I finally updated the pictures on my Flickr page. Click HERE.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Monday Funnies by Gary Larson
Two for the slow...
Two for holiday family gatherings...
Two for my fellow DA's...
Two for holiday family gatherings...
Two for my fellow DA's...Saturday, December 17, 2005
my simplified pleasures...
I just devoured the most amazing turkey sandwich. It. Was. Life. Altering.
- Whole Wheat Bread (toasted, of course)
- Hummus (made from scratch… on both faces… yay-ya!)
- Turkey
- Provolone
- Sliced Roma Tomatoes (freshies!)
- Red Onion (Freshies!!)
- Green Leafy Lettuce (FRESHIES!!!!)
Last night McMurdo Station received its first plane load of fresh produce in 3 weeks. I never thought I would crave fresh fruits and veggies sooo much. Frightening.
After lunch I made a second sandwich, debated cramming it into my overstuffed belly, then wrapped it up for an afternoon snack.
- Whole Wheat Bread (toasted, of course)
- Hummus (made from scratch… on both faces… yay-ya!)
- Turkey
- Provolone
- Sliced Roma Tomatoes (freshies!)
- Red Onion (Freshies!!)
- Green Leafy Lettuce (FRESHIES!!!!)
Last night McMurdo Station received its first plane load of fresh produce in 3 weeks. I never thought I would crave fresh fruits and veggies sooo much. Frightening.
After lunch I made a second sandwich, debated cramming it into my overstuffed belly, then wrapped it up for an afternoon snack.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Thursday, December 01, 2005
The Crud
Ahhh… da’ crud, da’ CRUD!
Here I am… it’s my one day off for the week and I’m saddled with the crud. ‘The crud’ being McMurdo jargon for the flu/cold that plagues everyone at some point during the season. It spreads like wildfire in the close quarters.
Despite washing my hands obsessively, until they are raw and cracking, I’m feeling the affects of the crud… achy muscles, chest and sinus congestion, the works…
Grudgingly, I’ve decided to allow my body some rest. Danza, a good buddy of mine, and Miss Joy, my favorite Thursday playmate, are out on the Armitage Loop, running and skate-skiing, respectively. Me, I’m planning on laundry, vacuuming, napping, reading, emailing and blogging.
HA… I said blogging.
Here I am… it’s my one day off for the week and I’m saddled with the crud. ‘The crud’ being McMurdo jargon for the flu/cold that plagues everyone at some point during the season. It spreads like wildfire in the close quarters.
Despite washing my hands obsessively, until they are raw and cracking, I’m feeling the affects of the crud… achy muscles, chest and sinus congestion, the works…
Grudgingly, I’ve decided to allow my body some rest. Danza, a good buddy of mine, and Miss Joy, my favorite Thursday playmate, are out on the Armitage Loop, running and skate-skiing, respectively. Me, I’m planning on laundry, vacuuming, napping, reading, emailing and blogging.
HA… I said blogging.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
The best days are those that you’d never have guessed would be just that…
Monday.
Missed the second half of the work day when Galley-Sally (our Executive Chef – basically the CEO of the dining operation) told me I’d be going out with some fish scientists to Cape Evans.
Below...
Shelton.
Karen & Shelton.
Our Catch.
Missed the second half of the work day when Galley-Sally (our Executive Chef – basically the CEO of the dining operation) told me I’d be going out with some fish scientists to Cape Evans.
Below...
Shelton.
Karen & Shelton.
Our Catch.
Polar Plunge
Monday, November 28, 2005
The Claw
Me… “How are your hands?”
Fellow DA, Carrie… “Fine, I guess.”
Me… “I wake up in the mornings and my fingers are stiff and curled up like this. (pause… hold up arthritic mitts) I have to concentrate and work them straight... bending and straightening to get the blood flowing again. I’m falling apart… falling apart I tell you!”
Carrie… “ha ha... that’s funny.”
Me… “Look at me… look at me! It’s not funny at all!”
Carrie… “I meant funny terrible… not funny Ha Ha.”
Me… “Oh, okay…”
Fellow DA, Carrie… “Fine, I guess.”
Me… “I wake up in the mornings and my fingers are stiff and curled up like this. (pause… hold up arthritic mitts) I have to concentrate and work them straight... bending and straightening to get the blood flowing again. I’m falling apart… falling apart I tell you!”
Carrie… “ha ha... that’s funny.”
Me… “Look at me… look at me! It’s not funny at all!”
Carrie… “I meant funny terrible… not funny Ha Ha.”
Me… “Oh, okay…”
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Theme Music of This Day...
...Neutral Milk Hotel – In the Aeroplane Over the Sea (rediscovered this album from this past spring - forgot how good it was)
...Sufjan Stevens – Seven Swans (beautiful. love it in the morning)
...Say Hi to Your Mom – Numbers & Mumbles (one of several discs from Cooler Than He Knows Brother*)
*side note… I received a Christmas package from my loving family two weeks ago. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to stare at all those wrapped gifts for 5-weeks, I made a compromise with myself. I get to open one gift each week on my day off. Funny how I need to reason these things out.
...Sufjan Stevens – Seven Swans (beautiful. love it in the morning)
...Say Hi to Your Mom – Numbers & Mumbles (one of several discs from Cooler Than He Knows Brother*)
*side note… I received a Christmas package from my loving family two weeks ago. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to stare at all those wrapped gifts for 5-weeks, I made a compromise with myself. I get to open one gift each week on my day off. Funny how I need to reason these things out.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Blue Tray Special
Yesterday I went on my second hike around the Castle Rock Loop. At McMurdo, off-station exploring is limited to routes that have been thoroughly surveyed to ensure safe passage. Castle Rock Loop is the longest of the permitted hikes and affords one a feeling of remoteness that should seem commonplace, but is often absent in the hustle and bustle of McMurdo Station.
The 9.3 mile hike starts at the Firehouse in McMurdo Station. A hiking party has to check out a radio from the Fire Station and forecast a time of return. Knowing that even 5 minutes of tardiness could result in dozens of phone calls and a Search & Rescue Team out in the field, we gave ourselves a couple of extra hours to complete the hike.
This week I was accompanying a group that included DA-Jeff, Baker-Christina, DA-Ben, Shuttle-Erica and DA-Richard. Last week I did the same hike with Karen, one of my supervisors. On both outings, the weather Gods graciously smiled down on me.
This week, unlike the previous, we were treated to an utterly windless day, and so we attempted a climb up the 200ft Castle Rock. The backside of the outcropping was a relatively easy scramble that leads up to the flat tabletop. Where the climb was slightly exposed, fixed-lines had been set-up to provide some protection. The panoramic views were breathtaking.
DA-Richard, one of probably four people on the ICE who can make me laugh without fail, strolled off toward the sharp edge. Inching forward and peering out, he called back to us, “Oh my God, this is so beautiful… I think I’m going to puke.” He’s scared of heights.
In turn, we each find ourselves resting on the warmth of the rock beneath us. We soak in the sun’s rays and are utterly intoxicated by the pristine landscape that fills the space between our perch and the distant horizon.
We descend Castle Rock and exchange childish smiles at the base. Our glances say, “Are you ready for this?” as though the question actually needed to be asked. Tearing our backpacks open, we pass around the bright blue lunch trays we borrowed from the galley.
Before bombing down the hill, DA-Ben tells me, “Dude, my brother Nick brought some wax with him for his skis… next week we’ll wax up these trays and see what we can really do…”
The 9.3 mile hike starts at the Firehouse in McMurdo Station. A hiking party has to check out a radio from the Fire Station and forecast a time of return. Knowing that even 5 minutes of tardiness could result in dozens of phone calls and a Search & Rescue Team out in the field, we gave ourselves a couple of extra hours to complete the hike.
This week I was accompanying a group that included DA-Jeff, Baker-Christina, DA-Ben, Shuttle-Erica and DA-Richard. Last week I did the same hike with Karen, one of my supervisors. On both outings, the weather Gods graciously smiled down on me.
This week, unlike the previous, we were treated to an utterly windless day, and so we attempted a climb up the 200ft Castle Rock. The backside of the outcropping was a relatively easy scramble that leads up to the flat tabletop. Where the climb was slightly exposed, fixed-lines had been set-up to provide some protection. The panoramic views were breathtaking.
DA-Richard, one of probably four people on the ICE who can make me laugh without fail, strolled off toward the sharp edge. Inching forward and peering out, he called back to us, “Oh my God, this is so beautiful… I think I’m going to puke.” He’s scared of heights.
In turn, we each find ourselves resting on the warmth of the rock beneath us. We soak in the sun’s rays and are utterly intoxicated by the pristine landscape that fills the space between our perch and the distant horizon.
We descend Castle Rock and exchange childish smiles at the base. Our glances say, “Are you ready for this?” as though the question actually needed to be asked. Tearing our backpacks open, we pass around the bright blue lunch trays we borrowed from the galley.
Before bombing down the hill, DA-Ben tells me, “Dude, my brother Nick brought some wax with him for his skis… next week we’ll wax up these trays and see what we can really do…”
CHECK IT OUT: click on either picture and you'll be linked to other photos from the hike.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Wednesday
why i love this place...
5:45AM - wake up
6:00AM - start work
4:00PM - finish work
4:30PM - climb in bouldering cave with Ben
6:45PM - attend yoga class
8:00PM - sit in on weekly science lecture (this week: Long Distance Balloon project)
9:00PM - rugby practice (I am learning a brand new sport at 26!)
10:15PM - shower
10:30PM - go to sleep (and repeat)
5:45AM - wake up
6:00AM - start work
4:00PM - finish work
4:30PM - climb in bouldering cave with Ben
6:45PM - attend yoga class
8:00PM - sit in on weekly science lecture (this week: Long Distance Balloon project)
9:00PM - rugby practice (I am learning a brand new sport at 26!)
10:15PM - shower
10:30PM - go to sleep (and repeat)
Saturday, October 22, 2005
ayn rand
Jeff the Giant, a brilliant fellow who holds a Masters in Environmental Policy from a distinguished Ivy League school, spies me across the table during our morning break. He’s a DA (Dining Attendant) like me, and at 6’ 7” he towers over all of us.
Half laughing, mostly with his eyes, he says to me… “A friend of mine once told me that anyone who reads Ayn Rand automatically becomes an asshole for two-weeks afterward…”
I glance up and reply… “Huh? Make sure to slap me upside the head in a couple of weeks if that turns out to be the case.”
The Fountainhead has taken over every quiet moment I find. It’s fascinating and completely absorbing… Big Red (my parka) has a pocket permanently dedicated to the volume.
Half laughing, mostly with his eyes, he says to me… “A friend of mine once told me that anyone who reads Ayn Rand automatically becomes an asshole for two-weeks afterward…”
I glance up and reply… “Huh? Make sure to slap me upside the head in a couple of weeks if that turns out to be the case.”
The Fountainhead has taken over every quiet moment I find. It’s fascinating and completely absorbing… Big Red (my parka) has a pocket permanently dedicated to the volume.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
A quiet lesson in life
My eyes open slowly, effortlessly, as though the pressures holding them shut were gently lifted.
A rich darkness shrouds the room, save the headlamp that delicately lights her face above me. The only sound, that of quiet breathing from roommates sleeping in the darkness.
The lamp glows, and fringes of that light suggest the brilliance of her eyes. They are kind and focused, intent upon her hands which I cannot see, and can only feel. She shifts her gaze to mine and smiles gently – her eyes slowly closing and opening again, as though to say, “hi.”
I feel the pressure of her fingers on my aching forearm, the pain of a week’s unfamiliar labor being kneaded out of every tired muscle. Her hands work expertly, methodically attending to every tight fiber. My pain, the pain under her fingertips, is the sensation of being deconstructed. Deconstructed and reassembled in proper order.
I lie still, giving in completely to the expertise of her touch. The human form, my human form, holds no mystery. It’s not just that I am watching, experiencing, the work of competence, of purpose and pride. It’s the familiarity demonstrated in her touch. A conversation without words. Her hands speak, reducing my arms, the pain of the fibers within, to something tangible. I listen, and my physical surrender replies humbly, “yes, thank you.”
. . .
Physical contact, it’s a funny thing to consider a necessity. We need nutrition, oxygen, water to fuel our bodies. Do we need touch in much the same way? There is an intimacy in touch. It’s a trust. It’s a gift. Touch can be intimate without being sexual. It’s in awkward hugs between brothers. It’s in a comforting arm around mournful shoulders. It’s in healing hands on an aching body.
A rich darkness shrouds the room, save the headlamp that delicately lights her face above me. The only sound, that of quiet breathing from roommates sleeping in the darkness.
The lamp glows, and fringes of that light suggest the brilliance of her eyes. They are kind and focused, intent upon her hands which I cannot see, and can only feel. She shifts her gaze to mine and smiles gently – her eyes slowly closing and opening again, as though to say, “hi.”
I feel the pressure of her fingers on my aching forearm, the pain of a week’s unfamiliar labor being kneaded out of every tired muscle. Her hands work expertly, methodically attending to every tight fiber. My pain, the pain under her fingertips, is the sensation of being deconstructed. Deconstructed and reassembled in proper order.
I lie still, giving in completely to the expertise of her touch. The human form, my human form, holds no mystery. It’s not just that I am watching, experiencing, the work of competence, of purpose and pride. It’s the familiarity demonstrated in her touch. A conversation without words. Her hands speak, reducing my arms, the pain of the fibers within, to something tangible. I listen, and my physical surrender replies humbly, “yes, thank you.”
. . .
Physical contact, it’s a funny thing to consider a necessity. We need nutrition, oxygen, water to fuel our bodies. Do we need touch in much the same way? There is an intimacy in touch. It’s a trust. It’s a gift. Touch can be intimate without being sexual. It’s in awkward hugs between brothers. It’s in a comforting arm around mournful shoulders. It’s in healing hands on an aching body.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Getting me through my day
I foresee this to be the first of many posts about a gal named Shelton.
Shelton claims to be from Tennessee, and her accent is convincing, but really, I think she’s from another planet. She’s one of my favorite people on the ICE.
In the last three years she’s lived in five different states (Tennessee, Washington, New Mexico, Montana and Colorado), through-hiked the 2,160 mile Appalachian Trail, dropped out of college (multiple times), enrolled in culinary school, and accepted a cooking internship here in Antarctica.
Silly and goofy in the most endearing way possible, an ear-to-ear grin almost always decorates her face. She’s as skinny as a rail, with eyes that are wild and distant at the same time. Laughter seems to erupt from her entire body at the most unexpected times. You can’t help but smile and laugh along. One might look at her and say that she is pretty in the conventional sense, but it would more appropriate to say that she is beautiful in a most unconventional sense.
With her Southern drawl she’ll gives you the impression of being sweetly naive. Certainly she is sweet, but I also think she is more aware and perceptive then she lets on. What is probably most charming is that everything about her has a genuine fearless quality you’re only accustomed to seeing in children. Whatever the case, everyone around is happier for knowing Shelton.
For the first 2 weeks of her internship, Shelton is assigned to work as a DA. After that she will move to the kitchen and apprentice with production cooks and chefs. During one of our DA stretch-breaks, our entire crew is lying in the back dining room in peaceful silence. We are stretching our wrists, shoulders and backs to try and prevent the repetitive motion injuries that plague our crew. The light is dim, and with the breakfast rush over, all is quiet. Our peaceful stretching is unexpectedly disrupted with an outburst from Shelton…
“Last night at dinner, I saw the ma’anliest man I’ve ever seen.” The awkward pause that follows is long enough for the whole room to erupt in laughter… all of us looking at each other, thinking, “what?”
“ah-Ha’ ha-Ha',” she laughs along… mostly because the rest of us are cracking up, not really knowing what’s so funny.
“Seriously y’all. He’s really tall. He had a beard… didn’t any of y’all see him? He was really handsome… I talked to him.” She continues.
“I was real nervous. He was taking fried okra from the line, and I was like, ‘Wow! Do you like… okra?’ He told me he’s going to South Pole, and I was like, ‘Wow… cool… are you flyin’ there?’”
I look over at my friend Alison, another DA, and we’re laughing so hard that sound cannot escape our mouths. The only way to get to South Pole station is to fly there. Shelton shrugs, smiles innocently and laughs along with the rest of us.
Shelton claims to be from Tennessee, and her accent is convincing, but really, I think she’s from another planet. She’s one of my favorite people on the ICE.
In the last three years she’s lived in five different states (Tennessee, Washington, New Mexico, Montana and Colorado), through-hiked the 2,160 mile Appalachian Trail, dropped out of college (multiple times), enrolled in culinary school, and accepted a cooking internship here in Antarctica.
Silly and goofy in the most endearing way possible, an ear-to-ear grin almost always decorates her face. She’s as skinny as a rail, with eyes that are wild and distant at the same time. Laughter seems to erupt from her entire body at the most unexpected times. You can’t help but smile and laugh along. One might look at her and say that she is pretty in the conventional sense, but it would more appropriate to say that she is beautiful in a most unconventional sense.
With her Southern drawl she’ll gives you the impression of being sweetly naive. Certainly she is sweet, but I also think she is more aware and perceptive then she lets on. What is probably most charming is that everything about her has a genuine fearless quality you’re only accustomed to seeing in children. Whatever the case, everyone around is happier for knowing Shelton.
For the first 2 weeks of her internship, Shelton is assigned to work as a DA. After that she will move to the kitchen and apprentice with production cooks and chefs. During one of our DA stretch-breaks, our entire crew is lying in the back dining room in peaceful silence. We are stretching our wrists, shoulders and backs to try and prevent the repetitive motion injuries that plague our crew. The light is dim, and with the breakfast rush over, all is quiet. Our peaceful stretching is unexpectedly disrupted with an outburst from Shelton…
“Last night at dinner, I saw the ma’anliest man I’ve ever seen.” The awkward pause that follows is long enough for the whole room to erupt in laughter… all of us looking at each other, thinking, “what?”
“ah-Ha’ ha-Ha',” she laughs along… mostly because the rest of us are cracking up, not really knowing what’s so funny.
“Seriously y’all. He’s really tall. He had a beard… didn’t any of y’all see him? He was really handsome… I talked to him.” She continues.
“I was real nervous. He was taking fried okra from the line, and I was like, ‘Wow! Do you like… okra?’ He told me he’s going to South Pole, and I was like, ‘Wow… cool… are you flyin’ there?’”
I look over at my friend Alison, another DA, and we’re laughing so hard that sound cannot escape our mouths. The only way to get to South Pole station is to fly there. Shelton shrugs, smiles innocently and laughs along with the rest of us.
wildlife... Wildlife!
I got to see sea-ice. I walked on frozen ocean. Just under my soles lay shades of blue that I’ve never seen in nature. Pure, clear and vivid blues with an iridescence that defined the sensation of cold.
Today was my one day off during the work week. Right now it’s Wednesday, which is a bit of a downer because 90% of the folks at McMurdo have Sundays off, and I miss out on spending time with a lot of my friends. However, having a weekday off has definite perks.
I was invited to join some scientists and research techs on a field trip out to Cape Evans. I was to help them collect Antarctic fish from the traps that are set in the fish-huts some 15 miles from the research station, out on the sea-ice. The researchers are looking at the physical mechanisms that allow these fish to survive in the frigid waters (-28 deg-F) of Antarctica. The fish produce a protein that behaves as natural antifreeze; they also have a higher salt content that keeps them from freezing solid.
We bounced out to Cape Evans in a vehicle called a Piston Bully, which is a relatively small (by Antarctic standards) track-driven vehicle. Imagine a miniature unarmored tank.
Halfway out to Cape Evans we came across a group of seals that had surface through a crack in one of the pressure ridges. They were just kind of resting and lounging on the sea-ice surface, so we pulled the Piston Bully over and moseyed over to have a look. It was funny to realize that these four blubbery creatures were the first living creatures (other than human) that I’d seen since arriving on this continent. There are no bugs here… no migrant birds have arrived… and McMurdo has a no pet policy.
Today was my one day off during the work week. Right now it’s Wednesday, which is a bit of a downer because 90% of the folks at McMurdo have Sundays off, and I miss out on spending time with a lot of my friends. However, having a weekday off has definite perks.
I was invited to join some scientists and research techs on a field trip out to Cape Evans. I was to help them collect Antarctic fish from the traps that are set in the fish-huts some 15 miles from the research station, out on the sea-ice. The researchers are looking at the physical mechanisms that allow these fish to survive in the frigid waters (-28 deg-F) of Antarctica. The fish produce a protein that behaves as natural antifreeze; they also have a higher salt content that keeps them from freezing solid.
We bounced out to Cape Evans in a vehicle called a Piston Bully, which is a relatively small (by Antarctic standards) track-driven vehicle. Imagine a miniature unarmored tank.
Halfway out to Cape Evans we came across a group of seals that had surface through a crack in one of the pressure ridges. They were just kind of resting and lounging on the sea-ice surface, so we pulled the Piston Bully over and moseyed over to have a look. It was funny to realize that these four blubbery creatures were the first living creatures (other than human) that I’d seen since arriving on this continent. There are no bugs here… no migrant birds have arrived… and McMurdo has a no pet policy.
After snapping photos of the seals we bounced along in the Piston Bully for another half an hour to reach the small fish huts that cover the ice-fishing holes. I help the scientists haul up the fish traps, but otherwise I mostly sit around and take in the experience. When the windows are covered in the fish hut, the hole through 6ft of sea-ice glows as though it were a fluorescent portal to another world.
After finishing at the fish huts, we are permitted to hike around Cape Evans a bit. With the research station far out of sight, the remoteness of our environment really sets in, and it’s a wonderful feeling.
. . .
(Click on either picture to be linked to other images from the day trip... do it!)
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Lime Bug-Juice
It’s our 10:30 lunch break. We DA’s eat our meals 30 minutes before the Galley is opened up to the general public, and I’m sitting at a circular table with a handful of the colorful characters I work with.
Vince Vaughn DA sits to my right… a tall, lanky fella who eats like a 15-year-old going through a growth spurt. He’s our class clown - a charmer who is unable to stop with the wisecracks and stories.
Across from me sits Eor-DA… so called for his lethargic pace, as well as his sparing, dry and often cheerless conversation. Eor-DA, however, is probably the funniest guy on our crew. When he does say something, it's often the driest, wittiest thing I hear all day. He was a librarian of all things back in Denver.
To my left sits Kastanza-DA, who, physically, has really no resemblance to my favorite Seinfeld character. Yes, he is small, but he’s a skinny 22-year-old… not quite the short, quirky, bald man. He’s also from Louisiana, so the nasally Kastanza voice is laced with a Southern accent. All that said, Kastanza-DA personifies Jerry’s angry friend George to a ‘T’. How someone can be so funny and amusing while at the same time so irritable, neurotic, and self-involved… I’ll never know.
These guys all got here in August for something called Winfly. During Winfly, a small crew from each department comes in and takes over for the group that wintered over. Today they are sharing stories about times during the Winfly months when they were written up for some sort of deviant behavior.
Kastanza-DA chimes in with his story…
“’ey, TIM…” He has a way of over emphasizing the person’s name who he is addressing. “…so I never got written up for this, but I thought I would be.” Eor-DA and Vince Vaughn-DA already start chuckling because they know which story is coming.
“…well, you know them bug-juices, right?” By bug-juice he is referring to Galley jargon for the various Kool-Aid type beverages we serve. We have fruit punch, orange, lemonade, cherry, and lime…
“Yup,” I reply.
“A’ight, well, I’m sittin’ there one day and I’m supposed to mix up all the bug juices, you know? I do it and all… it’s my favorite thing… don’t have to talk to anyone for two-hours… just stand in the back and mix my bug juice.” He’s slumped in his chair, looking at me through squinty eyes.
“So I come in the next mornin’ and the cooks and Mary (a supervisor) come grab me right away. They take me back to the bug-juice cooler and they ask me, ‘Did you mix the lime bug-juice yesterday?’ and I’m like ‘Yeah I did… what the hell?’ Well, maybe I didn’t say ‘hell,’ but…”
“So they’re like, ‘Can you show us how you made the lime bug juice?’ and I’m like, ‘Sure, whatever.’ So I grabs the packet of lime bug-juice powder off the shelf and I’m tell ‘em ‘I took two of these packets like I’m supposed to, then I added 5 gallons of water, and mixed.’”
“Mary’s like, ‘Is that the packet that you used yesterday?’ and I tell her, ‘Yeah it is.’ She’s like, ‘But that’s the wrong packet… it says Lime Gelatin.” I’m like, ‘Yeah, so?’ Mary’s like ‘You made 5-gallons of Lime Jello.’ And I just start laughing right there… they weren’t laughing though… they were looking at me all serious and I stood up straight tried to stop laughing.”
“Shit man, I didn’t know Gelatin meant Jello. How the hell am I supposed to know what Gelatin is… Why do they put the bug juice packets right next to the Jello packets anyway? What are you laughin’ at TIM. Did you know that gelatin meant Jello?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle, imagining someone going to fill up the juice dispenser with a 5-gallon stainless steel canister of Jello.
“So you think you’re all smart and stuff… well, to hell with you...”
Vince Vaughn DA sits to my right… a tall, lanky fella who eats like a 15-year-old going through a growth spurt. He’s our class clown - a charmer who is unable to stop with the wisecracks and stories.
Across from me sits Eor-DA… so called for his lethargic pace, as well as his sparing, dry and often cheerless conversation. Eor-DA, however, is probably the funniest guy on our crew. When he does say something, it's often the driest, wittiest thing I hear all day. He was a librarian of all things back in Denver.
To my left sits Kastanza-DA, who, physically, has really no resemblance to my favorite Seinfeld character. Yes, he is small, but he’s a skinny 22-year-old… not quite the short, quirky, bald man. He’s also from Louisiana, so the nasally Kastanza voice is laced with a Southern accent. All that said, Kastanza-DA personifies Jerry’s angry friend George to a ‘T’. How someone can be so funny and amusing while at the same time so irritable, neurotic, and self-involved… I’ll never know.
These guys all got here in August for something called Winfly. During Winfly, a small crew from each department comes in and takes over for the group that wintered over. Today they are sharing stories about times during the Winfly months when they were written up for some sort of deviant behavior.
Kastanza-DA chimes in with his story…
“’ey, TIM…” He has a way of over emphasizing the person’s name who he is addressing. “…so I never got written up for this, but I thought I would be.” Eor-DA and Vince Vaughn-DA already start chuckling because they know which story is coming.
“…well, you know them bug-juices, right?” By bug-juice he is referring to Galley jargon for the various Kool-Aid type beverages we serve. We have fruit punch, orange, lemonade, cherry, and lime…
“Yup,” I reply.
“A’ight, well, I’m sittin’ there one day and I’m supposed to mix up all the bug juices, you know? I do it and all… it’s my favorite thing… don’t have to talk to anyone for two-hours… just stand in the back and mix my bug juice.” He’s slumped in his chair, looking at me through squinty eyes.
“So I come in the next mornin’ and the cooks and Mary (a supervisor) come grab me right away. They take me back to the bug-juice cooler and they ask me, ‘Did you mix the lime bug-juice yesterday?’ and I’m like ‘Yeah I did… what the hell?’ Well, maybe I didn’t say ‘hell,’ but…”
“So they’re like, ‘Can you show us how you made the lime bug juice?’ and I’m like, ‘Sure, whatever.’ So I grabs the packet of lime bug-juice powder off the shelf and I’m tell ‘em ‘I took two of these packets like I’m supposed to, then I added 5 gallons of water, and mixed.’”
“Mary’s like, ‘Is that the packet that you used yesterday?’ and I tell her, ‘Yeah it is.’ She’s like, ‘But that’s the wrong packet… it says Lime Gelatin.” I’m like, ‘Yeah, so?’ Mary’s like ‘You made 5-gallons of Lime Jello.’ And I just start laughing right there… they weren’t laughing though… they were looking at me all serious and I stood up straight tried to stop laughing.”
“Shit man, I didn’t know Gelatin meant Jello. How the hell am I supposed to know what Gelatin is… Why do they put the bug juice packets right next to the Jello packets anyway? What are you laughin’ at TIM. Did you know that gelatin meant Jello?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle, imagining someone going to fill up the juice dispenser with a 5-gallon stainless steel canister of Jello.
“So you think you’re all smart and stuff… well, to hell with you...”
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Don't call me Big Ern'
A stinkin’ 98!
Even in the Southern Hemisphere, I find I have no bowling skills to speak of… yet again failing to break the century mark.
Last night the crew of the Galley reserved both lanes of the McMurdo bowling alley. It’s the oldest in the Southern Hemisphere – built in 1961. The lanes are rutty and the pins have to be reset manually by a couple of guys working behind the scenes.
My work friends tried to comfort me with words of “those lane suck… they’ll totally throw off your game.” I never confessed that I was actually thinking to myself that the lanes had helped my game.
Even in the Southern Hemisphere, I find I have no bowling skills to speak of… yet again failing to break the century mark.
Last night the crew of the Galley reserved both lanes of the McMurdo bowling alley. It’s the oldest in the Southern Hemisphere – built in 1961. The lanes are rutty and the pins have to be reset manually by a couple of guys working behind the scenes.
My work friends tried to comfort me with words of “those lane suck… they’ll totally throw off your game.” I never confessed that I was actually thinking to myself that the lanes had helped my game.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Eye-cicles
Definition: when the moisture in your breath instantly freezes to your eye-brows and eye-lashes, forming crystalline eye accessories.
The newest style for this winter, designers in Europe are frantically looking for a way to duplicate the look using synthetic polymers.
-10 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. I had the day off from work today and went for a hike down to Scott Base, the New Zealand Station, and up Observation Hill. Here’s a link to the pictures:
The newest style for this winter, designers in Europe are frantically looking for a way to duplicate the look using synthetic polymers.
-10 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. I had the day off from work today and went for a hike down to Scott Base, the New Zealand Station, and up Observation Hill. Here’s a link to the pictures:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/26649384@N00/sets/1127341/
coming full-circle...
When I was in 8th grade I got my first job. Employment opportunities tend to be limited for 14-year-olds, so my Dad landed me dishwashing gig at the Cougar Country Drive-In. For a year and a half, until I turned 16 and could legally handle food, I scrubbed dishes, pots, and every sort of vile nastiness that the kitchen threw my way. $4.25/hour seemed fair at the time. My friends stopped hanging out with me because I became the smelly-kid… the stench of bleach could never be washed off. (I made that last bit up… I wasn’t the smelly kid… just the kid wearing sweatpants, skin-tight polo’s and a fanny pack. My friends hung out with me anyway).
Where was I? Oh, the dish-washing bit…
Yeah, so this week I found out that I’ve still got it. In addition to sweet nunchuck, bow-hunting and computer-hacking skills, my repertoire includes superhuman dishwashing skills. Yeah, girls only want boyfriends with great skills.
So, as it turns out, my newest form of employment has more or less placed me in the “Galley” for an indefinite period of time. I am a DA… a Dining Attendant… a position that would that would be more aptly titled “Dish Washer, Who Sometimes Helps With Food-Prep and Dining Hall Duties, But Mostly Just Washes Heaps and Heaps of Dishes”. But you know… I think DWWSHWFPADHDBMJWHAHOD wasn’t a great acronym for the folks in payroll… they're always griping about something.
It’s a job, you know? And… I get to work with some of the best folks at the station. I heard a statistic the other day that said that the Galley employees more Masters and PhD holders than the Crary Laboratory. I’d believe it too – one of my supervisors is a Masters-level biologist.
The 10-hour days fly by, and we get to crank up whatever music we want to work to. Nothing’ like scrubbing pots and pans to The Decemberists.
One of my supervisors, Spit-fire-Kim, was sitting with me during our breakfast break. She’s explaining to me the importance of taking care to avoid repetitive-motion injuries…
“Really, Tim, you have to take care of your body as a DA. Did you know that more than half of our staff right now is injured in some fashion? Most are suffering from…” she glanced down at my plate of orange slices, and blurts out, “Hey, Freshies!”
She darted for the food line and never completed her thought. On my flight from New Zealand we brought in a pallet of fresh produce.
Where was I? Oh, the dish-washing bit…
Yeah, so this week I found out that I’ve still got it. In addition to sweet nunchuck, bow-hunting and computer-hacking skills, my repertoire includes superhuman dishwashing skills. Yeah, girls only want boyfriends with great skills.
So, as it turns out, my newest form of employment has more or less placed me in the “Galley” for an indefinite period of time. I am a DA… a Dining Attendant… a position that would that would be more aptly titled “Dish Washer, Who Sometimes Helps With Food-Prep and Dining Hall Duties, But Mostly Just Washes Heaps and Heaps of Dishes”. But you know… I think DWWSHWFPADHDBMJWHAHOD wasn’t a great acronym for the folks in payroll… they're always griping about something.
It’s a job, you know? And… I get to work with some of the best folks at the station. I heard a statistic the other day that said that the Galley employees more Masters and PhD holders than the Crary Laboratory. I’d believe it too – one of my supervisors is a Masters-level biologist.
The 10-hour days fly by, and we get to crank up whatever music we want to work to. Nothing’ like scrubbing pots and pans to The Decemberists.
One of my supervisors, Spit-fire-Kim, was sitting with me during our breakfast break. She’s explaining to me the importance of taking care to avoid repetitive-motion injuries…
“Really, Tim, you have to take care of your body as a DA. Did you know that more than half of our staff right now is injured in some fashion? Most are suffering from…” she glanced down at my plate of orange slices, and blurts out, “Hey, Freshies!”
She darted for the food line and never completed her thought. On my flight from New Zealand we brought in a pallet of fresh produce.
Happy Feet
Damn right I’m wearing clogs.
Yeah, yeah… they were a mandatory purchase for my job.
You can make fun and point, but know that these are the most comfortable shoes EVER made. Someone should receive a Nobel Prize for Ergonomics for designing these things.
If you have the means, I’d highly recommend you pick up a pair of Dansko clogs.
Yeah, yeah… they were a mandatory purchase for my job.
You can make fun and point, but know that these are the most comfortable shoes EVER made. Someone should receive a Nobel Prize for Ergonomics for designing these things.
If you have the means, I’d highly recommend you pick up a pair of Dansko clogs.
She's got blue-eyes and this man's heart...
There are certain persons in one’s life who simply inspire you to smile and enjoy your own life more. Old or young, man or woman, they inspire simply by their nature, the way they live their lives, and their successes in spite of whatever cards they're dealt.
Thanks for the wall decoration Hails… I love it.
p.s. Ms. Piiilot... will you get that girl some braces?
Thanks for the wall decoration Hails… I love it.
p.s. Ms. Piiilot... will you get that girl some braces?
Monday, October 10, 2005
Me? Oh, I'm Tim...
"No, no... not Jim... sorry, I mumble... it's Tim, with a T. I'm from Seattle..."
"Oh, well I think I'm working in the Galley. What? Oh, in the real world? I was an engineer for a medical device company. Yourself?"
. . .
As we file off the plane in Christchurch, we're greeted by a myriad of Polar Services representatives. We fill forms, receive handouts, and surprisingly... $450NZ! The money more than pays for our food, accommodation and transport, so the remainder is ours to spend as we please. Beer, please. We spend the afternoon at the Antarctic Center trying on our ECW (Extreme Cold Weather) gear and packing our flight bags. Giant red parka, moon boots, Gortex overalls, gloves and hats galore...
I find that pretty much any person I strike up a conversation with has an interesting story to tell. They're all such nice, open minded, adventurous folk...
Delaney - Born and raised in Nebraska. Did his first Ironman Triathlon last summer (which is insane!). He's got his bachelors in construction management and aspires to land a job in Europe.
Erica - Hails from Boulder, she left a massage therapy practice to hit the ICE. A couple of years back she spent 3 months touring New Zealand on her bicycle. In the spring she wants to explore Thailand, Cambodia, India and Nepal. She also has a laugh that's utterly infectious.
Charlie - Also of Nebraska. He's 18! 18-years-old!!! Just finished high school and wanted to come down and join his brother on the ICE. At 18 I was cowering in a dorm room with my nose buried in a Calculus book!
Keith - A former Army brat now calling Virginia home. He's been doing this since 1999, and built both the climbing wall and bouldering cave at McMurdo station. A drafter by trade, he's also one of the captains for the Rugby team at the station.
Ruth - Another Seattlite! A sweet little waif... she styles hair, teaches yoga, lived in a commune, and enjoys belly dancing. Yeah... we take all kinds on the ICE.
Andre - A fire fighter from Chicago. He's also writing 2 novels and does editing and graphics work for movies in his spare time.
Amanda - An environmental conservationist from Northern California who'll be driving shuttles in Antarctica. As free a spirit as I've met...
Sandwich - Hailing from God knows where. She's got streaks of green hair and tattoo's of dancing cartoon sandwiches around her calf. Sandwich has been down here for a few seasons, and in between she lives out of a backpack in the remote regions of this world.
. . .
I can't get over the group of people I'm surrounded by. Really... this is the most fascinating social environment I've ever experienced. I know that they didn't do personality screening or anything... it must be the nature of the experience that naturally selects this eclectic group of free spirits. I feel at home.
Oh... so at long last, here's a link to some Christchurch pics:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/26649384@N00/sets/1111783/
"Oh, well I think I'm working in the Galley. What? Oh, in the real world? I was an engineer for a medical device company. Yourself?"
. . .
As we file off the plane in Christchurch, we're greeted by a myriad of Polar Services representatives. We fill forms, receive handouts, and surprisingly... $450NZ! The money more than pays for our food, accommodation and transport, so the remainder is ours to spend as we please. Beer, please. We spend the afternoon at the Antarctic Center trying on our ECW (Extreme Cold Weather) gear and packing our flight bags. Giant red parka, moon boots, Gortex overalls, gloves and hats galore...
I find that pretty much any person I strike up a conversation with has an interesting story to tell. They're all such nice, open minded, adventurous folk...
Delaney - Born and raised in Nebraska. Did his first Ironman Triathlon last summer (which is insane!). He's got his bachelors in construction management and aspires to land a job in Europe.
Erica - Hails from Boulder, she left a massage therapy practice to hit the ICE. A couple of years back she spent 3 months touring New Zealand on her bicycle. In the spring she wants to explore Thailand, Cambodia, India and Nepal. She also has a laugh that's utterly infectious.
Charlie - Also of Nebraska. He's 18! 18-years-old!!! Just finished high school and wanted to come down and join his brother on the ICE. At 18 I was cowering in a dorm room with my nose buried in a Calculus book!
Keith - A former Army brat now calling Virginia home. He's been doing this since 1999, and built both the climbing wall and bouldering cave at McMurdo station. A drafter by trade, he's also one of the captains for the Rugby team at the station.
Ruth - Another Seattlite! A sweet little waif... she styles hair, teaches yoga, lived in a commune, and enjoys belly dancing. Yeah... we take all kinds on the ICE.
Andre - A fire fighter from Chicago. He's also writing 2 novels and does editing and graphics work for movies in his spare time.
Amanda - An environmental conservationist from Northern California who'll be driving shuttles in Antarctica. As free a spirit as I've met...
Sandwich - Hailing from God knows where. She's got streaks of green hair and tattoo's of dancing cartoon sandwiches around her calf. Sandwich has been down here for a few seasons, and in between she lives out of a backpack in the remote regions of this world.
. . .
I can't get over the group of people I'm surrounded by. Really... this is the most fascinating social environment I've ever experienced. I know that they didn't do personality screening or anything... it must be the nature of the experience that naturally selects this eclectic group of free spirits. I feel at home.
Oh... so at long last, here's a link to some Christchurch pics:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/26649384@N00/sets/1111783/
Saturday, October 08, 2005
FNG's (pronunciation: fin-gees)
Okay, so my blogging is long overdue. It's been all of 6 days since I left, and it honestly feels like I've been gone for 1, maybe 2 days, tops. Instead of throwing up one huge rambling post, I'll try and break up the stories a bit. You guys can catch up in snippets at your leisure.
Right... so I arrived in LAX with little fanfare or excitement. Filing through security to get into the international wing, I couldn't help but glance around at the faces of others headed for my gate. Who, I wondered, were my fellow Antarctic travelers. Tough to tell, really. With the exception of families with kids in tow, and elderly couples, just about any man or woman could be headed for the ICE. I guess I was expecting big grizzly men and tough-as-nails women, but then I caught my reflection in the dark window and realized that I look nothing like my preconceived notions.
I took my seat in the middle of the 747, one empty seat to my right and two to my left. As I'm thumbing through my book, I hear a cheerful voice say, "Hey buddy, guess we're sitting next to each other."
Delaney is looming in the aisle - a big corn-fed kid from Lincoln, Nebraska. He's all smiles and forearms, greeting me with a firm handshake. Delaney and I, as it was to turn out, would become good buds. The powers that be at Mother Raytheon (the big-bad defense company signing our checks) would throw Delaney and I in the same hotel suite in Christchurch, and more to our surprise, we would find ourselves as dorm roommates in Antarctica. Delaney's another first timer, headed down to the ICE to be a General Service Hand (shoveling snow, he thinks).
Eventually the seat to my left is occupied by Chipotle (as he calls himself), a computer tech guy from the Denver area. He's a tall wiry kid donning thick-rimmed glasses and a head of fuzzy hair. He talks fast and unknowingly sprinkles in tech-jargon that makes his conversation indecipherable half the time. He's a great kid though, and I think about this motley crew sitting in our aisle and realize I need to shelve all preconceived notions for the next 4 months.
Soft-spoken Dan fills out the last seat in our row, and he's the only one amongst the four of us whose been down to the ICE before. This is his third season, and he'll be one of the lab techs at the Crary Chem Lab.
After introductions, Dan strokes his wispy beard and says to us, "So, all three of you are FNG's, huh?"
In unison we query, "Fin-Gees?"
"Fuckin' New Guys (FNG)... you're first timers."
Right... so I arrived in LAX with little fanfare or excitement. Filing through security to get into the international wing, I couldn't help but glance around at the faces of others headed for my gate. Who, I wondered, were my fellow Antarctic travelers. Tough to tell, really. With the exception of families with kids in tow, and elderly couples, just about any man or woman could be headed for the ICE. I guess I was expecting big grizzly men and tough-as-nails women, but then I caught my reflection in the dark window and realized that I look nothing like my preconceived notions.
I took my seat in the middle of the 747, one empty seat to my right and two to my left. As I'm thumbing through my book, I hear a cheerful voice say, "Hey buddy, guess we're sitting next to each other."
Delaney is looming in the aisle - a big corn-fed kid from Lincoln, Nebraska. He's all smiles and forearms, greeting me with a firm handshake. Delaney and I, as it was to turn out, would become good buds. The powers that be at Mother Raytheon (the big-bad defense company signing our checks) would throw Delaney and I in the same hotel suite in Christchurch, and more to our surprise, we would find ourselves as dorm roommates in Antarctica. Delaney's another first timer, headed down to the ICE to be a General Service Hand (shoveling snow, he thinks).
Eventually the seat to my left is occupied by Chipotle (as he calls himself), a computer tech guy from the Denver area. He's a tall wiry kid donning thick-rimmed glasses and a head of fuzzy hair. He talks fast and unknowingly sprinkles in tech-jargon that makes his conversation indecipherable half the time. He's a great kid though, and I think about this motley crew sitting in our aisle and realize I need to shelve all preconceived notions for the next 4 months.
Soft-spoken Dan fills out the last seat in our row, and he's the only one amongst the four of us whose been down to the ICE before. This is his third season, and he'll be one of the lab techs at the Crary Chem Lab.
After introductions, Dan strokes his wispy beard and says to us, "So, all three of you are FNG's, huh?"
In unison we query, "Fin-Gees?"
"Fuckin' New Guys (FNG)... you're first timers."
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
New Toy!
Ah, yes... the Nikon D70s. I spoiled myself and just picked up this new toy. I'm taking off this afternoon for my grand adventure in the Antarctic and New Zealand. Take care all... I'll post again soon - with lots of pics!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Trivial Pursuit
This post goes out to my great roommates, but in particular, to Preschool Teacher roommate. Thanks for the endless laughter and shenanigans...
It's the last night for the three of us to hang out together for 6 months. Tomorrow, Preschool Teacher Roommate flies down to the Bay Area to visit her family, and Tuesday I fly off for Antarctica.
To make an occasion of this evening Law Student roommate and Preschool Teacher roommate took me out for dinner and drinks. Later in the evening, we're lounging around our livingroom, playing a game of Trivial Pursuit as Preschool Teacher Roommate packs a bag.
It's her turn to read a question to Law Student roommate. Sitting there waiting for Law Student roommate's answer, she turns the card over to look at the correct answer. A moment later she's laughing to herself and shaking her head.
"What?" asks Law Student Roommate.
"Oh God... I'm just laughing at how stupid I feel," replies Preschool Teacher Roommate. "I was looking at the answer for a different question on this card, and the answer is Belgium."
"Huh?"
"The question is asking for the name of a country," she says.
"Huh?"
"Until now I always thought Belgium was a city in France," she mumbles.
"Seriously?"
"I know, I know... don't make fun. But really... it's not a city in France? Doesn't France have a city that sounds kind of like Belgium?"
"Ah... none that we know of."
We're all laughing and rolling, when Law Student Roommate says, "What are you talking about? You were dating me when I was traveling in Belgium!"
Arms raised, she exclaims, "But I thought you were in FRANCE!"
It's the last night for the three of us to hang out together for 6 months. Tomorrow, Preschool Teacher Roommate flies down to the Bay Area to visit her family, and Tuesday I fly off for Antarctica.
To make an occasion of this evening Law Student roommate and Preschool Teacher roommate took me out for dinner and drinks. Later in the evening, we're lounging around our livingroom, playing a game of Trivial Pursuit as Preschool Teacher Roommate packs a bag.
It's her turn to read a question to Law Student roommate. Sitting there waiting for Law Student roommate's answer, she turns the card over to look at the correct answer. A moment later she's laughing to herself and shaking her head.
"What?" asks Law Student Roommate.
"Oh God... I'm just laughing at how stupid I feel," replies Preschool Teacher Roommate. "I was looking at the answer for a different question on this card, and the answer is Belgium."
"Huh?"
"The question is asking for the name of a country," she says.
"Huh?"
"Until now I always thought Belgium was a city in France," she mumbles.
"Seriously?"
"I know, I know... don't make fun. But really... it's not a city in France? Doesn't France have a city that sounds kind of like Belgium?"
"Ah... none that we know of."
We're all laughing and rolling, when Law Student Roommate says, "What are you talking about? You were dating me when I was traveling in Belgium!"
Arms raised, she exclaims, "But I thought you were in FRANCE!"
Friday, September 30, 2005
Always Listen to Mom...
This post is a bit pre-mature in that if things had gone according to plan, I should probably be descending the Westside of Snoqualmie Pass right now.
So obviously, my (eh-hem... foolish) plans of crossing the state in 3 days on bicycle didn't quite pan out.
Wednesday morning I took off from Pullman at 6:00 AM, just before sunrise... just as I'd planned. At 5:00 PM, after pedaling 151 miles, I arrived in Vantage on the banks of the Columbia River... just as I'd planned. What I didn't plan on was a flare-up of an old Achilles injury. I hurt my right Achilles tendon about a year ago while training for a marathon, and it healed, but has never quite felt right.
In Othello, at around mile 110, it started to feel a little warm. Between Othello and Vantage, it got progressively worse. By the time I rolled into Vantage... I was mostly pedaling with my left leg, thinking THIS SUCKS!
There really wasn't much for me to debate... I knew I wasn't going to be able to ride the next day. Hopefully I'd be able to walk.
So, the good news was...
1. I have an incredible friend by the name of Weed, who was more than willing to come rescue me. He drove out Thursday morning before dawn, and had me back in Seattle before lunch time. Weed... you're a champ.
2. I got to enjoy a beautiful ride along HWY-26. The sun was out, fields were golden, and my pedestrian pace allowed me to notice nice little farm houses and such that I normally miss when zooming by at 70mph.
3. I got to watch the sunset and the sunrise from my little camping spot at the Gorge. Nothing like eating freeze-dried meals and drinking hot chocolate while watching the sky change color.
4. I got an extra day in Seattle! Law student roommate hooked up some Mariner tickets... FRONT ROW third-baseline! What a stud. Later that night, I even got to enjoy a pitcher of seasonal Pumpkin-Ale with the roomies and my great friends Wes & Jess.
5. My parents, bless their hearts, never once said "I told you so," when I called to let them know I'm quitting half-way. Whatever faults they may have, they will always be my biggest supporters in whatever I do. Thanks Mom & Dad.
6. I still have a goal to shoot for. I think I'll give the ride another try next summer. This time, however, I think I'll allow myself more than 3 days to cover the 288 miles.
So that's it... I'm back in Seattle with 4 more days until my departure. Here's a photo of my trusty steed. Clicking on the photo will link you to other pics on my Flickr page.
So obviously, my (eh-hem... foolish) plans of crossing the state in 3 days on bicycle didn't quite pan out.
Wednesday morning I took off from Pullman at 6:00 AM, just before sunrise... just as I'd planned. At 5:00 PM, after pedaling 151 miles, I arrived in Vantage on the banks of the Columbia River... just as I'd planned. What I didn't plan on was a flare-up of an old Achilles injury. I hurt my right Achilles tendon about a year ago while training for a marathon, and it healed, but has never quite felt right.
In Othello, at around mile 110, it started to feel a little warm. Between Othello and Vantage, it got progressively worse. By the time I rolled into Vantage... I was mostly pedaling with my left leg, thinking THIS SUCKS!
There really wasn't much for me to debate... I knew I wasn't going to be able to ride the next day. Hopefully I'd be able to walk.
So, the good news was...
1. I have an incredible friend by the name of Weed, who was more than willing to come rescue me. He drove out Thursday morning before dawn, and had me back in Seattle before lunch time. Weed... you're a champ.
2. I got to enjoy a beautiful ride along HWY-26. The sun was out, fields were golden, and my pedestrian pace allowed me to notice nice little farm houses and such that I normally miss when zooming by at 70mph.
3. I got to watch the sunset and the sunrise from my little camping spot at the Gorge. Nothing like eating freeze-dried meals and drinking hot chocolate while watching the sky change color.
4. I got an extra day in Seattle! Law student roommate hooked up some Mariner tickets... FRONT ROW third-baseline! What a stud. Later that night, I even got to enjoy a pitcher of seasonal Pumpkin-Ale with the roomies and my great friends Wes & Jess.
5. My parents, bless their hearts, never once said "I told you so," when I called to let them know I'm quitting half-way. Whatever faults they may have, they will always be my biggest supporters in whatever I do. Thanks Mom & Dad.
6. I still have a goal to shoot for. I think I'll give the ride another try next summer. This time, however, I think I'll allow myself more than 3 days to cover the 288 miles.
So that's it... I'm back in Seattle with 4 more days until my departure. Here's a photo of my trusty steed. Clicking on the photo will link you to other pics on my Flickr page.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Tour de Washington
Normally, smashing my left foot on a railroad-tie and tearing half of my big-toe nail off would just have me cursing my clumsiness.
This time, however, I was mostly thinking of how much I'm going to loathe my throbbing toe for the next 3 days.
Despite skeptical and concerned words from my mom, and pretty much everyone else I know, I'm starting my bicycle journey back to Seattle tomorrow morning. I hope to arrive in Seattle on Friday, sometime in the afternoon.
Here's hoping for strong tail-winds, sunny weather, and Lance-like legs. Wish me luck!
This time, however, I was mostly thinking of how much I'm going to loathe my throbbing toe for the next 3 days.
Despite skeptical and concerned words from my mom, and pretty much everyone else I know, I'm starting my bicycle journey back to Seattle tomorrow morning. I hope to arrive in Seattle on Friday, sometime in the afternoon.
Here's hoping for strong tail-winds, sunny weather, and Lance-like legs. Wish me luck!
Monday, September 26, 2005
Monday funnies...
I'm here in Pullman, WA visiting family and some of my friends' families. I arrived last night, by way of Portland, OR, and after dinner with the family, my 15-year-old (Cooler-Than-He-Knows) brother asked me if I want to go out for a walk. That is usually a signal that he wants to chat a bit, and since it's getting cool at night here in the Palouse, I suggested that we go get some hot-chocolate (coffee for me).
At a coffee shop, we plop down at a suitable table; he with a hot-chocolate in front of him, me with a latte. I'm appreciating the fancy design the barista made with the foam in my drink, and when I look up, it is just in time to watch my brother finish pounding his cup of hot chocolate. I'm laughing as I take my first sip of coffee, and he asks, with a sheepish smile, "What?"
"Good hot-chocolate, huh?" I reply.
"Yeah," he says without hesitation. Totally wired on sugar, and having nothing to do with his hands, like say... hold and drink from a warm cup, he is bobbing his entire upper torso up and down. Lightly playing the drums on our table, he starts off "So, I've got a funny story to tell you..."
"My friends Dan and Ian came over to our house last week, and we were hanging out. Wait, I think Amar and Justin also came over... or, no... maybe they weren't... oh, that's right... yeah, they were over too. So anyway... Dan reaches into his pocket says, 'Check this out,' as he pulls out this orangish pepper."
"I'm like 'Sweet dude, a pepper.' And Dan says, 'No... this is like the hottest pepper in the world. Like a 1000 times hotter than a jalapeno. I got it at the Food Co-Op.'" At this point I'm thinking to myself... WHAT? Food co-op?
He continues, "So Dan's waving around this pepper as he's talking and Oliver (our family's chocolate labrador) is going crazy, wagging his tail and eyeing the pepper in Dan's hand. I'm like, 'Dan you're an idiot... put that away. If Oliver eats it it'll probably kill him." I'm already laughing in anticipation as I watch him tell this story... arms waving and everything.
"So we decide that we'll all try a piece of the pepper. I go first and cut-off a little bit from the outside, and it's not hot at all. I cut the pepper open and touch my tongue to a little bit of the seed, and I'm like 'SHIT... ahhh! It burns!' Dan and Ian try it too, and we're all screaming. Ian's like 'I need milk, I need milk,' so I go to pour us glasses of milk when Ian starts screaming and running around."
"He's grabbing his eye and knocking shit all over the place. Ian sticks his head under the kitchen sink and he's screaming his head off... he grabs one of the dish sponges and starts soaking it with water and mashing it against his eye. I'm like, 'What should I do, what should I do?' when Dan starts yelling behind me, 'Ahhhh, shit my eye! my eye!' I tell Dan to quit making fun and help Ian, but Dan goes running off to the bathroom. I guess he rubbed his eye too. Both of them have their heads in the sinks, but they ended up okay. Their eyes were super red... those peppers should be illegal, man."
I'm in hysterics, picturing these 15-year-old nitwits thrashing around our house on some week night.
STORY No. 2... a shorter one...
Cooler-Than-He-Knows brother was out visiting me in Seattle a couple of weeks ago. At my farewell party, he was a comical observer of my friends, but he neglected to tell me this one story until last night.
He started off, "So, at your party I was talking to Nate, and I was telling him how Deuce was acting really funny. You know, like, drunk..."
"Nate told me, and he was pinching his nose, 'Yeah, I think Deuce crapped his pants... I'd stay away from him.'"
"I looked out the window to the balcony where Deuce was standing, and I was like 'Oh man, that sucks... those are really nice pants.'"
At a coffee shop, we plop down at a suitable table; he with a hot-chocolate in front of him, me with a latte. I'm appreciating the fancy design the barista made with the foam in my drink, and when I look up, it is just in time to watch my brother finish pounding his cup of hot chocolate. I'm laughing as I take my first sip of coffee, and he asks, with a sheepish smile, "What?"
"Good hot-chocolate, huh?" I reply.
"Yeah," he says without hesitation. Totally wired on sugar, and having nothing to do with his hands, like say... hold and drink from a warm cup, he is bobbing his entire upper torso up and down. Lightly playing the drums on our table, he starts off "So, I've got a funny story to tell you..."
"My friends Dan and Ian came over to our house last week, and we were hanging out. Wait, I think Amar and Justin also came over... or, no... maybe they weren't... oh, that's right... yeah, they were over too. So anyway... Dan reaches into his pocket says, 'Check this out,' as he pulls out this orangish pepper."
"I'm like 'Sweet dude, a pepper.' And Dan says, 'No... this is like the hottest pepper in the world. Like a 1000 times hotter than a jalapeno. I got it at the Food Co-Op.'" At this point I'm thinking to myself... WHAT? Food co-op?
He continues, "So Dan's waving around this pepper as he's talking and Oliver (our family's chocolate labrador) is going crazy, wagging his tail and eyeing the pepper in Dan's hand. I'm like, 'Dan you're an idiot... put that away. If Oliver eats it it'll probably kill him." I'm already laughing in anticipation as I watch him tell this story... arms waving and everything.
"So we decide that we'll all try a piece of the pepper. I go first and cut-off a little bit from the outside, and it's not hot at all. I cut the pepper open and touch my tongue to a little bit of the seed, and I'm like 'SHIT... ahhh! It burns!' Dan and Ian try it too, and we're all screaming. Ian's like 'I need milk, I need milk,' so I go to pour us glasses of milk when Ian starts screaming and running around."
"He's grabbing his eye and knocking shit all over the place. Ian sticks his head under the kitchen sink and he's screaming his head off... he grabs one of the dish sponges and starts soaking it with water and mashing it against his eye. I'm like, 'What should I do, what should I do?' when Dan starts yelling behind me, 'Ahhhh, shit my eye! my eye!' I tell Dan to quit making fun and help Ian, but Dan goes running off to the bathroom. I guess he rubbed his eye too. Both of them have their heads in the sinks, but they ended up okay. Their eyes were super red... those peppers should be illegal, man."
I'm in hysterics, picturing these 15-year-old nitwits thrashing around our house on some week night.
STORY No. 2... a shorter one...
Cooler-Than-He-Knows brother was out visiting me in Seattle a couple of weeks ago. At my farewell party, he was a comical observer of my friends, but he neglected to tell me this one story until last night.
He started off, "So, at your party I was talking to Nate, and I was telling him how Deuce was acting really funny. You know, like, drunk..."
"Nate told me, and he was pinching his nose, 'Yeah, I think Deuce crapped his pants... I'd stay away from him.'"
"I looked out the window to the balcony where Deuce was standing, and I was like 'Oh man, that sucks... those are really nice pants.'"
Friday, September 23, 2005
Skipping Rope... like Riding a Bike?
When I was nine-years-old my Starving-Artist brother and I lived in a fairly rural area of Japan, near the city of Fujinomia. We would be moving to the USA before the summer ended and I turned ten. I would have to say that the summer of my 9th year was the pinnacle of my double-dutch rope-skipping career.
In Japan, at least in our town, skipping-rope was a big deal. Those Japanese educators put kids through some of the craziest physical education exercises. Every morning, in the warmer months, we would run around a dirt track for 30 minutes... bare foot! I think the absence of shoes was supposed to instill toughness and humility... I don't know if I got any of that, but I did end up with some of the flattest feet of anyone I know. In the colder months, they would substitute rope-skipping for the running. Picture a school yard full of little kids, freezing, each with his or her own skipping rope, bopping up and down trying to follow the example of the PE instructor on a raised stage in front. During lunch and recess, we would ditch our little skipping-ropes for the double-dutch style ropes. We loved it... jumping in the whirling mass of rope, trying frantically to keep up with the kids on the ends who were spinning the ropes as fast as their spindly arms could manage.
Which brings me to yesterday. I was visiting my good friend (and ex-girlfriend) up in Vancouver, BC. As BC ex-girlfriend and I are kicking it in the Gas Town neighborhood, partaking in the Car-Free-Day festival, we meet up with a group of her friends. They are sort of the ultra-hip crowd, but not in the elitist sense, and more in the all-inclusive quirky individualist sense. After much commotion and wrangling, they settle on a suitable piece of pavement and bust out their Double-Dutch ropes. Yup, these guys do this routinely... they carry around their ropes and meet up on sunny days for hours of rope-skipping... it's the greatest thing I've seen in ages. They start whirling the rope and the rhythmic patting of rope on pavement sounds so familiar. I'm giddy and nervous watching these pros do all sorts of acrobatic tricks. BC ex-girlfriend, a relative new comer to rope-skipping crowd, encourages me to give it a go, jumping in herself and deftly hopping around.
I wait for the rope closest to me to whir past my face and I jump into the confines of the two spinning ropes. By my second hop, it all comes back. I skip up and down with a childish grin on my face... the folks spinning the rope encourage me to try a 180, and then a 360... eventually I get myself tangled up in the ropes, but not before I'm laughing to myself, feeling as though I got away with something I wasn't supposed to.
Strangers were approaching the rope-skipping circle. Some had never tried before... some hadn't done it sense they were little kids... some were simply curious to watch the spectacle of grown men and women skipping-rope. BC ex-girlfriend and I walked away from the commotion and went on to meet up with other groups of her friends... all unique and good folk. What a fun visit - revitalizing this blogger's heart at every turn.
In Japan, at least in our town, skipping-rope was a big deal. Those Japanese educators put kids through some of the craziest physical education exercises. Every morning, in the warmer months, we would run around a dirt track for 30 minutes... bare foot! I think the absence of shoes was supposed to instill toughness and humility... I don't know if I got any of that, but I did end up with some of the flattest feet of anyone I know. In the colder months, they would substitute rope-skipping for the running. Picture a school yard full of little kids, freezing, each with his or her own skipping rope, bopping up and down trying to follow the example of the PE instructor on a raised stage in front. During lunch and recess, we would ditch our little skipping-ropes for the double-dutch style ropes. We loved it... jumping in the whirling mass of rope, trying frantically to keep up with the kids on the ends who were spinning the ropes as fast as their spindly arms could manage.
Which brings me to yesterday. I was visiting my good friend (and ex-girlfriend) up in Vancouver, BC. As BC ex-girlfriend and I are kicking it in the Gas Town neighborhood, partaking in the Car-Free-Day festival, we meet up with a group of her friends. They are sort of the ultra-hip crowd, but not in the elitist sense, and more in the all-inclusive quirky individualist sense. After much commotion and wrangling, they settle on a suitable piece of pavement and bust out their Double-Dutch ropes. Yup, these guys do this routinely... they carry around their ropes and meet up on sunny days for hours of rope-skipping... it's the greatest thing I've seen in ages. They start whirling the rope and the rhythmic patting of rope on pavement sounds so familiar. I'm giddy and nervous watching these pros do all sorts of acrobatic tricks. BC ex-girlfriend, a relative new comer to rope-skipping crowd, encourages me to give it a go, jumping in herself and deftly hopping around.
I wait for the rope closest to me to whir past my face and I jump into the confines of the two spinning ropes. By my second hop, it all comes back. I skip up and down with a childish grin on my face... the folks spinning the rope encourage me to try a 180, and then a 360... eventually I get myself tangled up in the ropes, but not before I'm laughing to myself, feeling as though I got away with something I wasn't supposed to.
Strangers were approaching the rope-skipping circle. Some had never tried before... some hadn't done it sense they were little kids... some were simply curious to watch the spectacle of grown men and women skipping-rope. BC ex-girlfriend and I walked away from the commotion and went on to meet up with other groups of her friends... all unique and good folk. What a fun visit - revitalizing this blogger's heart at every turn.
Friday Funnies...
This one goes out to Angry Steve.
This one goes out to Chamby... hater of smug penguins.
This one goes out to Chamby... hater of smug penguins.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Can't stop listening to...
...Radiohead - OK Computer (a masterpiece - can't believe I just picked it up recently)
...Moby - Play (earthy gospel/blues samples with kickin' beats... great driving music)
...Beck - Odelay (just plain fun)
I'm feeling the late-90's groove...
...Moby - Play (earthy gospel/blues samples with kickin' beats... great driving music)
...Beck - Odelay (just plain fun)
I'm feeling the late-90's groove...
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
feeling... closure
I got home last night at 11:30, and for the third Monday in a row, both Law Student roommate and Preschool Teacher roommate were waiting up for my return. Two weeks ago, I came home feeling inspired. Last week, I was a little less cheerful. And this week? Well this week, I guess I'm disappoited a bit, but also content in a way.
As I reached the top of the stairs, Preschool Teacher roommate asked, "Well?"
I replied, "Well, what?" knowing full-well that she was asking about my intentions of asking out the shy-girl.
Preschool Teacher roommate shot me a dirty look that I deserved, so I asked, with as straight a face as I could, "Any guesses? Law Student roommate? What do you think? Preschool Teacher roommate? Come on... take a guess."
Law Student roommate took a crack at it and replied, "She said 'Yes'."
Studying my face, Preschool Teacher roommate guessed, "She has a boyfriend."
"She wasn't even there!" I fired back laughing. Nope, not at work last night. For all the silly introspection, doubt and excitement, shy-girl wasn't there on my last day of volunteering.
I think Preschool Teacher roommate was perplexed by my apparent lack of sadness. So I tried to explain...
"Maybe it was never meant to be... maybe I should have been bolder when I had the chance. But there's no point in getting down about it now. Maybe I'll see her again, and maybe I won't. At least I can say that I felt attraction for a pretty girl, and sometimes even that, a silly crush, is good enough. It feels good. It's reassuring, you know?"
Preschool Teacher roommate nodded, "I know exactly what you mean."
As I reached the top of the stairs, Preschool Teacher roommate asked, "Well?"
I replied, "Well, what?" knowing full-well that she was asking about my intentions of asking out the shy-girl.
Preschool Teacher roommate shot me a dirty look that I deserved, so I asked, with as straight a face as I could, "Any guesses? Law Student roommate? What do you think? Preschool Teacher roommate? Come on... take a guess."
Law Student roommate took a crack at it and replied, "She said 'Yes'."
Studying my face, Preschool Teacher roommate guessed, "She has a boyfriend."
"She wasn't even there!" I fired back laughing. Nope, not at work last night. For all the silly introspection, doubt and excitement, shy-girl wasn't there on my last day of volunteering.
I think Preschool Teacher roommate was perplexed by my apparent lack of sadness. So I tried to explain...
"Maybe it was never meant to be... maybe I should have been bolder when I had the chance. But there's no point in getting down about it now. Maybe I'll see her again, and maybe I won't. At least I can say that I felt attraction for a pretty girl, and sometimes even that, a silly crush, is good enough. It feels good. It's reassuring, you know?"
Preschool Teacher roommate nodded, "I know exactly what you mean."
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Sweet hat...
On my last day at work I...
...wore a suit thinking I'd try and look nice for the folks at my office.
...experienced a good deal of razzing for the suit.
...realized that the suit probably wasn't a great idea.
...received a rad woolen hat - for Antarctic sledding, of course.
...was sad to be leaving.
Thanks for the good times guys. I'll stay in touch.
Note: sweet woolen hat and great boss.
Note: a bunch of engineers and one goofy looking guy in a suit.
...wore a suit thinking I'd try and look nice for the folks at my office.
...experienced a good deal of razzing for the suit.
...realized that the suit probably wasn't a great idea.
...received a rad woolen hat - for Antarctic sledding, of course.
...was sad to be leaving.
Thanks for the good times guys. I'll stay in touch.
Note: sweet woolen hat and great boss.
Note: a bunch of engineers and one goofy looking guy in a suit.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Friday Funny...
Gary Larson is a genius.
After 3 years, today will be my last day as an engineer with my current company. Here goes nothing!
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Ah, to be 15 again...
My two younger brothers visited me in Seattle last weekend. The two of them are so different, but both are amazing. The older of the two, Starving Artist brother, is a 24-year-old glass-blowing artist, and the stuff he can make boggles my mind.
The younger one, Cooler-Than-He-Knows brother, is a 15-year-old high school kid, and pretty much my hero. He doesn't have anything figured out yet, and the best part is... he's in no rush - perfectly happy to dabble and experiment in what his young life has to offer. He's brilliant, musically gifted, goofy, artistic, athletic, wide-eyed, humble, and funny as hell. This weekend, with my Seattle friends filling his keg cup, he was also a bit chatty. At various times over the weekend, he would wave me over to a corner to ask about this friend or that friend.
Here are some highlights...
On my childhood friend Deuce... "He's totally wasted... I can't go near him without a 30 minute conversation about Pearl Jam."
On my friend Ali... "She's really funny, and when she talks she can't keep her hands still (said to me as he gives a reenactment that looks kind of like the robot dance)."
On Starving Artist brother... "If we ever get in an argument, and I actually win, I can tell because he'll just go silent and won't say anything. Like on the drive over yesterday, he totally got quiet and neither of us spoke for like 10 minutes. We both stared out the windshield until he broke the silence with some stupid question like, 'So, what kind of music do you like?' It's like talking to my dad..."
On my friend Hoosty, who always rocks a leisure suit (this time powder-blue and checkered)... "That's a sweet suit... is he serious?"
On my buddy Ainge... "Is that really a Pullman High shirt that he's wearing?"
On Law Student roommate... "He's kind of quiet... isn't he drinking?"
On my buddy Weed... "Has he gained some weight?"
On himself... "You know, I think I figured out why I have such a bad short-term memory. You remember back when I was a little kid? I used to suck my thumb, and I would always have my blanket in the same hand. Well, I would also be sucking on a corner of that blanket, and the blanket got all tattered and worn on the edge. But get this... I think the blanket was giving off some fumes or something, from my sucking, because I remember how I would always smell this smell. I remember feeling all funny and being addicted to sucking on the blanket. Mom and Dad thought I just liked sucking my thumb, but I think I was getting high off the blanket. Do you think they used some weird adhesive or something on the edge of that blanket? You're not going to tell anyone about this are you?"
The younger one, Cooler-Than-He-Knows brother, is a 15-year-old high school kid, and pretty much my hero. He doesn't have anything figured out yet, and the best part is... he's in no rush - perfectly happy to dabble and experiment in what his young life has to offer. He's brilliant, musically gifted, goofy, artistic, athletic, wide-eyed, humble, and funny as hell. This weekend, with my Seattle friends filling his keg cup, he was also a bit chatty. At various times over the weekend, he would wave me over to a corner to ask about this friend or that friend.
Here are some highlights...
On my childhood friend Deuce... "He's totally wasted... I can't go near him without a 30 minute conversation about Pearl Jam."
On my friend Ali... "She's really funny, and when she talks she can't keep her hands still (said to me as he gives a reenactment that looks kind of like the robot dance)."
On Starving Artist brother... "If we ever get in an argument, and I actually win, I can tell because he'll just go silent and won't say anything. Like on the drive over yesterday, he totally got quiet and neither of us spoke for like 10 minutes. We both stared out the windshield until he broke the silence with some stupid question like, 'So, what kind of music do you like?' It's like talking to my dad..."
On my friend Hoosty, who always rocks a leisure suit (this time powder-blue and checkered)... "That's a sweet suit... is he serious?"
On my buddy Ainge... "Is that really a Pullman High shirt that he's wearing?"
On Law Student roommate... "He's kind of quiet... isn't he drinking?"
On my buddy Weed... "Has he gained some weight?"
On himself... "You know, I think I figured out why I have such a bad short-term memory. You remember back when I was a little kid? I used to suck my thumb, and I would always have my blanket in the same hand. Well, I would also be sucking on a corner of that blanket, and the blanket got all tattered and worn on the edge. But get this... I think the blanket was giving off some fumes or something, from my sucking, because I remember how I would always smell this smell. I remember feeling all funny and being addicted to sucking on the blanket. Mom and Dad thought I just liked sucking my thumb, but I think I was getting high off the blanket. Do you think they used some weird adhesive or something on the edge of that blanket? You're not going to tell anyone about this are you?"
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
$3 Guinness Pints - Tuesdays at O'shea's
Three rounds into a grand evening, my buddy Highlander eases into a fine story.
"So I'm house-sitting with my girlfriend the other weekend," he tells me and JAR . We're old friends from college, and I actually hadn't seen Highlander or JAR for a couple of months, but we enjoy each other's company as though we do this every Tuesday.
"Well, we're more like cat-sitting," Highlander continues. (Side-note... I'm a dog-lover and have never been fond of cats)
"This cat is sitting by the window, so I thought maybe it wanted to get some air," he says.
"It's one of those indoor cats that's totally bewildered when it finds itself outside the confines of the house. So, anyway... I set the cat out on the balcony, and it quickly takes a perch on the railing out there."
"This crazy cat is just chilling on the railing, staring through the window. It seems content to be mesmerized by the flickering lights of the TV, so my girlfriend and I relax in the living-room."
"Just then... we hear this frantic scratching outside and look over just in time to witness this retarded cat fall off the balcony. What kind of a cat just falls off a railing? It makes a racket as it lands in some bushes, and I dart up to make sure it's alive."
"Fearing that I've caused the death of my girlfriend's friend's cat... I'm out in the yard franticly searching the dark for this damn cat. I notice it cowering under some bushes, so I go to open the sliding-glass door to the downstairs. The cat notices me opening the door, and it bolts toward the safe confines of the house. The sliding door catches just as I'm pulling it open, and BAMMM... the cat smashes head first into plate-glass."
"This last calamity renders the cat dazed, with its little world is crashing down around it. The cat goes running off into the darkness, and I'm scared shit-less that we'll never see the damn thing again."
"I get some new batteries in a flashlight and go looking around the house. My girlfriend is fucking pissed at me by this point. Why did I let the cat out of the house in the first place?"
"I see the reflection of its beady little eyes in the middle of this blackberry bush, shaking, and I inch toward the bush, talking to the stupid cat the entire time."
"With the cat scratching the shit out of my arm, I tear it loose from its perch and toss it back in the house. Fucking cats man!"
JAR and I are falling off our bar stools, seeing the normally reserved Highlander so animated.
"So I'm house-sitting with my girlfriend the other weekend," he tells me and JAR . We're old friends from college, and I actually hadn't seen Highlander or JAR for a couple of months, but we enjoy each other's company as though we do this every Tuesday.
"Well, we're more like cat-sitting," Highlander continues. (Side-note... I'm a dog-lover and have never been fond of cats)
"This cat is sitting by the window, so I thought maybe it wanted to get some air," he says.
"It's one of those indoor cats that's totally bewildered when it finds itself outside the confines of the house. So, anyway... I set the cat out on the balcony, and it quickly takes a perch on the railing out there."
"This crazy cat is just chilling on the railing, staring through the window. It seems content to be mesmerized by the flickering lights of the TV, so my girlfriend and I relax in the living-room."
"Just then... we hear this frantic scratching outside and look over just in time to witness this retarded cat fall off the balcony. What kind of a cat just falls off a railing? It makes a racket as it lands in some bushes, and I dart up to make sure it's alive."
"Fearing that I've caused the death of my girlfriend's friend's cat... I'm out in the yard franticly searching the dark for this damn cat. I notice it cowering under some bushes, so I go to open the sliding-glass door to the downstairs. The cat notices me opening the door, and it bolts toward the safe confines of the house. The sliding door catches just as I'm pulling it open, and BAMMM... the cat smashes head first into plate-glass."
"This last calamity renders the cat dazed, with its little world is crashing down around it. The cat goes running off into the darkness, and I'm scared shit-less that we'll never see the damn thing again."
"I get some new batteries in a flashlight and go looking around the house. My girlfriend is fucking pissed at me by this point. Why did I let the cat out of the house in the first place?"
"I see the reflection of its beady little eyes in the middle of this blackberry bush, shaking, and I inch toward the bush, talking to the stupid cat the entire time."
"With the cat scratching the shit out of my arm, I tear it loose from its perch and toss it back in the house. Fucking cats man!"
JAR and I are falling off our bar stools, seeing the normally reserved Highlander so animated.
feeling... melancholy
Which isn't great, but hey... at least I don't feel indifferent.
Tonight, I got to see the shy-girl again. All evening I had full intentions of acting upon Law Student roommate's advice, and all evening I waited for the right moment.
So many times I repeated the words inside my head... "Hi shy-girl. Can I ask a random question? Would you have any interest in grabbing a drink, or cup of coffee with me sometime?"
After that I wasn't exactly sure what I'd say... figured I'd improv it. I would probably utter something along the lines of "Seriously? That's great..." or "I'm sorry. That was really stupid of me..." depending on the response.
Either way, I never got around to asking the first random question. All we exchanged this evening were smiles and pleasantries in passing. The entire night we were surrounded by at least 4 others. I stayed 45 minutes past the end of my shift in hopes that we would find ourselves standing alone for a minute. Sheepishly, I lied to those who asked, "Aren't you done at 11:00?"
"Oh... well, next week is my last week of volunteering, before I get ready to leave town, so I thought I would put in a little extra time..."
I'd like to say that I'm not so much disappointed in myself for not asking her, but that I'm disappointed I never got the chance to ask. I'd like to, but that's just excuse making. I'm kicking myself for not just waving and calling her over, but yet again... words are cheap.
It might end up disastrous, but next week, it's my last day, and I won't wait for the perfect moment.
Tonight, I got to see the shy-girl again. All evening I had full intentions of acting upon Law Student roommate's advice, and all evening I waited for the right moment.
So many times I repeated the words inside my head... "Hi shy-girl. Can I ask a random question? Would you have any interest in grabbing a drink, or cup of coffee with me sometime?"
After that I wasn't exactly sure what I'd say... figured I'd improv it. I would probably utter something along the lines of "Seriously? That's great..." or "I'm sorry. That was really stupid of me..." depending on the response.
Either way, I never got around to asking the first random question. All we exchanged this evening were smiles and pleasantries in passing. The entire night we were surrounded by at least 4 others. I stayed 45 minutes past the end of my shift in hopes that we would find ourselves standing alone for a minute. Sheepishly, I lied to those who asked, "Aren't you done at 11:00?"
"Oh... well, next week is my last week of volunteering, before I get ready to leave town, so I thought I would put in a little extra time..."
I'd like to say that I'm not so much disappointed in myself for not asking her, but that I'm disappointed I never got the chance to ask. I'd like to, but that's just excuse making. I'm kicking myself for not just waving and calling her over, but yet again... words are cheap.
It might end up disastrous, but next week, it's my last day, and I won't wait for the perfect moment.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Anatomy of a bad prank
My buddy Pie, a mountaineering instructor I met this spring, arrives at my farewell party and hands me a bottle of Vodka. Before I have a chance to set my gift at the makeshift bar in the kitchen, he beckons me outside to take a look at something. His mischievous grin (an all too familiar look for Pie) has me curious. I run, bottle-in-hand, after Pie and find him standing proudly beside a white late-80’s Buick… that is completely shrink-wrapped in an entire roll of Costco-sized Saran-wrap. I’m gawking speechless, as Pie giggles, “It’s Jimbo’s car!” Jimbo would be another mountaineering buddy of mine who arrived an hour or so earlier.
Later that evening I say my farewells to Pie, Jimbo and a couple others as they head out the door. In my inebriated state, I’d completely forgotten about Jimbo’s car. Not a minute later, my friends Angry-Steve and the Folk-Master-Dell come roaring back into the party. Breathless with laughter they can barely talk through their cackling…
As I heard it… moments earlier, as they’re walking out the front door, Pie innocently asks, “Jimbo, what’s up with your car?”
Jimbo shoots Pie a quizzical look and replies, “Nothing, what the hell are you talking about?”
Pie motions toward his car-cocoon masterpiece and produces his best shit-eating grin.
Jimbo, his quizzical expression now transforming into a contorted look of bottled up laughter, cries out, “That’s great, but my car’s parked two blocks up the street!”
Later that evening I say my farewells to Pie, Jimbo and a couple others as they head out the door. In my inebriated state, I’d completely forgotten about Jimbo’s car. Not a minute later, my friends Angry-Steve and the Folk-Master-Dell come roaring back into the party. Breathless with laughter they can barely talk through their cackling…
As I heard it… moments earlier, as they’re walking out the front door, Pie innocently asks, “Jimbo, what’s up with your car?”
Jimbo shoots Pie a quizzical look and replies, “Nothing, what the hell are you talking about?”
Pie motions toward his car-cocoon masterpiece and produces his best shit-eating grin.
Jimbo, his quizzical expression now transforming into a contorted look of bottled up laughter, cries out, “That’s great, but my car’s parked two blocks up the street!”
one lucky fella
Last night, my friend Weed and his better-half (Ms. Paaalm Piiilot), threw me the best farewell party a kid could ask for. The two of them, and their little girl (who's the most beautiful child I've ever seen), opened their doors to some 30+ friends of mine.
It was a brilliant hodgepodge of soccer teammates and mountaineering buddies, roommates and childhood friends, college buddies and work friends, and best of all, my two amazing brothers.
A keg of Rainier, endless grillings and hilarious conversations abound, it was the best parting gift I could've imagined.
Weed, Ms. Piiilot, and little Blue-Eyes... I love you all and will miss you more than you know. Thank you for this gift.
It was a brilliant hodgepodge of soccer teammates and mountaineering buddies, roommates and childhood friends, college buddies and work friends, and best of all, my two amazing brothers.
A keg of Rainier, endless grillings and hilarious conversations abound, it was the best parting gift I could've imagined.
Weed, Ms. Piiilot, and little Blue-Eyes... I love you all and will miss you more than you know. Thank you for this gift.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Can't stop listening to...
...Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! (get past the first track and you'll be hooked)
...Sufjan Stevens - Illinois (the man can only write beautiful music)
...Death Cab for Cutie - Plans (thanks for the Birthday gift Jess! I'm diggin' it)
...Sufjan Stevens - Illinois (the man can only write beautiful music)
...Death Cab for Cutie - Plans (thanks for the Birthday gift Jess! I'm diggin' it)
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
feeling... great
Pulling up to my house tonight, I’m surprised to see the lights on upstairs. On Monday nights, I normally get home at 11:30 to a quiet house with roommates sound asleep. This evening, however, I find my two housemates upstairs having a good laugh.
“You two are up late," I chime in. “Oh, we’re just talking about you behind your back” says Preschool Teacher roommate, an excitable lass of freckles and red-hair. I glance over at Law Student roommate, an easygoing fellow from small-town Idaho, and his casual smile tells me otherwise.
I seize the opportunity and ask them for their input on a matter involving a girl. “Okay, so there’s this girl that I only get to see once a week,” I explain. “And, for a while now I’ve been thinking of asking her out for a drink.” Both roommates are intrigued, as I am horribly inept when it comes to dating, and my social life, the romantic side of it anyway, has been pretty much nonexistent for longer than I like to admit. Before I start my next sentence Preschool Teacher roommate starts explaining why that would be “such a bad idea.”
“You’re leaving in 3 weeks! You can’t ask a girl out now!” She exclaims. I abort my story and ask, in typical male fashion, “Why not… I want to buy her a drink, have a laugh… I’m not proposing to her.”
“You boys just don’t understand how girls think,” she continues. “What if she really falls for you?” Unlikely, I think to myself. “If she does, and you just take off for 6 months… that… that’ll just be horrible.”
Law Student roommate is reclined in his easy chair, chuckling to himself as he watches this exchange. To both of them, I ask “But wouldn’t it be better to know? What if we do hit it off, or maybe we don't, but either way... wouldn't it be better then never knowing? At least..."
“You don’t understand how girls think about these things.” She rebuts. I suppose I don’t… I think to myself.
Totally worked up and stammering, I try and explain how, this evening, she didn’t wear glasses for the first time. And how the whole night I was waiting for a time when we were standing apart from everyone else so that I could say casually, “You look really great without your glasses…” because she really did. Trailing off, I mumble about how I hesitated while walking out to my car, almost turning around...
Preschool Teacher roommate slowly shakes her head and I resign myself to check on my mail downstairs. What I neglect to tell them is that she too seems shy, and how it leaves me weak-kneed when she smiles and always looks away blushing. Maybe if I would've explained just how lovely she is... how she carries herself, with grace and purpose and kindness.
As I’m flipping through junk mail, thinking to myself, Law Student roommate pops his head down the stairwell and tells me “I think you should go for it…”
“You two are up late," I chime in. “Oh, we’re just talking about you behind your back” says Preschool Teacher roommate, an excitable lass of freckles and red-hair. I glance over at Law Student roommate, an easygoing fellow from small-town Idaho, and his casual smile tells me otherwise.
I seize the opportunity and ask them for their input on a matter involving a girl. “Okay, so there’s this girl that I only get to see once a week,” I explain. “And, for a while now I’ve been thinking of asking her out for a drink.” Both roommates are intrigued, as I am horribly inept when it comes to dating, and my social life, the romantic side of it anyway, has been pretty much nonexistent for longer than I like to admit. Before I start my next sentence Preschool Teacher roommate starts explaining why that would be “such a bad idea.”
“You’re leaving in 3 weeks! You can’t ask a girl out now!” She exclaims. I abort my story and ask, in typical male fashion, “Why not… I want to buy her a drink, have a laugh… I’m not proposing to her.”
“You boys just don’t understand how girls think,” she continues. “What if she really falls for you?” Unlikely, I think to myself. “If she does, and you just take off for 6 months… that… that’ll just be horrible.”
Law Student roommate is reclined in his easy chair, chuckling to himself as he watches this exchange. To both of them, I ask “But wouldn’t it be better to know? What if we do hit it off, or maybe we don't, but either way... wouldn't it be better then never knowing? At least..."
“You don’t understand how girls think about these things.” She rebuts. I suppose I don’t… I think to myself.
Totally worked up and stammering, I try and explain how, this evening, she didn’t wear glasses for the first time. And how the whole night I was waiting for a time when we were standing apart from everyone else so that I could say casually, “You look really great without your glasses…” because she really did. Trailing off, I mumble about how I hesitated while walking out to my car, almost turning around...
Preschool Teacher roommate slowly shakes her head and I resign myself to check on my mail downstairs. What I neglect to tell them is that she too seems shy, and how it leaves me weak-kneed when she smiles and always looks away blushing. Maybe if I would've explained just how lovely she is... how she carries herself, with grace and purpose and kindness.
As I’m flipping through junk mail, thinking to myself, Law Student roommate pops his head down the stairwell and tells me “I think you should go for it…”
Friday, September 02, 2005
Flossing like it's going out of style
So I started this blog the other day, in large part, because I'm leaving my beloved Seattle in less than a month. Back in May I accepted a job offer to spend the Austral Summer months working in Antarctica. In order to fully qualify for the job and receive my plane tickets, I had to be poked and prodded by doctors and dentists like never before. Apparently the folks at the research station aren't fond of airlifting employees off the continent because of back pain or toothaches. Being the relatively healthy type, accustomed to a life with out proper insurance, I hadn't been to a doctor or dentist in probably 5 years.
The visit to the doctor was rather uneventful. The visit to the dentist was not. Apparently floss really has a purpose beyond making my gums bleed every couple of weeks when I stumble upon it amongst the toiletries in my drawer. Five fillings later, with enough metal in my mouth to trip airport security, I'm a believer in the power of floss.
Earlier today, I get a phone call from a soft-spoken young lady in the Medical Department of the Antarctica program. "Hello Mr. O'Connor," she says. "I wanted to let you know that Dr. Anderson reviewed your Dental Qualification packet and, looking at your X-rays, he believes that you have some decay on Distal #19." Distal #19? I think. "He would like you to visit your dentist and get that filling taken care of." Sure thing... I said. What a crock of shit... I thought.
Start flossing now my friends... floss everyday.
The visit to the doctor was rather uneventful. The visit to the dentist was not. Apparently floss really has a purpose beyond making my gums bleed every couple of weeks when I stumble upon it amongst the toiletries in my drawer. Five fillings later, with enough metal in my mouth to trip airport security, I'm a believer in the power of floss.
Earlier today, I get a phone call from a soft-spoken young lady in the Medical Department of the Antarctica program. "Hello Mr. O'Connor," she says. "I wanted to let you know that Dr. Anderson reviewed your Dental Qualification packet and, looking at your X-rays, he believes that you have some decay on Distal #19." Distal #19? I think. "He would like you to visit your dentist and get that filling taken care of." Sure thing... I said. What a crock of shit... I thought.
Start flossing now my friends... floss everyday.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Does 26 still count as mid-twenties?
Somebody once told me that birthdays stopped being fun after your 21st. Wait... that was me. So today I turned 26 and proved myself wrong.
This seemed to do the trick...
1. Burn a precious vacation day to NOT WORK.
2. Sleep in... to 8:00, which sadly, for me these days, is sleeping in.
3. Savor a Victrola coffee... in a proper mug, seated at a table.
4. Meet up with your best friends (Ainge & Weed) for lunch.
5. Enjoy the peace of a solo trail run.
6. Hit up Happy Hour.
7. Get yourself a new tattoo.
8. Catch a ball-game (even if the M's are terrible this year).
9. Get surprised by great roommates who secretly flood your room
with streamers and balloons.
10. Start yourself a blog.
Give it a go...
This seemed to do the trick...
1. Burn a precious vacation day to NOT WORK.
2. Sleep in... to 8:00, which sadly, for me these days, is sleeping in.
3. Savor a Victrola coffee... in a proper mug, seated at a table.
4. Meet up with your best friends (Ainge & Weed) for lunch.
5. Enjoy the peace of a solo trail run.
6. Hit up Happy Hour.
7. Get yourself a new tattoo.
8. Catch a ball-game (even if the M's are terrible this year).
9. Get surprised by great roommates who secretly flood your room
with streamers and balloons.
10. Start yourself a blog.
Give it a go...
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