A handful of history

Yeesh - life comes at you from some unexpected, innocuous directions.

I've been cleaning up my 'office,' the third bedroom of this domicile, because it's an unruly dump and I can find fewer and fewer legitimate reasons to blame it on someone else. During my housekeeping, I came to address the dreaded Accordion File.

This file has been with me since Utah (making the sign of the cross as I write - not bad for an Atheist), and it contains some of the oldest artifacts of my life, on paper and otherwise. It's been a catch-all for many of my file-able relics. I figured I'd shake out all the old shit and move all the keepables to a more-modern vessel. Hoo, was I mistaken.

Starting from the front, the very first gaggle of items I pull strike at me like the coiled ghost of a snake. They are the invoices from a washer/dryer I got on credit with an ex. I am as unsentimental about that relationship as any I've ever had - it was nearly as doomed as the one in Utah, but didn't produce children, making it markedly less traumatic. And yet I am hesitant to discard its remnants, largely because of the way my brain works.

I am completely unable to track things in a temporal fashion. I don't track the years well at all, and my memory is not linear. What memories survive the beer are filed in podlike pockets and in no particular order. If something makes the cut, it floats buoyantly in a meaningless mental mucus (ick, I know, how do you think I feel?), without regard for nor identification of time.

Once I started blogging, this was no big deal. However, everything before that seriously risks being completely detached from my mental timeline and I'll avail myself of any system that allows me the means to sort out who did what when. This stuff comes in handy now & then and it's troubling when you can't pin things down.

Back to the point of my already-dull blog post: stabbed not in the heart but in the forehead by documents from days gone by, I tucked them back into their dusty, carboard tomb and shrank back to whatever busywork I busied myself with before. I'm not sure I'm ready to discard these breadcrumbs just yet, and they may be filed as well as they need to be as is.

Ideas

Can I just make a quick point, to acknowledge one simple point of view I've come to learn? And for those who might be wondering, this is not in consideration of any particular person or conversation with which I've been involved. Just something on the tip of my brain's tongue. Or something.

Ideas, like talk, are cheap.

Writers with a block will disagree, searching with desperation in a barren mental wasteland. People who have taken good ideas and seen them through with effort and discipline will also be quick with valid examples disproving my point. To all of you, I say: "You're right, that's great, now shut up, because I'm not talking about you."

I'm talking about people who only have ideas; those who have small, flickering Christmas tree light bulbs go off above their heads about departments, processes and topics about which they have little or no knowledge nor regular participation. In short, people who have no business contributing their stupid, poorly-considered ideas to people who have legitimate abilities to act upon it. People who storm in filled with pride in their pseudo-creation, drop it on the floor like a cat with a mangled, still-kicking bird, and then flitter away as if they've got to get back to Heaven following delivery of their generous gift from the Gods, only to sulk and return after a period of time to wonder indignantly why someone didn't pick up their crusty little contribution and make something out of it, or if someone did, why it was managed so badly.

By the way, I'm dead certain that I've been this person, but I'm sufficiently horrified at my own conduct, and I'm still learning. Perhaps I'm speaking to myself in the recent past, as much as anything else.

Back to my main point: ideas are the easy part. They are a miracle in the same way birth is a miracle - yeah, the process is really exciting, but the product of said miracle had very little to do with its own creation, and was largely due to the efforts of others. The distinction is that it's the shepherding of an idea from its inception through the process by which it is made truly useful is the hard, fascinating part that is really laudable.

I've been lucky enough to benefit from not only the brilliance of others' ambitious ideas, but also the affection of their owners that brought them to share with me. Again, this post is not a rebuke of them.

I'm just saying that if you are a person blessed with an idea and you inflict it upon someone unbidden, if you did nothing to help further that idea, and further that if you feel a pissy contempt for those who did not embrace your idea and take it to the heights of success you envisioned, you've gone seriously wrong somewhere.

I, uh, I guess that's all I had to say about that.

The Expert Swimmer

My wife is a very smart woman, and she made an observation recently that struck me.

I have now amassed at least half a dozen books devoted to outdoor survival and backwoods living because it fascinates me. I've read almost all of them cover-to-cover. My wife noted offhandishly to a telephone chatter what I was reading about, but: "...he doesn't really do all this survival stuff - he just reads about it."

I know she meant absolutely nothing negative by it, although I think I did wince when I overheard it. It did cleave neatly the reality of what I do from the fuzzy, rose-colored jumble that dominates my frontal lobe, and how I use that wonderful rosy jumble to lie to myself. The books make it easy - since I've tried to buy quality resources, most of them have very well-written explanations and clear diagrams, and those help me fool myself into thinking that simply reading them is quite enough. Yes, that's totally sufficient, now crack a beer and turn on "Survivorman," and turn up the heat, for god's sake.

I read all these books about how things work, and they're very procedural. They're about things that someone must do before they can be appreciated, or really even be fully taught. It's like reading about swimming without getting in the water. I read and read and imagine myself doing these things - building a shelter or a figure-four deadfall trap, or even simply camping - but I so-rarely do them.

In my defense, they are things that require a commitment of time and preparation. Maybe you can slip into your backyard and put together a survival shelter from nothing in an hour, but it takes me longer. Me, I haven't got that worked out yet. Although sometimes I'll take a folding knife and build the occasional campfire in the fire pit off the side of my house (which I'm still thrilled to have), it usually doesn't go beyond that.

What I really need to do is spend about five or six hours working out some of the procedures and techniques in these things. I've practiced some of them (camp cooking, deadfall traps), and they really are a lot of fun. It just takes a departure from the norm, a bump out of the comfort zone, and god knows I'm a creature of habit.

Anyway, I guess the point of this post is that I should get off my ass, actively pursue more of the things I want to pursue, and break out of my comfortable routine. And continue to listen to my wife, who is brilliant.

Obama-thon

It's near the end of a workday whose radioplay has been thoroughly dominated by the inauguration of Barack Obama. A black man is president, and it's truly historical. I should be thinking big thoughts, swept away with a national sense of self-congratulation like everyone else.

Instead, I can relate these very human reflections: First, I honestly didn't think that the American people had it in them to vote in a black president (nor did I think a woman had a beggar's chance, either). It doesn't trouble me to tell you that I told my brother during the Democratic primary that the because the Dems were saddled with either a minority or a woman that the Republicans were a shoo-in, even if they had to prop up John McCain's lifeless corpse and operate his acceptance speech through a complicated clockwork of fishing line and pulleys. I just didn't believe the country was there yet. So, it turns out I am pleasantly surprised that my dark cynicism was proven wrong. Good for us.

Unfortunately, although there are reasons to like and vote for Obama, I think the country is settling for a cosmetic (skin-deep, if you will) revolution over the pragmatic resolution it really needs. It sounds like only a narrow portion of Ron Paul's arm-waving, near-frantic advice against striding the globe as a lone superpower will be implemented in the Obama administration,. I am glad we'll be changing course, but it doesn't take a genius or a revolutionary to realize that we were screwing the pooch in Iraq; our recent success with the "surge" only indicates we're screwing it in finer form, not that it's any better a goal. But I am heartened and confident that Obama's will be closer to a correct path than either Bush has or McCain would have provided. As far as Paul's similar admonitions against writing checks on accounts you don't have, it looks like we'll be blowing past ever-increasing limits with the stimulus and job creation being promised.

What do I know? Maybe pouring oceans of money after the problem will make things all right. It does me no good to look over the shoulders of wizards working with alchemies I don't understand. The best I can hope for is to be a well-meaning heckler.

Regarding self-congratulation, one minor note: how can you slap yourself on the back with such gusto, as if you were with him from his very birth, when your airy mind wasn't made up until a mere several days before election day? It's fair-weather fan syndrome, carried to the extreme. Sorry - just thinking of one person I know; I digress.

Much less significantly, anytime something is over-hyped I am overcome with an irresistible desire to flinch away, and it is no different with Archangel Obama, whose wings will surely tatter and fray soon enough, and who will be found to be human just like the rest of us. I'd just as soon have the marching bands vanish, and my radio shows back where they belong.

Paris is burning - a hole in my empty pocket

Expedia reports that I can take wife and son from Frisco to Paris in early February for 8 days for a $791 per person, or $2,371 total.

12 days in February go for $2,582.
...

<sigh>

Angels Camp World Mercantile Open Mike

There's a cafe/art gallery in Angels Camp that hosts a weekly open mike night. I'm thrilled about it - so much so, I'll be shooting a video exposition on it this weekend. I hope to make it the first in a recurring, local-oriented video series, but we'll see how life goes.

I've chosen a title for it, and based on that have almost finished a brief 3-D animation for its opening. I'll post it once it's complete, but where? MySpace, YouTube, Facebook, this blog? If anybody has advice on how they prioritize their blog, video or other postings across various web presences, please leave me a Comment here, or an e-mail. I could use the advice!

"Survive!" book review

I just finished reading Les Stroud's recent book: "Survive!" I am impressed with it, and I'll tell you why:

First, it is humble. Les Stroud makes every effort to reveal that he was not magically born with this knowledge, and often refers to the teachers, experts and others who have contributed to his current level of expertise. Not only does he give ample credit where it's due, he occasionally hands over the reins entirely when a subject appears that can be better explained by a true expert. For example, he defers to a physician when it comes to hypothermia. This sort of self-deprecation isn't just appealingly modest during an age of "Look at me, I invented outdoor adventure" ego. It also gives the reader a confidence that multiple resources have been consulted, resulting in more reliable advice.

Second, it is organized. While it's not unusual for bushcraft and survival books to separate fire-making from shelter-building, but Les shows his priorities when he puts preparation and mindset literally before fires, food and water. Somewhere in the book-making process, it must be tempting to put the fun, active stuff first, but placing these later gives a clear signal of the importance he assigns them.

Finally, while it is complete, it is not a "kitchen sink" approach. There are several points in the book where to deliberately eschews elaborate bushcraft skills that are particularly time-consuming or complex, simply because their knowledge don't really lend themselves to survival, but more to woodsmanship, a long-term approach to outdoors pursuits. Good for him.

I recommend this book!

Checking in

Yeah, I'm still here. I had something useful to say, but it has degraded in the darkness inside my head, and is not worthy of you in its current form. Soon, maybe.

Bone Annie Verse Air

I gave up making New Year's resolutions some time ago, for the same reasons many people give it up: it's cliché and nobody follows through with them anyway. The main problem is that they're a declaration, an absolute vow of action, and we all know that absolutes are brutally difficult things to bargain with. I would twitch nervously if I had to vow that the sun will come up tomorrow.

Rather, this year I will state the changes I would like to witness and the goals I would like to accomplish. Human as I am, I won't be chagrined if these don't come to pass.

• Lose 30 pounds, I look like shit
• Learn me some guitar
• Produce more blog posts, video projects and anything else that keeps me learning and creating
• Manage and embrace the bizarre and mercurial calculus of work/fun/money/happiness

New Year's resolutions are silly because of the reasons above, but it is certainly not silly to ponder one's location on his own map. I should complete such a list once a month, rather than once a year.

This list is too short - I compiled it almost reflexively because I didn't want the calendar to turn without noting something about my perception of the new year and my life's odometer as it quietly whirs. The list is certainly not exhaustive. And yet...

Constantly self-assessing, I can't help but notice what's not on the list. Nothing grand, nothing momentous. Just some humble self-improvement. Does that make me selfish, small-minded, complacent? Realistic? Does it speak to what I already have that I don't feel the need to climb certain mountains? Does it indicate that there are certain internal details that need sorted out? Do I question petty, self-absorbed ideas way too much?

I'd be very surprised if the answers to all these questions wasn't "yes."

Happy New Year to everyone who reads this, whose name I'd know on sight. The rest of you? Um, I dunno - I can't be bothered, work it out amongst yourselves, will you?

Santa's leftovers

I'm thinking of starting a new tradition. Every year, no matter how sharp Santa is, there's always a little something that he could have delivered, but that was missed. Maybe Saint Nick would benefit from a humble clean-up crew.

My wife stopped by to get a CD that she wanted. I picked up a second-hand clock radio for myself; nothing fancy, but the one I have has black LED's that are invisible in the dark. I'm stuck with sitting up and glaring blearily at my wife's. It's inconvenient enough at that, but that chick can pile so much crap on her nightstand that neither of us know what time it is until the sun comes up, so somebody hadda do somethin'. Heh.

Also, I've got my eye on an ultra-cheap microphone to go with some other mid-range equipment I've got, and I wouldn't mind a CD or two as well. Just to round out the Christmas spirit, you understand.

In with the good

I got to see my brother recently. We haven't gotten together in a while, and it was good to see him again. It was generous of him, but I shouldn't have let him pay for lunch - times are tight for both of us. Then again, I didn't want to insult him, and sometimes it feels good to say: "I'll buy." I'll spring next time.

I caught cold on Christmas, so soon after the last one. It irritated me, but I've been lucky - my discomfort has been mild, and I've been able to do a lot of things that want to do.

We were able to get my son a respectable pile of loot for Christmas, which feels good for a parent. More selfishly, I got some wonderful loot myself without it being overdone. Just right, as Goldilocks would say.

I haven't had a lot of practice looking on the sunny side, but I easily admit that there's a lot in my life to be thankful for. One could say I've got it made.

Sierra Re-creation

God help me, I think I'm going to resurrect "SierraRecreation.com," or at least its spirit.

It was months ago that I ceased thrashing about in the dark, struggling against a slowly-diminishing ignorance of Content Management Systems, an equally-slowly diminshing ignorance of the Sierra Nevada itself, and the fact that no one but me ever joined a site that I had hoped would engender at least some enthusiasm from, well, enthusiasts. I ceased thrashing, and I gave up.

After I stopped crying, (I take my perceived defeats entirely too seriously) I realized that I still have an interest in the Sierra Nevada. Although I also still don't get out in the rough enough, I still daydream about it, read about it and care about it. And I do occasionally actually get out and kick rocks, and it's fun to write about it or take photos for display. When you've got an interest in something and it just keeps nagging at you, you can either drink until it goes away, or you can stop resisting and do something about it. Me, I'm doin' both.

I also envision doing some sort of videography project about recreation in the Sierra Nevada; the details are always hazy and require that I chase them (which I am currently doing), but the personality of the thing is clear in my mind: something useful, somewhat intelligent, but also approachable, funny and down-to-earth. I'd like to do some sort of a series, even if it's a series of 10-minute webisodes (although I'd rather do more-standard, 30- or 60-minute productions), and an accompanying website just sounds like such a natural place to host such productions (or clips thereof), that I know I've got to do it someday.

Plus, there are so many good resources of different media and perspectives that I am driven by a natural instinct to collect them and display them, and redistribute some of them in more modern or useful ways than I originally found them.

One hang-up is money. "If it cost a nickel to shit, I'd have to go puke somewhere." Thanks to Jeff S. for that handy and unforgettably digusting saying. But it makes my point; I can't afford even one more hosting plan right now, so I'm currently planning on reviving my little monster as a subfolder of my current hosting account. Luckily, it will be full-featured in all other ways, allowing me to build and play and break things. Besides cost, another plus is that a relatively anonymous subfolder homestead will remove any pressure to make it "be" anything other than what it is: a personal work in progress.

Hopefully, it will end up being something worth "re-launching" someday, and showing to the cold, cruel webosphere for somebody to get some use out of it.

Until then, I'll keep the domain name under my thumb for later use. Until then, I'll tinker.

Fish fried

Oh man. I went to what was supposed to be a small affair, a little get-together over some locally caught fish, and a few friendly refreshments. I had four beers, two fish and an inordinate amount of salt. That's how I like my fish.

I woke up the next day feeling like, as I've heard it said, I'd been "eaten by a coyote and shit over a cliff." Now, four beers is a significant consumption, but not even close to a harmful amount, hangover-wise. If you're not sure, take my word for it - I've done the research.

For my entire Sunday, I trudged through the day as if I'd been poisoned or beaten, and although I was game enough to be intermittently active, my heart was certainly not in it. Muscle aches, headache and sleep deprivation sapped my strength, and I haven't been so glad to retire for the night in quite some time.

I awoke today at 5am, feeling so much better that I couldn't stay in bed. There's nothing like briefly feeling thoroughly like shit to remind you how good normal feels.

Small actions

Rereading my previous post, it's easy to see that I need to take some action toward my stated goal (wish). So, I'm taking whatever steps I can think of.

Sorry if this post is cryptic and nonsensical. It makes sense to me at the moment, and that's enough.

Discord

Today has been quite imperfect. I've forgotten to bring items with me that are a normal part of my everyday routine; infrastructure that I normally take for granted are non-operational; due to a minor back strain, many simple motions that are normally effortless require concentration
and exact a cost of pain - a recent sneeze was spectacularly sharp and bracing, as striking and transient as being dipped in ice water.

These are the types of oddities and variances that give life its texture and flavor; to a driven and purposeful man, they are incidental. Without a unifying goal, they just feel likes slaps in the face, a little more quicksand that sucks at my legs.

I feel weak today. I want to return to a point where I have a sense of control and purpose and a command of the aspects of my life. It's been so long since that's been the case that I can't really point to a date on the calendar when it was so.

These things change - they always do. I do wish I could accelerate that change and maintain a sense of security and control.

I'll show you

I'm grateful there's a cafe with hi-speed Internet nearby, but they're overly cautions with their Webwasher site blocking software, because it frustates me when it (often) prevents me from looking at fairly harmless websites.

So, this morning I brought up some porn on the screen, just to show it that I could. Take that, oppressively technology!

France calling

I have been dreaming again of France. It remains a magical event in my memory.

Google Maps has a balm for this painfully sweet longing: the Street View feature. I can go and revisit our little hotel, the Pantheon I visited on a crisp solo morning, and other locations.

I am consistently susprised at the power of the experience and nostalgia, now a few years later. The architecture, the food, the different-ness of everything. Just intoxicating.

I had secretly hoped to work some things out this year, and make another trip possible. We're absolutely not in such a position, and while I'm completely unsurprised, I'm secretly bitterly disappointed.

But this post is not intended to be about bitterness; it's about what joy I had in visiting, experiencing and remembering another place and culture. To be in another land, surrounded and immersed by another language and another history.

Tradition

Monday, I had sincerely planned to increase my exercise, both in frequency and intensity. I went to bed feeling a mite peaked, and woke up with a cold. I've tried before to soldier on through a cold, working outdoors and exercising, and I've learned through experience that it's a reliable and effective way to punch up the severity of an illness. So, last Monday I made a conscious effort to chill out and take lots of fluids.

That paid off, and my cold was relatively gentle and short-lived. Feeling about 95% yesterday, I made good on the promise I'd made myself last week, and continued my tradition of only the most intermittent exercise. Just often enough to cause significant discomfort, that's my motto. Therefore, I am in the kind of pain that makes me move about and groan like a mummy with a spinal cord injury. I couldn't tuck my head in properly when crouching into my car seat, and bashed my head on the edge of the roof.

I don't think I can take much more of this healthy lifestyle.

Off the grid

What a week. Good, bad and indifferent, all smeared messily across 6 days or so. In that time, I've/we've:

• Finished our meager Christmas shopping
• Partied with some truly great people
• Counseled a troubled, rowdy drinker to hew to a moral (me, can you believe it?) and considerate path (what is it about me that says: "amateur pastor?")
• Spent the next day riding out a doozey of a hangover
• Made a killer deal on some exercise equipment that might actually work for us
• Caught a cold

I've been too busy to spend much time in front of the computer, as much blessing as curse. How have you been?

"Black Ice" review: on the other hand

[This is a second part of a two-part review of AC/DC's "Black Ice" CD. Read the first, angry part.]

Ever since I hit "post" on my review, I immediately felt regret that it was so negative - embarrassment as if I had drunkenly slandered a family member. I'm just not comfortable shitting on AC/DC like that, after their years as icons of Rock, deserving of my admiration and a more circumspect review. Here is that second look.

For the past few album releases, it has often been the case that I was initially disappointed in the music, as it did not stack up to former glories. Later though, the music, although different, grew on me. For example: "Rock Your Heart Out" sounded fluffy, but over time I was able to appreciate it more on its own terms. "Boogey Man" sounded great on their "No Bull" concert DVD (thanks to Steve for the lend). There are plenty of other examples, and the new album is no different.

It's somewhat (not entirely) unfair to compare new music to past performances. A rigid attitude like the one I took leaves little room for growth. With that in mind, songs like "Stormy May Day" and "War Machine" are actually very worthwhile songs, expressive and effective. "Rock N Roll Dream" also has its own sound, slow and dreamy before stomping into a contrastingly forceful chorus.

I must admit, my initial review felt a lot more correct than the drivel I've read elsewhere, like "Black in Blacker!" Please, calm yourself, douchebag. I hope that balancing out it with this more considered reflection gives a more complete review to anyone considering buying the album.

I must say, I wasn't all wrong: "Money Made" still plods along like a Communist ballad or a slave's mantra, and "Rock N Roll Train" still sounds trite. I can almost hear the mechanical background sounds from Queen's "Back to Humans," a very good song in its own right. "She Likes Rock N Roll" hits me like a throwaway. I still wish the lyrics overall were more complex and specific, but that's me - I enjoy tight lyrics. Who knows what will grow on me in time?

I still rock this CD and I do recommend it.