blah...blah...blahg!

Amateur Hour - Existentialism

2009-03-29T16:10:00.000-07:00

Last year Sherry and I were engaged in one of those 'heavy' discussions. Working off of the 'brain in a vat' theory popularized by movies such as Vanilla Sky or The Matrix, you are likely already familiar with this concept through pop culture.

I asked her, "how do you know that you exist"? After some conversation and a few ideas we bounced around, she concluded that because she feels pain, she exists. I reached over and pinched her, saying something silly like "there, now we know you exist!" Her retaliatory slug confirmed both our existences. Although there are some gaps in that construct (is pain part of the dream?) we finally agreed that it seemed like a reasonable conclusion.

Fast forward to today. I've been reading in philosophy, and especially existentialism. I'll admit that I am an amateur, and even a gross amateur in the realm of philosphy. However, the more I study the more I'm intrigued by the not only the depth of the intellectual abyss to which existentialism plummets, but also the breadth of philosophical proponents who have shaped the world we live in. The breadth includes Christian influences such as Kierkagaard (who some call the father of existentialism), Nietzsche, an anti-Christian, Sartre and Camus who were atheists.

One thing the various views do have in common is the search and journey for true self and personal meaning in life. From there though the views wildly diverge.

Consider Kierkagaard's definition of self (from The Sickness Unto Death, Chapter A):

A human being is spirit. But what is spirit? Spirit is the self. But what is the self? The self is a relation that relates itself to itself or is the relation's relating itself to itself in the relation; the self is not the relation but is the relation's relating itself to itself.

I love thinking about stuff like this. And that is why the title of this blog is "blah blah blahg! As I continue to imbibe in the fountain of thought, I'm sure this is not the last time I'll write about philosophy. And I'm also sure this is not the last time Sherry, Claudia, Reed, et al will remark "blah blah blah"

The truth, and nothing but the truth.

2009-03-24T07:58:00.000-07:00

I'm in a cranky mood.

Sure, you are probably a recipient of one. Or more than one. Sure, it's possible that you have even forwarded one yourself. And maybe; in the dark corners of the recesses of an evil mind in the middle of the night - maybe you've even made one up!

Yes, I'm talking about the tear-invoking, tragedy mirroring, goose-bump engendering emails describing a heinous evil, impending disaster or a plea for assistance in some way. You are compelled to forward it to every single person you know so that they too may escape calamity or send money to somewhere or do something out of compassion. Sometimes the communication is just too good to be true, or something that plays on our worst fears or greatest joys that MUST be sent on so that you can sleep at night. Yeah, I'm on a rant and you can probably discern that I was just sent one.

You know what I'm talking about don't you? One of the greatest parodies of these kinds of email is the sad story of the Burlap Boy:

I am a very sick boy little boy. My mother is typing this for me, because I can't. She is crying. "Don't cry, Mommy!" Mommy is always sad, but she says it's not my fault. I asked her if it was God's fault, but she didn't answer, and only started crying harder, so I don't ask her that anymore.

The reason she is so sad is that I'm so sick. I was born without a body. It doesn't hurt, except when I go to sleep. The doctors gave me an artificial body. My body is a burlap bag filled with leaves. The doctors said that was the best they could do on account of us having no money or insurance. I would like to have a body transplant, but we need more money.

Mommy doesn't work because she said employers don't hire crying people. I said, "Don't cry, Mommy," and she hugged my burlap body. Mommy always gives me hugs, even though she's allergic to burlap, and it chafes her real bad. I hope you will help me. You can help me if you forward this letter.

Dr. Johansen said if you forward this letter then Bill Gates would team up with AOL and do a survey with NASA. Then the astronauts will collect prayers from school children all over America and take them up to space so that the angels can hear them better. Then they will go to the Pope, and he will take up a collection in church and send the money to the doctors. The doctors could help me better then. Maybe one day I will be able to play baseball. Or maybe just use my lungs and heart, when the doctors make them. The doctors said that every time you forward this letter, the astronauts could take another prayer to the angels.
Please help me. Mommy is so sad, and I want a body. I don't want my leaves to rot before I turn 10.

If you don't forward this letter, that's OK. Mommy says you're a mean heartless person who doesn't care about a poor little boy with only a head. What kind of heartless person are you that you can't take a couple of measly minutes to forward this to all your friends so that they can feel guilt and shame for the rest of their day, and then maybe help a poor, bodiless nine-year-old boy?

Please help me. This is not very much fun. I try to be happy but it's hard. I wish I had a puppy. I wish I could hold a puppy. Thank You.

Billy 'Smiles' Evans

I'm thankful though that we have a place to turn to so that the email message can be verified. Where do you turn to when you need the truth? Snopes of course!

But, who Snopes Snopes?

Reminiscing

2009-03-18T08:59:00.001-07:00

I'll admit it. I'm a product of the 60's & 70's, having spent my teen years in long hair, bell bottom Levis and waffle stompers. If you don't know what waffle stompers are then you can skip this entry. Let's take an illustrated walk through the past, shall we?

The first family of TV:

It won't take long before you recognize and make the connection to this group. I think Marcia was my first crush, followed by Susan Dey from the Partridge Family. To this day they still write me letters and compete for my attention. Being happily married I politely decline each advance.

Can you name this young lady?

How can you write about the 70's and not make a reference about Farah Fawcett? There's something about this picture that is noteworthy. And not her hair or bottom. Check out those Nikes! Those babies started an empire.

All the news that is fit to print:

The teenagers! Yikes - what they are really like! There are several items in this picture that I find interesting. The forty cents price for one. The anonymity of the poor guy driving the bike. Who was he? Where did he end up? How did he get to be the driver? The specter of existentialism looms above his head. Rember Brian Dunkelman?

Of course you don't. He stated his departure from American Idol was due to the terrible way they treated the young contestants on the show, staging the fights between the judges and reshooting contestants with producer-provided, glycerin tears in their eyes. He went on to say that leaving the show was a mistake. Shaaaah! I bet he wishes he was Ryan Seacrest now. Anyway, enough about the anonymous dude.

The young lady in this picture is named Jan Smith (Karin Jan Smithers). This cover picture actually launched her career, creating bit parts in Murder, She Wrote, The Fall Guy, The Love Boat, Mike Hammer and most famously 86 episodes in WKRP in Cincinnati.

On 7 September of 2007 her car broke down. Alledgely and according to reports, she was driving naked and when exiting her vehicle for assistance was struck and injured. I suppose the proverb we would learn from this experience is not to drive in our birthday suits.

Finally, and the thing I find hilarious is that Jan's head covers the headline of the article that now causes it to read "New eek". When you think of teenagers, do you think "eek"?

Lunchtime!

Wow. This brings back memories. Took a bit of time to find this picture. When I was a kid, we had metal lunchboxes to tote our food around in. I remember having several lunch boxes as they would get battered and bent, but this one sticks out in my mind. Yes, I was the proud owner of a lunchbox just like this, I'm guessing it was about 1965-67.

It came with a Campbell's Tomato Soup thermos. I haven't bothered to check the timing but as I recall it was an Andy Warhol endorsed product or somehow tied to him. Even then I was cool, and thought this was cool. I wish I still had that lunchbox today. It wouldn't have been in as good as condition as this one, but can you guess how much this is being sold for on eBay? $450.00!

Trivia: metal lunch boxes were eventually retired, allegedly due to the increased us as a schoolyard weapon. The last metal lunch box was made in 1985, and appropriately enough it was a Rambo lunch box - ready to beat someone up with.

Ah, for simpler times...

Dream Diary

2009-03-12T19:18:00.000-07:00

I dreamt that Sherry and I were guests at a big barbecue hosted by Dog the Bounty Hunter. It was an enormous affair, replete with many guests arriving in hot rods and choppers.

I had just bought a chopped and channeled fenderless 1932 Deuce Coupe, with a Chevy 427 big block fed by an 850 CFM double pumper, dual feed Holley carburetor.

Why is this level of detail significant? I dream in color, and the air cleaner was painted candy apple red like the rest of the car. I knew the motor was a big block bowtie, I the cylinder heads (from my time spent in an automotive machine shop) topped with Moroso gold anodized valve covers.

I remember a light rain was falling on the way to the bbq. I was fearful that the plug wires, not being shielded by a hood and fenders would allow moisture to get in and kill a few plugs. I thought I would stop by an auto parts store and get some WD-40 to spray in the wire ends if I needed to but then the drizzle stopped.

The party was attended by a large mob of people. I walked over to what appeared to be a space age porta-potty. There were a few people line waiting to use it. A guy poked me in the ribs and said it was a trick porta-potty. He said 'watch this'. Someone walked in, closed the door and commenced with their business. All of a sudden the door went transparent! Everyone laughed.

Suddenly, I was walking through a gauntlet of guests. The weird thing was that every single one of them had a dog on a leash. The dogs were snarling and whimpering as I walked by. The reason for their aggresive or fearful behavior is what was on the end of the leash I was carrying! I had a young lion with it's head held high, calmly surveying the canine cabal. Dog the Bounty Hunter thought that was hilarious.

Then I woke up.

LinkedIn Park - 20 ways to use LinkedIn

2009-03-05T04:56:00.000-08:00

Get it - Linkin Park, LinkedIn Park? Sigh, someone out there is saying "Daaavvvee" in a derogatory way. Anway, let's move on. I've been using LinkedIn, a powerful and popular networking software that is oriented toward careers; for about 3 years now.

In these times, as you've heard many times a strong network is a powerful asset. This year, I set a goal for 2009 to have 500 contacts. Here it is Q1, and to my surprise I've already blown through that goal. I'd like to share some tips with you that I've found useful:

Be wary of 'scalp hunting'. I've had to reign myself in a few times where my motives were probably incorrect, that is to say to get a connection for a connection's sake, rather than to connect for a valid reason.

Set LinkedIn as your homepage. That way I get the latest updates when I first open my browser.

Watch the Connection Updates section very closely. It has not been uncommon for one of my contacts to connect with someone that I had lost track of, and then connect with them.

Never use the "I'd like to add you to my professional network on LinkedIn." default text for connecting. Doesn't show a lot of interest. Give at least one, and preferably two reasons why you would like to connect with that person.

Make your invite reciprocal - when sending an invite, put yourself in the invitees shoes - why would they want to connect with you? What can you offer them?

Use your yearbooks - it could be tedious but go through your yearbooks every now and then and look for old classmates on LinkedIn. Don't just focus on the 'most likely to succeed" people. I found one friend I had been close to many years ago and we had fallen out of touch. It was awesome to connect with him and catch up, he's now managing an architectural firm in Tokyo!

Send a note once in a while. 500+ contacts is a lot of people to keep track of. Every now and then I'll send a note to one of my contacts - something along the lines of "hey just thinking of you, how's it going?" Give them an out, we're all busy: "No need to respond, just hoping all is well".

Browse your connections. If your connection(s) have opened up their connection list for you to view, once in a while take a peek. You may find someone you know, or someone you would like to connect with.

Watch for companies that have employees signing up for LinkedIn. I used to work for US Bank, and it was fascinating to see a few of my former colleagues pop up on LinkedIn, and then it spread like cream cheese on bagels! I remember one day when 50 (fifty) USB folk had joined LinkedIn.

Review the "who's viewed my profile". Although it may not be a direct way to connect with people, it can be interesting to see who has looked at your profile and may give you some tips. Note that it is often indirect, that is to say that you may not always know who exactly has looked at your profile.

Help other LinkedIn users. Remeber that what goes around, comes around! Because I do try to use a personalized connection, if someone has asked me to forward an invite to someone else I typically will know my contact well enough to not hesitate to do that.

I'll finish with tips on making good use of groups. Groups have provided some good contacts for me, including those who I don't know (follow tips 4&5). Groups are one of the most powerful tools on LinkedIn. Let me expand on that:

Look for groups related to your education, experiences, interests and/or hobbies. If we are connected, look at my groups. I not only have groups for my job experience, but other industry groups. My current position involves software, products, banks and credit unions. I look for goups in those categories.

Hide some of your groups. I am a member of more groups than you see on my profile. They provide me with valuable information, but I don't want to come across as pretentious on my profile.

Related to #12, I have had a few people want to connect with me through groups. In looking at their profile I have seen up to fifty groups or more before LinkedIn restricted membership to I think 30 groups. C'mon people! That's a sign to me of a scalp hunter. Some may disagree with me, but I call it like I see it. If you REALLY have a direction connection with a bazillion groups, hide some of them to appear more credible.

Hide a duplicate group. I belong to two US Bank groups (there are probably more!) but I've hidden one of them. I think one is enough to display but that's just my take on it.

Have a few groups related to your hobbies/non work related interests. On my profile you can see Kierkegaard. There's a whopping 17 (seventeen!) in the Kierkegaard group. It was started by a guy in europe and we've had some great conversations, as well as allowing me to make some international connections.

Create groups! I've created two groups you can see on my profile, Hood to Coast and Legacy Corillian. As people have requested to join, we already have one thing in common (the group of interest) and maybe more. I often will invite them to connect with me as I add them to the group. I'm not offended if they decline! A funny story - Corillian was acquired by CheckFree, then CheckFree was acquired by Fiserv. I started the Legacy Corillian group, and then received a request to join from the original CEO who founded Corillian - "uh, well....OK.....".

Be cautious about creating groups! I try to look for any notification that a logo is a registered trademark, with use of the logo by permission only. As a finisher of the Honolulu Marathon, I intended to create a group but will play by the rules and contact them for permission. When I get around to it!

Use Group Discussions. Ask a question, or respond to one. Ask or respond with validity, to not just blah blah blah but with true intent behind the question or response. Again your credibility can be ascertained so keep that in mind.

In closing, use LinkedIn with integrity. To me, it's more than a social exercise, it's people - people who can help you and that you can help. Don't abuse that privilege!

Go Rough Riders!

2009-03-04T06:39:00.001-08:00

In these tough times, it is inspiring when you hear a good story. I'd like to share one that I was privileged to be personally involved in. On Thursday February 19 we got some friends together and went to Roosevelt high school to cheer on the Roosevelt Rough Riders girls basketball team. It was the last game of the season, and they had not won a game.

Our pastor challenged us to be a church that is involved in a community in a positive way. Our church has developed a unique relationship with Roosevelt, and we wanted to respond in a tangible way to cheer the team on and show our support for the Rough Riders. The response was overwhelming, we had an estimated 400 people from our our church attended along with other groups rooting for the Rough Riders. We screamed, whistled, yelled, clapped, waved, cheered, stomped our feet and generally behaved like high schoolers ourselves!

Although Roosevelt did not win the game, they lost by only one basket. It was awesome. As columnist Steve Duin wrote:

For one night, the stands were full and the playing field was level. For one night, the fans -- "We have fans?" the Roosevelt girls were surely thinking -- convinced a winless basketball team that it could do no wrong.

For one glorious night, the community laid hands on a high school that has been left by far too many for dead.

At the end of the loneliest of seasons, 1,600 cheerleaders packed the Roosevelt gym Tuesday for the Rough Riders' final home game, then spent two hours applauding Ahoefa Ananouko on the boards, Ericca Ducre on the break and Ilena Allen at the three-point arc.

Lest you think that I left my ego at home, I suppose I should point out that I was in a picture not only on the Oregon Live website, but also on the front page of the Oregonian newspaper. Where's Dave you might ask? He's above the guy in the yellow shirt.

Dream Diary

2009-01-20T07:28:00.000-08:00

I dreamt that I was riding a motorcycle though country roads. It was a fine fall days, the trees were yellow and red with brilliance. It was cool but not cold, and the sun provided a moderate amount of warmth. As I rode I had a need to relieve myself. Seeing a rest stop, I roared into the parking lot, but was going too fast. I pitched the bike sideways, and with the engine roaring did a berm shot off a curb, slid into an overflow parking lot, and did a 180 degree turn to perfectly position the motorcycle into a parking spot.

As I exited the parking lot, a guy pulled off the road into the parking lot and then cut me off! Let's just say I was offended. He had a really odd Triumph, it had a fairing and fenders that made it look like a boat. It was painted a pale blue. He then roared off in the opposite direction I was going.

Regaining my composure, I continued down the road. The road ended at a "T' interesection. I was intending to turn right, but there was a police officer at the intersection who was waving everyone to the left. I asked him if I could turn right and he said no, the road was closed.

I turned left and continued riding beautiful country roads. I soon realilzed I was lost, but the day was beautiful and I was not concerned. As the afternoon waned and evening approached, I realized that I had no idea where I was.

Soon realizing I needed clear directions or a place to stay for the night, I took a side road that led to a farmhouse. I approached, knocked on the door and an older, skinny, decimated farmer wearing bib overalls and missing a few teeth opened the door. I explained my predicament and he drawled out that I wouldn't find my way in the dark and it would be best, and I would be welcome; to stay the night.

As I entered the house, I realized how run down and dilapidated the house was. The only light came from a kerosene lantern, and as I was ushered to my room I could see no sign of electricity. Making my way through broken and beat up furniture, I went to the room I was offered. The room only had a dirty mattress and a couple of blankets. Nothing else. I felt a sense of creepiness and lay down. The mattress had been placed next to a wall. I turned my head and I could see some marks on the wall. With the moonlight streaming through the window, I could make out the words...and numbers....

It was my name, and a cell phone number that I used to have! OK, now I'm really creeped out - terror descended on me and I resolved to not sleep but keep on guard. Eventually though my eyes grew heavy with slumber and I fell into a restless sleep. I woke startled, and realized that the sun was coming up. With the advent of daylight came a sense of safety. I got up and walked into the hallway. Into a deserted house. There was no furniture, no old farmer, not one thing in the house. Puzzled, I walked through the house and into the room I slept in. There was no mattress, no blankets. On the rough wood of the wall, I could see that my name and cell phone number still remained!

I thought it best that I leave, and leave I did -as fast as I could.

And then I woke up.

Breakthrough!

2009-01-20T07:26:00.000-08:00

We often think of breakthrough as a positive term, as in a scientific breakthrough that will help cure a disease, or overcoming an obstacle of some kind.

To an epileptic, the word has a different meaning. On December 30 2008 I had a breakthrough. Pushing through the medication I take, a seizure reared it's ugly head and broke almost 3 years of dormancy.

I was at work, and discussing a very technical database issue with two colleagues. We were scribbling on a white board, and I distinctly remember difficulty making out the words and following the conversation. I went down unconscious on the floor. I've learned to stay away from DBA's.

Next thing I knew I was being pulled out of an ambulance at the hospital and seeing my wife. I'm not sure why but seizures make me emotional. When I saw her I started crying and said "honey I had a seizure". She reassured me as I was brought into the ER. I quickly returned to manly man status and didn't cry anymore.

The doctor monitored my vitals, pronounced me as being OK and had me stay for an hour or two while I recovered and came fully alert. Sherry took me home and then I slept the rest of the day. The only side effect is that I bit my tongue again. Actually, let me tell you truthfully - I LACERATED my tongue. On the bottom of my tongue you could see 3 clear puncture wounds from my bottom teeth. On the top of my tongue was a nasty wound where one of my incisors shredded my tongue. It hurt so bad and it was a week before I could talk clearly again.

One thing that was amusing was the customer service survey I received from the ambulance company - was the ambulance clean and organized? Dunno, I was unconscious. Did the ambulance arrive quickly? Dunno, I was unconscious. Were the paramedics excellent, good, fair or poor? Dunno, I was unconscious. But it was very nice of them to send the survey.

Then, on Feb 3rd 2009 I had another seizure. I felt kind of weird, and went home to work at home the rest of the day. As I worked I began to feel somewhat nauseous and light headed. As my consciousness began to fade I realized that I was entering into a seizure. I remember vaguely thinking that I need to go lay down. I laid down but things got blurry - I believe I dipped into unconsciousness briefly, but only for a short period of time. I got up and returned to my home office to resume work.

I was apparently still somewhere in the midst of the seizure. I tried to work but was having great difficulty. Then a tangible, horrific sense of utter despair gripped me. I struggle to find the words to accurately describe the blackness that descended and enveloped me with a sense of dread like I've never experienced before. Think of every adjective you can of evil - malignant, horrific, terrifying, confusion - it was that bad.

The grand mal seizure that requires an ER trip I liken to lightning, where the second type of seizure was more of what I liken to rolling thunder. It wasn't a petit mal, but not a grand mal either. Sometimes I think the grand mal lightning strike might be preferable, as with unconsciousness comes the escaping of the blackness of the thunder.

Where do we go from here? I've been put on another medication (Keppra) in addition to the Lamictal I'm already taking. Seems to be working fine. However, I want to find out if at all possible why the breakthrough happened. Might be time for another MRI and EEG. Of course, the results may be disturbing:

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

2009-01-20T07:25:00.001-08:00

In my continual efforts to be a good husband, I often make a mental note of Sherry's plans so I can then recite them back to her at the end of the day and ask something like "How'd your lunch appointment with Angelina Jolie go?".

Now, I have an uncanny, almost preternatural ability to notice if a woman has styled her hair differently, a new cut, style, color or any other number of categories. But wait, it's even weirder - I don't fixate on hair, I never consciously note how "Jane" has styled her hair and if it is different. It just happens.

So anyway, Sherry had told me that she was getting her hair done one fine morning. Being a good husband, a sticky note was attached to my grey matter, ready to compliment her at the end of the day.

The hour arrived, and I gasped as she entered the room - "The cut, the style - the way that it frames the delicate features of your face". I was in fine form, pontificating perfectly with vocabulary of the vernacular delivered with astounding articulation.

She said "I rescheduled my appointment". Nothing was done to her hair. I was humiliated.

(apologies to CB)

Dream Diary

2008-12-03T07:20:00.001-08:00

I dreamt that was driving past a house we used to own. I should clarify that it was a house we owned within the dream, it is not a real world home. It was a small house that we had bought for an investment. We flipped it and made a little tidy profit. It was vacant and I stopped to reminisce.

There was a concrete walkway that connected the house to a second structure. It was big like a barn, but more like a large shop, but kind of had the elements of a home. In the dream even when we owned the house for some reason I had never gone inside. It's hard to describe and the exterior is still a bit fuzzy. But it's the inside that counts.

I opened the door to the shop and found myself on the landing of a small porch, that had a ladder going up into another level, and stairs descending to a lower level. The room I was in was like a typical garage, with tools, yard equipment, junk and more junk. No suprises. I decided to go up the ladder to the level above me.

The ladder was backwards. What I mean be this is that most ladders are positioned at an angle to aid your stability and stepping up. This ladder was in some weird way backwards, where your ascent was on the 'wrong' side of the ladder and it was very awkward climbing up. Up and up I climbed, as I moved up the ladder seemed to grow in length so the illusion was that I was not making any progress. Finally though I poked my head into the upper level, and pulled myself up into a cavernous room. It defied the dimensions defined by the second level. There was no furniture, no sheetrocked walls, no flooring. Just framed in with dark and aged wood. The weird thing was that all of the framing was elaborately carved with bizarre symbols. The room was so large that I could not see the far walls, they just went on and on into darkness.

A feeling of evil pervaded the room. Like the mist of a fog it seemed to close in on me. The terror grew and I went down the ladder as quickly as I could back to the level I started on. The strange feeling dissipated and I decided to descend to the lower level.

I walked down a short flight of stairs, maybe 10 steps and turned a corner and looked into a large room. It was not as big as the upstairs room of terror, but it was larger than the exterior again would define. It was carpeted with a deep, olive color shag rug. It was completely empty except for one thing, relatively large on the far side of the room. I walked over and as I got closer I could see what looked like an easy chair with a body in it. Arriving in front of it, I saw that there was an elderly woman who looked to be dead. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. I jumped out of my skin and beat feet to get out the door and back into the sunlight.

And then, I woke up.

What I REALLY want for Christmas

2008-12-02T08:07:00.000-08:00

We all know the status of our economy. I believe that leads to an awareness that a charitable act can carry even more weight than usual. Sherry and I are so thankful for a roof over our heads, jobs that support us and friends and family that add so much joy to our lives. There are people this year, and maybe some that you know; that have lost jobs, and perhaps even the roof.

What I would really ask for Christmas in 2008 is that you would join me in bringing some relief into a needy family's life. My friend John has set up a link on his blog that you can make a donation. I would humbly ask that you take a few minutes to consider giving. I believe you will be blessed knowing you have made a difference. I think you'll be glad you did.

John's post is eloquent and touching. Please find it here.

What I want for Christmas

2008-12-02T08:06:00.000-08:00

Every year I add to my wish list for Christmas. I have never received anything I have asked for. This year will likely not be an exception. I find that my wishes always drift to wheeled things (I thought about asking for a baby elephant but the costs and care would be egregiously out of reach). I like things with wheels and engines, engines and wheels. Previously I have written about my love affair with classic American muscle cars. I have grown to appreciate the little high revving foreign cars (and their drivers) but no Tokyo Drift for me.

But I digress - Sherry, I want a Brammo Enertia. Yep, Blah Blah Blahg is going green. It's a nifty little good lookin' scooter with an electric battery for propulsion. Here's a nice comment from the Enertia website:

Form doesn't follow function, they are the same. Simple, elegant design that looks as good sitting still as it does silently speeding through the next street corner. Every part of the Enertia was designed with the rider in mind.

Check it out:

Snappy looking ride, eh? Now, with a top speed of only fifty (50!) MPH she's not going to get you out in front of some other two wheel monsters, like a Suzuki Hayabusa with a top speed of around one hundred and ninety (190!) MPH, almost 4 times as fast and turn heads on the freeway. But, with 100% of it's torque available off the line, it's going to pop a nice wheelie.

To impress your green friends, be sure to mention that the Enertia has a Valence Lithium Iron Phosphate battery.

Sherry, if you can't afford the Enertia, would you get me one of these? It may not be as green but it sure looks like fun.

The Art of Tim

2008-11-12T17:23:00.000-08:00

My pharmacist's name is Tim. I value him not only for the hallucinatory respite from the harsh realities of this vale of tears we call life, but that his art is pleasant and calming to my troubled soul. OK, I'm being a bit dramatic - but I really do like his art. Here's one of my favorites:

K-9 Corps - New Recruit

2008-11-12T06:45:00.000-08:00

Charlie continues to amaze and astound us with his recollections of being in charge of an immense metropolitan police department.

Today's installment allows us civilians to obtain an insider view of the hitherto cloaked K-9 operations. For purposes of confidentiality we'll just refer to the dog as "K-9". Let's listen to Charlie recount his first experiences in the 'early years' of K-9 deployment:

"My first experience with a K-9 police dog wasn't with one of those expensive, extensively trained dogs. Instead, I had a deputy who had a pet Weimaraner. He talked the Sheriff into using him as a K-9 dog, claiming he had a good sense of smell and could track anything.

The first time we used our new K-9, it was on a burglary in progress. The suspect fled on foot and was hiding in the area. We had a really good perimeter set up around the burgler with about ten Deputies on site.

All eyes were on our new K-9 as he left the police car to start the track. The dog immediately ran over to a neighborhood dog and started humping it. Watching a working dog in a professional-looking reflective vest humping a citizen's pet is a little embarrassing.

Another time we had a burgler surrounded in a house. Our K-9 Deputy insisted he send in his dog to apprehend the bad guy. He got on the loudspeaker and shouted "Come out or I'll send in the dog".

After saying this about five times with no results, he released the dog. Our K-9 ran through the front door and then jumped out one of the rear windows to start chasing birds bathing in the backyard birdbath.

When we got the burglar out of the house he asked us what was wrong with our dog. Even the bad guys were wondering about this dog.

Another time we went to a bank alarm and brought in our fearsome K-9. It turned out to be a false alarm and all the employees wanted to pet the dog. As we were talking to the employees, the dog walked over to a plant in the lobby and peed all over it."

Save the leg! Don't take the leg!

2008-11-11T07:11:00.000-08:00

It was a fine Thursday afternoon. The sun was out and the water was warm. We were out on Kim's boat, all set to enjoy a late afternoon/early evening ski on the Columbia. Smooth water, nice munchies, good people. What could possibly go wrong? Here I am - confidently surveying the scenery as we looked for just the right spot.

Now I'm in the water, that tiny little dot 70 feet behind the boat, on the right hand of the picture. Momentarily the ski would lift me into a marvelous display of jumping the wake and touching my elbow as I skate across the water like Tonya Harding on steroids:

I hadn't skiied in probably 10 years. But it's just like riding a bike, right? I was never as good a skier as my sister, but our years at Shasta Lake afforded us many opportunities to slalom to our heart's content. You just pop up out of the water and the river or lake is your playground. Nay gentle reader, my fifty year old body registered a violent protest. As I attempted to get up on the ski (for the second, or was it the third time?) I felt a ripple in my right hamstring, and instantly my leg flooded with pain. The kind of pain where you know you are severely injured. Kim pulled the boat around and Kristar helped hoist me out of the water.

Kim made an ice bag, and I sat on it all the way back to the dock. I limped up to the parking lot, the pain continued to increase. I had beads of sweat on my forehead but made into the driver's seat. We were in Scappoose, and it waves of pain washed over me as I headed home. I had a terrible night, and the next day I asked Sherry to take me to urgent care. The doctor ran through one of those "does this hurt?" examinations. I had a fleeting moment where I wondered if my massive muscles would hinder her poking and prodding, but it seemed to be going OK. Until she hit the tear. I'm embarrassed to admit this but I screamed, literally; and tears came to my eyes. It hurt so bad. She gave me a shot, it wasn't morphine but something like it; and then told me to take the maximum dose of ibuprofen every four hours, and Vicadin to help sleep.

Well, that didn't touch it. The next Monday I went to the orthopedic surgeon. He acknowledged that it was a severe tear but that (thankfully) surgery was not required. He prescribed Oxycontin and Flexeril. My typical regimen became 12 ibuprofen, 3 Vicadin and 2 Oxycontin in 24 hours. The pain was so bad that I couldn't dress myself, which was embarrassing but Sherry just laughed and told me it was preparation for my old age. Ha, I'll get her for that. I had to use a cane for 2 weeks.

Here it is two months later and with a dozen therapy visits I managed to run a half mile on the treadmill and cycle for 45 minutes at the gym last weekend. The road to recovery is now fully in progress!

Check it out:

It's not...

2008-11-11T07:04:00.001-08:00

I took some writing samples, and it's not:

Daren
Gary
Debbie
Jim
Julie
Vonne
Kim
Todd
Robert
Claudia
Reed
Brent
Kelly
John

It might be Ron. It's very likely that it is Charlie. But there's a unique twist which also points to Daryl Lynn. And just what does Johnny Cash have in common with Chicago, Fort Worth and Martinsburg West Virginia?

I don't like spiders and snakes, and especially snakes.

2008-10-10T11:02:00.000-07:00

Snakes are just, well kind of creepy to me. Mesmerizing in their locomotion, they slither across my imagination harkening feelings of revulsion but fascination. A new fad blooms though, apparently with people who aren't as averse to the reptiles as I am. As reported in Time magazine, an offbeat spa in Israel uses snakes as a methoed of relaxation. Imagine yourself as the recipeient of the snake massage in this picture:

Can't you imagine the comfort and relaxation that experience would engender? Yeah, I can't either. Especially if one of the snakes gets a bit out of control. Spiegel reports on a 13-foot python called Antonia that tried to eat a zookeeper in Germany. Antonia launched itself at the zookeeper's face and commenced the long process of swallowing her up. The zookeeper didn't panic, and with the help of colleagues (read the article for the interesting application of water and why it helped) was able to extricate herself from the grip of the snake's teeth.

You know, those massages where they put hot rocks on your back sounds just about as adventurous as I'd like to go.

Congratulations to Doug!

2008-10-06T12:47:00.001-07:00

One fine day I met a colleague via the phone. Really nice guy, he helped me with a technical problem. As it turned out we had cycling in common. As we talked, he mentioned how it had been a dream of his to someday ride his bike across the nation. Yes, from sea to shining sea. I was dutifully awed as he explained that he was about two months from starting the journey! I think that is fantastic. The farthest I've ever rode was Seattle to Portland (on the organized bike ride here in the Pacific Northwest).

I asked if he was going to somehow keep us abreast of his journey, and he put me in touch with another colleague who put together a Google Maps mashup of Doug's trip. As he rode and communicated with her she would update the map! Before reading further, I invite you to take a few minutes to carefully study and think about his route. Note how many miles it was coast to coast - 2,959 miles! Oh, and then let's ride another 300 or so home. But wait, he did it unsupported! And, in 28 days! Let the enormity of it sink in. Imagine how hard it would be. Check it out here, and then please come back and continue on to read some of Doug's excerpts as he recounts highlights of the trip.

From Doug:

"Thanks to everyone for their thoughts and prayers. Except for the dog incident in North Carolina, I had no real problems, which for the length and duration of this trip was pretty incredible.

According to my GPS, the total trip mileage was 3460 miles, which averaged out to 123.5 miles per day. I completed the cross country part (Oceanside to Myrtle Beach) in 23 days, which is about 5 days sooner than I expected. This allowed me the opportunity to ride back to Ohio, a nice bonus.

The weather overall was excellent. I had 3 days of rain between El Paso and Dallas. The first day was pretty bad, a lot of lightning and high winds. The second two days were just a steady drizzle, not too bad.

The best part of the trip was being able to meet all my Checkfree friends in the Phoenix, Dallas and Norcross offices. The warm reception in all of the offices was much appreciated.

Crossing the desert was brutal. There is absolutely no shade, and there was one stretch where I rode about 70 miles before I found any food. A little shack of a gas station near Salt Flat, Texas. I had Gatorade and Twinkies for lunch.

At just about every meal stop, people would come up and ask "where are you headed?" The next most asked question was "Is anyone riding with you or following you?" Most people were surprised I was traveling alone, especially after they saw how little equipment I was carrying.

I got to Texarkana just as Ike was about to come thru. A lot of people in the Houston area were evacuating to the north. I got one of the last hotel rooms in Texarkana. Instead of continuing east into Shreveport, I decided to head north to avoid the storm. It turned out to be a good move, and I didn't get any rain during the day, although it did rain after I had stopped for the day.

I ate pretty well. I'd usually have the breakfast provided by the hotel, then stop after about 30-40 miles for a second breakfast. I stopped at Subway quite often for lunch. It seemed the subs were good for carbohydrates, digested easily, and were cheap. For dinner I usually tried to find a buffet or steakhouse. I found several great "home cooking" restaurants in the southeastern states. I craved ice cream, and made several stops at Dairy Queen. When I got to Myrtle Beach, I celebrated with 2 giant banana spits for dinner.

I've always felt that I've received more than my fair share in life. But after seeing how some people live and work in some of the rural areas in the south, I am even more convinced as to how fortunate I am. I have been very, very blessed in life.

I was climbing a hill about 20 miles from Mount Airy, North Carolina when two dogs came after me. I squirted one with my water bottle, and the second ran in front of me, hitting my front wheel and knocking me off the bike. Luckily, there was a crew of surveyors in a truck behind me that had a first aid kit. One of the locals who was an R.N. came out and bandaged up my elbow. Nothing on the bike was bent or broken, so after putting all the gear back on my bike, I rode into Mount Airy and overnighted there.

Virginia was the most difficult state to ride thru. It was almost all mountains, almost constant climbing. I overnighted on the Virginia/West Virginia border in a town called Bluefield. When I left in the morning it was 50 degrees and raining. I was so cold I was shaking. The rain quit after about 3 hours and the sun gradually started to come out.

I stayed in quite a variety of hotels. I'd stay at Hampton Inn's when they were available, but was in several towns that had only one or two very primitive hotels. One hotel in either Arkansas or Alabama was $29.95 a night, so you can image how basic it was.

I carried a very minimal amount of gear, but there wasn't anything that I found I needed that I didn't have. I pretty much just ate, rode and slept. I'd usually get on the road around 7:15, ride about 30-50 miles and stop for a snack, ate lunch around 2-3pm, and ride until close to dark. I'd use my GPS to locate the farthest hotel away that I could safely make before dark, to try to maximize my mileage. Only twice did I have to ride after dark. Once I was on a four lane divided highway that had one lane closed for repaving. I rode the newly paved closed lane for about 10 miles to the next town - my own private route!

In Arizona and New Mexico you can ride on the Interstates. Which is good, because there just aren't any other roads out there. The berms are wide and fairly smooth, but littered with debris from truck tires which caused several flats. Once I got to Carlsbad New Mexico and got off of the freeway, I never had another flat tire. As any cyclist would tell you, riding that far without a flat is incredibly lucky, and I wouldn't have thought it possible if it hadn't happened to me. So here is a commercial for Continental 4000S tires!

I missed my guitar, and also my weekend ritual of breakfast at Bob Evans. There are no Bob Evans restaurants out west, and the first one I found on my route was in Virginia - it was great!!!

So, all in all it was a fabulous adventure. I am so fortunate to have had the opportunity to do this ride. I appreciate all the folks at Checkfree who took up the slack while I was out. I know everyone had their workload increased to cover my absence.

I got back to Dublin around 3:00pm on Saturday, and the plan was to meet my dad at the bike shop on Sawmill Road to get my clothes, apartment key and bike case that I shipped to him from California. Little did I know that there was a full blown reception party waiting for me complete with cake and presents! My sister Karen made a great photo collage of the daily pictures I sent. There was about 20 people waiting for me.

The folks at Performance Bike Shop checked over my bike to make sure nothing got damaged as a result of the crash with the dogs, and everthing is working fine. I wore out the chain and rear gear cluster, but everything else is in great shape. I rode about 10 miles today to loosen up, and I'll gradually work back into my daily riding routine. I feel great, but after the adrenalin wore off, I started feeling a little of the tiredness. I have two more days of vacation left before I have to return to work."

Here's Doug at the start of his trip, in the Pacific ocean. Here he is at the end, in the Atlantic. Doug, congratulations on an amazing accomplishment!

Dream Diary

2008-10-06T10:11:00.000-07:00

This was a strange one, even for me.

I dreamt that I was getting ready for a race. I decided to take a shower prior to putting on my race duds. However, the shower was just a nozzle. No walls. On a street corner. I think you can imagine where this is going, and I suppose there is no easy way to say it other than I was sans clothes in the nice hot spray as cars drove by.

Let's move on, shall we! I was at the start line with a bunch of friends, and I was carbo loading. I was eating quarters. It was so real that I can still kind of feel the texture and taste on my tongue, even from a dream. The quarters were hard but bendable, and I would bend one in half and pop it in my mouth and masticate with significant effort. They were difficult but manageable to chew. They had a metallic taste, which I suppose is no surprise. I don't want to bloviate unnecessarily, but it was the most vivid sensation I have ever dreamed. It makes me wonder if I really did consume a quarter in my sleep. Maybe Sherry stuffed some tinfoil in my mouth to stop the snoring.

Anyway, we were at the start line about 5 mins before the race began. Suddenly, I remembered that I had forgotten my shoes! I was standing there barefoot. In the dream a friend volunteered to lend me a pair of his shoes, but his house was about 8 blocks away. Knowing it was unlikely that we would make it there and back before the start, we ran to his house. I pulled on the shoes and then as the race passed his house we jumped in and started running. "Foul" you may cry, but there is no need for angst gentle reader. At the same that race was going, another race was actually crossing it. Yes, at an intersection both races converged in a cacophony of confusion.

And then I woke up.

The other side of the bib

2008-09-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

Reed and Andrea are adventure racers. Unlike my puny efforts, they punish themselves with 24 hour and more races that may include running, mountain biking, kayaking, mountaineering, rappelling, and maybe even spelunking.

They had signed up for the Gorge Games this summer to do a 24 hour race, but the volunteer base was very thin. I like to support them when I can, so I signed up to volunteer. A few days later I received my assignment, which was at a 10K off road race. A realization settled in - a fixed race with a start time was not likely to be part of the adventure race! I was disappointed for two reasons - the first and foremost was that I would not see Reed and Andrea on their course. I was really hoping to cheer them on. The second was selfish - had I known there was a 10K trail run in advance - I would have entered!

However, having been on what I'll call "the other side of the bib" (see bottom of the post if explanation is needed) many times, I'm always appreciative and show my support of the volunteers that make a race possible.

I set my face to then be the very best volunteer that had ever helped at a race. I decided that I would take Kadie up to the gorge, knowing she would enjoy the great outdoors. The day dawned with a few sleepy clouds but the forecast was positive. I left before dawn, I'm one of those early rises who has to be early for a race early in the day before my early appointed post time. We drove the gorge and stopped a little park for a while to throw the ball for Kadie and wear her down a bit.

We then headed across the Columbia to White Salmon where the race location was. Even with my dilly-dallying I arrived an hour before the race. My assignment was to stand two blocks away from the start location with an orange flag. The printed directions given to the competitors had been wrong, and the organizers realized that a portion of the races would take the wrong turn and have to be flagged by none other than myself to go around the block and to the start.

I stood at my corner and as the first few cars came by me I gave them the appropriate wave of the flag guiding them down the correct street. I realized that this could then become very boring, for both myself and the drivers. So, I decided to spice things up a bit. As a car approached, I would go into elaborate flag drills, ending up with the flag pointing down the correct street! I contorted myself in various ways - whipping the flag over my head, behind my back, under a raised leg - in multiple permutations with a serious "this is my job" look on my face.

The drivers began to respond to my antics. Although there were a few sourpusses, most of them gave me an enthusiastic wave and smile. A carload of girls of the opposite sex even hooted at me, which only encouraged my direction pointing gymnastic endeavors. Soon, my back was aching and I was beginning to be plagued by a sore torso. Nay, physical hardship would not cause me to cave on my duties. I tried even more poses, getting sillier (and funnier) if I do say so myself. I was pleased when one driver reported to the race director that I was the most enthusiastic volunteer she'd ever seen. I'll say though that Sherry is the ABSOLUTE best athletic supporter, .....ah let me rephrase that - "motivational enthusiast" anyone will ever encounter.

Soon, all the cars had arrived and the race had started. It was an out and back down into a gully. I drove down to the gully to see if my services were still needed. Sure enough, I was placed at the finish to remove the timing chips from racer's shoes. I was intrigued because unlike the usual championchip that you affix to your shoes via the laces:

They had a timing system I had never seen before, it was like a credit card:

Very cool, except for one problem - because the chip card could be attached so firmly to the shoe it was very difficult to remove. The timing vendor gave myself and another volunteer those little blunt scissors they use for grade school projects. The blunt tip would not easily fit between the card and the shoelace, additionally the tiny finger holes on the handle cause my thumb to go numb after removing 3-40 of them from racer's feet. My thumb was actually numb for two days afterward, I feared I had some nerve damage or something but all is fine now.

The race medals were very cool, and every finisher got one. I had another few moments of envy when I saw the medals. But that's OK - I had a good time, Kadie had a good time and I was proud to help. And next year - I'll be racing and thanking some great volunteers!

Number Bib - a rectangular piece of Tyvek material printed with the race number of the individual wearing it. Typically affixed to the shirt with safety pins. I save mine from all the races I do and make comments on the back.

Book Review - Brighton Rock

2008-09-28T07:57:00.001-07:00

Graham Greene was a prolific author. I have an anthology that includes 3 of this best known novels, Brighton Rock, The Power and the Glory, and The Heart of the Matter. From the back cover of this edition (QPB, 1991) this short bio is given:

"Greene was an adventurer and world traveler with a thirst for danger, and many of his novels are set in the vaired and distant locales he sought out. In all he wrote 54 books including novels (24 of them), short stories, plays, essays, travel and children's books; and two autobiographies"

Greene is noted for his much publicized conversion to Catholicism, largely due to the influence of his fiancee. I believe this was a significant turning point for his writing, as he became absorbed, and although some may disagree with me I don't hesitate to say obsessed; with moral dilemma and struggles.

Brighton Rock folds neatly into the pocket of moral dilemma. The characters are rich and as always Greene's eye for detail allows great visibility into the drama that unfolds before us. The book has two conundrums with which I struggled. The first is the era. Brighton Rock was copyrighted in 1938. Therefore, much of the language, culture and dialogue is 70 or so years old. Add to that the setting in an English seaside town with the nuances of a foreign culture and a good portion of the reading included attempting to understand the words and setting.

For example, upon embarking on the novel I had assumed that Brighton Rock was the name of the seaside town in which the drama takes place. The town is Brighton, but Brighton Rock as pointed out by the editor is

"..a form of stick candy as characteristic of English seaside resorts as salt water taffy is to Americans. The word "Brighton" appears on both ends of the stick at no matter what point it is broken off."

The story begins at full speed:

"Hale knew they meant to murder him before he had been in Brighton three hours."

Hale was a newspaperman. In that time, in English seaside towns; it was popular for newspapers to have contests. The itinerary and picture of a journalist was published in the paper and the journalist was given a fictitious name, in this case Hale was named by his paper Kolley Kibber. If a person approached the journalist, called him by the fictitious name and was carrying the appropriate newspaper a cash reward was given on the spot.

Hale was the target of a ragtag band of petty thieves out to get the reward money he carried. The leader of the band was a 17 year old nicknamed Pinkie, possibly due to his young age. Greene also refers to him frequently as "The Boy". The gang is involved in other extortion rackets, but the nucleus of the story revolves around the murder of Hale. Pinkie is ruthless and commands men older than him. The murder is carried out, but there are two figures introduced who have great potential to bring Pinkie and his gang down.

The first is Ida. Ida is a blustery, bosomy whirlwind. Her slightly flawed character is buoyed by her cheerful disposition (especially after a few glasses of beer or sherry), love for song and her unflagging optimism. As Hale realizes the plot unfolding around him, he seeks solace in Ida's company, which she readily signs up for. Hale's paranoia and disappearance ignite in her an unflagging, deterministic quest for his justice.

The second is Rose. Rose is young, impressionable and the product of a lower middle class family (like Pinkie) scraping by on a waitressing salary. Rose is party to a clue which could bring Pinkie and the gang down. Although she doesn't realize it, the power of her knowledge causes Pinkie to react in an unusual manner. Although he is sickened at the thought of it, she becomes his girlfriend, and then solely for the reason that a spouse cannot give legal testimony to the other spouse; he marries her. The romance is vacous and one sided. We feel pity for Rose - she is consumed by a love for Pinkie that is not reciprocated. He at times berates her and then comforts her.

Pinkie has a scarred psyche, exacerbated by his experience as an altar boy. At times of uncertaintly or fear, he lapses into reciting latin phrases he had been trained to memorize. His faith though is non-existent, he acknowledges that the only road before him leads to Hell and punishment.

It is on this road that the story traverses. The downward spiral of Pinkie's amoral actions accompanies his treatment, or mistreatment; of Rose. Even to his own ragtag band Pinkie displays cruelness and disdain. Ida plunges recklessy on, determined to find and bring Hale's murderers to justice. Once she gets close to Pinkie, his damaged psyche and the imminence of arrest and trial feed his downward spiral into greater acts of cruelty.

The story's climax is only slightly predictable, and is craftily done to the extent that I was swept up right to the end. I'll not provide a plot spoiler but only leave you with the main characters on a dark cliff in a storm. You'll have to read the book, and I heartily recommend it; to find out the ending!

Dream Diary

2008-09-28T07:44:00.001-07:00

Many of my dreams involve water. I suppose that's natural as I love the water, love to swim. If I believed in reincarnation I'd probably be a dolphin.

Anyway, last night's installment had Sherry, Kadie (our beloved dog) and I camping at a lake. Kadie had wandered off and we were frantically looking for her. The lake was huge, and one end was shallow and there about 40 adults and kids swimming in roughly a 5 acre expanse. All of a sudden, people started screaming. A monster had eaten one of the kids, and then disappeared! Everyone got out of the water as quickly as they could. We all looked hard at the lake, and then someone spotted movement on the bottom. Emerging from the mud was an enormous snake, probably 60-75 feet long. It was black with red stripes. It swam from the bottom to the shore, and then attacked a small village on the perimeter of the lake.

It thrashed it's tail and smashed houses and threw cars into the air. We were all petrified in fear. The snake slowly moved to us, and then raised up out of the water and we could see that it was not really a snake but some kind of a lizard. It began very politely talking to people, introducing itself and letting us know it really wasn't that bad. It moved down a line of people and then to me.

The snake/lizard looked at me and I said "wow, you are really strong to knock down a whole village". The thing smiled shyly and said "yeah I suppose I am. Watch this - I'll lift you up!" He then proceeded to grasp me under my armpits and hoist me into the air. He exclaimed "don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you." He then put me down with nary a scratch or bruise.

Then I woke up.

Highway Haiku

2008-09-26T14:31:00.000-07:00

Wow! Corvette flies by.
Now a Porsche roars past me.
Wish my truck was fast.

The smell of diesel...
exhausting, just like my day
off ramp - please save me

Old truck, engine roars
Dude! Shift that tranny up now!
Maybe clutch is fried...

What do you get...

2008-09-11T14:25:00.000-07:00

..when you cross a backwoods country boy with a Buddhist monk?

A hillbilly that believes in rein-
tarnation!

Atheistic Evangelists

2008-06-27T09:34:00.001-07:00

Here kitty kitty kitty....

2008-06-11T14:44:00.000-07:00

What a novel idea! This guy affixed a "cat-cam" to his kitty's head. Amongst other feline activities, I would like to see what cat is walking on top of my truck at night, leaving kitty footprints everywhere. But, I'm not hear to discuss my pet peeves.

Now, what if that cat was eaten by this? Can you imagine the carnage that the cam might see? Nature is cruel. But nature can be even crueler - imagine that the cat does have 9 lives, and let's further imagine that cats are eligible for reincarnation. Let's continue our fantasy and imagine that the cat came back as this, and then eats the coyote! It's a dog eat dog world after all, and kitties too.

Exercises for the Manly Man

2008-06-11T13:49:00.000-07:00

Heather Havrilesky (isn't that a great name?) talks to us about the the romanticization of the working class, springing from the self-loathing loins of a spoiled, flaccid nation in decline (her words). I love her writing. She tells us that:

The hardworking men and women of America are what make this country great! We'd thank them ourselves, if we knew any. Sadly, all we know are soft-assed nitpickers and middle-managing mouth-breathers and tender-pawed desk ornaments with hair-trigger tempers. But you can be sure that we'd slap a hardworking fella on the back for a job well done -- if we weren't surrounded by
overeducated hothouse flowers, lily-livered second-guessers, arrogant pencil pushers and self-proclaimed experts with corn-chip breath.

Wow! Maybe Heather should switch to decaf. She points out though that the success of recent shows like the Deadliest Catch, Ax Men, and Ice Road Truckers as testimony to honor our working class roots.

But Heather is not alone in her idolization of physical work. Witness the lyrics of a popular Brooks & Dunn song:

I'm a hard workin' man

I wear a steel hard hat

I can ride, rope, hammer and paint

Do things with my hands that most men can't

I can't get ahead no matter how hard I try

I'm gettin' really good at barely gettin' by

Early in my career I worked as an automotive machinist, electrician and then back to a machinist/parts rebuilder of air brake systems. Those were good days, when I could look at a pile of freshly machined cylinder heads or see a light bulb come alive as electricity flowed through wiring and switches that I had installed and see the fruit of my labors. My collars were blue, I spit wherever I wanted and poured out my cold coffee wherever I happened to be standing. Maybe I should write lyrics for Brooks & Dunn. Now that I'm an office worker I can appreciate Havrilesky's sentiments.

There is a need for us office workers to get into shape and return to the joys of physical labors. However, to jump right into such a job would likely injure a flabby body. However, someone has come up with a solution that can be a gateway back into the hard working man mentality - behold the Shovelglove!

Lest you laugh and think this is a wimpy device, behold the Shovelglove upgrade.

The Religion of In-N-Out Burger

2008-06-11T13:33:00.001-07:00

I love In-N-Out Burger. Every time I go to California offers the opportunity for a Double Double. I rarely pass this opportunity up!

On a recent trip my mom pointed out the most curious thing. In tiny print on the bottom of the hamburger wrappers and drink cups were Bible verse addresses.

Not something you see very often. Being curious I sent a note to In-N-Out headquarters, here is the reply:

In response to your question, our owners have placed references to scripture on some of our packaging for many years as it is something they enjoy doing. Our customers' feedback indicates the subtle positioning of these references has made them somewhat of an In-N-Out Burger® tradition. They have been likened to our popular non-menu items such as the Animal or Wish burgers, in that customers who know they are there and want to see them are able to do so, while other customers may never notice or can choose to easily ignore them. Any specific message is left, if desired, to the reader.

Clean up your room!

2008-06-11T13:16:00.000-07:00

A familiar refrain from my childhood that extends down the corridor of time to the present. First uttered by my mother, now the anthem has been adopted by my wife. And I still make messes out of my office and our bedroom. And the garage.

I have to admire this little girl's solution to her mothers insistence and apparently repeated injuctions to clean up her room. From The Scotsman:

Messy Room Leads to Police Raid

A nine year old German girl was so upset about having to tidy her room she put up a sign in her window urging passers-by to call the police for help. Officers rushed to the scene to discover the girl had rowed with her mother about tidying her room.

Not having maternal instincts myself, It's hard for me to imagine what I would do in that situation. However, I have to give credit to this mom for her way of dealing with the messy room.

Mom Reaches Breaking Point, Goes On Strike

"I'm quite tired of the bickering and I'm quite tired of talking and not being heard or listened to at all," she said. So, Toussaint pitched a tent on the front lawn of her east-end London home Wednesday and set up a sign reading, "Mom on strike." Since her job action began, Toussaint has returned to the house to help prepare some lunches and make sure the three dogs are taken care of, but says the rest is up to the kids. There has been a little progress so far. Toussaint said the upstairs bedrooms looked like Hurricane Katrina had swirled through when she left, but now resemble the aftermath of a tropical storm.

I bet my mom wishes she had thought of that!

QOTD

2008-06-11T12:14:00.000-07:00

From Woody Allen:

I was thrown out of college for cheating on the metaphysics exam; I looked into the soul of the boy next to me.

Highway Haiku

2008-06-10T07:35:00.000-07:00

Man in rain, arm out!

Raindrops splattering his sleeve

Oh! Cigarette smoke.

Gasoline too high

Must consider options

Shall I buy a horse?

Dream Diary

2008-05-27T07:13:00.000-07:00

I dreamt I was trying to get to a destination. I can't remember where it was, or maybe in my dream the destination was never revealed to me. I was traversing a trail up a mountain, and it began to snow. I lost the trail and turned back, and saw a guy on another trail that I had not seen, paralleling the trail I was on. We chatted for a few minutes and he told me that the trail he was on would get to the place I was going, but it skirted the mountain and the lower elevation allowed for the abscence of snowy conditions.

I reached a point where the trail ended, and there were several guys on a treasure hunt. They were looking for a fortune that had been lost and believed they knew the location. We spoke for a few minutes comparing ideas and then I continued my journey.

The trail ended at a body of water that was man made. It was like a big lake, surrounded by a kind of shopping center or mall; similar to the Streets of Tanasbourne or Bridgeport, some upscale stores in the Portland area with an open, 'village' setting.

To get to the stores, I needed to swim. The water was bitterly, bone chilling cold but the clarity was amazing. I could see every detail down to the bottom. It was filled with all kinds of tropical fish that were amazing colors - I remember clearly one fish that was as big as a Volkswagen with blue and yellow stripes. There was another fish that had a horn like a unicorn, it had big brown eyes like a deer.

There was a concrete ledge about 20 feet below me. There were two guys walking along on the ledge (it was about 15 feet wide) talking animatedly. They seemed to be friends, and were wearing what appeared to be medieval clothing. I could hear their voices but not understand the words.

Soon I arrived at the stores, and pulled myself out of the water. I was so cold and my teeth were chattering as I stood outside a restaurant. A waiter came out, he was dressed all in white with a white apron. I asked him if I could have an extra apron to dry off with. He said, sure and walked back into the restaurant...

...and then I woke up.

Mid Year Race Report

2008-05-20T15:19:00.000-07:00

The Shamrock Run is the traditional season opener for the Portland area racing community. This year was a big dog deal is it was the 30th anniversary of the event!

This year saw 16,000+ participants -The event achieved its fourth consecutive attendance record and had an incredible 45% increase over last year's record total of 11,000 runners and walkers!

It's a fun race as a lot of people dress up in goofy costumes. I showed an admirable restraint and ran in normal running gear. It was quite cold, but not raining which in Portland is a bonus, especially so early in the year. I ran well and felt good. The course was incredibly crowded and as I maneuvered through the throngs. At one point I hopped a curb and almost lost my balance. I stumbled and instinctively put my hands out in front of me. Unfortunately my left hand landed on the buttocks of a young lady. Out of the corner of her eye she had seen me stumble so my appalled apologies were accepted gracefully and I finished the race without further incident....except the parking.

I like to be early for a race, and the Shamrock was no exception. I found a parking place a block away from the start line. I was able to sit in my truck with the heater on and enjoy a half hour of visualizing myself striding across the finish line with my chest like the prow of a battleship breaking the tape as I stride across in first place, 3 minutes ahead of the second place finisher. In reality my stomach crosses the finish line before my mighty chest. Anyway, I digress. My strategic parking led to my inability to egress the downtown area! Runners still on the course blocked all potential exits. Oh well, I had picked up the newspaper on my way out the door and had another peaceful half hour of waiting with the heater on as I waited to cross the course.

Next up was the Race for the Roses. The website claims that:

"Portland is a town of two halves, one part cosmopolitan quirkiness, the other active outdoorsiness. The same could be said of those of us who live in and around it. For years, this locally run race has allowed runners to exercise both halves in the name of an outstanding, local, cause: Albertina Kerr Centers. Come experience why Race for the Roses has become a must-do event on the Northwest running calendar."

While not as quirky as the Shamrock, it's still a great race that goes over two Portland bridges, the Broadway and Steel bridges. It's cool to see the views, and I mean that literally in the sense of both visual and temperature purposes! It was quite windy on the Broadway bridge, to the point of being quite chilly. Off the bridges and on the streets though it was comfortable. I saw a few friends, and it was a much smaller race. I suppose one quirk is that every finisher gets a medal, and a rose! The tables of cut roses were beautiful to behold.

My next race was one of my favorite events of the year, the Pole Pedal Paddle relay race. This year was memorable for two significant reasons.

First was the heat. It was the hottest race I believe in the 32 year history of the race. It was 85 degrees at the top of Mt. Bachelor and the snow was very slushy. I learned a new term, our downhill skier called it a 'yard sale' as the slope was littered with skis and poles. At the transition from the downhill ski to the skate ski, I watched a poor young lady fall about 10 times in a 15-20 yard stretch!

The second was that yours truly blew the transition from the skate ski to the cycling (my event). I have never, ever missed a transition but I suppose their is a first time for everything. Our skier, when arriving at the transition and not seeing me, left the transition area to look for me. I must have missed him by no more than 5 minutes, and ended up waiting for him not knowing he had been there already. It blew our overall time, but I was pissed and rode very agressively to make up as much time as I could, even knowing that there was no way to recapture our estimated time. The anger and adrenaline gave me a great ride. I flew by the other cyclists on the course at the same time as me like a TDF rider on HGH.

It was 95 degrees at the finish line with no shade! After a few beers we were a team again, and all was forgiven. But I still feel bad!

I once was lost...

2008-05-20T06:39:00.000-07:00

Feeling Lost? Find help here.

Another Oregon town is safe from...(read on)

2008-04-25T08:14:00.000-07:00

My friend (anonymous) is a police captain in the Oregon town of (anonymous). Without further preamble let's dive into his account of a recent serious event. In his own words:

I thought I had a good grasp on the multitude of different law enforcment agencies in this country, but I was wrong. I was summoned into a briefing several weeks ago by the Feds. If you were to guess which Federal Agency would come calling to a local police department, you would guess the DEA, the FBI, maybe the CIA, or possibly the Secret Service.

It was none of these. This time the USDA, as in the United States Department of Agriculture, requested my presence. The..huh? What would they want with me? Aren't these the people who inspect fruit in California?

I was greeted by eight Federal Agents who had flown in from all parts of the country. The SAC (Special Agent in Charge) introduced himself with a gentle southern accent and handed me his prepared briefing agenda.

I couldn't help but notice the symbol on the first page. It was a cartoon character of a rooster wearing boxing gloves in a fighting stance, with a circle and slash through it. yep, I was about to learn all about Cock Fighting Law Enforcement.

As soon as the briefing started, it became clear that we were in the midst of a Federal Cock Fighting crackdown. The wanted to use our SWAT team to do the entry. The only problem was, Federal warrants have a 30 second rule. This means when doing a search, after you knock you have to wait 30 seconds before you enter. This might work with chickens, but in (anonymous) this gives the bad guys time to get their weapons loaded and aimed at the door.

Having this in mind, I told the Feds our SWAT team would spend our 30 seconds hiding behind our armored car.

The feds were interested in arresting one of our local "frequent flyers." That's a technical term for "repeat offender". This bad guy deals meth and had firearms ready the last time we did a search warrant at his house. I didn't see any chickens then.

I shared this information with the Feds. They looked at each other, then quickly waived the 30 second rule and requested we do the entry.

Good decision, I thought. The more I talked with these agents, the more I suspected their normal day was very different from mine.

One agent looked like the mom from the Brady Bunch. Another was a tiny Asian gal with a big smile who giggled a lot. The SAC looked like a Sears catalog model. Then there was the guy who looked like Adam Carolla and the woman sitting at the end of the table could have been Wynonna Judd. Orville Redenbacher, or his close relative, rounded out the crew.

We did the search at 5 AM before the roosters could wake up the bad guy. It went well, and (anonymous) is safe and chicken-free. Sears catalog models apparently make good SACs.

QOTD

2008-04-24T10:50:00.000-07:00

From my friend Reed (superstar athlete):

"endurance training takes a long time"

Bumper Snicker

2008-04-24T09:44:00.000-07:00

Real Life Test Answers

2008-04-23T07:39:00.000-07:00

Some of the most brilliance in difficult tests is the is the interpretation of the question in a literal, wooden sense rather than the sense in which it was intended. Some of the images are a bit difficult to read, but gave me a good chuckle.

More dumb theology jokes

2008-04-22T17:46:00.000-07:00

What did the Buddhist monk say to the hot dog vendor?

"make me one with everything"

(groan)

Dumb theology joke

2008-04-22T09:49:00.000-07:00

Two friends walk into a McDonalds, one a Calvinist and one an Arminian. As they both gazed up at the menu the clerk asked, “may I help you?”

The Calvinist replied,

“I can’t choose, you choose for me”.

The Arminian said,

“Wow, so many choices!”.

Clever, I like it! Religious mailing lists.

2008-04-22T09:01:00.000-07:00

I Joined a Mailing List

~ by Michael Rew ~

I joined a Calvinist mailing list I was predestined to join;

an Arminian mailing list because I could;

a dispensationalist mailing list because the time had come;

a Torah-observant mailing list because I should;

an Anabaptist mailing list because I could not fight it;

a Creationist mailing list, and it was good;

an intercessory mailing list after I prayed about it;

and a prophetic mailing list. I knew I would!

I joined a Sabbatarian mailing list on Friday night,Saturday night, and Sunday night, to cover every base;

got caught up in a pre-tribulation Rapture mailing list and in a post-tribulation mailing list, just in case.

I joined a Catholic mailing list that was a piece of work;

an evangelical mailing list by God’s grace alone;

a contemporary mailing list to see what was happening;

a traditional mailing list of which I had known;

a fivefold ministry mailing list so I would be equipped to open up and operate a mailing list of my own;

an interdenominational mailing list if I missed anything else;

and a cessationist mailing list.

Then I was done.

Triathlon Training - not for sissies

2008-04-20T09:43:00.000-07:00

When I compete in a triathlon I put myself in the back of the swim. In the middle of the pack I've been hit, kicked and had people swim up on my back. I've hit people, kicked people and swam up on people's backs. I kicked a guy hard enough in the face once that I gave him a bloody nose, true story. We both stopped and I asked if he was alright. He said he was and we both continued the swim. Good thing it wasn't an ocean swim where the sharks might circle!

Anyway, I thought this was a superb way to train for the swim:

This T-shirt Rocks

2008-04-18T12:40:00.000-07:00

Ah yes, I love t-shirts. They have to be really cool. I really like this t-shirt because of my unending fascination and study of Calvinism and Arminianism theology. And that it's just eclectic enough that some people won't get it! And the ones that will might be upset. I might just have to buy one....

Big, Bigger, BIGGEST

2008-04-18T12:31:00.000-07:00

I really like fabrication shows like Monster Garage, Orange County Choppers, American Chopper, American Hot Rod, etc. I really really like when they make 'big' things, and although neither of these originated on the aforementioned shows these are some of the biggest scratch built creations I've ever seen. The age old question has been answered: Just because you could, doesn't mean you should. Yes, you should. And I want one.

Maybe for Christmas this year, Janet & Mom - it's not too late to start saving now....

A really big motorcycle

Let's start with an aircraft engine. We'll take two cylinders from a radial engine, and mate them to a custom crank. Oh, and did I mention the displacment of 410 cubic inches? In a motorcycle? To inject a little bit of perspective into this scenario, my 1967 Camaro had one of the finest motors Detroit ever built, the 327 cubic inch Chevy small block. Even with 50 series tires I could smoke those skins. So, we have 83 more cubic inches and approximately 2,000 less pounds curb weight. Unfortunately I could not find if the builder, Clemens Leonhardt; ever finished his monster creation. Let the pictures however speak for themselves the rest of this narrative:

A really big car

What would you do if you had a 1941 Seagraves hook and ladder fire truck? Well of course you would create a sports car out of it, wouldn't you? That's what Michael Leeds did. You would chop, section and box the frame. You would hand craft the body and fenders. You would preserve the original front grill. But, you would still have 9,600 pounds of car to lug around.

Not to worry, gentle reader. You would restore the original 980 cubic inch V-12 engine. Because it was built to idle for long periods at fire scenes, the engine has redundant iginition - 2 plugs per cylinder, two distributors and four coils. The pan holds 25 quarts of oil! The original Easton four speed transmission is used. Known as a 'crash box' as most trannys of the day did not have synchronization, the lost art of double clutching is used.

Behold, Big Bertha:

Patty "snowshoe" Sturdevant

2008-04-17T12:07:00.000-07:00

So check it out - Patty decides to do a snowshoe race. It's her first one, the White River 8K race on January 20 of this year. Patty's a natural athlete, and of course - in her first snowshoe race - she gets 11th overall, out of 103 participants! As reported in Snowshoe Magazine :

Patty Sturdevant, Portland, took third in the overall women’s class at 54:18, missing by just six seconds a 10th place overall that Scott Hull, Portland, claimed.

Well done Patty! Well, it turned out that she qualified for the Nationals! How awesome is that? How could she not go? How could she not buy special titanium racing snowshoes for the event? Wouldn't you? Of course you would.

In a bit of pontification, Phillip Gary Smith writes:

A glorious and glamorous day dawned at the Snowbasin Resort, Ogden, Utah, for the running of the 2008 United States Snowshoe Association’s Eighth annual PowerSox Championships. In a setting destined to be one of the all time greats for these races, and accommodations to match, racers from 19 states gathered to do battle on these pristine slopes.

Patty traveled with her good friend Myra, who took 8th - overall! Congratulations to Myra. Patty did awesome, again we are looking at her SECOND snowshoe race ever in her life! And she takes SECOND place in her age group in the Nationals, and earned her silver medal! It's enough to make you take a SECOND look (ok, sorry) at her results:

Patty, we are all very proud and happy for you. We'll be looking for you at the 2009 Nationals!

Highway Haiku

2008-04-01T06:09:00.000-07:00

White porsche drives us crazy,
cutting off car in front of me,
Holy Cow! Tail lights flash.

Sunny morning - Joy!
But, going to work now - Blecch.
Hopeful for fast day.

Stuck at on ramp light
Dog in car next to me barks
Barking back is fun.

Dream Diary

2008-04-01T06:08:00.001-07:00

I dreamt that we lived in exclusive suburban neighborhood street, and the street was carpeted with a fine layer of leaves. I decided to sweep up some of the leaves in front of our house. I was using a tiny whisk broom. Whisk, whisk, whisk I went. Soon I had our area cleared. I decided I would go up the street. There I was, on my hands and knees; whisk whisk whisk.

Soon I was in front of a neighbor's house. She saw me and came out very offended, turns out she likes the leaves in front of her house. A mild verbal fracas ensued, but then she said she was sorry. I offered to take her trash out to the curb, and she was pleased and we both were on a good footing again.

She said that she was having a party in the back of the house and asked me to join. I said that I'd be delighted. She headed around back. I suppose I was still a bit irritated over the incident, and I put some 3o weight (it might have been 10-40) engine oil on her fenceposts.

There were about 15-20 people or so in the back, a radio was playing and the BBQ was going. Laughing, drinking, talking in the sunshine - it was a wonderful scene.

I asked if I could use her bathroom, and she invited me to use the master bath upstairs, she had just remodeled it. It was a beautiful facility, and since I was sweaty and dirty from whisking I decided to take a bath. I cleaned up, toweled off, put my clothes back on and rejoined the party.

Suddenly, some of the guests began talking into their sleeves! They were undercover CIA and FBI agents! Apparently, there was a plot to overthrow the government or something along those lines. Undercover agents disguised as suburban housewives and weekend warrior dads jumped over the fences from adjoining yards, soon there was like 50 agents crammed into the now-tiny back yard.

Suddenly, water began flowing out of the house, onto a balcony and then to the ground. I had neglected to turn off the bathtub faucet! The confusion caused the agents to all start running around.

And then I woke up.

Dream Diary

2008-03-26T06:44:00.000-07:00

I dreamt I was riding a motorcycle around in Los Angeles. It was like a big Harley, but with a much bigger engine. Basically, it was all engine that dwarfed the tires. Kind of like the picture, which may have been the inspiration.

I rode the motorcycle to a garage sale, where I purchased a set of used, tri-focal wrap around UV protection sport sunglasses. They were very cool and I put them on and rode the motorcycle around some more.

It turned out that I had borrowed the motorcycle from a friend named Gayle. She's a really funny person and every time we see her there is something that we laugh about. I had filled the tank for her her, and tried to offer her some money for lending the bike to me, but she refused. So, I went to Costco and bought her some Prilosec. Don't know why, there was no discussion about heartburn or anything with her! I just thought it was a meaningful gift. What-ever!

Then, I was hanging out at a beach, I think it was Huntington Beach. Suddenly, the sky darkened and enormous lightning bolts crashed into the ocean. The crack of the thunder shook me to my core, my internal organs were all vibrating from the violent sound and made me nauseous.

Then gigantic somethings were falling into the ocean. I could not discern exactly what they were, perhaps hailstones or rocks as big as dump trucks like the picture. Again, whatever they were, were indecipherable to me. However, imagine if that truck fell from 500 feet into the ocean. Can you imagine the splash it would make? That's what it was like.

We all started screaming and running from the beach. There was a boardwalk, actually a paved bike/walking path that paralleled the shore. There were bunk beds, like camping cots only stacked 8 high. The people in the beds were being thrown out onto the ground.

As I ran, I began to see shiny objects on the ground. They were syringes, with big old honkin' needles. As I ran I tried to sidestep them.

And then I woke up.

Roll out the red carpet....

2008-03-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

FLASH! Oh sorry, I...FLASH! FLASH! Darn paparazzi. Last fall I wrote here and here and here and here about my journey out of anonymity to superstardom. Alas, the road was hard with long hours, bad food and irritable art directors, set designers, focus puller, clapper loaders, key grips and best boys. At times my entourage was emotionally overwhelming.

Pardon me, I should not trouble you with the personal issues I face as a movie star. I shall not bloviate any longer and admit to you that yes - at long last I have seen my face in a movie. I saw the handsome, svelte young man that every girl swoons for and every guy is jealous of. Then, I saw myself next to him! Ha ha ha.

But seriously now - Into the Wild is out on DVD now, and you can see my mug on the big screen (or little screen if you're watching it on your iPod). I'm in the second scene (the college graduation). In the picture above which I snipped off of the web, you see the focus on William Hurt and Marcia Gay Harden. Look over Marcia's shoulder and there is a big guy with his hands together in mid-clap. Next to him is a woman with glasses. Next to her is something that looks like a coconut. That's my head.

In the movie, the camera pans and then zooms on to William Hurt and Marcia Gay Harden. You can see me clearly, I've got a white blazer on. Ooops, my cell phone is ringing....sorry, it's my agent - gotta run.

Autographs provided upon request.

It's a small world, after all....

2008-03-20T06:38:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid at Disneyland, we were in the "Small World" ride when the soundtrack broke. All of the little mechanical puppets were squeaking, clanking and making robotic noises that were usually masked by the music. It was kind of a surreal experience.

Just like last Thursday evening at a wedding rehearsal. The bride introduced me to her father, and we had this odd, twilight zone thing going on. Finally he said "I know you from somewhere" and I agreed. We started going through the list - the gym, church, laundromat, favorite restaurant, college?!?

Finally he asked if I was a runner. Yep, I replied. He hit it - turns out we were on a Hood to Coast team we approximated at about 10-11 years ago! Hadn't see him since. But wait - it gets a little weirder. I love to read, and when I traveled heavily I would cart 2-3 big books around in my bag. One of my favorites was (is) a double volumn by Tom Wolfe that includes the Bonfire of the Vanities, and the Right Stuff.

For years, I have lugged that book around - from Minneapolis to the city of Mt. Shasta, from L.A. to Lahaina - I read it here there and everywhere. Why is this relevant? In that book - again for years now - I have a business card that I use as a bookmark. It was the team captain of our team that year.

Kind of weird. OK, maybe not so much. But it is a small world after all.

Highway Haiku

2008-03-19T19:02:00.000-07:00

Starbucks here I come
Caffeine eases the commute
Traffic Jam? No prob!

Vrooom! We go faster!
Few cars in front today - yay!
Home - won't be long now

Books - here there and everywhere

2008-03-03T12:01:00.001-08:00

Isn't this just the coolest thing you have ever seen?

Look very carefully at the picture. It's kind of dizzying but what you are seeing is a staircase leading to a door at the bottom. The owners of this apartment had a problem, similar to what I and every bibliophile face.

Books. Lots of books. Lots and lots and lots of books. Drives my wife cRaZy. I could be stranded in a desert dying of thirst, and drag my dehydrated carcass to a roadside lemonade stand...and ask if they have any bestsellers.

Well, the owners of this apartment had a novel (ha ha pun intended) way to resolve their issue. They designed in a hidden and seldom used back stairwell to an upper loft, a means of arranging for their treasures to remain neatly organized.

Sherry won't make our bed anymore. It's not her fault, she's by no means lazy. I have so many books and magazines piled up on my side of the bed it is a slippery slope that more than once has caused her to stumble. I now make the bed. And I slip and stumble.

I love it. Sherry hates it. I tell her it would be a great way to open up a new....wait for it....CHAPTER in our lives! Get it? Ha ha ha I crack myself up.

Motorcycle Memories

2008-03-03T11:52:00.000-08:00

I had come across the picture below some time ago and filed it away. Recently on Wayne's blog he posted an entry about his affection for motorcycles (I had forgotten about that Wayne). Take a close look at his former commuter bike. I think it's a Kawasaki, and I'm going to guess that is a late 70's or early 80's bike.

My bike was a Yamaha Enduro, one of the very first off-road models that spawned the dirt bike era. Older than Wayne's bike, it was probably a 1971 or 72 model. Although the bike in this picture is a 250, my bike was an odd (by today's standards) 175 cubic centimeters.

How I loved that motorcycle!

It looked exactly like the picture above. It is amazing how seeing the picture aroused 30 year old memories in a tactile way. I can feel the compression as I kick start it, I can remember how the pad was so worn that I tore it off and had to be careful not to let me foot slip off.

Look at that travel on the rear shocks! I remember one day taking the seat off and going for a ride to 'force' the skills of riding standing up on the pegs. I remember how my butt hurt when I was slammed down into the frame sans seat. Ah, the foolishness of youth.

I remember riding along and seeing two girls. Wanting to impress them I sailed off a fairly large jump, attempted to do a table top cross up before 'table top' was even vogue, and crashed miserable in front of them. Thankfully, only my ego was seriously busted up.

I remember taking off the exhaust pipe heat shield, thinking it looked dorky. I remember putting the exhaust pipe heat shield back on when it burned my leg.

I remember tinkering with the Mikuni carburetor. I remember spending a lot of tinkering trying to get it running right again.

I remember many times of stalling the engine riding through mud and water, and taking off the magneto cover and drying out the points. I remember being stuck in mud, using a stick and leaves to poke out the accumulation of mud in the rear tire and wiping the chain, and watching my mom drive up on the adjacent road, look at me...and keep on driving!

I remember learning how to pop a wheelie, then ride a wheelie. I was actually good at wheelies.

I remember showing off for some friends, pulling a textbook berm shot, and then crashing into the rear wall of John's market (Lakehead, CA). I remember having to pay John back for the hole I put in his wall. I also remember having to pay to have the forks straightened with a hydraulic press.

How I loved that motorcycle!

Name these guys and win a prize.

2008-02-28T13:32:00.000-08:00

This picture is significant for two reasons. The first reason is that one of these gentlemen greatly influenced my life. The other is that this picture was taken in the year I was born, 1957. Who do you think they are?

Hint: The picture was taken in Spain, and their last names both start with "D".

I'm not sure yet what the prize might be. Maybe a rock, or a leaf. I'm going green. Think real hard before you scroll down for the answer.

Answer: The two men are Walt Disney and Salvador Dali. Growing up in Southern California, some of my fondest and earliest memories were going to Disneyland. Mom and Dad would bundle us up in the car, get us all excited about going to Disneyland. Dad would then drive around until he found a burned down warehouse and exclaim "oh my gosh kids! Disneyland burned down!" He would drive us home as we cried.

Seriously though, the Magic Kingdom visits were are wonderful part of growing up. I still tear up remembering the Matterhorn emerging from the smog. Or maybe it was just the smog that made me tear up. I would have loved to hear what Walt and Salvador talked about!

Dream Diary #6

2008-02-28T13:28:00.000-08:00

I dreamt that Sherry and I were with my family. We had our bikes, and told the fam that we were going on a bike ride. Then, I was in a garage (I think it was ours but I'm not sure) working on a motorcycle engine. I had received it in a box (known by the colloquial term as a basket case) and was rebuilding it. It was a four stroke engine and I couldn't find the valve lifters. I finally found them and they were caked with old grease. I began to clean them when dad came into the garage.

"I'm going on the bike ride with you", he said. He had gone to a bike shop and purchased an unusual bike. The bottom of the fork split into a wishbone, and there were two small tires instead of one. The tires were not arranged in a tricycle fashion, i.e. next to each other but inline with each other (picture a rollerblade). It was very strange looking. Then mom came into the garage and said she had bought a bike. Then my brother came into the garage, he already had a bike.

I was pleased to have a garage full of bikes, even if they weren't all mine. I continued to work on the engine as everyone got ready for the ride.

Then, I was driving my truck. Into an apartment complex. On the walkways. In my dream I had done this before, it was a shortcut to the parking lot that I used. But the walkways became narrower and narrower, and soon I could not go forward and had to reverse my way out. As I passed one apartment there was a guy packing up. I knew him and I can't remember the reason that he was leaving but it was a sad event.

Next, I was still trying to get into the parking lot. Having failed at the walking paths, I used a neighbor's driveway. It was a huge expensive house with a huge driveway big enough that some cars were using it as a racetrack. So there I was, in my truck; driving on a stranger's driveway in the middle of a race.

Then I woke up.

Everybody's gone surfing, surfing USA

2008-02-28T13:04:00.000-08:00

Honolulu, Waikiki Beach c. 1989

I fought my way to the surface, gagging and spitting seawater. Rather than riding the wave, you might say that the wave rode me - pounding me down into the ocean where the little fishies live. I fell into a pattern - I would wait for a nice juicy wave, and then paddle furiously as it lifted me into the air and then I just floated off the backside, sitting idle as the other surfers caught a nice ride in. Or, I would see the wave, paddle furiously and have it come crashing down over me.

Once in a while I would actually "catch the wave" and enjoy a brief (less than 15 seconds) moment of sheer liquid bliss. And then fall, the tether would smack the board against my head and we would start the cycle over again. I was grateful that my friend lent me his board, but I did not realize that it was a competition board made for true surfers and not a poser like me.

Lahaina, Maui 2007

The sensation made me giddy - gliding atop the water, the slightest forward movement made the board go faster, shifting my weight and using my back foot to steer the board I managed to barely avoid the seawall as onlookers ran for safety and popped out their cell phones, fingers poised to dial 9-1-1.

I was surfing! I WAS SURFING! Let's look at the backstory. First, I'll admit to being a bit clumsy. OK, uncoordinated. Well, to tell the truth I was always the last kid picked for a team in school - "I'll take Henry" "I'll take Pete" "I'll take Dave's Mom" "I'll take Dave's sister" " OK, I'll take Dave". So, to surf (an action requiring a modicum of balance and coordination) was quite an accomplishment for me.

It started with a guarantee - I would get up on the board on the first lesson. No way! How could I NOT sign up and take a surf lesson! Could I change the past and not have a surf lesson turn into a surf "lesion"?!? I could. I plunked down my hard earned cash and began the lesson.

We had a small group of about 10 people. Our instructor Kenny explained how it would work - with our boards still on the sand we practiced centering, getting upright and how to steer. When we went into the water and started paddling I could appreciate how much work it is paddling out to the waves. My shoulders were sore after about 20 minutes! It was hard enough work that one couple abandoned the lesson just because of that.

It took a few times, but I did get up! It might have had something to do with the training, but maybe more that the board was long enough to land an F-18 on (short board = young crazy kids, long board = old crazy men). I began to exercise a small amount of confidence, and soon Kenny said "hey Dave, you want to go ride some bigger waves?" I looked at him and snorted "sha, Eddie would go!"

He thought that my show of bravado was hilarious, and said my new name was Big Wave Dave. I revel in the glory of my accomplishment. Look at how big this wave was!

Run Like Hell Half Marathon

2008-02-28T13:02:00.000-08:00

Fresh from running the Maui Marathon in mid-September 2007, I decided to sign up and run the Run Like Hell half marathon here in October. The race was just over a month from the marathon, and my spur of the moment decision led to a rigorous training routine in which I executed faithfully. I ran two times. No more than 5 miles each time! Seriously. Yeah, that's gonna win me a prize.

But, I was out to have some fun and fun it was. My next door neighbor Jesse, who ran his first Hood to Coast with me in August 2007, joined up with me on the spur of the moment and off we set for downtown. It was a chilly morning, and if the temperature is above 40 I'm ok with wearing shorts, as long as my upper body is warm. I used to buy cheap white cotton gloves to wear at the closest convenience or grocery store and just toss them afterwards. But no, couldn't find any but they had bulky black ones. OK, they'll do!

At packet pickup the coolest (no pun intended relating to how cold it was) thing happened - the number bibs were vertical! Maybe I'm just naive but in all the races I've done I've never seen bibs like that. It was perfect to put on the leg of my shorts instead of my top. As you can see I was very proud.

As we ran, I overheard a conversation that three young ladies were having regarding different translations of the Bible. Wow! I get to run and have a theology discussion too! I politely inserted myself into the conversation and we had a good discussion.

By that time Jesse had already pulled way ahead of me, go Jesse go! We began a gradual but long hill up Barbour Boulevard. The sun actually peeked out from the clouds and the fall leaves gave a vivid tableau of beauty that I enjoyed.

As I ground my way up the hill, I noticed the footfalls and panting of a runner that was attempting to pass on my right. I made some room but ever so gradually picked my pace. Sneaking a look over my shoulder I saw a girl probably 30 years my junior. She picked up her pace. I picked up mean. This was all very subtle, but it was clear that two runners would make it to the top of this hill, one would be first - and one would not.

I'm realistic with my abilities, and knew that it was inevitable that she would beat me. I could sense that she was the stronger runner. However, I'm pretty strong on hills and knew I could make her fight for it. And I did.

At about mile 11 a young kid, probably no more than 18; flew past me. I plodded along and then saw him with his hands on his knees, chest heaving at a dead stop. I plodded past him. About a 1/4 mile later - wham! He passed me like I was standing still. About a 1/4 mile later I passed him - he was, you guessed it - at a dead stop in the middle of the street. The cycle repeated itself twice, and by now the finish line was less than a mile away. I steeled my 50 year old muscles, dug in hard, played the Chariots of Fire theme song in my mind and ran past him, picking up my pace as I did so. It worked! I beat the young whippersnapper. However, I have no illusions that he will learn how to pace himself and become the threat to all us old guys.

Jesse ran out to meet me at about 5 city blocks from the finish. He gave me some gatorade and a good slap on the back as I ran across the finish line. I was tired, cold, and my knee hurt - and I'm sure I'll do this one again in 2008!

Highway Haiku

2008-02-11T05:29:00.000-08:00

Patiently waiting

at on ramp light, lady primps

Wow! Lots of face paint.

Orange glow up ahead

could it be a big bomb blast?

No, just a sunset

Dream Diary #5

2008-02-11T05:27:00.000-08:00

I have weird dreams, but even this one was a doozy...

We have a new guy at work, and I dreamt I bought a pickup truck from him. It was a 1970's era Chevy stepside, metallic blue and sported high end, aftermarket stuff. It had a 454 cubic inch engine in it and a turbo hydromatic 400 transmission with a high performance torque converter. With Hedman headers and a Crane camshaft, at idle the engine would rumble and snort as the Holley 750 CFM carburetor with dual feed would, like a blood transfusion into Frankenstein's monster; feed the engine with lifeblood.

I pulled out of my driveway and went down to the local US Bank (my dreams are very specific) to get some cash out of the ATM. There was no drive up ATM which surprised me. I parked the truck and walked around the building, no walk up ATM! Another guy showed up and he too was looking for the ATM. We went inside the branch but saw no ATM. We saw a door and walked through it, and found ourselves in a hallway walking past the employee break room. No one seemed to be panicked by our appearance and offered us some lunch! We politely declined and asked if there was an ATM at the branch. They said no.

Then I got back in the truck, but noticed some dents on the rear fender (it was a stepside). Don't know what that may mean but they were there. I drove off and enjoyed the feeling of the powerful engine pushing me back into the seat as I accelerated into...a traffic jam. Finally I was able to extricate myself and roared off onto a freeway, looking for the Glisan street exit. I saw the exit, but it turned into a skyway that drove us high above the city...to a fountain where kids were splashing and playing. I asked someone there for directions, but they couldn't provide any. I set off driving around again, still looking for a way to get to Glisan street.

The freeway then turned into a highway that ended with me driving up into a "T" intersection. I could only go left, or go right. At the base of the intersection was a tiny little shoe store. I was shocked to find that I was in La Canada (Flintridge) California. This is significant I suppose, if only a throwback to the past. When I was a child we lived in Lancaster CA and when we drove to LA we would drive over the Angeles Crest Highway and drop down into the valley through La Canada. As a kid it was always significant for me to see that little shoe store because I knew that fun times we're not far away as we took the left turn onto the Foothill freeway with relative's homes in Pasadena, El Monte, Arcadia all very close now.

Well, instead of the Foothill freeway I was finally on Glisan street! I don't remember why or where I was going on Glisan, but I was so relieved to be there.

And then I woke up.

Goodbye, Mr. Cash

2008-01-19T13:15:00.001-08:00

Today, we said goodbye to Mr. Cash. Sherry got him just before I met her, he's been with us for 13 years. His kidneys had been failing with all the symptoms, and he had begun to act erratic even biting Sherry's arm a few days ago to raise a big bruise.

Mr. Cash and I have always had somewhat of an awkward relationship. I've never been a real cat person, and when we got married I set a rule that Mr. Cash could not come into our bedroom. I don't remember how I reinforced that edict, but I can tell you that when our relationship thawed a little bit he could come in.

We've had our setbacks though. Sherry would drape him over her shoulder and he would swim with his paws and purr. As our cold war thawed, one day I picked him up and laid him over my shoulder. We had not yet ratified our existence as buddies, and he quickly dug his claws into my back. I should have relaxed my grip and he would have jumped off, but I held him tightly and pulled him up my back as his claws gouged furrows in my lats. He stuck a bit on my should blade and I gave a mighty tug, and as I yanked him off of me his flailing claws found purchase on my earlobe and a fine spray of blood hit the wall. That set us back about two years.

There were the times though when I would tolerate him. The little guy loved to sleep on my chest. He would purr like a fine tuned engine.

And so the years went by, relational advances and setbacks abounding. Sherry would have him shaved in the summer like a little lion. I would feign shock, and mention that she had removed the part of him that made him a manly cat, and now he looks like a cross dressed poodle! But it was kind of fun.

My favorite memory of him was how he loved the rings from the lid on a plastic milk jug. He would play with them and bat them all over the kitchen linoleum floor, sliding around like a blind baseball player trying to slide into home.

Sherry called me from work today and asked if I would take him in for his departure. I knew I would have to do it, she loved him so much she would be an emotional wreck if she had to do it. He was sleeping on the floor, and tears filled my eyes as I picked him up and put him in a box for his final trip. I became emotional myself, and cried as I drove him to the vet.

Once in the examination room, he meowed and looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. It reminded me of when we bought our home and the first time we brought him in. He ran from window to window, looking outside. The vet described the procedure, and by now I was sobbing as he administered the sedative. It acted faster than I wanted it to, I thought I would have more time to pet him. The vet gave him the final shot, and it only took moments for his little heart to stop beating. I held him for a while and petted him, then gently covered him with a towel and said my final goodbyes.

Sherry would talk to him and refer to me in third person as his daddy. I always protested, and reminded her that it's OK to be Kadie's daddy (our dog Kadie), but with Mr. Cash I am the master. Today, as I held his little body - I was his daddy.

All I want for Christmas

2007-12-21T07:36:00.001-08:00

...is a really hot car. This Christmas, I'm making an exception. Typically, I would always without hestiation take a 1970's era American musclecar over a foreign automobile, even if it was a firecracker of a sports car.

Well, I found a firecracker. And Sherry, I want one. It is a Bugatti Veyron. Say what? Yeah, a Bugatti.

know it sounds stupid, it doesn't have the mystique of Ferrari or Lamborghini. But, it's a pretty fast little car. How fast, you might ask? I might tell you. It goes 252 miles an hour. Yep, that's right - over TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY miles an hour. The tires are specially designed as even normal very high performance tires will melt at that speed. At 735 horsepower it will take your head off, going from 0-62 MPH in 2.5 seconds. Yes, that wasn't a mistype - from a standing start to 62 miles an hour you will spend 2.5 SECONDS.

I really want one bad Sherry. And at $1,700,000 I don't want anything else this year.

You know you're old when...

2007-12-21T07:34:00.001-08:00

I took my truck in for service recently. They provide a car service to take customers back to our households or other destinations. A young kid was my driver. As we neared my neighborhood he remarked that he used to have some friends on my street that he would hang out with. I said "oh, at the house where they have the football games and a bunch of guys come over and get drunk and loud?" He said no, "those guys are in their twenties and too old for me and my friends". Young whippersnapper.

What a novel idea!

2007-11-17T07:13:00.001-08:00

I've been waiting since last year. I came across a concept that intrigued me, and I waited an entire year to embark upon the voyage. I've always wanted to write a book, and as you know always never comes. I needed some motivation. I needed the fellowship of kindred souls. I needed the National Novel Writers Month.

The NaNoWriMo happens every November, and I had been waiting for a year to enter. It's very simple. You write a novel of a minimum of 50,000 words. You upload the novel for word count verification. You win a certificate, and an icon for your website. That's it! It is possible to cheat, but the honor system works well - because there is no financial prize, there is no guaranteed book review or promotion, if you cheat it only hurts yourself.

In November 2007 I joined 101,767 aspiring novelists - ready, set go! Out of the 101,767 there were 15,335 winners for a cumulative total of 1,187,931,929 words. Yes, more than a billion words were counted! Mine were not counted, I dropped out! Here's the schedule I put together and the results:

As you can see, I started off slow and got slower! At just under 30,000 words I threw in the towel realizing that I would have to write at an insane pace to finish. One night I even fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard. I woke up to find a paragraph that looked like this:lllllllllllllllldddddddddddlllllllllllllllllllll etc.

You think I'm kidding, right? Wrong! It really happened. If you look closely there is an embedded code that when decrypted says "go to bed Dave".

The basis for my novel is rooted in reality. Many years ago while I was in college my grandfather passed away in Southern California. I took a Greyhound bus back to Portland, and made friends with 3 people. Each of us had a very different background, and were on the bus for very different purposes. But as we shared our stories a friendship grew. I've created characters around those people, and launched off into what might have happened if we had stayed in touch.

I know what you are going to ask: Will you finish? Yes, I will. Although I didn't make the goal, I learned a lot. I learned what writer's block is. I learned how to finely craft a sentence. I learned to use an economy of words (true story!). I learned a new respect for writers. And someday, I might be one!

Dream Diary #5

2007-11-03T06:41:00.000-07:00

I dreamt I was in Hawaii with my Ford Ranger pickup. I had gone to a popular outside bar & grill, but was wondering why it was so popular. Although the warm breeze and swaying of the plam trees as I sat outside under an umbrella sipping a lava flow captured the essence of the islands, the scenery was somewhat limited. The bar & grill was on the canyon floor, if you will; with a towering condominium on one side and the enormous side of a cruise liner forming the other wall. It was a very narrow space at the bottom that the establishment sat.

It was for the reason of the limited view that I decided to leave. I went out to my truck and as I approached on the passenger side, little reddish spiders began falling like rain on the truck and then all over me. I panicked and unlocked the passenger door to slide over to the driver's side, brushing spiders off of me in a frenzy. As I opened the door though and got in the truck an enormous yellowjacket wasp followed me in. As if taunting me, he perched on the window button so I couldn't open the window. I sped off, and he moved; and I punched the button and as the window lowered he was swept out of the truck.

I drove on a road that sooned turned into a frontage road paralleling a freeway. In between the frontage road and the freeway was a large area about a quarter mile wide where off road riders would cavort in the dirt. I thought "why not" and swung the truck off road. I powered up a hill and clouds of dust began to fly. As the truck began to slip sideways I stopped by a family having a picnic. Rather than being offended by the dust now settling on their fried chicken and lemonade, the father began explaining to his son how I would soon need to put the truck into four wheel drive. We had a nice chat. As I drove up the hill the dream changed and I was out of my truck and onto a four wheeler. The dust turned powdery and the front wheels began to churn a circular ring of dust as they rotated and pounded the dust into powder.

I can see all of this that I just related to you in remarkable clarity and color. Then I woke up.

A Perfect Day

2007-10-29T05:29:00.000-07:00

My life can be mundane at times. Well, most of the time. However, yesterday was an exceptional day. I ran some errands in the morning, and it was warm and sunny enough (in late October!) to roll the windows down and put on sunglasses. I glanced in the rearview mirror and admired how cool I look in shades, and almost rear ended a car in front of me that had stopped for a light.

Then, I went to the gym and lifted. I enjoy running, cycling and swimming but I really enjoy weightlifting. As I had focused on cycling in the spring for the Pole Pedal Paddle and ran all summer in preparation for the Maui Marathon, it had been months since I was in the gym. I saw a buddy name Seamus and we chatted and he remarked how good I looked with all the weight loss. It was a nice moment of narcississm and to catch up with him.

Then, I took Kadie to a park and threw a ball for her until she was near collapsed. I love watching her run. She kept returning the ball though and when I saw that she would have barely enough energy to even jump into the truck I grabbed her and heaved her up.

Then, with the opportunity of sunshine and dry leaves (a rare occurence in the Portland fall) I worked in the yard. Out came the leaf blower. Of course I had purchased an expensive, powerful leaf blower and relished the experience of moving those leaves closer to their destiny in a black leaf bag waiting to be banished to the mulching plant. Still wearing a sleeveless workout shirt I was showing off my biceps a little bit. The sun was an orb in the sky and my biceps were like two moons in my yard.

Then, Kadie had recovered and wanted me to throw the ball again. Tired now from lifting and carrying the leaf blower I went to throw the ball and unfortunately my massive bicep finally said "enough" and the ball rolled off of my hand and bopped me right on the head. Kadie was amused. I was not. I returned to blowing leaves around and leaned around a corner. The intake for the blower sucked part of my untucked shirt into it and I had a moment of panic thinking it would rip my shirt right off of my body and expose my six pack abs and massive chest to the neighbors. Fortunately for my neighbors I managed to extricate the shirt.

Still enamored with blowing everything not tied down around (you should have seen the cat go! Not really but I thought about it) I had remembered that I had thrown a pair of running shoes into the washer and set them out to dry. Ha! Leaf blower to the rescue. I stuck the nozzle into one of the shoes and let 'er rip. A bit full of myself for being so clever I proceeded to blow one of the shoes into the pile of leaves. I was able to find it.

Then, I thought it was time for a run! I sat down in the sun to rest a little bit. As the rays bathed me in warmth I thought it would be nice to have a beer. I fetched a beer and returned to the sun.

Then, I thought it would be nice to sit in the sun, drink a beer and read. I fetched a book on philosophy and read Socrates, Plato and that other guy. I dozed off and dreamt a little bit that I was a philosopher in Athens pontificating to the rapt audience. Then I woke up.

What a wonderful day it was!

Highway Haiku

2007-10-24T07:46:00.002-07:00

Rain is falling hard,

wipers are barely working,

Grip faithful tires - hold fast!

Silver car speeding,

passing cars recklessly now,

slow your @$$ down idiot!

Maui Marathon 2007

2007-10-07T09:52:00.003-07:00

I had decided in the winter of 2006 that 2007 would be a marathon year for me. The term can sometimes be used to signify the exertion of energy to obtain various goals in life, but I meant it in the literal sense - once again I would rise up on these massive pillars of energy I call my legs and transport my body over 26.2 miles of road. Although the Portland marathon in my home town is consistently rated as one of the best marathons in the U.S. I thought if I'm going to spend that much time training then I wanted to do a destination marathon. We go to Maui every other year, and 2007 was our year. I found that Maui indeed has a marathon, and we planned accordingly.

Our condo is on the west side of the island, and the marathon start is near the airport in the town of Kahului, then south on the 380 to the Honoapiilani highway where we then run northwest through Lahaina to the finish at the Westin Maui at Whalers Village. You can visit a detailed map of the route here.

The race would be at the end of our stay, so we had plenty of activities to look forward to with the marathon being the capstone. I decided to get in a few runs to acclimate myself to the island but being careful to not burn out so close to the marathon. Sherry and I have a nice route that we enjoy through lower Honoapiiliani highway and then winds up a steep hill to a luxuriousy neighborhood with fantastic multi million homes. I ran great and blasted up the hill like it was nothing. Later in the week I ran a few short runs on the treadmill at the resort. Our resort has a fitness center with four treadmills, two looking out at the pool and the other two facing a wall sized mirror. The two 'good' treadmills were occupied so I took one facing the mirror. It was interesting to watch my gait. As I ran I noticed that my right leg splays outward at a very slight angle, maybe 2-3 degrees. I had a remarkable moment of clarity! When I tire on a long run, I've noticed a peculiar very light scuffing, actually more of a brushing; as I lightly touch my left heel with my right heel. Now I could see that it was because of the slight angle when I run. Mystery solved.

Race day! The buses left the Maui Westin at 3:30 AM to deposit us in Kahului with plenty of time before the 5:30 AM start. I need time to wake up and not be rushed, so I set the alarm for 2:30 AM (the Westin was a 10 minute drive from our condo). I had carefully laid out my running gear the night before, so I enjoyed a leisurely shower and dressed with a half hour to spare to sip coffee and enjoy the pre-dawn warm breeze on the lanai. Sherry rose about 3:00 AM and drove me to the buses, kissed me goodbye and wished me a great run. I boarded the first bus out of the Westin and we headed down the highway on the marathon course. It was not lost on me that in the pre-dawn blackness that many hours later I would arrive back at the same place with my only means of transportation being the legs beneath me.

We arrived at the start line with more than an hour to kill. The time went fast though, wandering around, looking at everybody and stretching for the race. As I watched everyone gear up it dawned on me that I had not brought my goo! I was munching on some sourdough pretzel bites I took on the bus and realized that they must suffice to be my energy source throughout the race. I crammed the back pocket of my running shorts with bites.

Soon it was time to move to the start line. A nervous energy was apparent, everyone was ready to get the show on the road! As we queued up, the announcer asked us to observe the singing of the national anthem. Tears welled up in my eyes as groups all around the crowd (there were about 1,200 runners total) softly sang along with the singer. Then, we received a traditional Hawai'in blessing. I'm not sure what the words were, but it lifted my heart nonetheless. Instead of a starting gun - a blowing of the conch shell set us off!

I don't see well without my glasses, OK I'm probably close to legally blind but Sherry and I did not know what to expect. I was hoping she could meet me on the course and swap my prescription sunglasses for my regular clear glasses that I would need to start in the darkness with. Not wanting to risk it though I decided to leave my glasses at the condo and start with my sunglasses even in the dark. I bought some croakies to let them rest around my neck so I ran the first 5-6 miles in darkness, and with some focus issues! However, there were runners all around me and it did not present a problem.

As we began the run, some people around me were chatting and I met a girl from Beaverton Oregon, which borders my town of Tigard! Cool to meet a neighbor at a race on Maui. I broke a rule of racing three times - I have a tenet of never trying anything new in a race. So here I was - a hat on my head, which I've never done; carrying pretzel bites to eat; which I've never done in a race, and running a race with my iPod. We'll come back to that in a moment.

As we ran down the highway bordered by tall sugar cane fields, an unusual sight began to appear in my blurry vision. Ghosts were coming out of the sugar cane! Multiple apparitions began to move in and out of the cane. Indulge me in an indiscrete moment gentle reader - I realized that it was runners leaving the road to relieve themselves in the privacy of the sugar cane fields. I would NEVER do anything like that...

Anyway, as the light of the dawn broke behind us I saw a shadow of what appeared to be the horns of a bull behind me! Glancing back I saw a guy running with a Viking helmet. OK, whatever. But he had hand written on his shirt "running for peace". In a Viking helmet. Well, we all know that in our history classes we were taught that Vikings were a gentle race, interested only in a peaceful harmony and coexistence with those that they came into contact with.

Soon I saw Ma'alea harbor, and our first glimpse of the ocean. It was inspiring to then see, even without my glasses, Molokini rising up out of the sea. I had created a running playlist and as OMC started singing "How Bizarre" a bizarre thing happened. Two Japanese runners dressed as bowling pins passed me. Bowling pins? I had no idea what the significance was but it was truly bizarre.

The miles went by, and for the rest of the course I would have the ocean in view. It was overcast but not cloudy, just a haze that took the edge of the sun off. About mile 10 I figured it was time for a little sustenance. Hmmm - the sourdough pretzel bites to the rescue! Well, let me brutally honest at the risk of being potentially disgusting. The miles and the sweat had began to break down the bites, so you might say they were kind of mushy and pre-digested if you will. Hey, it's just carbohydrates - a little mushy, I just pretended they were salty oatmeal and gagged them down.

I suppose it was mile 13 when Sweet Child 'o Mine by Guns and Roses came on. I was in my moment - a good solid pace, the ocean next to me, and slowing a bit so I could sing at the top of my weary lungs "she's got a smile that seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky". Seeing some local surfer dudes and wahines I nodded to them like "hey, we're cool - your're surfin and I'm running, and like we are so cool doing our thing man". I thought they would understand as I started wailing the chorus "ooooOOOOO sweeeEEEEeeet cHilD 'o MiNe". I tried to flash them the Hawai'in 'hang loose' salute but got confused and flipped them off. OK, just kidding.

However, I'm sure that there is a luau going on somewhere right now on Maui, and as the Poi and the pork is flowing that same group are watching some waves ushering in a sunset, and one of them is saying "hey remember that dork on the race" and they will all laugh except for the beautiful girl with the long brown hair and green eyes who secretly thinks I'm the most studly thing she ever saw - I swear I saw it in her eyes as a smile creased her delicate face as I plodded by, but then perhaps it was just gas.

Mile 16 approached and went into mile 17. I stopped at a water station and grabbed cup of water. As I slowed to drink it, my knee started hurting bad. Real bad. I'd never had the kind of pain I was experiencing. The thought even crossed my mind that I may DNF (did not finish). I have never, ever not finished a race. I walked, nay limped; for about a quarter mile before I started to run again. Oddly enough it did not hurt when I ran. But I could tell my pace was in ruins. That's OK though, my goal was just to finish.

At mile 19 I was struggling. I thought I would disassociate from the pain and selected a philosophy lecture I had on the iPod. I started to listen and contemplate the relationship between the material brain and our soul, mind and matter. Does the mind matter? Never mind. What's the matter? Oh yes I pondered the breadth and depth of our metaphysical, existential lives. And had slowed down to about a mile per hour pace! OK Dave, time to start associating with the race again.

I cranked up the playlists to some running favorites - "dum, dum dum dum, dum dum dum, dum - dum. It's the eye of the tiger it's the thrill of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our rival". Like Rocky Balboa I pummeled the air with my fists and summoned the courage and energy from deep inside and passed a 70 old runner. Who then passed me back. I kicked him in the shin and kept going.

Finally - mile 20! Six miles to go. Six miles is nothing. Six miles is not even a warm up. In my training I was consistently running 8 mile plus runs without even breaking a sweat, negating any need to apply deodorant to my underarms. But six miles after 20 was a little daunting. At mile 22 there were some Japanese kids with a big basket of treats. One of them handed me something, I don't know what it was; in a cellophane wrapper. It kind of looked like a round Hostess Twinkie. I tried to talk to them but the langauge barrier was insurmountable. I still don't know what it was I ate that day, but it was good and I was grateful.

Mile 23 was painful. It was just flat hard. My knee was still hurting bad, and everything in me was screaming to stop. But with only 3 miles to go I perservered. The 70 year old guy had caught up with me, and I had to kick his oxygen bottle away from him to get him behind me again. Running through the Front Street mile, past Snorkel Bob's and the Jesus Coming Soon church (yes, right about now would be fine with me Lord) I had two miles to go. Then I saw something that brought tears to my eyes. A purple unicorn was offering me a latte! Oh, sorry that was another hallucination talking.

There was a sign on the road that said "BELIEVE IN YOURSELF". It was a very emotional moment. Seriously, I had to brush away a few tears. It wasn't a commercial made-Nike logo'd Alberto Salazar type of bling - it was just a piece of cardboard that someone had scrawled on with a felt tip pen. I was so moved, I'll never forget that as long as I live - two miles to go now - I believe in myself! I could do anything for two miles. I could do cartwheels for two miles. I could hopscotch two miles. I could crawl for two miles, grinding the asphalt into my knees and leaving a trail of blood, sweat and tears as my legacy as I hobble across the finish lines on the stumps of my legs. But of course that was not necessary.

Oh dear reader, lest you think I'm bloviating, do let me assure you that those two miles were painful. But, I dug deep down inside again and actually ran those last two miles hard. I earned those miles. I had just run TWENTY FOUR MILES and two measly more were not going to stop me. As I looked across the water to the Maui Westin it seemed 30 miles away, but it grew gradually closer and closer until finally I had one mile to go. Perhaps it was coincidence, but the timing couldn't be better - the familiar strains of one of rock's most famous songs caressed my tired ears. To some, the Maui Marathon may have been run on the "Highway to Hell", but I finished to "Stairway to Heaven"! Isn't that awesome. And then, there was Sherry. Screaming her lungs out for me, ahh it lifted my heart! Seeing the finish line at last! "And as I wind on down the road, my shadow taller than my soul...yes I'm buying the stairway, to..heaven". I DID IT! I FINISHED THE MAUI MARATHON! I had just enough energy to blow air kisses to the crowd.

And I'll probably never do it again!

Hood to Coast 2007 - The Race

2007-10-07T09:51:00.001-07:00

A long race such as Hood to Coast is a series of many small events. Here's a few from this year!

The first major exchange (where we hand off one van to another) took place at the Sandy Fred Meyer. With no exaggeration there were hundreds of runners and the parking lot was clogged with people. Not that they were wearing clogs, running shoes were the fashion statement. Sing with me now to the tune of "My Favorite Things" (bonus points if you sound like Julie Andrews) and you will start to get a sense for event:

Addidas and Brooks and racing flats too,

Velcro and arch support and running socks for you,

running shoes laced up with twine and with string,

These are a few of my favorite things,

Shorts made for running with liners so sweet,

Fashion statements matching the shoes on your feet,

Tops made for women and shirts made for guys,

Beautiful and handsome just made for your eyes,

Mizuno, New Balance, Asics, Saucony also,

Competitive shoes that you don't sing with falsetto,

So many Nikes it looks like a zoo,

Never five feet away from a swoosh it is true,

When the blisters start,

When the thirst kicks in,

When the sun is in my eyes,

I simply reach into my gear bag for relief,

And smear Bodyglide......on my thighs!

Well, didn't that set a lovely tone. Anyway it was amazing. Parked next to us was a team from europe with runners from Germany, Switzerland and Denmark. No kidding. We engaged them in conversation just to hear the broken english and the lilt of their native languages.

Soon our Van 1 runner came in and handed off to Jesse, our first runner in Van 2. As we egressed the exchange and began our first set of legs, there were a few demonstrators holding signs demanding troop withdrawals from Iraq. Now I'm all for that, but it was just kind of a twilight zone moment - thousands of runners and 2 demonstrators. But hey, whatever!

Jesse sucked up the miles like Jimmy Buffet on Long Island Teas. Kelly then ran like a duck on a June bug. Steve ran hard and fast like Oprah on a ham. Lauren blew away her competition like leaves before the unassailable force of a gas powered leafblower. Lauren handed off to yours truly for my first leg. I advised the newbies not to blow themselves out on their first leg, but enjoy the experience, run just hard enough but save energy for later in the race when you will need it. Of course I ignored my own advice. I left the exchange like the Road Runner fleeing from Wile E. Coyote. Bam! I passed 2 runners. And then it happened - the thing we all dread. Not blisters mind you, a red light - with a race official! He kindly informed me that if I crossed on a red my team would be disqualified. I watched in frustration as the 2 runners I passed caught up with me. When the light turned green we all bolted and I had to pass them yet again! But I felt great and ran strong.

I kicked it up at the exchange and ran in to handoff to Alisha. As I walked around a bit to regain my breath, one of my favorite things on Hood to Coast happened. Put this into perspective - there are one thousand teams with 12 runners - yes, do the math and that means there are twelve thousand runners on the course! I love seeing someone I know out there. At my first exchange I saw a guy named Jerry that was on our team in 1995 or 1996, I don't remember for sure. It was his first Hood to Coast and at that time he had just taken up running and it was awesome catching up with him and seeing that he was still running.

Alisha ran us in to Portland, and we met with Van 1 for the exchange. They took off and we drove to Hillsboro to Corillian, where half the team works. I don't remember the exact time but it was around 10:00 PM. We have a "Campus Center" that includes a small gym and locker rooms. We all prepared to take showers but...realized that my badge gave me access to the men's locker room, but not the women's! Sure, that makes sense but it left Lauren and Alisha in a small predicament. Gallantly, the gentlemen invited them to shower first while we stood guard. Everything was going fine until a guy from our neighboring business wandered in and headed for the men's locker room door! We screamed "hey don't go in in there!" Puzzled, he turned to look at us and I explained that there were women in there. Now, he really looked puzzled! I can only imagine (or maybe not) what was going through his head.

We quickly showered and jumped in the van to head down to the Old Spaghetti Factory (in Hillsboro not in Portland). I didn't want to gorge myself so I ordered a half portion of lasagna. Mmm good! Off to highway 30 and St Helens where we met Van 1 again for the major exchange. We started about 12:30 AM as I recall. At the exhange I was trying on Kelly's headlamp. I was in the middle of probably 60-70 runners, and I looked down so as not to blind anyone and flipped the light on. It was a surreal moment as in the dark, dozens of reflective piping on running tights and shoes lit up like the fourth of July. Very cool!

Soon it was time for me to begin my second leg. I'm guessing at this point it was around 3:00 - 3:30 AM. The exchange was very dark, with harsh divisions between the black night and the glare of the generator powered floodlights. I heard the race official down the road yell out our team number, and knew that Lauren would imminently come into the exchange and hand off to me. Sure enough, she came flying into the exchange and I stepped into the exchange zone to accept the wristband. She slowed down and I detected a funny look in the glare. She bolted past me to exchange with another runner! I realized then that 'she' was the wrong 'she'. I sheepishly (haha get it? she? she-eplishly?) turned toward the crowd and in a self deprecating confession mentioned that it is not unusual for girls to run toward me then at the last minute turn away! Everyone got a good laugh as Lauren did run in and handoff to me.

Another easy one where I could run strong and hard, but save enough gas for my third leg. Speaking of gas....as I ran in the pitch black, sweeping my flashlight along the road; I saw ahead of me another runner. I realized that at my pace I would pass her soon. Suddenly, being familiar with my bodily functions I knew that soon I would also engage, how can I say this delicately; in a wee bit of flatulence. Everyone says I'm a stinker but I don't think they mean it in a wooden, literal sense. But maybe so! Well, not to embarrass myself I timed the 'release' with the passing of a van at the same time I passed her. My strategy worked where the noise of the van effectively masked an audio expression, if you will; of the workings of my intestinal system. But, I also knew that an odiferous occurrence would likely hit our olfactory senses. In plain words, yes - I was a stinker. Thinking quickly, as I passed (get it - passed her, 'passed' gas? Hahaha again) I remarked "wow, that's a catalytic converter that's seen better days!". She agreed. My reputation intact, I trundled on through the night.

At the next major exchange we handed off to Van 2 as they began their 3rd and final set of legs. We managed to grab a few hours of much needed sleep. Steve G (driver extraordinaire, on my left in the pic) had the forsight to bring some camp chairs and a canopy. I pulled a blanked over me and in the chilly pre-dawn comfort quickly began to snooze. I awoke though to the sound of a train! I didn't think we were near any tracks. Puzzled, I looked back to see Steve in his sleeping bag on the ground behind me. He was snoring like a gas powered leaf blower in the Portland fall!

Soon we all awoke and readied ourselves for the last set of legs! This is the one where the excitement of the finish line keeps us motivated. We began to run in the same order as the previous two set of legs, with Jesse again leading us out into the early afternoon. Here's a pic of Steve A handing off to his wife Lauren. Aren't they just the cutest?!?

Soon Lauren handed off to me for my 3rd and final leg! It was a hard one, especially at mile 6 or so where I began to wear down. 3 runners passed me, but I was so excited when at last I saw the exchange and knowing that my race was almost done I summoned the last bit of energy and ran past them into the finish! Alisha then completed her final and last leg of the race. At the finish line on the beach at Seaside, the teams all gather and when the runner comes in we all run across the finish line together. It was an emotional moment for Alisha, and for the team as well! Well done, "They ran fine in January" (our team name). Here's to 2008!

Hood to Coast 2007 - The Van 2 Team

2007-10-05T08:58:00.001-07:00

One of the most important things about Hood to Coast is the team. Although I trained hard for the race this year and was probably in the best running shape I've been in for five years, I know that I'm not looking for a competitive team. I've witnessed some nasty altercations out on the course with runners literally screaming at each other because they were a few minutes off of their projected times. That's not for me.

Not having the opportunity to spend a lot of time with the Van 1 runners, I have to limit my relational ruminations to Van 2!

I recruit runners for our van who are fun to be with. Actually, over the years I now recruit people who are fun to be with and if they can run too - bonus! When you are stuck in a van for 24-28 hours with 5 other sweaty tired runners, trust me - character counts.

This year, we had a crack team lined up for Van 2 - meet the team!

Starting from the left we have Kelly. He's a very funny guy and great to be around. I met Kelly at work, and he left over 2 years ago and is still missed. He's also a black belt in Karate. Trust me, I laugh at all of his jokes!

Next up is Alisha, a family friend of Sherry and I, and this was her first Hood to Coast. She's training for a marathon in San Francisco that is right around the corner, and one day at a camping trip we went for a long run and I thought she would be a great addition to the team. Bless her heart, I told her that newbies have a tradition of baking cookies for the team. She knew I was kidding, but made cookies anyway! Mmmm they were awesome, oatmeal with butterscotch chips.

But I digress. Continuing to move on, we have Squawk. He's our mascot, and although it may seem juvenile he has important contributions to make. At a major exchange there are hundreds of runners milling around look for their team mates. Hoisting Squawk into the air allows us to come together quickly. This year we even fitted him with lights on his little wings and he became a beacon in the night.

The handsome guy kneeling is me. Don't let the easy smile fool you. The crouch is reminiscent of a wild beast, ready to launch upon its prey and vanquish its foes. Similarly, the muscles in my legs are like coiled springs, pent up energy to unleash upon my competition. Whatever.

Kneeling next to me is my neighbor Jesse. Jesse is the kind of neighbor everyone should have. He's a great guy, kind and considerate. For years now I've been trying to talk Jesse into doing a race with me! To my surprise and delight, this year he said sure.

We end the introductions with Steve and Lauren. They are great friends and a lot of fun to be around. Lauren's a personal trainer, and she and Steve are both marathoners.

Not pictured is Steve G. Steve G is our driver. I'll freely admit that after many Hood to Coasts, Steve is a world class driver. He watches out for the team, makes sure everyone is OK and threads his way through some difficult and tight spaces. He can get the van into places you would never expect.

Now, let's get racing!

Dream Diary #4

2007-10-05T07:27:00.000-07:00

I dreamt that I was in a mash up combination of locales. Somehow I was in the Portland area, but then connected to Hawaii also. I don't know which island. I had ridden my bike out to Sherwood (a town about 15 miles from my home in Tigard) but not taken a water bottle with me, which never happens. I got lost in Sherwood (which did happen one day while on a 17 mile run) and as I was not carrying any water I became extremely thirsty.

In my seat bag I had a tiny bottle of eyedrops. I drank it. Then I was rummaging around behind a store and saw a plastic bottle. It turned out to be one of those blue ice bottle things that you chuck in the freezer and then put in your cooler. It was thawed and I opened it and took a whiff thinking it might satiate my thirst. Hmmm, no - the advent of a slow painful poison death was attached to the viscous threat.

There was a water hose also behind the store, thankfully I was able to assuage the threat of imminent dehydration.

Realizing that I should not pedal home in that fragile state, I decided to take a train. I was then on a commuter train station in Hawaii. I got on the train with my bike by way of the very last car, and decided to walk to the front of the train. The train was something like a mile long, and at last when I made my way into the front car I was exhausted and thirsty again. I reached up to grab a hand rail to support myself, and the conductor threw me a bone chilling nasty look.

I decided it was time to go for a little walk. I left the train, consciously leaving my bike on the train knowing I would come back for it. I walked across the street with the caress of a warm breeze on my face and palm trees swaying back and forth. There was a little park area and a curb where water was running down the street. Suddenly there was an explosion of noise and a guy on a jet ski punched out of the water and onto the street! Engine revving he screeched his way across the asphalt. Some bystanders who were apparently locals exclaimed that they hate it when he does that.

I thought it would be a nice walk back to the end of the train, staying on the same side of the street there was a groomed path through the tropical vegetation. I walked and I walked and I walked and realized I had to again cross the street to access the train.

But there was barbed wire blocking my way! I came across an odd looking gate, some kind of contraption. The opening was too small for me to fit through, so I continued walking. I heard some voices behind me, and turned to see a guy and a girl, tucking themselves through the gate.

I ran back to them and asked for help. "Sorry", the guy explained; "this gate is a mantrap and will crush you if you attempt to get through it".

Then I woke up.

Friends, Romans and Countrymen - lend me your ears

2007-09-06T06:56:00.001-07:00

A classic dumb crook story. A colleague of mine has a husband on a local police force. Recently there was a home invasion, and in the fray the perpetrator's ear was removed from his head, involunatrily I might add. The perp fled, and the officers surmised that he would show up at one of the local hospitals to stem the open wound in his head.

Sure enough, he showed up at one of them and "Officer Bill" as we'll call her husband escorted the severed ear to the hospital. The perp claimed he had been assaulted by a gang and they had cut off his ear. Officer Bill confronted him and asked "is this your ear?". "That's not my ear" the perp replied. A moment of silence ensued and Officer Bill stated that this is really odd, as the 'victim' was missing an ear and they just happened to find one at the scene of a crime. "That's not my ear" the 'victim' restated. "But", he continued; "that's my earring".

The officers paused and contemplated the unusual situation. Home invasion, perp gets his ear cutoff, shows up at a hospital missing an ear, officer shows him an ear, perp claims it was not his ear - but it was his earring.

Officer Bill then asked the obvious question - "if that is not your ear, but it is your earring, how did it get in this ear"? "I don't know" said the 'victim'. But then a flash of brilliance to remedy an awkward situtation the 'victim' came to a logical conclusion! "But", he said; "since I'm missing an ear and my earring is in that ear, can we put the ear onto my head where I'm missing one"?

I swear that I'm not making this up, and that I've relayed the events as accurately as possible without any of my tendency to exaggerate.

Happy Birthday to Me!

2007-09-06T06:48:00.001-07:00

Wow. Today I turned fifty years old. My life used to be about drugs, fast women and hot cars. Now, the drugs are prescription for seizures, the fast woman in my life is my wife who beat me to the finish in just about every race we have done, and I still miss my hot 1967 Camaro.

My theme songs used to be "Born to be Wild" and "Life in the Fast Lane". Now, it feels like "I was born to be Mild" and people flash their lights at me to let them pass when I'm in the fast lane. I used to look like George Clooney, now I look like Andy Rooney.

In my high school yearbook there is a note from my sweetheart that alludes to all of the mushy stuff I wrote in her yearbook. I don't have a clue what I wrote! There is another comment from a girl who apparently had a crush on me (yes, that's been a theme throughout my life) gushing about the good times we shared and hoping we would keep in touch throughout the summer. I don't have a clue who she is!

The passing of time has been immortalized in fiction, non-fiction, art, music, poetry, songs, movies -even television commercials. Half my life has now passed (I'm planning on living to be exactly 100 years old). The summer of youth has faded and fall is upon me. As the leaves outside turn shades of gold, red and yellow they become a harbinger of the aging process that is now on my horizon. How old is 50? I'm just a few weeks younger than this thing that most of you probably don't know what it is or why it is so significant:

This is kind of amusing, immersing myself in melancholy meanderings in an attempt to engender your compassion and kind words. But lest you think the cold tentacles of old age are squeezing the life out of me, let me assure you that I've still got plenty of pep to go a few rounds with the Grim Reaper!

Rather than being depressed about this milestone I look at my life in wonderment. It's amazing who I've become, where I've been, what I've done - and what yet I want to do. My life has turned out to be nothing like I envisioned in my youth. When at last I become a lion in winter (hat tip to Winston) I'm sure that I will look at the second half of my life with this same kind of marvel.

Until then, I'll make a reference to my Rosebud (surely you have watched Citizen Kane, have you not?!?). Here's the teaser - the only two people who may even have an inkling of what my Rosebud is are my mom and sister. Ready mom and Jan? Think back to our days at Lake Shasta.

The object is round and plastic. That's it! That's all you get. If you guess my Rosebud, I'll take ou both to dinner at a fine eating establishment, one of my favorite Mexican food restaurants that has been a theme throughout my life. You will have to tender a guess as to which one I'm referring to.

Hood to Coast 2007 - Packet Pickup

2007-09-05T05:53:00.001-07:00

I'm back! In 2005, and 2006; I had seizures the morning of Hood to Coast. I can't believe that it was a coincidence and they somehow had to be connected to the race, but even after repeated challenges my neurologist said there is no connection. I'm back though, and ran Hood to Coast for I believe the 11th time. From the Hood to Coast official site we find that:

As the Largest Running Relay Race in the World, and The Mother of All Relays, The Hood To Coast Relay stretches 197 miles from the top of Oregon's majestic Mt. Hood down to the beautiful Pacific Ocean beaches in Seaside, Oregon. Over 12,000 runners and 4,800 walkers in The Portland To Coast, share in the experience of this annual event.

Yes, it's a big dog deal. 12 runners join in two vans, and then hand off to one other for 197 miles. Each runner runs three legs rated in different levels of difficulty based on elevation and length. The handoffs between runners in one van are called exchanges, and the handoffs between vans are called major exchanges. Exchanges are jammed with vans and runners as they manage the transitions as quickly and efficiently as possible.

But I'm getting ahead of myself! If your team makes it to registered status (the race is so popular that hundreds of teams get turned down every year) then packet pickup is the next step. Packet pickup quickly swells into long lines as hundreds of teams converge into the designated spot where they queue up to receive bibs, t-shirts and other necessities for the race.

I had a wedding to perform early afternoon the day of packet pickup, and felt that I had a good margin to pickup the packet, go home and change, and show up for the wedding on time. But, to not have any pressure I showed up at 8:00 AM to be first in line (hopefully) for the 9:00 AM start. As I entered the Tiger Woods building on the Nike Campus where packet pickup was to take place, there were already about 20 people ahead of me! Wow, these runners are competitive! As we milled around I noticed that many of them had on team gear from one of the more famous teams, the Headhunters. They began signing their names on a clipboard, and then it hit me - they were volunteers to help manage the logistics and check off and handout items to the various teams.

Soon I noticed that the doors to the room I was in had been closed and locked, sequestering us from the cavernous entrance to the Tiger Woods building. Hmmm - my little mind began to think - I'm just here to pick up my packet. Now I'm locked in the room where my packet is, and hundreds of people (literally, I'm not exaggerating) were queueing up to pick up their packets. I strategically took up a post at the door. Pretty soon this guy wandered over and I knew that my pretensions would quickly be found out, so I took the offensive:

"Hi, I'm Dave - what's your job here"? "Hi Dave, I'm Greg - my job is to help the team captains find their team number if they have forgotten by cross referencing the team name". "Great", I said, "why don't you stand to my left". A younger guy had wandered over and again I took the offensive - "Hi, I'm Dave - what's your job here"? "I'm Steve", he replied. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, they just sent me over here to help". "Super", I replied - "your job will be to stand on my right and help control traffic. Keep people moving not too slow but not too fast, just a good steady pace so we can get them in and out". He nodded his affirmation.

So, now I'm not just hanging around - I am in charge of the door that I'm supposed to be on the other side of, milling with the herd! Sometimes I'm almost shamed by my Machiavellian tendencies. This was not one of them!

At the appointed time we got the word to open the doors. I motioned to Greg and Steve to get ready and follow my lead. I opened the door and a hush went through the cavern as I hollered "can I have your attention please". "This is how it's going to work - Greg will help you find your team number if you need it, and Steve will help keep the line moving. Don't rush, we'll get you in and out quickly. As you enter the room, the lowest number packets will be on your right, ascending in number as you look counter-clockwise. Packet number #500 is almost right in the center. Are there any questions?" There were none, and then being somewhat puffed up in pompousness I pumped the air with my fist and screamed "are you ready to run?" "YES" cheered the crowd. "Follow me" I said, and ushered the first 50 people into the room. I walked to my table, picked up my packet and walked out!

Later I recounted this story to the Hood to Coast office staff and they were laughing so hard they almost fell off of their chairs!

Highway Haiku

2007-09-05T05:51:00.000-07:00

Cars slowing quickly

What! Baby ducks in the road

flee, feathered friends, flee!

West Side Story - 2007

2007-08-19T16:41:00.000-07:00

When you're a jet you are a jet forever - most of you are too young to understand the reference but if you can, go rent the musical. It's worth watching.

Fast forward to 2007. My friend Charlie is the captain of the Woodburn police department. Although Woodburn is a small town, it has it's gang related issues. Recently Charlie recounted to me how 4 members of the 18th street gang had went to a 7-11, and 2 stayed in the car and 2 stayed in the store. Then, 2 members of the 13th street gang pulled into the parking lot. How many gang members were left? Sounds like one of those jokes where you have 10 gang members going to Chicago, in Philadelphia 3 get off and 9 get on...etc, etc.

Anyway, there was an altercation of course that culminated in an agreement to meet in the park at midnight. Unfortunately a shooting occurred with a bullet going through the back of a guy's shoulder as he was running away and exited out of the front of his shoulder, blowing the joint to smithereens.

Charlie used to work for the Lake Oswego police force. Now Lake Oswego is an affluent suburb of Portland. It's the kind of place where people walk around with a little doggie in a sweater in their purses. It's the kind of place where you have a near mansion overlooking the lake and a few $100,000 cars in the garage.

It's the kind of a place where at a wonderful restaurant called Blinn's Boathouse where you can get the best pizza you have ever had, sit out on the back patio and watch the rich people motor up in their restored Chris-Craft boats. It's the kind of a place where an anonymous seaplane might land.

Now, gentle reader; lest you think I'm being pejorative I will say some of my LO friends are the nicest, most generous people I know.

But Charlie and I had a bit of fun postulating a gang war in Lake Oswego compared with the gang war in Charlie's town. Let us recount a fictional news story as reported in the Lake Oswego Review:

An altercation broke out Saturday night between two rival high school gangs. Some members of the A Street Animals alledgedly flashed a gang sign at the Country Club Crushers. Conflict was inevitable as the Animals hold turf at Starbucks, while the Crushers own Peet's. According to witness Carlton Crumpet the Animals and Crushers agreed to meet at midnight at Millenium Park.

At the appointed hour the gangs faced off. Nervous tension filled the air as the Animals and the Crushers faced off. As the boys arrayed themselves into battle formation, their girlfriends watched nervously from the sidelines, clutching their little doggies tucked protectively in their Hermes' handbags.

Suddeny, the fray erupted. To the dismay of the Crushers the Animals had brought their Lacrosse sticks. But the Crushers also had weapons at the ready. They began hurling half pound bags of Peet's coffee at the Animals! The Animals began swinging at the bags wildly at the flying containers of coffee, spilling the expensive beans across the battle ground. Soon the air was filled with the aroma of Peet's unique roasting style that results in a rich complex taste.

As the Animals began to lose their footing, defeat at the hands of the Crushers an unexpected turn of developments ensued. Seeing their boyfriends being pushed back by the bags of coffee whistling through the air like medieval catapult loads, the Animal's girlfriends entered the scene and wildly began to fling their Manolo Blahnik pumps at the Crushers. The dagger like heels quickly drove the Crushers back.

The police had arrived at the scene, and strategized a way to end the conflict. Climbing to the top of nearby trendy boutiques, they dropped coupons for free bikini waxes into the crazed crowds as the boys and girls began to tussle! To their delight the strategy worked! Even some of the girls got coupons.

Product Review - Fuel Belt

2007-08-19T08:10:00.000-07:00

I've only worn a Camel Back once, and didn't really like it. Having the weight of the fluid in a backpack (even though not much) and the moving around was annoying. Now that I'm running some longer distances I know I needed something.

Enter Fuel Belt! This clever contraption does several things that attracted me to it. First, it puts the weight lower on the hips rather than high on the back. I think that is a more advantageous position to keep the back relaxed. Second, it distributes the weight so that it is not centralized. Finally, it's different bottles allow for different fluids rather than being the same necessitated by one container.

To be fair, I haven't looked at the current technology advances of the Camel Back or generic substitutes. They certainly have improved and become more sport specific but even so it was clear to me that Fuel Belt was designed for runners, not adapted to runners. If you are a Camel Back representative and want to send me one of your designs for product testing, email me and I promise to give it a fair review.

For a 17 mile run I filled the two back containers (the containers hold 8 ounces) with Powerade, and the front two with water. I put a gel packet in the zip container. The zip container is very small and will not hold much else. Off I set on the run! The first thing I noticed was that the weight in the back, albeit small; gave the sensation that the belt was going to pull my shorts off. Now I must say that I don't have large buttocks so this may be not an issue for most people. It just seemed to ride lower than I expected.

I was about five miles into the run when I first took a drink. It was awkward getting the bottle out of the back, and more awkward getting it in. It is likely a learned skill that gets better over time. Because the bottles are held in place by an elastic strap pocket, it's a tricky balancing act between being too loose and having the bottles come out, and being too tight where it is difficult to get them back in.

There was a small amount of sloshing when consuming some but not all of the fluid, but nothing too egregious. I can live with that. The sizing was too black and white. I am approximately a 33 inch waist. The medium was too small, and I had to exchange it. The large is nearly too big.

The price is fairly expense at $44.95, but overall I think the cost was worth it and I would recommend it.

Running Ruminations

2007-08-19T07:59:00.000-07:00

Just a collection of random observations from my running lately:

I once was lost

Last weekend I went for a 15 mile run in preparation for the Maui Marathon. Knowing I would need some liquid refreshment (and I don't mean beer) along the way and not having a portable means of hydration I knew it was incumbent upon me to plant some water bottles. I mapped my route, and then left early in the morning to surreptiously stick my water in an unobtrusive place.

I found my first location just fine, in a tidy little shaded spot beneath the sign of a business about 7 miles into the run. Continuing on my route I went into a neighborhood - and got so incredibly miserably lost I almost ran out of gas. True story. When I left the house I had about 2 miles on the tripmeter, plus the 15 for the run, maybe add a mile or two for scouting. I should have returned home with no more than 19 miles. I'll tell you the odometer reading shortly! As I drove I realized Google Maps had not done the route justice. I ended up winding through neighborhoods, ending up at one dead end after another. As I drove hither and yonder I saw a guy running and wondered if he was running on the route I had chosen. I didn't want to follow him directly like I was stalking him, so I decided to drive around a bit and stealthily observe his route. Around I went, again becoming utterly lost. Then, I spotted him. He gave me this strange look, while I nonchalantly pretended that I'd never seen him before. Eventually I figured out where I was, planted a second bottle and made my way home. With 43 miles on the odometer!

Barking up the Wrong Tree

I occasionally (ok maybe once a day) let my ego get the better of me. Earlier this summer I had been cycling and had some high school girls holler at me. Now I'll confess that I didn't really hear what they said. They might have yelled something like "hey slugbait, speed it up old man!". What I heard was "wow! you go, hottie". So back to the present - I'm cruising down Bonita, feeling good, striding out - the world is my oyster. Hearing some high pitched screams as a car began to pass me I just chuckled - yeah, more fans. Girls follow me everywhere now. As the car passed I glanced over to see a Pomeranian in the back seat of the car bouncing up and down and yapping away. Maybe I'm not that much of a hottie after all.

Crossing Guard Squirrel

A few weeks ago as I was running south on lower Boone's Ferry Road I rounded a corner as the bike lane narrowed, forcing me to run very close to some blackberry bushes on the shoulder. Suddenly, very close and startling me a squirrel came right into view on a limb from a small tree directly to my right, and literally 3-4 feet away. Seriously, it was that close. The limb was slightly in my way and I was going to just lift it with my arm as I passed underneath. I think we were both freaked out. As the squirrel reversed direction and ran back to the trunk, it was apparent that his weight was holding the limb in the horizontal position and as he scooted back the limb went vertical. It was just like a crossing guard lifting the gate! Doesn't take much to amuse me does it?

Meeting Jose

I have a new friend! As I was running along minding my own business out of the corner of my eye I spotted a guy pull in behind me. Naturally, I started running a little faster. Naturally, so did he. It is the nature of runners to be competitive I suppose! I picked up the pace to a point where it seemed I could keep him at bay. But I noticed that every time I would speed up, so would he. After two miles of this rather than throw down I decided to slow down. I was about 6 miles into a 13 miler and knew if I tried to keep the pace I'd burn out badly the rest of the run. I slowed down to allow him to catch up, which he did and we started to chat. Jose is a nice guy and a cyclist and triathlete too so we had some great conversation. Turned out he used to work with my next door neighbor! I was hoping he would be able to be on our Hood to Coast team, but schedules prohibited that. Jose altered his route to run with me another four miles, and we had a nice chat and agreed to meet up for some more training here and there.

I saw the light, I saw the light...

Yesterday I did a 17 mile run. Lest you be too impressed, let me reassure you that it just about killed me. The last 2 miles were torture, and I had mapped it to give me about a half mile cool down walk to get home. Let me tell you, when I reached 17 I didn't know if I could make it the next half mile to get home! Seriously, that's the state of fatigue I was in. My run ended in a little industrial park on a quiet street (during the weekends) and has some nice landscaping. I found a shady spot and flopped down on the grass. I laid there for a while and just looked up at the sky and clouds. I imagined I saw a horsie, a doggie and the devastation of Jerusalem in the year 70 A.D. by the Romans under the command of Titus. And then I saw a rabbit.

As my mind wandered I realized I was underneath a street light. And on the bottom of the light as it faced down to the street there was a number '10' on it. Interesting, I thought - I wonder if they are numbered ascending as I go north, or descending? Imagine my surprise when I got to the next light and it was also numbered 10! Turning onto Bonita, I continued to look up and now they were numbered 20! One after the other. Rather than being fixated by street light numbering schemes, I'm just going to believe that on a less busy street they have a number 10 bulb in them, and on busy streets they have a number 20 bulb. Life is just easier that way.

Radar Love

Last Tuesday I went for a run and rounded a corner right into the beam of one of those radar trailers. Let my email to Chief Bill Dickinson recount the narrative:

Dear Chief Dickinson, first of all let me say that I’m pleased to live in Tigard. That’s a reflection of several things, and one of those is what I believe is a fine police department and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting some of your officers.

The reason I’m writing is to bring your attention to the radar trailer parked at 76th and Durham. The trailer faces northbound traffic on 76th and displays the speed to the vehicle. I was running tonight and imagine my surprise when I turned off of Durham onto 76th and saw the trailer. Not that the trailer was a surprise, but that it clocked me at 17 MPH! I turned expecting to see a car behind me that it was registering, but there was nothing. Puzzled but pleased at this apparent pace I ran around the block again. What I thought was an aberration was again reality as the trailer clocked me again at 16 MPH!

Sir, I'm just a middle aged stressed out desk jockey trying to reclaim what shreds of youth may be clinging to me as I travail this earth. I'd like to think that I can run a 14 MPH pace, but just last Sunday I ran 15 miles and it took me 3 hours! Either the radar is off or my Sunday run was a really bad day. I suspect the radar may be off.

I know you have far more important things than to sift through this drivel and there is no need for you to respond to my note but you might want to have someone calibrate it a bit finer. However, I do thank you for the brief glimpse in the rearview mirror of my life, where I saw a strong, handsome young man running 15 MPH.

Sincerely,

Dave Mundt

If a tree falls in the forest...

2007-08-19T06:37:00.000-07:00

...would it make a sound? Philosophers ruminate upon that question, dissecting it into elements involving space, time, the definition of sound, receptor channels, the existence of man and who the artist was for the famous painting of the dogs playing poker?

I'm here to tell you though that I can provide an answer if we rephrase the question. Let's ask it this way - if a tree fell on your house would it make a sound? If you happened to be home - I can attest with first hand testimony that yes, it would; and did make a sound. A big sound. A sound that would roust you out of bed like Michael Vick at the Westminster Kennel Clug dog show.

On Friday August 10 our alarms had just gone off, about 4:00 AM. Hit the snooze control once, then twice - and then at 4:20 their was an enormous splintering sound and a thundering crash that shook the entire house. When up on the roof there arose such a clatter, Sherry and I sprang from our bed to see what was the matter. I immediately thought it was an earthquake, but Sherry knew that a tree had fallen. Talk about a 'root' awakening! Ha ha - get it - 'root', 'rude'?

We ran downstairs and looked out the sliding glass door that separates our dining room from the back deck. A horrible sight greeted our amazed eyeballs. Like a terrifying visage of Medusa, a tangle of tree trunks, branches, shattered fences land deck furniture were arranged in a swath of destruction, culminating in the piercing of our roof with such force that several limbs were driven through the roof and emerged from our ceiling!

Sherry called the fire department, and they were here in minutes. No electrical circuits were severed, and the base structure seemed intact enough that there was no imminent danger of the ceiling collapsing.

Initially Sherry did not see the limb to the left poking through the ceiling, as her focus was on the damage we could see outside. She turned around, saw the limb and screamed like a little girl. I thought maybe a squirrel had survived the fall and was running around our house like Lindsay Lohan in a rehab facitility.

As we took it all in, we noticed a long limb, maybe 3 feet; that was laying on the dining room floor. We had not really questioned it's origin of entry into the house. As we began to calm down we realized that in the several holes puncturing the ceiling, as far as we could discern it had not entered vertically but horizontally, as if someone had thrown a spear through the roof.

When the sun arose, we ventured outside and saw just how bad the damage was. The tree had fallen from our neighbor's yard, breaking through 3 fences before the bulk of the tree hit our house. I went over to talk to Pearl. She and her husband had lived on their land, a little hobby farm stuck in the middle of the city since 1952. She's a spry little thing and I'm guessing she is in her early eighties. She was amazed at the damage, and then showed me her corn. Yes Pearl, your corn is amazing...now about that insurance information? Bless her heart.

Sherry doesn't look terribly happy, does she? She's either stepped in some dog poop or is sad about the devestation of our little house. We now enter the twighlight zone of insurance companies and contractors. To date I must say that State Farm has been amazingly responsive, proactive and helpful. Within two days all the debris had been cleared off and a FEMA blue tarp spread over the roof like a loving mom tucking in her child at night. Because at least one truss was damaged, the entire roof will be removed in the area you see above. Needless to say that activity will render our home uninhabitable for at least a week. The insurance adjustor said that they'll put us up in a hotel or even rental home as long as it is needed. He commented that there is a Residence Inn just down the street. I countered by saying that I had been proactive and no rooms are available for the next three months, but the Hilton downtown has some vacancies. He kind of smiled and said, well you got to do what you got to do!

Room service, here we come.

The Perfect Running Playlist

2007-08-06T20:48:00.000-07:00

I realize that there is a fair amount of controversy regarding if one should listen to music whilst running or cycling. Here's a case in point. Cycling for me is not an option, however I'll confess to being a runner that listens to MP3 songs as the miles go by. As I've bult my 'perfect' playlist I thought I would share it with you. Although it's dynamic and changes do occur, this is pretty much the standard and I rotate other songs through it.

I've noted that there are a few songs that are just too good to listen only, and that they are required to sing out loud as I run. Fortunately, one of my favorite routes takes me through an industrial area and then culminates running adjacent to a retirement community golf course. What do these two areas have in common? Usually a dearth of witnesses who would testify that my singing is one of the primary causes of global warming.

However, there are the occasional times when a musical infraction is overheard by an unlucky observer. So, there I was. Running through the golf course (on a trail of course!). Singing my lungs out to "Little Red Light" by Fountains of Wayne. Try it, go ahead - to use a lovely double negative you will not be able to not sing along. I was running on the proper side of the road, facing oncoming traffic. A minivan was making a right turn into a driveway, and he acknowledge me with a little wave indicating his approval to pass in front of him. I waved back acknowledging my gratefulness for not being run over by a minivan. As I passed him I was in full melodic bliss, belting out the lyrics like syrup on pancakes.

Guess what? There was a car behind him. I was looking slightly down watching the road when I glanced at the plate. To my horror I recognized the license plate. IT WAS MY WIFE! She had her window open and leaned over across the passenger seat and yelled "Hi Honey! You're looking good". I smiled and waved, and later on I tactfully asked her if, she maybe; had heard my singing. Thankfully, she had not.

Anyway, here's my current running playlist for your perusal:

Highway Haiku

2007-06-28T19:54:00.000-07:00

Car in front smells bad
tailpipe toxicity,
Midas - rescue me!

217 jammed up
26 is not much better
Happy day at work beckons

Cars moving slow now
what is that bright light shining?
hubcap on the road

Dream Diary #3

2007-06-27T19:24:00.001-07:00

I dreamt I was admiring a motorhome. A great big, modern motorhome. A huge motorhome. The owner was showing me around the cab - pointing out such amenities as the leather captain's chairs, the ergonomically placed controls, fireplace (OK, I'm just making that one up). I was very impressed and he invited me in back to see the living quarters.

To my surprise, the cabin was enormous - it must have been fifty feet long, 25 feet wide and 25 feet tall. It had one (1) piece of furniture. There was a couch at the very back where his wife and daughter were seated. That's it - this enormous living space with one couch, nothing else. It didn't even have windows. The floor, walls and ceilings were covered with white carpeting. I asked why that was, the owner said that helped to dampen the noise to keep the interior from being subjected to echoes.

He invited me back to meet his wife and daughter, and they greeted me warmly with hospitality and charm. He then asked if I would like to see the basement? Think of it - a basement in a motorhome! He went on to explain that when they were not on the road, they had it parked in such a fashion that there was access to a subterranean extension. Sure! Show me the basement!

He pulled up a trapdoor that was concealed by the white carpet next to the couch. I remember very clearly that it was about 3 feet to the side and 2 feet in front of the couch. Not sure why those dimensions were important but in my dream they were. There was a very steep ladder, unfinished wood construction that seemed incongruent with the luxury of the motorhome; that allowed us to descend.

We went down to a asphalt path that wound through a stunning garden. There was a fork in the road so to speak, and I wandered to the left and came upon a high glass wall. Behind the wall was a church sanctuary with pews and a pulpit. It was a very small church, and the owner explained that it was a historical landmark and that the church had been built in the 1800's. Looking in I saw a girl from the past named Jeri in a posture of repentance. That was very strange, I never knew Jeri well at all - she rode our school bus and other than exchanging a few pleasantries now and again we never even had a true conversation. I probably have not thought of her in 30 years, seriously. Anyway, the owner explained that Jeri was confessing that she had smoked pot. Okay then, have no idea why that was part of the dream.

We continued on the tour by backtracking back to the fork in the path. We then came to a large cafeteria. It wasn't enormous but would seat about 50 people or so and had a full grill and kitchen area. There wasn't one person in the cafeteria.

We egressed out in the open and looking back I could see that we had descended quite a ways and the motorhome now rested upon a hill, underneath a hazy sky, with calf length grass gently blowing in the breeze. I had an overwhelming sense of deja vu, that I had been exactly on this hill before. As I slowly turned and surveyed the horizon, I realized that I was in Michigan (I spent a summer there).

And then I woke up.

We went camping

2007-06-27T16:31:00.000-07:00

Sherry likes to camp. I like to stay in a hotel. Sherry likes burning food over a firepit. I like room service. Sherry likes to watch the stars. I like to watch a movie. Sherry likes to sleep in a tent. I like to sleep in a king sized bed where you can't even see the alarm clock it's so far away. Sherry likes beer out of a cooler. I like mine in a frosted mug sitting in the evening on our back porch.

OK, I may be exaggerating a wee bit but you get the point. I really, really am trying to be a good husband so I really, really try to be excited that WE ARE GOING CAMPING! Now, to be precise we engage in an outdoor activity called "car camping". Car camping by definition presumes that you are going to camp, i.e. in a tent; however you will use an automobile to transport your camping gear to a well defined 'campsite'. A campsite by definition is a piece of asphalt to park your vehicle, a pre-designed firepit, and a tidy little area. That you pay for. Hey, call me old fashioned but I just don't get going out into the wilderness and having to pay to pitch your tent. But - Cape Lookout where we 'paid to pitch' had hot showers (yes, a concession to the hotel-spoiled husband) so I can't complain too much.

But speaking of too much! Sherry had purchased a new tent. She had taken it to California to 'camp' in my sister's backyard with the niece and nephew. I'm thinking, cool - yeah, a new tent - I can dig it. But check it out! Oh, it had to be an EIGHT PERSON tent. Let's see - there's Dave & Sherry, and Kadie the Dog. Now add Mr. Cash (the cat). Now add Dorie and Torie (the fish). We STILL can't fill it up. Sherry patiently explained to me that the purpose of such largesse was to host a bunch of her friends on the Annual GWE (Girls WeekEnd) trip.

Well, the picture doesn't really do justice to how BIG this tent was. It had - check it out - a large living room/sleeping area, and a separate sun porch or entry room. I'm not making this up, the tent has two rooms. But wait! There's more! The tent has TWO doors! One opens up into the sun porch, and the second allows access directly into the living area. We used the sun porch entrance and dubbed the other entry "the servant's entrance". It also has a nifty loft area that we used to park the 42" Flat Panel Plasma TV. OK, I'm just kidding about that part!

We went to Cape Lookout with our friends Herb and Judy and their kids. It was a nice drive to the coast, a beautiful Friday evening. We arrived and began setting up the tent. It was quickly apparent that the footprint of this enormous tent extended almost beyond the boundaries of our assigned campsite. You often hear the term "pitching the tent", I almost "pitched a fit" but managed to contain myself.

Well, Saturday morning gave all indicators of a fine day ahead. And it was! Alisha (Herb and Judy's daughter) is training for a San Francisco marathon, and I'm training for the Maui Marathon so we had a nice long run on the beach. That night we cooked hamburgers around the campfire and told stories until we laughed so hard our tears mingled with the rain.

WHAT! Rain? If there is one thing in life that you can count on, it's that you can't count on the weather at the Oregon coast. We made our way back to the tents for the night. About 4:00 AM Sunday morning, the rain pounded down. I don't use the word pounded in an exaggerated sense. It managed to find it's way through the rain flap into the tent, and rained for literally hours - hard. We kept hoping it would let up, and it seemed like it was so we decided to break camp.

Of course it started raining again - hard. We realized with our spirits broken and every possible item we brought soaked, muddy or quickly getting that way we'd have to break camp in the rain. It was a miserable soggy experience.

Sherry's beginning to think that a hotel may not be a bad idea at all...

Dream Diary #2

2007-06-27T15:25:00.001-07:00

I dreamt that I was with 3 close friends - Tyler, Scott and Misti. I worked with Tyler and Scott in a machine shop when I first moved to Portland. Tyler was a radical dude who was always on the edge of some delinquent endeavor, he was the epitome of cool. Scott was about 5 feet tall and 5 feet wide - he was like a small version of the incredible Hulk. One time we were horsing around and I grabbed his arm. He quickly squeezed his bicep, literally trapping my fingers between his bicep and ham hocked forearm like a vise. I flailed around and tried to escape as he laughed like a maniac. Later on I got my revenge by coming up behind him and slamming his head into a locker. Ah yes, the good old days.

I met Misti at my second Portland job at US Bank. She's been a close friend for many years and we shared a lot of fun adventures. Misti is very pretty, and one day she had broken her ankle and asked if I could help her to her car after work. We worked on the 3rd floor of a building on a night shift and usually bounded up and down the stairs. We got into the elevator and I thought I had pushed the first floor, but we descended to the basement. The door opened and Misti and I were confused, expecting to see the lobby. A janitor happened to be right in front of the door as it opened and was startled to see ugly Dave and beautiful Misti. This next part is rated PG-13 so let the reader beware. I asked if we could get off there, and he stared and said "you can get off wherever you want". OK, maybe our interpretation was taken in the wrong sense but Misti and I cracked up at the double entendre. I can barely remember family birthdays but I always remember Misti's - January 23. It's as easy as 1-2-3! Misti often calls to remind me that my mom's birthday is imminent.

Well, that's probably more background that you need but I am fond of them. Anyway, on to the dream! In my dream Tyler, Scott, Misti and I were working on an oil well. We were wearing yellow hard hats. Suddenly, the drill found purchase and a fountain of black crude erupted and drenched us. I clearly remember us holding hands and jumping up and down like kids as oil showered us and ran off our yellow hard hats. "We're rich!" we screamed, stomping our legs in glee again like kids stomp through a mud puddle.

Not bad so far, right? Well hold on to your yellow hard hats because it gets really weird. It was a dream within a dream, as I found myself chatting with Tyler, Scott and Misti and recounting to them the dream about the oil well and our newfound riches. We all laughed and joked about how nice it would have been to be rich. I know, it's hard to follow - it's like a nested dream, a dream within a dream. Pretty weird, eh?

Dream Diary

2007-06-22T15:06:00.000-07:00

I have strange dreams. Vivid, weird dreams. I dream in color. Sometimes I even remember my dreams! Years ago I dreamt I was captaining a PT Boat. I stood at the helm hands gripping the wheel as the three powerful Packard V-12 engines pushed through the waves of the sea as I searched for enemy targets. I could feel the thrum of the engines through the floor as we powered along.

That's just an example.

Recently, I dreamt I was in Los Angeles. I was in a large, old ramshackle warehouse. Sunlight shoved its way through the smog and broken windows, dappling the floor with weak light that diffused in the dust of the air. My friend Tyler (whom I haven't been in contact now for more than 15 years) was there and had a terrible sickness. I was selling him drugs to help him get better.

Then, I left the warehouse and walked down the street to a small bungalow. Apparently I knew the occupants because I just walked in and greeted the mother (I don't remember her name) and her 8 year old daughter, Iris. I sat with them for a while until a knock on the door interrupted our conversation. The mom opened the door and into the room strode Leonardo DiCaprio. In the dream he was a movie star like his real life. Mom greeted him, and then introduced him to me. I did not want to appear star struck so I just casually said "what's up Leo?" "not much" he replied. He asked Iris if she would like to see a magic trick. She said yes and he pulled a red pocket square from his breast pocket of his blue seersucker suit. We all laughed as he made a small red ball disappear from the pocket square.

Then, I excused myself and walked down to a street corner and waited for my grandmother to come pick me up. She pulled up in a light blue Cadillac convertible with a bunch of high school girls and low back tires. This is significant in some way, not because of the girls; but that grandma never drove in her life. Anyway, I hopped in and off we went. Because the tires were so low at each corner the car would lean waaaayyy over as we all laughed. We paralleled some tracks for a light rail of some sort. As we would drive under wrought iron street markers, I would reach up with my hand and touch them as we passed. At one point my hand became caught, and instantly I knew my hand would be severed if I did not react quickly. Fortunately I was wearing gloves and managed to extricate my hand before my metacarpals became mangled.

Then, grandma, the Cadillac and the girls were gone and I was standing at the entrance of a giant Macy's department store. The light rail terminated at the entrance to the store, where signs directed commuters to follow the tracks through the store to the next station on the other side. To guide them the light rails had been burnished to a beautiful copper color and it was a normal Macy's. Except for train tracks right through the middle.

Then, I woke up.

Pole Pedal Paddle 2007

2007-06-22T13:55:00.000-07:00

We did not compete in 2006 as our captain Gordon had injured his back, and cyclist (yours truly) was adjusting to becoming an epileptic and had lost training momentum. However, this year we were back with a vengeance! Over the last few years (OK more than a few) I had become everything in life I never wanted to be - an overworked, overweight, stressed out desk jockey. This year though I had a transformation! I'll elaborate more elsewhere, but this year I got serious. I've lost 43 lbs and hugely increased my workout intensity. It made a significant, tangible improvement!

For the uninitiated, Pole Pedal Paddle is a relay race in Bend, Oregon. It starts with a downhill ski at Mt. Bachelor, then transitions into a cross country ski, then transitions into a bicycle leg, then it transitions into a running leg, then it transitions into a kayaking leg, then it transitions into a 100 yard dash to the finish line! Then it transitions into a beer!

US Bank Quick Assets (our team) was formed in 1998, and that year and in 1999 they were the 'fun years' where we just want out to have fun and try to do good. Our team was sponsored by USB and we got some great swag - custom shirts, fleece vests, a huge BBQ the night before the race, even our lodging was comped! However, in about 2000 the results of the First Bank acquisition of USB were realized and we saw much of the events budget move from the West coast to the Midwest bank HQ. However, I'm not whining too much - USB still pays our entrance fee every year. I'm proud to say though that as a founding member of the team I'm still at it and this was my 9th year competing! Over time the team has changed to become more competitive, especially since Gordon took over the reigns of the team captain after I left USB. I love that guy, he is a great inspiration and a blast to be around. Oh, and did I mention he's competitive?

Well, I had been planning to take the Friday before the race (Saturday) off and enjoy a leisurely drive from Portland to Bend, go for a little spin on my bike, meet up with the team for a team meeting and a nice dinner and then to bed. However, my schedule changed and I needed to come into work early in the morning (4:00 AM) - no big deal. But one thing led to another and before I knew it the whole day had gone by. I hadn't even packed yet assuming that I was going to be home around 10:00 AM on Friday.

I actually left the office day about 5:00 PM! I headed home in rush hour traffic, and then carefully packed (if I am rushed before a race it is likely that I'll forget something critical, like my bike!). I was home by 6:00, and then packed up by 7:00. The Friday night commute around the Portland area can be horrendous, so I decided to wait until about 7:30 to hit the road. And hit a massive traffic jam going south toward Salem. Eventually I made it to Highway 22 and headed up past Detroit Lake. By that time I had been up for 17 hours and was getting groggy. I popped open a RockStar, cranked up the tunes and made it to the high desert. As I drove that long boring stretch into Sisters, I would roll the windows all the way down and the scent of the Junipers would refresh me, and then I would roll the windows up and then repeat after about a half hour. I checked into the motel about 11:30 and was settled and in bed by midnight. That's late for me normally, and especially on the eve of a race.

Race Day!

I love riding my bike. As I rode furiously, I heard a curious chittering noise, then a kind of a weird rustling and finally what sounded like a human yelp behind me. Taking my eyes off the road for a moment, I looked back and was amazed to see that I had been going so fast that my knifing through the air created a slipstream or vortex. Into that vacuum various flotsam and jetsam were trailing behind me. The chittering was a raccoon, the rustling was a smorgasboard of small trees, shrubs and rocks uprooted by my passing. The yelp turned out to be a competitor - I had passed him about 2 miles back and unknowingly to me he had been standed in my slipstream for several minutes and hollering for help. Like the tail of a comet the cacaphony of chaos followed furiously. I then heard an odd groaning and the ground started shaking. I thought "earthquake" and knowing how fast I was going my exit from this world would be imminent.

But then I realized - the enormous strength being pushed through my legs into the pavement was causing gravitational analomies! It was a fearful thought that one person as strong as myself could alter the gravitational pull of the earth.

And then I woke up from my dream! Now, let's look at what really happened.

Race Day - The Real Events (honest!)

Our category is Business/Service teams, and the teams are released in waves according to their category. Business/Service teams are one of the last categories, so it is typical that we would actually start a few hours after the first wave is released. Why do I tell you this? The road up to the mountain is closed in the morning so the cyclists are safe coming down the mountain. Because of that and our late start time, we end up having to drive up to the lodge and then have a few hours to spare. Although I wear a long sleeve jersey, I wear regular cycling shorts instead of pants. This works well as by the time I get down to Bend I'm working hard and plenty warm. The downside though is that it can get pretty cold up there on the mountain waiting for the bike leg to start. I found something good though that helps to overcome the chill while I'm waiting. I brought a cheap hoodie and it helped keep the cold out. When Marty transitioned to me, I tore the hoodie off and threw it on the ground at the feet of a lady standing there and said she could have it! She was a little startled but I was already gone before she could even respond.

Marty was both our downhill and cross country skier, and as I waited for him I realized that I had not seen him for two years since the race in 2005! In a relay race we typically show the person we're handing off to what we will wear. That way we know to look for the red jersey or the green tutu as our first glimpse from afar before we can even see the face of our team member. Well, sure enough as Marty appeared from the crowd like radar we spotted each other at the same moment. Off I went on the bike leg!

I have 3 bikes - an old Trek 2120 carbon frame, a Fuji Team Pro and a Trek Hilo 2000. I've named the Fuji Queen Elizabeth - she comes from royal lineage, has a regal bearing in her composite frame and with her Shimano Dura-Ace group she's as reliable as rain in Oregon. Oh, don't underestimate - when the pressure is on her queenship quenches foes from the throne. Now my Hilo I've named Princess Diana - she's fast, sexy with her 650 CC Rolf Vector wheels and carbon fork. Her integrated aero bars turn heads, and I'll probably die astride her in a fiery crash.

I ride Diana in triathlons and Pole Pedal Paddle. There are some long downhill stretches on the 22 mile ride into Bend, and tucked down on the aero bars with the low profile of the 650 CC wheels I've reached speeds of up to 55 MPH. I've learned years ago that the flapping of my number bib will be annoying, so rather than safety pinning I actually tape it right onto my jersey. I'm not superstitious (well, maybe I am) but I have a lucky jersey - yellow with flames on it and with my time trial helmet (yeah, the geeky ones) I can really fly.

In the first 3 miles I passed maybe 10 bikes, but then two guys passed me. All three of us were working hard but they inched ahead of me and slowly opened a gap. One of them was on a beautiful Orbea that probably cost more than 3K. When we got to the first downhill though I passed them so fast I know they were startled. I rode furiously near the top of my heart rate - pushing the pedals as hard as I could in my top gear. The lactic acid was reaching a point where I knew the wall was fast approaching but being very familiar with the route I knew I could time the last mile to exhaust myself and burn out just as I reached the transition. In the last 3 miles of the ride I glanced back, and the nearest one was a good quarter mile behind me. If that rider happens to be reading this, please do not be disheartened that you were beat - you're probably a great guy but a LOSER in a race with me. But I'm not competitive, I'm just sayin...

If you know me you do understand that I'm prone to hyperbole and perhaps a bit of exaggeration. But, the camera never lies - I was actually going fast enough that a photographer could only catch my buttocks as I tore by him. I did confirm with him later that he was trying to get the picture of me:

Looks like an empty course eh? Look closely at the right side of the picture and you can get a glimpse of my lucky jersey. Notice the finish line - the ride finishes on a slight downhill slope and it gets dangerous - just 10 yards away I have to brake to a stop as I negotiate a 90 degree right into the transition area. It can get pretty hairy and a few times I've even skidded into the transition.

We were pleased this year to welcome a new runner - I work with Patty and she runs like a rabbit on EPO. I came into the transition area braking hard to a halt, yelling Patty's name. She immediately emerged from the crowd and we slapped hands and away she went. Patty's fast too - it's kind of funny that the same photographer tried to get a pic of her and it ended up like mine where he only caught a glimpse of her as she sped fast:

Gordon had taken some kayaking classes, and he was psyched to put into practice the things he had learned. He even rented a racing kayak! Patty handed off to Gordon and you can see him right in the center of this picture looking calm but I know him well enough to know that the adrenaline was already flowing - look at his left fist clenching.

Gordon then handed off to Patty for the final event, a 100 yard dash to the finish line. Patty had a little time to recover as Gordon was out on the kayak, and then she sped across the finish line closing a great race for Quick Assets!

I close with this team picture. Well done to all, and we are very much looking forward to next year! From the left - Marty, Dave, Patty and Gordon. Well done, my fast friends!

The Next Literary Superstar

2007-06-18T12:22:00.000-07:00

My niece is better than your niece. I know we all think that, but that is a tautology without peer in Jessica's case. She wants to be a doctor when she grows up, an admirable aspiration which we encourage. However, the reason I believe that she is superior to all other six year old girls is due to her literary prowess. She does not squander her formidable intellect on vacuous tripe like "see spot run". It's not an overstatement to say that she surpasses even Dickens, Dostoevsky and Dr. Seuss. Well, enough introduction - let her words speak for themselves. Grab a tissue and a cup of tea, and be prepared to weep at the unfolding drama of love fulfilled, from the eyes of a six year old.

NOTE: Jessica does not need the constraints of paragraphs to box her in, therefore I'm recreating her words in the way that she actually transcribed this story. the result is a few words that create a looooong post so get ready to scroll, gentle reader. Also, I've preserved her spelling and added the correct word in paranthetical form. Let us now begin.

Chapter One:

One day

a girl

came

by she

said

that

look

cool

Chapter Two:

The girl saw

me and

then

she

asked

wanted

date

Chapter Three:

Then

she

asked me

what

name

was

and

said

was

Billy

Chapter Four:

That

moment

felt

super

cool

she

looked

and

loved

her

eyes

Chapter Five:

Then

went

home

the

girl

stayed

thier (there)

thout (thought)

she

was

butfloe (beautiful)

Chapter Six:

That

day

got

meryd (married)

wher (were)

happy

Chapter Seven

Then

had

chigrin (children)

was

fun

having

babys (babies)

Chapter Eight:

And

the

day

the

mail

came

and

said

honny (honey)

could

you

get

that

Chapter Nine:

She

cool

love

you

foo

ever (forever)

you

are

your

the

cool

list

wife

Chapter Ten:

Then

whent (went)

too (to)

bed

did

the

kids

the

moring (morning)

had

breakfast

One faith, two faiths, three faiths four...Part Two

2007-03-28T14:40:00.001-07:00

In part one we looked at many of the questions that could be construed as dividing points among Christians, and many of them are. But, does this divide Christianity itself into many faiths? Does Christianity present itself to be a monolithic religion while many splintered factions and denominations may suggest otherwise?

One argument that is frequently put forth is that Christianity at the core focuses on the "main and plain" doctrines (doctrine = "something taught"). Doctrines can be expressed in creeds, or summary statements of a belief that can quickly allows someone to distinguish between Christianity and other belief systems. The Bible itself contains creeds, such as found in Romans 10:9:

"that if you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved"

One of the earliest creeds is the Apostles' Creed, dated to the 2nd century A.D. -

I believe in God, the Father almighty,
creator of heaven and earth.
I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord.
He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit
and born of the Virgin Mary.
He suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into hell.
On the third day he rose again.
He ascended into heaven
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and the life everlasting.
Amen.

Reading the creed, you can get a sense of both affirmations and denials. For example, in the creed we affirm the resurrection of the body, and therefore deny that the life beyond death takes place in a disembodied spirit.

Another significant creed is the Nicene Creed, dated at 325 A.D. Similar to the Apostles' Creed, it codifies Christian belief and focuses on the person of Jesus as a defense against a growing heresy (teachings hostile to a belief) called Arianism. You may remember the Nicene Creed from references in Dan Brown's book the Da Vinci Code. The book is a taught thriller (I read it in 2 days!) but historically a train wreck. That's OK if an author takes liberties with history but acknowledges as much, but Brown purports his book to be historically factual.

Why do I bring this up? Because creeds express explicit affirmations and implict denials, they are subject to attack. And that's OK! We must ask the question, if we cannot defend what we believe, why would we believe it?

Many churches today express their beliefs in creedal statements, often a variation of the Apostles' and Nicence Creeds, or derived from the Bible without deviance from the creeds. I'm not sure why, but Eastpoint Church popped into my head as I was writing. Take a look at the creed, or belief statement; from Eastpoint Church here. It seemed logical to me to then Google for a west point church! Sure enough, you can read Westpoint Fellowship Church's creed at this page. Let's continue Googling: of course there is a North Point church and their creed is short enough to copy and paste here:

We believe in one God, who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit. That Jesus Christ the Savior for all men and women who put their faith in Him alone for eternal life. We believe that those who receive this new life in Christ are called to be holy in character and conduct, and can only live this way by being filled with the Holy Spirit. We believe in the Bible and seek to establish our faith and actions on its teachings. We believe God's will for people everywhere is to know Him and that the purpose of the church is to tell the world about Christ through its worship, witness, and loving deeds.

Last but not least in doing our due diligence one would think we would fine a South Point church, and not to be denied...we did! Over at SouthPoint Foursquare Church we find these creedal statements.

It looks like to the four corners of the globe, well at least the United States we find creeds that have a little grammatical and organizational variance, but would square up with the Apostles' and Nicene creeds. the question then on the table is this: if Christianity is a monolithic religion with a core that can be identified through the Bible and creedal statements that become essential beliefs, how do we account for the differences among us? That will be the topic of the next post on this subject!

Book Review - Perfume: the story of a murderer

2007-03-16T13:46:00.000-07:00

This is an odd little book which I spotted on a colleague's desk and was graciously loaned to me. In some ways repugnant, but in others strangely compelling it is a story of scent and the investment of layers of meaning derived from and attributed to the odors which make up the days of our lives. The book is graphic, gritty, gratuitous and gripping. I could barely put it down.

The subject of the book, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is born into a bloody beginning in 18th century France. The trail of blood is never far from his life as he attempts to satiate his unbending drive to concoct the perfect scent. Because Grenouille has such a highly developed, even preternatural; sense of smell it is inevitable that this skill would be tied into the vocation of perfume making. The historical setting is very well done with descriptive terms that helped me feel that I was observing first hand the events described in the book. There is a movie made from the book, and although it employs several fine actors I will likely abstain from seeing it as I'm not sure that the sensate landscape from reading could be reproduced onto the screen.

As an example of the writing here's a paragraph I particularly liked:

"He was delighted only by moonlight. Moonlight knew no colors and traced the contours of the terrain only very softly. It covered the land with a dirty gray, strangling life all night long. This world molded in lead, where nothing moved but the wind that fell sometimes like a shadow over the gray forests, and where nothing lived but the scent of the naked earth, was the only world that he accepted, for it was much like the world of his soul."

On a lighter note as hard as I tried I could not escape the 1970's hit song "Dead Skunk" by Loudon Wainright as I read the book:

Crossin' the highway late last night

He shoulda looked left and he shoulda looked right

He didn't see the station wagon car

The skunk got squashed and there you are!

You got yer Dead skunk in the middle of the road

Dead skunk in the middle of the road

You got yer dead skunk in the middle of the road

Stinkin' to high Heaven!

Take a whiff on me, that ain't no rose!

Roll up yer window and hold yer nose

You don't have to look and you don't have to see'

Cause you can feel it in your olfactory

I will admit that olfactory is one of my favorite words, and I also tender congratulations to the book's author Patrick Suskind for using the word judiciously and not liberally, as would be my tendency. I mean, how can you write a whole novel centered on the sense of smell and not use such a perfect word as olfactory on every page?

There is good character development also. Of particular interest to me was a perfumer named Baldini - a blustering, bumbling, bombastic bozo who develops an affection for Grenouille and takes him under his wing to teach him the trade.

There are three major parts to Grenouille's story. He begins as an outcast from society, and in the middle of the book is an interlude that sees his withdrawal from soceity, then in an interesting plot twist he is introduced into and accepted by society. Ultimately I have concluded that the subject of the book is not Grenouille, but his nose! Suskind is a great wordsmith, and I think his concept and commentary of the olfactory sense (oops - there I go) is wrapped in the story.

The story ends though in a macabre way that left me puzzled and irritated. I'll not be a total plot spoiler but I was not satisfied and even perturbed about the final events that transpired.

Other than then ending which left me flat, an enthralling read overall.

Charlie and the Chief

2007-03-16T10:00:00.000-07:00

In Seattle, they utilize technology in dealing with car thiefs. They have "bait cars" that are equipped with GPS and auto shutoff devices. When the door is opened the clock starts ticking to disable the car remotely and then apprehend the thief. Occasionally though something does go wrong, as you can read here.

Well, in an unamed small Oregon town things aren't quite that sophisticated. May I cite an example? A few weeks ago some of Charlie's officers walked through headquarters and said to Charlie (captain) and the chief "hey we're going to a drug buy, wanna tag along?". "sure" they said, I'm surmising anything to get away from the paper pushing. They jumped into a marked unit and followed the parade to the location. Charlie and the Chief (sounds like a sitcom) backed their unit into an alley facing the street. The seller got spooked though and roared out of the location, his Honda civic spraying gravel like watermelon seeds from a Rotary club picnic contest.

With lightning quick reflexes Charlie and the Chief blasted out of their concealment, bubblegum lights a-flashing and tires a-smoking as they took off in hot pursuit. I'd like to say that their coffee spilled all over them and they spit out donut bites but that would be unfair stereotyping. They had left their coffee and donuts on their desks. The other units pulled out behind them like ducklings obediently following their mother through dangerous waters.

Alas, a difficulty was encountered! Charlie could not find the toggle for the siren! Silently they sped searching for signs of a siren switch. Now, this is a family blog so I must be careful but let me just say that the Chief, as he leaned over Charlie (who was driving erratically at high speeds) to search under the dashboard for the switch aroused curious speculation from the trailing officers.

Charlie was positioning for a PIT (precision immobilization technique), or as I like to refer to it as a TVI which is not a reference to a television action show but stands for tactical vehicle intervention, wherein 'tactical' ramming is used to strategically maneuver a car or truck off their direction of travel into a spin to bring the transgressor to a halt. I'll concede that I too have precisely immobilized a car, but it was my own car when a deer placed itself in my path. But that's another story.

However, before Charlie could enact his PIT the perpetrator decided to give up and spun into a large gravel area adjacent to the road. Charlie and the Chief roared in behind him, brakes churning a curtain of dust, gravel and discared cigarette buts into a patina of perilous possibilities as the other offices all roared into the cloud after them. In a moment of time we can imagine cop cars careening, officers with guns gesticulating and a scared suspect subdued.

Charlie and the Chief never did locate the siren switch. The officers determined that there is a moral to this story - never let an administrator do field work! Still, if I were ever to get arrested Charlie's the one that I would like to do it. Donuts and all.

One faith, two faiths, three faiths four...Part One

2007-03-16T07:40:00.001-07:00

Four faiths make a religion and so do many more?!?!? You probably won't get the reference unless you were a kid in the late sixties and watched "The Banana Splits".
Tip: scroll to the bottom of the page at the link and look at the theme song lyrics.

January 7, 2006 - The Wall Street Journal published an article by Daniel Golden that describes how Wheaton College was delighted to have assistant professor Joshua Hochschild teach students about medieval philosopher Thomas Aquinas, one of Roman Catholicism's foremost thinkers. But when the popular teacher converted to Catholicism, the prestigious evangelical college reacted differently. It fired him.

The article goes on to describe how

"...Mr. Hochschild's dismissal captures tensions coursing through many of America's religious colleges. At these institutions, which are mostly Protestant or Catholic, decisions about hiring and retaining faculty members are coming into conflict with a resurgence of religious identity. Historically, religious colleges mainly picked faculty of their own faith. In the last third of the 20th century, however, as enrollments soared and higher education boomed, many Catholic colleges enhanced their prestige by broadening their hiring, choosing professors on the basis of teaching and research. As animosities between Catholics and Protestants thawed, some evangelical Protestant colleges began hiring faculty from other Christian faiths." (emphasis added)

Now you may think that this post will discuss the differences between Protestants and Catholics but I'll table that for a future discussion. What I'd like to address is the last sentence regarding hiring faculty from "other Christian faiths". Why is this so curious to me? The first thing I thought of when I read the article was the words of Jude (no, not "hey Jude"), the new testament writer Jude):

"Beloved, while I was making every effort to write you about our common salvation, I felt the necessity to write to you appealing that you contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all handed down to the saints." (emphasis added)

Look at Paul's admonition to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 13:5):

"Test yourselves to see if you are in the faith; examine yourselves! Or do you not recognize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you--unless indeed you fail the test?" (emphasis added)

My point is this - that Biblical faith is singularly expressed, not in a plurality or variants of faith that in some way "add up" to Christianity. I'll cite one more example, again by Paul in Ephesians 4:4-6:

"For there is one body and one Spirit, just as you have been called to one glorious hope for the future. There is one Lord, one faith, one baptism, and one God and Father, who is over all and in all and living through all." (yes, once again emphasis added!)

Now, if I ask you to really really fast name as many Christian faiths as you could you might immediately say Catholics and Protestants. You might even start listing different Christian denominations. I like to write little jingles in my head, and to the chagrin of my colleagues sometimes even sing them! I might jingle out something like this -

Lutherans, Church of Christ and Quakers, what we all have in common is faith in our maker. Assemblies of God and Southern Baptists too - we all believe that Jesus died for you."

I should write commercials. Or maybe not. But lest I be charged with oversimplifying the issue let me be honest and admit that within Christianity, yes WITHIN CHRISTIANITY there is much difference in the expressions of faith and belief.

In the book Why I am not a Calvinist, Jerry Wells and Joseph Dongell write that

"The differences among evangelicals are not trivial, and we doubt the judgment of Carl Henry when he suggested that our differences amount to "disagreement...over a limited number of passages (Carl F.H. Henry, God, Revelation and Authority) We can point to numerous issues, spanning the entire scope of scripture that spark fervent debate and often separate us into distinct colonies of worship, ministry and witness"

How's that sound for "one" faith? Well, again in the interest of striving for some objectivity as I want to be fair and not mislead anyone into a uncritical Christian "party line" let's look at a list of these so called 'differences' that Wells and Dongell collected:

The eligibility of women for ordination in pastoral and teaching ministries without restriction.
The relationship between church and state, and the viability of a specifically Christian legislative agenda for a largely secular modern democracy.
The nature of a wife's submission to her husband.
The moral status of state-sponsored violence, whether in the form of declared war, restricted peacekeeping military action or capital punishment.
The intersection between modern science and the Bible, with focus on the prevailing theories of the Big Bang and biological evolution.
The fate of those who have never heard of the gospel and of those who have only seen or heard only a distorted presentation or modeling of it.
The theology of the sacraments, especially baptism - it's proper mode (immersion only?), its proper subjects (infants or believers?) and the sense in which it imparts grace.
The appropriateness of divorce and remarriage.
The scope and function of spiritual gifts.
The degree of corrective discipline administered by a congregation to its wayward members.
The normative spiritual profile of the Christian life with the possibility of a real moral transformation, victory over sin and genuine Christ-likeness.
The viability of a clergy/laity distinction.
God's end time program.
The role of Satan and the demonic as personal, intentional and particular forces in the experience of believers.
The nature and scope of exorcism.
The nature of eternal punishment and the doctrine of Hell.

Want more? Wells and Dongell go on to expose some other of the finer points of doctrinal disagreements within the church:

Are human beings so fallen that they must be saved exclusively through the unilateral and unconditional action of God?
Is it possible for human beings to resist (successfully) the saving approaches of God's grace?
Does God enable all persons to respond positively to the available light?
Can any who were truly once redeemed through faith in Christ fail to receive final salvation?

Now with my degree in theology and especially post degree studies on my own. I have an opinion on most of the above points in both lists. But the question is, should we (Christians) ultimately divide over these differences and opine that Christianity is a religion of many faiths? Stay tuned for more thoughts coming to a blog near you soon ....

Best Bumper Stickers

2007-03-16T07:36:00.000-07:00

I enjoy creative bumper stickers, especially theological ones:

Business Trip - Lancaster

2007-03-06T09:47:00.001-08:00

In a previous post I wrote about a business trip to Honolulu, Hawaii. Not a bad place to go for business. Recently I went on a business trip to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Not a bad place to go for business, but as one might think, there are slight cultural differences.

We flew into Harrisburg via Cincinnati and then drove about 30 miles to Lancaster. As we descended I felt a tingling in my skin. I did not realize it but we had passed directly over Three Mile Island! I hoped that the residual radiation combined with being bitten by an insect would give me super powers (think Spiderman) - but alas twas not to be.

However, I did take a cue from good ol' Dr. Teller. As Don Delillo recounts in the novel Underworld, allegedly Dr. Teller (architect of the world's first atomic explosion) feared the effects of the blast even from his viewing site 20 miles away he felt it prudent to apply suntan lotion to his face and hands. Dunno if it really works, but I'll confess to a little bit of temptation to have a TSA approved container of Coppertone in my carry on.

As an example of cultural differences, as we arrived in Harrisburg area there were a few vehicles on display in the baggage claim area. I found that somewhat unusual and wondered why an AIRPORT would promote CAR advertising. Well, one of them was a nice Lexus but the other - wow, it was a tractor. And one heck of a tractor. Painted traditional John Deere green, but it looked oddly attractive - visualize a kross (ha ha ha) between a workhorse Kubota and the racy lines of a Kaliber and you'll never look at the north forty (or is it south forty?) in the same way again.

I was very careful with my pro-nunc-iation in Lancaster. You see, I was born in Lancaster, but not Pennsylvania. My emergence into the world took place in Lancaster, California. Now, as every good Californian knows Lancaster is pronounced "lan-caster", like "plan-castor". However in Pennsylvania it is pronounced "lan-custer". I did not correct the Pennsylvanians who continually pronounced it the wrong way.

I had a cold, and it manifested itself by turning my left eye bright red. I felt OK, but greeting the client I felt like cyclops. I thought it would be kinda cool to wear an eyepatch, but then I would have started to talk like a pirate:

Arrh, matey - so ye be buyin' an online banking solution? Well let's talk about yer implementation over a mug o' rum. We'll make them other vendors walk a little plank, won't we? Shiver me timbers if I don't show you why we be bee-in the best. Yo ho ho and all that.

Well, the meetings went OK even though I was a bit self conscious. During one session my boss asked to borrow the rental car keys, under the pretext that she had left her power cord in the hotel room. She swears that she really did forget it, but let it also be memorialized in this post that she also took advantage of the opportunity to find a hard rock station, crank up the radio, turn heater fan to full, put my seat all the way back, and turn on the windshield wipers to "warp speed". Yes, I was caught by surprise.

One evening after work my colleague John and I ventured out for dinner. I say 'venture' because I'm kind of a fuddy duddy when I travel, usually staying close to the hotel. But John said something like "let's just drive around until we find something". Wow, I felt the tingling sensation of the recklessness of youth filling my mind with endless possibilities like windblown tumbleweeds drifting through the vast Mojave desert of my youth. We'll just drive! Yeah, we got all night in a rental car in a strange town (strange as in foreign, not in people. And not foreign as in foreigners but foreign like unusual. Not that the town was unusual...I give up).

And drive we did. We just motored around, got on the pike (on the west coast we have highways, back east they call them 'pikes') and headed north. Or south or it might have been west, perhaps east. But we were driving! In a rental car! In a strange, foreign, unusual town!

As we wandered, a moment of creepy eeriness descended like fog covering the grounds of the haunted mansion. We had driven in a big circle and right back to the client's office! Wow. OK, we drove around some more and found this awesome restaurant called Hayden Zugs. From mass media marketing musings we obtain these observations:

Haydn Zug’s, located in Historic Lancaster County Pennsylvania, offers fine dining in a colonial atmosphere. A member of the prestigious Dirona Association of fine dining establishments, Haydn Zug’s has been offering fine dining since 1969. Today, the restaurant boasts an award-winning wine cellar that has been memorialized in Wine Spectator magazine.

I don't really care about that. What I care about is the incredible steak, indescribable beer, intoxicating bread, and the cutest little itty bitty containers you have ever seen. It was one of those places where they take your coat and give you a little ticket to claim it. The Taco Bells I have frequented do not have that service, although some of them do have people that will take your coat if you are not looking. If you were to go to Lancaster you MUST eat there.

The Trip Home

John and I parted ways at the Harrisburg airport, with me heading to Cincinatti for my connecting flight to PDX and he going through D.C. On the plane was a small group of what I perceived to be soldiers. They seemed so young, and each of them carried a manila envelope with what might have been their orders. They did not appear to be seasoned travelers and somewhat unsure of themselves. I couldn't help wonder if they were on their way to Iraq. I have no idea if they were even in the service but I said a prayer for their safe passage through the war if they were. I dozed off but then woke up during our descent into Cincinatti and began to converse with the guy in the seat next to me. Turns out he was a Commander and General of a Marine Corps Division. Wow! Although our time was limited we hit it off and he gave me his address and contact info in Atlanta. Hope to see you someday again!

At last I began the long flight home from Cincinatti. I hate flying west. Not just because of bucking the headwinds from the jetstream, but also watching...the...sun...set....forever. Now, I like seeing a sunset as much as the next guy. But when you are chasing the sun it drags on and on and on... Finally, as the sun sank into the horizon the waning rays caught the wing and it shimmered like a sumari sword severing the currents of air as we passed through daylight into twilight. Little towns emerged far below as their little lights became visible. Made me think of that song by - I think - St. Etienne (or maybe Ivy) with the lyrics "stars above us, cars below us". Ah, a poetic moment.

And there you have it - Dave visits Pennsylvania.

Sticks and Stones will break my bones...

2007-02-21T07:00:00.002-08:00

...and so will being clumsy.

So there I was. Sherry had a friend who had a birthday to stop by and celebrate. As Cindy and Sherry were both in the kitchen blocking my access to the refrigerator (a very dangerous and precarious position to assume) I attempted to maneuver past them with a single, fluid motion in a daring display of my dexterity. Unfortunately, our cabinets and countertops did not comply. I jammed my toe and grunted in pain as my nerves communicated to my brain that injury was not only imminent but realized.

With an ungraceful, non-fluidic response I stumbled and Cindy naturally stuck out her arms to break my fall. In an instant of time I'm wracked with pain, in the arms of another woman, in my kitchen, in front of my wife.

From previous daring displays of dexterity I knew I had broken my little toe.

But, we are a culture that looks to put any blame on another entity or circumstance, right? Of course. Not wanting to appear clumsy, I searched diligently for an excuse. And found one! I take pulmicort for asthma. some of the documented side effects include:

Immediate and delayed hypersensitivity reactions including rash, contact dermatitis, angioedema, and bronchospasm; symptoms of hypocorticism and hypercorticism; psychiatric symptoms including depression, aggressive reactions, irritability, anxiety, and psychosis; Bad taste, headache, nausea and dryness of the throat were reported less frequently. Other side effects reported on occasion were tiredness, thirst and diarrhea.

Sounds like a typical day at work, doesn't it? Well, you can add to the list "bone disorders including avascular necrosis of the femoral head and osteoporosis".

Of course - broken bones! Ha, the scapegoat at last - the explanation for all my problems - drugs! All this time I thought I was afflicted with MCS (male clumsiness syndrome) but it turns out to be the drug I'm taking. But wait, I broke the same toe long before I had asthma...

We rode the tram! We rode the tram!

2007-02-21T07:00:00.001-08:00

It began with this weird looking tower being constructed on the east side of I-5 just as begins to dump right into downtown Portland. I was (and still am) fascinated by it's unique architecture, looking like any moment it would topple to the ground and crush hapless motorists on the freeway below.

Eventually I found that it was the support tower for the Portland Tram. Ahhhh - the Portland Tram!

Like any project of this magnitude it was not without issues, particularly budget. Significantly over budget already, cost overruns followed cost overruns. Initially budgeted for $15.5 million, the project came in at $57 million! That's over twice what I make in a year! Leaving a fired program director in it's wake, the spiraling budget almost ground the project to a halt and abandonment.

Well, now it's finished and working great. Our friends Ed & Fern called us up one night a few weeks ago and said "let's go ride the tram". Sure, why not ride the tram? Also it was a cheap date as in the month of February rides were free, now the fare is 4 bucks for a round trip ticket.

There are two cabins, but I think a more appropriate moniker would be "eggs". Like silvery orbs escaping the gentle puff of a child with a bubble pipe they float above the Portland cityscape in a steady but unhurried pace.

Here's the (boring) technical description: The Tram cabins travel 3,300 linear feet between the South Waterfront terminal adjacent to the OHSU Center for Health & Healing, and the upper terminal at the Kohler Pavilion on OHSU's main campus. Traveling at 22 miles per hour, the Tram cabins rise 500 feet for the three-minute trip over I-5, the Lair Hill neighborhood and the Southwest Terwilliger Parkway.

22 miles per hours is not blindingly fast, but when the eggs pass one another you get a sense of speed that is a unique sensation. Now here's the cool part they don't tell you - as the egg ascends up to and then passes over the crest of the tower there is a marked drop that will surprise you! Not scary enough to make kids cry, but more than you would expect. We rode the tram for six round trip cycles and after the first few times of jockeying for a window view from the cabin, I would strategically position myself right in the middle with the aid of a support rail. Passing over the tower gave me the opportunity to surf, if you will; the sudden descent. Woo hoo!

When the cabins dock, it is also very cool. It doesn't take much imagination to pretend that you are in a shuttle docking at a space station. I also enjoyed looking at the mechanics of the tram operations with the cables, wheels and counterweights.

My favorite part of the experience? Because the tram connects the OHSU Center for Health & Healing to Oregon Health & Sciences University (or as we locals call it - "pill hill") one would expect an extraordinary concern for safety and the tram has much redundancy and controls installed to reassure and reinforce how stable and safe the experience is. Note though that the concern for safety stretches beyond the tram itself to the Center for Health & Healing as demonstrated by this sign affixed above the toilets:

"Toilets and urinals are flushed with reclaimed water - do not drink"

Thank you! As it is not my habit to drink out of a toilet I'm sure that the admonition will apply to others who may occasionally succumb to the temptation.

For more about the tram you can visit here and here.

Tribute to Bruce Metzger

2007-02-18T09:11:00.000-08:00

In the New York Times obituaries on Friday February 16 the death of Bruce Manning Metzger is noted (born February 9, 1914, deceased February 13, 2007). Dr. Metzger was a towering figure skilled in Biblical languages, particularly koine (i.e. "common") Greek and his studies of the New Testament and Apocryphal books. Let it not be overlooked that he was also skilled and fluent in Latin, Hebrew, Coptic, Syriac, Russian, German, French and Dutch. To contrast, I'm skilled in the English dialects of Californian (like, you know) and Oregonian (vente, nonfat, no whip, extra hot raspberry mocha with a sticker and a thermal sleeve).

Dr. Metzger was best known to the general public of his supervising of the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, which uses contemporary English and does away with much of the exclusively masculine language of previous translations. Pronouns like thee, thou, and thine found contemporary counterparts that were more understandeable, along with eliminating verbs such as art, hast and hadst. Although Metger could be a lightning rod for convservatives, overall his accomplishements and defense of the manuscript evidence for the Bible was towering.

Why is this all so important anyway? Let me digress for a moment and provide a few thoughts on translation. The challenge is this: although the literal translation of words remains constant, language changes over time. Therefore, to be meaningful the language must be accessible to the reader. Can you think of an example? Although somewhat rough, if I say "I made an inquiry into the life of Bruce Metzger" you would know what I mean. But, to the savvy internet literati I could also say "I googled Bruce Metzger" and that meaning would be the same. Think of words that even weren't around even 15 years ago - bling, podcast.

The translator is also challenged by not only making something accessible, and yet be faithful to the original word itself balanced with context and meaning. In Biblical translation these concepts are expressed as functional dynamics and formal dynamics. Functional dynamics will take a thought for thought approach, where formal dynamics takes a word for word approach. I find it helpful in my studies to incorporate both types of translations. For example, Matthew 9:11 in the New American Standard Bible reads:

When the Pharisees saw this, they said to His disciples, "Why is your Teacher eating with the tax collectors and sinners?"

That is a formal dynamic, where the text contains the literal words "tax collectors" and "sinners". Now look at this same verse in the New Living Translation:

But when the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with such scum?”

Now to be fair the NLT does contain a footnote that references the precise translation of tax collectors and sinners. But what the NLT does is to draw out the context, to show that the Pharisees (a sect of Judiasm at that time) despised and looked down on tax collectors and sinners.

Let it be said though that Dr. Metzger was not above criticism, as some evangelicals criticized him for saying that many biblical books, like the book of Genesis, were "composites of several sources" rather than the work of individual authors. Metzger's contention that certain extra-biblical books were inspired but not canonical was also critiqued by some evangelicals, who said such beliefs undermined Scripture's inerrancy.

However, his legacy will not soon be forgotten. One of my favorite quotes attributed to Metzger is this:

"You have to understand that the canon was not the result of a series of contests involving church politics. … . You see, the canon is a list of authoritative books more than it is an authoritative list of books. These documents didn't derive their authority from being selected; each one was authoritative before anyone gathered them together."

Love it! For a personal tribute John Piper records his thoughts here. Through gates of splendor Metzger has now entered into his rest.

Dream On

2007-02-16T08:13:00.000-08:00

No, this isn't about the Aerosmith song that rocked the airwaves in the 70's (although I did have the 8-track tape when it came out).

I often have vivid, strange dreams. One of my all time favorites is when I was piloting (captaining? driving?) a PT boat through rough waters - the 3 powerful packard v-12 engines caused a thrumming underneath my feet as I held the boat steady and roared through the waves like a lasik surgery on an old eyeball.

Well, this dream started in a warehouse in Los Angeles with me supplying drugs to one of my old friends, Tyler. Now I should qualify that Tyler was sick and these were not illegal drugs but over the counter medicine. I left Tyler and the warehouse and walked down the street to a small bungalow of the type that overtook the city in the 50's and 60's like lighter fluid on a bed of charcoal.

In the bungalow was a woman in her mid 30's whose name I never learned, but she did have an 8 year old daughter named Ivy who was cute as a spring flower pushing it's way up out of the drab winter soil. As we talked together Ivy's mom mentioned that Leo was going to come over.

A few minutes later Leonardo DiCaprio entered the house. I was trying to be as nonchalant as a pretty high school girl snubbing an eyeglass wearing nerd (note the subtle reference to my high school days). I said "hey Leo, how you doing"? Apparently he knew me as he replied "great Dave, how are you?". He then said to Ivy "would you like to see some magic tricks?" "sure" she replied. Leo then proceeded to pull a red pocket square (I dream in color) from his breast pocket (he was wearing a sport coat) and proceeded to do some tricks. After a few minutes I bid a farewell and left the house.

I walked down to a street corner and up drove my grandma (now deceased). She was driving a convertible Cadillac with the top down and it was filled with a bunch of high school girls who were indifferent to me apparently reinforcing my poor self image. Why is this relevant? Grandma never drove in her entire life. Well, she went around a corner and the shocks were bad and the heavy caddie leaned far into the turn. Then, we were paralleling a mass transit system light rail. For some reason I extended my arm to put my hand in the air. As we drove underneath a sign, my finger was caught in the sign. Grandma wasn't driving very fast but I knew the momentum would rend my finger from my hand if I didn't do something fast. Fortunately, I was wearing gloves! I managed to extricate my finger from the glove and all was well.

We stopped the car where the tracks ended at a huge Macy's store. All commuters were forced to disembark like ants sprayed with bug spray fleeing their anthill. But all was not lost! The light rail tracks continued right into the Macy's store. The commuters could then walk through the store following the tracks as they wound their way through the men's department, appliances, etc. The tracks were shiny polished silver and rather than being a distraction they lent an elegant air to the store design. The tracks finally led outside the store to another statioin where the commuters could then embark and continue on their journey.

And then I woke up.

Business Trip - Honolulu

2007-02-05T21:40:00.000-08:00

I had the recent opportunity to travel to Honolulu for business. I do enjoy traveling to places I have never been before, but this was certainly an exception! As usual, the trip was full of new adventures. Join with me as I recount some highlights:

Everybody's gone surfing....

I flew in early to have a day to myself. It has been over a decade since I was last on Oahu, and although I have been to Pearl Harbor (where the memories are still vivid and put a lump in my throat) and Hanauma Bay (motto: let's see how many haolies we can cram into this small bay and then snicker at them) but it has been long enough that I don't remember the North Shore.

Ah, the North Shore - a mecca of surfing, and especially in the winter when the waves are at the biggest. Home to some of the most famous beaches in the world - Waimea Bay, Sunset Beach, and last but certainly not least the Banzai Pipeline. The cool thing is that there was a surfing competition at the the Pipeline, camera crews and everything. Probably 150 people had turned out and I sat on the beach for a while just hanging out. However, when I got to Sunset Beach it was incredible! Huge waves were forming and breaking far from the shore, I'm guessing 15-18 feet high. The surfers were incredible, and in my uneducated opinion the surfing was much "mo betta" than at the Pipeline.

Splish splash I was takin' a bath

I was sandy and sweaty after spending the day at the North Shore. Returning to the hotel, I noticed that the bathroom had a jacuzzi tub! Now I'm a shower guy and haven't taken a bath since I don't know when. However, I thought this would be just right. I filled the tub, turned on the jacuzzi jets and sank into restful bliss. I noticed on the counter a little tray of toiletries. There was a bottle labeled "bath something", where the something refers to a word I don't remember. I picked up the bottle and gave a good squeeze into the tub. Suddenly, a high tide of bubbles began to rise. Quickly they rose to my chest, then chin, and threatened to drown me! By the time I turned the jets off, there were bubbles spilling over onto the floor and moving toward the bathroom door. I survived the attack.

Superbowl Sunday

I'm not a football fan, so when the game started I went out to the hotel pool. It was a great experience having the whole deck and pool to myself! After a good swim I showered (eschewing the bubble bath bad behavior) and went out to eat. I found a Don Ho restaurant where the denizens were inside watching and screaming at the game. What does that mean? That means that even at the dinner hour I had a seat out on the veranda where I was caressed by a gentle breeze, enjoying a magnificent view, and supping on tropical delicacies.

Elevator noises

The hotel I stayed at had peculiar characteristics. It started life as condos, but as the financial district grew around it a renovation occurred and ownership passed to turn it into a business traveler hotel. In my room the outside walls were floor to ceiling windows, where I could sit with my morning coffee and watch the sparkling sunrise slowly illuminate the industrial section of the bay that my window faced. Sunlight would glint off the rusting and towering cranes as they slowly loaded cargo containers on massive ships to soon traverse the ocean blue. Slight oil slicks would occasionally present a soft rainbow pattern hovering over the water. One of the more interesting facets of this diamond of a hotel was the elevators. Each one had an unusal, slightly unnerving, noise. I'll call them elevator A, B and C. Elevator A kind of squeaked, like the cables needed lubricating. Elevator B occasionaly thumped, like there was an obstruction in the shaft such as a speed bump that it would hit each time. Elevator C banged, such as the carriage was floating loose in the shaft and hit the walls in the ascent/descent.

There's no place like home.

On my last night I was wandering around and literally right across the street was what looked to be an older (brick) building that had been converted to offices. On the building were these words: The Oregon Building. Over the door was this word: Portland. How nice to have a subtle reminder of home sweet home in Honolulu of all places!

I want to believe.

2007-01-31T08:24:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy night. Although no rain was falling the wind was whipping violently. There I was, not on some lonely country road but going south on 217 in rush hour traffic.

Suddenly, there it was. When you expect a visit from a monster, a myth, a legend you expect it in a creepy mansion or a deserted gas station on a dark desert highway. Not in rush hour traffic. But I could not deny what my eyes had seen.

You see, I saw a sea bat. I did not know that they ventured this far inland. Black as the night, with a wingspan of about 3 feet across it hovered I'm guessing about 15 feet above the highway. Wings gently flapping and using the force of the wind it looked like it was about to swoop down on an unsuspecting automobile and rip its victims right through the roof. My heart skipped a beat as terror began to pump raw adrenaline into my body. Fight or flight? I was ready to fly, guy!

Now, lest you accuse me of highway hallucinations let me say that it could have been just a garbage bag flapping and floating in the breeze. Sure, it could have been the overactive imagination of a stressed out rush hour minion. Sure, it could also have been the pepperoni pizza from lunch.

However, I'm not the first to experience the terror that a sea bat can visit upon an unsuspecting soul. The first known sighting of a sea bat has been documented by my friend Steve here.

You may say there is no such thing as a sea bat, but as for me and Seaman Murphy - we believe.

Putting the Quality in Assurance

2007-01-19T09:45:00.000-08:00

I use a networking tool that I find very helpful called LinkedIn. Every now and then I surf former places of employment or do a name search to see if anyone I know is a member.

A few days ago I found a person whose profile indicated proficiency in quality assurance. In the software development world QA provides the function of checking work that the engineers produce to ensure that the specifications were met and to undercover any potential "bugs" or defects. I tell you that because QA is a very precise endeavor and attention to detail is paramount.

This particular individual (I did not know him) had provided his job title as:

Quality Asserance Manager

I feel reassered that the software he is in charge of testing will werk jest fine.

Oh the weather outside is frightful....

2007-01-17T07:49:00.000-08:00

We had a storm yesterday. Now, here in Portland we're used to rain. Lots of rain. Rain, rain, rain rain. But this was a snow storm. Our USPS team lived up to the motto of "neither rain nor snow...." in admirable fashion.

Well, we just don't do snow. That's not how we roll. Our daring denizens were not dismayed and dashed into the winter wonderland with nary a care nor caution. Turns out that maybe a little care and caution could have been perhaps a better idea.

Examples you ask? Examples I provide. In any city it is probable that encounters of road rage will present themselves. But here in Portland we have snowball rage. Let's suppose that you are driving down the street. Some teenagers are throwing snowballs at each other. What a picture of wintertime bliss! But wait - what if a random, not even intentional, snowball hits your car? What should you do? Of course! Jump out and stab one of the little hooligans. Welcome to Portland.

Well, at least our school systems exhibit the proper precaution. Very quickly schools planned and communicated their closures. Except for the suburb of Beaverton. In the face of impending snow and ice the district determined that they would take a stand against nature. The schools would remain open and the buses were sent to fetch the students. And then the district realized that, well maybe they should not have done that. Several chained up buses slid off the road, and nature had her revenge when the superintendent drove out to fly the flag and rescue some of the kids. Her car slid off of the road and into the bus.

But that's not all - among the dozens of kids that were injured in sledding accidents is the tragic story of a young girl that was being towed behind her father's pickup. He lost control and she was flung into a concrete school bench and suffered fatal injuries. Reports indicate that he was drinking and could face criminal charges. Sad, so very sad.

Well, you may think that I'm exaggerating but check this video clip out. Oh yeah, add to the list that we don't stay inside where it is safe. Just like the faithful postal workers mentioned above (Lisa, Al - you rock!) we know how to drive in bad weather and aren't afraid to show it.