go big or go home

eggplant parmigiana, deconstructed

2011-03-12T17:04:00.000Z

Top Chef often has deconstructed dishes that are plated for elimination challenges. I've never really tried to deconstruct anything before. The basic premise is taking a classic and reimagining it. It should taste pretty close to the original, but it shouldn't look the same. Tom Colicchio explains in a blog post at BravoTV better than me.

Which brings me to my creation of eggplant parmigiana. It's fairly simple to make, but it does take a bit of time to plate...er, bowl as it were. My initial thought was to make eggplant parm in the style of French onion soup. Problem being we don't have one of those fancy broilers that restaurants use to melt the cheese over the crouton on top. Enter the butane torch!

This dish has four main components, each one fairly simple to pull off. Be warned: this will make a mess, and leave you with a dish full of pots & pans. It's worth it though.

First, the eggplant. Skin & cube one eggplant. Cook in sauce pot with 2 cups of a sweeter white wine and enough vegetable stock to cover most of the eggplant. Smash 3 cloves (or so) of garlic, and add Italian herbs to taste. Cook covered until eggplant is soft. If you have an immersion blender, use it to puree. If not, puree in batches in a standard blender. Make sure that the blender is no more than half full, and you have some way to vent the steam. I've read that removing the center insert and covering with a dishtowel is a good way to keep your kitchen clean and prevent a steam-build up.

Next, the sauce. Sweat 1/2 of a diced onion in olive oil. Skin & dice one Chinese eggplant (long & skinny, looks like a zucchini). Add to pot with a large can of pureed tomatoes. Cook sauce for about 20 minutes. Use immersion blender again to smooth out the sauce.

When making eggplant parmigiana normally, you bread the eggplant and brown it in the frying pan. I'm not sure if this does a whole lot, but in keeping with the spirit of deconstruction, toast approximately 1/4 cup of bread crumbs. It's more of a garnish than anything. Set aside.

To plate the concoction, fill bowl halfway with eggplant puree. Stripe the sauce across the top. Sprinkle the breadcrumbs over the sauce. Finally, top with shredded parmesan cheese. Use the butane torch to melt & brown the cheese on top.

Voila! Eggplant parmigiana, deconstructed. For those of you that care, yes, this is a vegetarian dish. I don't imagine that trying to make it vegan would be possible. I doubt there's a synthetic plant-based version of parmesan cheese that is believable.

creativity en la cocina

2011-02-14T00:17:00.000Z

Learning what flavors play well together when cooking is an ongoing process. Cooking is a less precise art than baking, and that's precisely why I like it. It gets my creativity wandering. I taste new things and want to put my own spin on them. Which brings us to tonight's edition of culinary theatre.

On tonight's menu sweet potato gnocchi with lobster, apple, & goat cheese sauce. For the gnocchi, get an Italian mother, great aunt, or grandmother to teach you. I truly don't have a recipe. I'm sure there's exact "quantities" for the ingredients, but that's not how I learned. I'm still never sure if they're going to turn out right, but somehow they do.

For the sauce's ingredients:

1/2 stick of butter
2 shallots, sliced thin
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1 small apple, diced (choose a sweet variety)
1/2 cup heavy cream
3.5 ounce package of goat cheese
1 tsp. basil (substitute fresh if you're lucky enough to have it)
dash of cinnamon
3 lobster tails, cooked & chopped coarsely

Start by melting the butter over medium-high heat. When it's melted, add the basil & cinnamon. Once combined, add shallots, garlic, & apples.

Saute until softened and some of the liquid starts to release from the apples. Lower heat to medium to avoid burning the butter. Add cream to pan. Stir to combine.

When cream is warm, break goat cheese into chunks and stir into sauce. Once smooth, add lobster meat. Lower heat to simmer. Serve over gnocchi.

Yes, it is as good as it sounds.

a brit on the american ideal

2010-09-13T01:46:00.005Z

I was struck by an excerpt from Tony Blair's new book, A Journey: My Political Life.

Americans can be all that the rest of the world sometimes accuses them of: brash, loud, insular, obsessive and heavy-handed. But America is great for a reason. It is looked up to, despite all the criticism, for a reason. There is a nobility in the American character that has been developed over the centuries, derived in part, no doubt, from the frontier spirit, from the waves of migration that form the stock, from the circumstances of independence, from the Civil War, from a myriad of historical facts and coincidences. But it is there.

That nobility isn't about being nicer, better or more successful than anyone else. It is a feeling about the country. It is a devotion to the American ideal that at a certain point transcends class, race, religion or upbringing. That ideal is about values, freedom, the rule of law, democracy. It is also about the way you achieve: on merit, by your own efforts and hard work. But it is most of all that in striving for and protecting that ideal, you as an individual take second place to the interests of the nation as a whole. It is what makes the country determined to overcome its challenges. It is what makes its soldiers give their lives in sacrifice. It is what brings every variety of American, from the lowest to the highest, to their feet when "The Star-Spangled Banner is played. Of course the ideal is not always met--that is obvious. But it is always striven for.

Never before have I read such an accurate assessment of America. To have it written by a foreigner shows incredible insight, perhaps only attainable by an outsider. It has intrigued me enough to read his book. If only it had come out during the summer when I had a bit more free time!

summer squash soup

2010-09-11T22:47:00.003Z

As is usually the case when I improvise a pot of soup, I can never remember how to make it again. In an effort to prevent that, here goes my first edition of summer squash soup. I'm liable to forget I posted this next year when yellow squash and zucchini are back in season, but then I just get to be creative again!

Ingredients
2 zucchini
3 yellow squash
1 Granny Smith apple
Juice from 1 lemon
1/4 stick of dynamite...I mean butter
2 shallots, thinly sliced
3 cloves of garlic, minced
~1 cup vegetable stock
1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger
Honey to taste

Melt the butter over medium heat in a large saucepan. Add lemon juice, garlic & shallots. Turn heat up, & sauté until the butter begins to brown.

While this is happening on the heat, peel, core, & rough chop the apple. Peel & rough chop the zucchini & squash. The ratio of squash to zucchini should be about 1:1. Ensure this at the store, I guess. Toss all in the pot with vegetable stock. Add enough water to just cover the contents.

When the liquid begins to boil, turn down the heat & cover. Cook until the squash is soft.

Puree the mixture. I love my immersion blender for soups such as this, but a regular blender or food processor would do the job just as well. Just be careful because the soup is, well, boiling hot. When it is to your desired consistency, return to saucepot & add minced ginger. Cook for about 5 more minutes over low heat. Taste & add honey a bit at a time. The soup is supposed to be a bit sour. The honey really helps cut that, but the ginger brings it together.

Serve with a dollop of Greek yogurt or sour cream if desired. I stared at my spice rack for some herbs to add to it to give it some more complexity, but I drew a blank. I'm certainly open to suggestions, if for no other reason than to try making it again!

metro hate?

2010-08-11T16:16:00.004Z

Hating on Metro is en vogue of late. Don't believe me? Check here. Or here. Or up-to-the-minute here.

Rather than pour a tall glass of Haterade, I've got a brief story of anti-hate. Last night, we went to meet with our wedding photographer to see our pictures and talk about a wedding album. As we left his place, I thought to myself, "I really should use the bathroom before we leave," but I suppressed the urge for some reason and walked out the door. Before we got to the station, it became apparent that was a bad idea.

A little known fact of some stations is that there are restrooms, however poorly marked. All you have to do is ask a station manager. As I scurried off the train at the Pentagon to find the manager, I saw he was helping a passenger asking about the Pentagon Memorial. As I did a Detrol dance, the woman standing next to him told me she was a Metro employee and nicely asked if I needed any help.

Now, I'm not sure if her answer about why I couldn't use the restroom was true, but since she wasn't on duty and not in uniform, I'm inclined to believe her: No public restrooms at the Pentagon station because of security concerns since 9/11. She could've ignored me since she wasn't at work. She could've been rude because tourons wear on her nerves when she's at work. She could've pretended to not speak English, but that would've only worked if she looked like she spoke another language.

But she was none of those things, and politely squashed my hopes of relief before I got home. For that, I thank her.

Yes, I made it, but just barely.

l'escalade

2010-07-13T15:27:00.004+01:00

It began as most mornings would at home. Waking up to a water-powered alarm clock...no, really. We needed an alarm clock, so we bought one. Is one that runs on water that weird?

Dragging ourselves out of bed was harder than usual this morning. Perhaps it's the dearth of rest we've gotten on this trip, traversing La Ville de Lumières. I should have been more excited to visit the mystical boulders of Fontainebleau. For those of you who do not climb, a quick lesson. One, bouldering is climbing boulders without a rope to get on the top of them. There are often many ways to get to the top, some more difficult than others. Yes, it is quite a workout, and no, I do not wear gloves. Two, Font is revered as the largest and most developed climbing area in the world. People have been climbing on these sandstone boulders since the late 19th century.

Flashback to last night. Much to our chagrin, we discovered that the Chateau of Fontainebleau is closed on Tuesdays. Yes, folks, it is Tuesday. Visiting the chateau was supposed to be the counterbalance to the climbing and the alternative to Versailles. Why we never noticed that essential bit of knowledge before 23:00, I'll never know. After much discussion, we decided to go for it anyway. The gardens were open, and the transportation was little more than a train...then a bus...then a bike rental...and some unmarked forest trails on rickety mountain bikes.

No, this isn't turning into a Deliverance story. We saw no albino children and heard no banjo music. The trip there was expedited by our trusty two-wheeled steeds. The walks from the train station to town to the forest alone would have been close to 50 minutes one way. With the bus and bikes, it only took us twenty.

[Disclaimer, because of aforementioned poorly marked forest roads and limited directions from the Bleausards I contacted online prior to our excursion, the discovery of said boulders took closer to an hour. The weather was nice, and the sky only threatened to rain.]

While I explored a very small area of a vast bouldering playground, my better half dug deeper into The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and occasionally snapped my picture. The weather turned out glorious in the woods, and despite our utter lack of French language expertise, we were able to purchase sandwiches at the boulangerie in town, rent bikes, and find our way back to our apartment in the Latin Quartier.

Rest now for the weary. I soaked in some climbing history, climbed on some sloping sandstone, and had a marvelous day in the woods with my wife. I believe I owe her a ballet show or a back rub. I'm sure I'll wind up doing both in the very near future. If I wind up in France again in coming years, I will be sure to arrange a meeting with a Bleausard guide so the journey there is a little bit easier.

fraiche

2010-07-12T18:39:00.004+01:00

This is my first trip overseas. The trials and tribulations of going it alone for the first time have been minor at best. I have the knowledge of my better half's travel experiences to build upon. Stay in a hotel? Crazy talk. Apparently, eating out three meals per day for a week or more really wears on your nerves. Unfamiliar foods can induce culture shock. I've loved most of the meals we've had and merely liked the rest. More on that when I return.

Where to stay if not in a hotel? Rent an apartment, of course. It's brilliant. Where else can you get out of the tourist bubble and learn the ins and outs of shopping at the market? How else would I learn that you have to weigh your produce at the grocery store before going to the cashier? Actually, I think someone may have told me that tip in the past; however, it took me being in line and trying to pick up social cues before the memory was triggered.

Our first nights here, I made some pasta from the bottega with sauteed vegetables from the fruit stand and chicken from the boucherie. It wasn't too different from what we often make at home. Aside from the lack of spices and herbs, it was no different really. Homemade Italian food in France? Oui. Our French diet has been expectedly devoid of les légumes. This allowed us to indulge at lunchtime and not feel like our sang was turning into beurre.

Enough of the French-English mishmash. Time for tonight's recipe. I want to recreate this at home, but it may be a little more difficult. Tonight, I made what I'll call a Virginia cheese steak...minus the cheese, and pork instead of steak. Yeah, I need to work on the name. Suggestions welcome.

Ingredients
1/2 lb. center cut pork chop, cut into strips across grain
1 Granny Smith apple, cut into half circle slices
2 cloves of garlic, coarsely chopped
1/2 onion, julienned
1/2 zucchini, julienned
olive oil
1 baguette
Salt & pepper to taste.

1. Heat oil in pan. Saute onions & garlic until they begin to brown.
2. Add zucchini. Cook until they begin to soften.
3. Lay apple slices between everything in pan. Flip when browned.
4. Add pork. Stir until done.
5. Layer individual ingredients into baguette so that each bite will have every flavor. Bon appetit!

Fresh ingredients are clutch. A good recipe is only as good as the ingredients that go into it. I made this for less than ten euros. It served two. The key to recreating this sandwich at home will be locating a proper bakery that makes a good baguette. I fear that may be the hardest part. I know that adding to this recipe will be the easy part. Cinnamon or a dash of cayenne might make this just perfect. A soft cheese such as brie or gouda might also be a nice accompaniment.

impressionism at its finest

2010-07-11T15:10:00.005+01:00

I went searching back through my blog archives to see if I'd posted anything about my last trip to a room filled with Impressionist masters. It wasn't in the lifetime of this blog, though it may have been on my slightly more regular Myspace postings that have since been deleted. I think I saved them somewhere at home. Is it weird to backdate a post by over 3 years?

Let's flashback, if I can, to my trip to the Art Institute of Chicago. I last went there in 2006. It is an impressive museum, and my visit was one of the first times I can remember being truly lost in exploring a museum. The collection of Monet alone was enough to render me speechless. Imagine if you will stepping into a room with 20 paintings, totaling in value more than all but the Forbes listed could ever afford.

Fast forward to today. Musee d'Orsay, Paris, France. What formerly was a train station now houses a superb collection of art. And, yes, there are a few Impressionist period masterpieces there.

Walking among the greats now, especially Monet, is more exciting because of our recent day trip to Giverny in the French countryside. Monet was a Parisian by birth, but when he began to paint, he fell in love with the small town of Giverny in the Normandy region. We walked among the Japanese water gardens where his water lilies bloomed. We stood underneath the willow trees where he dappled his brush to depict the blue waters. We strolled across the bridge that appeared in some of his most famous pieces as well.

So, in honor of his not-quite-sharp style of painting, I shot about half of my photos in almost focus. I can't wait to see how they turn out on my computer. I'm thinking I'll be compiling mixed media videos with the shots that turned out the best. Of course, the best of the photos will find their way elsewhere.

little things

2010-07-10T08:44:00.004+01:00

"But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?...It's the little differences. I mean, they got the same shit over there that we got here, but it's just – it's just there it's a little different," said Jules in Pulp Fiction. Man, was he ever right!

Dead on our feet last night, she and I were discussing some of those differences. Because of Pulp Fiction, I kind of want to go into a McD's and get a beer. Just because I can. I doubt it'll happen though. There's so many other places to go.

The one thing I've always wanted to do stateside, but just can't bring myself to is go to specialty stores for foods. Farmers' markets for vegetables. A proper butcher for meats. The Southwest waterfront for seafood. A bakery for bread. You get the picture. Aside from not knowing which places are good, our lazy American economy just doesn't support it. We as a population prefer to go to one supermarket, get it all in one place, and be on our merry way. The problem with the new system is that when one place tries to do it all, it does none of it very well.

Downstairs from our apartment, there is a boulangerie. On our first day in town, we stopped in to get a baguette for breakfast on our way to Montmartre for the day. Fresh bread with camembert. Flaky, chewy, crispy, smooth, rich. Beyond compare. Down the street and around the corner, there is a small fruit market. Fresh produce daily. Our first day here, we stopped for some petit fraises. Unlike the Plant City strawberries to which I am accustomed, these were tiny, bite-sized, and full of flavor. Yesterday, when we went our our bike tour to Giverny, we stopped at all the little markets in nearby Vernon to get our picnic supplies. Cheese from the fromagerie. Bread & beignets from the patisserie. Amazing.

I understand that long ago, this is the way things were in the states. We had gourmand proprietors that took up the jobs that their parents had and their parents before them. Butchers' kids became butchers. Bakers' kids became bakers. You get the point. I would posit a guess that the foods from those small shops was higher in quality by a large margin, though likely with the accompanying higher price.

My new mission in life when we return is to seek out the small places that have the higher quality foodstuffs that make meals more pleasurable. I already know there's a butcher like that in Alexandria. To higher quality food and the small businesses that sell them!

In the comments, make suggestions as to those places inside the Beltway where such quality can be found. Merci!

perception

2010-07-08T20:44:00.004+01:00

It isn't so much that I don't want people to perceive me as an American. On the whole, I'm proud to be one. Are there aspects of our culture I'd love to change? Absolutely.

Just as when my neighbors say something to me in typically broken English, I would like the opportunity to try my hand with broken French. Last night at dinner, the waitress afforded us that opportunity. An older woman, I doubt that she has much patience for rude tourists that expect her to speak another language. She was slow and patient, and we were able to order our meal.

She, a French caprese salad, something that resembled roast pork, and a slice of chocolate tart. Moi, bean soup, boeuf provencale, and sorbet (two flavors: framboise & cassis!) I reckon it's the kind of place that only locals go to, despite Frommer's recommendation. Several people asked us questions in French as we sat at our sidewalk table outside.

Today, I resolved to do even better. It's the little things that peg you as a local or not. The tiny customs. How people greet one another. How they cross the street. How to get off the Metro train at your stop. Today, I tried to scoop all that information up and then some!

We were able to order breakfast and lunch, mostly in French. Good thing too because the boulangerie for breakfast is right across the street from our apartment in the Quartier Latin. I believe we'll be in there again. That baguette was the best I've ever had...with soft camembert to boot!

Tomorrow, a ride through the French countryside to Giverny. I'll continue with the picture taking opportunities. I believe I'll try my hand at some more intentionally out of focus shots, in homage to Monet. Impressionistic photography if you will.

l'americain

2010-07-07T20:05:00.003+01:00

I'm married.

There, now that's out of the way. Post on that when we return from La Ville de Lumieres. See? I'm not so bad when I can write it down. Perhaps I should just carry around a whiteboard and dry erase marker, so my utter lack of French skills would be less evident.

In any case, we left on our trip woefully underprepared to deal with the language barrier. We can both speak passable Spanish and have reverted to it when our minds are overwhelmed with not understanding the French going on around us.

Well, it seems that way. I think what's most likely happening is I fumble for a French phrase I've just tried to read in the travel book. I get a response that is gibberish to my ears. "Uh..."

The morning we left, I read a blog post by an American expat living (or who has lived) in Korea. She made several good points about living abroad and Americans in general when they are there. I hope my perspective changes on this first trip abroad.

Quick anecdote before we head to dinner after 9pm..excuse moi, 21:00.

We found a fruit stand around the corner from the apartment we rented. I wanted to buy some fraises, but I was hesitant to go to the clerk. While waiting, an American in a Spain soccer jersey walked up and asked where a particular street was. His question seemed phrased ok, and I was able to understand him. Speaking slow helps me when I have context. An older French gentleman standing nearby answered him in French.

Blank stare.

Frenchman tries again, "Se habla espanol?"

A shake of the head. Frenchman laughs, and asks, "How about English?"

Relief washes over American masquerading as Spaniard's face. They sent him on his way. The way they saw him must've been the way the waiters saw us at the cafe this afternoon. Only my attempt at French was immediately discounted and traded for English with nary a thought by our waiter.

Off to try again. Au revoir!

what was i thinking? and other random thoughts

2010-06-30T16:24:00.003+01:00

Among the various, "Hey, can you...?" duties I've been tasked with this week since I'm out of school this week, going into the District is usually one of my favorites. This task seemed simple enough:

"Hey, can you go to Sticky Fingers in Columbia Heights to get some vegan cupcakes and cookies for Mr. X?

I know what you're thinking, readers in the Southeast. Yes, it does seem rather funny that a vegan bakery in D.C. has the same name as a barbecue chain scattered across the south.

Ordinarily, I'd Metro in, make a morning or day of it with my camera. Well, cupcakes don't travel so well in messenger bags, and summer temperatures (though lovely this week) don't really treat frosting all that well. I made the unthinkable decision to drive into the city to get said confections.

I thought to myself, "Well, it's after rush hour. Traffic shouldn't be too bad." Au contraire! It's summer. Traffic's always bad, especially when taking a tourist-laden route through the National Mall.

Forty-five minutes later (instead of 20), I arrive in Columbia Heights only to find that the streets are all under construction and turning off 14th Street is next to impossible. Bakery is quiet, but bustling. Luckily, I arrived just in time to snag the last two cupcakes that fit the bill.

Leaving, I find my escape route blocked by one way streets and Caterpillar backhoes. An ordinary Virginia driver might've panicked and run over a pedestrian or three while trying to punch in coordinates to a GPS.

Fortunately, my internal GPS kicked in, and I was able to escape the city in far less time than it took me to get in. I guess exploring the city on foot pays off every so often. If only the named streets made as much sense as the grid layout!

Two other random discoveries. The gas station at the corner of Rock Creek Parkway and Virginia Avenue must be the most expensive gas on the east coast. $4.25 for a gallon of regular when the station next to my apartment is less than $3? You must be joking! Second, I think I'm allergic to soy milk.

"our" memories

2010-05-26T01:29:00.005+01:00

There once was a website of which I was a part that asked contributors to associate memories to particular songs. They could be funny or sad or poignant. They closed down their open shop a little while ago and turned into an online magazine, as best I can tell.

In any case, I had a musical memory experience yesterday. I'm not quite sure if it's funny, ironic, or (fill-in-the-blank). Reserve judgment until you hear said story.

Musical knowledge required leans towards the country side of things. Travis Tritt has a song called Drift Off to Dream. I used to think that it was a super sweet song, and for the most part it still is. The first verse, however, clues you into the stereotypical lonesome protagonist, alone with his drink at the bar, hopeful for the love yet-to-be.

That was our song. When I say our, I don't mean our in the current sense. She is a past love, one whom I talk to perhaps once a year. Last time we spoke was over the summer. She'd found out that I was engaged and gracefully congratulated me.

Yesterday, I was driving in my car when Drift Off to Dream came on the radio. I couldn't help but laugh because of my destination: the courthouse. The purpose? To get our marriage license. This our is in the present and future tense.

Though she's in my past and I harbor no residual regret or feelings toward her, our song still tugs at my heartstrings. Emotional memories get stored away in a different part of your brain. They are often illogical, and many of mine in Gainesville forced me to leave. I couldn't take seeing reminders of my past when I was trying to move into the future. Those daily reminders of past-tense our memories were more than I could bear at times. It often left me feeling alone in groups of friends, but unlike the lyrics, never with my drink at the bar.

Since I left, I decided to no longer let my past dictate my present happiness. I found happiness within myself and was able to find love to make it grow. I truly couldn't be happier.

When she and I finally met at the courthouse that afternoon, I told her about the song coming on the radio. She and I shared a laugh as we crossed the street to many more to come.

i survived

2010-05-21T23:14:00.002+01:00

It wasn't that bad.

Seriously.

Bike to Work Day had me all up in arms with worry. On past trips out on the W & OD, I have to walk up some stretches because the climb is too long, and I'm just not conditioned for it.

Today was no exception. One stretch got me out of the saddle, as it always does. A more seasoned two-wheeler rolled past me and asked, "Everything alright?"

Most of the other cyclists were certainly regulars at the commuting. They were decked out in their matching cycling shorts & jerseys. I couldn't have looked more like an indie kid. I thought fixies were all the rage; turns out, most hipster kids are just glad that you're out on a bike. Messengers will tag you as a poseur if you don't know what you're doing on a fixie.

But I digress.

I pulled into work, a bit out of breath and mildly sweating. Took me 45 minutes, a far cry from the 20 it takes in a car. On the way home, however, I had none of the agita from sitting at stoplights in bumper to bumper traffic. When I crossed over the Beltway, a smug grin spread across my face. Though I had about 6 miles left, at least I was out of gridlock.

I'll keep an eye on the weather more closely. It can only get easier each time I do it, right? I reckon that's the whole goal of the movement: one less car.

bike to work day

2010-05-21T01:59:00.004+01:00

In the spirit of Go Big, or Go Home, I'm disregarding most conventional wisdom regarding training for long rides or new sports and riding my bike to work tomorrow.

It should be an easy ride along the Washington & Old Dominion Trail; however, the last time I attempted to ride my bike to Vienna, I had to be peeled off my bike by the chiropractor. This time around, my back is a year healthier, and I've been on a few bike rides since the spring began.

Eight miles-ish. Giving myself an hour to get there. I think I ought to be able to do it. At least I know what I'm getting myself into. Worst case scenario, I hop the Metro to get home. Of course, that means I'll need to push my bike to the station with my tail between my legs.

Tweets from the stop signs? We'll see.

traffic woes

2010-04-19T18:21:00.003Z

I know, not so exciting. On my road trips in years past, I never had to worry too much about traffic. Just avoid Atlanta's rush hour, and we were set. Nowadays, DC's rush hour impacts travel plans too much. Tie ups can occur for insignificant reasons.

Recently, I've begun compiling a list of things I want to see at the beginning of a traffic tie up to justify my extra time in the car.

1) Any accident between a clown car and a busload of nuns. Clowns acting silly and nuns scratching their heads as traffic creeps by single file.

2) A 47 car pileup in which no one gets hurt. All drivers and passengers breathing a collective sigh of relief as their payloads of rubber chickens and bubble gum are strewn across the blacktop.

3) A minor fender bender(as is more often the case). Both drivers, mad as hell, get out of their cars and conveniently have either Hulk fist boxing gloves or sumo suits, and go at it on the shoulder. Now that's cause for rubbernecking!

As you sit in traffic this week, think of something comical and laugh instead of stew. In the comments, what would ease your frustration in a typical Beltway traffic tie up?

one year later

2010-03-28T13:00:00.001Z

In honor of one year since setting forth towards that M word many men fear, I thought I'd share the story. Names have been omitted, as usual. No sense in getting too personal!

“You’re next,” the groom whispered to me as we’re saying farewell at his wedding reception. I laughed; little did he know I’d paid the deposit on the ring and was picking it up as soon as we returned to Virginia.

All the pinball ideas bouncing around in my brain about how to do it. I knew the answer would be yes, but the question had to be memorable and unique. Everything that we’d done together over the time we’ve been together has been such. A proposal over dinner was too cliché and expected. I wanted to surprise her, and soon. Our upcoming trip to California presented too many obstacles to keeping it under wraps.

Morning of, I’m sneaking around, getting everything together for the day. Ring Pop, check. Camera, check. Scavenger hunt, check. What am I forgetting?

Oh, yeah. The ring. As soon as I pulled the box out, my pulse started racing. It wouldn’t quite slow down until I laid down that night.

We returned to the scene of our first date under the guise of preparing for an upcoming field trip. It was plausible, and she was none the wiser. All my sneaking would be unneeded; she never suspected a thing. Strolling through the city from Metro Center presented many occasions in my brain. How about there? No. Ok then, there? No.

The internal argument of where the best spot would be was silly really. When I asked her out, I picked a place she’d already been as an option. Turns out it had been on another date. Oops. Our first kiss was memorable in setting, but I interrupted her mid-sentence long after several “perfect” moments had passed.

Waiting was killing me inside. Walking in the door of the museum, I took a deep breath. The opportunity would present itself. It had to. My scavenger hunt was a blur. I added a few questions, racing through the museum, often racing ahead of her like a five year-old in Toys-R-Us.

And then it came. We took a breather on a small balcony overlooking the Oceans exhibit. I’d already stashed the Ring Pop in my pocket. “It’s now or never,” I thought, “This is it. The ‘moment’.”

I lean over to her, dry throat, mind swimming, and squeaked, “Marry me.”

Her eyes got really big, as if to say, “Is he serious?” Which is exactly what she said, I think.

“You’re not even on one knee,” she challenged me. Dropping to one knee, I repeated my request phrased as a command.

“Psssh. That’s not even a real ring,” she said with a glimmer of hope mixed with fear mixed with confusion in her eyes. I reached into my bag and pull out the ring. She immediately started crying and laughing and jumping.

Now it’s her turn to squeak feebly, “Ok.” So I was wrong about the answer, but then again, I didn’t give her much of a choice.

Of course, I didn’t have a chance when we first met either.

the gnar

2010-03-10T00:39:00.003Z

In the quest to ever improve and go big, this snowboarding season was momentous. Now, some will cry, "The season is far from over, brah." While that may be true out west, 'round these parts 'tis true. When four feet of fresh snow become a lumpy, packed mess, my season is done. Wisp was great last weekend, but it would have been amazing had I been there soon after a fresh snow.

Back to the point of the post at hand. After my third season of riding, I failed to meet her prediction/challenge, "You'll be better than me, and I'll be sad." Season one, the goal was to spend more time upright than not. I think I met that one, despite fracturing the pedicel of one of my vertebrae and inducing traumatic spondylotheosis. The following year, I quickly remembered how to link my turns, carve in the local parlance. I started rocking blue runs like it was my job. This year looked like it was to be epic in growth. My size (comparative to my better half) and seeming lack of fear should have combined to make the student surpass the master.

Well, this year, peer pressure kept me off the trails and put me in the terrain park. No Shaun White tricks up my sleeve yet, but I did land a jump or two. Ending the season running black trails and goofing off in the park was still improvement. I run the blues with certainly more speed than last year and am no longer intimidated by a diamond.

The best part of this season by far was riding confidently with her and my friends. I got to hit up two new resorts and ride outdoors after our historic snowfalls. I no longer feel inferior to most on the mountain. I'd say I'm somewhere near average. I may never be stellar, but that's not my goal. Never was.

Since I can't climb outside much in the winter up here, I may as well make the best of it. Now, a climbing spring is afoot. I have less than three weeks until Horse Pens 40. Time to break through the plateau and send some projects...

oncoming headlights

2010-03-07T00:38:00.003Z

I do stupid things sometimes. Things that jeopardize life and limb. More often latter than former, but that's beside the point. Despite all the things I've done in the past, I rarely get an injury that can't be treated with ibuprofen.

Rock climbing. Snowboarding. Jaywalking in D.C. Biking on M Street. Driving on New Year's Eve. Passenger of a not-so-stellar driver.

Last night, it almost came crashing down doing something so routine that the sheer absurdity of it took almost 24 hours to sink in. We were on a late night drive to a hotel for an early morning start snowboarding at Wisp in western Maryland. It was about 10:30; no later than other long distance, late night trips I've taken to get to the crag. (Rolling into Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina past the witching hour comes to mind.) Barreling down I-68, getting close to our trip terminus, I saw headlights ahead. I didn't think anything of it until I passed them.

Those oncoming headlights were on my side of the median in the left-hand lane. Going the wrong way. The car seemed as if it were standing still, but that must've been because of our highway speed. Not knowing the number for Maryland Highway Patrol, we called 911. We gave the mile marker, and prayed the cops would show up quickly.

Riding back today, licking my normal snowboarding wounds, I reflected on what had happened. I'm more shaken up about it now than I was then. There would have been no walking away from that crash...

Will it make me more cautious in my dangerous pursuits? Possible, but unlikely. Will it keep me from driving at night? Not a chance. I'm not real sure of the effect it will take, but judging from my past, it's going to rattle around in my brain for a little while before I figure it out.

long overdue snow stories, part two

2010-03-01T12:34:00.003Z

The day after my fresh powder riding experience, I got a call from Snow. No, really, that's his name.

Anyhow, he was stuck at home due to the snow and wanted to go snowboarding. Free riding fresh in my mind, we set out for the Iwo Jima Memorial and the Netherlands Carillon in search of a slightly taller hill with a less exhausting approach than the one I'd tried 24 hours prior.

He packed a shovel to build a learning-sized kicker on the side of the hill we found. A hill that many gather on in July to watch the fireworks over the National Mall. In view were the Lincoln Memorial, Washington Monument, and U.S. Capitol. Clear, blue skies above, and nary a soul nearby.

As we hiked and rode over and over again, we got a few curious stares from passing cars and a few walkers. Before too long, I was getting better at catching air, though my landings were still spectacular failures. My partner-in-crime slash instructor was hitting all of his 180s, but couldn't quite manage the 360s he was working on.

After a while, an SUV rolls up, and two guys get out. They say their from the BBC and want to take some footage of us on the hill. Um, sure?

To be honest, I wasn't exactly jazzed with the idea. Cameras intimidate me in my best pursuits, which is why perhaps I hide behind mine while shooting my favorite hobbies. After a dozen or so falls on my part and much better success on his, they pack up their gear, stick a microphone in our faces, and ask us a few off-the-cuff questions. Our answers were less than eloquent, but we were apparently on that night's news on BBC. Too bad we never got to see it, despite giving the crew our email addresses.

The story's not done yet. A guy in a Navy (capital N for branch of service, not color) sweatshirt shows up toting two better-than-mine Nikons. He sets himself up for some photos of our view and also asks if he can shoot some of us. Content to be captured by still frames this time, we both think, "Why not?" I think I was more excited for this prospect because even if I fell every time, there were bound to be a few shots that at least made me look like I knew what I was doing.

I was not disappointed. By and by, he emailed me the files, and they were excellent. Check out some more of Justin Sen's photography, featuring yours truly at his website.

...and now you know the rest of the story.

long overdue snow stories, part one

2010-02-27T22:00:00.003Z

With the snow fast receding, I feel the urge to share two D.C. snow(insert-second-half-of-portmanteau-related-to-disaster) stories.

After the Saturday storm on Feb. 6th, she and I were suffering from a bit of cabin fever. I decided to take a walk to a park near Seven Corners. In the summertime, I spent a few afternoons at the park playing on the waterslides, reading in the sunshine and playing minigolf with various too much free time afflicted friends. After this storm, it was a considerably different landscape.

It doesn't look it, but the snow was nearly waist-deep in spots. It took quite a bit of effort to trudge through with my camera and tripod, but I did manage a few striking shots with the polarizing filter on my lens. This, however, is not my photo blog, and neither the point of this post.

As I was about to leave in a sweaty heap from the unfortunate lack of snowshoes, I saw two guys walking into the park with their snowboards. Curious, I tailed them to the lone hill in the park. These two clever guys had found a small, hidden gem to ride for distraction. I struck up a conversation with them. I quickly hurried home to get my board and join them.

My better half dropped me off on her way to the gym, and I got my first experience in riding fresh powder.

Not out west. In a county park. No lift ticket needed, but I had to earn every twenty second run with the hike back up.

Absolutely worth it, though.

snowtiquette?

2010-02-10T15:51:00.004Z

This Florida boy is not really up on his winter rules. This winter has given me a few clues into rules of engagement.

Get after the shoveling while it's still falling. It makes it much easier when it finally stops.

Salt works, but only to a point. When it exceeds more than a few inches, the only thing salt does is make removal easier when you can finally find sidewalk underneath. I can't believe that I've gone through 50 pounds already this year. This winter decided to go big to make me go home.

On to etiquette for snow, snowtiquette if you will. Most people seem to have the common decency to not park in spots that were cleared by the sweat and muscles of another. People who are new to snow obviously don't know this. Compounded by a complex that was wholly underprepared and underfunded for this winter, parking spaces are at a premium indeed.

Yesterday, I spent about an hour for the common good clearing some other spaces out with my neighbors. The two spots that we use were finally clear of snow and ice after some heavy duty salt application. Upon returning home from work yesterday, she discovered someone had parked in her spot.

I don't mean some random spot that we "claimed" with a bucket or chair, saying don't park here. I mean a paid spot in our complex that our landlords included with our rent. There's few of them, and we have the right to tow from the spot without warning.

Angered at this breach of snowtiquette, I quickly texted my landlord for the phone number for the towing company and scribbled a terse note for the offender's windshield. Calling the towing company did me no good. They said they weren't towing from paid spots, "per management". My guess? Management knows that there aren't enough spots now for residents because their snow removal budget was blown in December.

We hemmed and hawed about whether or not to call again. Conditions worsening, we were of the opinion that it seemed awfully selfish to tow someone because they're in "our spot." On the other hand, I shoveled out the spot; I put in the hard work; I salted it to clear it completely. Am I completely off-base to expect that I should be able to park there instead of some jackass stealing my hard work? Would her car get keyed after the offending SUV was snatched by a tow truck? I tend to hate tow trucks for being nothing more than glorified car thieves, slightly less so since moving out of Gainesville.

Waking up this morning, it appears that the spot is now empty, rendering my indecision a moot point. If that's not the case, what should I do? It's whiteout conditions; I doubt a plow has been through yet.

In the comments, tell me what to do. Comical, ridiculous responses always appreciated.

bring on the snow!

2010-02-03T21:04:00.005Z

I was out walking the District today. Nothing like an unplanned and unwanted snow day to kill any sort of momentum you have in the classroom. At least I won't have that pesky three-day weekend for Presidents' Day like I was planning! I just hate time off.

I was quite impressed with the snow removal capabilities in DC. The streets were cleared, including side roads and alleys. Sidewalks, for the most part, were also salted and shoveled. On my normal side of the Potomac, VDOT was a little slower to act, as usual. By the time I got up at 7, the temperature was already above freezing. Shoveling was a breeze today, as was getting the snow off windshields and whatnot.

I come home to find this message from the NWS:

THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN STERLING VIRGINIA HAS ISSUED A WINTER STORM WATCH...WHICH IS IN EFFECT FROM FRIDAY MORNING THROUGH SATURDAY EVENING.

* PRECIPITATION TYPE...SNOW.
* ACCUMULATIONS...THIS STORM IS LIKELY TO PRODUCE 12 OR MORE INCHES OF SNOW IN THE WATCH AREA...WITH A GOOD CHANCE FOR LOCALIZED AMOUNTS OVER 20 INCHES.
* TIMING...SNOW IS EXPECTED TO BEGIN LATE MORNING FRIDAY...CONTINUING THROUGH SATURDAY EVENING.
* TEMPERATURES...HIGHS IN THE LOWER TO MID 30S FRIDAY. FRIDAY NIGHT AND SATURDAY...TEMPERATURES WILL BE 25 TO 30 DEGREES.
* WINDS...EAST 5 TO 10 MPH FRIDAY AND FRIDAY NIGHT...BECOMING NORTH 10 TO 20 MPH SATURDAY.

PRECAUTIONARY/PREPAREDNESS ACTIONS...THIS STORM HAS THE POTENTIAL TO BE SIMILAR TO THE DECEMBER 19TH STORM. PLAN FOR SUBSTANTIAL DISRUPTIONS TO TRAVEL FRIDAY AFTERNOON THROUGH THE WEEKEND.

Oh, goody! If you work for VDOT, please go talk to someone in the snow removal department for the District. I'd really like to go to work next week. Judging by your efforts after December 19th, I'm not really confident you'll get the roads cleared before Punxsutawney Phil's six weeks of winter are up.

At least my camera still functions, and I can take some more pretty photos...

climbing obsession

2010-01-21T17:39:00.003Z

Used to be that climbing was the sole focus in my life. I'd spend at least three hours climbing at the gym 3-4 nights a week. Besides heading to the bar for a show, it was really my only social outlet in Gainesville.

Times have changed. A few more things have entered my social life. I'm engaged. I have friends outside of the climbing gym. The climbing gym, at least initially, didn't seem to take as many outdoor trips, despite the paradox of being closer to good stone. I threw myself headlong into photography yet again and have discovered I quite enjoy it since it meshes well with other interests. I took up snowboarding. Weather around here in the wintertime is too wet to have good climbing days. On the dry ones, it's rarely above freezing, which kills those days too. Summertime is manky and damp; holds are slippery and feet don't stick. Fall is perpetually hectic and even weekend trips are hard to come by. We'll see how this spring turns out, but it's looking like my best climbing is going to be at beloved Horse Pens 40 for spring break. It was going to be Bishop out in California, but the logistics just didn't work out. Road trip insteaad! I can live with that.

Thus begins the training regimens of years past. When I'd try in vain to break above the prior plateau so I could finally send my project. I'm top roping more lately, and trying to build bouldering endurance for our week-long trek to Steele. On the hit list this trip: Mortal Combat, Hammerhead, Earth Wind and Fire, The Beach, Millipede, Genesis, Chrisifix, and Getcha Some. Three have fought me tooth and nail, three I've never battled, and Genesis is just awesome.

Any tips to help me break out of my training slump?

prayers for peace

2009-12-17T03:08:00.004Z

When Bob married my Aunt Barb, I thought it'd be a long time before he felt like family to me. In my mind, I felt like my life had been so long that the time before I knew Bob would always be longer than the time since he came into our lives. Of course, I was wrong. I had no perspective.

I'm not really sure when the change in perspective occurred. Maybe it was when he always made time for me to get a beer at the Moose. Maybe it was his selfless giving to making Granny laugh. Maybe it was how he sent care packages to every one of my friends when they were deployed. Or that he continued to ask about how they were doing eight years later.

I know the change was so gradual that I never noticed. Family is like that. One day, your cousin is feeding you mud pies; the next, he's standing by your side, trying to cheer up the rest of the family as they try to make sense of the incomprehensible.

Bob wasn't all laughter and smiles. He came off a bit gruff when I was younger. As I came to realize over the years, he kidded the ones he loved. If he didn't like you, he wouldn't waste his breath. Just like most of my friends.

Hammerhead. Testa dura. Governor. Friend. Uncle. He passed away this afternoon after a fierce battle with cancer. Judging by the reactions of the rest of my family, I'm not the only one who's going to miss him.

amazing photography

2009-10-22T19:59:00.003Z

A friend of mine from Gainesville is a professional photographer. Ever since she started posting photos online, I anxiously waited for the next installment. This is a multimedia project she worked on that's recently been posted on Vimeo and her company's website, Straw Hat Visuals. Go Gators!

Ok, so I thought I'd be able to embed the video to share. Guess not. The Vimeo link goes to the video. The company link goes to theirs.

getting out the crock pot

2009-10-18T23:24:00.003Z

Top Chef introduces me to many different ingredients and flavor profiles. When I happen to have the ingredients on hand, I'm more likely to introduce them to a dish.

Enter the spice rack. Earlier in the summer, I used the ground ginger and basil on it to season a fillet of salmon to give it a distinctly Thai feel when it was finished with the slab of grilled pineapple. To tie this tale together, Top Chef this week had a pork competition. One of the cheftestants (yes, that's really what they call them) made a tenderloin that she seasoned with fennel and paired with sweet potatoes and apples. I've never had fennel before, so I didn't particularly know what it tasted like. It's on the spice rack. Experiment time!

Ingredients
3 lbs. pork tenderloin
1/2 bag of dried lentils, rehydrated
3 sweet potatoes, peeled & cubed
25 oz. jar of plain applesauce
12 oz. your favorite Oktoberfest beer (or soup stock)
approx. 1 tsp. fennel
cinnamon

Layer the ingredients into a six quart crock pot. If yours is smaller, adjust quantities accordingly. I put the potatoes on the bottom, then lentils, then cubed pork, and finally applesauce. Season somewhere in between and add the liquid. Cook on high for 4 hours or so. If you want to cook it longer on low, I'd recommend browning the pork first so it's still recognizable at the end of the day.

Serve it over rice on a rainy day. It was pretty delicious. It'll be here all week.

how's this go again?

2009-10-17T02:39:00.003Z

I seem to have forgotten to post here lately. I'd make some lame blogger excuse, "I'm too busy," but that's a lie. Direct your attention more to the photographic outlet of my creativity. This writing thing just ain't doing it for me anymore.

I guess I'll still occasionally post here, but it won't be as timely, and it'll sure be less rant-like. To tide you over, check out some climbing action from last weekend. We had a good day, ate some Mexican food, and showed Bella how to be a crag dog.

When I got home, I went on a three mile run. She's been training hard, and I finally got the all clear to start running again. The Run for World Peace 5K is next weekend. I'll keep you posted.

restaurant week, round 4

2009-08-28T20:17:00.003Z

I just went searching through my archives for the remnants of past Restaurant Week delights. Turns out, I was so full of delicious food, I blogged not about them. Either that or I tagged them differently. When I get home sometime, I'll search and tag them properly.

In any case, this is the fourth Restaurant Week I've been in D.C. for. This time around, we decided on a French restaurant. I've only had French food once before. I thought I wrote about that one too, turns out not. Anyhow, I was pleased once; I figured why not try again? The joint is called La Bergerie. The deciding factor between this and another highly-regarded one was the simple fact that La Bergerie offered dinner also. Some restaurants only serve lunch, in order to keep their normal clientele happy at dinnertime, or to not lose so much money with the prix fixe menu offerings of the week.

The choices were hard. For the appetizer course, she had perfectly cooked, perfectly seasoned diver scallops. She shared, so I got to partake as well. Melted in my mouth. I chose the beef carpaccio. It was drizzled with white truffle oil, shaved parmesan cheese and some sort of strange lettuce variant. I thought it was delicious, but as I've learned in the past, my taste buds have a much broader range of delight than some. She was less than impressed. Had I not tried escargots last summer for Ma's birthday, I would've gotten them. It wasn't because I didn't like them last time; it was the desire to try something new.

For the main course, she had salmon on a bed of lentils. She found it delicious and ate every bite. I went a little too safe and got the roasted chicken. It was different; the other offerings on the menu were a little too boring sounding. The chicken was a little overdone, but the preparation was creative and inspired. It was stuffed with chicken livers, which gave the chicken the prototypical rich French flavor. The braised celery and sauce on the plate were interesting. Not bad, not great though. I did sop up the sauce with the baguettes still on our table though, just like the Southern boy I've come to be.

Dessert. Where Frenchies shine. Creme brulee; predictably delicious sat across from me. Souffle as tall as a wine bottle and as light as air placed under my nose. A bit like eating a warm cloud of cotton candy, with an airy eggy texture though. The hazelnut topping really complemented it well.

I doubt we'll go back to La Bergerie, though not for lack of quality. I'd like to see their "normal" menu to see if there's anything else that screams, "Eat me" on it. I do like French food, but as rich as it is, it should be mind-numbingly delicious.

idle hands are the devil's tools

2009-08-21T12:06:00.000Z

I reckon my back has gotten better to the point that sitting still about drives me nuts. So much so that on Tuesday I decided to build a picnic table. Mind you, I'd not really discussed this with the Boss, nor did I want a run-of-the-mill table. So, I drew up some plans for a trestle table and got the materials.

Too much, but that's neither here nor there.

The plan was to finish the table before she got home from work. Mother Nature had other plans. My framing skills came back to me in a hurry. I was able to get the legs and top framed out in less than three hours with no assistance. I'm sure it was quite a goofy sight with some of the balancing acts I had to do with no workbench or level surface besides the ground and a toolbox. The rain came down, and as you may know, rain and power tools don't mix real well.

So, she came home to a table with no top on it. Surprised, yes. Would it have been cooler to have the whole thing done? Absolutely.

Back at it Wednesday, I braced the top for the cantilever with 45 degree braces. I cut the top to length and laid it all out. Turns out I bought too much material. A four-foot wide table dominated the porch. Skinnying it by one plank made it more manageable, but six-feet long took more space than I planned also. Opinion needed. She agreed.
Finally, yesterday, I predrilled all the boards, screwed them down, and evened up the ends. Total time investment: five hours or so. Total cost: $65 when all was said and done. Not bad. Now for the benches to sit on...

variation on lasagna

2009-08-18T03:00:00.005+01:00

I'm not sure why. Sometimes, I just get a hankering for some lasagna. Today was one such time. Spring break memories of the Tuscan lasagna made me think a variation of the traditional meat, cheese and sauce was in order. In the past, I've merely added ingredients. Portabello mushrooms. Italian sausage. More cheese. Tonight, I went outside of that modus operandi. I went Greek...sort of.

Ingredients
1 1/2 lbs. of shrimp, cooked & cleaned
12 lasagna noodles, cooked al dente and drained
1 small bag of baby spinach
Fresh basil to taste
Small bunch of parsley
2 lbs. ricotta cheese
1 egg
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan
3 cups shredded mozzarella (or Italian blend)
10 oz. or so of crumbled feta cheese
Tomato sauce
Italian seasoning, if desired

Lasagna requires a lot of bowls for prep and a decent-sized countertop. Chop spinach, basil and parsley. Combine in large bowl. Set aside.

Make sauce. Yes, I said make sauce. Doing this right means doing all the steps right. If you want to use Ragu or Prego, stop reading this recipe and learn how to make your own sauce. It's worth it.

Beat egg in another large bowl. In order, mix in ricotta, parmesan and mozzarella. In small amounts, mix in green stuff until all ingredients are evenly dispersed.

Oil the bottom and sides of a 14" x 9" casserole dish. The deeper the better. Spread a thin layer of sauce on the pan and the first layer of noodles. Cover with half the ricotta and spinach mixture. Next layer of noodles. Layer in sauce, shrimp and feta. Next layer of noodles. Sauce and the remaining ricotta. Last layer of noodles and sauce on top.

Bake for 45 minutes at 350. Let it cool for 5-10 minutes before plating.

Shrimp worked well, but shredded [fill-in-the-meat] or a vegetable substitute would work equally well. Perhaps an olive/peperoncini/roasted garlic/red pepper Greek twist instead of meat? I'm not really sure. I also thought a pesto instead of red sauce would go well, too.

Cooking ain't an exact science; experiment and enjoy the results

holla back, dc

2009-08-13T15:37:00.003+01:00

In my boredom this summer, I've taken to reading a lot of random stuff online. One site that's been popping up a lot on the DCBlogs daily links is called Holla Back DC. The basic premise of the site is that women who are harassed by strangers on the street can submit their stories as a means of catharsis and get some support from the blogoverse. By empowering these women to share their stories, perhaps the next time, they won't be so silent in the face of men harassing them in public.

Since I started reading this site, it got me thinking. As a male, I'm clearly not privy to what goes on in women's minds when a stranger makes rude or lewd remarks to you in public. Does it happen often? If it's happened to you before, does it make you paranoid that all men are leering at you?

It reminds me of an anonymous friend that liked to wear sunglasses while on campus, so he could check out attractive coeds without being noticed. Voyeuristic, yes, but at least he had the decency and manners to not openly harass strangers based on appearances alone. Do guys like this eventually fall into the catcaller category?

I'm beginning to think that it happens more often than I witness, as most women on the street barely raise their eyes to meet a stranger's. Smiling at a perfect stranger is looked at with contempt instead of a return smile. I just don't get it.

I doubt any readers of this web rag are catcallers or harassers in question. If so, have any of your opening comments about a woman's appearance actually worked?

I thought not.

humpty dumpty needed a belayer, that's all

2009-08-12T13:02:00.002+01:00

buzz bakery

2009-08-11T13:10:00.002+01:00

When I was a kid, my dad would get a tin of chocolate-covered pretzels without fail each Christmas. It was always the round gift, wrapped strangely or not at all. It's true what they say about exposing kids to varied foods to make them less picky. Since those chocolate-covered pretzels of Yule and yore, I've always had a hankering for salty-sweet combinations. Pancake syrup and sausage links? Done. M & M's and roasted peanuts in trail mix? Delicious. Grape jelly on a chicken biscuit? Absolutely.

When I heard about Buzz's August cupcake of the month, I knew I would like it. How much depended on their execution of the ingredients.

Raise your hand if you like devil's food cake. I thought so. Light and airy, this element I knew they'd execute perfectly, having had some of their confectionary creations at a dessert wine tasting at Planet Wine in February.

Raise your hand if you like peanut butter. Ok, not as many of you, but still a good number. Take that peanut butter and incorporate it into a buttercream frosting, and you've got a winner in my book. Put that frosting on a chocolate cupcake; delicious. How about a vanilla cupake and toast a marshmallow on it? Fluffer-nutter cupcake. Ooh, write that down!

(Peanut butter chocolate note: ever notice how Reese's Peanut Butter Cups are at times saltier than they are sweet? The genius! Other companies that try to mimic it get it all wrong and make it sickeningly sweet, which doesn't work for peanuts in my opinion.)

Finally, who likes bacon? Salty, chewy, cooked-just-right, high quality, center-cut bacon...Mmm. I once had this delicious bacon at a school luncheon. It was baked with brown sugar until the sugar caramelized and served cooled. It was quite possibly the most delicious bacon I've ever had. Again, salty vs. sweet battling on my taste buds.

Ok, for the finale, here's the combination. Devil's Food cupcake. Peanut butter buttercream frosting. Real bacon bits (not from a jar, actually made at the shop) folded into the frosting. One complex culinary delight in one small paper wrapper.

(Thanks to Metrocurean for alerting me to this flavor festival!)

d.c. plates

2009-08-09T22:31:00.003+01:00

I find myself doing double takes around here when it comes to license plates. On one hand, I see just more Florida plates than I do for any neighboring states (excluding Virginia and Maryland, of course!) I found it odd until I learned that military families don't have to relinquish their home residence status if Uncle Sam's shipping them all over the country. Probably why I saw so many out-of-state plates in the parking lot at school.

On to D.C. plates. Until I moved to the DMV, I had rarely seen an actual Washington D.C. license plate. Since moving here, I think I see diplomat plates more often than actual District plates. It makes me think one of two things:

One, why'd that person cross the Potomac? In the case of my District friends, it takes quite an event for them to cross the river. For the most part, if it isn't Metro accessible, they're not going. More often than not, it appears that they've just left to go shopping somewhere nearby, get some cheap gas, go to work (?). I guess the Target in Columbia Heights is too far out of the way for some!

Two, the double take in my brain reprocesses, "Wait. People that live in the District have cars? Since when? Cash for Clunkers must be working!"

whiskey tango foxtrot?

2009-08-07T18:26:00.003+01:00

I've gotten some crazy spam emails in the past. Surprisingly, I don't get a whole lot of spam on my current email address. A lot of my friends have left this particular webmail client because of spam overload. I guess it all depends on whether your address is easily generated by spam bots. Anyhow, I got a chuckle out of this strange message that was sent to my Junk folder by the filters. No links, no signature, no please reply if you're interested.

I am a romantic woman, but I am also decided and strong when it iss
necessary. I also have the sense of the humor. I'm very easy going,
open minded, and respectful towards men. Being creative is veryy
important to me. II am magical, mystical, musical, sensible,
responsive, magnetic, practical, whimsical, harmonious, intriguing,
thought provoking, kind and gentle yet firm, inquisitive, compatible,
full of compassion, spiritual- but not religious, observant but not
judgmental. I am kind, thoughtful, sensitive, like to laugh, loyal,
confident, objective and taking really goood care of myself. I would
do the same for my future partner

Sorry, Mary S. I've already found love. What made you think this'd be a successful venture?

my next thirty years

2009-08-06T18:05:00.003+01:00

A trip across the radio dial landed on a Tim McGraw song I hadn't heard in a while. Kind of odd that it occurred the night before my 30th. A riff on the lyrics.

I think I'll take a moment, celebrate my age,
The ending of an era and the turning of a page.
Now it's time to focus in on where I go from here;
Lord have mercy on my next thirty years

I guess this is pretty true as this past year has been quite a change. Between getting engaged in March and getting married next July, I'd say turning a page is an appropriate cliche for now.

Hey, my next thirty years I'm gonna have some fun,
Try to forget about all the crazy things I've done.
Maybe now I've conquered all my adolescent fears,
And I'll do it better in my next thirty years.

I'm fairly certain that I had a good bit of fun in my first 30 years. It'll likely be a different brand of fun, but fun nonetheless. Example, I'm going hang gliding in three weeks. That'll be fun. I'm not sure what I was really afraid of in adolescence. Being happy? Being loved? Having friends? I guess this is why teen angst is overwrought and ridiculous when you look back with 20/20 hindsight.

My next thirty years I'm gonna settle all the scores:
Cry a little less, laugh a little more.
Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear.
Figure out just what I'm doing here
In my next thirty years

I feel like I did this in my twenties. Stopped sweating the small stuff and started appreciating the beautiful stuff. Perhaps that's why I've jumped headfirst into photography. Yet another hobby that will compete with my attention for years to come! The whole existential "Why am I here" question will vex me for my entire life I'm sure, but I reckon I'm getting a better handle on it day by day in front of a classroom.

Oh my next thirty years, I'm gonna watch my weight,
Eat a few more salads and not stay up so late,
Drink a little lemonade and not so many beers.
Maybe I'll remember my next thirty years

No comment, but if last night's any indication, I still like beer. Good lemonade just isn't as easy to find at restaurants or bars.

My next thirty years will be the best years of my life,
Raise a little family and hang out with my wife,
Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear,
Make up for lost time here, in my next thirty years

In due time. In due time. Seems a lot more fitting for thirty than it would've for twenty, that's for damn sure. I don't know if I'll still be blogging in 10 years, but I'll revisit these thoughts then.

saturday trip to the beauty shop

2009-08-04T03:33:00.004+01:00

I haven't been posting here a whole lot lately. Most of what I've been doing has been behind the shutter. Not a whole lot more to report on that front besides share photos. Here's two of my grandma from this weekend. She hates the camera, but it's pretty easy to sneak a shot or two.

public transportation

2009-07-31T00:33:00.000+01:00

Back before I bought the danger Ranger, I occasionally took the bus to the mall in Gainesville. Rarely at best, but every so often, I'd need something that wasn't at any stores within walking distance of campus. So, I'd hop on the number 20 out to the Oaks Mall, wander around for an hour or so, and hop back on to get back to my dorm. I never had any need to figure out the schedule or the route for that matter. There weren't a whole lot of choices and the trip was short. Worse came to worse, I could call a friend to (maybe) pick me up. Beyond that and a rare Later Gator trip, I was not really savvy on public transit.

D.C.'s Metro system is my preferred mode of transport into the city. If I need to drive somewhere that Metro doesn't reach, it's a rare, special occasion. I know there's much to see in the District that is not accessible underground, but convenience is convenience. I could walk to the station, to my destination and back again. Since moving to Falls Church, I have a longer walk and a longer trip on the train. To get other places faster, I've begun trying to figure out the bus schedules nearby.

Mind you, my use of the bus is not a necessity. I rarely have cause to need public transportation since I have a live-in designated driver for those late nights or early happy hours. This summer, it's been more of something to do, just in case I need to one day.

Well, the past two weeks have been a "need to" situation. My folks borrowed my car for 2 weeks. Last year, it would not have been as big a deal. I was able to ride my bike, walking was an easier option comparatively. My fruitless PT appointments were in the District and easily Metro accessible. This year's chiropractor appointments are about three miles from the nearest Metro station and two bus transfers away if I go that route. Today, it took me almost 2 hours to get there. Afterwards, I had to wait for close to an hour to catch a bus that didn't even take me to the Metro line.

I have trouble accepting it because I have other options. Some of my fellow bus riders likely have no other option. Waiting for the bus is a fact of life for them. With no car and a need to earn a living, what other options are there outside of the reach of Metro and walking beyond the realm of possibility? People wonder why Americans don't use public transit. When you factor buses into it, it's horribly slow and time-consuming. I spent over four hours on various forms today to travel 20 miles or so. When I have the option to drive and save three of those hours for cooking a good meal, going to the gym, or taking some pictures, what am I going to choose?

Until we as a nation, state, or community decide to live where we work and make public transit more convenient by proximity, we're stuck with what we've got. Fortunately, I get my car back on Monday and will probably forget about it until I need to hop on a bus again.

spectacular street grub

2009-07-30T01:46:00.003+01:00

Most of the time when thinking of street vendor food, overdone hot dogs and rock hard pretzels are what come to mind. Every so often, you find a spot that has something resembling food you'd eat by choice, not necessity. Ever so rarely, you find a gem with typical street vendor food presented in a not so typical way. Pupusas. Fish tacos. Shaved ice.

I heard through the interweb grapevine about a street cart that just opened that is one such gem. I ventured there, and man, was I impressed!

Sliders are the main fare, but don't think White Castle or Krystal steamers. I had the lamb meatball slider. It had slaw and goat cheese aioli on it. You get two sliders in an order, not quite enough to fill me up, but at four to six bucks, two orders won't break the bank. Add a drink and a bag of chips for $1.50.

They're open 7 days a week, and I plan on stopping by the next time I'm in the neighborhood, whether I'm hungry or not. Hey, it's for a good cause!

Spy Diner
9th & F Streets, NW

west virginia bouldering

2009-07-21T16:47:00.002+01:00

Here are two clips of our climbing adventures in West Virginia last week. I thought long and hard about what music to accompany said climbs. Thoughts?

ethiopian adventure

2009-07-20T01:22:00.003+01:00

"Well, what do you want to eat?" I asked.

"Ethiopian food," he replied, "Can't get that in Gainesville."

There's a few options for Ethiopian food in the area. Never having eaten it myself, I had to do some research. U Street seemed to have the largest enclave of Ethiopian restaurants and shops. Several sites actually called it Little Ethiopia. How many cities have one of those, outside of Addis Ababa anyhow?

Sorting through the recommendations, I decided on Etete (1942 9th Street NW). It won several Washingtonian magazine awards, the reviews were plentiful and (mostly) good. We got off at the U Street/Cardozo/African American War Memorial Metro stop. (Sidenote: Quite possibly the longest Metro station stop in the system!) People watching all the while, we followed a foursome of out-of-their-element girls into Etete. Go figure.

Candler and I ordered honey wine and sambusas before the main food came out. The honey wine tasted a bit like a dessert wine with a hops bite. Not bad, but not great. The sambusas were delicious. Lentils and meat and jalapenos and other veggies. Flaky crust on the outside. An African empanada, more or less.

For the main course, we opted for a veggie sampler, kifta, and a lamb stew. All of the veggie mounds were delicious. Kifta is a spicy blend of ground meat that is often served raw. We opted for medium, but it came out looking like browned ground round. It was infinitely tastier though. The lamb stew was rich with a slight vinegary bite to it. All of the dishes came out on a giant platter with a basket of rolled up injera. Injera is to Ethiopian food what chopsticks are to the Far East. I liken it to a chewier pancake. We used it like pita to pick up bite-sized morsels of the entrees.

All told, we couldn't eat all the food we ordered. Too much deliciousness. Knowing we were headed to Gibson's afterwards, we boxed it up anyways. Not five steps out of the restaurant, a homeless man in a wheelchair asked for some spare change. I offered the leftovers instead, and he graciously accepted.

the new ticks

2009-07-18T16:40:00.003+01:00

Returned from the woods on Thursday night. Five days of climbing, three crags, bouldering, sport climbing, deep water soloing, two showers. I'll make the stories short. There's too many to share.

Candler and I stayed at Rocky Top Retreat, better known as Roger's. If you go to the New, it's the community place to go. Six bucks a night. Plenty of characters call it home for a weekend, a week, or months on end. It's where we got the local beta on what to climb, for the New River Gorge is a dizzying array of climbs. The sheer volume alone makes the New the biggest crag I've ever been to. Kind of hard to narrow it down. We hit three separate parts on three consecutive days.

Day one, Kaymoor and rain in the morning. Searching for dry routes was the order of the day. 823 steps down the wrong way, we found our way to Rico Suave. Route one was called Totally Tammy (5.10a). Sketchy slab lead, but overall, not a bad climb. Made easier by our height, for sure. Route two was Rico Suave Arete (also 5.10a). Super fun lead, great movement. Left me feeling confident for more sends later in the week. After our misdirection, we were pretty much spent after those two climbs. Too bad. Back to Roger's. We got directions to Hawk's Nest for some bouldering in the afternoon.

Day two, Endless Wall. Six miles of cliff line and routes. Down the Honeymooner's Ladders, we tracked down Diamond Point and another slab lead to warm up. Glass Onion went at 5.10b, not as hairy as Tammy, but still a hairy clip or two. Hunting for straight up face climbing, we found Strike a Scowl (5.10b). Best exposure of the week, nearly a 360 degree view from the top. Too hot to hang up there and enjoy it though. Feeling confident, we hopped on Homer Erectus (5.11b) and were promptly beat down between the 3rd & 4th bolts. Demoralized and thirsty, we called it an early day yet again.

Day three, Bubba City with some of the other Roger's campers. Beer Wall is apparently overrun during the weekends, but we found an empty wall with our crew. Feeling pumped on my warmup Gilded Otter (5.7), I wasn't confident for the 100 point day we shot for. St. Pauli Girl (5.10c) tested my endurance. I made it up, but not without a few takes. No redpoint, but I got to the top. Stella put us on her project called Cirrhosis of the Leader, a two bolt 5.12a. All the business was at the bottom, basically a V5 into an easy slab. After a few goes, Candler sent first. Hans put it down next. Beta sponging from Stella, I used an awesome undercling to fight through the crux and finally sent. Near Beer (5.6) and Cerveza Verde (5.8) rounded out my euphoric day.

Pies and Pints all you can eat was on the menu for the celebratory evening. A lucky 13 slices went down my gullet, and a pizza hangover hit me the next morning. Candler and I rolled on up Rte. 19 the next morning, headed for Summersville's Whipporwill climbing and swimming. Good times.

I shall return.

mini golf practice day

2009-07-10T03:12:00.002+01:00

Finally, I get a summertime day of being lazy. I didn't do anything today that was remotely productive.

Awesome.

Plan one, watch a movie. Tried to get into D.W. Griffith's landmark The Birth of a Nation. It's a tough one to watch, as it's a silent film that is over three hours long. Pretty tough for me to maintain my attention with stuff blowing up, let alone reading the screen. I got lost; I'll try again tomorrow.

No matter. I had other plans to hang out with like-minded teacher friends. Putt putt golf after a ginormous burrito at Chipotle. Yes, I went mini-golfing today. I needed practice for tomorrow night. It's her birthday and we're going to the H Street Country Club in northeast. I'll report on that more when I get there tomorrow.

Today was awesome. The county park that has the course has an amazing looking pool and batting cages too. The golfing was fun; I'll certainly make a return trip. I can walk there from my apartment for goodness' sake! My bored goal for the summer is to shoot for par. A 36 will be tough; that's 10 strokes fewer than today. No debris and no goofing off.

A little too serious for mini golf? You are talking to one of the many people in the DMV that chooses to pay to play in a kickball league after all...

welsh food and weird art

2009-07-05T18:32:00.002+01:00

Two summer traditions in D.C. were concurrently happening for the last two weeks or so. With the move, I didn't have much of a chance to get to either of them until this week. Well, I guess it was Friday. Hooray for federal holidays during the summer!

First off was the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. Each year, the folks at the Smithsonian feature one foreign land and one American region. Last year, I took some pictures of the people and artists of Bhutan. This year featured Wales as the former and soul food as the latter. They highlight food, music, homes, clothing, and any other aspects of life that would be interesting enough to bring people from across the world to share with American tourists in tube socks and fanny packs. In any case, I was excited to try on my Welsh culture for a few hours.

Too bad. We got there a little bit late. Watching paint dry delayed our arrival and the only thing we got to do was try some world-famous Welsh cuisine. You've not heard of famous Welsh cuisine? You must be joking! I highly suggest getting out and finding some Welsh cheese. It's pretty tasty and all we've got to offer. It was a little warm to try the cawl, which is a tasty-looking stew with lamb and leeks and all manners of other vegetables. I think I'll find a recipe and make some in the winter, when it's rainy and more Wales-like around here.

Being disappointed by our late arrival, we headed off on the green line to Nationals Park for another summertime tradition: watching the Nats lose.

Who am I kidding? We can do that for the majority of their 81 home games. We were headed to Artomatic. In its ninth year, it is a random assortment of excellent or subpar art in all media. Nine floors of it in a recently constructed building. I found some inspiration in my photography, as in, I take better pictures than some of the "featured" artists. Maybe I'll try to get some work shown and sold sometime. That'd be pretty rad.

At least this year, I didn't see any naked men running around. That would've made our final stop a little harder to stomach. To round out the day/evening, we headed to a D.C. landmark called Ben's Chili Bowl. It's been an institution for over 50 years. You won't find health food here; but what you will find in abundance is a healthy dose of chili on burgers, fries, dogs, and half-smokes. Wash it all down with a thicker-than-concrete milkshake, and you're good to go. Expect a line, and bring cash. It's worth it.

twinkie, deconstructed

2009-06-28T22:46:00.003+01:00

And here it is, book number one of the summer reading blitz under my belt. Twinkie, Deconstructed is an interesting book that sometimes reads like a PR spot for processed food manufacturers.

Who am I kidding? It is pure propaganda, plain and simple. Each and every industry Ettlinger gets a nod to greatness from the author, all because of the simple question his kids posed about ingredients on a Twinkie label. Brilliant in in its concept, fell short in execution.

In the end, he does make some good points about why manufacturers have moved away from natural ingredients in supermarket-ready foods. All in all, I think books like this will certainly drive me more towards organic grub and being a locavore, so as to avoid all these additives and processing that are in the seemingly innocuous Twinkie.

Honestly, I can't recall the last time I ate a Twinkie, but I know for sure now after reading this book, it ain't just Twinkies that get the scientific treatment by food scientists. I could go home right now and find all sorts of additives and preservatives and replacements for "natural" ingredients. Sure, they're "generally regarded as safe" by the FDA, but the acids and chemicals used to produce them are anything but.

To be perfectly honest, that kind of scares me.

what a week

2009-06-25T17:50:00.003+01:00

Writing has trickled lately, huh? Cardboard haunted me for a good while before, during, and still after my simultaneous moves. I hate moving. Thankfully, next time around, it ought to be for a good long while. After that, it might pay to get movers to go from house to house whenever I get old.

Hmm. Something big to write about? My photos will be gracing the walls of our new apartment. I can't wait to get out and shoot some new stuff when my summer finally begins in stride. I'm not real sure when that will be. This picture of mine won a contest in one of the photo groups I've joined to challenge my creative eye. I've entered a few more shots for this month's contests. Post processing of photos is something new I'm trying. It fights with my purist spirit, but I'd rather take an average photo and turn it into something great than toss it and have wasted an opportunity. Shots like that one that are nearly perfect are hard to come by. I know Ansel Adams played with exposure in the darkroom when he developed his prints; digitally, this is my darkroom so to speak.

That's all. I'll try to be more exciting soon. Sorry, readers.

dad's day

2009-06-21T20:37:00.002+01:00

We really should realize this every day, but we often don't. We take our dads for granted, and reading Postsecret this afternoon makes me realize how lucky I am to have a dad like mine.

One that's a part of my life. One with far more character than flaws. One that has guided me through times of difficulty. One that has been there in times of joy. My dad is a man of few words, speaking more like a Hemingway than a fillibustering Senator. He's full of one-liners in my memory, the strong, silent type like Eastwood.

There wasn't a whole lot of cause for him to worry when I was a kid or teenager. Sure I got dirty and caused more mischief with my friends than I should've, but I stayed on the straight and narrow. I'd guess I got more solicited advice about women from my dad than on any other subject. On that timeless debate among men, Pop's advice is usually on point, though I sometimes don't want to hear it. In hindsight, I realize the wisdom in his words. It took a few years to straighten myself out and realize I didn't know it all.

In describing my father, I see myself. He is the man I've become. Though we are wildly different in some ways, our similarities abound. I am my father's son in so many ways now. I'm certain there are many more to come in the next few years.

Learn something. Take care. Love you too, Pop. Happy Father's Day.

one helluva guy

2009-06-16T17:38:00.005+01:00

Have you ever met someone so selfless, so giving that he or she would give free rein of their house for the weekend at a moment's notice? Friends like that are hard to come by in this increasingly fragmented world we live in. Everyone who was blessed to have crossed paths with Chris Hale would agree, "He's one helluva guy."

Chris moved to Chattanooga before the rest of my climbing buds from Gainesville. His tiny apartment was often covered with fifteen or twenty crashpads and the accompanying dirtbags sprawled on the floor. Not just for one weekend once a year; almost every weekend when the weather was right during climbing season. He didn't seem to care; good times with friends and good times climbing. Working just enough to climb. He lived the life.

Before I knew him, I never would've considered calling him on Thursday or Friday to say I was climbing for the weekend and asking to stay. Every one did it, but it was because he loved being around other climbers, even if not at the crag. One time, I was passing through Chatty, planning on staying with some other friends, but I'd called Chris to see if he wanted to climb while I was in town. We got in a few hours at Little Rock City, and I still hadn't heard from my other friends. He offered his place without a moment's hesitation. Stories like this were left in his wake when he left Chattanooga to follow the climbing seasons around the country.

We lost a great friend this week. I hope we can honor him with his spirit and love of life every time we pull hard on sandstone, granite, or limestone outdoors. He will be sorely missed.

one thing

2009-06-12T18:27:00.003+01:00

One thing that's always lacked from my teaching career has been a sense of consistency. I came into my first school in the middle of the year and struggled with my first class. Thirty-three weeks later, I said goodbye to them still asking questions about Mrs. Browning, the teacher I replaced at retirement. Normally, in teaching second grade, you get to see the students pass through the grades before going on to middle school. Not so in that school. Second grade was as high as they went, so off they went "up the hill" to the other elementary school that dealt with the third through fifth grades. It was kind of strange to see second graders get senioritis as they puffed up at the responsibility of being the oldest students in the school.

Four years later, change needed, though feeling some sense of consistency. I knew many of the students at the school, kindergarten on up. Many of the parents knew my face and vice versa. Working with siblings of former students makes things easier at the beginning of the year without a doubt.

Here, I won't get that chance. At a larger school grade-wise, it's even harder to feel that sense of consistency. You get to know the outspoken students in other grades, the ones your colleagues are always talking about, but you don't know them from Adam. In any case, I lost the chance to know two classes of students by looping this year. To top it off, I'm off to a new school next year.

I sure hope that I can get some roots at the next stop on my teaching journey. If I don't, I think I may have to get out of this teaching game. It's too hard to adjust to a new place this often.

cleaning house

2009-06-12T01:52:00.002+01:00

It ain't that exciting, but it must be done. Now begins the arduous task of cleaning house and merging two into one. It is amazing how little I brought with me when I moved. Some of that little would be best suited for storing in the attic for no good reason and forgetting about. With my nomadic nature, I can't be toting things to new abodes without using them. Books and folders and notes from college are probably getting the permanent boot this time. I reckon what I want to keep is on my hard drive anyhow. The comments of long lost instructors and professors haven't really helped me since college, and I doubt that it'll change in the near future.

Currently, I have four bags of clothes and such that are going to wind up at Goodwill. I believe what's left of my mismatched dishes and plates and bowls will join that stack.

This will be the last stop in my itchy feet twenties. Lord willing and the creek don't rise, the following roof will be one with a proper mortgage that will allow me to resume my pack rat ways and acquire gobs of outdoor sports toys like a kayak and a mountain bike.

To top it all off, I need to pack up my classroom better than usual so that the county can move all my materials to my new school. Gathering boxes is hard enough; try doing it for two simultaneous moves. This month is going to be rough. At least I've got kickball and climbing and bicycling to keep me sane.

a long, wet spring

2009-06-02T04:03:00.002+01:00

"Stupid rain."

Josh's text wakes me up a little too early, and I get a little too anxious. I look out my window, see early rays of sunshine peeking through the trees, and think him to be crazy. Presumably, it rained Saturday night. I was fast asleep. My balcony was indeed wet. After much deliberation, we decided to go anyway. We soon found out that the boulders and flora were wet at our destination too.

Oh, well. New crag, new car smell, exploration feeling. Rocky Gorge Reservoir is in Montgomery County, Maryland. It's a bit past our least favorite local crag/crack den Northwest Branch. From what we can tell, it seems like it may be our new favorite local home. From descriptions online, we were able to locate 4 or 5 boulders. What the crag lacks in quantity, it makes up for in normal boulder quality. Nothing exceptional, but enough to get a fix for the morning when Coopers is too far away, and a week-long trip to the Southeast is out of the question.

We'll be back.

go big on a bike

2009-05-31T01:46:00.002Z

After doing domestic-related chores 'round here, I got the crazy idea to hop on my bike and ride out to Vienna. She's dog-sitting, and I thought it'd be a nice ride with some sunny skies overhead.

Everyone else had the same idea. Lucky for me, we were all going the same speed this afternoon. All the weekend warriors had hit the trail and headed home before lunchtime. I didn't have to dodge too many folks, hollering out, "On the left!" as I passed.

Today was test day also for a pair of bike shorts. No, I wasn't rocking spandex as outerwear. This was a pair of padded bike shorts meant to be worn as underwear. I looked normal on my old-school Fuji road bike, padded all the while. Perfect for my type of riding. Weekend warrior style. Not saddle sore yet. We'll see how things feel tomorrow.

The ride was uneventful. I knocked out the 13 1/2 miles one way in a shade over an hour. My legs were tired. We took a nice long break, visited with her brother, niece and sister-in-law, ate dinner, and I headed back with not enough daylight to spare. I found my way to the Metro and hopped on. Haven't gotten off the couch since. Wound up being close to 20 miles.

Climbing forecast tomorrow: unknown, unloved, and undiscovered. Good times, I hope.

the indomitable human spirit

2009-05-29T14:25:00.004Z

It's been a while since I've blogged about either books or movies. Usually, I'm comparing the book version of something to the film version. This edition will not follow that modus operandi. This one will be a little more like those silly essays we used to write in high school and college, comparing seemingly disparate works to one another. In college, I compared a Nathaniel Hawthorne short story to one by Edgar Allan Poe and then tied that symbolism to Biblical representations of water. It was deep, but quite a stretch. Maybe I'll hunt that down and share it with you this weekend.

Anyhow. On to the analysis. In this corner, wearing Crip blue and throwing up gang signs, we have Stanley Tookie Williams' Blue Rage, Black Redemption. And in the other corner, we have the brilliant Cool Hand Luke, starring Paul Newman.

The mere comparison of these two works must start with a description of the characters. The former, Tookie, is best-known for being a co-founder of the Crips. In his two-part memoir, he rails against his past and what eventually led him to death row. The missteps that led him to prison are many, though until he landed at San Quentin, he had never before been incarcerated. He was a larger than life figure in South Central LA during his lifetime, and that spirit carried over into his life in prison. He refused to submit to the prison culture, maintained his ethics, and turned over a new leaf. He wrote an 8-part children's book series to prevent youth from going down his same stretch of road. His turnaround was so drastic, there was a film made about his prison redemption, and he was repeatedly nominated for the Nobel Prize.

The latter was Luke, a fictitious character, but one with an antiestablishment persona just the same. His refusal to submit to the rules laid out by the sadistic warden at the work camp led to beatings, harder labor, nights spent "in the box"...and earning the respect of all his fellow inmates. He fought the system up until the very end, playing his part with that trademark Newman grin. He wasn't locked up for murder, but his long trial at the work camp tested his mettle just the same.

Tookie & Luke both refused to let their spirits be broken by an inhospitable imprisonment. Tookie stepped into the realm of peacemaker while in prison, refusing to participate as the gang hooligan that took him there. He brokered truces between Bloods & Crips, which few on the streets have even tried, much less succeeded with. All the while, he faced a prison bureaucracy that was out to get him, much like the sadistic warden in Cool Hand Luke. Both spirits of these men were indomitable, unable to be broken. Despite crueler than cruel circumstances, they managed to hold their heads high until the very end.

Queue this movie, check out this book. I don't think you'll be disappointed by either.

middle names

2009-05-22T19:12:00.003Z

A short one for your Friday enjoyment.

We were starting capital letters in cursive with the capital A & C. I realized soon after the lesson began that few of the students would be able to use either letter to write their names. No matter. Turns out it helped one first name and one last. Then the middle names come into play.

One girl pipes up, "My middle name's Ann. Now I can spell it!"

A look of recognition flashes in another's eyes, as if to say, "Me too!"

I add to the chorus, "My mom's middle name is Ann as well!"

Not to be outdone, one of my quiet boys put the class in stitches, "My middle name's Ann, too!"

About half the class heard him and about died laughing. I didn't repeat it for the ones that missed it; their fault for not paying attention. Good stuff. I'd say better than my bathroom sneaker last year. It's that time of year.

Eighteen left, not that I'm counting...

fast food nation

2009-05-20T14:29:00.000Z

Here it is, my short and sweet review of Fast Food Nation. If you're unaware of what the book is, it's an interesting take on the fast food industry and what it has meant to American consumers, even those of us who choose not to eat at such establishments. It has quite a bit of history on it, which was fascinating and disturbing at once. The business acumen and lack of ethics on the part of most of the magnates of the industry brought us what we know today. A McDonald's or 10 in every city, Ronald McDonald being second to Santa Claus in recognition, and the golden arches being one of the most recognizable corporate symbols in the world.

I can't say I'm going to be a vegetarian after reading this book. I don't have the willpower or the nutrition knowledge to make a go at it. Too much of my cooking skill involves grilling or roasting or frying. Pasta wouldn't cut it.

Some odd facts. Ray Kroc bought out the McDonald's brothers for a paltry $3ish million. His empire is clearly worth billions. Most franchisees go into debilitating debt to open a restaurant. There's a reason why immigrants staff the lowest levels of the American workforce; even managers in this industry make chump change and work lawyer-like hours. Ninety percent of children in this country visit a McDonald's every month. Why? Probably because they are the largest private operator of playgrounds in the country. A McDonald's hamburger is healthier than McNuggets.

Someone needs to import In-N-Out Burgers from California to the District. Their food is better quality, they pay their employees living wages, and their management style is ethical. Five Guys wasn't mentioned, but judging by the taste of their food, I bet they're in the same league. So what's this mean for Mr. J? As with all my reading on Wal-Mart, I'm avoiding fast food joints from now on. I haven't set foot in a Wal-Mart in almost two years, and I don't plan on starting.

My fast food corporation boycott starts...now!

a night of amazing

2009-05-17T14:01:00.004Z

I must expand upon what last night became. The weather up here has been less than perfect. As Tim put it, "We plan to climb or do other things when the weather's supposed to be good, and it's not. When we think the weather's going to be bad, we don't plan anything, and it turns out marvelous."

Or something like that. Anyhow, yesterday was one of those days. Forecasted rain all day long. Ruined my plans to ride my bike around the city and photosafari. Spent the day on a long overdue cleaning of the apartment. I must say, it looks pretty good. By the time I finished, the rain started. Go figure.

I'd wanted to go play with my new(ish) tripod and take some night shots of the monuments. With the rain, I didn't think that was going to be much fun. Turns out, the weather gods allowed me a little more freedom than originally expected.

First off, decided to go to Old Town. For you non-local readers, Old Town is a neighborhood in Alexandria. There's shops and food and bars and lots of people. If you make it as far as the waterfront, there's street performers and sidewalk musicians and boats and sketch artists of all stripes. It's generally a pretty good time in good weather.

So, the camera didn't mount right to the tripod shoe, so I left it in the car. Left me with a little more room for creativity on how to steady the camera for my pictures. I'm going to sort through them shortly. Look for them over on the photo blog this week. Successful shooting evening. I hope.

Amazing number one. I got to tour a pirate ship. Ok, so there wasn't a Jolly Roger flying on it's yard arms, nor was there an eye patch in sight, but I got to talk like a pirate for the rest of the evening. It wasn't even Talk Like a Pirate Day. Good times.

Amazing number two. It started pouring. Not so much fun, but we had to run for cover. A lot more fun in warm weather rain than cold. In the sheltered cove we found, there was a quartet called King Street Bluegrass playing, you guessed it, bluegrass music. Second song in, a little ditty by Old Crow Medicine Show. I take a few pictures of the crowd and the band. The fiddler asked me to email them to him whenever I get through them. Alright then!

Amazing number three & four. There's a little joint at the corner of King St. and Washington called Eamonn's Dublin Chipper. 'Twas a lovely night for a Guinness.

And a deep-fried Milky Way bar rolled in cinnamon sugar. It's a good thing that I don't live close to that place. I'd probably eat those far more often than the Surgeon General would advise. Which is to say more often than once. It was incredible. Kinda like the rest of the night.

Wagon Wheel - Old Crow Medicine Show

la nostra famiglia

2009-05-13T01:16:00.002Z

Trying to learn how to get good shots of people. Here's a few from my NYC weekend earlier this month. Whatcha think?

roller coasters

2009-05-12T18:49:00.003Z

Life is a funny roller coaster. Unlike a roller coaster, the dips are less fun and more terrifying because we often can't see where the track levels out. The ride up isn't the exciting part, the opposite of life as well. That's the most excruciatingly boring part, until finally at the precipice, the car speeds up and gives you a shot of adrenaline.

I suppose an optimist would look at life's roller coaster as such, with a better outlook on the overall picture. A pessimist would view the ride more like an actual roller coaster for someone that doesn't like to ride them. On the way up, wondering when the bottom will fall out; back down again, heart racing, terrified of the outcome. The optimist will take it all in stride. Enjoy the ride up, not worried about the top. Look ahead on the way down, knowing it's going to level out eventually so you can catch your breath.

Where does this metaphor come from? Life lately has been a roller coaster ride. From the dizzying heights of my roller coaster ride, I thought life couldn't get much better. Friends at work, new friends to climb with, blissful relationship. Then the stresses piled on and on. Destaffed. Traumatic spondylithiosis. Migraines. Hunting for a new apartment.

Just like that, the cars leveled off at the bottom of the hill, took a barrel roll, and began their climb back up to normal. New job transfer accomplished, apartment settled for next year, climbing to destress, taking time to breathe and snap some photos. Give and take. It's a wonderful ride.

back in time

2009-05-10T14:18:00.003Z

She and I show up to the 9:30 Club last night. The email said get there at 6:30. Line's down the block. Doors were at 6:30; show at 7. Free tickets are confusing.

In stark contrast to the last time we went to this venue, we were in the door long before the show started. Good thing, too, since we both realized we were pretty hungry at that point. Decent food was had, an iced coffee to wake me up. As far as unexpected club food went, it was pretty tasty. The coffee was proper brew, not that overly strong Starbucrap.

Back to the music. We wandered upstairs and found a good spot with some swinging room. We were under the impression that there was an opening band; for $30 ticket prices, it only made sense. Nope. The band comes out onstage: generic rock band-looking guitar picker & drummer, Motown-esque backup dancers, and a blind pianist older than Ray Charles. Sharon Jones struts out on stage shortly thereafter and launches into her set.

The music was great. The crowd was into it. The vibe permeated your bones and made you want to dance. We swung and spun, as the mood fit the gospel and soul and funk and amazing music coming from Ms. Jones and her backups The Dap Kings.. The crowd below undulated to the music, much like the waves mimicked by last weekend's dance performance in NYC. The he-done-me-wrong blues songs mixed in also, making for a roller coaster ride of tempos throughout the show.

The problem with an early show at 9:30 Club is they tend to be a little shorter, with no chance for an encore. 'Twas the case last night. After an hour, she thanked us for coming, the house lights came on, and the crew started setting up for Lady Sovereign's later show. Oh well; it was great while it lasted!

smug factor

2009-05-06T18:21:00.002Z

I've been kicking this idea around in my brain since I got back from California. She and I rented a Toyota Prius while we were out there. There was a credit for renting one from the San Francisco Airport, and we figured that the difference in price would balance out with the better gas mileage. Total damage for the fuel, about $30. Total mileage, over 600 miles in a week. Two tanks or so in the subcompact we were supposed to get would've surpassed that total. Add the extra pep in the mountains, and it turned into not a bad choice.

I can't quite figure out how the Prius became so trendy. It's not particularly good looking. Its curious construction created blind spots that could hide SUVs. Even when checking blind spots, body panels blocked views. Starting it was a crapshoot, with a very finicky ignition system that required four simultaneous steps to get that electric motor to hum. The only thing I can figure is the smug factor.

Celebrities love them. Toyota charges quite a premium for them. People that drive them love them, despite all these shortcomings. If you're not sure why, check out Matt Stone & Trey Parker's thoughts via South Park's "Smug Alert" episode. It's classic South Park: contrastingly irreverent and poignant with a touch of revulsion garnish on the side.

I'll hold out for a decent looking car that gets better mileage than what I've got now. I've gotten a slight uptick in efficiency and a good cut out of my gas bill this year. Next year, who knows what'll shake out? I need to make friends with a coworker early in the year to carpool. That'll make driving to work fun again. I'm gonna miss you, Casey!

what i would've done

2009-05-05T12:30:00.003Z

Were my life circumstances slightly altered, I may have handled the last two weeks entirely differently. Without my leaning post to keep me upright and sunny side up, I might've retreated back into my introverted cave. I might've reverted to old habits. I might've left it all behind again, packed up this time and headed to Colorado or some other point out west. Climbing and snowboarding and dirtbagging sounded pretty good. I'm sure I'd get sick of it pretty quickly. I need to feel grounded. Maybe my wanderlust is fading.

Here's to a new start and putting down roots. I hope the county'll let me stay wherever I land for longer than two years. I don't yet know why my purpose at this school was limited to two years' time. Maybe in several years, it will become more apparent. I hope I can maintain contact with some of these students. This year has been pretty spectacular, and I really feel connected to this class. They know me, and I feel like I know them. It hasn't happened for a few years, that's for sure.

I hope I find it again wherever this traveling teaching show lands next.

the hits just keep on coming

2009-05-01T14:32:00.002Z

April went out with a bang. April 30 might go down as the most comically awful day I've had in a long while. If I weren't so exhausted by the end of it, I might've been laughing all night.

I walked out of my building yesterday morning. The strap broke on my climbing bag immediately. I should've just turned right around and gone back to bed. The sky had a certain forboding tone to it. It felt like Groundhog Day, minus Bill Murray and "I've Got You Babe" on Punxatawney radio.

The rest of the day went pretty smoothly. Jobs were posted for next year, so I spent the afternoon poring over those, hoping to find a second or third grade position for next year. Hopefully, I can shorten my commute considerably and make this change a little greener!

After a good session at the gym, I punctuated the day with a ridiculous fall onto my head off a V7. I'm making progress; I just need to get it fresh.

Pulling out of the gym, I felt a whap-whap-whap coming from my front passenger tire. Sounded flat. I pulled over and found a huge chunk of steel sticking out of the tread. I hoped for the best and limped on down the road to the gas station. Sure enough, it flew out before I got there and was riding the rim in less than a block.

Flat tire, no big deal, right? I've changed many in my days. First one, new car, no sweat.

Wrong.

One, no tire iron to loosen the lugs. Two, jack rusted to the point of being useless. Three, spare tire flat. Four, when my buddy Rob pulled in to help me out, my car was too low for his jack. We improvised and got it done. It was such an ordeal, I couldn't help but laugh. What else could I do?

Oh yeah, pack for NYC and sleep...

almost poetic

2009-04-27T22:52:00.002Z

I just finished reading Zen & The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig. I started reading it during my month-long traveling bender. It rekindled the same itchy feet syndrome first diagnosed by Jack Kerouac and nearly cured by an ill-fated attempt to live overseas. This time, however, in Pirsig's wandering tale of a cross country motorcycle trip intertwined with a past borne of insanity and ancient Greek philosophy, my life circumstances changed considerably. Oddly, so too did the book.

During the course of my reading, she and I made that whole "getting married" thing official, I logged about 10,000 miles of air travel, got attacked by a macaw, lost my job (technically, destaffed, but let's call it what it is), and started trying to get this bum back of mine fixed. I thought it rather fitting the way the book ended. So, if I may quote the last paragraph, "'Tis a far, far better thing...."

Wait, that's not right.

Ahem. Here it is:

Trials never end, of course. Unhappiness and misfortune are bound to occur as long as people live, but there is a feeling now, that was not here before, and is not just on the surface of things, but penetrates all the way through: We've won it. It's going to get better now. You can sort of tell these things.

For all the stresses of my life past, and those to come, I know this to be true. Words truer were never written, nor at a better time for me to read them in a 35 year old classic.

crowns

2009-04-26T15:44:00.003Z

From the opening lines of the play, I knew I was in for a better show than the other time I'd seen it. The play is called Crowns, and we went to see it at the Lincoln Theater on U Street on Friday night. To succinctly summarize it, it's a historical musical on the origins of women's hats in the black church. Having been to so few black churches in my lifetime, I had to take their word for it.

Every Sunday, when we went to church, Grandma always had on a beautiful hat.

"Mmmm, hmmm," rose the agreement from the audience. It was altogether entertaining and enlightening. The costumes were vibrant, the voices were incredible, and the production was top-notch. I guess that's the difference between the community theater production I saw in the park in St. Pete and this merry band of professional thespians we saw on Friday.

The play opened and closed with an old hymn called, ""When I've Done the Best I Can, I Want My Crown." In this simple hymn, it explains the title of the play beautifully. For the entirety of the play, that point is built upon. We see that the hats that these women wear to church are based in part on African tribal custom and slave history, as church was the only place that slaves were allowed to congregate. Do right by the Lord on earth, you'll be rewarded with a crown in heaven.

I've racked my brain trying to come up with a subject that would hit home as closely as it did for the mostly female audience. I felt a little kinship with the plot line of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Greek and Italian families aren't a whole lot different. Following our family reunion a few summers back, I saw just how true that could be. Perhaps My Big, Loud Italian Reunion? That's only a familial culture thing, though. This play clearly struck a chord that went beyond individual families. I could identify with some of the subject matter based on my years in Alachua County, but being white and male, I couldn't grasp the cultural significance of it beyond what the plot was.

It triggered a brief Florida memory in me. Otis, the head custodian at my old school, lost a family member (I think it was his mother, but I can't recall) a few years ago. I was one of three coworkers that went to her memorial service. It was a blistering hot day. The church was packed with people in their Sunday best, crowns included. Crowns illustrated why perfectly.

I need to start going to church again. Any local recommendations?

my titles seem to have nothing to do with the content of the post lately

2009-04-22T00:31:00.003Z

Remember way back last season? I took a hard fall and messed up my back pretty good. Nothing? Here.

Well, the x-rays that the chiropractor took showed not a pretty picture. Traumatic spondylolisthesis. That's a lot of syllables to say that I fell hard and broke something. My back is pretty screwed up. It explains a whole lot. He was astounded that no one had before thought to take films of my back before. Nope, send me on my merry way to physical therapy, strengthen up the muscles, but ignore the underlying cause.

Long story short, twice a week intensively until it's closer to right. I'm pretty sore today from the adjustment. On the bright side of things, my back doesn't hurt as bad either.

rub a dub dub

2009-04-20T16:31:00.006Z

Two nights of great grub! I've found a new awesome place to eat. Ok, not really found, but I spent a bit more time there this weekend than most people would consider normal. Food's that good. It's called Astor Mediterranean. They have one in Adam's Morgan also that's been open longer. It's a little off the beaten path, but it's pretty easy to get to.

The service is fast and friendly. The food is delicious with large enough portions to satisfy me. Friday night, I was going to go for the lamb kabob. Ravi Kabob makes a pretty mean lamb kabob, and I figure Astor would be the same. When I got to the counter to order, the cashier politely pointed out the ribeye special. I caved. Good choice! Well seasoned, a little overdone for medium, but it was still moist and delicious. It came with two sides, rice and spicy chick peas. Also excellent. I was pretty hungry on Friday, too. My mom was in town, so the three of us split an order of baclava and rice pudding. The baclava is served to share. Very thick, dripping with honey, flaky phyllo dough. Incredible. The rice pudding was rich and creamy with raisins, cinnamons, and coconut shavings garnished.

She and I brought her friends there last night. The cashier recognized me, said hello, and quietly thanked me for bringing such a large group. The girls all ordered something different. Raves were given to the hummous, which for $3.50 is quite a steal! The girls all had leftovers for today. Me? I polished off a deliciously messy Mediterranean chicken pita. Not recommended for a first date as there is no way to eat it neatly. It is delicious though!

Go. Eat. Enjoy. You may just see me there.

big, loud italian dinner

2009-04-17T02:05:00.002Z

Oh, how I miss them! Way back when the Sopranos were still on the air, back when I lived in my first college apartment (probably the most posh pad I lived in!), we made a weekly tradition of Sunday dinner. Brian bought The Sopranos cookbook and every so often, we'd make a recipe from it. From scratch gravy, chicken cacciatore, lasagna. One thing that was never in short supply was the good friends and flowing beverage. By the time 9:00 rolled around, HBO was a little bit blurry, our belts were a lot bit tighter, and a warm afterglow of a good night permeated the room.

I miss that camaraderie. I suppose that's why I try so hard for '80s movie night to be a success. It was initially, but trying to do it weekly in D.C. is a bit tough. Once a month is more doable for most, though the number of occasions with more than 4 attendees are few and far between.

Flash to tonight. Big, loud, Italian dinner resumes. I actually didn't have enough chairs. First time I've had that many over for dinner. What'd I make? My Pinch-of-this, Pinch-of-that Sauce over homemade gnocchi. Yeah, that's right. I made gnocchi from scratch. To be fair, I had 3 pairs of hand to shape them properly and cook them up right. For what occasion did we undertake this elaborate meal? Mom's in town.

Want the recipe? I learned it from my mom, who learned it from hers, who learned it from hers in turn. One of those, yeah.

Peel the potatoes, boil them. Put them through the potato ricer. Let them cool enough to handle. Knead with some flour. How much? Enough. Add an egg to bind them. Roll the dough out on a floured surface, and cut them into knuckle-sized morsels. Drop them individually into boiling water. They're done when they float. Sauce 'em and serve 'em. Mangia!

Notice how that recipe doesn't really have quantities? Yeah, that's how I learned it, and that's how I remember it. Just like polenta. But that's another day, another meal.

testing, testing....

2009-04-15T20:37:00.002Z

One more marking period to go. One gauntlet of stste-mandated testing in the way. This is going to test my patience with test preparation and what I see as something more worthwhile: actually teaching my students something new, instead of spending what may amount to the rest of the year on review.

They aren't particularly excited about it. I guess I ought to try my best to make it exciting, but who among us really wants to listen to their boring teacher reteach stuff we already learned and learned well?! I could get up on my soapbox and rant and rave about it all, but I know it ain't going away. Only way I can reduce or eliminate testing is to invent a better mousetrap. To a bureaucrat, this testing assault proves everything. To an educator, the testing proves that the bureaucrats know nothing. Maybe I ought to become one someday and shake up their view of the world.

Is it Juneteenth yet?

going big

2009-04-13T16:46:00.000Z

Last week gave me some reflection on how going big has changed since I first started writing here. When I first staked my blogspot claim, the website hadn't yet been acquired by Google, I still occasionally blogged on Myspace, and I was going to South Korea to teach English. Oddly, I think it was also after that plan had begun to fall apart. That plan was completely Go Big. Never been in a foreign country for more than a few days, and Canada really isn't too different in such a short trip. Then I wanted to live in the Far East? "You must be crazy," crossed the lips of quite a few friends and acquaintances.

Thus began the Go Big philosophy. I chose D.C. because...well, I rarely give the same answer twice. Threw a dart. Jumped ahead two years in my life plan, which isn't really a plan after all. Needed a change. Love seasons. So, I moved solo. No job, no home, few friends and family to help get settled.

Going Big before I left Gainesville meant planning a climbing trip in 10 minutes, driving 8 hours each way for a day and a half on the rocks. Buying tickets for Bonnaroo with about five minutes of thinking about it. Buying a sword for no apparent reason. Ok, that last one's pretty lame. It was more of a spontaneity spur than anything. I think I'd made it a New Years' resolution a few years back. Something about not being predictable. I think I've managed to keep it.

Taking a big risk in life is always fraught with perils. The big risks these days aren't quite the same. I do my research, then jump in with both feet. Am I still scared of the outcome of these possibly life-altering decisions? Absolutely, but I wouldn't change a thing that's happened since. Going Home's not an option.

I choose go big.

the core of it all

2009-04-12T05:02:00.003Z

Through the post of another climber friend of mine from the Florida days, I heard of a pro climber's very similar-sounding back pain.

Read it here.

The genesis of mine, as best I can tell, was from a bad fall on a snowboard last season. My lumbar region was swollen for three weeks. It was fine after that; I'd started running again and riding my bike. Come June, I'm down in Florida for Mom's birthday. Showering off after a run, I'm immobilized with shooting pains from my back down my left leg. When I got back to VA, started with the physical therapy.

He said I had a "weak core". Eight weeks later, my back was a little stronger, abs were a lot sorer. No problems until the last month or so. It's been debilitating at times. A few tricks to keep me upright while sitting. A trip to the chiropractor on Monday to attempt to straighten it out. We'll see how it goes.

Final California reflections coming soon.

like, totally rad

2009-04-10T04:05:00.002Z

So, we went to Yosemite on Wednesday. We totally had a blast, like for sure!

We got to see all these amazing waterfalls. All the pretty snow melts which is sad, but it totally makes the rivers strong and stuff. Then when they make waterfalls, they're the raddest. Totally.

So, we went hiking up like 600 steps of stone to get to the top of one of them. There were all these people on the trail, and I was all like, "Excuse me, I'm trying to get my solitude on. You people are in my way on this totally paved trail. It's like I'm at the mall, which I'm totally not because I don't see an Auntie Anne's or Gap in sight. Which reminds me, so would I look good with a nose piercing? Not like a big one, just like one of those really cute stars that twinkles..."

We got to take these totally awesome photos of all the falls and these rocks around us. I think one was called El Capitan, which means like The Capitan in Spanish. You'd think I would know that, but my Spanish teacher was such a flake. I mean, oh, my god. How am I supposed to learn Spanish? It's like a whole 'nother language, and I already speak American. Isn't that enough?

So then today, we went to the Center of the Universe. I mean, for real. It's like where all these really amazing climbers go and climb on these boulders. Without ropes! Can you believe it?! Then it started raining and we had to leave. Total bummer.

Wait, wrong Valley accent? Oops. See what happens when I drive 200 miles through desolate farmland in eastern Cali. My mind wanders a little bit. Off to San Fran tomorrow again. Hopefully, my mind will be right...

hey, person coming from israel!

2009-04-08T14:54:00.002Z

Or as Lee put it, "Yo, Semite!" He's a clever one, that Lee. Anyhow, that's where we're headed today. A shiny new day dawns on us. It's gorgeous here again, but yesterday's dawn looked the same before rains descended on our brief tour of San Francisco.

We saw the one typical SF sight, took a few pictures of it, decided it was too wet, and went to get a pie. Our day scrambling and climbing and hiking was not as productive as we'd have hoped on Monday. The temperatures were too warm for sandstone slopers to be any fun, and the parks service had shut down the redwood trail we wanted to hike. Controlled burning. Can't say I'm that upset about the fact they were actually doing controlled burns with the NIMBY attitude that can precede them. More disappointed that I couldn't hike that trail that day.

So, off to the Valley we go. Hopefully the weather gods are on our side, though the weather scientists seem to be stacked against us. Keep your fingers crossed!

californication

2009-04-06T05:35:00.003Z

Safely landed in the Golden State yesterday. Eaten a little bit of food it seems. Good times with family thus far. Fighting that nagging back injury of mine. Lately, it's been fierce, but I am not going to let something chronic keep me off the rocks. Today was a little warm; tomorrow, likely a little cooler. Perfect for sandstone.

She and I aim to hit a local spot for a spell, do a little hiking, shutterbugging, and bouldering on some West Side sandstone. We'll see how it compares to that sweet southern sloperiffic sandstone I'm used to. Come to find out that the problem I was salivating over on Vimeo goes at a V-fun. The video or pictures will be dope though; I dug through the topo on the plane yesterday. No classics marked, so we'll just hop around to the problems I can flash or fall safely on.

Classic climber named problems all of them. Tick list to follow by the end of the week. My tips are sweating for that granite in the Center of the Universe. Hopefully, Mother Nature and hordes of tourists don't impede that goal.

At least we'll get some solitary hiking time and quality time together to take in the sights the rest of the week. Good times. My body is telling me it's late, though the west coast time zone tells me otherwise. G'nite.

the sounds of silence

2009-04-02T15:14:00.002Z

The whole day through, it was a madhouse in here. What a disaster of a morning with one, and a fidgety, barely focused day for all.

Now, it's quiet as a tomb. I can actually get some work done.

Alas, what am I doing? Barely working. Too excited for our upcoming trip to the Golden State. Too excited to focus on anything but Castle Rock and Yosemite dreaming.

Castle rock bouldering from Nicolas Mathieu on Vimeo.
So, I won't be flashing V10s or anything, but there is this wicked-looking V4 called The Spoon that I want to burn up.

Oh, and this is why I want need must go to Yosemite. Maybe I can soak up some history and ability by osmosis of the Tommy Caldwells and Ron Kauks and Chris Sharmas of the world that have climbed this amazing piece of stone.

Midnight Lightning from Deep Roots Media - Dane Henry on Vimeo.

oops

2009-04-01T14:32:00.003Z

It's been a long time coming. We were walking around the tidal basin, looking at the pretty cherry blossoms. It is that time of year, after all. They still stun me with their brilliance.

Anyhow, the mood struck, and there was a diamond burning a hole in my pocket. I drop and ask that question she's been aching to hear for months.

Tearfully, of course, she says yes.

I jump up, excited...

...and promptly drop the ring into the tidal basin. Oops.

[No, not really. Gawrsh, you're gullible! Go look at a calendar. This is however a true story that had a happy ending for a friend of hers. The actual girl in the real story was about to jump in to get it before he stopped her. The ring was a fake. The real one was still in his pocket.

To guys: Best. Joke. Ever.

To girls: Meanest. Engagement. Story. Ever.]

So, um, honestly, did you think I'd announce such a momentous occasion via the interwebs? Go look in a mirror. I think April Fool may be written on your forehead.

in a fog

2009-03-29T01:55:00.003Z

Another one of those foggy D.C. spring days. Walking around the city in a cloudy mist, taking pictures of the not-yet awakened cherry blossoms. Tourists light, mud heavy. Like walking in a Poe's "Dreams"

I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy— and I love the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, more lovely things
Of Paradise and Love— and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.

'Twas a great day nonetheless. Much like last year's kite festival shenanigans with the pirate crew. I reckon they're soon to return, much as the tourists will when the heat of summer comes anew. Luckily, I'll be off somewhere else, avoiding the madding crowds.

must be genetic or something

2009-03-26T19:08:00.004Z

Starting from a young age, I was in a classroom. Not so much as a student, more as a teacher's assistant. Sure, I went to school just like the other kids, but I had teacher workday duty when the rest of my friends were at home watching the Dukes of Hazzard. From a very young age, I learned that teachers bust their humps and bring work home and worry about their students long after the dismissal bell rings. As I progressed in school myself, my involvement in other school functions grew. I began tutoring. Turns out I was pretty good at it. Summers found me volunteering in classrooms of schools nearby, helping English language learners learn basic vocabulary and skills in kindergarten.

When my path to a life of leisure as a forester, riding around in a pickup truck on backcountry roads, measuring trees and such, ended because of some difficulty with entry-level science classes, it was little wonder that I found myself at Norman Hall, surrounded by pretty coeds obsessed with bulletin boards and rubber cement. Again, turns out I'm pretty good at it.Yet again, I figured out why. It's genetic. Mom just won teacher of the year...again. I've said it before, and it bears repeating. If I'm only half the teacher that my mother is, I'll still be one hell of an educator.

Congratulations, Ma!

birdbrained

2009-03-25T02:15:00.004Z

Having just gotten off the phone with my cousin and getting sick of telling the story, here's one for the ages. No, it's not about Shezad & Maria's wedding, though that was the reason for the trip down south.

It's about a bird.

Whilst taking pictures in the backyard at my cousin's house in St. Pete, I heard the sound of what I presumed to be an eagle or falcon or vulture or some other wicked nasty raptor.

It was a macaw named Pete. Boy, was he pissed!

She and I checked him out as he continued to shriek like a banshee. We left for breakfast at my favorite family restaurant, which coincidentally, is the only family restaurant left in my family. I guess the bar wasn't technically a restaurant, though the food made national headlines once. Too many hot peppers on a sausage sandwich for a local cop, and a waitress got arrested. But I digress...

Upon returning from breakfast, Pete was still pretty upset. He'd gotten lower in the branches, and we were still curious about his mood. Come to find out he was awfully territorial, and we were in his bubble.

Neighbor happens by, gives us a little background, and goes to get some kumquats for Pete to munch on. Meanwhile, he's getting lower and lower in the tree. Helpful Eagle Scout that I am, I decide to help Pete reach his perch by offering an olive branch (so to speak) for him to get out of the tree.

Bad idea. The second his weight was on the branch, he latched onto my index finger quicker than go. I somehow managed to get the bolt cutter strong beak off before he did any major damage. Though I sit here typing one hospital visit later, and I can only now actually type somewhat competently. Three days later.

That old saying, "Don't poke the bear," should be amended to, "or the short-tempered macaw." Both may surprise you with their ferocity and quickness. Guess I ain't climbing this week!

jetset update

2009-03-24T01:24:00.003Z

I'm not feeling much like writing lately. Been reading some good books on the plane. Two weddings down, planning the trip to Cali, starting to think about where I'm living next year. Nothing big, just crazy busy.

Sorry.

Is this below the 140-character limit? Yes? I must say that this Twitter thing has me intrigued, but I'm rarely that concise in my thoughts. Seems to me like an external site for compulsive Facebook status updaters or AIM away message relics still lurking about on the interwebs. Tweet.

running on fumes

2009-03-17T12:42:00.002Z

No, not me. It is St. Patrick's Day, but no, it's far too early to be on fumes. Perhaps tonight, I'll pour a pint, but that's about all. This story is about this weekend.

I got pretty spoiled with the Danger Ranger. When my fuel gauge hit E, I had about three gallons left. That translated into 60-70 miles of highway driving before I'd be pushing her up a hill. Well, in Florida, that never amounted to me running out of gas. Closest I ever came was a half-gallon left in the tank, but I did that on purpose trying to drain my fuel tank so I could change my fuel filter. Little did I know that the fuel line won't drain on the ground when you disconnect it. Who knew?

Another complication of the Danger Ranger was that my low fuel light never worked. I've grown accustomed to never seeing one, and now that my car has one, I get a little freaked out. I'm not quite sure what it means and how much is left in the tank. Used to be, I could trust my own instinct, but I just don't know this new(ish) car all that well.

Throw a new monkey wrench into the system. A rental car. Forty miles of highway with nary a filling station in sight. I was sweating. Turned the air and radio off. Slowed down to 10 below the speed limit. Drafting behind a trailer. Called AAA in anticipation of being stranded in No Man's Land with a flight to catch. AAA was no help, said if I happened to be stranded that calls were taking about an hour to fill. Called her, freaking out. All she could do was try to calm me down.

I finally did find a gas station, two miles from the rental company. I might've had a quart left in the tank. Made it there, got my receipt, and dropped the Jeep Compass off without a hitch. This traveling nonsense is far too stressful sometimes.

ballin' out of control

2009-03-16T21:18:00.003Z

Horseshoes are grand. Cornhole is highly portable and inexpensive. However, bocce ball has to be my favorite of all lawn-based projectile games. I was lucky enough to get to play on a proper court when I was in Gainesville on Friday night. It was pure pleasure tossing the bocce while we waited on our table for a typically long time at Satchel's.

I challenged Palmer and Margarita to a match. Before they knew what hit them, I was up 8-1 and looking to close it out. It wasn't a fair fight. I've played a few times myself, and Margarita was a rookie. At that point, I got a teammate, and Margarita got the hang of the backhanded toss. We lost 11-8. It wasn't pretty, and under ordinary circumstances, I might've pitched a wobbler. Eh, I was having fun with all the side talk and the old friends milling about.

The hell with a new rope for climbing. No need for new climbing shoes. Forget finishing up my rack of quickdraws. I am buying a bocce set for when it warms up and dries out. No need for a perfect, walled-in court. We've got flat grass by my place. We can bocce and drink Peroni in the sunshine.

I like this idea. Who's with me?

sleepy little seaside

2009-03-15T13:56:00.005Z

Every time I come back to Florida through a sleepy little seaside town, it makes me miss Florida just a little bit more. Being near the beach is as good for my soul as being near the mountains. I need sun and sand just like I need snow and sandstone.

I was walking along Flagler Avenue this morning in New Smyrna Beach. The little tourist shops are just opening up, the locals are going about their business, waiting for the tourists to arrive. Me? I set foot in one of those little tourist traps that I'd never have ventured into except when drunk to get a trinket for m'lady. Joking with the storekeep about that fact, she laughed and said she gets more business from locals than tourists. Go figure.

So how to remedy this little problem in my head? I need to move to Springfield. The beach is a day trip away. Capitol City is field trip accessible. There's an elementary school with inept teachers, a moronic principal, and a bumbling superintendent. I'll be running the joint in six months. Mount Springfield has snow for that fix; it snows often enough to start my own snowplow business on the side. Minor league baseball, kids' sports teams, hiking trails, all-you-can-eat seafood restaurants and a top-notch watering hole called Moe's.

I am of course referring to the Springfield with Evergreen Terrace and a Kwik-E Mart and Bart, Homer, Lisa, Marge, and Maggie. Too bad I'm not a cartoon...

jetsetting

2009-03-13T02:33:00.002Z

I reckon the next month or so are going to introduce me to the world of jetset culture. Two trips to Florida and one to California. A giant lump on my carbon footprint; sorry Ma Nature, but a whole lotta memories need to be made.

One, first wedding. This weekend will find me back in Florida near old friends for the first time in a while. Again, it'll be a short trip, but a good one nonetheless. My buddy who's getting married is yet another of my oldest friends. He and I go way back to front yard baseball, backwoods camping, and pool hall scheming. My flight gets off at lunchtime or so tomorrow.

Two, second wedding. Next weekend will find me back in Florida after an abridged work week. What a week it will be, but abridged nonetheless. It should be the frat boy wedding it's been hyped to be. Guys I haven't seen since moving and nor met my better half; the twain shall meet. Throw an evening with family into the mix, and you've got a great weekend indeed. I can't wait.

Finally, a week in California. Combine photogging in San Francisco, bouldering in Yosemite, and touristry for two in between. I aim to enjoy every single second of it. Spring Break is much needed and terrifically anticipated.

That's all I've got. A good friend told me this week to hold my tongue on some subjects regarding climbing. I ought to take his advice. Indeed, aside from him, few other climbers read this rag anyhow. I'll stick to the boards for those discussions. Stay well!

faced with a choice

2009-03-09T16:33:00.003Z

Saturday night, whilst enjoying pescatarian French food, drinking wine, and laughing with my better half's family, I was faced with a choice.

Option one, stay home and watch a basketball game with a buddy of mine who I don't get to see a whole lot outside of football season. Option two, get up at 7am on a Sunday, drive three hours to the crag, clip some bolts, enjoy the sunshine, and ride three hours back.

Hmm. Go big, or go home? I chose go big.

Admittedly, I was tempted to stay home. After last week's just getting over a cold, and faced with two weddings this month in Florida, I would have relished a lazy Sunday reading in my hammock on my balcony. Alas, it wasn't to be. Sandstone called my name.

It was a great day. New people to climb with. It had been an awfully long time since I'd hopped in a car with a near stranger to go climbing. I feel like the last time was a trip to Chattanooga three years ago or so with Heckmann and Sarah. It was a great weekend, filled with interesting conversations and one Nintendo-themed send.

For all the time we three spent cragging, I think we only got on four routes. Much different than a day bouldering where I can get on far more climbs, the sheer length of the routes prevented a large number. I got to be rope gun for our first two climbs. (Rope gun, for those not in the know, is the climber that climbs each route first. It is assumed that said climber will send cleanly so that the rope quickly makes it to the top of the route, so that all others can climb it as well. Rope gun is also tasked with cleaning the route of all gear safely if no one else can send. Fortunately, I didn't have to step up on the latter.) Now, I say sheer length, but I will be mocked mercilessly by our Franklin tour guide. I am used to short boulder problems. When a route streaks past the treeline, I get a little concerned and spaced. My forearms tend to get tired on such climbs. First route was called Castaway. Not quite as hard as the Castaway at Little Rock City. I remembered how to clip in, didn't make any mistakes, and was able to choose from the far too many chalked holds around the fourth bolt.

Route two was the aformentioned streaker. Nine bolts of exposed awesomeness. I think I made it to the seventh bolt without resting before finishing up with several long deadpoints. Blood, Sweat, and Chalk. The boulderer-belittling tour guide was somewhat impressed. Tim took a few rests too. Rough Saturday.

Route three was the pinnacle of our attempts' difficulty. Bird of Prey. Also known as 7-11, because it is mostly 5.7 moves going into the 5.11 crux sequence at the top. We all had trouble figuring it out. With sapped forearms, none of us were able to send it clean. Had we not climbed Blood, Sweat and Chalk prior, I would have done better. Whether or not I would've sent eventually, I don't know. Those slopers on the top were nasty. Tim did manage to clip the anchors, lest we leave my shiny quickdraws behind. Maybe next time we go there, I'll get on it again. I can still feel the moves...

Route four was a gimmicky start, four bolt climb called Jump Start. I turned the lower section into a boulder problem, enjoyed the motion, and hung out on top for a little while. I could get used to this sport climbing thing, but I'm going to need to step my game up yet again to get any good at it. Any suggestions?

from three to seventy-one

2009-03-07T21:44:00.002Z

I happened to find myself with a little extra time this afternoon. There's been several occasions where I've tried to get to the Pentagon Memorial, only to be denied by poor planning on my part. When my folks were here for Thanksgiving, we discovered it's kind of tough to park on a military reservation without the proper credentials. With glorious weather today to boot, I found my way there with the help of Metro. It's apparently the only way to get there easily. I would've ridden my bike, but that's a little treacherous on the roads I'd have chosen.

Anyhow, it was a moving experience to say the least. Check my photos once I post them tonight or tomorrow. There are 184 individual benches parallel to the path of Flight 77 as it made its fatal descent into the Pentagon. The names are organized by the youngest victim at the entrance (Dana Falkenberg, born 1998) to the oldest in the back (Capt. John D. Yamnicky, Sr., born 1930). The tightest cluster with moving water moving emotions is centered with men and women who would've been in their late 30s and early 40s. A fair number of military officers, several enlisted non-commissioned officers and staff NCOs, but the bulk were the victims on the flight.

Mothers. Fathers. Brothers. Sisters. Adults. Children.

It brought back that same flood of emotions that I felt that cool summer morning in Florida. Shock. Heartbreak. Regardless of where you were on that day, that twinge of fear ran through all of us. Like our parents when they found out about JFK, we will always remember exactly where we were when we first heard.

hey, dirty, baby i got your money: round deux

2009-03-05T21:24:00.003Z

Jon Stewart cracks me up. He's got a helluva team on point this year. Elections, golden. If you thought he would run out of material when Bush was out of office, here comes a financial meltdown. This segment is Dennis Miller-esque, minus the thesaurus-laden foaming at the mouth. Enjoy!

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

CNBC Gives Financial Advice

Daily Show Full Episodes
Important Things With Demetri Martin

Political Humor
Joke of the Day

march already?

2009-03-05T13:27:00.003Z

Where, oh where, did my winter go? This weekend the clocks spring forward. I know the Daylight Savings people are in some sort of plot to conserve energy by making me get up when it's dark out, but doesn't it seem awfully early for that mnemonic? They need to change it to "Change Your Clocks Two Weeks Before Spring". Doesn't have quite the same pop though...

It seems like months ago that I bought my plane tickets for two weddings in March. Realistically, I guess it was. Winter flew by like most football seasons do. I kept busy pretty much all winter long. Between snowboarding treks to Pennsylvania and ice-covered climbing trips to Maryland, my weekends filled up just as quickly as they do when the Ol' Boys of Florida are battling on the gridiron in the fall. It's been nice to have a lull in my schedule last weekend and this one upcoming. Nothing besides meals with my better half's family. It just isn't going to feel liks spring with all the snow still on the ground from this weekend's dump.

Wedding one next weekend will prevent Shamrock Fest shenanigans, but I think I'll have a better time with an old friend from the neighborhood. We haven't kept in touch nearly as well as we'd like over the years during and past college, but there's nothing like one of those old friends you can immediately feel at ease with. One whose mom you call mom because you spent nearly every afternoon there in the summer, perfecting your bank shot combo with a pool cue.

Wedding two will introduce my better half to a large number of my dirty stinkin' frat boy buddies all at once. Included will be the roommates of seven out of the ten years I spent in Gainesville. Good people all, but she's only met the groom and one of the roommates prior. It should be a good time in the sunshine, plus a bonus night with some family to boot.

Which reminds me, I still need to get rental cars and hotels for those weekends. Yeah, about that....

weather adjustments

2009-03-03T12:48:00.003Z

From today's Post:

President Obama might have taken note after grousing last month when Sidwell Friends School, where his children go, closed for a smaller storm. "This might be what the president considers a serious snowstorm," his press secretary, Robert Gibbs, said. Sidwell was closed again yesterday, and public schools in the District opened two hours late.
Schools were closed in Montgomery County for the third snow day this year and in Fairfax and Prince George's counties, for the second. All three school systems announced two-hour delays for today.
Virginia declared a state of emergency, calling it the worst storm in eight years. Local airports saw numerous delays and cancellations, although operations were mostly back to normal by late afternoon.

I figured it out. There's a reason why six inches of snow snarls things to a halt around here. The road crews and residents just aren't used to it. The road crews in all the lands that laugh at Beltway residents when a few flakes fall have far more practice at clearing up wintry precipitation. They get it at least yearly, if not several times a year. Twelve solid hours of snow would be cleared quickly by their more experienced crews and their more numerous trucks.

I think from here on out, I ought to expect a day off for a good dose of snow and a two-hour delay for the day after. Today marks the second such string. It'll all be gone by the weekend according to the weather reports. Wonder if that means I can hop on my bike and ride around this weekend in the called-for sixties.

We'll see.

march comes in like a lion...

2009-03-02T21:17:00.002Z

Finally, we get some serious snow. In March. Go figure. It was ankle deep when I got up, drifts up to a foot. Took me a few minutes to dig out my car to drive to the store. Sadly, I've spent the majority of the day indoors catching up on work I should've done last week.

That said, I sure wish I could've found a person or two to go snowboarding with. It would've been a helluva cold day. They got no snow, but they made a bunch. I hope someday I can live where there's real rocks and real snow in the proper seasons to feed my outdoor addictions.

It's supposed to stay cold today and tomorrow, so maybe I can make a proper snowman this evening. We'll see.

popped collars

2009-03-01T17:22:00.000Z

Before I was a dirty rotten climber, I was a dirty rotten frat boy. Hard to believe, but it's true. I even lived the house for three years. Three years of waking up on the weekends to fire alarms going off, fireworks exploding the the courtyard, beer bottles in the shower, the smell of stale Natty Light wafting through the air. Don't kid yourself; for all the bluster of fraternities being paragons of virtue, that seedy side is still there. Some houses hide it better than others though. I didn't learn how to be a good person in a fraternity; I already was one. I was just able to more clearly articulate why I was a good person and add some more values to strive for beyond, "A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent."

In any case, most people nowadays are pretty surprised to hear that I was a frat boy, and even more surprised to find that I don't regret it in the least. Being one made my transition to D.C. that much easier with a good number of great guys to call on to make it seem like home faster. I'm connected with people I went to college with more often from my days in the Shelter than those prior. Climbing brought me a whole different set of friends, with little crossover between sets. When Gainesville said goodbye to me, it was the GRG crew, not the DTD crew that bid me adieu. Granted, most of my closer friends from the house had long since moved on to Atlanta and other towns to start their real lives, while I stayed behind for four more years to see them during football season and at weddings weddings weddings.

presenting his excellency

2009-02-28T18:29:00.003Z

Pope is a helluva guy. So much so that I dismissed my feelings of hatred towards a Capitol Hill staffer favorite called the Hawk & Dove. The link leads you to the story of my last visit to the old watering hole. Separate the plausible from the implausible based on what you know of my nonviolent nature.

Anyhow, Pope is a fraternity buddy of mine. He is the epitome of an outlier. He is universally beloved by those who know him and a terribly hard fella to keep track of. He's teaching English in China. He's also an incredibly dapper dresser. Granted, he'd been at an interview, but a three-piece suit?

Well played.

Anyhow, Thursday night found me in and out of my element in staccato style. Perfectly comfortable on my way, knowing where I'm going, until a missed microscopic sign dumped me back onto 395 during rush hour. Lovely. Driving around southeast in a new car after dark, not a great idea. Drive with purpose and floor it at the first sign of trouble?

You got it.

Bad feelings about Hawk & Dove subsided upon arrival. Bubs, Pope and I had a great time catching up. The ladies enjoyed themselves. Best news of the evening, interview went well, and D.C. may be his home base for years to come. Good food, good company.

Enough to make a bar seem like home for a few hours. I love when friends visit!

instinct vs. technology

2009-02-24T17:49:00.000Z

My instincts and internal compass have been good enough to get me from point A to point B for most of my driving life. With a little help from Google maps or Mapquest, I can get most anywhere in North America with no trouble. If I've driven there once, chances are, I'll remember how to get there again.

Now entering the game is a little gizmo called a GPS. Naviagation systems are all the rage these days. They take the forethought and naviagational skills out of driving. With a GPS, I can turn off my brain, not pay attention to my instincts and get from point A to point B easier. Right?

Wrong.

On our way to Blue Knob this weekend from Granny's this weekend, I fought my instincts as the GPS gave me directions as we went. My instincts kept reading the road signs and road numbers; the GPS struggled to keep up with the car at times. As a result, "Recalculating route," came across her digital lips thrice. In unfamiliar terrain, I made the mental map of the directions. The satellites would need to recalculate each time.

I'm still not sure if I'm for or against the GPS. Perhaps the next generation GPS should have an option to see the directions beforehand, a la Google Maps, to put them in your brain before getting behind the wheel. That way, there'd be a better chance to remember them along the way when you fly past an intersection at 45 mph, and the internal maps of GPS think you're off-roading in an Acura.

Which reminds me, I think it's still in my glove box...

a change of pace

2009-02-23T17:21:00.003Z

Weekend came and went. Not too much fanfare, just the round trip trek over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we went...

Short notice trips have usually ended in only seeing Granny, my aunt and two uncles. It's hard to coordinate with the cousins. Just like me, they're pretty busy most weekends. By a stroke of luck, I was able to see two out of three this time around. In three or four trips thus far, my co-pilot had yet to meet the last one. This time around, we were able to string it together over "diet cokes" and "water". Ok, the air quotes only apply for one of those beverages.

This was after another day of growth on the slopes. Strapped and loaded, carving is becoming an afterthought. The muscle memory is there. Now I'm focused on the terrain more so than before, which means that I can avoid trouble spots before they drop me on my back. I still manage to get in over my head every so often. I did a face plant in some powder on a really long green run. Popped up, kept on going. Convinced to push the envelope, I hesitated at the warning sign:

Are you an expert? You better be! Death, destruction, severe injury, yadda yadda yadda.

Ok, so that's not entirely it. I wanted to take a picture, but I forgot. Anyhow, she hasn't steered me wrong yet. I look out over the edge of the bowl. I won't lie; I pooped a little. [No, not really!] It was steep in every sense of the word. I met her sitting at the far edge, where the grade was less than 100%. I skidded down the side into the actual run and didn't do too badly. Had it been a little more powder and a lot less ice, I think it would've been prettier. As was the case last time I jumped a grade, I was more concerned about getting run over by the better riders and skiers. Too bad the conditions deteriorated so rapidly when the sun went behind the mountain after lunch. I would've liked to hop back on that run again to improve. So that's it. My first black diamond. Probably wouldn't be so out west, but if you'd have told me I'd be trying a black diamond by the end of the season, I would've laughed at your joke.

We cut the day short with a blazing fast shot down their longest run that wove all over the mountain. Packed up for a gargantuan pasta dinner with the family. Good stuff.

going big

2009-02-18T21:32:00.003Z

Going big does always lead to going home. Going big too often leads to staying home sometimes when you'd rather be out enjoying life. This weekend was one such case of circumstances combining with fatigue to keep me in on what turned out to be a pretty spectacular weather weekend.

Too bad.

A lack of planning on our parts led to a lack of plans. Climbing would have been good; alas, the local place we chose in our shortsight turned out to be sketchy access, so we bailed on it. The weather turned out too warm to hit the slopes, so no riding either. Conversely, the temps were too cold for too much bike riding, so as you know, I was relegated to climbing in a gym with seemingly perfect, dry conditions.

I miss my Florida sunshine, but I reckon I'll get a good dose of it in a few weeks when I go back for two weddings. That'll be pretty darn close to springtime, and all I'll be hoping for up here is some warmer temps. That'll lead to bigger trips for bigger rocks and bigger sends. For now, I'll have to settle for the fleeting glimpses of sunlight I get through my classroom window and my windshield in the mornings. Lord knows I haven't been out of here early enough lately to catch those late afternoon rays!

Spring break is fast approaching, and plans are set to see some big walls. Yosemite granite is calling my name. I doubt I'll get on El Capitan or Salathe Wall, but I might try to soak up some history via Midnight Lightning. Lyn Hill makes it look so easy on video. I doubt my lanky frame can do what her nasty strong five feet two inches breezed through, but it'll be fun to try.

That's all I got. Back to the grindstone.

hey, dirty, baby i got your money...

2009-02-17T21:43:00.003Z

Don't you worry.

Well, ODB is resting in peace while the world of finance is collapsing. I can't read two articles that have the same opinion on this meltdown. The fact remains that my retirement accounts have less money than I've contributed. The conventional wisdom of exposing yourself to more risk when you're young to build the nest egg for when you're old failed me. This is to say that perhaps when I'm old and ought-to-be retired, I'll still be up at the SMART Board cloning and grouping and highlighting and Googling for third graders. I ain't ever going to be able to retire.

Now that's a scary thought.

the onion, climber edition

2009-02-16T03:45:00.003Z

Gym Rat Climbs Despite Splitting Hangover Headache

Local plastic puller Ben dragged his sorry ass to the climbing gym this afternoon, despite having a splitting headache from drinking too many delicious beers. He made this decision to go to the gym after discussing it with fellow gym rat Jason at Rocket Bar last night. In lieu of actually going somewhere outside to climb, they deferred to the rock gym for today's session.

"I mean, Claudiu set all those new problems. There's that nasty yellow V4," reasoned Jason. "The problems are only going to be around for a month. Rocks will always be there."

Upon arriving at the gym, Ben was horrified to discover a birthday party going on. His headache worsened with every knee-high anklebiter shrieking to hear the echo.

Failing miserably at warming up, Ben got a drink of water and managed to dribble half of it down his shirt. He then proceeded to collapse onto the nearest crashpad to "rest his eyes." He awoke with a start and drool on his cheek minutes later to try again. The cycle repeated with each epic fail on mind-numbingly easy climbs. During the longest of these rests, a fellow climber drew a chalk outline around him, mocking his hungover state.

With concern behind his Grizzly Adams beard, local climbing hippie Rainbow shook the unconscious Ben, "Hey, man. Are you alright?" Ben awoke to a combination of Rainbow's 10 year-old La Sportiva Mythos fungus and the smell of a dirtbag climber that hadn't showered in a week. The overwhelming odor caused him to dry heave the remnants of his lunch into the paper-towel filled trash can.

Wiping the potato chips and marshmallows out of his facial hair, "I didn't even drink that much. Maybe four or five pints. I've tried everything to make the pain go away. Bloody Mary, mimosa, beer, Advil. That used to do the trick in college," quipped the once-frat boy on his way out of the gym to sleep it off on his Ikea futon, "Man, it's hell getting old!"

complete the analogy

2009-02-14T16:39:00.003Z

Rush is to recruitment, as...

In frat boy life, there's a time twice a year that is known to all as Rush Week. In my frat boy circle, it was understood that rush is only two weeks of the school year, but getting the guys through the doors takes more effort than that. Recruitment lasts all year. Kind of like evangelizing for your house, without the Bible-thumping and speaking in tongues. Let the potential pledges know how awesome you think they are and how well they'll fit into your particular brand of popped collar-ism.

So, back to the original question, rush is to recruitment as...

Today is Valentine's Day.

One legend contends that Valentine was a priest who served during the third century in Rome. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men — his crop of potential soldiers. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death.

The once festival to celebrate love and St. Valentine's devotion to it has become very commercialized in the U.S. It is Rush Week for Hallmark, FTD, Russell Stover's, DeBeers, and all other V-Day corporations that prey on the lonely or the uncertain of how their beloved, not-quite-beloved, or we-just-met feels about them. It is one day of the year for you to show that you care about your significant other. But what gets them through that door?

The other 364 days of the year. The rest of the time that you show you care in whatever degree you do. Whether it's a new romance, and you're still getting to know one another; or whether you've been married for 50 years, and don't need to talk to communicate any more. It's about effort and making it clear that you think he/she/it is the bee's knees, the rad-gnarliest chick/dude ever, the best thing to ever happen to you. Expressing that he/she/it should remain a member of this relationship because while troubles there may be, the commitment and caring and closeness and coalition will carry through.

Rush is to recruitment, as Valentine's Day is to...?

racism and discrimination

2009-02-11T21:43:00.007Z

I'm a pretty good teacher when it comes to grading work on time. Writing is the one subject that is difficult for me to review in a timely manner. I guess it's the drive in my right-leaning brain to quantify every decision as it pertains to my students. That's one part of grading at the lower levels in FCPS that drives me insane. It's so subjective in all subject areas, and we're not supposed to average grades. An S is the baseline for satisfying expectations; beyond that, the students need to put in extra effort and excel beyond expectations. To my ears, that sounds like we're comparing the students with one another instead of quantifying their accomplishments. That's not today's point.

I've said in the past how remarkable I find it that each year my students become more and more colorblind. That brings me to this year. With one another, that seems to still hold true. All my students get along with one another: black and white; boy and girl; Christian and Muslim.

It's that point that I can say times, they are a-changin'. It's those folks from back in time that cling to their old ideas and old prejudices that seem to be corrupting my students in their formative years.

Let's link this all together. I finally got myself to sit down to review speeches they'd written in the style of Dr. Martin Luther King in January. We shared the speeches, evoking King's voice and tone as they shared with one another. They had a blast pretending to be someone else, standing on the famous steps of the Lincoln Memorial, inspiring generations to change the biased ways of the past. Unfortunately, I see sadness in their hopeful thoughts. I see racism's ugly head rearing itself towards eight and nine year-olds in my class. I see prejudicial attitudes cutting deep in the very souls of their beings.

...and it pains me to read this. The two students in particular that have expressed such experiences couldn't be better kids. They're both very intelligent, come from homes with two loving parents, and are well-liked by their peers. Why strangers judge them based on the shade of their brown skin or the foreign name they were given at birth, I'll never understand. Fear of something different, I suppose. One of these students was in my class last year, and I can honestly say that I've learned more from him than I think any other students in my past. He is open and honest about his life and his faith, and I appreciate his presence in my class more than he'll probably ever know. As far as the racist attitudes go, other students alluded to them in Florida, but perhaps their younger ages kept them from truly understanding or hurting from them nearly as much.

Old hatreds die hard, I suppose. I pray that the racism and discrimination they've experienced in their young lives is limited to a singular occasion. While they may remember it well, they don't become distrustful and hateful in return. These are of course the thoughts and dreams of a white Christian male, hardly the type that's ever been discriminated against. I haven't walked a mile in their shoes. All I can do is try to see their point of view, and vicariously use their unfortunate tales to help others do better by them.

[Steps down off soapbox.}

no pain, no gain

2009-02-10T20:26:00.002Z

After the bouldering escapades and escalades of Sunday, I sure didn't want to climb hard yesterday after work. Planning on doing some training and route climbing, I walk into the gym to discover new boulder problems.

Dammit.

Lucky for me, I was easily lured away from the 45 degree wall by a knot-tying LSU Tiger. During football season, I don't know if I'd trust him. He claims we're just trading the trophy back and forth. We'll see come October how that works out. Warmed up on a few 5.9s, no worries. Hey, let's try this 5.12. What am I insane?

Yes.

Hop on the slopey, microscopically crimpy 5.12. Flash denied.

Barely. One move from the top, I miss one of the better holds on the route. A micro jug that I'd have called a crimp at the beginning of the climbing career. Too bad. It was balancy and technical and awesome. So what if it's sandbagged. It's a confidence booster, and maybe now I won't shy away from hopping on those twelves at the gym. Maybe when I get on the sharp end outside again, I won't be spooked by an eleven. We'll see.

Ropework being done, I bouldered for a bit on last week's new problems. The freshest new problems were glutted with people. Sure, I could've worked my way in, but I wasn't in the mood to fight with the machismo. Finish up the night on my new training goal.

A push-up pyramid. Simply put, push-up sets increasing, then decreasing in number with very little rest between them. Start at one, go up to ten, and back down again. The goal would be doing 100 pushups in 15 minutes or so.

1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 + 6 + 7 + 8 + 9 + 10 = 55, then back down again makes 45 more for 100. The ultimate goal might be to do this, then add a pull-up pyramid to the mix. Certainly a long ways off. Last night, muscle failure. I think I made it to eight on the way up before my chest and triceps started giving way. Shampooing after the gym was a struggle last night. My pecs are a litte twitchy today. Next week, try again.