Lines, Needle, Rainier
Sunday, June 29, 2008
hot and cold
Well, it's 88 degrees here, today, and I was supposed to be hiking my last training hike today, which I was going to have be pretty intense -and soaking up the delicious weather- before Mt Adams (which is next weekend, hallelujah), and here I have come down with a really nasty virus. I was in denial yesterday, but it's unavoidable today.
It hit me last night in its full-body-ache, phlegmy, inability-to-swallow glory. So I played it cool last night and stayed home with my period-piece George Sand Netflix movie (it was okay). Today I woke up feeling uber-achey and ended up staying in bed all morning, then rolled into the living room to watch the second half of the Euro Cup Final (way to go, Spain).
I'm pretty peeved about this virus. I usually take the bear-through-it approach, not taking much, and not letting it get to me, but I'm not excited for the idea of having compromised lung function on the mountains in the next couple of weeks, so I'm kind of a toxic cloud of vitamins, supplements, and over-the-counter stuff. Bleh. Let's hope it works.
It hit me last night in its full-body-ache, phlegmy, inability-to-swallow glory. So I played it cool last night and stayed home with my period-piece George Sand Netflix movie (it was okay). Today I woke up feeling uber-achey and ended up staying in bed all morning, then rolled into the living room to watch the second half of the Euro Cup Final (way to go, Spain).
I'm pretty peeved about this virus. I usually take the bear-through-it approach, not taking much, and not letting it get to me, but I'm not excited for the idea of having compromised lung function on the mountains in the next couple of weeks, so I'm kind of a toxic cloud of vitamins, supplements, and over-the-counter stuff. Bleh. Let's hope it works.
Friday, June 27, 2008
holy summer, batman
It has arrived!
It's eighty degrees here today, and is supposed to be almost ninety this weekend. This is the Seattle Payoff. The sky is so blue and clear and lovely, I just want to drink it up. Though I certainly am not relishing all this time at my desk, looking at the lovely day from behind sealed windows in an over-air-conditioned office. I can see that the Olympics are conspicuously less snowy (between viaduct columns)... and I like it.
Counting the hours until I head out for dinner and drinks at Agua Verde... yum. Could be a near-perfect evening.
For now, I'm going to escape from my desk into the warm concrete jungle for my lunch break. Maybe Elliot Bay Books. Maybe falafel. The world is my oyster. A warm oyster. Mmm.
It's eighty degrees here today, and is supposed to be almost ninety this weekend. This is the Seattle Payoff. The sky is so blue and clear and lovely, I just want to drink it up. Though I certainly am not relishing all this time at my desk, looking at the lovely day from behind sealed windows in an over-air-conditioned office. I can see that the Olympics are conspicuously less snowy (between viaduct columns)... and I like it.
Counting the hours until I head out for dinner and drinks at Agua Verde... yum. Could be a near-perfect evening.
For now, I'm going to escape from my desk into the warm concrete jungle for my lunch break. Maybe Elliot Bay Books. Maybe falafel. The world is my oyster. A warm oyster. Mmm.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
state of affairs
Well, here I am, a little more than a week away from climbing Mt Adams, and I've found a lot more peace with the situation than I had a week or so ago. I'm really looking forward to it. Though it is crazy that it's only nine days away. And then Rainier is only two and a half weeks away. Yeeeeks! That I'm still a little freaked out about.
Gotta keep training, although I was lazy yesterday, and found the pool full of a class today when I showed up, so ended up being lazy again. Oh well, I've been ignoring my Netflix, and my kitchen, lately, anyway.
Honestly, I don't understand how people truly enjoy working out in gyms. The environment, all stale, sterile, and windowless and full of sweaty people looking at eachother's bodies, it just doesn't do it for me. I will say that it's the only way I can train regularly with Seattle's dismal /unpredictable weather, but when I'm not training for this, you're not going to often find me chained to the stairmaster or treadmill, or better yet, the freeweights. Bleh. It might also be that I just don't identify with people who are really into body image, so the place is inherently a bit intimidating to me, like everybody sees me for the imposter I am. I do like the pool, and the ellipticals. And the saunas and massage rooms, but those aren't quite in the same category. I'm looking forward to trying some new stuff when I'm done ramping up for these climbs. But until then, I have to continue to try and blend in in the cardio room, plugging into my ipod or the cable tv monitors to pass the time.
I'll monitor the mountaineering boots and helmet in the corner from the couch tonight. That's got to be good for something.
Gotta keep training, although I was lazy yesterday, and found the pool full of a class today when I showed up, so ended up being lazy again. Oh well, I've been ignoring my Netflix, and my kitchen, lately, anyway.
Honestly, I don't understand how people truly enjoy working out in gyms. The environment, all stale, sterile, and windowless and full of sweaty people looking at eachother's bodies, it just doesn't do it for me. I will say that it's the only way I can train regularly with Seattle's dismal /unpredictable weather, but when I'm not training for this, you're not going to often find me chained to the stairmaster or treadmill, or better yet, the freeweights. Bleh. It might also be that I just don't identify with people who are really into body image, so the place is inherently a bit intimidating to me, like everybody sees me for the imposter I am. I do like the pool, and the ellipticals. And the saunas and massage rooms, but those aren't quite in the same category. I'm looking forward to trying some new stuff when I'm done ramping up for these climbs. But until then, I have to continue to try and blend in in the cardio room, plugging into my ipod or the cable tv monitors to pass the time.I'll monitor the mountaineering boots and helmet in the corner from the couch tonight. That's got to be good for something.
i love Interpol
just an observation. from NYC, off The Man Machine album-
I had seven faces
Thought I new which one to wear
But I'm sick of spending these lonely nights
Training myself not to care
The subway is a porno
The pavements they are a mess
I know you've supported me for a long time
Somehow I'm not impressed
But
New York cares
(Got to be some more change in my life)
The subway she is a porno
The pavements they are a mess
I know you've supported me for a long time
Somehow I'm not impressed
It's up to me now, turn on the bright lights
I had seven faces
Thought I new which one to wear
But I'm sick of spending these lonely nights
Training myself not to care
The subway is a porno
The pavements they are a mess
I know you've supported me for a long time
Somehow I'm not impressed
But
New York cares
(Got to be some more change in my life)
The subway she is a porno
The pavements they are a mess
I know you've supported me for a long time
Somehow I'm not impressed
It's up to me now, turn on the bright lights
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
lame horse...
...would like to be shot.
With the training, it's like I'm always tired, always hungry, lately. Very compact social life as well. Now I'm just getting by with the thought that I can chill out all I want in less than a month. When I'm off the mountains, I'm going to sleep forever... I'm going to go out drinking regularly, especially on weeknights. I'm going to eat pastries and pie. I'm going to fork over the cash to have my own internet connection at home and blog for hours in my underwear on my bed while eating pastries and drinking cocktails. Then I'm going to find illicit things to do and go into work late the next day.
Then maybe I'll take up yoga.
With the training, it's like I'm always tired, always hungry, lately. Very compact social life as well. Now I'm just getting by with the thought that I can chill out all I want in less than a month. When I'm off the mountains, I'm going to sleep forever... I'm going to go out drinking regularly, especially on weeknights. I'm going to eat pastries and pie. I'm going to fork over the cash to have my own internet connection at home and blog for hours in my underwear on my bed while eating pastries and drinking cocktails. Then I'm going to find illicit things to do and go into work late the next day.
Then maybe I'll take up yoga.
Monday, June 16, 2008
croutons
This Op-Ed article in the NYT yesterday reminds me of home, and my family.
My mom and I stash this plastic doll leg we found in her house (where I grew up) for eachother to find. Under pillows, in luggage, under the fabric dinner napkin- hilarious and creepy every time. Best when you see the foot slyly peeking out. My grandmother and she, and now I, have been exchanging a plastic cauliflower (like the kind that goes along with Playskool kitchens) for thirty years at christmas, elaborately wrapped to deceive its identity until you unwrap it.
But my mom also has lots of random, small containers of old croutons and condiments that she guards when I start trying to streamline her kitchen.
My mom and I stash this plastic doll leg we found in her house (where I grew up) for eachother to find. Under pillows, in luggage, under the fabric dinner napkin- hilarious and creepy every time. Best when you see the foot slyly peeking out. My grandmother and she, and now I, have been exchanging a plastic cauliflower (like the kind that goes along with Playskool kitchens) for thirty years at christmas, elaborately wrapped to deceive its identity until you unwrap it.
But my mom also has lots of random, small containers of old croutons and condiments that she guards when I start trying to streamline her kitchen.
Friday, June 13, 2008
urban mountaineering
Now that I have a significant percentage of my gear to head up the mountains, I'm feeling more technically prepared. On a side note, however, as it creeps closer and closer, I feel more and more anxious, and the incessant training doesn't help me feel more physically prepared, is just bringing me closer to burning out.
Nonetheless, I decided to toss the gear I had, plus some full bottles of water, cookbooks and landscape architecture textbooks, into my backpack and scale some steeper portions of Queen Anne last night after work. It was a great evening for it, calm and sunny with a lovely sunset over the Olympics. I mostly took the stairs that wind between the stately homes in the southwest portion of the hillside, but also hoofed it down and back up again through Kinnear Park. Which was comical, because as the park is a steep hillside full of invasive weeds above the industrial Interbay neighborhood, it's not all that well-taken care of, and is full of homeless people camping there. It wasn't dark yet, so it didn't intimidate me, but because I was wearing a giant backpack, it appeared as though the many men whom I passed along the way, welcoming me with smiles, nods, and even waves, were ready to welcome me into their tribe. I was friendly, but kept moving.
There are quite a few out of the way nooks and crannies that dead-end into hillsides (often with fantastic views) in that area that you might never come across, even as a Queen Anne resident, and it was cool to have a reason to stumble across them. There are quite a few homes that have front porches opening onto pedestrian paths and stairs because the grades are too steep for roads. Kind of Montmartre-sque, in that respect.
I ended up tooling up and down until it got dark (which is quite late, like nine thirty or ten in these parts this time of year), and made my way to my old neighborhood, and chatted with my former neighbors. By the time I started heading home it was well past dark, and I realized that the cats were out of food, so I figured what better way to make use of the backpack on my back, and the need for training, than to pick some up there on Upper Queen Anne and lug it home? After I left Safeway I realized I had little for me to eat at home, either, so I stopped at Metropolitan Market and threw some pasta salad in there for me, too. Which totally cracked me up, but apparently not other people quite as much, because everyone either didn't notice, or appeared to avoid eye contact with me. Which made me even more amused, secretly.
I had a hard time dragging myself out of bed this morning- big surprise.
Nonetheless, I decided to toss the gear I had, plus some full bottles of water, cookbooks and landscape architecture textbooks, into my backpack and scale some steeper portions of Queen Anne last night after work. It was a great evening for it, calm and sunny with a lovely sunset over the Olympics. I mostly took the stairs that wind between the stately homes in the southwest portion of the hillside, but also hoofed it down and back up again through Kinnear Park. Which was comical, because as the park is a steep hillside full of invasive weeds above the industrial Interbay neighborhood, it's not all that well-taken care of, and is full of homeless people camping there. It wasn't dark yet, so it didn't intimidate me, but because I was wearing a giant backpack, it appeared as though the many men whom I passed along the way, welcoming me with smiles, nods, and even waves, were ready to welcome me into their tribe. I was friendly, but kept moving.
There are quite a few out of the way nooks and crannies that dead-end into hillsides (often with fantastic views) in that area that you might never come across, even as a Queen Anne resident, and it was cool to have a reason to stumble across them. There are quite a few homes that have front porches opening onto pedestrian paths and stairs because the grades are too steep for roads. Kind of Montmartre-sque, in that respect.
I ended up tooling up and down until it got dark (which is quite late, like nine thirty or ten in these parts this time of year), and made my way to my old neighborhood, and chatted with my former neighbors. By the time I started heading home it was well past dark, and I realized that the cats were out of food, so I figured what better way to make use of the backpack on my back, and the need for training, than to pick some up there on Upper Queen Anne and lug it home? After I left Safeway I realized I had little for me to eat at home, either, so I stopped at Metropolitan Market and threw some pasta salad in there for me, too. Which totally cracked me up, but apparently not other people quite as much, because everyone either didn't notice, or appeared to avoid eye contact with me. Which made me even more amused, secretly.
I had a hard time dragging myself out of bed this morning- big surprise.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
sasquatch!
day two
Sunday, entirely sold out, was the day that everyone wanted tickets for. The campground was packed that day, the scalpers were out full force, and some were desperate for the chance to see The Blue Scholars, Tegan & Sara, The Presidents, Death Cab, and The Cure all in one go. It was a Main Stage day for me, even though I'd wanted to see Truckasauras, The Blakes, and The Kooks, and maybe accompany Chelsea to see Rogue Wave on the other stages, I ended up staying for the full lineup on the Main Stage. It was pretty damn hot out there.
And it was, indeed, a great day. We made it in time to see 65daysofstatic a little after 12:30, whose intense electro-rock I was only a teensy bit familiar with, but was not bad at all to groove to while settling into a grassy spot on the upper lawn.
Next was Blue Scholars, the Seattle Hip-Hoppers hailing from the U District and the UW, who are great live and pulled off a great set, highlighted by a certain crowd-pleaser... "get your education on the ave." Cold War Kids also pulled a good set...
I've caught Tegan and Sara live at festivals a couple times before, and their banter-filled discourse between songs always makes their sets funny and unique, and this time was no exception. The set was great, full of many of my favorite songs, and the banter was dominated by their confessions of unsuitability towards camping. They'd been forced into camping as children by their mother, they said, and now found nothing exciting or sexy about it as adults, preferring cable TV and hot showers at night. Fair 'nuff; they were so gracious in their critique, you couldn't help but enjoy it.
I haven't acquired a copy of The Presidents (of The United States of America) new album, These Are The Good Times People," but their performances, with Michael Stipe's energy, are always great, and I of course loved singing along to Kitty, Peaches, and Postman. "Fuck you kitty... you're gonna spend the night outside!"
In apprehension of Death Cab's set, we made our way down to the floor for Michael Franti and Spearhead's performance. I hadn't heard them before, and didn't know what to expect, but the energy and spirit in his hip-hop/reggae/folky singer-songwriter lore was something you could get to. Both personal (a song about his son growing up and finding his own path in and across the world) and political (songs begging for peace and bringing soldiers home), the music was inspiring and dance-able (kinda hippie-style dance-able).
First moved by local-indie-band-gone-huge Death Cab For Cutie's youthful, melancholy sound and lyrics when I was in early college, I've been able to see them live a few times, and they never fail to enchant me.
Cause I built you a home in my heart,
With rotten wood, it decayed from the start.
I want to live where soul meets body
and let the sun wrap its arms around me
and bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
and feel, feel what it's like to be new
'cause in my head there’s a greyhound station
where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
so they may have a chance of finding a place
where they’re far more suited than here
and I cannot guess what we'll discover
when we turn the dirt
with our palms cupped like shovels
but I know our filthy hands can wash one another’s
and not one speck will remain
Being up close on the floor helped mitigate the huge-venue effect, and the soft, glowing sunset added a certain je ne sais quoi of ambiance to their set. Their new album, Narrow Stairs, is a deep, and somewhat haunting pleasant surprise of an album, which could have been one that was more formulaic, resting upon the band's more recent laurels of widespread popularity. I was glad to hear their eight-minute-plus hit from the new album, "I Will Possess Your Heart," or The Stalker Song as you might call it, make its way into their set, in addition to my current fave, "Grapevine Fires-"
...to remind us it's only a matter of time before we all burn
we bought some wine and some paper cups near your daughter's school,
and we picked her up and drove to a cemetery on a hill
we watched the plumes paint the sky grey
as she laughed and danced through the fields of graves,
and there I knew it would be all right
that everything would be all right...
the news report on the radio said it was getting worse
as the ocean air fanned the flames
but I couldn't think of anywhere I'd have rather been
to watch it all burn away
...to burn away
The ambiance of the music and the setting sun in sorbet hues made dancing with the cute stranger who was smashed up into my back in the crowd practically a requisite during the show. :)
I could have chilled in the crowd a while to see The Cure from the floor, but followed my tired friend, not familiar or a fan, up to the lawn to enjoy it from there. Seeing the Cure, with Robert Smith's eccentric, dazed delivery, and the jumbotron's closeups on the super-heavy man-eyeliner...you can't lose, if you dig their tragic-epic Brit rock even just a little bit. I got to see them by chance when I was studying in Rome for a few months at the MTV Europe Awards (for free in front of the Collosseum, no less), and that was incredible. This set this time was good, but the performance didn't pull me in quite as much, maybe because they played some earlier stuff I wasn't familiar with, but maybe also because Smith seemed...kind of somewhere else. But then again, on the other hand, that's kind of his thing. They did play Disintegration, Pictures of You, Fascination Street, Love Song, and Lullaby, my all-time faves, so I won't complain.
Remembering you
standing quiet in the rain
as I ran to your heart to be near
and we kissed as the sky fell in
holding you close
how I always held close in your fear
remembering you
running soft through the night
you were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow
and screamed at the make-believe
screamed at the sky
and you finally found all your courage
to let it all go
Sunday, entirely sold out, was the day that everyone wanted tickets for. The campground was packed that day, the scalpers were out full force, and some were desperate for the chance to see The Blue Scholars, Tegan & Sara, The Presidents, Death Cab, and The Cure all in one go. It was a Main Stage day for me, even though I'd wanted to see Truckasauras, The Blakes, and The Kooks, and maybe accompany Chelsea to see Rogue Wave on the other stages, I ended up staying for the full lineup on the Main Stage. It was pretty damn hot out there.
And it was, indeed, a great day. We made it in time to see 65daysofstatic a little after 12:30, whose intense electro-rock I was only a teensy bit familiar with, but was not bad at all to groove to while settling into a grassy spot on the upper lawn.
Next was Blue Scholars, the Seattle Hip-Hoppers hailing from the U District and the UW, who are great live and pulled off a great set, highlighted by a certain crowd-pleaser... "get your education on the ave." Cold War Kids also pulled a good set...
I've caught Tegan and Sara live at festivals a couple times before, and their banter-filled discourse between songs always makes their sets funny and unique, and this time was no exception. The set was great, full of many of my favorite songs, and the banter was dominated by their confessions of unsuitability towards camping. They'd been forced into camping as children by their mother, they said, and now found nothing exciting or sexy about it as adults, preferring cable TV and hot showers at night. Fair 'nuff; they were so gracious in their critique, you couldn't help but enjoy it.
I haven't acquired a copy of The Presidents (of The United States of America) new album, These Are The Good Times People," but their performances, with Michael Stipe's energy, are always great, and I of course loved singing along to Kitty, Peaches, and Postman. "Fuck you kitty... you're gonna spend the night outside!"
In apprehension of Death Cab's set, we made our way down to the floor for Michael Franti and Spearhead's performance. I hadn't heard them before, and didn't know what to expect, but the energy and spirit in his hip-hop/reggae/folky singer-songwriter lore was something you could get to. Both personal (a song about his son growing up and finding his own path in and across the world) and political (songs begging for peace and bringing soldiers home), the music was inspiring and dance-able (kinda hippie-style dance-able).
First moved by local-indie-band-gone-huge Death Cab For Cutie's youthful, melancholy sound and lyrics when I was in early college, I've been able to see them live a few times, and they never fail to enchant me.
Cause I built you a home in my heart,
With rotten wood, it decayed from the start.
I want to live where soul meets body
and let the sun wrap its arms around me
and bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
and feel, feel what it's like to be new
'cause in my head there’s a greyhound station
where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
so they may have a chance of finding a place
where they’re far more suited than here
and I cannot guess what we'll discover
when we turn the dirt
with our palms cupped like shovels
but I know our filthy hands can wash one another’s
and not one speck will remain
Being up close on the floor helped mitigate the huge-venue effect, and the soft, glowing sunset added a certain je ne sais quoi of ambiance to their set. Their new album, Narrow Stairs, is a deep, and somewhat haunting pleasant surprise of an album, which could have been one that was more formulaic, resting upon the band's more recent laurels of widespread popularity. I was glad to hear their eight-minute-plus hit from the new album, "I Will Possess Your Heart," or The Stalker Song as you might call it, make its way into their set, in addition to my current fave, "Grapevine Fires-"
...to remind us it's only a matter of time before we all burn
we bought some wine and some paper cups near your daughter's school,
and we picked her up and drove to a cemetery on a hill
we watched the plumes paint the sky grey
as she laughed and danced through the fields of graves,
and there I knew it would be all right
that everything would be all right...
the news report on the radio said it was getting worse
as the ocean air fanned the flames
but I couldn't think of anywhere I'd have rather been
to watch it all burn away
...to burn away
The ambiance of the music and the setting sun in sorbet hues made dancing with the cute stranger who was smashed up into my back in the crowd practically a requisite during the show. :)
I could have chilled in the crowd a while to see The Cure from the floor, but followed my tired friend, not familiar or a fan, up to the lawn to enjoy it from there. Seeing the Cure, with Robert Smith's eccentric, dazed delivery, and the jumbotron's closeups on the super-heavy man-eyeliner...you can't lose, if you dig their tragic-epic Brit rock even just a little bit. I got to see them by chance when I was studying in Rome for a few months at the MTV Europe Awards (for free in front of the Collosseum, no less), and that was incredible. This set this time was good, but the performance didn't pull me in quite as much, maybe because they played some earlier stuff I wasn't familiar with, but maybe also because Smith seemed...kind of somewhere else. But then again, on the other hand, that's kind of his thing. They did play Disintegration, Pictures of You, Fascination Street, Love Song, and Lullaby, my all-time faves, so I won't complain.
Remembering you
standing quiet in the rain
as I ran to your heart to be near
and we kissed as the sky fell in
holding you close
how I always held close in your fear
remembering you
running soft through the night
you were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow
and screamed at the make-believe
screamed at the sky
and you finally found all your courage
to let it all go
Sunday, June 8, 2008
formal commitment
I've been letting it slip here and there, telling my inner circle of people gradually, but I'm going to make a formal announcement now that the clock is ticking closer and closer.
I'm going to attempt to climb Mount Rainier. No, wait, wrong language there the first time. I'm going to do it, goddammit!
I've been training for a while, and when I go to explain to people why I'm getting near a gym (I tend to loathe organized physical activity and have been a vocal denouncer of all athletic pursuits), I explain, wincing for fear of ridicule. It's a big task to bite off, I understand. Not being an athletic type, I've put a lot of thought into it, and as the time and financial commitment of preparing for the climb is taking over my life (six days a week training, many dollars' worth of gear), I realize there is no point in stepping around the topic anymore. And it's liberating, and kind of exciting! I've forked over most of my evenings lately training on the stairmaster, ellipticals, and strength-training machines, hit the trails on the weekends, and purchased pricey mountain-going clothes, and there's no point in going back now...until we hit Paradise, at least.
I was recruited into this scheme by one of my best friends from high school, somehow, this past winter. We have a guide who we trust and has confidence in us, and who'll be breaking us into mountaineering on Mt Adams the weekend of The Fourth of July ( I guess this the most literal interpretation of to "show the ropes"), and then the following weekend we'll attempt to summit Rainier, weather permitting.
God help the weather- it's been so odd, and with the climb just a bit over a month away and a snow advisory at the passes yesterday (June, for god's sakes!), let's hope avalanche, melt, nor precipitation conditions pose any threat to the trek. "Cruel Summer" (Bananarama, Ace of Base) is playing here at Bauhaus (coffeeshop) as I type, and so far it's been true- unseasonably cool the past couple of weeks, minus a couple days and today (which has been pretty blue-skied, but atypical in the forecast). The local news people have given it the dramatic term "June-uary," and I'm hoping we don't have a "Julember" (oh god, someone shoot me, that was horrible and I'm ashamed) on our hands when the big climb comes around.
Not being a big fan of stuff, the diversion of a significant portion my salary to REI and Outdoor and More has been slightly painful, but hopefully it will be worth it in the end. I've made some biggish purchases for this recently- trekking poles, underlayers, soft shell, outer shell, fancy water-repellent pants (yeah, that's right, fancypants), and in my weekend attire of black jeans, black hoodie, and black messenger bag (to my defense, I had some small stripes and red shoes in there), I laughed while the cashier was ringing up my stuff. I asked him if it was a bad idea for me to be in all-black going up the mountain, and he said "sure, if you're not going for high-visibility; you planning on doing something sly you're not letting on about?" Yeah, robbing ice caves of secret treasure. Maybe that will help recoup costs. Then I can publish a comic book based on my adventures.
Wish me luck... until I go up, I live to work, go to the athletic club, and run around The Hill at night. Hey, I'm in better shape than I've ever been. That's kinda fun.
Listening to Aussie band Cut Copy's new In Ghost Colors. Fun and Electro-Rock-Poppy, all upbeat and French techno-ey and a good way to end a weekend.
I'm going to attempt to climb Mount Rainier. No, wait, wrong language there the first time. I'm going to do it, goddammit!
I've been training for a while, and when I go to explain to people why I'm getting near a gym (I tend to loathe organized physical activity and have been a vocal denouncer of all athletic pursuits), I explain, wincing for fear of ridicule. It's a big task to bite off, I understand. Not being an athletic type, I've put a lot of thought into it, and as the time and financial commitment of preparing for the climb is taking over my life (six days a week training, many dollars' worth of gear), I realize there is no point in stepping around the topic anymore. And it's liberating, and kind of exciting! I've forked over most of my evenings lately training on the stairmaster, ellipticals, and strength-training machines, hit the trails on the weekends, and purchased pricey mountain-going clothes, and there's no point in going back now...until we hit Paradise, at least.
I was recruited into this scheme by one of my best friends from high school, somehow, this past winter. We have a guide who we trust and has confidence in us, and who'll be breaking us into mountaineering on Mt Adams the weekend of The Fourth of July ( I guess this the most literal interpretation of to "show the ropes"), and then the following weekend we'll attempt to summit Rainier, weather permitting.
God help the weather- it's been so odd, and with the climb just a bit over a month away and a snow advisory at the passes yesterday (June, for god's sakes!), let's hope avalanche, melt, nor precipitation conditions pose any threat to the trek. "Cruel Summer" (Bananarama, Ace of Base) is playing here at Bauhaus (coffeeshop) as I type, and so far it's been true- unseasonably cool the past couple of weeks, minus a couple days and today (which has been pretty blue-skied, but atypical in the forecast). The local news people have given it the dramatic term "June-uary," and I'm hoping we don't have a "Julember" (oh god, someone shoot me, that was horrible and I'm ashamed) on our hands when the big climb comes around.
Not being a big fan of stuff, the diversion of a significant portion my salary to REI and Outdoor and More has been slightly painful, but hopefully it will be worth it in the end. I've made some biggish purchases for this recently- trekking poles, underlayers, soft shell, outer shell, fancy water-repellent pants (yeah, that's right, fancypants), and in my weekend attire of black jeans, black hoodie, and black messenger bag (to my defense, I had some small stripes and red shoes in there), I laughed while the cashier was ringing up my stuff. I asked him if it was a bad idea for me to be in all-black going up the mountain, and he said "sure, if you're not going for high-visibility; you planning on doing something sly you're not letting on about?" Yeah, robbing ice caves of secret treasure. Maybe that will help recoup costs. Then I can publish a comic book based on my adventures.
Wish me luck... until I go up, I live to work, go to the athletic club, and run around The Hill at night. Hey, I'm in better shape than I've ever been. That's kinda fun.
Listening to Aussie band Cut Copy's new In Ghost Colors. Fun and Electro-Rock-Poppy, all upbeat and French techno-ey and a good way to end a weekend.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
eph you, Ruby
or, An Open Letter to my '93 Dodge Dakota
I know you're getting old, and that I haven't taken the best care of you as I am primarily a public-transport rider. I know I let a little too much time pass between oil changes, and I let your shocks go bad, and let my dad replace your broken back window with plywood rather than forking over the cash to deal with these things properly. I know that it's not your fault the EPA started testing environmentally-friendly paint sealers in 1993 and it was a bust and caused your fair, white complexion to peel interminably right after your warranty expired. I'm sorry I only had the patience to repaint your hood, and gave up when your roof and doors caught the virus,
giving you the appearance of having vehicular leprosy. I respect the fact that you got me to the Gorge and back recently for Sasquatch without giving out. I know you are feeling your 248,000 milles.
But what the fuck, man? I put a lot of time and $250 bucks into personally replacing your radiator when you sputtered and died after a long, hot ride to my mom's house last month. Somehow it's my fault this new radiator and its hoses sprung a few leaks. But now you give out again, dramatically, at rush hour at a scary intersection in the city (on a birthday-cake delivering errand, no less), and I have to spend eleven hundred bucks to fix what appears to be the same radiator issue, all over again, and immediately when I get you back home you do it all over again?
Understand that I am at my wit's end with you. After all of the crap I've had to deal with lately, and the things I'm paying for on my shitty architect's salary, I barely had eleven dollars to fix you, let alone eleven hundred, and now you insist on going back to the car hospital for the same issue, rendering that thousand dollar bill pointless, and setting me up for an additional repair fee. Do you understand that aside from your age and medical conditions, the current economic/political climate is rendering automobiles with giant, eight-cylinder engines and very low gas mileage to not be looked upon favorably? You are not in a good position to act like a princess right now. I know you were hot stuff when you came from the factory- good soundsystem, AC, burly engine and all, but you've faded. It's time to play like a team, because your moody, passive-agressive, deceptive behavior has me about ten steps away from selling you, sending you off to a fate which likely could be dismemberment with some of your parts heading to a grim fate in industrializing nations.
Since my father bequeathed you to me when I passed my driver's license exam almost ten years ago (and I'd been hoping for something more compact like the Civic I learned on), we have acquired some good stories. I have fond memories: messages written by male suitors in dry-erase marker on your windshield in high school; sleeping in in your bed on a roadtrip down the west coast with glow-in-the-dark stars pasted to the inside of the canopy; hundreds of campus parking tickets found under your windshield wipers in college (many contested, most with late fees); numerous trash-can and light-pole-tapping incidents pockmarking your chrome bumper (accountable to your limited rear-visibility, esp due to the plywood back window); both rear-ending and being rear-ended on the Tacoma Narrows bridge (separate incidents); countless loads hauled moving throughout Seattle; intense singing and yelling sessions held within your soundproofed cab, and my cats destroying their carriers to roam around inside and wail neurotically during moving, to name just a few.
Nostalgia, the need to see my suburban parents without holding court in the city and expecting them to come to me, and the stubborn refusal to purchase a car before my anticipated departure to more metropolitan environs has kept me from forsaking you until now. But I'm very close to coming to terms with parting ways; you and Ron at the repair shop are going to have to come to some sort of terms before I put you back in my good graces and take you off probation.
It can go either way. I don't want to have to make the call that may cause you to end up in Truck Heaven, but it's in your hands at this point.
I know you're getting old, and that I haven't taken the best care of you as I am primarily a public-transport rider. I know I let a little too much time pass between oil changes, and I let your shocks go bad, and let my dad replace your broken back window with plywood rather than forking over the cash to deal with these things properly. I know that it's not your fault the EPA started testing environmentally-friendly paint sealers in 1993 and it was a bust and caused your fair, white complexion to peel interminably right after your warranty expired. I'm sorry I only had the patience to repaint your hood, and gave up when your roof and doors caught the virus,
giving you the appearance of having vehicular leprosy. I respect the fact that you got me to the Gorge and back recently for Sasquatch without giving out. I know you are feeling your 248,000 milles.But what the fuck, man? I put a lot of time and $250 bucks into personally replacing your radiator when you sputtered and died after a long, hot ride to my mom's house last month. Somehow it's my fault this new radiator and its hoses sprung a few leaks. But now you give out again, dramatically, at rush hour at a scary intersection in the city (on a birthday-cake delivering errand, no less), and I have to spend eleven hundred bucks to fix what appears to be the same radiator issue, all over again, and immediately when I get you back home you do it all over again?
Understand that I am at my wit's end with you. After all of the crap I've had to deal with lately, and the things I'm paying for on my shitty architect's salary, I barely had eleven dollars to fix you, let alone eleven hundred, and now you insist on going back to the car hospital for the same issue, rendering that thousand dollar bill pointless, and setting me up for an additional repair fee. Do you understand that aside from your age and medical conditions, the current economic/political climate is rendering automobiles with giant, eight-cylinder engines and very low gas mileage to not be looked upon favorably? You are not in a good position to act like a princess right now. I know you were hot stuff when you came from the factory- good soundsystem, AC, burly engine and all, but you've faded. It's time to play like a team, because your moody, passive-agressive, deceptive behavior has me about ten steps away from selling you, sending you off to a fate which likely could be dismemberment with some of your parts heading to a grim fate in industrializing nations.
Since my father bequeathed you to me when I passed my driver's license exam almost ten years ago (and I'd been hoping for something more compact like the Civic I learned on), we have acquired some good stories. I have fond memories: messages written by male suitors in dry-erase marker on your windshield in high school; sleeping in in your bed on a roadtrip down the west coast with glow-in-the-dark stars pasted to the inside of the canopy; hundreds of campus parking tickets found under your windshield wipers in college (many contested, most with late fees); numerous trash-can and light-pole-tapping incidents pockmarking your chrome bumper (accountable to your limited rear-visibility, esp due to the plywood back window); both rear-ending and being rear-ended on the Tacoma Narrows bridge (separate incidents); countless loads hauled moving throughout Seattle; intense singing and yelling sessions held within your soundproofed cab, and my cats destroying their carriers to roam around inside and wail neurotically during moving, to name just a few.
Nostalgia, the need to see my suburban parents without holding court in the city and expecting them to come to me, and the stubborn refusal to purchase a car before my anticipated departure to more metropolitan environs has kept me from forsaking you until now. But I'm very close to coming to terms with parting ways; you and Ron at the repair shop are going to have to come to some sort of terms before I put you back in my good graces and take you off probation.
It can go either way. I don't want to have to make the call that may cause you to end up in Truck Heaven, but it's in your hands at this point.
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