like 7000 feet. The skies were just amazing.
Sunset peeked through snow showers over the Bighorn Mountains. That's a place I gotta go explore sometime.

Whew, and one more trip: a late-season Geology Club tour of my field area.
Conditions were "marginal".They pushed the van out several times while I helpfully laughed and took photos.
So we ended the day and hit the hot springs instead.
And that's about it. To sum: Laramie, hot springs, mosquitoes. I'm also teaching Physics and Astronomy to K-8 teaching majors. This from the guy who failed PHYS 2306 three times. Given all the intense traveling and intense-er-er teaching, I'll be happy when the semester ends.

User Interfaces

2009-09-01T18:19:00.003-06:00

Whatever happened to buttons? My first experience with the iPod was less than wowing. Same with the iPhone. This isn't a rant against Apple products per se, but it is a rant about what I see as the fetishization of technology; I'm tempted to include the iDrive here, but since I've never used it I would have to rely on hearsay.

The novelty of these things wears off quickly when you realize you need to walk around distracted by the ol' hand-eye coordination needed to navigate menu-driven interfaces. I suppose it's a necessity for large volumes of data (e.g. mp3 collections), but it doesn't seem efficient. I see it all the time on campus: someone walking with their head down as they examine some small screen and carefully touch some smooth surface.

I like buttons whose texture, shape, position, size, and sound (underrated but important) intuitively convey some functional meaning. Cars epitomize this. Think about it: how many times have you had the seatbelt halfway on as you also clicked over the vents to defrost and hit the radio scan button? You're already swiveling around to clear your mirrors and back out of the parking spot. Or another: when you were in high school and reached in to your backpack to fast-forward through your Walkman/CD player?

This isn't meant to be anachronistic. The iPod holds an epic amount of music. Your iPhone is impressive capable. But queuing a bunch of music in the car or dialing a new number at a party is a mess. The trend towards these interfaces is irritating; I suspect it stems more from technological flash than utilitarian substance. But hey, if that's what people buy...

A West Coast Tour

2009-06-30T17:29:00.037-06:00

If you're short on time, just hold the page-down key down and don't blink. It actually works.

I dragged a German undergraduate on a roadtrip in the days before his flight out of Missoula. Phil's only stipulations were to see the temperate rainforest and San Francisco. Pff, is that all? We prepared Jiggles for the arduous journey ahead (i.e., filled the gas tank) and were on our way.

[Disclaimer: some of these shots are his.]

We started out along the Rocky Mountain front on our way to Glacier NP. The weather had been marginal but was starting to look better.

Glacier itself was pretty good. We hit Many Glacier first. In 15 minutes it switched from biting cold rain to brilliant warm sunshine. Ah, mountain weather.

St. Mary was brilliant the next day. We drove up as far as we could go, but Logan Pass was still closed due to "The Big Drift". This being my second time in the park, we made time for a quick waterfall hike.

The flowers were out.

But we left the park in a hurry. We had to make Seattle. And we did, driving through a drenching shitstorm. Seattle turned out to be the worst waste of money and time on the whole trip. Our expensive motel was ideally located downtown, but every bar within walking distance was overpriced and full of fauxhawk-sporting doofuses. Fauxhawks on 40-year-olds inspires the punching urge in me. At 2 a.m. we were woken up by parties on either side of us. Or rather Phil was woken up; I was so out of it that I pretty much slept straight through.

Two bonuses: while downtown, Phil got to witness some drunk dude yelling at his friend, "I am a straight-up HUSTLAH! I got money in the BANK!" He didn't realize people outside of movies actually spoke like that. Bonus 2: sushi made by real Asians. I don't think any of them were Japanese, but it was close enough for Phil.

And we were off! Olympic NP beckoned. First stop: Hurricane Ridge. Actually the first stop was Port Angeles, where we found a sixpack of Miller Highlife tallboys for $4. But then we went to Hurricane Ridge.
Sometimes the sightlines were a little short.But not always.
And the flowers were out.
If you don't like wildflowers, you're just plain weird.

The next day was spent at the beach. I've never had a sunny day at Olympic.
Phil took an involuntary swim in the Pacific.There were even wildflowers at the beach.

A major theme of the day was skipping the infinite supply of perfect stones in to the surf.

We visited the Hoh rainforest the next day along with more beaches.
We also found a sea-stack shaped like a boner. Outstanding.

We headed south, briefly stopping in Portland on our way to a night in Eugene. The ass-hats who bought my house have planted a little garden in the front yard and have a sign up sanctimoniously bragging about it being pesticide/herbicide-free. 1) I never used any, but somehow managed to keep things nice and usually undead. It's called "pulling weeds" and "watering" you stupid fucks. This is so obviously a cover for your lazy asses. What really drives me crazy is that people there probably believe your bullshit. 2) You worthless shitheads probably planted your garden in leaded soil--even after you saw the lead-paint test results I provided. I am apparently the only guy in Eugene who ever got his house tested for lead paint and, not only that, didn't hide the results from you during the buying process. I'm sure you are slowly poisoning your family. Words are inadequate to describe the magnitude of my dislike for you.

I feel a little better now.

Oh, and it was also nice seeing Joe and Megan.

Then we went to Redwoods NP.
The lighting in the forest made for some cool shots. The combination of enormous ferns and enormouser trees never got old.

Another theme of the "wet coast" were foreign trees growing out of dead stumps and logs. They made for some weird and occasionally Giger-esque viewing.

And we kept going, down U.S. 101 and then to the coast on California 1.
We stopped in some gucci little town for lunch, found the slightly less-gucci eatery at the edge of town, and I had the best burrito of my life while we watched Brazil vs. South Africa with a crowd of Mexicans. It was an excellent break from landscape scenery.

Phil wanted to see San Francisco. I wasn't so enthused about it: pricey, unfamiliar, and hilly (Jiggles has a gigantic clutch and no hand-brake). But we stopped in anyway.
Done. We pressed on to Big Sur and listened to NPR's Michael Jackson coverage on the way out of town.

Every campground we passed was full. Full, full, full. We drove on through the evening and in to twilight in our futile search. Phil noticed a small road going up in to USFS land in the coast range, so we tried it out. The drive up wasn't promising, but once we got above the marine layer/clouds we had one of the best views ever, anywhere.
The photo doesn't really do justice. Phil had bought some salami and we had fresh sourdough, so we sat out at night eating sandwiches and watching satellites pass overhead.

We continued down the coast after some "field showers" and our standard delicious breakfast of ClifBars and warm water.
Look at this last photo closely. It's like something from Captain Planet.

We stopped to watch some Elephant Seals.
They were either asleep or fighting. Just like grad school.

We hustled to meet my sister-in-law in Malibu, but found time to explore a little red dot on the map called "Nippomo Dunes". We crested a dune and Phil said, "You don't need to leave this country. Everything is here." Well, sorta. But yeah, it's a big country. I like it very much.
But enough beach time. On to Malibu.

Heather met us at an ocean-front eatery called Neptune's Net. Trav had taken me there before. It's a pretty spot and the food is good. Afterwards, Jiggles explored the low gears in an effort to navigate to Heather's place in Hollywood. When I say "Hollywood", I mean physically ON Sunset Blvd. I had no idea. It's ridiculously nice and she put us up for the night. We woke at 4:45 a.m. and went out to breakfast. It was a good idea, since we did Hollywood to Missoula in 18.5 hours.
And just like that, it was over. Phil is in Miami and will soon be home in Potsdam. I'm staring down eight straight weeks of mosquito-filled field work. And Jiggles is bathing in fresh engine oil.

Still Kickin'

2009-06-16T14:19:00.007-06:00

Sorry. It's been awhile. The old camera died, the old new replacement is sorta good, and the newest replacement for the old new replacement is only slightly better. And I'm busy too.

I cruised off to Oregon for a few days over Spring Break. Food and beer were high on the list of shit to do. Megan and Tony let me crash on the couch.
Cafe Siena: the Mexican Breakfast is the end-all and be-all of breakfasts.

I stole Kobe and spent my 30th birthday at the beach. For once, it was a birthday with sun. Not bad. I didn't think I'd miss the ocean as much as I did.
Good boy.

It was also nice to see some of the old haunts. Kobe and I rolled up Spencer Butte on a sunny day. It's amazing to smell the ocean that far inland.
The trail up. The walk up never disappoints, even when it's clouded over.

Other places, though, had irrevocably changed. Like my house.
The fence is new. Hmm, how are my Japanese Maples doing? And the rhododendrons I nursed back to health? And the lilacs?
Oh my God. They've killed everything. Those fuckers killed everything. The one goddamned thing the house had going for it is overgrown and half-dead. All that work... What kind of lazy shitheads shell out for a pricey fence but don't water the lawn in the dry summer? Those fucks. I hope they get lead poisoning and the plumbing finally goes to hell. At least it's not mine anymore.

Shit hit the fan in April. Travis got married in Denver in May during my finals week. I don't have any pictures, but it was good and fun and small. He's in Ranger School now, which lends perspective to what real stress actually is. But my semester finally ended. I won a bunch of grants--enough to almost fully fund my thesis work. That's really really good news.

I started field work in the Big Hole Valley in May.

The weather started off well, then changed. I've gotten rained out for several days now.
Why not geology in the rain? Well ... it's hard to measure stratigraphy on wet 30-degree slopes that are made of 50/50 swelling clay and rounded cobbles.

But I'm slowly making progress. Normally I dig out my outcrops for a day or two, then go in and measure the stratigraphy.
Digging takes time. It doesn't help when BLOODTHIRSTY HORDES OF MOSQUITOES do their best to find every gap in my DEET coverage.

Maybe faint cross-bedding? Can you see mud drapes? Maaayyybe???

Soon I'll take off for a week with a German undergrad in tow to show him some of the better parts of the West, then it's on to seven straight weeks of field work. I hope the mosquitoes die down a bit while I'm gone.

Bullshit Detector

2009-03-14T17:18:00.001-06:00

Time for a rant. Had to get some of this off my chest though.

"My ideal guy is ... "
I'm going to ignore everything you say for the next two minutes. Your chances of finding a biodiesel mechanic with a PhD who runs an animal refuge in his spare time are slim at best. But good luck with that.

"Animals are just people with fur."
Because cuddliness is an important moral consideration.

"I'm so happy to be single."
My thoughts on this are best summed-up here. Also, you're a moron.

"Results may vary."
This is why I've pretty much cut dairy out of my life. Stupid pills.

"If only we ... "
Yes, because despite your black-hole-like ignorance on whatever substantial topic we're discussing, your solutions to the world's ills are stunningly insightful. Problems are best addressed from a black 'n white worldview, because black 'n white is intellectually convenient--and we all know how important convenience is! You really ought to be in charge of something big and important--possibly an independent finance bank.

"Men don't care about women."
The market for boner pills proves that, yes, we men do care about women. Albeit in the most selfish manner possible, but y'know, whatever.

"What America needs ... "
... are presidential candidates who stick to the script. Good grief. In several instances over the last two years the Bullshit Detector has pegged so hard it broke the needle. Thank god the election is over.

"You drive a truck!"
This apparently increases my sex appeal by ~15%. Trucks are especially effective in University towns if they're plastered with environmental/band stickers but the driver looks really grizzled and tough and has a beard. 'Cause, y'know, he's like obviously tough but also sensitive in a manly sort of way. He drives a truck!

"BUY MORE AND SAVE MORE!!!!"
Orrrrr ... you can save even MORE by not buying at all! Holy shit!

"I thrive on adrenaline."
Really? When's the last time you started a fist-fight? And why are you always asking me to slow the car down? How long have you been living in this adrenaline-filled fantasyland where you're all edgy and stuff?

"Grad school sucks."
Not as much as real life.

Whewwwww ... sorry. Had to be done. I'll post some trip photos next time I take a trip. Which is hopefully soon.

The Greater, Whiter North

2009-02-13T15:51:00.003-07:00

It's cold in Canada. Especially in winter. So I decided to go to Edmonton for New Year's. And yes, I know it's February already.
That's pretty much what the whole country looks like. It was very odd to drive through all this and imagine how much warmer North Dakota must be.

What I like best about Canada--besides the scenery--is that it's full of honest-to-god Canadians.
Look! Freaking Canadians. Doing Canadian stuff. With Canadian accents. Speed limits? Yeah, those are in kilometers per hour. I imagine Canada's birth started with asexual reproduction of America followed by passage through a whirling vortex of hockey, metric units, Tim Horton's shops, ice age weather, and Manhunter.

Unfortunately, due to a combination of factors, I didn't take many photos. Without proof, you'll have to take my word that I did all of the following: made an involuntary, um ... coprolite precursor in the snow at -15F; nearly got my clock cleaned by some guy (honestly, I didn't know she was married); saw the world's largest baseball bat, cowboy boot, and indoor mall (complete with several rollercoasters, shooting range, pirate ship, dolphins, seals, and a waterpark with a wave pool); drank expensive Canadian beer using bizarro Canadian money; watched Hockey Night in Canada; and actually walked around in -25F weather during the DAY. Even the hardy Canadians were complaining how cold it was, though they still made fun of me for dressing like the Michelin Man. They also were confused that my car didn't have an engine block heater--'cause c'mon, don't they all? (Jiggles still starts up at -22F fortunately.)

Anyway, God bless 'em. They're nice people.

If You Don't Think This is Hilarious...

2009-01-11T19:15:00.001-07:00

... it's probably because you're far, far more mature than I am.

Beating You Over The Head

2008-11-28T16:24:00.002-07:00

I found myself nodding as I read this, but the real kicker came when I saw that the author is not some ivory-tower economics professor but head of a powerful division within a large financial services company.

Symptoms of Deflation

2008-11-21T16:41:00.015-07:00

On Labor Day weekend I cruised off to a special place in eastern Oregon. I've been meaning to go to this place for a long time. It's seeeecret. Sorta.

It's a hot spring.

Well maybe not actually "hot", but it's warm. Most importantly, it's completely ridiculous.

I was the only one there.

I'd never been there, so I spent an hour wading upstream trying to find it and an hour walking/wading back to Jiggles. Even though I only spent an hour in the pool and ended up spending a surprising number of hours behind the wheel (dodging elk at 3 a.m. is enough to keep any eyeball peeled), the views and relaxing soak were very much worth it.

Great stuff.

Then, as usual, there was the Annual Veteran's Day Road Trip. This year featured, as usual, southern Utah. I was accompanied, as usual, by someone with little to no prior experience runnin' around the best parts of the Colorado Plateau. And, as usual, there wasn't enough time. But it was still unusually good.

First stop: Zion.

The night was spent in the National Forest near Bryce. There wasn't a soul around.

The next morning we stopped in Bryce for a quick hike down Wall Street...

... and then onward to some of my favorite country.
Sunshine pulled a Patagucci pose while I gawked.

We stopped very briefly in Capitol Reef--enough for a few quick shots.

As the sun set, we ran around some of the badlands formed in the Mancos Shale.

One last shot at the abandoned house between Cainville and Hanksville...

... and then an all-night drive home.

Why I Love My Country

2008-11-12T14:03:00.001-07:00

Given recent events, it's weirdly prescient that I began writing this in August. I've been thinking about it for even longer since I got several comments in Eugene when I talked about buying a flag for the house: "Why would you do that?" I've been reminded of this again given the shame/pride voters have variously expressed about the Obama election. Some of the rhetoric about faith in America from both friends and the news has been ridiculous. This is my response.

My opinion of my country is formed by an historical perspective and not by recent events. I will never accept that one party or another can dictate or claim who or what is American; the idea of America is neither Liberal nor Conservative. I do not apologize for being an American and I am not embarrassed to fly the flag. I do not believe "patriot" is a dirty word. And I am certainly not a sunshine patriot.

But I also understand that many self-proclaimed "patriots" are utter morons. Like humans the world over, my countrymen can be jingoistic, shallow, selfish, self-righteous, fearful, impulsive, fear-mongering, materialistic, moralizing, short-sighted dumbasses. We abuse ourselves as much as we abuse each other. We declare our immunity to social responsibility by raising the shield of Rights. [Yes, very good, but I don't see where the Right to be a Dumbshit is spelled out anywhere. Is that an Amendment? Or does it actually rise the level of Commandment? Thou shalt be irresponsible, spoketh The Television; and Lo, dumbshittery did spread through the land.] Furthermore, my country, even if you squint hard through rose-colored lenses, has a checkered past: literally hundreds of years of slavery, the wholesale extermination of Indians, imperialistic wars with Mexico and Spain, rabid and frightening anti-communism, outright annexation of territory, naked greed and ignorant consumption, etc etc. To study America's history is to confront some very ugly truths about what our modern society is built upon.

So. Where does my patriotism spring from?

I believe in the genius of the Constitution and the authors' philosophical grasp of human nature: despite their own well-documented hypocrisies, they understood that concentrated power is guaranteed to be abused, be it in ensconced in a bureaucracy, a court, or even in the voting public itself. They understood that official blindness to our differences is necessary both principally and practically.

I believe in the enduring appeal of America to people the world over. We continue to draw the best and brightest despite waxes and wanes in immigration sentiment. We continue to attract people who want to see dividends to their hard work combined with functioning accountability and justice.

I believe our country is more than a collection of people and capitalism--it was founded on a set of ideas to encompass the economic, social, and religious diversity of the European settlers. It is telling that our bloodiest conflict remains the unsurpassed slaughter of the Civil War. We readily massacred our own countrymen largely over fundamental ideas about America--not over religious or ethnic differences, colonial repression, class disorder, imperial greed, or any other of the reasons Europeans were fighting for in the equivalent time frame.

While I do not believe that any boy or girl can grow up to be President (e.g., it's gonna be a long time before a lesbian atheist with Mormon roots goes anywhere politically), I can easily argue that it is far more likely here than in any other equivalent country. The historical trend is toward greater freedom and acceptance, not less. Consider the position of women 90 years ago, or blacks 50 years ago, or gays 20 years ago. We are evolutionary.

I believe we may be damaged by different congresses, administrations, Supreme Courts, and public panics, but like a well-built boat, America has the tendency to recover from rollovers. And I think we stack up relatively well: for every George W. Bush our voters produce, we can make favorable comparisons to Silvio Berlusconi, Vladimir Putin, Imelda Marcos, Jorg Haider, Hugo Chavez, or (my personal favorite) Jean-Marie Le Pen. Our serial inability to place ourselves and our country in a broader global/human continuum belies our ignorance. A closer comparison to others should temper both the knee-jerk jingoism of self-declared patriots and the impulsive damnations of our home-grown critics.

Last, if the day comes that I ever stop believing in my country, my countrymen, the Constitution, and the strength of civil society, I will not sit here and loudly declare that we're going to hell in a handbasket while I hypocritically continue to enjoy America's benefits. I will leave. There is no point in implicitly supporting a dead-end country with my continued presence.

And I challenge any of the modern naysayers on both the left and the right, those who readily dismiss the government and mock the American Dream, who perpetually make sweeping declarations that the country is going to hell, who cyclically declare every four to eight years that 60% of their countrymen are sub-human fools: when are you leaving? Do you have the integrity to support your fashionably moralizing declarations with action, or are your diatribes another great gust in whichever direction the winds of popular discourse are blowing? Are you so flaky that a mere changing of administration causes you to lose or regain faith in America?

Obviously this whole thing is a provocation, and it's meant to be. It isn't a denial of our current faults or sins of the past; it's an affirmation of what I feel are our under-recognized strengths. And even if you think I'm completely out to the lunch and dead wrong about everything above, consider this: Obama could not have won had he not attracted voters who had twice--twice!!--voted for George W. Bush. And how many of those voters went for Clinton twice before?

Cantonese for "Balls"

2008-10-23T15:15:00.002-06:00

This is really, really, really, really impressive. Watch the whole thing.

Read about it here.

Mourning

2008-10-22T09:18:00.002-06:00

One of our country's leading lights died on Sunday at the age of 81. He will be greatly missed. Thanks to Johnnybot for the heads up.

Depth of Field

2008-10-18T15:01:00.011-06:00

In the beginning, there was Fritz.

Wait, no. In the beginning, there was a dark garage. Then from nothingness did spring dramatic lighting, a new bicycle, and black 'n white film.

Then there was Jeff L.
Jeff's voice is one of the deepest voices I've ever heard. He was like Barry White, but deeper. The man was a seismic zone. This is pretty much what Jeff saw when he woke up every morning. Note the heap of Tostitos, salsa, and papers. W.C. Fields gazes unapprovingly over the whole mess. Sorry I never cleaned up my side of the room, Jeff.

There was also WUVT. If you have trouble remembering this DJ's name, note the hat.That's right. I want that hat.

Some time later we still had B&W film and dramatic lighting, albeit in a new setting.
The inflatable couch impinged on my piles of crap. Note that W.C. was still grumpy.

Through it all, a 'Yota flowed through it.
I started using color film at some point. My color technique never quite worked out. Most shots look like they were developed in the '40s.

ChiefJimbo in action.
We tried a similar shot for me but I ended up face-first in the mud

Spring Break. Fortunately the 'Yota did not make this trip.

And the rope swing. It was eventually cut down.

From one of my last rolls ... pre-wedding:
... and immediately post-wedding:

Thus did the film era come to a close.

Give Credit Where Credit's Due

2008-09-24T10:43:00.004-06:00

An excerpt from a Steve Pearlstein chat on washingtonpost.com:

Q: In the hunt for villains in the current financial crisis, I hear very little in the media about the responsibility of consumers for the problems in the housing market. Isn't the underlying issue the fact that consumers entered into contracts (mortgages) that they are now not honoring? If anything, the financial system was too optimistic about the intelligence and character of the consumers who were taking out these mortgages. They were too bullish on the capabilities (intelligence/character/cash flow) of the American consumer! That's not a populist message, but it seems like blaming all the players in the system - the financial intermediaries and their regulators - without assessing the culpability of consumers as a whole is a total dodge. Aren't there millions of Americans who have made bad decisions as borrowers? Aren't all homeowners participants in the price-setting that's gotten us in trouble? Where does that get factored into our collective assessment of who is at fault for this? It's depressing that the most common storyline makes consumers out to be victims in need of paternalistic care. Thoughts?
A: There's been a lot of populist resentment floating about the last few days, and with reason. But you are right: in the search for culprits, we all need to visit the mirror and look into the bathroom mirror. We've lived beyong our means for many years, and this is at the heart of the problem. And we got so caught up in the bubble that we forgot a lot of the basic lessons of household finance, in terms of how much we borrowed and how much we paid for assets. There's plenty of blame to go around.

Precisely. I'm all about Congress stepping up (finally after all these years) and asking some pointed questions, but their continuous references to the pain felt on "Main Street" should be understood for what they are: a naked election-year appeal to the consumers/voters who gleefully lived beyond their means and wholly contributed to this mess. It's easier to scapegoat those corporate sonsabitches than to admit you're just as greedy as they are.

Valentine's Day, 2000

2008-09-12T10:55:00.010-06:00

From the days before digital ...

I'm finally getting around to scanning my old prints. They're a poor approximation for grainy analog beauty but excellent nonetheless. These will only have meaning for a handful of readers.

Hard to believe that a number of these asses are married.

All Class

2008-09-05T18:33:00.004-06:00

One of the greatest Kids in the Hall skits of all time:

On a COMPLETELY UNRELATED note, does anyone have wedding pics? Tony Fiorini posted a handful on his site (ahem) but I don't have any from Buste-- ... Harold's.

Field Work, Season 1

2008-08-28T14:17:00.010-06:00

Somehow, between an apartment move, field camp, and 25 total days on the East Coast, I managed to get some thesis-related field work done this summer. I ate poorly, drank poorly, slept poorly, spent my own money (making me poorer), found my units to be poorly outcropping, and made a poor use of my field time gleefully smashing mosquitoes. But all those were all minor irritants compared to those eureka moments when simple observations about drainages, lithologies, and erosional surfaces came together or when the caloric bounty of corn-beef hash revealed itself in the embrace of a tortilla.

Oftentimes I had to dig out the outcrops. It was time-consuming but worth it.

Next summer I'll hopefully get someone to dangle me down some cliffs.
My clipboard and some maps are still sitting somewhere midslope on that first cliff. Totally unrecoverable but all replaceable.

Besides dropping my belongings down super steep slopes (along with, let's face it, lots of boulders and rocks and anything that looked like it could make a huge sound when it hit bottom), there were some other potential hazards. I found this after hacking through the woods for seven miles:
Hmm, how did those interesting gouges get in to that trun--... ohhhh. I wonder how many geologists have fended off grumpy quadripeds with a rock hammer. I also wonder how many geologists have been killed in landslides.
These gigantic fissures were just back from a 300-foot tall landslide scarp. Trees were tilted at all kinds of crazy angles. Since I'll be spending some time here again next summer, I could very well leave this world as a participant in honest-to-god catastrophic geology. SWEET

The tan lines needed occasional help.

But we all know the real reason I was out there.

The season was remarkably free of fire/smoke and the temperatures were, with few exceptions, almost perfect for field work. Let's hope next summer goes as well. But with better cooking.

My Kinda Woman

2008-07-28T10:55:00.003-06:00

The Stoic - Gwendolyn Haste, 1930

She guessed there wasn't any time for tears
Because her heart had held them all unshed
While one by one her little hopes had fled
Down through those racking, windy, drouth-filled years.

The frozen winter when the cattle died,
The year the hail bent flat the tender wheat,
The thirsty summers with their blazing heat--
She met them all with wordless, rigid pride.

But when, sometimes, the children in the spring
Searching through barren hill or ragged butte,
Would heap her lap with loco blooms, and bring
Clouds of blue larkspur and bright bitter-root,
Then would she run away to hide her pain
For memory of old gardens drenched with rain.

The line about wordless, rigid pride always gives me goosebumps. The last stanza kinda ruins the whole thing but I suppose that's the point.

SPF 50

2008-06-11T09:40:00.000-06:00

I still function. The last month was spent in Dillon, Montana attending our summer field camp. This typically is the last step for undergraduates before they get their B.S. in Geology.

Our schedule was five days on, one day off. Every day had an early start, a full day spent hiking across ridges, and a long evening of inking, coloring, writing, erasing, inking, erasing, and finally sleep.

It was a little intense but the perks were nice.

The wildlife was pretty great and the birds alone made the whole thing worthwhile--mountain bluebirds, tanagers, wrens, sandhill cranes, eagles, grouse, you-name-it. A group of students was followed by a friendly billygoat for over four hours; it was so lonely it barged through two barbed-wire fences as they tried to ditch it. This fella wasn't too bothered by me.

This one was, however.
In total I ran across three grumpy rattlers. The second encounter resulted in about 4000 gallons of adrenaline getting dumped in to my bloodstream. We also had ticks, which perturbed one of the Irish students so much that he wore a Hartz collar around his ankle for two weeks.

The weather sucked--as in worst-in-over-twenty-five-years sucked--but after suffering through the icy Pacific shitstorm that was Spring Break, we were pretty well prepared.

One super huge highlight was heading off to a well-preserved ghost town. The place was unbelievably cool.

Another super sweet highlight was heading off to a cave with L.L. and Chelss. It was snowing, we were hungover, the entry was vertical and icy, and it was my first time in a harness. I also left my camera in the cave. But everything went pretty well.
L.L. retrieved my camera a week later on his birthday. I'm still trying to figure out how to repay him the favor.

I got home yesterday right as a heavy snowfall warning was posted. It's June.

Here is my new address for those of you keeping track:

502 S. 6th St E.

I move in on the 17th.

I Still Do Stuff Sometimes

2008-04-13T22:07:00.001-06:00

But it's mostly geology.

After a 15 year skiing hiatus, I finally shed the fear that my knee would catastrophically explode across the bunny hill and managed a couple of days this year in January and Ferbruary--enough to whet my appetite, but not enough to satisfy it. It all came back to me surprisingly easily.

Discovery has easy slopes and low crowds, but it's an hour-and-a-half away. Boo.
It also has nice views of the Pintlers and Sapphires.

On the other hand, Snowbowl is visible from campus, only a half-hour drive, and has the best bar in Missoula. But the green courses were designed by a sadist: Great Flaming Leap of Death, The Crippler, Bayonet To The Groin, Vertebrae Pulp, 9.8 m/s^2, etc. I got better but it was still a challenge.
The Lovely Ladies of Geology helped me down the slope so I kept the Daft Punk jokes to a minimum.

The panoramas of Missoula and the Bitterroot Valley are worth the possibility of arthroscopic surgery:
Campus is toward the left and Missoula is obscured by the trees a bit.

I finally decided on a thesis project. No one believes me that scenery was not a consideration.

I'll be working in the Big Hole Valley looking at Tertiary gravels.
See? Rocks.

Spring Break was a geology field trip to the exotic Oregon coast. For about a week we stood in cold wet winds and the colder, wetter Pacific Ocean looking at ripples, scour-pits, dunes, and outcrops. It would've been a bit more tolerable if it hadn't hailed and snowed on us for eight of the ten days. This was the one clear day we had:
A major non-geological highlight was a beached sperm whale on the Washington coast.
Yum.

We also took a field trip to the Madison Valley this weekend. It resembled a cross between South Dakota and northern Nevada.

Not everyone had snowshoes though so we had to cut it short.

And finally, Spring has officially arrived.

Other sure signs of Spring:

35 degrees and sunny = shorts + frisbees
only five more months 'til ice-fishing season is over
squirrel-on-squirrel action all over campus getting me hot
air is less painful
raccoons feasting on sudden windfall of thawed barf

School ends in four weeks, then I'm off to field camp.

The Geologist's Dilemma

2008-02-29T12:03:00.001-07:00

In the interest of fairness: almost a third of the stocks and mutual funds I own are in "Oil & Gas" and a GIS grant/contract I just finished was for the benefit of a local gold mining outfit. The reader might suspect my moral compass is being overpowered by financial self-interest. My response belies some selfishness: financially and professionally, I go where the opportunity is--though not easily. And there's the issue.

The science of understanding the earth is closely related to the economics of getting stuff out of the earth--and we definitely need stuff out of the earth. Recycling, sadly, only goes so far and petroleum is both handy and established for our energy needs. There is a clear demand for these things. On top of that, I strongly believe the average person does not appreciate how many resources their lifestyle demands. The maraschino cherry: have you ever heard of an environmentalist who could conceive of a mine/drill site they'd actually approve of? No. Frankly, that's because they are hideous.

During my second year at Virginia Tech, my "Introduction to Mining Engineering" class (yes, I actually spent a semester as a mining engineer) took a field trip to coal mine in West Virginia. They practiced "mountain-top removal": this is a process wherein the top of a mountain or ridge is literally removed to get at the flat-lying coal seam beneath. The top ("overburden") is dumped in to adjacent valleys and reclaimed to re-establish native flora/fauna and minimize acid-mine drainage (a side effect of virtually any mining operation). I could talk ad nauseam about overburden disposal, acid mine drainage, regulatory laxity, wholesale landscape destruction, the bleak long-term prospects for these corners of West Virginia and Kentucky, and the unprovoked yet overly-defensive mine management during our visit. But the one thing that I will always remember is how completely destroyed the place was. Literally as far as the eye could see was complete devastation. This wasn't a pit either--we were standing on a plateau and the size of the place simply beggared belief. There are dozens of these places scattered over southwest West Virginia and eastern Kentucky (note the gray splotches toward the center of this image--those aren't cities).

Admittedly this is an extreme example. Mountaintop removal is not common and is only useful for certain geology and topography. But mining is inherently destructive to the landscape. What about petroleum production? Instead of gashing holes in to the earth that weep acid for years afterwards, drilling for oil and pumping it around the country is a fairly low-impact activity. Yes, there are oil leaks; yes, drilling pads are unsightly. But roads, too, demand earth movers, de-icing chemicals, leaky gas stations, and fluid-dribbling vehicles. They fragment ecosystems and serve as corridors for pollution. Why don't we view the oilworker the same as the road engineer? It's certainly easier to dislike large conglomerates and foreign countries who reap gargantuan profits from our day-to-day activities than it is the millions of small-time construction outfits. But which is cause and which is effect--Big Oil or big demand?

Oil, like mining, has a stigma that is difficult to define and not easily defended. But I still feel it strongly and plenty of other geologists do too. Moreover for us, the best money and some of the best research is done for Big Oil or mining companies. They fund plenty of graduate students and professors and can serve as invaluable resume-building experiences. Despite our appreciation for skarn deposits and salt diapirs, we're only half-joking when we talk about working for "the dark side". My opinion of working for Big Oil changes from day to day: sometimes I can entertain the thought (some of the most powerful computing in the world! imaging the subsurface!! off the arctic coast of Canada!!! at 40,000 feet!!! FOR GAS HYDRATES!!!) and other days I simply cannot. The Old Man tried to recast the issue: "It's not like you're working for a drug company." Isn't it?

How about those Giants?

2008-02-04T01:00:00.000-07:00

This has nothing to do with the Superbowl.

Steve Reich redux

2008-02-04T00:37:00.000-07:00

Joe 2.0 sent this to me. It's simply gorgeous. I know what you're thinking: did that big, tough, beefy slab of Waan just use the word "gorgeous"? Well, yes. Take some time out of your day and listen to this excerpt of Music for 18 Musicians. If your spine doesn't tingle ... well, I mean, how could it not?

Rep. Tom Davis III (R-Va.)

2008-02-01T17:55:00.000-07:00

Tom Davis is retiring from Congress. His Q&A with the Post is worth a read even if you aren't from Virginia.

For the record, Rep. Davis is the motherfucking straight shit. When was the last time you heard about a Republican congressman fighting for the DC right to vote? For that matter, how many congressman can you count who truly live by the credo of "bipartisanship"?

When I was up to my eyeballs in uninformed Leftist Coast rhetoric about how evil Republican Nazis were screwing our collective brains out and how the Democrat saviors were the last possible chance for democracy etc etc, I could proudly point to Virginia--conservative, East Coast, heart-of-the-Confederacy Virginia--as having produced aisle-crossing moderates like Tom Davis and Mark Warner. Both were more focused on solving problems than toeing the party line, and both got a lot done. For severely-moderate independents like myself, guys like these served as islands of political sanity during long stretches of national hang-wringing and divisiveness. [Admittedly for Oregon, part of the problem is that lately the state Republican Party seems only capable of producing ultraconservative foaming-at-the-mouth backwoods candidates; and in fairness, Virginia also produced notable loudmouth Jim Webb (D) and over-conservative Jim Gilmore (R). But I'd argue that, at least lately, Oregonian voters place much greater importance on ideology than the average Virginian.]

In fact, I even got to meet the guy during the 1996 election. A high school friend and I attended one of Davis' talks in Fairfax and I can honestly say that he irritated me. He seemed aloof, even evasive. But the man's record speaks for itself.

Hats off to you Tom Davis, and I hope you return to public service some day.

Autumn in to Winter

2007-12-30T16:12:00.000-07:00

Polishing off a photo backlog ...

In September we took an overnight field trip to Southwest Montana looking at Miocene faulting and sedimentation directly influenced by the "Yellowstone hotspot". The last stop was an outcrop of some fluvially-reworked tuffs.
The whole thing was a playground for the students who'd been cooped up in a bouncing van for two days.

September in Missoula was deeelightful. The smoky skies cleared and the leaves started turning.

In early October I jumped in to Zippy and we cruised down to Stanley, Idaho at the foot of the Sawtooth Mountains.

Cottonwoods were at the height of their color and the roads were clear, curvy, and fast. I got a speeding ticket.

At the end of October I drove to Portland to raid Ikea. I only spent four hours and four hundred bucks. This was followed by Halloween in Eugene. No pics unfortunately, but we discovered how hot I look in super-tight bell-bottoms.

For the Annual Veteran's Day Memorial Road Trip, I dragged an Irish undergraduate down to Moab. For once I didn't try to hit all the parks inside 24 hours. We spent most of our time in Arches. After driving through the park and setting up tents in the pitch-black, Cormac woke up the next morning and looked around. "This isn't real."

Most of my pics are of him. This is my super subtle propaganda to convince his Irish friends and family to stuff their suitcases with euros and come tour around our outrageously cheap, friendly, and euro-welcoming country. We want you! And your euros.

The second night out we were sharing a growler of Eddie McStiff's and looking up at the Milky Way when, for some odd reason, I turned on my cell phone. By coincidence someone on the other side of the country texted me at that moment and the message somehow made it through the one-bar signal. "The plunger in the bathroom at the bar im at looks like a dildo. Creepy or cool?" The word "surreal" came to mind.

In early November we got a pretty good first snow. It turned very cold.

The semester gained steam and became a litany of deadlines and bitching grad students. Fortunately, unlike any other graduate students before us, we somehow finished our projects on time and made it to the end of the semester without permanent damage. Truly a miracle. For the record: an A- in phyiscs.

This past week I cruised down I-15 to join the rest of my family for Christmas at my brother's in Orange County. Trav has decided, at the age of 32, to join the Army. He starts basic training on January 9th and moves on to Officer Candidate School sometime in March. Anyway, after several Christmases apart, it was great to be back together again. We took a day trip out to Catalina Island. The sun and warm temperatures were a nice respite, though the short days still threw me off. According to my body, warm weather = long days.
Dad got ice cream.

Susan got saucy.

I ducked in to Zion's Kolob Canyons Unit on the way home.

And now? Everyone's gone for our five-week break and I'm here working on a recently-funded grant. I'd rather be out exploring hot springs but a paycheque isn't such a bad thing. Happy New Year.

Vacation Idea

2007-12-09T16:56:00.001-07:00

I want to see a Space Shuttle launch before it's retired. Anyone up for early August?

And now for something completely different:

2007-12-03T15:39:00.000-07:00

Richard D. James is completely insane. Not safe for work.

From Wikipedia: "There are 127 uses of profanity used in the dialog segment of the video (which is under 4 minutes), including 44 uses of the word 'fuck'. This averages to about 1 use of profanity every 3 seconds." Yay!

The Green Fields of Ecotopia are Fertilized with Bullshit

2007-11-24T19:40:00.000-07:00

Big deep breath. Hold it in. Hold it ... and now let it out in one long rambling diatribe.

Al Gore is a pud. Sorry, this is not debatable. He's just a pud. Pud, pud, pud. PhD of Fap. Climate change is indeed something to worry about, but playing fast and loose with the facts does tremendous damage in the long run. I can't remember if he got the Nobel Prize for An Inconvenient Truth or The Day After Tomorrow. The rice fields of Bangladesh will not, in fact, start getting vacuumed in to space by daily monster-hurricanes next year (he didn't actually say that, but still). And to pick on other environmental pet peeves: industrial agriculture, in some form, is necessary for our well-being; driving a hybrid doesn't make financial sense and barely makes an environmental case; and extraction of natural resources--mining, logging, drilling--is inevitable and necessary. Lest the reader think I'm an anti-environmentalist, I'd love nothing more than for all of us to be running off of solar/wind/tidal energy, using biodegradable or recyclable products, and decreasing our need for primary earth resources. However, there is no magic bullet. For example: solar power panels tap a limitless source of non-polluting energy, but are created using toxic chemicals and facilitate further suburbanization of the country by decentralizing energy production/consumption.

Okay, back up. We need a better definition of terms. "Environmentalism", "green", "conservation", etc., are tossed about so much as to be meaningless.

Wait, no, in fact step back even farther. I'm going to reframe the entire topic.

I recently had the privilege to hear a lecture about humankind's effect on the geological record. Several authors have tried to quantify the human impact on sedimentary processes and species' extinctions. Low estimates start with our effects being on par with a gigantic impact (e.g. the event that finished off the dinosaurs: it pumped billions of tons of material into the atmosphere, sent epic tsunamis hundreds of miles inland to wash against the Appalachians and Rockies, and coated Earth in ash) on up to high estimates of us moving ten times as much earth material as is transported by river systems, glaciers, ocean currents, dust storms, and so on in a given year. Biologically, there is broad consensus that we are in the midst of an anthropogenic mass-extinction event on par with the five Big Ones of the last half-billion years. There is some debate about species extinction vs. entire higher-order extinctions (families, genera, etc.), but the fact that there is debate only over details is telling. The combined effect is so vast and utterly complete that a new Anthropocene Epoch has been proposed as a way to delineate our effects from the good ol' Holocene. Hopefully this conveys something about the scale of our footprint.

This leads to my first point: we can't unscrew the pooch. Humankind's effect on the globe is as devastating, complete, and entirely natural as any prior reworking of the biological and physical landscape. The only difference is that we have introduced morality in to the picture. Call it what you want--environmentalism, "conscious living"--but do not doubt for one second that most environmentalists, me included, view the world through a fundamentally moral lens. I feel it's important to make this point since traditional environmentalists have expressed alarm at religious types embracing the heretofore fringe beliefs about recycling, conservation, and "conscious" lifestyles. Why the horror? Are you interested in spreading your message outside your self-righteous circle of green? To make a difference, you've got to include more than your traditional lefty minority ... or are you more interested in a pissing contest with your enemies than you are in making a difference?

My second point: given the magnitude of our footprint, and the shear volume and diversity of people on the planet, our best strategy is to manage our impact. In short, compromise. This means that, yes, we need big ugly mines; yes, we need coal and petroleum for a while to come; and, oh shit, your beloved hardwood floors inevitably come from somewhere. It's no wonder "compromise" is such a loaded word. [There's special irony in me calling for compromise, as my inability to judge when and when not to is probably my greatest flaw; but, unlike many of my environmentalist peers, I at least recognize its utility.] We need to understand that our actions have irreversible effects on Earth, no matter how hard we try to minimize them. There is no perfect energy source, no true "leave-no-trace", and certainly no low-impact transportation. One example: wind turbine farms all across America (Montana, New York, Massachusetts, Oregon, West Virginia, you-name-it) are facing NIMBY opposition from, ironically, conservation groups! Why? Most commonly they "ruin the scenic value of the landscape". Please. Have you ever been in an airplane? See all those straight lines on the ground? See how most of the arable land is being farmed? None of that was there a few hundred years ago ... looks pretty fuckin' ruined to me! If you value scenery, fine; if you value reducing greenhouse gas emission, fine. But don't rail against global warming and then turn around to fight windmills on the horizon. They've gotta go somewhere. Repeat after me: compromise, compromise, compromise.

And my final point: if we really want to make a change, our individual initiative doesn't come close to our collective impact. Buying a hybrid is a great salve for guilt, but does it make a difference? No. Higher CAFE standards make a difference. Tighter regulations on mining and logging make a difference. Widely-available organic foods make a difference. The biggest difference comes, however, if such regulation is economically viable (read: "sustainable" politically, socially, and economically--not just naturally). Organic fetishists were horrified when Wal*Mart started carrying organic foods. The new critique is "monoculture"; simply being organic isn't good enough any more. I have some sympathy with their critique, but seriously? Expanding the market for these foods and bringing their costs down is probably the most effective way to make them competitive with regular pesticide/antibiotic/preservative-enhanced foods. [This belies my conservative sympathies that over-regulation can choke off growth and ultimately undermine itself. I'll admit to a strong reluctance to embrace the Kyoto Protocols, though I suspect that Industry overstates their case for costs.] Religiously buying locally-grown organic food is, once again, a good salve for your guilt--but it's not so different from eating a religious diet (kosher, halal, whatever): you'll feel pretty good, even smug, while the rest of the world goes about its business as usual.

In sum: go help the other side figure out a solution, be they industry or conservationists. Prioritize your environmental beliefs--climate change, water quality, wildlife protection, waste management, and landscape protection can have conflicting needs. Understand that profit isn't always evil, science is debatable, and change is ultimately inevitable. Let us all rejoice that moderates and church-goers are stepping in to green. Some decades from now we'll have lessened our dependence on agricultural chemicals, greenhouse-creating power sources, and limited sources of fresh water.

And finally, espousing severe arguments almost inevitably undermines your position and weakens the entire effort once the facts come out. President Bush has experienced this (though he certainly hasn't learned) from his cases for Iraq, wiretapping, and interrogations. He has sown his own seeds for failure. As for Al Gore, I appreciate that his movie increased awareness of climate change but I could easily argue that the movie's message was already widespread. Gore's scaremongering and loose handling of the facts has only undermined his message by giving critics a nice big factual brush with which they can boldly paint the green movement. So Al Gore is a pud, Q.E.D.

Now I can breathe in before I pass out.

History of Breaks

2007-11-01T19:04:00.000-06:00

Found this little gem about the modern history of the breakbeat. I could do without the editorializing (especially about "fetishization" of the beat, which belies the author's taste) but the history of samples is fascinating. The last eight minutes of the vid can be ignored ...

Unrelated angry diatribe coming soon.

Canadian Rockies

2007-09-06T17:43:00.000-06:00

I should be reading about electrostatics right now (recent conversation: "Didn't you fail physics, like, nine times?" What?? No, no ... only three and a half times. It would've been four but luckily I broke my leg.); instead, here are some photos from Labor Day weekend. I cruised up to Banff and Jasper National Parks in Canada. The Folks happened to be passing through on their 5-7 week North America survey trip so I met them for breakfast near Lake Louise. It was a good trip.

A pulp mill in BC. No reason to include it really besides the fantastic lighting.

Rain was just clearing in the parks. Photography was kinda pointless since wide-angle lenses do a poor job at capturing the size of this stuff.

Honeymoon Lake in southern Jasper Nat'l Park. I stepped in for a swim only to sink up to my nuts in a bog. Oops.

Some nice Canadians took this photo of me at the top of Sulphur Skyline ridge in Jasper NP. The scenery was fantastic given the relatively short hike. However, the fat chipmunks at the top were incredibly aggressive; they started a waddling sprint toward the sound of any plastic wrapper and actually tried to come up my legs.

Same view as above. Trailhead at Miette Hot Springs in visible towards lower left. The crowd at the springs was pretty ... disgusting. It's good to see America doesn't have a monopoly on fat, loud, stupid tourists.

View in the other direction looking up the Fiddle River; the rocks here are fantastically folded.

Heading back south toward Banff NP after the hike ... this is looking south toward the Columbia Icefield area. Another rain system was moving in and killed hiking for the rest of the day, but the low clouds provided some real perspective on how damned big the landscape is.

You probably live downstream.

Eugene to Missoula

2007-08-30T12:30:00.000-06:00

JULY

SOMEONE MADE A FREAKING OFFER ON THE HOUSE. It was very low. I countered high. They countered low again. I didn't budge. They decided to meet my price. YES. SWEET GOD, YES.

After three trips to Missoula, I finally managed to overnight in Bend and visit some acquaintances from ONDA. On a Saturday morning I woke up at 5 a.m. and started up South Sister. Since my camera was buried in my apartment in Missoula, I didn't take any photos from the top--which, believe me, provided some of the most outrageous views on the planet. The hike was one of the most difficult I've done in a long time, exarcebated by the fact that I hadn't had much exercise the preceeding year. I fell asleep at the top for at least an hour and maybe more ... lost track of time. I also peed on a glacier.

My last day of work was on the 20th. Following the adage "leave 'em like you came in", I wore a suit and tie. They put together a collection and gave me, no joke, a beautiful set of mounted bull horns.

Joe helped me get a trailer and move my larger items to Missoula. We discovered that Big Sky IPA is incredibly delicious and alcoholic, just like us.

I pulled over on the way home so Joe could jump in to the Clark Fork.
If this isn't the definition of Manly Sex Appeal, I don't know what is.

AUGUST
The last days in Eugene ...

More sitting around waiting for house stuff to go through. The inspection uncovered that I'd been sitting on a potential fire hazard for the last two years: my electrical panel was a widely-used brand that was notorious for failing to throw switches on overloaded circuits. It seems likely that, given the electric heating, space heaters, and multiple stacks of electronic equipment, I could have overloaded circuits any number of times and not known about it. Obviously this knocked a couple thou off the house price; fortunately they didn't decide to press harder. I, however, was pretty angry that MY inspector had failed to mention this little tidbit when I was buying. After some interesting "negotation" with Pillar-to-Post, they realized I could have pressed for damages in small-claims and decided it was best to give me a refund. HOMEOWNERSHIP is to FUN as CHEMOTHERAPY is to COLON CANCER.

Then there was the much-needed weekend trip to Virginia to visit the Folks and personally congratulate Mike and Dawn for successfully subverting the entire wedding industry. As tribute, I brought five bottles of Oregon liquor in my suitcase. After blacking out one evening, my awareness started to return as I hunched over a toiletbowl with a toothbrush handle stuck down my throat, fruitlessly attempting to purge jagermeister and gin from my body. Thanks for the tip, Laura! The cross-country excursion was also notable for a total transit time of (I am not making this up) 47 hours! This is easily enough time to reach Australia by walking. One night was spent in the San Francisco terminal; another was spent in a hotel in Denver.

Then there was the very sobering experience of a good friend and co-worker suddenly being admitted to the hospital. This 42-year-old man, who is healthier than most people half his age, woke up with partial paralysis and quickly went off the ER. After a very scary morning where stroke, brain tumors, and multiple sclerosis were all eventually ruled out, it was decided that he has Guillain-Barre disease: the immune system overreacts to an infection of some sort and starts attacking the nervous system, causing weakness, numbness, paralysis, and potentially forcing someone to go on to a ventilator. However, he did not dip quite so low and just this weekend was able to return home after a few weeks in the hospital. It was quite shocking to see someone of such vigor go down so quickly; given the recent health troubles of a number of friends and family, I'm grateful to be afflicted with nothing more than an occasionally funny-feeling knee. Good health is so easy to forget.

Last, there was the final yard sale. Kobe spent most of it trying to bite/gum Uncle Waan.
With Megan's outstanding help ("Hey! Yeah you! You know what you need? An electric chainsaw!"), I managed to sell damn near everything--the ladders, the lawn chairs, some Mensa cards, tupperware ... nearly everything. I am, however, stuck with an unused fertilizer spreader, hoe, pitchfork, boogie board, and Italian glass punchbowl. They look pretty goofy in my one-bedroom apartment.

... and the first days in Missoula

Two weeks ago I made my seventh trip to Missoula and didn't turn around this time.
HUZZAH. And no, I didn't actually drive with them on.

After a few days of haphazardly unpacking and getting bored, I decided to cruise up to Glacier National Park. This view is a little over 3 hours away.

I camped and traversed the park west-to-east. This is Logan Pass the next morning ...

... a lake near the eastern entrance:

... and the "Many Glacier" area near the Canadian border:

The views outside the park were pretty great too. This peak on the right is Chief Mountain and this view is just a coupla miles south of Canada.

I drove south along the eastern edge of the Rockies. There are a lot of fires in Western Montana this year so views weren't quite as great as they could've been ... which is saying a lot, 'cause the views were awesome.
Grass fire just outside of Browning, MT. Those dark blurs in the background on the left are the Rockies.

Classes started on Monday. Here is my desk.
Stupid distracting map.

Vote early, vote often, vote daily, vote with multiple email addresses

2007-08-27T16:25:00.000-06:00

A few of you already received an email about this. My brother Travis and his girlfriend Heather collaborated on a 30-second commercial for an open competition by Heinz. (Yes, the Heinz of ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise fame.) Lest you think this is some sorta "promote-my-brother" pitch to forestall the day when his poor broke ass has to move in with me, it's much more than that: I actually like their commercial. It's cute, well-edited, low-budget, and features stop-action tater tots, which are pretty much the coolest thing ever. The judges agreed with me and selected "Rescue Mission" as one of the top 15 submittals. The ultimate winners will be decided by internet voting.

THIS IS WHERE YOU, VALUABLE READER, COME IN TO PLAY. Yes, we need to beat the others in voting. Short of finding each voter and physically beating them, we'll need to do this democracy-style and mobilize the vote! Send this link around to everyone you know! EVERYONE! Also, note you can vote ONCE EACH DAY! So don't just do it once!

http://www.topthistv.com/vote.aspx

I *will* be badgering you about this!

Other news: I live in Montana now and am writing this from the University of Montana library. I'll get internet in the apartment in a coupla weeks so look for a massive update sometime in the middle of September.

Innocent Escapism

2007-07-13T20:03:00.000-06:00

Webcams are rad. Wait ... scenic webcams are rad. I mean I'm sure they're used for other purposes, but I know nothing about any inappropriate things that people may or may not do in front of webcams. For paying customers. All of whom are probably upstanding citizens. So, uh ... well anyway.

Florence, Oregon - watch winter storms roll in or check for summer fog before heading out.
Yosemite - always a classic but best in winter. I watched a guy build a snowman one morning.
Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park, Washington - one of my favorite parts of the Olympic Peninsula.
Mount St. Helens, Washington - cool to view when the dome is having a growth spurt or summer winds are kicking up the ash.
Stanley, Idaho - great view of the Sawtooths. Best in winter. Only a few hours from Missoula.
Banff, Alberta - best one of them all. Click the image for a full-size view. Great on clear winter days.

Montana Banana

2007-07-11T01:14:00.000-06:00

I read somewhere that Missoula is located in the "Banana Belt" of Montana. This means that while the rest of the state is reliving the Donner Party experience in the midst of -30 to -45 degree arctic blasts, Missoula is basking in a balmy -20 degree heat wave.

Summer, however ...

One foot is stuck here in Eugene and the other is already firmly planted in Missoula (blessing the Tri-Cities of eastern Washington with a skyward panorama like that beneath the Colossus of Rhodes). With most of my belongings already in Missoula, and only eight days left of furious training for my replacement at work, the only minor item left is selling the house. Piece o' cake. Right? Right?? C'mon, it's on Friendly St.

On that note, I'm off to sleep on the floor.

Audio + Visual

2007-06-22T23:02:00.001-06:00

Ghosthuster - Parking Lot Nights

When I first heard this song I thought it was merely interesting; after watching the video, I felt the urge to play Bayou Billy.

Likewise with the next one, though replace "play Bayou Billy" with "mainline a bottle of turpentine". The song alone is certainly interesting but the video really makes it.

Spoon - The Ghost of You Lingers

At Least an Eight on Moh's Hardness Scale

2007-06-05T18:33:00.000-06:00

Classes begin at the University of Montana on August 27. I will be there to start graduate school. There is a lot to do between now and then but I'm happy to finally have a firm date and place to pin everything else to.

Recently I was asked how homeownership was going. As I searched for a way to encapsulate my displeasure with the experience, I suddenly remembered the scene from Army of Darkness where Ash is driven to drink a pot of boiling hot water. I could go in to detail about the effort I've poured in to the house; suffice to say I'll be ecstatic once it's finally sold. I've learned a lot. Also, I'm an excellent plumber.

Work is drawing to a close, the quarter is almost over, Summer is almost here ...

Spring Break

2007-04-12T00:02:00.000-06:00

Instead of my usual Spring Break bacchanal where I, uh ... break my, uh ... leg ... hey, wait a minute, I never did have a Spring Break bacchanal! What the fuck!? So, after suffering years of not having any Spring Break, I decided to take it to the limit this time: work a coupla days and then visit grad schools. SPRING BREAK 2007: OFF THE FUCKIN HOOK

First visit was Idaho State University in lovely Pocatello, Idaho (aka Pokey-tello, Poke-a-fellow, etc). Given my late notice of a visit, I was expecting maybe a half-hour of face time with my potential advisor. Instead it turned in to a six hour tour of me meeting most of the department. Cool! They were diggin' my mad GIS skeellz and I was digging their, um ... really nice mineral case? Frankly their research wasn't exactly along my lines of inquiry. Their geomorphology faculty, while sharp and interesting, were more focused on current surficial processes than long-term landscape evolution and the stratigraphy/sedimentology guy didn't seem keen in taking on another master's student. But to their great credit, the department has a pretty great atmosphere and all seemed to have good communication with each other. The greatest downside, wholly outside of the control of the university, is the town itself. It's not a terrible location (right at the boundary between the Basin & Range and Snake River Plain) but it's a pretty downtrodden place. My best comparison is a small version of Akron, Ohio and I couldn't get a decent vantage point for a photo anyway. It's three hours from Jackson Hole, two-and-a-half to Salt Lake, and three from the mountains of central Idaho--not to mention the Uintas, Absarokas, Wind Rivers, western Montana ... dammit. Of all the schools I've applied to, they seem the most interested. I guess we'll see in the coming months.

Anyway, the next stop was just an hour or two south in Logan, Utah: Utah State University. The weather was still shitty but the views opened up a bit. Two words: holy crap. That damned campus sells itself. Campus sits up on a shelf (the Pleistocene beach of Lake Bonneville) at the foot of a range and looks out over a big valley. These are the mountains behind it:

And this is the view across the valley:

I was sprouting a mountain of my own. OH BABY.

They guy I've been in contact with at USU is studying the long-term geomorphology of the Colorado Plateau and how the rapid erosion of the landscape has contributed to uplift. It's a project that interests me but he already has his students set up for Fall. I'm hoping to get a provisional admission for the Fall to finish filling the sizeable gaps in my undergraduate record, whence I can get accepted in Spring 2008 as a graduate student. Eh? Eh??? Yeah, it's kinda half-baked, but he seemed interested in my GIS experience and my obvious drive to go through with this. Toward the end of my time there he turned and said, "GREs and grades and all that are okay indicators of success for a graduate student. But the surest sign of success," he turned and looked me in the eye, "is if you really fucking love geology." It's about as close as I've ever come to kissing a man. So if all of you who've asked about rocks on any of our various road-trips could write him letters about how much I really fucking love geology, I think it'd tip the scales in my favor. Anyway, I think it's my first choice school at the moment but I don't know that my chances there are so great. Again, we'll see in the coming weeks.

Funny thing about that last visit: after finding out I was parked nearby, he asked for a ride to his lab.

Heh heh heh. This photo was taken later that day on the interstate but you probably get the idea. We somehow crammed both of us and the lab researcher in to Zippy and cruised downtown for coffee. Coffee for Mormons is like garlic for vampires, so we were free to cuss and spit and compare pentagram tattoos. It was a bonding experience.

After Logan I headed south through the snow showers and spent the night at Zion. There's something about camping that puts me to sleep at nine and gets me up at five--so the next morning I was heading up to Observation Point before most people were awake. Awesome.

The sun just started breaching the top of the canyon as I started up in the cold. Given my utter lack of exercise the past few months, I was surprised to find that the way up was far easier than it was the first time I'd done this hike--March 26, 2001, almost exactly six years ago. Why do I remember that? It was the day I arrived in Cedar City after driving cross-country to be a dishwasher at Bryce Canyon National Park. Four days later I spent what I still consider to be the best birthday I've ever had: up to my elbows in a dish pit. So I got to spend this birthday revisiting a landscape of my memory.

Birthday fashion.

The view north. It was great to spend a half-hour at the top watch other early-risers warily scramble up Angel's Rest a few hundred feet below me on the opposite side of the canyon.

I only started to run in to people on the way back down. Remembering my birthday, I realized that I and everyone I know have pretty much reached their upper limits of maturity. For the rest of our lives we're going to think we're 28 (or 32, or 25) and stuck in an older person's body. Welcome to adulthood. It was a bizarre thought on an otherwise great morning. It was only 11 a.m. when I left the park.

The remainder of the morning and afternoon were spent blowing across southern Nevada at Ludicrous Speed, the whole drive underpinned by a soundtrack of clinking Uinta Breweries bottles and furious engine roar. I arrived at Wildrose Campground in Death Valley that afternoon.

Gawd, I'd forgotten how rough that lonely road is up in the Panamint Range. Each jolt brought a smack of bottles and a wince of pain. The next morning I drove up a bit higher to get a vista on the Sierras but decided to bail on another attack of Wildrose Peak: the trailhead was two miles down a dirt road. Next time I'll definitely bring the truck. Besides, by this time my legs were starting to kill me from the day before ... it felt like a gang of kids had attacked my thighs with their fists.

If you squint you can almost see the snow-covered southern Sierras way in the background.

So I decided to cruise home a day early and take my time in Owens Valley. It's one of my favorite places.

I don't think I could ever get tired of this view just east of Lone Pine:

This is the place where I'd like to be buried. Up to my neck. And stoned to death. Then buried again. It's that good.

I eventually left Owens Valley and continued through that forgotten corner of California and on in to Nevada, then back in to California again. A storm was approaching off the Pacific and there were big lenticular clouds over the northern Sierras. The sun was still out though and I got one last shot of Mt. Lassen and Zippy before pressing on toward Mt. Shasta.

It was a decent trip (2400 miles!), though one that I'd mostly done before. The grad school visits were good but didn't clarify much. I'm optimistic but not counting my luck quite yet. One thing in my favor: I really fucking love geology.

Good-bye, Station Wagon

2007-04-01T12:00:00.000-06:00

Recently I drove Clifford the Truck downtown. Tacomas are popular and I got some looks, but they didn't quell my concerns of vague steering, loose shifting, odd gearing, and the inability to whip around corners. I remembered why I bought it. Of course it has all these--it's a truck. Think about Eastern Oregon! And as I began to feel a little better about it, I pulled up to the parking garage window where I know the attendant.
"What's going on man?"
"Not much. I sold the wagon for this truck."
He looked at the truck and then to me and--paused. "But ... station wagons are cool."

Station Wagon, I sing your praises.

You cornered well. Even at the limits of handling, your roll was negligible. Other lesser cars would have killed me (and my passengers) many times over. Few things were as fun as jumping in to you and roaring up Mountain Lake or Ironto or McKenzie Pass and just wailing through curves without much worry. Excitable riders usually calmed down once they experienced your excellent handling.

You held a lot of shit. Drunks? Yes. Bikes? Yes. 1200 pounds of paving stone? Yes (barely). Countless moves, both local and cross-country? Yes. Ladders, luggage, dogs, couches, wheelbarrows? Yes yes yes. You were THE road trip car to carry my friends and I. And your speakers! And moonroof! We moved things in style.

And not only did we move stuff, we went places. You were well-constructed. Not once did you complain about your owner's serial neglect, though in my defense you never didn't gave me cause to worry ... not after getting jerked sideways through sagebrush, or averaging 1000 miles a week for 12 weeks, or gingerly easing down the Rooster Comb or up Pine Canyon on Steens ("how the hell did that car get here??!"), or getting steered in to a guardrail, or suffering a hack homemade stereo-wiring job, or blowing down countless dirt roads at inappropriate speeds, or you-name-it. Were you a higher-clearance car, I easily (and gladly) would have taken you to 280,000 and beyond.

Best of all, you were unsexy. Appreciation comes in boatloads for Zippy and Clifford. But you? You were an ungainly modification of a sensible mid-'90s sedan. Girls never said "I like your car". You were not a hatchback but a stretched, boxy, greenhoused station wagon. In my homeland you were the "anti-car", my proud counterpoint to the SUVs and bumblebee Hondas and tacky bullshit people glommed on to their cars. "What do you drive?" "A station wagon!" The bumper stickers were appropriate. Even at the end, the expectant couple I wanted to sell you to got a giggle from "THIS CAR CLIMBED MT WASHINGTON." It was awesome.

You were ahead of your time, occupying a niche with marginal competition from Camrys and Tauruses. Now Subaru and VW and Mazda and Mercedes and Dodge (Dodge!) have all moved in to your former territory. It gives me small comfort that I sold you here in the Northwest where station wagons are appreciated.

All this for a stupid car.

A Wagon-Sized Hole in my Life

2007-03-12T22:52:00.000-06:00

A 3,000 pound chunk of aluminum and plastic was removed from my life today. My heart is thoroughly broken ... it's like my Blankie was taken from me. Weepy, sentimental retrospective coming soon.

DIY: Linguini and Clam Sauce

2007-03-09T20:54:00.000-07:00

Thirty-eight easy steps. Beware of clam poisoning.

Step 1: Note that you still haven't cleaned up from your pasta dinner last night. Note also that you had pasta for lunch. Note that you should start vitamin C supplements to fight onset of scurvy.

Step 2: Apply some heat to this place you cheapskate ... it's freezing in here. Christ.

Step 3: Pry out that copy of The Great Escape and apply appropriate cooking music to DVD player.

Step 4: Review the ingredients.

Two cans of chopped clams - DO NOT GET "MINCED" CLAMS
Garlic - about 1.5 cloves per can
Olive oil
Basil
Parsley
Salt, Pepper

Step 5: Make sure you have enough canned clams and pasta to survive a communist sneak attack.

Step 6: Apply a bit of olive oil in to a pan. Turn the hotness quotient up to about 0.3 or 0.4.

Step 7: Cut the hearts out of some garlic cloves and gleefully mash them up. Apply garlic to oil.

Don't burn the shit. They should sizzle a bit, but if they turn brown the oil is too hot--either throw the clams in now or remove pan from heat. Otherwise let them go for a minute or less.

Step 8: Open the cans of clams, drain about half the fluid out, and apply clams to oil/garlic fabulousness.

Step 9: Woo, hard part over. You deserve a beer for being a sexy, brilliant, and modest motherfucker. Apply beer to face, with special attention to the mouth.

Step 10: Apply remaining ingredients: a coupla shakes of basil, a spoonful or two of parsley, and a single dash of salt and/or pepper. Let it gently boil/simmer.

Step 11: Put one or both of your hands over the pan and let them get a little misting of garlic, oil, and clam. This is important for later.

Step 12: Start heating a pot of water.

Step 13: Check clams. Check water. Ideally you'll finish the sauce at the same time the linguini is done--but you're not a seasoned clamsaucer like me so it's best to let the sauce go faster than the pasta since you can always keep it warm. If the clam sauce starts popping, reduce the heat to low; the water has basically boiled off and the clams are now exploding. Fun but messy.

Step 14: Apply sauce to linguini.

Step 15: Review the ingredients for the illiterate or lazy.

Step 16: Note that the sink looks a lot like it did 20 minutes ago.

Step 38: NUM NUM NUM. Apply to mouth.

OPTIONAL STEPS

Step 39: Sniff your hands at breakfast the next day.

Step 40: Sniff your hands at work the next day.

Step 41: Sniff your hands in the car the next day.

Step 42: Heat leftovers; apply to naked body and fall to floor in ecstatic convulsions, being careful not to hit your head on the way down.

I'm no de Tocqueville

2007-02-25T03:03:00.000-07:00

West Coasters are fun but flakey. East Coasters are dependable but insecure.

Gross generalizations? Yup. Lumping L.A.ers with Seattlites? Heh, yes. Northwest and East Coast bias? Pretty much. Bound to irritate you? I SURE HOPE SO!! But I'm on to something here. And since I'm talking about gross generalizations, please forgive me in advance for the excessive use of "tend", "can", "prone to", "a tendency to", "seem more inclined", "demonstrate a proclivity toward", "can be generalized as", and "should be rounded up and launched in to the sun". So yes, I KNOW, I have a VERY SKEWED view of both coasts and my GENERALIZATIONS SHOULDN'T BE APPLIED TO ANYONE, unless they happen to live in one of the affected areas in which case they should suck it up.

So, why risk offending my six precious readers? I'm looking for feedback. I always like to hear what you think, mostly so I can tell you how fucking wrong you are. Or, delictably, vice versa. Or, best possible result, I start a war of escalating comments that tragically ends outside a Las Vegas casino.

EAST

East Coasters tend to be an economically, ethnically, and politically diverse group. Politically they represent the entire political spectrum, though they tend to group by rural, suburban, and urban geography, shading from the conservative rural areas to the liberal urban areas.
They're more willing to raise the "bullshit flag" and be confrontational. East Coasters are more prone to honk.
East Coasters tend to be more formal and serious in their interactions, but are more likely to be able to cope with personal crises.
If you invite an East Coaster to dinner, they're more likely to be on time and wearing something "decent". They might secretly pick apart your decor, however.
Ethnically they are El Salvadoran, Vietnamese, Eritrean, Ethiopean, Iranian, white, Jamaican, Mexican, black, Korean, Chinese, Indian, Pakistani, and Afghani.
East Coasters are more likely to be church-goers, or at least more prone to feeling some guilt around religious holidays. And a note about guilt: it's more likely to be used, consciously or unconsciously, in every-day interactions.
East Coasters are more likely to be "financially responsible", chasing jobs and conscientiously investing their money.
When greeting a customer with "hey, how's it going?", a server or retail slave leaves the question mark off the end.
If I could use a phrase to sum East Coasters up, it would be "Do your best". Why? It captures a lot of the drive to be competitive and successful while also hinting at the insecurity driving that attitude--you could get hit at any time so view the world with at least a tinge of Machiavellianism.

WEST

West Coasters tend to be more individualistic and accepting of alternate lifestyles. Politically there is a tendency towards liberalism, though die-hard conservatives can be found anywhere. A common libertarian thread runs through the political fabric--no one trusts the government.
They're more willing to accept you at face value and be unabashadely open about their personal lives. West Coasters are more prone to casually swear.
West Coasters tend to be informal and casual in their interactions, but are less likely to be able to cope with personal crises.
If you invite a West Coaster to dinner, they're more likely to be late and wearing some "casual". They'll be focused on wringing every ounce of fun out of the evening, however.
Ethnically they are white, white, white, white, white, white, Mexican, and white.
West Coasters are less likely to be church-goers but more likely to define their beliefs as "spiritual". And a note about guilt: uh, they've heard of the definition before but ... guilt? Why would you make someone feel guilty, man?
West Coasters are more likely to view money as a simple thing, something to be used for lifestyle or fun--"easy come, easy go".
When greeting a customer with "hey, how's it going?", a barista or server is likely to really mean it and engage in a conversation.
If I could use a phrase to sum West Coasters up, it would be "Live in the moment". Why? It captures a lot of the openness and carefree fun while also hinting at the flakiness--personal accountability isn't so important if you're constantly living in the moment.

It's a little tough to make comparisons from my limited exposure. DC had the distinction of being filled with transplants whose egos matched their ambitions to be an aide for one of the gazillion Important People cycling in and out of power. Eugene has the distinction of getting nearby towns high when the wind shifts. Both are extremes in their own right. But my experiences in the East Coast weren't confined to the DC area or people born-and-bred there; and the same here in Eugene. God knows I've run in to ignorant bastards everywhere.

On that note, I get a seriously perverse thrill out of shutting people down when discussion turns to the East Coast. The elitism here in the Northwest empowers lots of people to make bold pronouncements about the arrogant, moneyed, close-minded Easterners--but they suddenly become very cautious when they realize they're around a native. This brings no small amount of satisfaction to my life, like the desert Tarantula waiting in his burrow for unsuspecting Prius-driving beer/coffee elitists to stroll by, whereupon it darts out like hairy lightning and sinks its rhetorical pincers in. ("So how long did you live on the East Coast for? Oh, you didn't? Ever? So how do you know what it's like?" Oops, did you just let an East Coaster make you look like one of those close-minded arrogant assholes you were just railing against? Fuckhead?)

But pointing out hypocrisy is one thing; choosing a place to live is another. I'll admit to some exasperation with West Coasters. And it's fair to ask, "So Warren, if you don't like it here, when are you leaving?" That's a toughie. Truth be told, I'm a big syrupy romantic at heart. The American West is an incredibly special place and when I'm traveling or hiking in it I can't help but crack a big shit-eating grin. At the same time, I've found it refreshing to be around people who truly appreciate the smalls things in to day-to-day life. Lifestyle is no small matter. Many transplants would agree, I think.

I'm curious about the upper Midwest. Good people, a bit lefty, outdoors-oriented ... flat, brutally cold, and insular. Dammit.

Maybe I should tend this garden. Though I keep hearing good things about Utah. And Norway.

Latest Addition to the Fleet

2007-01-23T17:34:00.000-07:00

I bought a truck in Ashland a coupla weeks ago. Princess Kiko christened it with a bottle of Asahi as I loosened the e-brake and wallowed out on to I-5 for the drive home.

It's a 1997 Tacoma 4x4 2.7L 4cyl extended-cab at 108K with a bedliner, shell, and Yakima rack. I'd been looking for a long time and missed several deals ... but the timing was right for this one. Despite being a 10-year old truck it's still newer than the other two vehicles. I think I qualify as a genuine collector at this point.

Sooo ... anyone interested in a '96 Accord wagon with 185K and plenty of body damage? It looks like it's taken a few IEDs on the chin. I already miss it.

The Year 2006, Reviewed Via Gas Receipts

2007-01-20T21:10:00.000-07:00

I am a gas-receipt packrat. Upon receipt (har!) they are immediately stuffed in to the arm-rest compartments in both Zippy and the wagon. Periodically I have to clean them out when they get in the way of searching my tape collection. That's right, I still listen to tapes. And yes, I'm still bitter about the whole move to CDs, which suck.

Anyway, what better way to sum up the year than to list the towns listed on those receipts? There was some other stuff (started grad school, painted house, got my teeth cleaned for the first time in ten years) but my happiest times were behind the wheel or out in the desert. Zippy saw two or three "Big West" trips while the wagon spent most of its time in Oregon's high desert. There should be more receipts but multiple riders paid for gas and I think I cleaned out the wagon armrest in spring.

Bellingham, Wa. (2 receipts)
Central & eastern Oregon (11): Lakeview, Silver Lake, Burns/Hines, Bend/Sisters, Crescent, Ontario

Orange, Calif. (1)
East Wenatchee, Wa. (1)
I-5 in Oregon (8): Ashland, Canyonville, Roseburg, Cottage Grove, Albany, Woodburn, Aurora

Utah (5): Snowville, Wellington, Carbon, Moab
Willows, Calif. (2)
Alpine, Texas (2)

Deming, N.M. (1)
Newport, Ore. (1)
Cuyumunge, N.M. (1)

Buckeye, Ariz. (1)
Eugene, Ore. (18)

Couple my wanderlust with a short memory and you get me wondering "where the hell is East Wenatchee in Washington and why I was there in May?" Hopefully 2007 is equally varied.

BOOK, EGG, DOG, CAT, BAG, oh give up

2007-01-15T22:56:00.000-07:00

For fans of Penny Arcade ...

Drop whatever you're doing right now and check this shit out. Oh my holy fucking shit. I literally haven't laughed this hard since ... man, I don't know when. My cheeks are seriously wet with tears. BRILLIANT. I mean WOW.

Second Chances

2007-01-06T23:03:00.000-07:00

In preparation for school, I've been cleaning out my house and going through old paperwork, taxes, bills, letters, car repair receipts, maps, parking tickets, you-name-it. And while sifting through all the crap (boxes and boxes of crap, stacks of crap, piles of crap, crap-mounds, The National Archives of Crap) I've been ruminating on "second chances". If you haven't noticed, I am a particularly unforgiving person and have trouble reconciling my charcater judgements with the idea of second chances. So with that in mind I stumbled across an old birthday email from Dad I'd printed out. It's a timely reminder that I am the epitome of a second chance.

Happy Birthday Warren.

I remember well your arrival. It was really exhilerating. Some day you'll know the feeling.....it can't be matched.....unless you include the "cliff-hanger" category of "college graduation".

I also remember the hours following your arrival. I think it was the first time in my life that I had to face the fact that I couldn't do anything to affect the situation....I could only wait. No matter of effort on my part would have any impact. I'm not a good "waiter"......I was even less so then.

I remember sitting in the hall that night across from where you were. The hall had equipment and stuff. The clutter irritated me. It was after hours, and visitors weren't supposed to be there. They knew why I was there, but they all ignored me. That was better for all concerned I'm sure.

Earlier the Doctor had convinced me that time would determine your fate......they had no means to influence the outcome.

The heart beat was off the charts. It was such a high number....I don't remember what. I just couldn't imagine it continuing like that. Surely it would slow down, but it wouldn't. That thing was going full throttle.

Your poor Mother was so distressed......and I know [I] wasn't helpful in comforting her. They gave her medicine to sleep.

I still hate that color of green the Air Force had on those walls. I'm pretty sure they had changed the color by the time you swallowed the screw. By that time, the hospital had also adopted the new policy of taking each kids pants when showed up at the emergency room.

You need to remember that upon entry to this world, you were given a 2nd chance......make the most of it. You've got the talent and the skills.

Cheers, Dad

What a great guy. Here's a message from someone who nearly witnessed his newborn son's death 25 years ago and he can still keep it in perspective: do good, try hard, be your best, keep the big picture in mind. My aetheism isn't so restrictive that I can't say I am truly blessed. I was granted a second chance.

Yeah, we all deserve them. Everyone. But don't fuck them up when they come along.

Remember to Lock Those Doors!

2006-12-16T00:23:00.000-07:00

There was a great article a few days back in the Washington Post describing police "bait cars" used to capture car thieves. I've been giggling for days (I have a very manly giggle) over the following part:

Aside from being a high-tech way to nab thieves, bait cars provide a rare look at the initial moments of a common crime. Most of the time, it's not that exciting, officers said, because most interceptions take place within about two minutes and most arrests within four.

But not always. In one Loudoun incident that has become infamous among area police departments, a man stole a bait vehicle and was able to drive it from Leesburg to Southeast Washington because of technical difficulties. Police eventually got the suspect, minutes after the camera caught him smoking crack and masturbating. He had spent part of his ride urinating in a soda can, then drinking his urine to try to quell a case of the hiccups. He also vomited twice.
"We still crack up about that one," said Detective Chris Dengeles, of Arlington's auto theft unit.

Oh My God. That video clip is begging to be used in a Public Service Announcement.

Escape Velocity as Metaphor

2006-12-13T00:58:00.000-07:00

NASA is planning to build a permanent station on The Moon by 2024. Think about it: life on The Moon...

Obviously they'll need talented people to staff the place and I'm already writing my application. Surely I'll still be in my prime at the age of 45. The rocket trip will doubtless be fun (25,000 mph to tear free from the Earth!) but I'm really looking forward to a happy life on The Moon.

All the residents will be highly trained and motivated to do our jobs. Teamwork will be the name of the game--no fussing, no fighting. There will be plenty of opportunities for everyone, from ice-water collecting to space engineering. It'll be expensive to ship things to The Moon so we'll have to be pretty self-sufficient--water, food, etc. There will also be a gigantic catapult to fling our trash towards the sun. We could occasionally aim sewage at Earth on April Fools Day.

Top pyschologists will consider how to keep us happy and cohesive. Obviously we'll be carefully selected for our social skills, trustworthiness, and complete lack of vice. We'll have no booze, not even wine. Ownership will be made illegal. Relationships would have to be outlawed too since they tend to be messy. Maybe close friendships too. Perhaps life sciences will be sufficiently advanced to surgically remove the anger and scars and rotten parts of our feelings ... I'm thinking arthroscopic lasers on the heart or something? Or maybe we'll just be Finnish. Anyway they'll have to think of a way to rid us of any potential conflict. I think this means minimizing our contact with others as much as possible.

But that's fine, we'll have the whole Moon to ourselves! Long walks would be effortless. I could stomp out messages in the dust (Moondust!) so the poor bastards I left on Earth could read them and turn green with envy at my idyllic life on The Moon. "LIFE IS GREAT HERE ON THE MOON. DON'T MISS ANY OF YOU. please send porn." I'd cruise around in a free moon-buggy and take long trips to the dark side.

We could build a low gravity dance club (named The Earthbounce of course) and spend days dancing to electro and eating astronaut ice cream. But I guess the club would have to be limited to one person so we aren't tempted by each other. Or if there were other dancers we'd have to wear space-burkhas or something. There'd also be low-gravity racquetball! Well actually I guess competition could create conflict so they'd have to be single-user courts ... but we could play against easily-defeated robots to keep our spirits up.

The best thing I like to imagine is sitting alone on a crater rim and watching earthrise. I'd have no one to share it with but that's the price to pay for being free. No hiking partners would be around to irritate me saying they're cold or have dust in their shoes. No phone calls from drunk friends. Why, gravity would barely hold me down! I would find contentment in my beloved isolation, like the Buddha did! I'll leave my life behind, take my heart outside, and watch the stars go out. To The Moon!

I'm spending this month winding down a bit at work but mostly looking forward to classes and thinking about where I'll go for grad school down the road. Somehow I don't think it'll be anywhere near Eugene. Oregon is beautiful but I'm done with this town. The University of British Columbia has some very cool stuff but is also hideously expensive. Maybe I could go to the University of Utah? Or hey, international! Australia? Norway? I remember fantasizing about studying geology in Finland as an undergrad. Fortunately for Nordic-US relations, my grades didn't allow me the opportunity live/drink in Helsinki.

Completely insane story: my roommate Chris got a job in Kansas City. He's lived here for eight months and was growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of job prospects in San Fransisco, Portland, and Seattle. Out of the blue this company in KC calls him, gives him four hours to get to the Portland airport, puts him on a plane, and 10 hours later he's stepping in to an intensely hectic environment at a media-design firm. For the next six days he essentially pulls 20-hour workdays with drinking in between. This company receives thousands of applicants a year and picked him not for his corporate design work but for his experimental and student work. They're giving him the equivalent responsibility of an Art Director. The best part is that he completely loves what they do and how they work. He's leaving us in early January. From Eugene to Kansas City ... it'll be quite a change but he says it's a cool town and I've generally heard good things.

I'll be in Alexandria, VA from the 23rd to the 26th. East coasters: if I haven't tugged your pant-leg already, we'll be reuniting on the evening of the 23rd, possibly in Falls Church. Talk to Mike. AND I'LL FORM ... THE HEAD.

THEY LOVE ME

2006-11-30T01:33:00.000-07:00

I am now almost a graduate student. Okay, so written like that ... sounds far less exciting than it actually is. But it's really exciting. REALLY EXCITING. See, for the last week I've had this horrible scenario in my head wherein the Officious Admissions Peopleses at the Graduate School sternly page through my application until they reach my transcripts, whence they gasp and abruptly break in to loud, sustained, stomach-clutching laughter and pass the paperwork around the office for everyone to wince at and perhaps tape to the inside of the toilet-stall door. I mean I'd forgotten what an incredible fuckup I'd been as an undergraduate until I reviewed my glorious record. I failed Physics 2306 three separate times. And Mineralogy? How does anyone fail that? Or Chemistry 1045? Or Structural Geology, Calculus 1206, Differential Equations (twice!), Statics, Intro to Engineering, Fortran ... ? I mean wow, HOW WAS I SO DUMB AND LAZY? WHY DID THEY EVER GIVE ME A DEGREE? And maybe the admissions people did laugh a lot, but the end result is that I am officially a post-baccalaureate graduate student. It's a step in the right direction. Perhaps by the Autumn I will be a full-time graudate student studying physical geography or geology and running around the Great Basin in the name of science.

Tomorrow I will walk in to work and tell my boss I am almost quitting. Sort of. I'll probably sustain some sort of part-time work until I decide that E911 can go to hell and find callers the hard way. And I will also schedule an appointment to talk to the U of O geology department about the PhD process. Because geology is better than dog porn, and God knows how much I love dog porn.

My Favorite Joke

2006-11-22T20:16:00.000-07:00

Okay, actually my two favorite jokes. In case I get hit by a bus or eaten, I'd like you to repeat one of the following two jokes at my wake. You can use it to prove whatever lame point you want to make about my character or personality or whatever. And there'd better be a fucking wake, or I'll reach out of the grave and punch you right in the beer.

JOKE NUMERO UNO:

A woman walks on to a bus and sits down next to two middle-aged Italian men having a conversation. One is speaking loudly in heavily-accented English and waving his hands about (as Italians are wont to do) to animate his story.

"Emma comes first! Then I come! Then two asses, they come together!! I come again, and two asses, they come together again! I ... pee twice, and then I come one last time."

The woman can hardly believe her ears and turns to face the guy. "You foul-mouthed swine! In this country we don't talk like that in public!"

The man looks wounded and is taken aback. "Hey lady, whatsa you problem? I was just teaching Giuseppe here how to spell Mississippi."

God I love that one. Really. Okay, here's the other one. JOKE NUMERO DOS:

A woman was shopping at her local supermarket where she selected:

a half gallon of 2% milk;
a carton of eggs;
a quart of orange guice;
a head of romaine lettuce;
a 2-lb can of coffee;
and a 1-lb package of bacon.

As she was unloading her items on the conveyor belt to check out, a drunk standing behind her watched as she placed the items in front of the cashier. While the cashier was ringing up her purchases, the drunk calmly stated, "You must be single."

The woman was a bit startled by this proclamation, but she was intrigued by the derelict's intution, since she was indeed single. She looked at her six items on the belt and saw nothing particularly unusual about her selections that could have tipped off the drunk to her marital status.

Curiousity getting the better of her, she said, "Well, you know what, you're absolutely correct. But how on earth did you know that?"

The drunk replied, "'Cause you're ugly."

I love it.

The Last Two Months

2006-11-14T01:07:00.000-07:00

This post is brought to you by my generally-reliable-but-inexplicably-racing heart which won't allow me to fall asleep. It's well within the BPM range of house. So: the last two months relayed, as usual, via poop jokes and computerized photographs.

The house had a small backlog of bottles. Chris helped me cash in the rebate. Homeless people at the Albertson's recycling machines were oggling our $23 of silica capital.

There's really no reason I included this photo besides the standard wagon porn and sweet t-shirt.

Speaking of sweet t-shirts: awhile ago I spotted some dude walking down Willamette St with a WUVT shirt. I crapped my pants, then my head exploded. Turns out he was a recent graduate of Virginia Tech.

Work sent me to Vancouver, BC for a national conference in the last week of September. I know, I know ... may as well be East St Louis, right? Well wrong! Let me tell YOU something, you big macaca! You think you know Vancouver but you are soooooo WRONG!

Obviously I was 6000% stoked to go. My co-worker Bob, plumbing his vast network of insane travel deals, managed to find an outrageous deal at a 4-star hotel above the convention center; I reserved a room for myself. He and a woman from another agency hitched a ride with me up I-5 and we arrived at night. After lovingly parking the (filthy battered) wagon under the hotel, I cruised up to the room after being told I get a "free upgrade from City-View to Harbor-View". Uh ... sure? Sounds cool? I wake up to:

Whoa. I mean, wow. I firehosed the window with barf, then my head exploded. The next half hour was spent sitting on the bed watching seaplanes land, taxi, and take-off right below me; tracking freighters as they passed slowly beneath the Lions Gate Bridge, itself packed with morning commuters; wishing I could join the joggers and bikers in their morning circumnavigations of Stanley Park; and just staring at the mountains that the city clings to. Good grief, do cities get any cooler? This view is the reason I'm late to the conference every morning--despite it being 20 floors directly beneath me. I also liked standing naked in the window. Hello seaplane passengers!

My bike was crammed in the wagon so I took half a day from the conference to bomb around the city and explore Stanley Park. My camera batteries died so I only got a few shots; here's one from the previously-mentioned Lions Gate Bridge:

The conference ended Friday around noon, giving me the perfect opportunity to drive very quickly to Banff and spend half a day there before heading home. But no. The house needed to be painted. (Insert long, sustained, deeply expressive cursing here.) I compromised with myself and, instead of driving straight home, drove north up the Sea-to-Sky Highway, past Whistler and Blackcomb, and on through the itty bitty town of Pemberton, climbing up an intensely steep hairpin road and then down a very long, very high U-valley. Unfortunately the camera batteries finally quit, but here are the last two teasers.

Views like these abounded. The Fraser Canyon even had Ponderosa and sagebrush--very cool

Leaves were turning yellow, the sky was clear, the road was empty, and everything combined in to Roadtrip Nirvana. This place was so far Out There that the road itself felt tenuous, like it was a meek attempt at putting a human presence in a place so completely wild, like the road engineers were nervously glancing around as they hurriedly built it. I've never experienced that sensation before. Roads have always felt boldy intrusive in other remote areas, as if wildlife and the land had resigned themselves to slink back. Not here. I guess the sensation was that I wasn't in the human realm anymore but in someone else's territory--an overwhelming sense even from behind the wheel. Maybe it stemmed from my unfamiliarity with the land. Now I'm curious about the drive to Alaska. Any takers for next August?

Anyway I turned south, cruised down the Fraser River valley/canyon, spent my last Canadian Dollaresse in my favorite town of Hope, and crossed the border to head straight home. Aside: there's something about me that invites a thorough going-over by border guards. This particular one was probably the nastiest, though seconds before he'd be laughing hysterically with a co-worker. At least he didn't pop the trunk like last time. He was even irritated when I asked if I could use the pisser. It's always interesting to see how customs, TSA, or cops do their best to ask lots of questions, repeat a few, and act a little irritated with at least one of the responses. There must be a well-practiced psychology behind it--a combination of their power and your willingness to please. Or maybe I just look like a gigantic weenie. Anyway I got home late Friday night and scraped/prepped/primed all weekend. Wowwie zowwie, painting shore am fun!

In early October I applied for a sure-fire job in Portland. The description was literally akin to "Tall skinny white guy with excellent taste in music wanted for cross-country geology transects with female Finnish exchange students; must be politically moderate/independent, willing to drive station wagons safely at high speeds, and have borderline-inappropriate interest in physical science." No joke, getting an interview was going to be easy. Right before our Halloween Party I heard that the position was closed and that I didn't get an interview. What? I didn't even merit a half hour of their time despite VIRTUALLY BEING AN EXPERT IN THE FIELD? NO PORTLAND??? I moped for a few hours and then decided to start winter quarter post-bacc courses at the U of O. I'm in the process of applying; the boss will be hearing from me soon.

Halloween Party: I was Heff, Chris was a Playboy Mansion (don't look in that lower front window!), and Joe was a roller-disco-dancin' badass. It was generally a success, though not as many turned out as promised. The next weekend ONDA had a year-end potluck for the volunteers. It was great to see everyone again and I got to party a little with a bunch of strangers in the Bend yoga and ski circles. Being around fun, young, alcoholic party people, all my age, was a refreshing change of pace from the Eugene Routine.

This past weekend witnessed the annual rite of the Veteran's Day Roadtrip, wherein me and a vehicle of choice commerate our proud veterans by driving to some desert and running around for all of one day. This time I managed to rope Chris in to coming along. Our destination? Canyonlands National Park! After a game of bowling on Thursday night, we left town to cross the Oregon Outback. Chris drove all through the night; I awoke for the Snake River to Moab stretch. During the wee hours, Chris discovered his "breakfast slammer": a cigarette with black coffee.

It kept him going for the rest of the trip. We were ragged but reached Arches National Park by 2:30 p.m. There was a friggin desert bighorn sheep next to the ascent road. I screamed, pointing and babbling, while Chris tried to figure out what the big deal was. We pressed on a little further and I watched my passenger's eyes bug out.

His head exploded right after this shot.

I get as much of a genuine thrill out of sharing my favorite places as I do introducing new music. This time I got to do both, like a WUVT roadtrip.

Chauffeur and chariot.

We made enough time to hit Delicate Arch.

There weren't too many people up top, but they were the standard morons: shouting to each other, letting their camera motors take the same shot hundreds of times, standing under the arch (ruining everyone else's photos), and mostly clad in overpriced expedition-grade gear to prove that, y'know, they're anything but simpleton tourists. So my fellow tourist and I scrambled off to explore a little slickrock. Here he is sitting on a gigantic pile of congealed poop.

I made him sit on newspaper for the rest of the trip.

We camped in Arches and the day dawned cold, windy, and overcast. We meandered through Arches, hit Denny's in Moab, and then cruised off to the Needles Overlook. It stayed cold and windy all day.

And of course we performed the obligatory Needles Overlook Veterans Day Commerative Teeth Brushing.

Dental hygiene is important, kids.

Last, we headed in to Canyonlands itself. Chris took all the photos; I'd gotten my fill when Matt Waite and I visited in May 2004. From there we headed straight back through Moab, Price, and on up over the Wasatch Plateau. Our early exit meant we mostly beat the bad weather, though Chris drove Zippy through wet snow near the summit (a challenging task with RWD and dry-weather tires). The next day a huge storm hit the Pacific Northwest, so we elected to drive the Gorge and come down I-5 in what turned out to be a record-setting deluge. Fun fun fun. Our mileage came to a little under 2500 and we certainly looked it.

That brings us up to date. Today I am contemplating how to sell the house (timing-wise), debating over a "Eugene" sale price for the station wagon (generally about 1.5 x actual value), waiting for my glamorous 2.01 GPA transcripts from Virginia Tech, and searching for classes at the U of O and PSU. I should get started on that "statement of intent" letter.

Why I Wake Up Every Morning

2006-10-07T23:42:00.000-06:00

Or: Why Ayn Rand Was On To Something.

If you're looking for another travelogue post, check back in a few weeks when I get around to posting the Vancouver pics.

Despite the tone and title of this piece, let me make one thing very clear: this is not a plea for help, veiled or otherwise. I have certainly reached deep lows in my life, but never so low as to lose faith in myself or hope in the future. If you take to heart what I have written here, you'll understand why.

I'm an aetheist. I'm an aetheist who treats his beliefs as seriously as the faithful treat their faith. I'm an aetheist who, for a long time, looked for positive beliefs in a philosophy that does no more than reject all others. I'm an aetheist who accepts the possibility that Something could exist, but feel that it probably doesn't care about humankind.

Having grown up in an essentially religious vacuum, I think I'm lucky to be an aetheist unencumbered by my parents' religion. I don't dismiss religion out of hand because I have some sense of how it serves all of us. From personal experience, it is hard to overstate how it can soften the grief of death; few things are so traumatizing as the loss of a loved one, and few places offer such comfort as a temple of God. Add to that a sense of purpose, organized charity, places of refuge, and established community inherent to any religion. (And yes, this perspective includes the exhaustively-documented ills of organized religion; there is no need to re-hash here what others have so capably done.) Further, I view a lot of religious injustices as reflective of human nature. Islamic terrorism is a great example: though religion provides a justification for the means, the roots lie more with poverty, economics, industrialization, corruption, and government surpression. On a deeper level it has to do with cultural traits like pride, family, social mores, identity, gender, and honor. If we had a world devoid of organized religion, I suspect that humankind would find plenty of other avenues to persecute itself--and to better itself as well. I'm sure many of you disagree.

But back to the original topic. This post is aimed at the aetheist who gives lip service to their beliefs, or the aetheist who refutes religion without providing an alternate philosophy, or the lazy aetheist who just enjoys spite (this was me for a long time), or the spineless fuckwits who chose aetheism because they're too embrassed to be religious.

So why write at all? My belief system:

offers no moral/ethical underpinning for day-to-day existence;
destroys any sense of significance;
is negative rather than affirmative--i.e. it rejects Faith and doesn't offer a positive path.

How could anyone realistically refer to themselves as aetheists? It's a wonder they aren't killing themselves left and right. I mean, Aetheism upends our entire existence, right? Doesn't it boil humankind down to a bunch of Darwinian/genetic impulses? And more significantly, how could Aetheism have existed for so long without imploding? How do I justify waking up every morning when my entire existence is accidental and irrelevant?

Simply put, I embrace Humanity. I embrace the best parts of what makes us Us. I would not be here thinking about this if I didn't have uniquely Human qualities: love, hate, insecurity, ego, trust, pride, honor, rage, sadness, or that oddly Human urge to reach out. I would not be Human without unconditional love for my family, without complicated friendships, without the scars I carry inside, without a fear of mortality, without ego. I would not be Human without joy.

My Aetheism defines an empty Universe but my Humanity fills it. And to what end? Joy, love, pride--is that all?

Yes. It's an irrational belief, impenetrable to logic and grossly egotistical in scope. But if we didn't have that ego, if we didn't have that sensation of standing on a mountaintop in the freezing wind and screaming from the toes, we wouldn't exist at all. And no, we don't need to actually stand on a mountaintop--genuine friendship, love of kin, fear of the unknown ... all of these Human expressions are easily equivalent.

Moving back to the lower-case human realm, none of our relationships are as warm and gooey as I describe. We do those most amazingly awful things to ourselves. As groups, we have committed such horrific crimes that our collective psyche is scarred; who in the world doesn't know what a Nazi is? Who doesn't know about nuclear weapons? As individuals, we thieve and lie and distrust others; who in the world doesn't carry keys on them? Who hasn't seen a relationship dissolve over infidelity? But despite this, we (most of us anyway) don't live without some form of hope. Be it genetic of cultural, it is always present.

Now you should understand why I get righteous when confronted with manipulation, dishonesty, unfairness, or lying. They betray our best qualities. They poison us--me. They diminish what and who we are. It's that incredulous reaction of "How is it possible that you don't understand how this all works? How can you be so short-sighted?" When people get so wrapped up in their insecurities or fears (and fear is the most terrible of all), I become so angry. So much energy is wasted on internal stress. Are you still rebelling at your parents? Do you still hurt from that last relationship? Do you over-compensate for your weaknesses? For myself and for you, it's just not worth it. The bottom line is that we're going to die. What happens between here and then is up to us: a life spent worrying or compensating or hiding or scared, or a world of experiences and sensation and people.

So there: a very, very rough draft of my beliefs. Really this whole thing is a poor justification of why I want to learn how to dance like David Bernal (Elsewhere). We now to return to my irregularly-scheduled paint removal and the few sunny days left in the season.

Sagebrush Porn

2006-09-19T00:43:00.000-06:00

Hello, Americain idioth. Travelogue is in full swing again.

A few weeks ago I teamed up with ONDA once again in the eternal struggle against barbed-wire fences. This time it was at Hart Mtn Wildlife Refuge, which, for all you know, could be in Siberia*.

Hart Mtn is kinda like Steens but smaller and less accessible. It comprises two plateaux: Hart Mtn and Poker Jim Ridge. I'm guessing the Oregon Geographic Naming Committee was drinking a lot the night before that was named. I navigated using The Force and arrived as usual--circa 1 a.m. Desert stars are always good but these were extra super good. In the foreground were some fighters doing nightime aerial exercises. They dropped IR flares and hit the throttle, giving everyone an unanticipated sound and light show; the next morning I was the only one not pissed at the military. I just love freedom more than they do. HA

Not the finest picture of me, but check out the big field o' wetlands. We were sweating it out in the sagebrush while ducks quacked a few feet away. Very surreal.

We finished a day early so everyone had the chance to run around as they pleased. I headed up Hart Mtn itself. As I crested the edge I immediately encountered 30 to 40 pronghorn less than a quarter mile away. They froze to check me out, then one-by-one accelerated in small dust plumes across the flat scrub.

The pic obviously doesn't do justice. They're a lot different from deer since they head off in long, straight lines and run so fast--the fastest recorded speed is over 60 mph. Earlier in the trip we'd spooked some and they matched the car at 35 mph and then accelerated so they could angle in front of us. Their species actually evolved alongside North American cheetahs, lions, and wolves several thousand years ago, explaining their speed: no modern North American predator comes close to keeping up.

View off the edge of the plateau. Smoke from several Cascades fires really cut visibility in eastern Oregon that weekend.

LLLLLLLLADIES!!! Yeah, I'm posting naked pictures of myself on the internet ... try to act like you're surprised/shocked. And for those of you wondering, the camera was perched on my backpack and running on a timer.

There was a very small patch of trees clinging to the edge of the plateau. God knows how many brushfires they've survived. The hills were scarred with long stripes of light and dark from fires long ago.

Right behind those trees was a view down DeGarmo Canyon. It was DeFriggin' Huge.

... aaand the famed hot springs--or "spring"--at our campsite. Anything associated with water takes on bigger meaning in the desert.

That night we had a massive dinner, courtesy longtime ONDA member M. F. Holmes. His name is a close second to Poker Jim. Anyway I had an incredible conversation with a former Foreign Service Officer. It's a career I've been considering but had stopped researching at the point of "consult retired FSOs". This guy had a completely open-minded take on his profession and actually shared quite a bit of my outlook on life. The best part was that he and I disagreed on plenty of political matters--they were irrelevant in the larger context of talking about real values, beauracracy, and the politics of getting a job done. Given Eugene's stifling political climate (encompassed by the oft-repeated "FUCK BUSH"), it was refreshing to talk to someone who was: a) highly educated; b) very liberal; c) not given to broad-brushing Republicans as religious fascists; and d) had experienced four administrations, lending his words some weight. I'll have to think about this State Department business. Hopefully no one tells them about my hawt interweb buttcheek photo.

So that was Hart Mtn. I've also been painting my house. BEHOLD:

Scraping paint sucks. It really, really sucks. But at least I saved $12,000 of nonexistent money. And lemme tell ya, that feels really, really good.

Just this weekend was the last fence-pull of the year: the Barrington Trail on Steens Mtn.

Once again I rolled in late to the rally point (but before midnight!) and slept in the back of the wagon. Morning brought an ominous sight:

Oof. The front passed though and the forecast was for improvement over the next two days. Our Dirty Dozen rallied and began the 3000 foot slog up the side of Wildhorse Canyon.

A decent view of Wildhorse.

We pushed hard but the views were great compensation.

Things were kinda brisk once we crested the plateau. Steens crest loomed above us several miles away and a coupla thousand feet up. It's an incredible view.

Our campsite was adjacent to an old corral at 7000 feet. It was cold that night and we couldn't light a campfire. I wore three pairs of pants, two t-shirts, and two hooded vests inside my cinched-down zipped-up zero-degree bag. I was barely warm enough to sleep. Getting out of the tent at night to pee was lots of fun.

The next day had lots of wind and some snow/hail showers. There was enough sun to keep us optimistic but that changed quickly once we reached a more exposed section of fence.

It snowed right after this shot.

The views of Steens were awesome with the clouds. Kinda looks like ... The Falklands? South Georgia? Somewhere in Tibet?

I cranked the wire-roller with one hand while I shot this with the other.

The crew at the end of the day.

Heading "home" to the copse of trees in the small basin just above center.

Another cold night. People were a little better prepared for it but everyone was feeling the effects of the hike in and the subsequent day spent in the wind. I don't think anyone had warm feet for three days. The next morning was kinda dispiriting:

Yikes. That's frost and frozen precip as viewed from our campsite. We had to make a decision about what to do: the consensus was to pack camp, pull some fence, and bail later in the day depending on weather.

The view east of the mountain was hopeful but weather was coming from the gray west.

Steens broods.

Heading out to the fenceline. Oddly enough the rabbitbrush was in full bloom.

A break for snax. Notice the fenceline receding into infinity. There's a gazillion miles of the stuff up there. Gosh, it's almost like someone was up here ranching some years ago. HMMMMMMM. The weather started to clear but we were already heading off the mountain. The original plan was to go out the next morning anyway so it kinda worked out.

Wildhorse Canyon again as we hiked down the side. After three days of sweating, farting, sleeping, farting, farting, freezing, and farting in the same set of clothes, I smelled like I'd been wrestling hobos inside a dumpster used by a cheap Mexican restaurant. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

The 'Yota reincarnated.

That night we decided to car-camp together near the Alvord Hot Springs. It was to be a relaxing end to a strenuous three days. We headed down to the springs at night and skinny-dipped together, but the whole thing was crashed by two redneck hunters. I'll spare the details here (nothing physical) but the experience was enough to largely ruin the trip for me. I need to work on those intermediate steps between letting things slide and letting my anger scorch everything in sight. You'd think at 27 I'd be able to figure this shit out already. Christ.

Well anyway, I woke up the next morning somewhat unsettled. What better way to lift the spirts than blow across a big playa at 90 mph? The Alvord Desert was just a quick turn off the dirt road. God it felt good to get out there again. I cranked Bloc Party and did some big S-turns at high speed.

I'M HUGE, RARRRR. No tripod, so this portrait was taken on the ground ... hence the whacky perspective. Steens is the background mountain.

Bob D at work told me how, Back in The Day, he and his college buddies used to head out to the Alvord and run as fast as they could with their eyes closed to the count of 100. I tried it but only could make it to 40. My mind kept visualizing broken sidewalks, dogs, tree roots, fences ... but really I could have run to the count of 1000. Or 10000. Cool.

Road hazard on the way home.

Jerky on four legs. Mmmm.

The weather allowed for incredible visibility. Just as I finally lost sight of Steens, I started to gain sight of the Three Sisters.

The Three Sisters from the dry side of the Cascades ...

... and from the wet side. This was McKenzie Pass just inside Lane County. I realized recently that it would take about 4 hours to cross our county from Coast to Cascades. Zam.

Yours truly stumbling on basalt.

I had, ah ... a moment of inattentiveness shortly after that last pic and, well ... drifted in to a guard rail. The wagon's side is badly scraped and dinged in--enough so that the shotgun door doesn't open enough to get in and the paint is rubbed off completely in a couple of spots. This should put a lid on my driving ego for awhile. No pictures.

So that's that. Until next year, no more fence-pulls, no more pooping out burrs, and no more smuggling burritos under my arms. Life continues at its mad clip. After all this stupid photo formatting, I've got no will to give any more news.

*Obviously a lie, since I'd have replaced my pliers with a Basselope X-15 delivery system and this blog would be devoted to the pleasures of eating Milk-Bones in our newly commie-free world.

Five Topics, One Post

2006-08-31T22:59:00.000-06:00

Aaaaaand GO.

THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY
Oh gimme a break. What a bunch of eunuchs. The only reason they have a chance is because the Republicans are abusing their power and have let the conservatives run amok. (And yes, there is a difference between a Republican and a conservative--though not as much as there used to be.) The fact that the Democrats lost twice--twice!--to George W. Bush, one of the most vulnerable presidential candidates in recent history, speaks volumes as to the leadership and base of the party. And don't gimme that crap about how screwed up the American people and how this country is going to hell. These are the same people who gave Clinton two terms. No, the problem is with the Democrats and the issues in the last election prove my point. Can anyone tell me what Kerry was FOR? Where the hell was the positive thinking, the progressive action, the ideas for the future? NOTHING! The entirety of their message was "uh, we're pro-defense too!" and "Bush sucks!" God knows there was plenty of material begging to be used to slam the Republican Congress and the Bush administration. How about the obscenely bloated Federal budget? It undermines the entire argument of traditional Republican conservatives and indeed has resulted in some friction in the party. Who's doing anything about the decreasing economic mobility of the poor and working classes? Where's the initiative, the Federal mandate, to begin weaning this country from its incredible dependence (and vulnerability) to external sources of fuel? Where are the regulations to prevent the massive fraud perpetuated by Enron, WorldCom, and the dozens of mutual-fund market timers? Who the hell is slamming the Right's fingers in a car-door (rhetorically speaking) over the Terry Schiavo debacle? You know that would find an ear with Americans--polls prove it and the Republicans realized it when they backed away from guys like Delay. My point is that the list of targets is long and ripe. The Democrats are just adrift. Part of the problem is the traditional tug-of-war between the Liberals, who are pretty organized and pissed off at the moment, and the rest of the party. Part of the problem is that Reid and Pelosi are not the types of leaders who will pull them out of this mess. But the biggest problem of all is that lack of direction, the total lack of initiative, and the sense that, inevitably, they are due their turn in Congress or the White House. Fortunately they don't piss me off as much as ...

RUSSIA
I wish we'd overshot Nagasaki in 1945 and hit Moscow instead. Okay, so I might be joking. A little. If you've followed Russian events over the last 60 years you know exactly what I mean. Christ, the last 10 years should be enough to justify that first sentence. Do places like Grozny or Abkhazia ring a bell? How about "influence" in the elections in Georgia or the Ukraine? What about threats to neighboring countries in the form of pipeline disruptions and border exercises? How does the phrase "resurgent pan-Slavism" strike you? Which gigantic country was the sole supporter of Serbia while NATO was bombing the shit out of Milosevic and his comrades? Who else besides me remembers the woman who got a state-sponsored syringe full of relaxants in her because, literally, she was upset about the Kursk? For a more recent treat, let's not forget those democratic party members and protesters who were arrested on their way to a rally in Moscow. Lest anyone think my Estonian blood is speaking for my normally rational self (oh wait, I forgot about the open threats made to the Baltic nations during my visit there), I assure you that I am not the only one to raise the alarm about modern Russia. What makes it scary is that they're sitting atop vast energy reserves and a gigantic nuclear arsenal. There may be other places worse off socially or politically, but none come close to exercising the power and having the aspirations that Russia does. There is no civil society, no internal or external balances to government power, no judiciary to speak of, and no bounds to the corruption that permeates all levels of government, society, and the economy. Read the news. It's like the former Soviet Union with a sloppy veneer of capitalism. That's a nice segue in to ...

WIRETAPPING
Alright, check out Mr. ACLU on this one: I agree, in principle, that the NSA should be recording outgoing phone conversations as part of terror surveillance. I'm afraid many of my liberal friends are so vehemently against Bush that they're position-oriented (as opposed to issue-oriented ... thanks Chris!) and short-circuit the entire debate when his name comes in to play. The issue is that the United States, and the West in general, face a serious threat from a determined enemy. This isn't "just" 9/11. This is the USS Cole, the embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania, the nightclub attack in Bali, the transit attacks in London and Madrid, the insurgency in the southern Phillipines, and the numerous busted plots in Germany, Jordan, Britain, Seattle/LAX, France, the Phillipines, Canada, and elsewhere. It's not just a small group of angry radicals (Oklahoma City, 1993); or a threat only to our overseas military (Red Brigade, November 17, Libyans, and Red Army groups in the '80s); or a limited group of whackjobs with some serious weapons (Aum Shinrikyo, 1995). It's a threat to all of us across the globe. There's no doubt at all that these fellas are interested in killing as many Westerners as possible and are pursuing weapons of mass destruction. They did it under Clinton, they've done it under Bush, and they're gonna keep doing it no matter who is in the White House. Besides, other Federal agencies have practiced wire-tapping for decades. Why then the hesitancy on my part? Congress and the special intelligence judiciary do not, to my knowledge, have adequate oversight to the process. President Bush has been reasserting Executive Privelege as a right. It's one of those internal balances of power that shifted to Congress in 1974 as a reaction to Nixon and the entrenched Congressional seniority--and, interestingly enough, to the abuses of Federal intelligence and law enforcement agencies in terms of domestic surveillance. The debate now is if this is a correction to that power balance or a power-grab by the Executive branch. I'm inclined to believe the latter since Bush has shown a tendency to believe that his guys, and his guys alone, know what's best for America. The irony is that they may undermine their own efforts when Congress or the Judiciary unscrews their pooch. So anyway, now that the tough topics are over, let's move on to some lighter fare like ...

GLOBAL WARMING
The evidence is pretty much complete that human activity is causing a rise in global temperatures. However, the debate is filled with so much overheated alarmist hyperbole that it clouds the very serious and very real threat of "human-influenced climate change". Global warming is as natural and well-documented as global cooling. In fact global warming could very well be a positive thing since the planet is actually in an "icehouse" global climate right now. Using the phrase "global warming" is what leads to so much argument in the first place. The more accurate phrase is "inadvertent climate change" since climate is not so simple--things aren't necessarily going to get hotter. The freaky part is that there's so much contradicting evidence. The Gulfstream could slow down significantly, bringing far cooler temperatures regionally to Europe and eastern North America. Greater cloud cover stemming from higher evaporation rates could actually initiate cooling since the solar reflectivity (albedo) of the Earth could increase. Parts of the American West could become much drier and lead to dust-bowl conditions; alternately the Southwest could experience greater precipitation from a longer monsoon season or a change in El Nino. Melting permafrost could release tons of curently non-decomposing carbon in to the enivronment but alternately a wet Arctic and warmer planet could create massive new carbon sinks leading to cooling. The only given is that things are changing, they're changing quickly, it's likely due to us, and we don't know where it will lead--except that it will have global impacts. Speaking of climate change, there are ...

FOODS THAT WARREN SHOULDN'T EVER EAT BECAUSE THEY MEASURABLY INFLUENCE GLOBAL CLIMATE ONCE THEY GET INSIDE HIS BODY
I am lactose intolerant. Besides the obvious--ice cream, cheesecake, entire blocks of cream cheese--I've discovered, through trial and horrible error, numerous foods that contain lactose.

BW3 chicken wings - the sauce apparently has a cream base. I discovered this 25 minutes before Chuck Delacuesta's graduation ceremony.
Mashed potatoes at restaurants - again, usually thickened with cream.
De Cecco pasta - my favorite pasta noodles have "ferrous lactate" as an ingredient. Ugh.
Vegan chocolate cake from Sweet Life bakery - don't believe them when they say "dairy free" ... I discovered this today after two massives slices resulted in me missing several hours of work.
"Lactose-enhanced" beer at McMennamin's - DUDE, WTF. I JUST WANT A BEER.
Regular air - at this point I wouldn't be surprised.

May your sphincters rest in peace.

Sandy Eggo Ketchup

2006-08-14T18:52:00.000-06:00

I'm writing from the carpeted floor of the airport terminal in San Diego. It's totally packed in here since everyone arrived early to avoid the long lines stemming from the UK airline bombing scare. It's good to see that people generally have their shit together--everyone I saw had already pruned all liquids, gels, cremes, pastes, sauces, marinades, curries, syrups, yogurts, cuds, urine samples, liquid bombs, and (in my case) magma from their carry-ons. The catch is that we get checked again AT THE GATE in case someone manages to McGyver something together from the condiments table at McDonalds. (Little do they know that I'm smuggling a methane bomb inside my body. Muah!) Anyway I figure the sight of TSA guys snapping on rubber gloves is enough to dissuade just about anyone.

Our week-long GIS conference here finally wound down yesterday. It was interesting at points, predictably numb at others, and completely surreal in the beginning: imagine walking in to a gigantic darkened conference hall filled with 14,000 GIS professionals (read "map dorks") all cheering for Jack Dangermond's disembodied head gazing lovingly upon them from three enormous movie screens. Cheers erupted for phrases like "new map labeling engine!" or "introducing the workgroup geodatabase!" I am seriously not making this shit up. The first word that jumped in to our minds was "Orwellian". It wasn't a stretch to imagine thousands of conference attendees happily walking straight into a hideous wood-chipping machine that spat out boxes of ArcGIS software at the other end. "IT'S MADE FROM PEOPLE! ArcGIS IS MADE FROM PEOPLE!!!" I hesitated at my choices: laugh in pity at the spectacle or sprint out the door in terror. Several blocks later I ran out of breath and accepted my duty to enthusiastically suffer through "ArcGIS Network Analyst--Data Preparation", "ArcGIS Data Models: Transportation", and of course "Linear Referencing Systems in Transportation". There were enough "Arc-" prefixes floating around to spawn a world of euphimisms: ArcBullshit, ArcWTF, ArcPrrrffff, ArcAss, etc. It was hilarious. Really. You had to be there.

Anyway the week was spent in a downtown condo/racqueball court with my co-worker Will and boss Eric. Will actually got a job offer while he was at the conference ... he's still deciding if he's ready to leave Eugene and head back to Boise. I also sat next to a guy on the plane with Northrop-Grumman in Portland who works with the crew considering my resume. Then I ran in to him again today in this very same terminal. He says the guy reviewing the resumes definitely knew my name. Sweet! Opportunity abounds! Anyway most of our time was split between the conference center, bars, or trying to sleep through the sound of constant traffic right outside our door. San Diegans like to drive as fast as they can between red lights, especially if they have motorcycles or shitty aftermarket mufflers. They also like to honk and occassionally yell at each other (which I admit I've missed for the last two years). This can make for a difficult sleep environment. One of my dreams consisted entirely of trucks crashing to an accompanying suite of honking, revving diesel, and metal grinding. I awoke to the same soundtrack on the street outside.

Having no car, no bicycles, and no money, Will and I decided to walk the 600 miles it took to reach the USS Midway which has been converted in to a dockside museum. It was very cool to wander around the massive flight deck. We sat and listened to an old F-4 pilot talk about night landings and the evacuation of Saigon. We also threw fake blood on a jet fighter to protest the Iraq war. Haha, of course not ... no, we used real blood. San Diego has lots of homeless people!

So now, through the magic of time-travel, I'm sitting in Seattle six hours later waiting for the flight to Eugene. The flight along the Sierra Nevada and Cascades was spectacular--Kings Canyon, Yosemite, Reno forest fires, the Warners, Sycan Marsh, the Three Sisters, Jefferson, Hood, St. Helens, Adams, and Rainier at sunset--but now I'm anticipating my Saturday morning. Travis has spent the last week at my house cleaning and organizing so I'll have to see what he's dicked up in my house. So he'll be picking me up tonight along with his girlfriend Heather who is also visiting and who should provide some balance to his negativity. Tomorrow I will get up early and continue trying to get my house in selling condition in case this Portland job (or any other) comes through. Part of this involves stripping lead paint from the exterior of my house and repainting it myself, since contracting a full lead "abatement" is outside of my budget. I'll have to put up all kinds of covers and sheets around my bushes/lawn to capture all the flakes that would otherwise flutter about and create a tasty toxic coating. Between painting the house, working extra hours at work, and a single long ONDA trip, my entire August is pretty much shot. September is looking similar but I am determined to squeeze in a Banff/Jasper trip in there. Being a single home-owner with a semblance of a life pretty much sucks. Next time I do this I'm getting married first.

A few weeks ago I took Chris V. for a quick tour around Central Oregon. We hit Crater Lake and then drove east for a big loop past Lake Abert and the booming metropolis of Wagontire. It was a perfect day, complete with a handful of thunderstorms scudding across the open spaces as the sunset streamed between the clouds.

Chris stepped out for a photo but got tired halfway across the road.

We happened across some sand dunes and went exploring. I'm seriously infatuated with dune fields. Sometimes if you walk downhill on the right kind of dune, each footstep will make a low squealing sound like a finger across wet glass.

Chris was literally astounded at the emptiness. Occasionally he would just start laughing in amazement.

Are Girls Insane?

2006-08-02T00:18:00.000-06:00

Ha ha, of course they are! It's basically a rhetorical question. [This post effectively destroys what tiny little chance I had of ever having sex with any of my blog readers. Except Mike. HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL.] But what's that you say? Something about needing proof? Okay:

Women think that other women are insane.

That's right, read it again. It's like invalidating the Identitive Property. How many times have you, man or woman, heard a female friend of yours proudly announce that she has "more guy-friends than girl-friends" and then go on to explain that girls are too stressful, bitchy, vindictive, indirect, non-confrontational, or "territorial" to spend much time around?***

Recently I was sitting around a campfire with several women between the ages of 29 and 65, one of whom is a lawyer and another who is a well-off conservationist/benefactor, as they talked about the possibility of working in an office full of women. The consensus in the group was that it wouldn't work. The lawyer piped up that she'd seen the results of such a setup and that it'd sucked. Now, this group wasn't dressed in burkhas or otherwise spouting off ultra-conservative rants ... quite the opposite: they were liberal, independent, educated, successful women suggesting that a group of women couldn't keep a lid on their collective insanity. My brain basically imploded when I heard it. On top of that, a number of my TOTALLY ANONYMOUS women grad-student friends talk about how their GENERIC UNIVERSITY DEPARTMENT is a hornet's nest of tension due to the overwhelming presence of female students. These are simply recent repetitions in a litany of women talking about how insane other women are. I swear to God I am not making this shit up. So what's my point?

First, women who negatively generalize their own sex never seem to make the connection that they themselves are women. It's the equivalent of me complaining about asshole drivers who speed way too much and weave in and out of traffic on Hwy 20 returning from Steens Mtn in their black Honda station wagons with Oregon license plates 424 BEX.

These same women will vigorously defend womankind ... even though they think they're all insane anyway. I just can't wrap my head around it.

Here are my current working hypotheses for this whole thing.

1. Women have inhereted a gene that that makes them both hot and insane.

2. Cultural factors have made most women so hyper-self-conscious that they distrust other women.

3. The writer is an overly-critical asshole.

4. Monthly, uh ... y'know ... that thing with the thing ...

Items 1 and 3 have pretty much been proven and I'm suspicious of 4. Item 2 is an open question. I wish I could convince John McLoughlin to take this issue up on his Sunday-morning show.

***Before I get a boatload of well-deserved hate in the comment section, note that these are NOT MY WORDS. These generalizations were made by women about women on multiple occasions. I would never generalize women. Except to say that they are universally horrible drivers. And insane.

EMMA COMES FIRST

2006-06-19T20:18:00.000-06:00

Once again it's time to recount the last few months of my life via the medium of Intarwerb Bolg.

New roommate Chris V came here from Germany (white dude in pic). I have no idea when he moved in. February? October? Anyway he's paying rent and that's a-okay with me.

There's been some yard-improvment work ... ripping out gravel and old pipelines. My yard has looked like hell since, oh, October.

I started volunteering with the Oregon Natural Desert Association (ONDA). We go in to conservation or wilderness areas and pull out old barbed-wire fences.

The first fence-pull was back in March along the John Day river in north-central Oregon. It started off rainy and cold but opened up on the second day. With one notable exception, the Fruitcake Factor was quite low among the volunteers.

Then there was a trip to Victoria, BC. Neither Joe nor Megan nor I managed to get any decent photos, so here's a pic of me standing on the ferry as we leave Victoria.

It was like being in another country.

There was also a weekend wedding in May in northern Washington for Hans and (Sarah) Shrock. The ceremony was held amongst sagebrush and wildflowers. We were all too tired to fully partake but still had a great time. Also, Pede successfully detected and sidestepped my attempts to get her 100% naked. ONE OF THESE DAYS ... I'll give up. UNTIL THEN ... she'll probably stop returning my calls.

The views in the North Cascades are sick enough to induce barfing.

Let's not forget the Sex Sells party. It stopped selling when I started dancing.

Holy shit we look good. Joe looked even better with his Freddy Mercury getup on.

Fortunately Amy stepped to pretty-up the dance floor. I stood like that for hours.

Right after the party I hosted my folks visiting over Memorial Day. Dad left early so I toured Susan around Oregon for a bit.

The weather cleared up just in time. I love the South Coast.

Our hotel in Ashland. Susan's in a window above ...

And a visit to Crater Lake. Again, barfable scenery.

Two weekends ago was another ONDA trip to pull barbed wire along the John Day river. This time it was a float trip. We camped near an old ranch and pulled a shitload of fence in two days.

Our campsite. If you look reeeaaaally close you might see some white dots in the river. Those are naked people! NAKED!

And finally ... another ONDA fence pull out at Steens Mtn this past weekend.

We stayed at a BLM building that had great views of the mountain from the back porch.

I got to do a little exploring on the way home too and waded into salty Lake Abert.

Oregon's got some rad desert.

Late-breaking news:

Mikey and Dawn will be visiting in August. I've intensified my Kegel exercise regimen in preparation.
There's a totally ridiculous idea floating around my head of starting a gin distillery. More research is needed but I remain optimistic. If you have any ridiculous ideas of how to make a living, I'd love to hear them. This office shit ain't cutting it.

$400 Delta Voucher

2006-06-19T10:39:00.000-06:00

Due to the whacky, whacky, whacktacular adventures of flying last Christmas, Delta Airlines gave me a $400 flight voucher for ceding not one but TWO seats during my marathon trek to BWI. I gave it to Susan for Christmas so she could visit me but it proved too much of a pain-in-the-ass to transfer the voucher to her. Bottom line: I still have a $400 voucher. I also like the word voucher. VOUCHER.

Delta has a handy-dandy global map of all the places they serve but neither Sydney nor Easter Island nor Iceland show up on the list. Other options are still appealing (Calgary, Oslo, Hawaii, Dublin, Lisbon) but none really stand out. So I'm looking for destination suggestsions. If you've heard that Dakar is lovely in November, that's a helpful tip. Fire away.

Oh yeah and there's a monstrous update coming in the next few days ... stay tuned.

Center of the Universe

2006-04-04T19:16:00.000-06:00

Recently I was having a conversation online with Matt Waite. Both of us are tired of where we’re at in life and were discussing options for going in to business together. After a long comparison of our strengths, weaknesses, and interests, the most obvious path was to become a pair of freelance geologists. It’d be like if Magnum, P.I. cloned himself, went insane, sold the Ferrari for a station wagon, replaced his .45 with a hand lens, wore even shorter short-shorts, and started laughing a lot at his own (or his clone’s) moronic jokes.

In other words, I’m ready for what’s next in life. Things are really great right now—the best since I left school—but I have a clock ticking in the back of my head. Moving to Eugene has only exacerbated my wanderlust, not diminished it. My cube here at work is literally plastered with roadmaps of the West and southern Canada, and half my brain power is devoted to fantasies of desert drives, exhausting mountain scrambles, small town breakfasts, and running naked across playas.

Therein lies part of the dilemma: leave work or stay on course? Feed the addiction or manage it? Never have I had such a conflict between my strongly-rooted pragmatism and my ever-growing desire to go exploring while my body, wallet, and lifestyle can readily accommodate it.

The other major complicating factor is the money that Uncle Jueri left to me (and Trav) upon his death. I dropped most of it on a big down-payment on the house and invested the rest. Were I to keep the house and cash-out the investments, I’d have just enough to pay for grad school.

What follows is the internal argument, Lincoln-Douglas style, that is always running in my head. This is basically an exercise in self-centeredness, but I’ve got to write it down … my sanity is eroding before the inescapable logic of both Pragmatism and Wanderlust.

Pragmatic side says:
- Must cover mortgage and home-improvement projects.
- Must pay for grad school.
- This job sucks, but stick with it for awhile so you can save some dough … and it sounds like some cool work is finally coming down the pipe.

Wanderlust side says:
- It’ll hurt, but you CAN cover both the house and the projects on your own … besides, two renters offset the pain and hey—you can always sell the house.
- Work only sucks because of the people, not the projects.
- Is grad school really worth it? Why not use the money to start your own business?

Pragmatic side says:
- Of course grad school is worth it! Since you’re going to be working in some capacity for the rest of your life, why not take the steps to create a rewarding career? Besides, you’re craving to spend your days around people you have things in common with.
- Think about it: if you’re traveling a lot, when are you going to have time to meet people? Who will you travel with? When are you going to get time to find your special lil’ buddy who understands your humor, is easy to travel with, and shares her soy ice cream sandwiches with you?

Wanderlust side says:
- So … when are you going to find time to learn guitar/piano/fiddle, get re-certified for scuba, learn how to fly a glider, learn welding, design and sell tshirts, pursue your Oregon Fish Map idea, take classes in small business management and auto mechanics, train for Mt Shasta, revamp your house, go explore Banff/Jasper, buy a land-sailer (and use it!), take winter hiking classes, help Danae document Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, hike the PCT between Hwy 58 and McKenzie Pass, traverse the Olympic Peninsula, write “The French Bread Connection” screenplay … ?

Pragmatic side says:
- So … how do you plan to fund your adventures? You’ll destroy your investments. Are you serious about buying desert land some day and building a house? Do you have ANY idea what you’ll be doing 5 years from now? Your big vice is laziness … do you really have the drive to be successful at whatever you plan to do?

Wanderlust side says:
- Uncle Jueri realized the utter futility of his path in life at the age of 74 and died two years later … if he could do it all over again, which path do you think he would choose? Were he here, don’t you think he’d say “go for it”?

Pragmatic side says:
- He probably would. But you can’t deny the bottom line: money gives you choices. The less money you have, the less able you are to choose your own direction in life. Think about all the sad bastards you’re surrounded by that are forced to work—even though they hate it—to support their family, pursue their (now-diminished) goals, and to ensure some comfort in retirement. Don’t end up stuck like them.

Wanderlust side says:
- That’s a valid point, but not wholly applicable here.
- First, you’re 27. Your body and health are still good and you don't have to worry about anyone else besides you.
- Second, you’ve demonstrated before that you can build a job and paycheque from virtually nothing. You don’t have debt—actually your credit rating is on par with Jesus. Money will always play a vital role in life, but it shouldn’t be the controlling factor.
- Third, you don’t believe in reincarnation or Heaven or anything like that. This is your one shot at life. The opportunity for these things is now. And if not now, when?
- Fourth, without the ability to exercise your life choices (because of work), financial freedom is basically a useless pile of money sitting under a mattress.
- Last, what is life without a little risk? “Pragmatism” is fundamentally rooted in insecurity.

So there they are, fully fleshed out: the two streams of reasoning that have guided my life ever since I washed dishes at Bryce Canyon National Park. Life here on planet Me sure is absorbing.

100% Roadtrip

2006-03-12T18:00:00.000-07:00

Zippy and I took a road trip for two weeks. I stopped in on friends and family along the way. Speed limits were shattered, dog bellies were scratched, goats were fed, futons were opened (and politely closed), beer was guzzled, Border Patrol was respected, asses were grabbed, gears were synchroed, drool was sopped, Diems were Carped, thermodynamic laws were violated ... and literally thousands of other nouns were verbed.

On the way down I-5 I detoured to Chico to get dinner and buy some pale ale direct from the Sierra Nevada brewery. I used The Force to find both the brewery and Megan's former workplace, the Italian Cottage. Sitting alone eating clam sauce caught the attention of the guy at the next table and he asked about where I was from, what I was doing, etc--sorta the typical friendly West Coast type. He asked about what I was driving and had to go check it out himself. The reaction: "Man, you need to put some rims on that thing." Hmm ... lemme think about that one.

That night I stopped in Berkeley to stay with Christy LaGuardia. In 2001 we shared the misery of working in the lodge at Bryce Canyon National Park. Our friendship was forged in a crucible of dish soap, kitchen drama, alcoholism, and frilly underwear pillow fights. Unfortunately for her such bonds are not easily broken and her sordid past caught up with her when I rang the doorbell. She's now an Anthropology student at UC Berkeley living within walking distance of campus and downtown.

Christy and her favorite Oregon hamsteak.

The downstairs neighbor came for a visit and passed out drunk on my sleeping bag.

After breakfast Christybot and I cruised out to Point Reyes National Seashore north of San Francisco.

The goats sprinted over when they saw me offering tabs of acid.

There's something about skipping rocks that is just stupid fun. I could literally waste a whole afternoon throwing rocks in to the water. WHEEEE.

I couldn't grasp "skipping" and instead substituted "heaving".

We hated to leave but Ms. Laguardia had to get to work at her restaurant. We barely got to Fellini's on time, whence she procedeed to ply me with free pasta, wine, and port ... basically the Warren equivalent of Kryptonite. I had to sit awhile before I could drive back to the apartment.

After breakfast the next day I had to press on. It was good to visit my old friend; five years of distance melted away like runny poop down a pantleg. Doubtless I'll return for another visit but I still felt guilty more-or-less abandoning Christy to her brilliant friends, beautiful surroundings, and student lifestyle.

But alas, Big Sur beckoned! I'd heard good things about the coast between Monterrey to San Luis Obispo but wasn't really expecting it to be as good as it was. Two words: Holy Crap.

I consider myself a desert rat but I could easily spend a week exploring Big Sur. Every turn revealed another beach or cliff or big sunny field. Unfortunately I travelled it in five hours. Next time, next time ...

Late that night I cruised in to in Santa Ana in Orange County to stay with my brother and his girlfriend. Heather is there getting her Master's degree in cinematography at Chapman University; Trav is an unemployed bum. They met at a summer film workshop in Maine several years ago. I suspect their relationship pivots around their combined DVD collection, which can objectively be described as "100% enormous". Their love of video/film is analogous to my obsession with geology, but not as bizarre or disturbing.

I managed to completely miss taking a single photograph of them or their rad apartment for the three days I was there. Heather was doing shoots most of the time so my brother and I were left on our own. We hit Newport, Huntington Beach, and the mountains just east of where he lives. The whole place feels like a bizzaro Northern Virginia: it's mostly sprawl but Falls Church doesn't have snow-capped mountains poking out of the smoggy skyline. Nor does it have Del Taco.

Anyway, the two of them finally teamed together and kicked me out after violating Heather's "no farting indoors" rule many times. Many, many times. I travelled east for hours and hours before finally leaving the sprawl behind and reaching Joshua Tree National Park.

I only had time to take a short hike before crashing in the tent and getting up at 4:30 a.m. to get back on the road. I managed to avoid Phoenix but apparently was close enough to see plastic bags stuck and shredded on every bush, fence, and prickly object. I'll never understand why parts of Arizona are so trashed. On the way through a desolate stretch of road I spotted A-10s dropping practice bombs in a bombing range; too far away to take photos but close enough to pull over and watch through the binocs. I continued on to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument along the border with Mexico. It was filled with, fittingly enough, cactii shaped like organ pipes.

It was also full of gnarled retirees driving enormous RVs and volunteering at the park. I was the youngest one in the Visitor Center by at least thirty years. As most of the fun scenery was down long dirt roads, Zippy and I quickly exhausted our options and continued heading east toward Tucson. I stopped at the Kitt Peak Observatory for a few minutes. The views from the top are superb and doubtless telescopes have been pointed at Tucson by lonely astronomers on freezing nights.

The sun was setting as I rolled through Tucson and furiously dialed everyone I knew in a quest for Alison 2.0's phone number thinking maybe I could grab dinner with her. I finally got in contact an hour past Tucson whence I found out 1) she received a massive promotion at work and 2) got engaged. What the hell? Since when have I missed all the big news? Living in a cave has a distinct downside. Anyway, it was good to talk on the phone but next time I'll make a point to "plan ahead" and stop for a visit.

From there on I passed through New Mexico in the dark, stopping to "cruise" downtown Deming with bored teenagers, and then through Las Cruces and El Paso, all the way out to Van Horn where I turned right and entered the big emptiness of West Texas. At 2:30 I was parking outside of Allison Randolph's trailer and getting handed a Lone Star beer by her boyfriend Mark. 100% excellent. It was pitch black and cold out and I had no sense of where I was. When I got up in the morning I opened the curtains for a look outside.

Sweet. Alpine, by the way, is a pretty cool town. It's only got about 6,000 people but there is a great vibe that's hard to describe. There's a lot of art, music, and a pretty accepting atmosphere. Allison moved there a couple of years ago and picked up work as an editor/publisher and car mechanic. Now she manages the day-to-day operation of the car shop. Her boyfriend Mark does all kinds of stray work and while I was there was finishing a GIS analysis of hurricane wind fields in Florida for a recent insurance claim. The two of them showed me around and gave me beer and took me out. The whole experience was definitely a big highlight for me.

Allison took me to the semi-ghost town of Terlingua near the north end of Big Bend National Park. It's hard to describe these places; again there were artists and renovated buildings and a strong alternative sort of scene. A number of the old formerly-abandoned houses had been reclaimed and rebuilt. We visited Mark's brother's place and drank Lone Star beer on their porch.

Fuckin' cool. Ever since then I've had an urge to go buy some desert land in Nevada or Utah and build my own funky house.

The next couple of days consisted of me going out to the Park during the day and coming back to Alpine at night for live music and/or drinking. I got some good shots of the park but managed to almost totally forget taking photos of Mark, Allison, or anything in Alpine.

The last night I was there Mark's band got a gig playing in the next town over, Marfa. It was a decent venue and it was good to see them live after having watched them rehearse a couple of nights before. I got some pics after the show was over.

Mark is second from the right.

The best shot I have of the two of them together. Bah.

Finally it was time to leave. Mark burned me a bunch of CDs and I meandered up through the Davis Mountains toward Guadalupe Mountains National Park listening to Enon, The Octopus Project, Audiolux. I couldn't make time to explore the Park but I will definitely return there some day soon.

There's some weird stuff in this corner of Texas, mostly in the form of abandoned buildings and failed farms. It's kinda eerie and I like it.

I was pretty tired by then. That night I managed to reach a National Forest campground east of White Sands and crashed hard. In the morning I tried to visit White Sands National Monument but it was closed for a missile test on the nearby range. Not wanting to wait for two hours, I pressed north through rural New Mexico in the area between where the High Plains end and the mountains begin.

I stopped at the Santa Fe Brewing Company for lunch and a sample of their pale ale and Chicken Killer barley wine and called Susan to wish her a happy birthday from New Mexico. By this time I was starting to feel pretty crappy and when I rolled in to Monticello, Utah that night I opted for a motel. By morning I'd caught a massive cold; so much for hiking in Canyonlands. I pressed on to Moab and kept going, skipping all my favorite places and parks in a quest for home. Outside of Salt Lake City I stopped to pick up as much Cutthroat Pale Ale as I could pack in the car. The checkout dude looked at me funny as I rolled up with my cart full of beer, a pack of restricted cold medicine, and a slow, hunched walk.

From there it was on through northern Utah and southern Idaho where speed limits rise and there are few places for police to hide. I managed eastern Oregon by nightfall and crashed there, only to wake up to a big snowstorm that had blanketed the hills. The clouds were breaking up and the snow was beautiful on the slopes.

It was good to get back to Eugene even if I was a day early. 5450 had taken a toll. The usual large pics are posted here.

Update Backlog

2006-01-11T19:51:00.000-07:00

I've got a shitload of stuff to update. The most logical place to start is, of course, back in July.

JULY

- Purchased house.
- Trip to Rainier with Joe to visit Danae. Skinny dipping with both in the most beautiful place on earth. Camera battery dies.

AUGUST

- Intense, intense, intense sweaty heat at night. Lack of roommates allows to to spend most of the month naked. Hiked Mt. Thielsen and skinned my way to the top of its spire. Forgot camera flashcard of course.

SEPTEMBER

- Four day roadtrip to Banff, Jasper, and Prince George finally punctures my Canadian virginity. Swing by Mt. Baker, Washington on the way back.
- Housebreaking party.
- Nikki and Jaime move in.

Banff

Fraser River

Mt Baker

OCTOBER

- San Francisco trip to buy 944, see John Peerenkaboom. Poverty ensues. Highlight: helping John patent the I-580 Suicide Maneuver.
- Halloween party ends with everyone dancing at The Only Gay Bar in Eugene.

NOVEMBER

- Jaime moves out.
- Bob Clayton's office gets tin-foiled, courtesy of Mike Pulley and I.
- Buster visits along with The Harem d'Smarr from Corvallis.
- Thanksgiving spent in California with Joe, Megan, and her family in Chico, Visalia, and Sequoia National Park. Highlight: Sierra Nevada brewery in Chico.

Bobo's office

Buster & Co.

Thanksgiving with Joe & Megan

DECEMBER

- Nikki moves out.
- Most Efficient Christmas Trip Back East Ever made in record time.
- New Year's spent with a bunch of sexy, single, drunk women. Matt Waite-esque drought continues.

JANUARY

- Jeff moves in.
- Snowshoeing: better than regular shoeing.

News From the Front Lines in Germany

2005-12-22T13:13:00.000-07:00

Matt Waite:

HEY BUDDY!
Yeah I'm doing well here. I have a huge appt and I am in charge of 34 troops. What could be better?! (but I'm so very very alone) Hahaha. Yeah things here are going good. I just got my car last week so I'm pretty excited about being able to drive. I hit the autobahn for the first time the other day. Hit speeds of 95 miles an hour downhill. I went to Prague over thanksgiving. That was a beautiful city filled with women who disapointed me because they wouldn't sleep with me. (wistful ahhh) It actually reminded me a lot of america in that way. I'm right in the middle of Germany sorta. If you look at Prague go due west and you'll run into Schweinfurt. It's also near wuhrzburg. From the alps to here? About 2 hours by train I think. Maybe a bit more. For christmas I'm going to clean my appt and cry and for new years I'm working on staff duty. (Getting the police calls when Joe (enlisted dudes not NCO's) get arrested) So that's my life. Then I go off til about
March doing field problems. Following that, I'm gonna have a block leave in april. So if you were planning a european vacation that would be the time to go. I suppose that's about it from here now. I'm starting to learn my job which is always a good thing. I'm gonna miss you guys for new years. Hey tell all of those assholes to email me cause I can only get online when I go to the library and I can't get IM on a gov't computer. So basically they are all cut off. Anyways I gotta get going. Take it easy or take it sleazy.
Matt

His email: matthew.waite@us.army.mil

EAST COAST TOUR DATES ANNOUNCED

2005-11-09T11:28:00.000-07:00

December 23, Friday night - Alexandria, VA
December 24, Saturday - Alexandria, VA
December 25, Sunday - Alexandria, VA
December 26, Monday - Alexandria, VA
December 27, Tuesday - Alexandria, VA

Mark your calendars and prepare the panty catapult.

Home

2005-10-24T23:02:00.000-06:00

Here is a photo of my house and my vehicle collection. A larger version can be found here.

If you look carefully, you'll notice I planted a small dead tree in the front yard. Other upgrades include:

chrome rain gutters
positive-camber foundation
sway bars
"Type R" address lettering
K&N furnace air filter
4" exhaust vent (gives my dryer that distinctive Honda "bumblebee" sound)
carbon fiber doorbell

The $5250 Blowjob

2005-10-23T16:28:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago I found a great-looking used 1987 Porsche 944 for sale ($5250) in the Bay Area. The weekend I chose to check it out happened to coincide with Johnny visiting to take a class in San Jose and hang out with his cousin in SF. It worked out such that my two friends and I picked him up at the airport at 2 a.m. right as we drove in to town. He set us up at his cousin Beau's apartment in downtown San Francisco. Much merriment was had as we searched for the apartment while John phoned his drunk cousin multiple times for directions.

The next morning the four of us cruised out to Oakland/Hayward to check the car out. We met the seller at Mills College and I hopped into the 944 with the him (who was driving) while Johnny & Co. followed in the wagon. Apparently John kept it floored just to keep us in sight as the Porsche got up to 100 mph on I-805. We putzed around waiting for the 2-hour inspection to get completed ... ate some donuts ... drove around Hayward ... and walked around the U. Cal East Bay campus. The mechanic confirmed the obvious: the car was in great shape and I ended up buying it after wasting everybody's Saturday at a car garage. Afterwards we all cruised back to SF and I took a nap while John and Beau watched Ali G, Joe and Megan walked downtown, and the Blue Angels tore the sky apart in their afternoon practice formations.

That afternoon we picked the 944 up and headed over to a friend of Joe's who lives in Oakland. She took us out for Ethiopian food and gave us a place to crash for that night ... and the next morning we were gone. Everyone agreed that it was a high-yield road trip.

During the return drive Joe asked, "So does this mean you're finally gonna get laid this year?" Thanks man.

Pooping at Work

2005-09-13T20:27:00.000-06:00

As I emerged from the bathroom stall the other day, a co-worker washing his hands asked me how my day was going. I replied that it had just gotten a lot better.

Few things on this planet elicit more satisfaction in my life than the act of sitting at work and spending billable hours taking a crap. And I do mean hours. Pity Brian Kramer for his inability to poop at work. It's much better than a coffee break.

Sometimes in the mornings I'll wait until I get to work. It encourages me to bike faster and besides that, utility rates in Eugene are steep; I don't want to pay for the 90 gallons it takes to repeatedly flush that enormous bowl of digested ... whatever.

When I was working in DC it literally used to be the highlight of my day. Nothing cleared away the misery of being hungover and working for a notorious government than taking some quality time on the crapper. Actually it was one of the few joys of being hungover at work, since I'd have to go multiple times. Sometimes my legs fell asleep. Interestingly, and on numerous occasions, I heard work conversations via cell phones coming from my neighbor's stall. You just knew the guy on the other end of the line was wondering what all those whistles and bangs were in the background.

Brief news update: I still don't have internet at the house but hopefully will soon within the next coupla weeks. The latest adventures in the last two months include visits to Mt. Rainier and Banff Nat'l Park. Two weeks ago a roommate and her cat moved in. Everything so far suggests that she's a lucky find on my part. Her cat is great and since she's a lesbian we oggle the same girls for the same reasons. This past weekend was a sweet party at my house. There was much drinking and general nuttiness; sadly there are no pictures to capture the carnage. Maybe next time for our Halloween party.

Ric Flair and the North Koreans

2005-08-04T18:14:00.000-06:00

Ric who and the what now? Dad forwarded me this email to me. It has Steve Paugh written all over it.

Back in 1995, North Korea -- for reasons unfathomable to mortal men -- invited World Championship Wrestling to come there and do a show. Previously, I've posted about Eric Bischoff's North Korean odyssey, and in a book I recently finished, Ric Flair's "To Be the Man," he talked about the trip as well. Flair had some fascinating stories that will give you a little insight into the North Korean mindset -- plus, there's a hell of a good Muhammad Ali tale (Yes, he was there, too, for some reason) included.

From "To Be the Man" pages 239-241:

"...The second we arrived in Pyongyang, our passports were confiscated. Then each of us was assigned a "cultural attache" to follow us everywhere; these guys even sat in the dressing room while we went over our matches. In the dining room where the wrestlers ate, there was a camera in each corner, monitoring every movement. When Scott Norton called his wife and said, "This place sucks," his phone line suddenly went dead.

Muhammad Ali and I were taken everywhere in separate vehicles, while the rest of the guys were on a bus surrounded by government cars. They split us up at the hotel -- the way they did suspected traitors they wanted to segregate and brainwash. I didn't see anybody until our handlers decided the time was right.

The event itself was unlike anything I ever witnessed. A total of 380,000 spectators attended over two nights....During the show...(t)he fans held up different colored placards to create incredible mosaic images. It was beautiful, but also creepy. The first couple of sections were occupied exclusively by guys in military uniforms. The spectators cheered on cue. I almost got the feeling that they had been ordered to attend.

..At one point, my minder asked me how much my watch cost. When I told him, he marveled, "Can anybody really have that kind of money? That's more than I make in five years." I asked him his salary. It was the equivalent of about seven American dollars a week. Had I realized that, I never would have worn that watch in front of him.

Because of the ravages of Parkinson's disease, it was difficult to understand Muhammad Ali when he spoke. But at one function, we were sitting at a big, round table with a group of North Korean luminaries when one of the guys started rambling on about the moral superiority of North Korea, and how they could take out the United States or Japan any time they wanted. Suddenly, Ali piped up, clear as a bell, "No wonder we hate these motherf*ckers."

My hair practically stood up on my head. "Oh, sh*t," I whispered, "don't start talking now."

Before we left North Korea, our handlers requested that I make a speech at the airport. They even had specific points that they expected me to articulate -- things like North Korea being a worker's paradise, and that America sucked. I looked at Bischoff and told him, "I can't say this." The last thing I wanted was to be quoted in the American press making statements that I didn't mean. So I just spouted some generic comments and thanked everyone for their hospitality.

This is how I was quoted by the official North Korean press agency: "Before I leave this beautiful and peaceful country, I would like to make a tribute to the great leader, Mr. Kim Il Sung (the late father of the current dictator), who devoted his life to the Korean people's happiness, prosperity, and Korean unification. His Excellency, Kim Il Sung, will always be with us."

As soon as our plane landed in Japan, I bent down and literally kissed the ground. I was so glad to be back on friendly soil."

Man, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall, one who could speak Korean, in the dinner where Ali popped off to all those Nork heavies. Now that would have been fun...

Brother News

2005-07-15T18:03:00.000-06:00

Travis is sailing across the Atlantic right now with some family friends on a 40-some foot sailboat. He gets email access via a radio-link so we get to hear from him periodically. There's a webpage about the boat and the voyage ... here's a link to their "news" page:

http://www.libertysails.com/html/what_we_ve_been_up_to.html

It's pretty awesome. Trav sounds like he's having the time of his life.

Wheeler Peak

2005-07-07T23:32:00.000-06:00

In the midst of all kinds of good things to write about, I've got to get this one out before I move on to other things.

My blog is becoming more of a travelogue now that the weather Out West has finally switched to summer. Yes, it's road trip season. Unfortunately this will probably be my last one for awhile since I move to my new house next week and will soon be poor. Hooray.

Last May, during our Great Western Road Trip, Matt Waite and I made an attempt on Wheeler Peak in Nevada's Great Basin National Park. We failed because it was insanely windy and cold above treeline. Also, Matt took a 15 minute fire-shit in the woods that was apparently one of the worst experiences of his life (besides spending two weeks in a station wagon with me).

So I decided to take a little trip on the 4th d'July weekend and re-attempt that climb. Part of the impetus was the chance to drive across wide-open Nevada: it is virtually impossible to set up radar traps and the roads are barely travelled anyway. I inflated the tires to high-speed pressure and cruised between 90 and 105 mph on back roads for pretty much the entire state. This speed contributed to the instant annihilation of (at a minimum) two birds, two chipmunks, and billions upon billions of Mormon crickets. My wagon has become the primary agent of unnatural selection.

[Gross aside: Mormon crickets periodically cover vast swaths of the West, much like periodic cicadas in the East but without the ability to fly. There were so many of them on some stretches of U.S. 50 that I saw a solar panel road sign warning of "slick roads, next 14 miles". They weren't kidding either. Unfortunately I don't believe their name connotes any magical Mormon capabilities ... rather it comes from the swarm of locusts that devoured the first Mormons' crops before they themselves were devoured by seagulls. The crickets, not the Mormons.]

Wheeler Peak is the second highest peak in Nevada at 13,063 feet. Fortunately the trailhead starts at a little over 10,000 feet. This pic is from about 10,500. Wheeler Peak is on the right, as is the route I took to the top.

The climb to the top pretty much destroyed me. I was fine until about 12,000 feet when it became much steeper and much more difficult to get enough oxygen. At least it was relatively warm and I didn't get altitude sickness.

I stopped often just to catch my breath. The view was pretty good.

And the best part: the top offered insane views of the backcountry in the park.

Nevada doesn't have long unbroken stretches of mountains like in the Rockies or even the Appalachians. Mountains chains here tend to be tall but relatively short, say 10-50 miles long and 5 miles wide. Some of the bigger ones are referred to as "sky islands" for their unique high-altitude ecosystems that are physically separate from other ranges by massive valleys and basins. They offer a nice respite from summer heat at lower elevations.

Yeah, anyway. That ends today's science lesson. I posted the usual pics. Ignore the ones of the dude in the bandanna ... he lost his camera on the way to the top and I said I'd email him some photos.

Final mileage on the wagon: 1776. An no, I didn't make that up ... had to drive around town for 20 minutes before I got it to tick over. Our Founding Fathers would be proud, or maybe not.

Alvord Desert

2005-06-20T23:08:00.000-06:00

I thought I'd have to work all weekend but when I went in on Saturday I found that the servers were fucked and my hardware key was missing. Having nothing to do for the rest of the weekend (everyone is gone for the summer), I figured Sunday presented a great opportunity to scratch my road-trip itch.

In eastern Oregon there is a tall ridge known as Steens Mountain (or sometimes The Steens). It's very gently sloping on one side and has a 5000 ft cliff on the other. Joe and I drove up to the top one weekend last September -- it felt like the roof of the world -- but we ran out of time to explore anything to the east of there.

I figured it was time to explore that big empty area in the background. Steens wicks what little moisture there is from the dry air and just downwind, on the eastern side (right side of pic), is the Alvord Desert, one of the drier places in North America. It's a big basin with a dried-up lake bed, or playa, filling a good portion of it. [Before you go off spouting about playa-hatin', pronounce it with me: PLY-uh. Eez hispanish for teh "Beach".] This shot is looking west up toward The Steens.

There are a shitload of playas in Nevada, western Utah, eastern California, and eastern Oregon. Both Burning Man and the Bonneville Salt Flats are on playas. When the Space Shuttle lands at Edwards AFB in California, it's landing on a playa. Badwater, the lowest point in Death Valley, is filled with a playa. All of them are coated with salts and alkaline minerals that are intensely corrosive: at Burning Man our tent stakes began to rust in the span of three days. They're prone to windstorms, flooding, and intense heat. They kick up a fine dust that infiltrates everything and lends food a salty taste.

As you can see, playas are rad. The wagon and I pegged the insane-o-meter as we sizzled across the flats at 100 mph, weaving big S-turns and leaving a long plume of dust on the horizon. I suppose I could've pressed it harder but the surface wasn't totally firm and I was a bit wary of tire damage. There is also the danger of running into a mud patch, which would've been an unbelieavable mess. This is pretty much in the middle of nowhere--about 2 hours from the nearest town and at least a half-hour from the nearest paved road.

A co-worker told me about heading out there when he was in college. Sometimes they'd all stand back-to-back and run with their eyes closed to a count of 100. Then they'd turn around and run back, eyes still closed, and see where they ended up. It's that empty.

There were a few others out there during my visit (maybe 20 total) staked out in their RVs. They were driving ATVs and land-sailers back and forth. I'd watch them until they disappeared into the mirages on the horizon.

The Alvord Desert is well-known for attracting land-sailers and I saw three or four rigs while I was there. Unfortunately there wasn't much of a wind and they weren't running, but I did chat one of them up on how they're made and what I could do to make one of my own. I was told they can easily get up to 50 mph and certain special rigs (rigid sail, 1500+ lbs ballast, etc) have reached 100+ mph. That's so cool.

There are a handful of full-size pics on filebox. Too bad it's not closer: despite pressing the mach-meter on those empty desert roads, it was still an 800 mile/15 hour day. It felt really good to get out there though.

Good-bye to Friends Past

2005-05-31T23:04:00.000-06:00

Sappy sad pet post.

Fritz died over Christmas vacation. The poor lil' bugger had severe and apparently sudden diabetes. He didn't even last two hours after arriving at the vet's. I've (we've) lost pets before but Fritz was in a league of his own. That doesn't make the others easier to forget though.

As a kid, I remember bawling my eyes out after being told that our adopted Italian street dogs, Jake and Tippy, had been struck by cars in Naples after escaping from their owners' houses. In 1984, Jake was tossed over a wall and into our yard by some apparently unsatisfied Italian dog owners. Burgarly was a constant concern and Dad came up with the idea that this small mutt could be a guard dog. He gave her the tough-sounding moniker Jake and she promptly ran off. A month later she returned, but only after being humped by every mangy, diseased, flea-bitten, rabid, shit-eating cur within 10 miles of Lucrino. This fact was deduceed by the size of her accompanying horny canine entourage and the diversity of the massive litter she ended up squeezing out. Our kee-yoot wittle doggy was a slut. No two pups were remotely alike. All but one were given away to Americans; the last one we kept and named Tippy for the white tip on her grey tail.

The dynamic canine duo of mother and daughter used to tunnel under fences, jump over them, or squeeze their skinny bodies through the most impossibly tight gaps in a bid to explore their greater surroundings. They snuck into the pizzareia in the evenings and snuck down to the bus stop in the mornings. We liked them and they liked us. Mischevious, cunning, opportunistic ... despite embodying many qualities of the Neopolitans, both furiously hated Italians. They could sense nationality from hundreds of yards away. Even after we changed neighborhoods, no fuss was raised when Americans or Brits came down the street; but Italians, even from a block's distance at night in a power outage, faced forty combined pounds of frothing, barking hatred. It was a great deterrent to theft and general Neopolitan sleeze. Jake and Tippy were adopted by separate American families after we left for the States. It bothered me that they were separated and confined to small yards. In the end, I finally found comfort with the idea that these street dogs hadn't died of old age but from being themselves. Getting killed by a car is the only proper way for a Neopolitan street dog to die.

Ten years later we got our first cat, Fritz, soon after Mom passed away. With Trav gone at college, Dad was concerned about me coming home to an empty house after the school day ... he figured another presence in the house would help fill the big hole in my day-to-day routines. We ended up at PetSmart and, after he explained my situation to the "cat ladies" managing the giveaway, were quickly acquainted with the liveliest cat of the bunch. Indiana became Fritz and rapidly found his niche in our all-male household. He was a cool cat.

Yeah, I don't think this was going anywhere ... I'll try to end with a big thought. Pets have helped me get a handle on mortality.

Surprise! Life Doesn't Suck

2005-05-23T01:54:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I still manage to surprise myself. It's an odd thing, especially since I think I'm a pretty deliberate guy.

During my visit to Blacksburg for the Charles "The Stupid" Delacuesta Graduation Extravaganza, I fully expected to feel wistful, sad, sentimental, etc. Subsequent to my own graduation, my visits to campus and the mountains and the old apartments had always welled-up bittersweet memories of how much fun I'd had in school. Worse, I struggled with the idea that I'd heard, over and over again, that "life is one long downhill slide after college". My experiences working and living in Alexandria leant it a ring of truth.

So yeah, I was pretty surprised when I didn't feel one bit of wistfulness or sentimentality. Not during the trip to Wind Rock, not in the midst of downtown drunks, not while driving across campus, not while walking past the old apartments in Foxridge, not while scarfing wings at BW3 or inhaling a Souvlaki gyro, not during an emergency lactose explosion on a VT crapper ... nada. This from a guy who spent his 26th birthday in mourning, who spent hours sifting through old party photos, who's struggled to find a niche in his new home. Blacksburg's familiar haunts and experiences prompted little more than recognition. It was the complete opposite of what I'd expected.

This could mean a lot of things. I suppose the best explanation is that I'm slowly settling in to a new life which, at worst, is "not un-satisfying". Or maybe it's the growing realization that Fun doesn't end sometime in the early 20s. [Hanging around 45-year-olds who still enjoy dirty jokes and drinking may have something to do with that.] I wish I could say I'm having the time of my life right now, but I'm not. It's been a bitch of a time meeting people. And I know I'm not suddenly incapable of being wistful. That's what makes this so odd.

Though I did get pretty sentimental for an old fashioned cock-fucking.

CONGRABULATIONS, CHORCK

2005-05-16T21:33:00.000-06:00

Photos of you.

Photoshop chops.

Bone ape tit.

The Continuing Saga of Station Wagon

2005-04-24T22:30:00.000-06:00

I love Honda. Sweet Christ how I love 'em. This weekend I took off for eastern Oregon on a whim to go see a place called the Lost Forest. It's a bizarro stand of Ponderosas about 220 miles east of here out in the desert. The soils are such that it can sustain certain trees that normally require about double the rainfall the area gets, which basically equates to a random forest plunked down in the middle of sagebrush/scrub. It's adjacent to some sand dunes that are popular with OHVs (off-highway vehicles ... basically ATVs, dirt bikes, etc) and is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Interestingly, there's also a relict of an over-the-horizon radar site nearby. Needless to say, none of the "roads" are paved.

ENTER THE STATION WAGON.

It was raining but I was determined to see the woods, dammit. The wagon and I went barrelling down dirt, mud, and bare rock roads at speeds that left gravity eddies as we passed. Even 4x4s were going slow through this shit. My poor wagon was at the hands of a merciless task master, which is probably why she bogged down twice. The first time I was able to get her out myself in about an hour with the help of lots of well-placed rocks, twigs, pine cones, pine boughs, and swearing. The second time was worse. We (the wagon and I) slid halfway off the road and no amount of rocking or traction would help. The mud was of an exceptional consistency, somewhere along the lines of soft wet clay. I was pretty far away from the rec areas at this point and hadn't seen another soul for quite awhile. After a coupla hours of trying to get the goddamn mud outta my way, I'd succeeded only in getting the wagon further off the road and deeper into mud. I was also filthy. The towing bill was gonna be counted in insanity dollars. As I prepared for the long walk out, lo and behold, a big truck came rumbling up and offered to help. Thank Jesus H. Christ that he had a tow rope, traction control, and off-road tires. I put the trailer hitch on, we strung out the tow rope, and I was thinking I'd be outta there, no sweat. Right.

I knew he was moving when I felt a sudden jolt as my car was jerked rearwards. Despite the most furious effort of my four cylinders, I did not get back on the road. Instead my car was dragged sideways as I tried every combo of steering and throttle, the front end scraping over big clumps of sagebrush and the back end plowing furrows down the muddy length of road. Mud flew in through the sunroof as I revved and revved. We continued like this for a good 50 yards before I finally angled out. As luck would have it, I had my snow chains in the trunk. Having never put them on before, I thought I did a pretty good job despite the massive amounts of mud under the wheel well and my cursory examination of the instructions. But I was only able to get one on. Thus equipped, I managed to twist and slide up the road to a dry spot and get the other chain on. At least the view was good.

I gave my saviors my map book of Oregon since they were sorta lost and saved me several hundred dollars in towing costs. Insert gay porn movie setup here. Anyway, I got to a gravel road an hour later after more puddles, mud, rocks, etc. I hurt the wagon pretty badly. Something began to vibrate sharply above 53 mph so I had to drive all the back to Eugene at about 45. I'm wondering if I have frame damage from the jolting on the trailer hitch or from the shock of driving down those roads. Doubtless my alignment's gone. Today I began to clean the mud and crap off the outside. There were sagebrush remnants stuck under the front end. I still don't know what I'm gonna do about the inside.

Man, my next car's gonna have to be a truck.