Reality Check

I could live in Europe...
I love not having to drive. I haven't driven a car for like 3 weeks.
I love the mystery that pervades this place where so many cultures and languages come together and you are never certain about the person next to you. Are they Saudi? Finnish? Korean? Slovenian?
This immense diversity really makes you more aware of how varied a place our planet is. It also breeds a kind of polite optimism in your day to day dealings with others.
I love the history; yesterday, just down the street, I stood on the walls of a castle that was built in 1218, then stepped around the corner for a cappucino in a local bar built in the 1700's.
I love the water. It is everywhere, and as a result so are the plants and animals.
I love having fresh-baked bread and fresh-made cheeses of all kinds every day.
I love the walking paths along the creeks, which pass innumerable mossy walls and a countless variety of interesting buildings.
I love the fact that it hasn't been warmer than the mid 70's or cooler than the mid 60's in over a week.

I want to live here someday. But the truth is, all of these great experiences and all the things I love about living here mean nothing really because I don't have Erin here to share them with. The truth is, not many grownups are interested in the things I like. Certainly none of the ones I am living with, and while I do enjoy spending time alone, it makes all the difference viewing things in this way, because apart from the do-it-once vacation experiences, the daily living experiences I happen to be thinking about are only really worthwhile when I have Erin to share them with. SHE would appreciate all the little things I've been noticing, and I think she'd thrive here in a way that neither of us can in Vegas. It's in living here, not just vacationing, that I see Erin and I one day being really content.
I guess what this post boils down to is that I miss her, and it's not that I wish she were here with me for a few weeks, but that she were here with me for a few years. Love ya sweetie. :)

Seven being the number...

to which Erin is allocated... betterness ...(?) than me, in the having of pertinance in regard to... word-full-y-ality (!?)

abjure abrogate abstemious acumen antebellum auspicious belie bellicose bowdlerize chicanery chromosome churlish circumlocution circumnavigate deciduous deleterious diffident enervate enfranchise epiphany equinox euro evanescent expurgate facetious

fatuous feckless fiduciary filibuster gamete gauche gerrymander hegemony hemoglobin homogeneous hubris hypotenuse impeach incognito incontrovertible inculcate infrastructure interpolate irony jejune kinetic kowtow laissez faire lexicon loquacious

lugubrious metamorphosis mitosis moiety nanotechnology nihilism nomenclature nonsectarian notarize obsequious oligarchy omnipotent orthography oxidize parabola paradigm parameter pecuniary photosynthesis plagiarize plasma polymer precipitous quasar quotidian

recapitulate reciprocal reparation respiration sanguine soliloquy subjugate suffragist supercilious tautology taxonomy tectonic tempestuous thermodynamics totalitarian unctuous usurp vacuous vehement vortex winnow wrought xenophobe yeoman ziggurat

I knew the words in green; I did not know the words in red. In total, I knew 73 of 100.

Mon Dieu!

Man, I had never been as sore from a hike as I was last night. If the second day after is the worst, as it so often is, I am really dreading tomorrow...

Where did I go to cause such distress to my rapidly aging body?

Funny you should ask!

Yesterday I went for a "walk," not a hike, up to the top of the highest peak of the Cornettes de Bise, the highest point surrounding Lake Geneva. I found this European distinction in the use of the word "walk" to be quite more distinct than I ever would have guessed, because for Americans, walking means like to the car, or down the street, or maybe at most around the nice little city park. Never in a million years would you find an American referring to what I did ysterday as merely "walking." I'm sure it is due to the basic diference in lifestyles between here and there, but of all the words whose usage differs between the 2 continents, walk is by far the biggest mutation.

So, little did I know that morning when I woke up late that this "walk" was going to be so tough. It wasn't hard-core, but it was definitely hard, and I think I may have done some actual damage to my knees.... still, it was totally worth it.

Unfortunately, my piece-of-crap Sony camera's battery went dead after only 8 or so photos, even though I charged it the night before, so I didn't wind up with many photos. The ones I did take are below, and probably don't need an explanation... they are all from the beginning of the hike, maybe the 1st 3/4 km or so.

Anyway, this walk is only about 4 km long, but in that 4 km, you gain a full km in elevation. The up was relentless, but the views were worth the pain. Along the way I saw a marmot and several mountain goats. One baby goat in particular was quite distressed and was just crying up a storm, while it's mother was ignoring it as she was drinking or something. I can only assume it was drinking, because she was taking in mouth's full of rocks, gringing them up, and spitting them out. I got a close up look at this process because by that time in the hike we were nearing the summit, and my eyes were glued to the path because I was so tired. One of my "walking" companions said "um, better watch it mate," at which time I looked up just in time to keep from bumping into said goat. The goat was about 4 feet in front of me, looking at me as though I were some idiot tourist with no sense of personal space, which I totally was. I backed away, took several pics w/ my cell phone (though I don't know how to get them off yet) and continued on.

When we finally reached the summit, there was a wooden cross, and an amazing panorama. You could see all of Lake Geneva, which was amazing considering it is the largest natural lake in Europe, as well as a variety of mountains, including the Eiger and Mont Blanc.

Since my camera was down, I've spent some time online trying to find pics that match up well with my experience. Here is a blog and another site (be sure to look towards the bottom of the page for the galleries!) which have nice photos as well as good information.

All in all it was a great experience, though on the down side it made me realize that my age is starting to cach up with me physically. I've never really hurt like this before, and I am a little concerned that this may portend worse thins o come. I'm planning a trip to the doc when I get home, and hopefully I can do something about this knee-thing.

T

Vu ,Moo, Fondue, et vous

So I am beginning to fit in here in Versoix...
Well, ok, not exactly fit in, but I am feeling less and less a big American moron by the day. I've taken the train into Geneva-proper twice now, and I ate fondue at a world-famous restaurant called L'Armoir (Bill Clinton ate there during his presidency even though it was impossible given the restaurant's location to make the place secure; he loved food so much he didn't mind the risk. They have a letter from him to the owner mounted permanently on the wall.)
I also am using money without getting confused, I've eaten about 20 things I couldn't identify, and I finally found a book about hiking in the mountains nearby. Jane, a teacher from France who runs several language schools there (it's only 7 miles away) is an avid hiker, and she hooked me up with the book. It's in French, but at least it has a map. I plan on going next week while the students are away for two days. The girls are all going to Paris, but I need some girl-free time, and I'm sure they could use a break from giving me a hard time.
OH, I almost forgot. Last night we had Swiss Night, where we ate local foods and heard yodelers and stuff. We had some of the most horrible smelling cheese ever called raclette. It did taste much better than it smelled, however.
I ALSO tried my hand (well, lips) at playing an alpenhorn.
OH, YEAH... I f*ckin' jammed, bro.
Hmmmm... what else?
Let's see... I finally made the acquaintance of some "world famous" Swiss Cows, I saw a hedgehog and a snail, I took a silly photo of one of my students, and I at long last found a real espresso machine this morning (Lemme give a shout out to my boy, God, for the good coffee!) and now, after having finally updated my blog again, it is time for a nap.

Weirdness in the wee hours

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Gack! Sleepy...

I guess I am still jetlagged, because I got nailed by the sleepies this afternoon like you wouldn't believe. Or it could be that I've probably walked 3 or 4 miles today... I didn't realize how little walking I do at home, but it is a nice change for me here. I am definitely one of those damned car-dependent Americans.

I found a store in town today that is open from 2:30 -6:00, so I was finally able to get some razors, though they only had the girly pink disposable ones... whatever.

My roomies have already taken to making fun of me for fixating on the local flora and fauna. I guess I forget in spending all my time with Erin that most adults could care less about slugs or bats or rats. Yes, rats. As I was walking the tree-line path to school...

I was looking in the water hoping to see fish, and this big white thing wiggled by. I thought it was a fish until it wiggld out of the water and scurried into the grass. I'd never seen a wild rat before, and I hope he stays far away from our house.

I also saw a kid with the smallest puppy I've ever seen. it's the same saize as a kitten!

Hmmmm... What else?

Oh, Mont Blanc! Clearly visible from Geneva, this is one Bitchin' mountain.

More on it later. OK, I'm off for dinner, but I'll probably post more later.

T

Day 2

Well, today we didn't do much. We had breakfast, which consisted of yogurt, cereal and chocolate-filled croissants, and then we accidentally sat in on a meeting for the teen-aged counselors before we realized as teachers that we didn't need to do it. I found out I will be teaching English in the mornings instead of Science in the afternoon, which suits we fine. It means freeing up my afternoon.We took the train into Geneva, which is a cool city. Very international, and it was interesting that for the first time in my life the white people were diferentiated by their nationality. People of hundreds of countries speaking dozens of different languages. Funny that there is a huge Starbucks which as just packed, and was the only place to get coffee after 6 pm. EVERYTHING is closed here after 6 and all day Sunday, so it was my last chance for coffee. But, dammit, they wouldn't accept my Sbux gift-card.

Afterward, we went to the Jardin Anglais and had pizza in the middle of a huge celebration where they were watching the beginnings of the America's Cup on a huge outdoor screen. Apparently, team Switzerland is kicking a little New Zealand-ass, and wants to hold on to the cup they won in 2003. It was a fun atmosphere, and I hope they hold on to it for another 4 years.Other interesting sights included a string of banks notorious for holding Nazi wealth during WW II, a bunch of watch stores, and, oddly, a Columbia store, which is Erin's and my favorite clothing line. It was closed, but I plan on returning when they open to look for some goodies for Erin.

After that we ran back to catch our train back to Versoix, which only leaves cerntral Geneva at the top of the hour. We got there exactly as the train was pulling up, which was good because one of our girls had a curfew of 10:00 and it was the 9:00 train we barely made.Now, it is 10:30 Sunday morning, and I overslept, missing breakfast. Unfortunately, NOTHING is open, so I'll have to wait for lunch, but I'm filling in the time writing this here blog. I am hoping to find someone who brought disposable razors, as I am looking a little scruffy for a teacher and there is nowhere to buy one today.

Day one (sort of)

Well, here I am, in Switzerland. I have to confess that the jetlag was WAY worse than I was expecting, so yesterday didn’t count as the 1st day. We had to sit on the runway in Newark for 4 HOURS while waiting for the weather to clear, so our 8 hour trip became 12 hours in the plane. Ugh.

OK, in no particular order, here are a few of the things I’ve noticed so far that I didn’t expect.

1. Giant Swiss slugs.

2. The “Z” and “Y” are reversed on the keyboards.

3. Lots and lots and lots of motorcycles on the very narrow roads

Anyway, it is beautiful here, and the people I’ve met so far have been pretty nice. I haven’t made a trip into town yet, but I will today. I need to get a few things I forgot, like soap, a razor, a plug adapter, and allergy pills. I also need to get some new headphones because I broke mine on the plane while squirming around trying to get comfortable. I’ve been trying to learn some French phrases from the nifty book Erin got me, but as soon as I put the book down, I forget them. French is all Greek to me. Hopefully I’ll be a little better at picking it up now that the jetlag’s wearing off.

Enough from me for now. I am off for breakfast, and to find an internet connection so I can actually upload this to my blog.

T

F*ck the morons at the State Department

Well, I am now not quite as at ease as I was last night. I'm not so worried about missing my flight as I am incredibly annoyed at having waited on hold for nearly 2 hours this afternoon, only to be hung up on while waiting to talk to a supervisor about where the fuck my passport is.
I am normally not a violent person, but fantasies of driving to LA and going postal (metaphorically of course) on the idiots in the regional passport office are occupying all the idle time on my hands as I wait for the fourth time now to speak to someone.
I find it odd how incredibly efficient the State department is in cashing checks (mine was cashed 33 days ago) yet they can't seem to meet their 7-10 day expedited service within 5 weeks, or their "guaranteed 48 hour response" time within 8 days, nor can they apparently copy down a tracking number correctly.
It's almost comedic how completely dishonest and without value this enormous government agency is in regards to its capacity to do its job in a timely manner.

OK, maybe my NEXT post will be from somewhere else.

T

A typical few days in the life of Tyson

OK,

So, in no particular order, here are the main things that happened in my life on Saturday, and are still unresolved today...

1. Visa informed me that someone probably jacked my debit card number and my account was frozen. Fortunately, all the charges were denied and some jerkoff in West Hollywood Florida was unable to buy product at a hair salon. UNfortunately, since I'll need my card to get cash whilst in Europe, I had to pay 42$ to have a new card made and rush delivered in time for my Thursday departure.

2. my flight leaves in 30 hours, and I haven't received my passport yet. However, according tot he VERY helpful guy on the phone today my passport was sent from LA via overnight expressmail. He was nice enough to give me a tracking # which, as far as USPS is concerned, shows that my passport was delievered in Canada in Dec. 2006.

3. The VERY helpful anti-spyware program, Spybot Seek and Destroy, irreparably damaged my computer on uninstall, and I've lost, among other things, email and passwords for bill-related sites dating for the last 4 years. After spending, oh, about 10 hours infront of my comp. on Sunday, my computer is now running (barely) but I still can't access email addys, etc.

4. My motorcycle, which I took in to have a flat tire fixed, oh, about 200 miles ago, again has a flat tire. and it's a tubed tire no less.

So, this is pretty much par for course in my life. I often wonder what would happen to me under such circumstances if I were the type of person who, like, worried and got bent out of shape over things like this. I'd probably have a heart attack or nervous breakdown. As it is, I'm really feeling indifferent to it all.
Either my tube will be replaced free of charge, or it won't.
Either my comp is toast, or I'll fix it when I get back.
Either I go in 29 hours, or I don't.

I have little doubt my next post will be from Newark or Geneva... provided I don't wind up stranded on a desert island or something.

Ha Cha!

I've been completely void of intersting thoughts lately, which is why I haven't posted much lately. I always get a little squirrely this time of year with summer fast approaching, and as usual, I am having serious thoughts about quitting my job. It turns out that my boss (who also happens to be my landlord) has been misleading me for his own benefit as far as my career goes, and I am nearly fed up with it. I haven't signed my contract for next year, and though I probably will eventually, I have a few applications out that I am waiting to hear back from first. We'll see how things go.
Other than that, not much happening. I'm sure once school's out and I have decided what to do next year, that I will have more to say.

Why E is great, pt. 1

One of the many reasons I love E is that often when we sit around having conversations about the mostly meaningless things we see in our day to day lives, we have some seriously synergistic episodes. For example, while flipping channels a movie called Break Up was playing, and we simultaneously coined the term beefed up man-twat to describe what Russel Crowe had become in the last ten years. Take a look and I think you'll have to agree that few phrases conjure up a more apt description.
I love the things that roll 'round in her head. Sometimes because I have instant access to them, and sometimes because they are the things I would have thought of myself sooner or later, but she saved me the work. An otherwise boring, mudane evening at home is often changed into a rewarding and entertaining experience, simply by talking to her. Most people should be so lucky.

I'm OK, Your'e OK...

I am having second thoughts about my last post. I don't usually put my internal struggles on display (I don't often HAVE internal struggles) but I just needed to get that stuff out. I am fine ( no, really) and appreciate you all for listening, but don't be surprised or alarmed if I don't mention any of that again.

So anyway...

Today I had a great day at work. I did Fractured Fairytales in my reading class, which is where the students put on a little play that switches conventions in the telling of a short, frog-based fairy tale, and I also had my last "Mythbusters" Science club with my 3rd and 4th graders after school. I promised to show them a potato gun, but was beginning to re-think the idea of bringing that much firepower into the class when I came across these instructions. So I made this mini, though I made my combustion chamber out of a jumbo tylenol tube instead of a pocket one, and it is tons of fun. We shot some potato slugs across the room, watched an episode of Mythbusters, ate pizza, and just chilled. It was great. I can't believe there are only 2 weks of school left.
I had promised them a ride on the hovercraft we built in science club a few years ago, but it was just too hot to go outside. I'm thinking I may take them inside to try it next week, after choir is done using our multi-purpose room.
I really enjoy my job, and sometimes, like today, it is just plain fun.

Fear

The following post is my way of trying to deal with something that has been heavy on my mind for the last few weeks. Sorry if it seems self-indulgent or confusing.

My house burned down about a year and a half before I met Erin. For years I have thought that during that time I grew as a person; more responsible, more... real.
As I remember it, in the months following the fire all of my closest friends had abandoned me, I had cut my father out of my life for his callousness in the aftermath of the fire, and Nick was 3 and I was trying to be a good father to him. I pretty clearly remember feeling as though I was alone in my life, but in a good way, not a bad one, and that I was finally having some clarity that had been lacking for years. I remember feeling that. But I also remember being, well... alone.
Then Doris came for Christmas. We had a great time, I was going to come visit her that summer. Then she left. She was pregnant; she wasn't going to have the baby. I supported her in this. I moved in with a roommate, started dating Adrienne, graduated... never made it to Germany that summer; I couldn't (didn't) save the money. I was terrified to go. Summer ended, I broke up with Adrienne, met Laura, ditched Laura, met Erin... and had my 2nd to the last ever phone conversation with Doris, where as I remember it, she asked me to make a clean break with her because it was just too hard to keep going like we had been for all these years. I didn't want to, but I agreed I'd never call her again. Erin and I had been "dating" for maybe 2 weeks at this point.
I loved Doris, and still do, for everything we shared. The last thing I wanted to do was cause her any pain, and so I never called her; I put the letters I had from her in a box and haven't looked at them in the last 8 1/2 years.
About 1 1/2 years ago, as Erin and I were coming back from a hiking trip to Escalante, we were driving in the desert right outside of Mesquite NV when I received a phone call from Doris. I recognized her voice right away, she said she was coming to the US with her husband for X-mas, she'd gotten my # from my stepmother, and she'd like to visit me while she was here. I was losing reception because we were in the desert, but I managed to get her husband's email.
Try to imagine how weird a moment that was for me. On second thought, don't. There's no way you could.
Well, she never called again, and I never received replies to my emails to her husband about their trip. Nothing.
So when I found out about my trip this summer, I really wanted to get in touch with her. I sent another email (no reply) and did a web search for both her maiden and married names, but both were fruitless. So I decided to pull down the box of her letters to get her parent's address and to write her there. As I re-read her last several letters, I had a horrible revelation; things are not as I remember them. Or, more accurately, I haven't thought about those things since then. But when I look at them now, through her eyes, I can see unfolding in my past the picture of a person very, very different from the one I felt I was at the time. I was not who I thought I was, and it's left me wondering if that is still the case.
My biggest fear has always been that I will be the kind of person my father is, and this recent discovery has me very unsettled. I don't want to be the person who wreaks havoc in people's lives but can't or won't see it. I have huge amends to make to Doris, impossible amends, but as much as I loved her, that concern pales in comparison to my fear that I am somehow completely in denial of who I am. I don't think I am, but I didn't then either, and I can see now that I was totally wrong. It is a completely foreign concept to me to feel like I might be deluding myself. I really don't think I am, and I can lay my behavior back then on the fucked up circumstances of my life's events at the time, etc. but that could all just be part of the lie; I have always been a master at deception, especially self-deception, and my huge fear at the moment is that the biggest deception of all has been my telling myself I'm no longer the same guy I was when I walked into AA 18 years ago; that I actually changed. What I don't want to admit is that I never loved Doris the way she deserved. I was too afraid to commit to her and too selfish to let her go, and that's what it ultimately comes down to. And I don't know how I could possibly make amends.

And looking at all of this now, my truly biggest fear is that somehow I'm still no good at love, and that I'm not loving Erin the way the way I think I am. I worry that I am obliviously failing her, not giving her the love she deserves. This thought has been keeping my up lately.
So I AM going to write to Doris, and I hope that I can meet her and somehow make amends. Outside of Nick and Erin, she has been the most important person in my life, and I hope I can do something to make up for how fucked up I was back then.

Celebrity

I pretty much ignore celebrity in most cases, and when I can't, my emotions usually range from mildly irritated to mildly jealous. For example, every time I see some dingbat pop singer in a casino or on TV, I get mildly annoyed. Whenever I see a pro poker player or a published author (or the equivalent) I get a little jealous. But then they go away, and out of sight, out of mind. However, there have been 2 times now in the last year when news of a celebrity had a relatively deep impact on me, entirely to my surprise

The first incident happened today. when I got home I read on my news banners that Jerry Falwell died, and I experienced a brief moment of elation, followed by a less intense feeling of satisfaction. These feelings perplexed me, and my first instinct was that I ought to feel guilty for feeling that way. But upon an evening's reflection, I really don't.

Many bad people have died in my lifetime, and it hasn't made me feel anything. On an intellectual level I can appreciate how the world is better off when a bad person dies, for example Saddam or Jeffrey Dahmer, but as far as affecting my emotions, zip. Zilch. Nothing.

But finding out the Falwell died made me feel something strong. It wasn't joy, but relief, and satisfaction, and dare I say, glee? It was confusing to me that I should feel this way about someone I didn't know personally, but I am beginning to work out why this, among all the famous deaths I've known of in my lifetime, should be the first to produce in me a feeling of satisfaction.

Falwell was a hatemonger. A bigot. A man of conviction whose convictions were wrong and who dedicated his life to spreading intolerance and fear and self-righteous indignation. He founded the Moral Majority, spearheaded the fundamentalist infiltration of the republican party, and to a large degree was responsible for the epidemic of christian fundamentalism taking root in our country. It is this more than anything which I hold against him, and which makes me feel the way I do. The US, the world is better off without him, and I don't feel bad for being glad he is dead.

The second incident affected me in a different way. When Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, died, I got really, really bummed out for days. I certainly didn't expect to react the way I did, but in hindsight, I think the reason it moved me and made me sad was because he was a man with a burning passion for life, not just his own, but all life, and I could totally identify with his enthusiasm. Coupled with that was they joy he brought to others through entertaining them as well as educating them. I really felt like the world was a lesser place with his passing, and it made me sad.

It is too bad that people like Falwell have the power to inspire millions to affect negative change on people who are different from them, while people like Steve Irwin are seen mostly only for their entertainment value.

For Elaine, because I frickin' hate spiders too

Since I am the resident male-with-a-clue on our campus, and the science guy, and the animal guy, I am often asked to scoop up various creatures that wander into or near classrooms. I have rescued snakes, squirrels, birds and lizards over the years, but no year was quite like the 2005-2006 school year. In the 1st month and a half of 2005 we recieved almost 1 1/2 times our average annual precipitation here in southern Nevada. In addition to flooding damage in the mountainous areas, these record rains produced the best spring desert flower blooms in 50 years, and they had some interesting effects on a variety of animals' life cycles here in the Great Basin desert. We discovered one such unusual occurance when we came across a bonafide plague of Mormon crickets in a valley that separates two mountain ranges in our state that summer. These little beasts are shaped like crickets, are the color of cockroaches, and cannibalize each other. We drove through a swarm of crawlers (they don't fly) that must have literally numbered in the 10's of millions. The road, desert and mountains on the horizon were all colored the same red-brown as the bugs, because they were nose-to-ass for miles in all directions, as far as the eye could see. Gross, yet fascinating.
But that's not the creepiest thing to spawn as a result of the record rainfall.
The week before school started in 2006, I was there doing my teacherly thing when one of the 2nd grade teachers told me she found a 10 legged spider in her room, but it ran away. She wondered if I know what it was. I had no idea, and thought nothing more of it. A week later, the 1st week of school, one of our kindergarten teachers told me she had a spider trapped in a laundry basket in her room. She said it came out of her closet, and it kind of chased her as she tried to put the basket over it. Curious, I went to dispose of the thing.
I had never seen anything like it. It was big, maybe 2 inches long, sort of spider looking, but with 10 legs and the most wicked jaws I have ever seen. Here'a drawing of one. I became morbidly fascinated. How had I lived here 6 years and never even seen one of these things? I scooped it into a jar and began researching...
It turns out that these creatures are not spiders at all, but a non-poisonous arachnid with the strongest jaws of any animal in the animal kingdom per size. The great white shark has nothing on these things. Here a famous picture of one eating another, taken in Iraq. It's easy to see how they could spawn alot of half-truthful myths/nightmares. I turns out their 5th pair of legs aren't actually legs, but specially adapted mouth parts. If you are interested in all the gory details, click here for the best page on these creatures, which are actually called solphugids. Their common name is the camel spider or the wind scorpion, and there is a huge body of urban mythology surrounding them, mostly spawned by soldiers in the 1st Gulf War, where they were often seen in the deserts.
So I became obsessed with these things for a short time. That 1st night, I did a search for camel spiders in Henderson NV on google, and I came across this article. Take a good, close look at the size of that thing: and these guys were popping up in huge numbers all over the area. I found out later that normally there aren't nearly so many, but that the massive rains of earlier that year were tied somehow to their lifecycles, and that was why they were so prolific that summer.
So my guess is that what you saw was one of these. If not, then you've gotta see one in person, because it will give you the willies unlike any other spider-thing you'll ever see.

Spidey, Lowes, Borsht, and building a shed.

... pretty much sums up my weekend.
Friday we went to see Spiderman 3, and while it was fun, I think it was the least well done of the series. After that I played a little poker for the 1st time in 2 months, making 986$ in about 4 hours (I love days like that!) and then I came home, about 11:30. I had taken a break from poker for awhile, but I needed to make some extra money to pay some back child support from 4 years ago that might have stood in the way of my getting my passport. That is another long story, and the crux of it is that Texas is a state which I am quite glad to be out of; their family court laws are archaic and instututionally bigoted towards fathers. I have been paying faithfully for 9 years now, but about 4 years ago my employer switched payroll companies and they stopped deducting my payments for 10 weeks (over the summer) and I was never informed. Anyway, I don't mind paying it back, and in fact I called the Texas AG just to make sure things were OK, and that was how I found out. How you guys put up with your state government and the religious wack-jobs that are so rampant there baffles me. But I digress.

So on Saturday, while we were at Lowes buying a 10 x 8 shed for our back yard, our Greek friend Sophocles (yes, that is his real name) invited us to his church for an international food festival, so we decided to go to see what was up. But first we had to get out of the store, which took forever. I'll spare you the details, just suffice it to say that 80% of the people who work retail are total morons, and the other 20% must have been on break. It literally took us 2 hours to get the shed we'd purchased.
So next we went to the food festival. There were booths from Lithuania, Russia, Bosnia, Greece, Lebanon, Eritrea, Ethiopia, and a few others. We decided on the Russian booth, and I had borscht for the 1st time. I always assumed it would be kind of gross, but it turns out it was Awesome! We also had a slew of other dishes, including one of my favorite foods, beef stroganoff. It was nice. There were a few groups of children visiting from another Orthodox church doing traditional dances of Greece and Eritrea. Interesting stuff. After the dances, we left. Then it was back to Lowes to get more supplies for the next day.

Today I started the shed, but didn't finish it due to my pissing away about 4 hours playing guitar hero this morning. Couple that with the inevitable return trip to the Lowes-of-no-return for forgotten supplies, and it was 4:00 before work started on the foundation. My friend Juan was helping me, and we got the foundation framed, the floor put down, and the ceiling beams put together. Tomorrow we will finish the rest, and then we can get all of our camping stuff out of Nick's room so he can have a real bedroom when he comes to live with us.

I Rock!

At least that is what Guitar hero tells me. We were trying to find a good movie to go to tonight, but there just weren't any, so we bought guitar hero II instead. It is an enormous amount of fun, and if you haven't played it, you should give it a try.
Thanks, by the way, to everyone for being supportive. I can't wait for Switz this summer, and I'll be sure to post lots while I am there.
In other news, Nick is coming to live with us next school year, so we will be in TX sometime this summer to pick him and his things up. We're tentatively planning a TX road trip, so we'll keep you posted if we'll be anywhere near Austin. We just might, since we are going to try to visit my bro in Ft. Worth and we'll need some Austin-like culture to counter the right-wingedness of the rest of your lovely Lonestar State.

A good day

So we went to see the Decemberists yesterday at the House of Blues in Mandalay Bay. It was a great show. Interestingly, I have had their most recent album, The Crane Wife, for months now, but didn't really care for it on first listening, but after seeing several songs performed last night, I really, really like it. The thing is, these guys represent something familiar to me, and something really inspirational. They are total middle-aged nerds, and not the cool-nerdy type, but real nerdy types. I mean, just look at their drummer John Moen, or their keyboard girl Jenny Conlee ... not exactly pop-icon stereotypes. The thing that was so inspiring is that such normal looking people found each other and created such rich, amazing music. Now I admittedly know little about music, but I do know quite a bit about literature, and their music is extremely literary in the sense of the complexity of their stories. Those amazing stories, put together with such amazing sounds, really kind of blow my mind. If you haven't listened to them, give them a try. Or, you can simply check out some lyrics.
OK, enough about them. Yesterday, before the show while I was at work, our Spanish teacher came up to our table at lunch and congratulated the another teacher on being selected for an exchange program to Switzerland this summer. Now, I had applied for this same program, and I also was the 1st to apply, 1st to interview, and had seniority over all the other applicants.
Since I had heard no word, my mind went wandering, as it has had a tendency to do in the last several months, towards quitting my job. I'll spare you the details, but I've been feeling quite marginalized lately, and this was close to the straw that broke the camel's back. I was trying to spend the rest of my day focused on work, and on the concert that evening, but it was not easy.
I wrote an email to the director when I got back to my room, just asking for a heads-up. She then replied that yes, it was true, the others were going, but that I was going too! She'd apparently been trying to contact me for a few days. It's amazing how a person's attitude can do such a huge 180 as mine did at 2:00 on Friday afternoon.
So, I am going to be spending about a month in Switzerland this summer. If I don't return, look for me to be operating ski-lifts somewhere in the Alps in Warren Miller's next film!
I must note here that my wife is the coolest wife in the world for not putting up a fuss about my going. I just had to promise not to visit Italy while in Europe, as she want to do that with me some day. I love you Erin!

Fictionalized, but just barely

So I decided to start putting some of my stories down in print again, like I've been saying I'm going to for years now. Bobbing for Chicken was my last, and that was about 2 years ago. So anyway, most of you know Tim, and have heard some, or even all of the stories, but I still want to put them down, not only for memory's sake, but because they afford me an opportunity to practice writing fiction, as I am half-creating dialogue, setting, etc. I spoke with Tim tonight because I couldn't remember his girl at the time's name, and he ok'd it for me to embellish a little if I needed to. Of course, if you know Tim, you know that these stories are about 90% accurate in the details, and 100% true in spirit. So without further adeiu, I present:

A Stone’s Throw

Part 1

I’m sitting on the couch. A high-pitched alarm brings the conversation to a sudden stop. The Lion King is playing on the television, but no one is watching. Instead, everyone’s eyes are on the kitchen, where billowing clouds of white smoke are rising like mushroom clouds from an enormous pan on the stove. Attached to the pan is Tim, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He’s wearing no shirt, a tall chef’s hat, and blue jeans. The cuffs pile up around his ankles.
“Damn dude, I think I burnt these bitches.” He looks at us as though the idea were unthinkable, as though he were in shock.
I get up off the couch and squeeze past Tim’s latest fuck, an under-aged girl named Tara. Stepping over our friend Shannon, who is sitting with his back against the wall, I come up over Tim’s shoulder.
The steaks are indeed burned. Looking into the pan, I see what used to be 2 decent-sized T-bones, their immolated remains laying there like a couple of B-rate movie corpses, still very steak-shaped, but black and crispy, and still giving off little plumes of smoke. One of them suddenly pops, like a campfire log living out its last moments, and makes him jump.
“Gives new meaning to the word blackened,” I joke, but no one laughs. “Just throw them away. You’re filling the house with smoke.” Tim looks from the pan to me and back again.
“Fuck it,” he says, and he carries the pan out of the kitchen, through the living room and to the front door, which Shannon just opened to let out some of the smoke. He leans over the edge of the balcony, like he’s looking for just the right spot, then he heaves the two leathery steaks over the edge.
“Nice toss,” I say, as I look down upon them. He managed to clear the little courtyard and tossed them all the way to the alley. You could see them plainly, the last of their heat having melted little recesses in the ice about 2 feet from the dumpster.
“There a alley cat that lives down there. He’ll eat ‘em,” Tim says, not wanting to go down the icy steps and into the cold to actually pick them up and dispose of them properly.
“Or some fuckin’ homeless guy,” says Shannon, who is now standing with us, looking down on the steaks. He lights a cigarette, and Tim joins in by lighting his as well. They stand on the balcony finishing their smokes, occasionally glancing at the steak as though they expect something exciting to happen. I go back inside and join Tara on the couch.

Jesus...

... is what reading the following blog post made me think.
Click here.

Fuck-all Ugly

Erin's sister arrived on Wednesday and is visiting for two weeks, and it it's nice to have her around. I like Erin's family alot, and Deidre is good company. AND she cooks good snacks and made me coffee this morning while I was getting ready for work. I think we'll keep her around for awhile.
Oh, by the way, the title of this post is NOT about her (I know at least one of my smart-ass readers was fabricating a connection) but about a line from the movie Hot Fuzz, which was made by the guy who did Shaun of the Dead, which we saw tonight. It was very funny,so long as you like Brit humor. Go see it if you want to have a laugh and hear some especially witty dialogue.

Hmmm. What else?
Well, two of our 4th grade girls, in honor of Earth Day , organized a "clean up the wash day" by convincing our headmaster that they wouldn't get mugged, stuck by needles, bitten by rattlesnakes or otherwise damaged while scouring the wash outside our school for trash. It really was all their idea, though I really didn't think there'd be enough trash to keep 58 kids busy for 45 minutes, and I doubted that most of them would actually be willing to pick up anything even slightly unsanitary.
How much more wrong could I have been?
In the first place, although I look out on our wash every day, I haven't really seen it until today. Years ago I used to cart my class down for water samples for science class (cool little microscopic critters in there!) but I haven't been down there in a long time. There was so much trash there that I was literally amazed. Honest. I was just dumbfounded that I could look out there every day and not register that there must be literally tons of visible trash in the mile or so I can see from my classroom window. There definitely was NOT going to be a shortage of trash to go around.
Then, to my surprise, these kids, who by any and all acounts live very sheltered and very pampered lives, were not afraid to go after any bit of trash they saw. Dozens of them actually crawled into the center of these thorny desert bushes to get at pieces of trash. They also picked up all kinds of icky things, from bags of doog poop to dirty undergarments (while wearing gloves of course) along with other things stranger still. Among the weirdest were a plastic model lighthouse, a large porcelain figurine of a girl looking into a well, a well-preserved tortoise shell with bones still inside (the odd thing about it is that this species isn't found in Nevada!), a heavy duty HD motorcycle boot, a Sega dreamcast controller, and a faded Chinese newspaper (one of my Chinese speaking students identified it as such.) I was horrified that there was so much refuse right there in front of me, and I somehow missed it . I think it becomes second nature not to see it, because dwelling on the magnitude of the problem (or even acknowledging it) for any length of time makes you feel like we're totally and completely fucked as a species. Keep in mind that this trash all came from a wash, a good 1/4 mile from the road, and with no vehicle access. Fascinating, and scary.
All in all, we collected 32 large bags of trash. We only covered the wash from the road out to the boundary of our school property, a distance of maybe a sixth mile, and we didn't even really put a dent in the total amount of trash in that limited area, but still... I was proud of (and surprised by!) my students, and 32 bags is a good start.

Poems no less... Poems, everybody! The laddie reckons himself a poet!

As I was reading Elaine's poem blog last night, it put me in the mood for some Pink Floyd. So I did something I've been meaning to do for a while, which is Download some complete Floyd albums off a BT site. I got Works and Ummagumma and Meddle, all albums I haven't listened to in years, but which I have always been in awe of. I used to listen to them and write poems. I'm envious of the kind of talent that can convey such stark and naked emotion so powerfully.
It got me to thinking about myself as a writer. And what I've been ignoring for many years now is that I write poetry. Or at least, I used to.
Before the fire I wrote poetry almost exclusively. Well, poetry and letters. But the letters were how I worked through emotions, and the poetry was how I expressed myself. Prose, short stories, etc. I never really considered because they weren't me. Like Brannon put in my comments, I wrote for me, and because I wanted them read. But once I got into college and started to learn the technique, history, etc. of good writing, I started to write less. In fact, I remember the first time I got a critical analysis of my writing: my girlfriend at the time basically shredded something I'd written, and that had never happened before. I didn't realize it until years later, but from that moment on I started to express myself less, though it wasn't until after the fire that my creativity really went dead.
Then, sometime after I met Erin, I began to remember how much I used to write, and that it gave me a lot of pleasure. So I bought a journal, and wrote a few pages.
Now, years later, my shelves have maybe a half-dozen journals on them, mostly empty, only the occasional anecdote or story written.
In one, I went almost 2 years between entries.
So while reading Elaine's blog I had an epiphany: I have not written freely in over a decade. And while I do enjoy writing arguments, as in my letters to Scott Fyfe, and I enjoy reasoning out my beliefs on paper, as I used to do in my letters and have done recently, and I enjoy trying to write stories as well, none of it has ever done close to the same thing for me that spending all those countless hours of my young adult life writing poems in my notebook did.
I remember the little house on 35th and Elgin, when my only possessions besides my clothes were a used recliner, an egg-crate on which I slept, and a $5 eight-track turntable stereo combo I bought at the flea market. I'd sit in my chair, turn the music up, and write. I'd go to work the graveyard shift at Friends, and after I got my work done around 1, I'd turn the stereo up high, steal a pack of Benson and Hedges Ultra-light 100's, and write. I made the decision to go to college one night at that store while writing a poem about one of my customers. I wrote on old album covers while sitting on the floor after my chair was stolen; I wrote on the beat-up coffee tables at Midtown; I wrote in my lap in the front seat of my car at the rappelling tower... I just never stopped. Until I did.
And now this little revelation's got my attention. So it does.

Guinea Pigs

Forgive me, but you, my devoted 3 or 4 readers, were unknowing guinea pigs in a little experiment I wanted to perform. I got the idea from reading Brannon's most recent blog entry about his music. Let me explain...
OK, so we all pretty much have aspirations to write, and we want feedback that will help us become better. I was sitting here looking over my oldest posts, and at the comments there, and they didn't really tell me anything about my writing. As I thought about how B submitted his song to a site where strangers voted on it, it occured to me that it is very difficult for most people to objectively criticize the artistic endeavors of people they like. One of my character flaws, I believe, is that often in the past I have been brutally honest with the people I care about, often when it was support or loyalty, and not honesty, that they really needed. I know that most, if not all of you can probably recount many times where I said something that came off as insensitive or callous, and I want to thank you all now for still sticking by me in spite of this. Anyway, I bring up my own shortcoming in this regard because it contrasts a common trait in close friends which is exemplified by comments on my most recent (but now deleted) post. What I found was basically what I expected; since we are all close and care for one another, we see each other's work through rose-colored glasses. I appreciate that you sent the supportive comments you did on my story, and noticed that the "critical" comments were very non-harsh. This, though, brings me to the point of my experiment: Beauty (or quality, as the case happens to be) is in the eye of the beholder... Let me explain.
Now, in reality, the story I posted was not my own. It was a section of what is regarded among serious Science Fiction fans as the worst-written story ever put to paper. If you are interested, the story is called The Eye of Argon and it is a cult-classic. In fact, for years people have made a game of trying to see who can read the most out-loud without cracking up. I highly suggest you check it out in its entirety; it will entertain you. Anyway, sorry for fooling you, and I promise I will only write my own words from here on out; but I thank you all for your charity and I hope that whatever everyone is working on, that they will post it to anonymous sites where you can get unbiased opinions. I really do believe that your stories and music are quite good, but I am as biased towards you as you are towards me. :)

Bad Bunny

Cinnamon, or Buttercup as Erin's class has named her, is a bunny which Erin and I share joint custody of; two weeks on and two weeks off. I've never owned a bunny before, but the general consensus is that Cinnamon (Buttercup) is quite unusual in her friendliness and laid-backed-ness. However, I think someone may have secretly supplied her with PCP this week, as she's been acting pretty strange. First, when I let her out of her cage, instead of exploring the room as she usually does, she immediately started running circles around my feet. Then, when I picked her up, she started obsessively licking my arm. After she bored of that, she nibbled on my tie, then started chewing on my shirt buttons. I think she's gone crazy. Oh, and she looks so much like a loaf of bread, that Erin and I couldn't resist doing this:


I brought her home today, for Erin's 2 weeks starts tomorrow. Maybe a little time in the ghetto will straighten that bunny out, and she won't be quite so weird when she returns.

Something cool

I am totally happy for Erin right now, but I didn't get such good news this week. The promise of promotion that I've been hearing for 6 years now has been put off again. Frankly, I am getting a bit tired of it. I won't go into it, as I've spent enough time in my head mulling it over already, and I've come to the conclusion that I am probably going to have to go back to school on order to eventually do what I want to do, which is curriculum design. Actually, I look forward to it, and the idea of getting a PhD. is attractive to me for many reasons, but I am still a bit peeved at the way things are shaping up at work; You know what? I changed my mind; I WILL bore you with the details... just not now.

So the title of this particular post is "Something Cool" and I guess I should try to stay on topic, right?

The cool something that happened to day happened after a particularly long day; for reasons beyond my control I lost both my preps today, AND I had to eat lunch in my class, which meant I was with my kids non-stop from 8 to 1:45. I love the kids, but they can drive a guy crazy, so by 1:45 I was totally ready to be rid of them for a bit. They had to stay in the room for PE too, but I was finally able to leave. I went down the street to get a cup of coffee, and when I got back w/ 20 minutes to spare I couldn't go to my room because they were still having PE there (it was raining today) so I just cranked up the music in my van and laid down for a 15 minute cat-nap in the back (it's nice to have a queen-sized bed in your car!) As I lay there listening to "Cult of Personality", mulling over the career news and the day's lessons, I realized that in spite of the lack of enthusiasm from my superiors, what I am doing with my reading and writing instruction is truly excellent, and if they can't appreciate it, that's ok. Not good or fine, but OK. I started thinking about grad school, about possibly starting my own business and spreading to other schools w/ my Science Club after school program, etc. Hell, even thoughts of quitting altogether drifted in and out, though those disappeared as soon as the thought of child support came up... but anyway, the point is I came to feel relatively certain that something big and different is going to happen next school year. What I don't yet know, but something.
So I went back into class at 2:30 feeling a bit less disgruntled. I got rid of my kids, and as I was going back to my class to clean up, another teacher stopped me and asked me if I could rescue a hummingbird that had flown into her room. She has vaulted ceilings, and it was way up out of reach, so I went and snagged one of those butterfly barrels that you use to raise monarchs from one of the kindergarten teachers. I went back to the bird, who was still out of reach, so I cleared all the lookers out of the room and dimmed the lights, hoping that the bird would come down and towards the light from the open door once it thought it was alone. After a few minutes, I saw it flutter down to the counter where it could finally stop beating its wings, and I slowly and quietly slipped into the room w/ the butterfly barrel. I held it over my head and a little in front, and when I got close, the bird flew up and right into it. It was awesome! He was tired, so he perched on the side with his little claws grabbing through the netting. I've seen lots of hummingbirds in my time, and some great photos too, but never up close in person like this. I carried him in the tube outside to show the interested kids, then down to show the K teacher to whom the tube belonged, and then decided it was about time to set him free. I wasn't sure if they had really wide ranges or what, so I figured that setting him free close to the door he accidentally flew in would be best. I walked back to the door of the classroom he was trapped in, then I opened the net tube. He didn't come out. So I reached in and got him to sit in my hand. When I took him out, he just sat there on my palm for several seconds. Long enough for me to really get a good look at him. I really can't describe him well, because he was so much more delicate and small than I'd have guessed, even knowing in my head how small and delicate they are. He was sitting directly in the middle of my palm, on the soft part, yet I couldn't hardly feel his weight. He must have weighed no more than a goose feather, he was so light. His legs were maybe 3/4 of an inch long, and as thin as the fine mechanical-pencil lead my kids regularly leave on their desk rails. Each of his toes was so small I can think of nothing to compare them to. All in all he was about the same volume as a cicada, only most of that volume was feathers, so he weighed much much less. Not at all sturdy like something with an exoskeleton. As I held him, he had his wings extended out and down, not folded to his sides like most birds. His wings were sharp little v's coming out of his sides, and were short like the wings of a fighter plane. His beak was amazing too; almost as long as his body, a curved horn maybe a millimeter at it's widest point, and with a whitish tongue I had seen him stick out when he was still inside the tube holding onto the netting.
His feathers were green, except around his throat, where they were the brightest metallic purple you can imagine. I looked at him, able to take all this in, and then he cocked his head, turned his beak towards my face, and gently buzzed his wings and took off slowy, moving and sounding for all the world just like those jumping-jacks you set off on the 4th of July which sometimes take flight.
Anyway, I watched him rise and move towards the trees in the wash, where he disappeared. I realized that that might be the only opportunity I'll ever have in my life to hold and observe a wild hummingbird. And that is something cool.

Poverty

I had today off, so I decided to take care of several odds n' ends that need tending to... making lesson plans for the next few weeks, getting a smog check, running by the House of Blues to purchase Decemberists tickets, getting a haircut, etc. In the course of the day I had to run downtown to the Dept. of Wildlife offices to pick up a trunk of animal pelts for my Science Clubs this week, and on my way home I decided to take surface streets in order to avoid the cluster-fuck that is the I-15. Anyway, as I was going home, I drove east on Vegas Drive, towards H street. As I progressed east, the homes and businesses began to look more and more forlorn, boarded or barred windows, trash in the parking lots and along the chainlink fences... nothing I hadn't seen on a regular basis in our own neighborhood. Nothing unusual yet... In fact, we live just inside the redevelopment district, in a statistically impoverished area. I occasionally joke about us living in poverty, and my having come through college impoverished (statistically speaking) but I hadn't realized until today how far from true poverty I've gotten in the last several years, and that by comparison, even when I was eathing nothing but oatmeal and day-old discount bread, I was never truly impoverished. Within the gap between having little enough money to be identified as in being poverty and the state of existence of those I saw next is as wide as the gap between The president's Elite and where I am today.
My realization came, I think, as the culmination of three things:
1. I've been reading the comic series Transmetropolitan, and in the recent few I've read the story has boiled down to the fact that politicians either exploit the poor or basically piss on them, while the voters, who are drifting farther towards the impoverished side of the cultural gap, are topo stupefied by the pop consumer media culture to even notice, or to give a shit. It's a cool series, but provokes serious thinking, at least sometimes.
2. I read an article on Yahoo news about hate crimes against the homeless, and how they have increased by like 60% in the last few years, and how most are perpetrated by teens. It went on to discuss how the children who commit these crimes have these latent prejudices against the poor and the weak. Scary stuff.
3. As I continued my drive home, I came upon the worst example of homelessness and destitution that I have personally ever laid eyes on. Worse than downtown LA, worse than downtown Denver... simply worse. As I approached Main Street and Owens, for several blocks the scene began to resemble the footage we sometimes see on TV of Third World nations. Images of Darfur, of El Salvador from the 80's, Kosovo, etc. I am not being overly dramatic here either. There were suddenly people on the streets, more and more as I continued on. They were all dirty, dressed in rags, sitting, standing, some with bags and some with stolen shopping carts... no signs of commerce anywhere, just closed buildings, trash everywhere, chainlink fences surrounding boarded up, run-down buildings... As I went along, more and more people began to appear, by dozens and dozens; sleeping, sitting, hiding from the sun under warped pieces of cardboard if the were lucky, in the slivers of shadow from fenceposts if they weren't. I probably saw no less than 100 people, milling about, walking across the streets, sitting or laying on the sidewalks, some even literally in the gutter, trash everywhere... most of them old, many of them black, fewer white...
I turned right, towards the freeway, a little more shaken than I realized until I had left that scene behind me. I'm not sure exactly how I feel, just a little fucked up that I know in a few hours or days at most, I'll conveniently forget that scene though it will continue to fester, a very real sickness in our social body, and one which will make the whole of our society ill in the end unless tended to.
Too gloomy. I have to go get my hair cut.

Spring Break recap

OK, so we're back from our trip. Aside from smashing the front of the van, the trip was nice. I hiked 3 miles up the Lower Calf Creek Falls trail, which is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been (and how odd that while looking for a descriptive link, this image should pop up; I wish I'd seen that while I was there!) While Erin stayed in the van, napping or reading or something, I was stalking the skittish brown trout that live in this crystal clear stream. This pic shows a brown trout I caught there on a previous trip; notice how shallow and clear the water is? Anyway, since we've done this hike many times, and she knows how I get when I fish, she opted out, leaving me on my own.

That night we parked the van in Capitol Reef Nat'l Park, just down from the Fruita Schoolhouse on the Fremont river. We did a shortish dayhike to see the Hickman natural bridge, then headed back to the van and on our way to Colorado.

We spent Tuesday lazing around, acclimating before skiing on Wednesday. I caught a fat Rainbow Trout from the Snake River in Keystone, but the river was still half iced over and he was so sluggish it was like hauling in a log, so I quit after I caught him. We went back to my sister's place, then saw 300 (read Gates of Fire and you'll feel quite cheated by the movie, I assure you!) before going to bed.

Wednesday we went skiing. The slushy Spring snow was a little difficult at times, but with views like this, it isn't much to complain about. In fact, I had a fantastic time while Erin was in Ski School, though my knees paid for it by the end of the day. We were both whipped, and got a great night's sleep.

Thursday was going to be another ski day, but we were both worn out, and so we just laid around, went to a BBQ, got blizzarded on, and wound up leaving at around 6. One thing I just love about the mountains is how quickly the weather changes... when we left, it was pleasant and sunny, if not quite warm. We slept at a rest stop in the middle of Utah that night.

Friday we spent mostly driving, stopping in St George, only 2 hours from home, because we wanted to go rock climbing on Saturday. We went to see Grindhouse that evening, very entertaining, then drove to Gunlock reservoir to sleep for the night.

This morning we climbed at Crawdad Canyon, maybe the coolest place on earth. It is a basalt gorge with hundreds of bolted climbing routes. Down the middle of the gorge runs the Santa Clara river, a large creek with a decent population of trout. In the center of the canyon is the Veyo Pool, a natural thermal spring that fills up a nice sized pool with hot mineral water. Some of the climbs can be belayed from patio around the pool. I would be hard pressed to come up with a better place to live in my fantasies. Click on the words "rock climbing park" on their website to cycle through some pics. We knocked out a few climbs, then headed into St George for some BubbleTea, then came home.

However, I am a bit tired and just realized I've been rambling on... if you've made it this far, congratulations. :)

Pffft. Nay-sayers....

Some dear old friends of mine doubt the reality of my last post, so I offer this pic as proof.

I would also like to point out the continuation of my personal life-long trend of having the worst things happen in the best way. Here’s a list of some past examples:


1. Our dog bit and tore a hot-tamale-sized chunk off the lower lip of a new acquaintance of ours… but it happened to be Bill, probably the only guy in the world cool enough to laugh off a permanent facial scar and not be phased by it; no law suit, no nothing.
2. Oil plug falls out of Samurai 100 miles south of the border while I have none other than drama-queen Amy in my car; miraculously, engine stops knocking until about 8 miles this side of the border, when the engine explodes; Long story short, we get a 200 mile tow to SD, and get a new engine put in in time to return from Spring Break with about 8 hours to spare before school begins again.
3. Alternator seizes up ½ between Clayton and Raton New Mexico; I drive 40 miles to Clayton, only to find they have no western union; charge up battery, drive 100 miles to Raton, where guy at gas station happens to be in AA, sees my key tag, and tells me he has some “Mexican cousins” who can install a new alternator for me for only $15. He then drives me to W. union, then to Napa to buy alternator, and day is saved.
4. Blah blah blah. If you know me, you fill in the blanks; there are many to fill.

So ANYWAY, yes, we hit a deer, smashed the shit out of our van (whom we’ve christened “Bango Skank” because she’s a bad-ass) and it could have been a disaster, but now I’m sitting in my Sis’s living room in Colorado, going skiing or fishing tomorrow and the next day, and carrying on with only about ¾ a day lost. AND I caught 3 browns yesterday, as well as hiked 6 miles of beautiful canyon yesterday and 2 today before hitting the road again. Life’s good.

Charity is alive and well in Small-town Utah

So Erin and I are on our way to Colorado for Spring Break. We decided to drive through Southern Utah, one of our favorite places in the world, to do a little hiking and fishing. Late last night, as Erin was sleeping in the back of the van, a deer leaped out in front of us and we hit it doing about 60 mph. We killed the thing, and smashed up the front of the van. We don't have full coverage insurance, and we are about 100 miles from the closest town with a commercial garage. So anyway, after we hit it, we are looking over the front of the van when a fellow traveller pulls up behind us and offers to follow us into "town" a few miles farther down the road. "Town" is Mt. Caramel Junction, a fork in the road with a gas station, motel and, oddly, a golf course. We are just east of Zion National Park, a mountain range between us and St. George, the closest city of any size. We slept in the van last night, poorly, not quite sure what the hell to do. I am not sure how badly the van is damaged. It could be all cosmetic; the grill and headlights are smashed... or it could be more serious. It is making a loud "thwacking" sound when the engine is on, which could be serious trouble, or just some debris caught in the fan. I don't want to drive it, and I'm sure a tow-job to St. George will be at minimum several hundred dollars.
So we decide to have breakfast in the golfcourse cafe, and to figure out what to do next. A man, Ed, comes to pour our coffee and asks us how we're doing, and I tell him not good; I tell him about the deer, and he says he'll get a list of numbers for us. After breakfast, he tells us he made some calls, and he couldn't get hold of the guys he had in mind, but another friend of his, who has no phone, may be home. He sends one of his employees to the guy's house to look for him, and he tells us, don't worry, he'll get someone to fix the van for us. In the mean time, Ed says, "Do you like caves? There's one down the way that is fun to explore, and there's a Samurai with the keys in it out front and you should take it to explore the cave while my friend works on your van." Let me repeat that; this guy, Ed, has found a mechanic for us, on SUNDAY, and has offered us his 4x4 with directions to a cave to explore while we wait for his frien to fix our van for us. All of this Ed just offers up, without our asking. It is simply amazing. Then, THEN he gives us two of the best mochas we've ever had, free of charge, and just tells us to "take care of his friend." Now that, my friends, is an example of humanity at its finest. That is the reason I want to move back to a small town. Ed is an inspiration, and I want to remember his kindness and pass it on in kind at the first opportunity.

Science

I just love Science. All Science. The human mind's capacity for understanding the universe based solely on the mortally observable is one of the things that comforts me when I am feeling fucked up. Lots of people turn to religion, and I try not to hold it against them, but for me, inspiration comes in the form of the human beings who figure shit out. And also from the ones who do things with that knowledge.

So I'm getting on the net today, and since I have a my.yahoo homepage little yahoo headlines are the 1st thing I see. Usually they don't catch my eye, but today one did. It said "Architect claims to solve pyramid secret" so I clicked the link. It required a plug-in D/L, but I was curious enough to follow through. I'm glad I did. If you click that link, you will see something pretty frickin' amazing. No miracles, no divine intervention, just serious use of the human intellect, both in the scientist who puts forth his theory and in the Egyptians who did the incredible things they did.

Anyway, I am currently reading a book by Bill Bryson called A Short History of Nearly Everything which is all about scientific discovery, etc. If you like Carl Sagan, and even if you don't, you should read this book. Bryson isn't a scientist like Segan, but he's a brilliant and entertaining writer. Erin has posted about him on her blog before, so I'll let him go for now. Just wanted to point out that he's a guy like me; in awe of the human capacity for using reason and observation to keep figuring out what was once thought impossible.

I could literally go on for pages and pages about things Scientific that make me glad I'm alive, but I won't. I'll just leave you with "Flickr." I hadn't heard of Flickr before, but while I was searching around for Science Club ideas, I came across this link. I'm addicted to it; check it out and let me know what you think!

G's hair

I have a great class this year. I like them a lot, and I am going to miss them when they are gone. One girl in particular sticks out at the moment. We'll call her G. Now G's mom is hot, and G herself is one of the most beautiful kids I've ever seen. It's easy to see that the apple didn't fall far from the tree. I am not sure what ethnicity they are, but G is brown skinned and has the greatest hair you ever saw. It's just thick and wild and wavy. Tons of hair. The kind of hair that is just going to kill the cool boys in a few years, and will probably freak out the rest. and she's not just a beautiful kid, she's adventurous too.

So every year the kids in my class to varying degrees get crushes on or idolize me. It's a natural thing in kids this age, especially since I am, for most of them, the 1st real adult male presence in their lives outside of thier fathers. Some, like G, have fathers that either disappeared or are around but disengaged. For these kids, I am something of a freakshow. One of my boys told me the other day that he could never imagine his dad getting out to go skiing, or crawling around on the floor playing with a bunny. A girl in my class told me that her mom couldn't understand why I was teaching comic books in reading, and simply didn't believe that I read them on my own. I amaze my kids daily, which is nice and is one of the perks of the job.

So anyway, G is a talker. Not an uppity one, but just one who never stops. She giggles and giggles w/ her best friend, and usually, it is me they giggle at. I amuse her, I guess. And she amuses me too. For example, she's pretty much a girly-girl. I don't usually care for girly-girls all that much, but G is different; she surprises me alot. Like the other day, I was eating goat-cheese during snack. Another of my girls, C, says, just for the sake of hearing her own voice, "I like cheese!" about 20 times a day. So I offered her some. Of course, she declined. But G asked what it was, and when I told her, her eyes got as big as saucers. Then she tried some. I mean really tried it. Not like most kids who will "try" it by putting a dab on their tongue and then spitting all over the place, having decided ahead of time that it would be gross. G actually gave it a real honest go... and she liked it. Itwas an impressive act for a 10 yr. old girl who at first glance definitely doesn't appear to be one who would willingly step outside of the mold.

Her adventurousness applies to music as well. Actually, lots of my kids over the years have liked my music. This year, I've been pretty much stuck on the Decemberists and Death Cab For Cutie, so we listen to them alot. But I've also been listening to Amadou and Miriam, a wonderful duet from Mali, as well as some other quite unconventional things. Usually, I listen to music while they AR read and I correct papers. I've always suspected that they don't really listen purposefully, and in most cases, they don't. However, it turns out that this year that isn't the case. Many of them actually really like several songs on my regular playlists, so I have had to take some time to tell them they lyrics, and the stories behind the songs or the bands. For example, The Mariner's Revenge is an awesome epic tale by the decemberists, and the kids just ate up the story. Eli the Barrowboy is another favorite, as is Politic amagni. Heavy topics for 10 yr. olds, but they are an unusually hip bunch. Which brings me back to G. Most years a few kids will kind of copy me, taking up the things I like and then forgetting them when I am no longer a presence in their lives. However, I really think I will have a longer lasting impression on G. Yesterday, when I was loading her into the car at the end of the day, her mom tells me that G just HAS to try everything I like; She's downloading songs i like, she's reading all the books on my bookshelf, she is even trying foods I've mentioned I like. Then mom says, boy it sure is obvious G is missing a father figure, and how would I like to take her for a weekend? All of this was joking and friendly, of course (it sounds a little less so in print) but I think she embarrassed G a little, though not on purpose. However, I realized her mom was right; I AM very much G's father figure, at least at the moment. It made me aware again of just how much impact I have on these kids beyond just the teaching of academics, and reminded me to remember how important it is to treat them with both love and respect.

If there's one thing I know from my years of teaching it's that most kids get little true respect from the adults in their lives; often their interests, questions, problems and passions are minimized, or worse, belittled. As adults we all are guilty to some degree of such terrible mistakes. But I for one make every effort not to fall into that grown-up trap. So anyway, I find out that G's mom's boyfriend has been an on-and-off thing for the last several years. Currently they are apparently quite off, and I just hate to think about what that is doing to G's sense of self esteem, especially as a girl. Some boy had made a comment the week before about G's mom being fat (she isn't) and about how her mom's hair was "crazy." So G came in to class the other day with her hair ironed. It didn't look bad, but it just wasn't her. How am I supposed to deal with that? Ignore it? Well, what I did was ask her if she ironed it, and when she said yes, I told her it looked good. But then I told her that one of the things I always admired about her was her thick rich hair, and that it looked great that way too. I'd hate to think she's ironing her hair because of some dipstick offhand comment by a boy who has the hots for her and her mom.

One of the things I don't like about teaching is that I get to see these kids a few years after they leave me, and many of the girls have gone mostly dull and shallow and material in their pursuit of boys and belonging. If you'd asked me at the beginning of the year, before I'd gotten to know her, if I thought G would wind up one of them, I would have probably said yes. However, I would have been wrong.