Expectmuch

The Clearest Night I've Ever Seen

2007-09-27T23:57:00.001-07:00

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13 pictures for you

2007-09-27T23:03:00.001-07:00

You have been sent 13 pictures.

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First Rain

2007-09-23T22:51:00.000-07:00

They say Summer ends today. I say it ended on Friday night when the first rain hit SF. So, while commuters were sacrificing their weekend getaway plans to slick roads and fender-benders, I scrambled to the top of Twin Peaks to watch the clouds roll in. I figured I had time before heading out to Hoa's b-day party.

I had never seen SF under this kind of lighting. Here are some decent shots from the phone (brushed up with Picassa).

Looking down into Diamond Heights

Looking southwest

My favorite part of the run. Coming down the mountain, crossing the ped bridge over Portola.

Looking up the hill from the ped bridge.

From the spiral ramp on the east end of the ped bridge.

Out with the old, in with the new. Muni is replacing their diesel buses with Hybrids.

http://www.sfmta.com/cms/mfleet/hybrids.htm

Looking across Portola up into Diamond Heights.

My New Summer Hobby

2007-09-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy summer... for all the right reasons. More on that later, but one reason is a renewed fondness for biking. It started when I finally did something about my broken 10-year-old Raleigh suspension bike. On the crazy chance it might do me some good, I took it down to Valencia Cyclery to see what kind of warrantee Raleigh would honor on a cracked frame. After a week, they made an offer to knock $150 off a new bike. Valencia didn't care what kind of bike. I still had some Christmas cash. They still had '06 bikes on the shelf, discounted heavily. I started test riding, and found a Specialized that I fell for immediately. It was the same feeling I had when I test drove the Cobra in '03.

Cha-ching!

That was in May. Since then, I've made some minor tweaks to the bike and racked up (I think) over 900 miles. Amateur numbers, of course, but that includes a Diablo summit, and a 60 miler around Marin and Tiburon... rides I never thought I'd be capable of. I've been commuting to South SF over Geneva Blvd, I can finaly climb a hill in a gear other than "granny", and I've lost about 20 lbs. It's helped my jogs up Twin Peaks as well; same muscle group, I guess. I did that lap in 45 minutes yesterday.

Here are some pics from a lap around Paradise Loop in Tiburon. It's one of the most beautiful circuits in the Bay Area (according to those who've biked every popular route). One of these days, I'll take some shots from the GG Bridge.

I've found my new Summer hobby.

Treasure Island Music Festival

2007-09-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

On the 15th, a bunch of us headed out to see some good tunes on Treasure Island. As always, the views were gorgeous, and even more so due to the day's perfect weather. Getting there brought back memories of rehearsing with the Renegades.

The day was also an opportunity to put my new little Sony phone/camera/walkman/etc to some good use.

Gotan project was very cool. They showed us dorky Americans what a little modern global perspective can do for a classic form of latin music. Ghostland Observatory was a trip. I hadn't heard of them until that day, and then my buddy Jimmy was DJ'ing them at 540 club only a week later... small world. Of course, the favorite was the headliner; Thievery Corp.

http://www.treasureislandfestival.com/

Kim and B on the shuttle

My long-time, very good friend Carlee and me with the lemon face.

Kim and Carlee

B and his neighbor's buddies who's names I can't remember. Rob, help me out here.

DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist. Jammin.

Me, B, and Niel

Thievery Corporation

A big ferris wheel overlooking the stages and the bay. Very cool.

Todd's wedding

2007-07-14T22:25:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a wedding in LA. My best friend growing up is now a husband to his girlfriend of 6 years (or 7?). Todd is solid, devoted, introverted, clever, and funny. Amy is solid, devoted, completely extroverted, clever, and freakin hilarious. They are perfect for eachother.

The ceremony was, in a word, memorable. Beautiful, check. Cheery and lighthearted, check. Perfect weather, check. A good Pastor with a meaningful surmon, check. Rings, check. Audio... audio?. Every DJ problem, background noise problem, and music glitch that could have occured, occured. In fact, they occured with the kind of randomness that could never be choreographed, and the kind of consistency that would make a choreographer jealous. Friday the 13th, right?

Amy took it all in stride, however, sometimes breaking into complete laughter. Todd's a lucky man.

Partied into the wee hours with some guys I haven't seen in way too long. Guys I went to highschool with, marched alongside in the band, and in some cases, earned cub-scout achievement awards with. That's when the fun started.

Cory blew my mind describing where he is going with his work. I don't know many oil painters; my frame of reference (no pun intended) is small. I do know, however, what draws me in. Corey's stuff draws me in. http://www.coreypeters.com/.

Gabe astounded me with his grasp of history and, in conjunction, what he has done with his teenage hobby. http://www.ancientresource.com/index.html.

Of, course, Todd continues to establish himself in the ranks of elite southern california photographers. He and a few colleagues left the premier photo firm in LA last year and went out on their own, quickly and methodically building their client list. His name draws more google hits than Paris Hilton: http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=todd+wawrychuk

These are three people to watch in LA (or in Corey's case, from LA) over the next couple of decades. Moreover, they are three of the coolest dudes I know.

Other than that, spent some quality time with the parents, sisters, niece, and grandparents. Big changes on the Browning family 5-year horizon. More on that later.

Addiction

2007-06-24T20:40:00.000-07:00

I sat down and put together a couple poems tonight. This is the second. Anyone who knows me well enough, and about my family, will understand where this one comes from.

whether a disease or a decision
a study in semantics at best
one fact remains, however,
liberation is a lifelong quest

such thing as an end does not exist
the notion, an exercise in futility
hope is everything, it must subsist
for the strength to lengthen stability

2006 wrap up

2007-06-24T20:03:00.000-07:00

I've become shamefully neglectuful of this little journal. I've thought over and over about 2006 in passing. It was one of the most memorable years I've known. It's no excuse, of course, but it was also one of the most maddening, demanding, and disruptive.

Here's a recap of events following the date of my last post, for each of which I could probably write a short story. But anyway...

- A week in Hawaii with family for Grandpa's 90th
- Ski season ended July 1 at Mammoth
- Work hectic, more frustration and discontent
- Office moved to Alameda
- Sold the ragtop in 20 hours, almost got a new car
- Call from Landon: grab the camera, get in a cab
- James moved out to Seattle
- Had apt for one month alone, couldn't enjoy it, mostly on the road
- In contract to buy duplex 1 month after the phone call
- On road for another 6 weeks straight
- Cousin Elizabeth wedding in SF
- Clifford the big red dog
- Brother and Ginger moved my apt for me
- Came home, cleaned the apt, said goodbye
- Living out of boxes for rest of Summer
- Lots of little house projects
- Big Project #1: Shower remodel
- 30th birthday
- Nice, new skis for cheap; stoked
- Holloween in Yosemite
- Christmas in Seattle
- New Years back at the cabin, and all is well

Changes 2

2006-05-06T01:50:00.000-07:00

4. My Grandparents (written 12/2005)

My two best friends of years 2003 and 2004 have made what could be the biggest decision of the rest of their lives. It came in November 2005, although it has been debated for several years now. Grandpa and I discussed it over cribbage and ice cream when I lived with them. Grandma cried many nights over it. They've discussed it with Mom and Aunt Susan in "Moulton Family Meetings". I received a phone call from Grandpa on a Tuesday to tell me it was going to happen over the weekend. I drove down to LA on thursday night, and did what I could to assist.

They've moved to an assisted living home.

The reasons are clear and plentiful. The finances are available. They're effectively trading space for peace of mind. The worries are alleviated, the risks are reduced. Their lives are easier. It makes perfect sense. It was a smooth transition to their new home. They'll make friends. They'll probably join every club and activity and perhaps start a few of their own. They'll share meals and stories with people living similar lives. Once the culture shock wears off, they will flourish. Once the claustrophobic side effects of moving from a suburban home of 30 years into an 800 square foot, ADA-compliant apartment wanes, they will settle in. Come on... it's not much different from moving out of your parents' house and into the college dorms... or so I naively like to think.

But I can't shake the aching feeling that this is the most humiliating thing anyone could do to their elders. I feel guilty. I just hope they don't think they're being put there to be forgotten.

Because they won't be... not anytime soon, not ever.

5. Driving

While working for Moulton, I had a commute. It was 52 miles a day of what could be the most perfect commute per mile that Los Angeles could offer. It was a reverse commute, sun at my back both directions, 80mph on some of the newest, best maintained freeways in the basin. So, throughout the summer of 03, I shopped for my next perfect car. Something that would allow me to enjoy driving to work or lunch. I wanted a car that was unlike anything I'd driven before; a car purpose built for LA. I found it on Autotrader; an '01 in perfect condition, certified, and only 28k miles. A car that spans genres and generations. A car that is alltogether classy, trashy, fun, stupid, completely impractical at some times, and exactly what I need at others. Bang for the buck, smiles for miles, fun in the sun, etc etc... a convertable triple-black Mustang Cobra. A racecar with an admittedly cheap, unergonomic, outdated body. 32 valve, all aluminum block, heads, and intake, independent rear suspension, 320 hp, 320 ft-lbs, Brembo brakes, and a 5-speed with a shifter that travels like a handsaw on a tree trunk. A driver's car. An enthusiast's car. Certainly NOT like anything I'd owned before.

I've always liked mustangs. I'm not a Ford guy, but I like Mustangs. It's not just a car. It's an icon. It transcends categories, demographics, or even EPA mileage ratings. This car is a bigger part of the American automotive heritage than the Suburban, F150, Corvette, Continental, Woody, Jeep, Eldorado, GTO, Thunderbird, or even, yes... the almighty Pinto. Perhaps the only car more globally recognized than the Mustang is the Model T. My best friend Todd's dad had one while we were growing up. It was a 65 or 66 (I guess I really don't know) project car that rarely left the driveway, and as far as I can remember, was never really "finished". I've had two roommates with mustangs, both convertables. I loved borrowing them. I learned how to drive a stick with my sister's ex-boyfriend's '88 5.0 GT Convertable. That car was a rickety sonofabitch, but I loved driving it.

So, on a random Wednesday in September of that year, I committed to go pick this thing up in Orange County. It was only fitting that Todd, the guy with whom I shared my first love for a Mustang, agreed to haul my butt down there to fetch it. I saw the car online at 6pm, and owned it by Midnight. I drove it home as proudly as a new father would carry home his firstborn child.

For the next year and a half, I drove the hell out of that car. I enjoyed every thenth of a mile, too. 360 sunny days per year, road trips, warm summer nights, cruising Ventura Blvd, Mulholland, Sunset, Angeles Crest, Santa Monica Blvd, you name it. This car wasn't just made for LA. LA was made for this car. I put 30 thousand miles on it in a year and a half and babied it every step of the way. Garaged, oiled, waxed, maintained, warranteed to 75k miles, and serviced only by Galpin Ford.

Shift gears... over to the motorhome. That's a completely different topic, but related to this one in that I was racking up mega miles on it during the same time. Through 2003 and 2004, the rig got 40k miles. Compare that to the 6 years of its existence before I took ownership, during which it was driven 19k miles. This regimen far exceeded the normal annual mileage for an RV, but on the plus side, they were mostly for weekend I-5 blitzes to Renegades camps. Those miles were subsidized by fellow corps members and technically a tax deductable donation to a charitable organization. But all told, I drove 40 thousand miles per year for 2 years. During that time, driving had become a major part of my life.

So fast forward to 2005. Career change, move back to San Francisco, business traveling again, phasing out of Renegades, commuting on transit. I've since "sold" the motorhome to a friend. I keep the car parked in a lot provided by the company. No longer do I drive it three times a day. No longer do I drive the motorhome 800 miles in a weekend. No longer am I completely dependent upon personal transportation to live my life. I am a bay area boy now, and with that comes the freedom of leaving the car in the garage. I bus/BART/bus to work. I walk or carpool to nearby places for lunch. I use transit to run errands, cabs for nights out on the town. SFO is now accessable by rail. Because I have the car that is least suitable for snow, I've driven it but twice to Tahoe, and those trips were only when there wasn't a flake of snow on the roads. I now drive my car 3 times a month. I average less than 10k miles on it annually. If I'm commuting in a car, it's a rental out in the middle of nowhere, between a jobsite and a hotel. I spend a fraction of what I used to on gasoline, in spite of the astronomical price of 91 octane (although I spend a butt load to ride BART now). I've come completely full circle in my driving habits.

Here's what I've noticed as a result.

I'm less stressed, and more ready to work when I arrive at the office. I read the news during my hour long commute. I have time to daydream or even catch a cat nap. Peoplewatching is fun again; no more staring at the back of somebody's head as they jocky for position in my lane. I worry less about getting tickets. Unless I bring my car home to Russian Hill for some reason, parking is a non-issue. My car will no doubt last longer and retain more of its value. I no longer fear transit and the formerly mind-numbing maps and schedules. Consequently, I'm more confident in negotiating transit in other cities. I've become more appreciative of MUNI drivers. I've become less sympathetic to single-occupant-vehicles caught in traffic. I've become more sympathetic to those who purchased sprawling suburban homes within the last 10 years and have to commute 3 hours a day as a result. I've become somewhat desensitized to the record-setting gasoline prices. I appreciate high-density city planning. I appreciate the untouched wide-open spaces that California has left in it. I appreciate the carpool-lane allowances and tax breaks given to drivers of hybrids and low-emission vehicles. I miss the motorhome, but not the $250 fill-ups (what would now be $350 fill-ups).

But the biggest change of all? Before, when living in LA and driving the car 3 times a day, I enjoyed it. Now, when I have an opportunity to take it out for a spin, either to romp around the city or to road-trip for a weekend, I relish it. I savor it. I take full advantage of it. I slip into the bolstered seat, crane the clutch to the floor, turn the key, and light up the dual exhausts with a 2000 rpm roar. A couple flicks, and the top is down. Let it idle for a minute to get the oil flowing, feel the heavy v8 settle down from an uneasy chatter into a smooth purr. Click into 1st, let out the clutch a bit to feel it grab the flywheel with a clunk, and blip the throttle to get the wheels rolling. Roll into the street and wait for a gap; an opportunity merge and let 1st gear sing up to around 3500rpm and 25 mph. Shove the left foot to the floor, lift the right toe, and gently slip into the 2nd cog, making sure to let the synchromesh to it's job.

But it's all a prelude to the real driving, the smile inducers, the reasons I got this car...

The 7000 rpm, edge of adhesion, canyon carving, hill chewing, straightaway assaulting, downshift entry, upshift exit, rev matching, power oversteer tail slides, redline skirting, 5th-to-3rd for the pass, hot brakepads, echo-chamber tunnels, the ballet for the boyish, the all out attacks on some of the finest roads in the country; THIS is the stuff of the Mustang Cobra. It could have been any one of a hundred other cars that bring out this kind of emotion. But I chose this one. I have the freedom and ability to drive it like an asshole every morning and evening on the crowded freeways of rush-hour. But I choose not to.

Yes, the pleasure of driving is an American daily birthright. But as it turns out, it is so much more meaningful when I get to do it only so often.

Endless Winter

2006-04-21T21:00:00.000-07:00

Hello lamppost, whatcha knowin? Been a while… again. This time, it’s about the best winter I’ve ever had. And it stems, again, from the fortunate turn of life-events that brought me back to San Francisco. Of course, it may seem odd to be writing about the Winter long after the equinox. But as it progressed, I thought that I’d want to write about it as one big event rather than a series of small ones.

Last September, Arno, a friend of a friend of a friend who has since turned into a very good friend, broadcasted an opportunity on some cheap season tickets to Kirkwood. A screamin deal on the best snow in the Sierras. The Tahoe resorts tend to go after the big bay area companies to get employees and friends to come up and spend their yuppie money. As such, 20 of us willing yuppies signed up, all very competent skiers or boarders (although mostly boarders), and all either already good buds with one-another, or very easy going peeps. Yes, I said peeps.

And then Kim said “Hey, what about a cabin? Why not take advantage of a huge group and go in on a weekend crash pad?” So, six weeks later, after some thorough research, a house-hunting day-trip, and some convincing emails and phone-calls, we had a place and 14 committed occupants. A very cool house. Very functional, spacious, and just run-down enough to make it cheap. Go Team!

Furniture? Well, it just so happens that both my Grandparents and those of a friend of Kim’s were moving out of their houses concurrently. I had previously gone to LA to team up with my Uncle and move my grandparents to their new assisted-living home. A second trip, during the first weekend of November, to hijack my dad’s truck and a uhaul trailer stuffed with the remnants of G+G’s stuff, followed by some all-night driving put me in Tahoe on Saturday morning. I met up with Kim, Matt, Brandon, Tats, and Carlee, and the six of us unloaded and drove to the north shore to begin the real work. We pull up to Kim’s friend’s grandparent’s house, and holy schlamoley, what a house! 4 floors, 5000 square feet, packed to the gills with furniture, kitchenware and tchotchkies, and get this, 11 beds! These people, bless their hearts, were literally closing the doors on 30 years of memories in this place. Three generations of their family and friends had either lived, visited, skied partied, played pool, sat in the 15-person hot tub, cooked huge gourmet meals, gotten stupid-drunk, danced, played hide-and-seek (probably for days on end) or otherwise created some good stories in this house, and it showed. This was not just any big house. There was a lot of love here, and the brief interaction we had with the owners gave us but a glimpse of it all. He was a successful global entrepreneur, whose health problems required them to move from the thin air to their place in San Juan Capistrano. We could only hope to continue their legacy as they handed their furnishings over to us. It took three trips but we got a good chunk of it into our modest cabin, and in two days, we transformed it from an empty ski-lease to a comfy little escape route. Go Team!

So we got the place from November through April. Last year, there was skiing in October. Granted, winter ’04-05 was nothing short of freakish, but we thought we’d at least be able to ski well before Christmas. Wrong. We watched anxiously, as a solitary storm allowed us a decent mid-December weekend. New year’s was fraught with warm rain and wind until the last day of the weekend. Then… Then, the temperatures dropped. The flakes began to float from the heavens like bleached goose-down. The chain-control signs started to flip. The hills, streets, trees, and rooftops cuddled into a thick white robe for the season. Hence began what was to be an epic ski-season for this motley grouping of eager beavers.

Before I get into it, a word about New Years. I’ve never celebrated the holiday with as cool a group as this. The snow was MIA. It was raining. It was windy. We had all the makings for a debilitating tropical storm; certainly not a ski weekend. We were socked in for 3 days of cabin-fever. A power transmission line went down and caused a blackout that lasted from noon on new-years eve through the morning of the new year. But wouldn’t you know it… we had 20 people in that house partying by candlelight. Matt brought a fresh keg of his and Carlee’s home brew. Someone had an ipod boom-box which actually sounded pretty sweet. We had heat from the gas furnace. We even had a little battery-powered light that served as a bathroom pass. We got drunk. We told stories. We toasted. We partied some more. And then we crashed. Good times.

So on to the good stuff. The fun, fluffy, powdery kind of good stuff. Although a few of us were able to reap a return on the season pass investment before the year was out, it wasn’t until early February that it really got good. The powder… it… just… kept… coming. I was at 12 days before the month was out, and half of those were powder-days. I had already beaten any prior season by two-fold. Following people like Matt R, Brandon, Tats, Sandy, Neil, raised my ability and confidence in all kinds of terrain, all kinds of snow, by several notches. I was learning what it meant to be a skier for the first time in my life. Before this year, I was a pretender. A socialite. A visitor to the mountain. I started to feel at home in Kirkwood, and it really started around February. I remember specific instances of uncontrollable giggles, the deepest breaths I’d taken in years, perma-grins, utter joy, a sense of disconnectedness from the weekday world, and total connectedness to the primal mountain-madness that liberates yuppie weekend warriors such as our group. Weekends like these make the 50+ hours of tedium that we all endure every week oh so much easier.

Of course it’s not just the yuppies, lone-wolfs, or DINK’s that enjoy these kinds of days. Many call Kirkwood home when the snow falls. Exchange employees come from all corners of the planet to work the lifts and shops for only a bunk, meals, and a ski-pass as payment. Locals who have been skiing the mountain for 20 years share stories over a pale-ale at Bubs. Geezers share a chairlift with 8-year-olds training for their next heat in the slalom tourney. Kirkwood even has special pricing for super-seniors; those over 70. Globetrotters who know where the good stuff is, and who don’t mind the 45 minute drive from Southlake, find their way to the ‘Wood. They come from Colorado, east coast, Scandinavia, French/Italian Alps, South America, Australia, New Zealand. Tats had friends come in from Japan. Small families, big families, extended families all come up from the peninsula, the City, East-Bay, wine-country, Stockton, Sac, Fresno, Reno, Carson, you name it. Kirkwood draws the enthusiasts from far and near. But there is one thing that this mountain is not, and for this we are eternally grateful. Kirkwood is not a tourist attraction. It is not a resort for those seeking après-ski night clubs, world-class shopping, or any diversion other than that granted by mother nature. This mountain caters only to the focused thrill-seekers. Cross-country, alpine, telemark, even dog-sledding. Yes, they have an ice rink, albeit I’ve yet to see anyone use it this season. Kirkwood is the purists’ resort.

Along with the constant desire to take advantage of the house and the snow came logistical matters that seemed to matter less and less as the season continued. In fact, all the BS we went through paled in comparison to what drew us to the mountain. Carpooling for Friday-night blitz’s up hwy 50, chain-on, chain-off, traffic, grocery shopping, packing in, packing out, shoveling snow, calling dibs on beds, money jar monitoring, cleaning, packing out trash, arranging the plow service, utility bills, traffic, busted sunglasses, kissing the landlord’s ass (a very nice guy, by the way), cleaning and repairing gear, adjusting bindings for different kinds of snow, between 3 and 6 hours of driving each way depending on… traffic, roadside food, late Sunday nights, 180-degree skids, white-out mountain passes, closed roads, bumps, falls, scrapes, bruises, one torn-up knee, marching up the remote peaks, early wake-up calls on powder days, breakfast on the run, hangovers, foggy goggles, one delam’d snowboard rendered useless, traffic… it goes on.

But it all was worth it. All for the precious few hours of the good stuff. In fact, on some weekends, it was worth it for as little as 4 hours of skiing. All for the sake of the pow-pow, the crunchy nuggets, fresh tracks on fawn ridge, waist-high Eagle Bowl, speed runs down chair 10 if it was groomed, bump runs when it wasn’t, Palisades, tree tracks, plotting lines from the lifts, buddies, green-buds, budweisers and bud-lights, Palisades, lips, hits, jumps, stumps (not me, necessarily), watching Matt R fall flat on his back sliding through the parking lot in front of Raley’s, the psycho at the drug store counter, all-you-can-eat sushi, snowball fights inside the car, exploring the gullies, peering over the cornices, so-so Reggae, Palisades, the film festival, face-plants that don’t hurt, hitting turns not thought possible, skiing a little too fast, losing control, yard sales, getting up, collecting gear, skiing too fast some more, record-setting snowfall for March, texas hold-em, deep but not profound, watching Kim and Brandon fight, watching them forget they were fighting and move on, becoming a better skier, adrenaline rushes, skiing with my sisters and niece (Momo), learning a lot about other people, learning a little about myself, Palisades, utter exhaustion from a day well-spent, the magnificent views, the 2pm opening blitzkrieg to the backside with Carlee, attempting to teach the game of Cribbage while hammered to an audience that's... hammered, 50-year-old skis, learning how to p-tek, 58-foot base, 30 ski-day season, prospects of skiing in July… it quite literally goes on.

As the season wraps up, it is my fondest hope that the momentum gained throughout it is kept through the Summer. Not just with me, but with this entire group of adventure-seeking weekend warriors. Bring on the music festivals and backpacking trips. Sign me up for the road-trips to nowhere, the sunshine, the day hikes, rafting, exploring. The beach calls my name as do the alpine trails. As of yet, I’ve turned away several come-ons from the Renegades, and the positive results have been real and plenty. Let us hope that a smooth segue to Summer proves as lively and experiential as the past six months.

The endless winter of 05-06. Here’s to you, and by the grace of God, may there be many more like you.

Another Idea

2006-01-30T20:53:00.001-08:00

So I had this idea a couple weeks ago, and it’s kinda freaked a couple people out. My roommate thinks I’m insane. I think it’s only about 20 years off.

Humans possess the technology to directly interface with the brain through both sight and sound. That is, we can talk to the brain using implants that simulate sound (http://www.fda.gov/cdrh/cochlear/WhatAre.html) and sight (http://www.sciencentral.com/articles/view.php3?article_id=218392534). Interfacing with humans’ ability to produce sound vocally has been around for many years. That’s simply a microphone embedded in the ear somewhere. Our voice travels through our head and out the ear canals too. The audiology industry calls it the Occlusion Effect.

So far, the research has been performed in the name of health and military advancement. If history is any indication, commerce isn’t all that far off.

Consider that developed nations have become culturally adapted to those little ear-buds and microphones that allow us to talk on the phone without the use of our hands. Once the stuff of the Secret Service, it is no longer weird to see someone who appears to be talking to themselves only to see that they are using a blue-tooth headset. So here’s the idea, and I’d be surprised if engineers at Motorola, Samsung, HTC, Qualcomm, other manufacturers or their vendors aren’t already thinking about this.

Take the basic critical elements of a cell phone. The microphone. The speaker. The radio transceiver. The memory and processor. The software. The little LCD screen. The buttons can go away. We don’t really need to touch a device anymore to communicate with one another. Voice recognition is already in the phones we have today.

So, we take those essential elements, and embed their core technology into our own anatomy. The pieces can be parsed out and distributed throughout the skull. The microphone goes in the ear canal. The speaker can go away entirely, and the signals
that are used to make sound through that speaker can travel directly to a processor that interfaces with the brain through electrical impulses. The screen goes away and the image processor interfaces with the same technology that is used to run artificial eyes. Information can be presented to us not unlike a dashboard in a car. Ever see Terminator? Yes, we’ll look like we’re talking to ourselves, but again, culture will adapt. Just like with cell phones when they came out in the 80’s. Just like with wired headsets and Bluetooth headsets.

And how do we power this contraption? See here: http://sandia.gov/news-center/news-releases/2006/comp-soft-math/eye.html

I’d say, we’re 20 years away from giving humans the ability to communicate using anatomically embedded telephony.

I’d then give it another 30 years before we figure out how to convey thoughts and words without the use of the mouth, the hindrance of spoken words, or even language barriers. Once we can turn thoughts and words into electrical impulses, we’re one step closer to anatomically embedded telepathy (http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=telepathy}

2005 Holidays

2006-01-30T20:53:00.000-08:00

So, it’s been a while since I’ve written; indeed a while since I’ve been inspired to write. If you're following along, you'll notice I've written quite a bit in the last 24 hours. Coincidentally, it again took a good conversation with Grace to get my fingers tapping… weird.

So December and January were pretty darn impacted. I put October’s photos online and made a bunch of 8x10’s. Yowza, that was a freakin project. I used my old standby, Ritz Camera to handle it. They’re cheap, fast, all over the place, and if you’re working with the right lab tech, they can put out some good quality. It took a month to nail down all the variables, and out of it all I learned that the best way to do it is to bypass as much of the consumer-grade digital handling as possible. Skip the CD’s, and skip the store-front kiosks. Hand the negatives to the tech, and have them input them straight into the developer. It’s still digital; the negs are scanned; so it’s fast and I was also able to negotiate down to $4/ea on roughly 70 prints. I made copies of a bunch, so I can hopefully display them somewhere this year. Za Pizza and Burning Man are my two goals for ‘06.

Anyhow, I showed them off in digital and printed form to a bunch of friends and, during Christmas, family. I received a lot of ooh’s and aah’s with them, and consequently, my next project. I need to frame a bunch of them and either hand them or mail them out. Hey, if just one person puts it on a wall somewhere and tells me about it, I’ll be happy.

Rewind… Thanksgiving was cool. Spontaneous and somewhat hectic, but a lot of fun. There was not a flake of snow yet to be had, so skiing was out of the question. I thought about hitting the cabin anyway and hopefully enjoying the holiday with some buddies, but not a sole was planning on going up there. Oh well. Looks like I’ll be home alone for this one. Then something or someone reminded me about a voucher that Southwest had given me in exchange for bumping me from an overbooked flight. I called up Mary Wednesday evening and asked what she and Steve had planned. She was stoked that I could come up, so the next Morning, off to Seattle. It had been a while since I’d been up there. I hadn’t met Kathrine, I was worried Christian wouldn’t remember me, and I hadn’t seen their new place. I was stoked too.

Christian is a charmer, just like his cousin Amelia. That little dude will have the ladies eating out of the palm of his hands. That is, once the guy learns how to talk. He’s a little late in that department, so I’m told. But the smiles, the mimicry, his boyish interests and choice of toys, the affection he shows for people once he knows them… ya, he’ll be a popular guy. Kathrine (Kit, after her Great Grandmother, Mary’s and my late “Nanna”) is lucky to have him as an older brother. She’s still a pink, drooling, smaller version of Mary, but if Christian is any indication, she ought to be a pretty cool kid too. Got to hand it to Mary and Steve. They’ve created a house and home that broods love and understanding, and it shows with how the two kids behave.

Christmas was the first time everyone got together since the two new babies arrived. Holy cow the family is getting big. Mom and Dad proudly counted their chicks around the table; 14 including grandchildren, spouses, and one postulated spouse; Alex’s Aaron. I played Santa with the suit I bought last year. Mo figured me out this go-round. I couldn’t hide my red beard under the white one and, oops, I wore my regular glasses. Can’t fool them forever, I guess.

Here’s a tip. Don’t go to Disneyland with a group of 14 family members… on Christmas (or, in this case, the observed weekday of such), during the 50th anniversary of D’land, on a day with nearly perfect weather, on the week of the reengineered Space Mountain’s reintroduction to the world… if you plan on getting in a bunch of rides. The big signs leading to the parking lot saying Disneyland was actually “Sold Out” (!?!?!?) meant it was going to be an interesting day from the get-go. Hooray Mom for pre-buying the tickets. That was her present to the gang, and it scored bigger than any gift-wrapped Toys-R-Us or REI widget (with one exception, I guess; see below). It had been about 10 years since I’d been there. It seems about half the size it was then. The crowds made it even smaller. But the time spent with the family, the fireworks display, and Mo’s squeals on Matterhorn made it a great day in spite of the lines and having to body-check our way to the next ride. Mary, Susan, Mo, and I were the last ones standing; we blitzed through 5 rides in the last hour before midnight… that’s the good-stuff right there.

After that, a day of work on the RFID gig, then on up to Tahoe to meet up with the buds. What a month-long weekend that was. We had a great day Thursday, except I had a pretty good spill over the Wave off chair 4. It was stupid, really. In the middle of a sweeping turn just above it, I looked down and saw my reflection in the ice. Uh oh. My feet came out from under me, I lost my left ski, saw the “cornice” sign as I slid by on my back, and went over the lip head first. I remember thinking “this ought to be fun; hope there’s no rocks”. Poof! I landed in a pile of fluffy goodness, tumbled, lost my other ski, and eventually stopped. A sprained thumb from the pole strap was the only injury. Thank you Landon for the REI gift certificate… the helmet came in handy that day. I can only assume someone else was also watching over me that moment. I thanked Him profusely and started hiking back up for my equipment.

The storms socked us in the cabin for the following three days straight. We partied in the New-Year by candlelight after the 80 mph gusts through the basin knocked out a power-pole in our neighborhood. Good-times to be had when you have 15 like-minded people in a dim, flickering house, good tunes provided by ipods and a battery-powered boom box, plenty of booze including a keg of Matt and Carlee’s latest brew (delicious), and a rousing game of poker. For a night, the weather and cabin-fever didn’t matter; we knew that patience would net us a nice powder-day soon enough. No kiss for this bachelor, though… woe is me.

The powder day came just in time. Monday after New Year’s was the big payoff, and it capped off 2005 perfectly.

The Idea

2006-01-30T20:44:00.001-08:00

I had an idea come to me about a year ago. It came when I had time to think about this kind of stuff; after Moulton and before FKI. I put some effort into it, jotted down some notes, and brought it up with my Grandfather. I figured he would be the best first sounding board. He loved it. Over the spring, summer and fall, I’ve brought it up with all of my siblings. They all love it as well.

In all, I think the idea has an excellent chance of having a very positive impact on the west-coast Browning Family. The problem is that although I've documented the details, I've decided not to post them. Wish me luck, as it will take a few months to put this idea into actions.

my latest stuff

2005-11-20T18:40:00.000-08:00

as promised, here's some of my latest stuff...

i put up about 50 shots from my last couple outings on Flickr. let me know what you think, eh?
http://www.flickr.com/photos/expectmuch

Weekends

2005-10-23T20:30:00.000-07:00

The last few weekends have been good ones. They've included a sampling of all the things I've been missing over the last year (or 5). All the hobbies I've been mentioning, the family time, the chill time, connecting more with San Francisco, the music scene, friends, photography, and above all... sleeping in my own bed. The fact that I haven't had to travel anywhere over the last month has been part and parcel to this. It's been a nice break from the hectic schedule that has defined the last eight months.

Sally took me out for my birthday in Sept. Oh ya... I'm 29 now. Ugh. Anyhow, she called as I was driving home from a rather hectic upgrade at a site in Pasadena. As always, she was stunning, we had some good sushi near my apartment, but most impressive was that she remembered. Last time we went out on my birthday was in 2002.

Carlee sent out an email last spring with tentative dates for some backpacking trips throughout the summer. One of them, the last one, landed on a weekend that wasn't committed to either work or Renegades. Come the last weekend of September, 6 of us and a beautiful yellow labrador boogied up to the Carson Iceburg Wilderness off hwy 4. The plan was to do 16 miles roundtrip with an overnighter at Bull Lake. That plan was shattered when we completely blew past our turnoff and wandered another 3 miles past it to another lake just off the pacific coast trail. It was just the ass-kicking I needed to realize just how out-of-shape I am. Granted, 22 miles in a weekend with a 40 lb pack is no walk in the woods, but I seriously freakin lagged. Speaking of walk-in-the-woods, the Bill Bryson novel came up in conversation a few times... I thought that was kinda funny. Another bonus was that we got to thrash James' rented Hyundai on some dirt roads... wee!

Another road trip involved a 1-day cabin-scouting trip to Tahoe on behalf of the group (more later). Good Lord, that was a fun drive. Beautiful weather, perfect Hwy 50 road conditions, top-down, Carlee navigating, all-out balls to the wall blast up the mountain, around the basin for a few hours, and back down again. No details here, as they would involve enough self-incriminating evidence to warrant an arrest. Motor-Trend calls it "making time". http://www.motortrend.com/features/112_0210_chp/ I call it "the very reason I got that car".

Other recent diversions included some good times with the buds at a couple clubs in the Mission; Elbow Room and DNA. For the record, Michael Franti and Los Mocosos whoop ass. Not that I'm any authority, but these guys know fusion. Influences range from Cuban to Mexican, Jamaican to Zydeco. From ska to funk, hip-hop to rock. That night was a part of a series of gigs that Lonely Planet is endorsing. http://www.jambase.com/emails/Spearhead/050930/index.html Good shite.

This weekend, we saw Lyrics Borne at DNA. In-freakin-credible. Another disclaimer: I'm not some closet hip-hop junkie in a yuppie's disguise. In fact, the yuppie in me is no disguise, and I don't know shit about shit when it comes to real hip-hop. But this guy is a solid musician... his wife sounds like she was trained by an operatic singer, and the bassist and drummer were freakin tight . Chalk another one up to Carlee, the professional partier (corporate event planner) for some more good times. http://www.mtv.com/news/yhif/lyrics_born/

I've also been fortunate enough to spend some quality time with some members of the family with whom I really wish I was a little closer. The ironic part is that some of them happen to be the relatives that live the closest to me.

Landon, Ginger, and Amelia spent an afternoon in the city. Amelia is turning out to be quite the charmer. She already has facial expressions. In fact she can use them to immediately communicate whether what you're feeding her tastes like crap, what kind of mood she's in, and even if she's made a deposite in her diaper. They came over for a while, and we caught up on current events. They seemed stressed, and I called Landon out on it as they were leaving. He offered to stick around for some real conversation, and for the rest of the afternoon, we watched USC squeek one out against Notre Dame . We talked about the Idea I've been tossing around to various members of the family. More on this later (again with the deferrals, I know). We talked about his position in life, the changes that have come around over the last couple of years with him, myself, the family as a whole, and the kinds of pressures that have arised from them. It was the best conversation I've had with my brother in years.

During the week prior, my cousin Tom emailed my brother and me out of the blue about an upcoming visit from my Uncle Armistead and Aunt Geil from Denver. They were visiting some friends in Napa for a mass birthday party, and Tom was hosting a quick lunch at his place in Alameda. Landon and Ginger couldn't make it due to a logistics glitch, but I took them up on the offer in a heartbeat.

There isn't a lot that I really know about Armistead and Geil. Growing up, it was hard to see much beyond their sense of humor, solid family values, and the fact that they are very good at what they do. What I do know, is that I need to get to know them better. Armistead has had a lot of success in financial advising, he's a father of three boys, a skin-cancer survivor, and the lucky husband of one amazing lady. Geil is a brainiac, a storyteller, a supermom, an entrepreneur and a recently recovered stroke survivor. Together, they've formed quite a tidy business (www.thebrowninggroup.com). Unfortunately, the two of them intimidate the hell out of Armistead's older brother, my dad, although Dad would never admit it. But my father's insecurities can wait... this is about a great visit with some all-too-distant relatives.

I biked down to BART, took it to Alameda, and met up with them. I came armed with a gift for Tom's 2-year-old, Martha; a hardback collection of Winnie the Pooh stories. It struck a chord... turns out she's quite the Pooh fan. I love seeing a kid giggle with glee; especially at the site of a brand new book. Tom and his wife Tallie are something else too. They've created quite a home in the bay area, have a second kid on the way, have top-tier educations, excellent careers, and are quite the ken-and-barbie couple. *BARF* Just kidding. Tom also has a cool hobbie-turned-business-venture. www.skydeckcartoons.com is good for a laugh, and it lends some insight to one very cool cat.

We all chatted it up for a while. We discussed my other cousin's (Denver Morgan) plight in Phuket searching for his soon-to-be fiance last New-Years. He was on a plane headed to Thailand when the tsunami struck. She was on the beach waiting for him. He looked for her for weeks, combing through the wreckage and the remains of so many lives lost. USA today found a picture of them on the US State Department's Missing Persons website. The story inadvertently launched a national media tour for Morgan in hopes of finding some leads: http://www.usatoday.com/printedition/news/20050104/a_missing04.art.htm After that story appeared, Morgan went on Larry King, CNN, Current Affair, all the national papers, the APP, and others. We had all met Nichole for the first time September '04 at a Browning reunion in Virginia just 4 months before she perished. She was beautiful, funny, smart, and driven. Damnit. I'm sorry, cousin Mo.

It took an hour to write that paragraph, and I damn-near cried doing it.

I finished that weekend with a ride circling Alameda Island. The city slicks that Jim McFarland gave me are supah-shweeet. Smooth, fast, and quiet tires. I had my camera with me, and for the first time in months, was inspired to do some real shooting. I took some random shots around the island's bay-shore and hopped on BART back to the city. Sunset was approaching and the night was crystal clear; time to head to Treasure Island to do something I'd been meaning to do for months. I'll post these pics as soon as I get a chance, but the results were very pleasing.

Changes 1

2005-10-04T22:33:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to feel the positive effects of the changes I've made over the last year. As a result, as we enter the 4th quarter, I think 2005 has turned out pretty good. I've written about the conscious decisions I've made with respect to living a more focused and somewhat simpler life. But I've put some thought lately into some pretty interesting changes, both intentional and circumstantial, that have happened throughout the last few years. Some are related to the ones expressed previoiusly, others are purely coincidental.

First... some history.

1. Sally part 1

I've been holding off on writing about Sally... waiting for the right circumstances. I slammed her in a posting a while back, and I've since remorsed about it. In fact, I didn't know shit about what happened that night. Turns out she wasn't even the one who rang the doorbell... ugh. Anyhow, this topic fits well. Indeed, she has changed more than anyone or anything over the last few years, and it's become painfully evident as we've become reacquainted.

We met a few times by chance in The Missing Sock, in January 2001 shortly after I moved in. Once, I was eating a cone of mint-chip from Swensens with one hand and trying to pull some jeans out of the dryer with the other. She helped me out, and we struck up a conversation. Until then, she was the girl next door (downstairs) who just happened to be drop-dead gorgeous. From that moment on, she was a friend.

Sally was a different girl then. She was caught in a drastic relationship. Her demanding job had squelched any dreams of real success. Her boyfriend, friends, and boss constantly took advantage of her forgiving, selfless, and loving heart. As a result, she was trapped within her own circumstances. She constantly faught and lost internal battles with her own fears and anxiety. Those elements had been fueled by the decisions and "friends" she had been making since moving out on her own to SF.

But all the while, she was getting stronger.

She started to become more comfortable in her own skin as I was becoming more comfortable in a new city. We trusted eachother more as the months went on. We became better friends and started dating. We took a couple trips across the country and built some wonderful memories. We were complimentary in every way. I learned from her the value of a different point of view... that of a lover and an artist. Where I would see in only black and white, she showed me colors I'd never dreamed of. My photography began to take on new meaning. Her paintings visibly took on more color and inspiration. She showed me some of her new clothing designs. I gave her whatever ideas and moral support I could as she strove to start her own business. Time shared with Sally were some of the best moments of my life.

2. Me

In late 2002, early 2003, I got sidetracked. By that time, I'd gone through about 10 rounds of layoffs at Cap Gemini, and the pressure was starting to thicken. Like a complete idiot, I had betrayed Sally's trust by messing around with a friend's roommate. I was starting to get fed up with the roommate situation (Mark), and felt trapped in my own home among all of his "stuff". Meanwhile, I'd concocted the idea of purchasing a $100k motorhome and living in it. It was to be the adventure of a lifetime, albeit not the best fiscal decision I'd ever made. All the while, I was still performing with the Renegades and traveling allover the west coast in my new toy. The motorhome quickly became a money-pit, what with the total lack of maintenance by the prior owner.

Early 2003, my brother's addictions had gotten the better of him, and I was getting roped into the controlling the damaging consequences of his downward-spiraling lifestyle. That was in the Spring, just as he was getting married. This period was the culmination of a destructive 10-year habbit, and as such, it was one of the most grueling, heart wrenching tests this family has ever had. Meanwhile, I was getting further into debt, stressing too much, playing too much, and gaining weight all the while.

I lost focus. Sally and I drifted.

To complicate things, in June '03, I took an offer to come back to Moulton Logistics. I quit the Cap Gemini gig and moved to LA. Admittedly, I always thought that a career at Moulton had limited potential, but the management position was an opportunity at a time when an opportunity was exactly what I needed. It didn't take long for me to grow weary of the new job. Within a year, I grew bored and onery. Through 2004, the day-to-day grind and family-business politics were too much for me, and I let it show. In fact, my boss, the owner's wife's son, quit for the same reason. It was during this time that I was starting to make the life-changing decisions that were inspired by the promises to my grandfather. Eventually, I let my boss, Larry Moulton, my grandfather's nephew, know that I was interviewing with other companies. He let me go shortly thereafter, in January of this year. At the time, I was pissed. But as it turns out, it was the best change that could have happened at that moment.

Thank you, Larry Moulton, for the opportunities, and for knowing when to say when.

3. Sally part 2

During the stint in LA, Sally and I kept in touch, and that's about it. We didn't go out on dates, we didn't talk a whole lot. It was unfortunate for me, because I was missing out on her renaissance. She was making it... by herself, and in spite of herself. I caught glimpses of her new stuff; the prototypes. She told me a little about the what, who, how, and when of her fledgling ideas. But she was doing it. She was taking what she knew she could do, and executing.

Here's the thing with Sally. What you see is not always what you get. Sometimes I cannot, will not, shall not have a clue what is going on inside her witty, cunning mind. To this day, she's excellent at playing the quiet type. But I've learned to trust that, whatever it is that's going on in there, it's a good thing. It took a year to chip away at some of Sally's barriers enough to have a decent conversation with her. But, once we got to know eachother, this quality was easy to see. I believe that Sally is capable of so much, at least partially because of this quality. To see what she has become, and moreover, what she is becoming, is a lesson in humility. Sally doesn't brag. She does not flaunt who she is or what she stands for. She just is, and she just does. And so far she has both become and done quite a lot.

With financial backing and the unwavering love of her family, Sally has had the support structure that only the luckiest of entrepreneurs have. This on top of her own tenacity and passion has lead her to some real progress with her business. She has sales representation up and down the west coast. She has made capital investments and taken manufacturing in house. She has opened her own shop in SoMa, and is ramping up production with the aid of dedicated skilled labor. She has researched the industry and the market, made plans, and executed them. Success appears to be imminent for this up-and-coming fashion powerhouse.

But this is what get's me. Everything that she has done with this project-turned-profession is just a by-product of the real changes that she has made with herself. No longer is she trapped by her own decisions or consequences. She owns them. She no longer battles with her fears or anxieties. She has defeated them. No longer does she allow her friends or colleagues to take advantage of her. She has earned their respect. These changes are the result of who she is, and they have forever affected what she is to become. I've learned a lot about Sally in these last few months...

And frankly, I'm a little humbled by what she's also tought me about myself.

President Katrina Quotes

2005-09-11T23:34:00.000-07:00

They say that tragedy plus time equals comedy. That is to say, if you wait long enough after a disaster, there will come a prime opportunity to make a really good joke of it. 9/11 took a while. Katrina, apparently, hasn't. The Onion, quite possibly the world's most irreverent satirical comedy rag, has shattered the myth. Within days, they've covered all angles of the disaster, and created a tasty, if not exactly tasteful, menagerie of hysterical articles covering Katrina's unfortunate fallout. http://www.theonion.com/content/node/40305

My personal favorites are the blunders that have escaped the candid mouths of a Bush-Administration caught completely off guard... again. These one-liners alone ought to be W's own personal undoing if not for the facts that A) we have seen nearly 5 years of the same schtick, and B) we are doomed for another 3 years of it. An excellent source: http://politicalhumor.about.com/od/currentevents/a/katrinaquotes.htm

Anyhow, with due respect, I submit my own editorial.

I've followed this story more closely than 9/11 and the tsunami. I've been reading the technical articles, the stories of strife, and coverage of the incredible surge of grass-roots and volunteer efforts that have followed. I've made it a point, however, to avoid the political, commercial, and religious articles. I could go on about Bush petting a New York fireman's dalmation in New Orleans, Cheney's business buddies scoring multi-billion-dollar rehabilitation contracts, or celebrities touting the virtues of their new religious sects while recruiting new converts on the streets of Biloxi, but nah. While it is true that hero's, millionaires, and saviors will be made of this disaster, personal, monetary, or spiritual gain has no relevance to what needs to be done to fix this.

In 2001, I had a few friends in Manhattan who lost loved-ones. In 2002 and 2003, we all had friends and relatives lose jobs to a downtrodden economy. In 2004, my cousin lost his fiance while vacationing on the shores of Phuket. Thousands across the globe have lost their own lives or those of loved ones to martyrs' recent suicide bombings. In 2005, as we bid farewell to New Orleans as we once knew it, I believe every American on the globe has simultaneously lost at least a little respect for their country's leadership. Here's why. Consider the sayings "Once bitten, twice shy" or "hurt me once, shame on you, hurt me again, shame on me". In other words, to make a mistake once is a legitimately reasonable human error. Twice under similar circumstances is inexcusable.

My editorial: I submit that two of these disasters, the ones in 2001 and in 2005, have one huge mistake in common. A mistake made by our own elected federal representatives under the rare luxury of similar circumstances: clear warning signs and sage advice given by experts, presented over a period of months or years leading up to their respective disaster.

Those circumstances were ignored. Warnings were not heeded and advice was not followed. It's the same kind of reactionary, arrogant leadership that causes once-successful businesses to flounder. General Motors now. Polaroid in the 90's. Xerox in the 80's. GM has mired the great mind of Bob Lutz under layers of old-world management styles. Polaroid had a good thing going in instant photography, until "Whoops, I guess we missed that whole digital format thing altogether!" Xerox engineers developed the first mouse and graphical user interface... and then their managers sorta dropped the ball (pun intended). http://www.stanfordalumni.org/news/magazine/2002/marapr/features/mouse.html

"Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it."
- George Santayana

Mr. Bush, the signs are all there. The lessons are painful when they're not learned the easy way, and damnit, I'm tired of getting hurt. If you've learn nothing else during the last 5 years of your life, please just remember this: When historians, engineers, economists, philosophers, the general public, or anyone smarter than you who cares more about the welfare of the nation and world than your political clout, speak.... please listen.

Ciudad Juarez, MX

2005-08-17T22:51:00.000-07:00

I'm on the tail end of a tour of Texas. I've just spent 11 days in El Paso managing a go-live of a pretty complex installation of our product, and it went well. A day and a half in Dallas to finish up another project here, and I'm homeward bound. Three things have made this trip worth-while.

1. My job is an excellent combination of the things I liked about my last two jobs. I get to be an engineer, I get to be a manager, I get to travel enough to make it all interesting, and I get to work alongside people who are smarter than me. Moulton had 1(sorta) and 2, but lacked 3 and 4. CGE&Y had 3 and 4, but lacked 1 and 2. In short, I'm happier in my work than I can remember. It showed these two weeks, and consequently, this project has received rave reviews from the customer. I credit the solid execution by the software engineer, systems engineer, and installation team.

2. I've had time to think about stuff. Just stuff. Some of it ends up here, a lot of it doesn't.

3. Juarez, Mexico. It's a rough-and-tumble town just across the Rio-Grande from El Paso. It has a history somewhat similar to those of other Mexican Cities, but boasts a few milestones that helped define the relationship between the Mexican goverment and its people as well as between Mexico and the U.S.. Generally speaking, Apaches and other natives thrived, Spaniards conquered, a mission was built, natives were baptised, and then a couple hundred years of new-world tension resulted in what is now one of the focal points of our nation's southern border. Of note, the city hosted the first meeting of the Mexican and US presidents; a banquet that was to be a prelude to end of the revolution. The final battle (Pancho Villa et al) was faught here in 1911 finally ousting President Porfirio. The upheaval more-or-less cemented this rowdy city's reputation for lawlessness. Of course, prohibition-era Texas boozers and importers added a bit to that effect. There's a guy in Las Cruces who has taken it upon himself to build a fairly authoritative guide to the place... he's done a helluva job for a gringo: http://www.juarez-mexico.com/index.html.

Anyway, Hoa (the software engineer) and I checked it out on Friday night. I googled a decent club and Spanglish'd our way there via taxi. Don Quintin is definitely a local hangout; we were the only American's around. That also meant we were the only Californians around. Hoa pointed out that it also meant he was likely the only Chinese guy within 300 miles. Removed from the tourist-trap Avenida Juarez, the place was nice. It was the only place with a porsche and a bimmer parked outside. We had good time drinking petron and dos-equis, chatting up a dude who had recently moved there from Mexico City. Andrew was there with his girl and some of her friends. I professed my tequila-induced affections for la amiga en la camiseta de oro. Andrew quickly pointed out she was the girlfriend of a gangster. I should have guessed. Anyhow, the band was excellent and the atmosphere rivaled any club in LA. The fact that we had to get by on my broken Spanish kinda added to the fun.

A couple days later, I went for a stroll through the more central parts of town in daylight. Sure enough, once you get a mile or so from the border, it's nothing short of charming... almost humbling, really. There's a community here that is a hundred years removed and a thousand times more closely knit than the urban sprawl of El Paso. Case in point; farmers' marketplaces and newly erected boutiques operate under the shadows of a 200 year old presidio, a 130 year old Customs House (where Porfirio and President Taft met), and 350 year old Mission de Guadalupe. It's a wonder that I'm only 2 miles away from a Wal-Mart on the other side of the Rio Grande. The city's busiest boulevard, the one that connects them all, is named for the date of Mexico's 1810 liberation from Spain's rule; Avenida 16 de Septiembre (sadly, not for the date of my birth). There's a sense of home and history here that I haven't seen in a long time in many US cities.

San Francisco, of course, being one exception.

Two Promises to My Grandfather: A Progress Report

2005-08-08T21:44:00.000-07:00

I owe my Grandfather a debt of gratitude for many things, and I shall until the day I die. This man, approaching 90 faster than I’m approaching 30, has served as an inspiration to the family, the civic community of La Cañada, the Presbyterian church, and Kiwanis International chapters spanning the country. I could write a book about him… oh wait, he’s already done that. I heard from Alex a while ago that he’s drafted an autobiography, although I’ve never heard him mention it. I made a promise to my grandfather about a year ago; actually a couple. One was to play the finale to a Tchaikovsky symphony (5th?) at his funeral. Maybe I can give a quick eulogy and just kick up the sound system and shoot off some fireworks. He also mentioned that it shouldn’t be a time of mourning over his death. He wants a celebration of his life. I can picture it: Everyone he has ever known or who has been positively affected by his life spread over a vast hilltop overlooking the city. Maybe above Cherry Canyon on a clear day. Not a funeral home or cemetery. He needs a proper wake. An awakening. A celebration of passing to the even greater things that he is to become rather than the end of who or what he was. I better start putting some thought into this if I’m to honor his request.

Anyhow, the second promise I made during our year and a half together was somewhat more comprehensive. It was to simplify my life and start paying more attention to the things that mattered (see previous blog). A daunting task facing any twenty-something, but it involved a series of critical steps, amounting to something I believe I’m prepared to face: turning into an adult. Since making that promise, I’ve moved out of LA, made a major positive career move, and rid myself of the motorhome (that one hurt). This transition took a step backward when Lo and I split, but I’m progressing.

Next on the list was supposed to happen a while ago. It was a decision made around early November, during the 3 months of silence that came after I wrote that email applying for a DM spot... just before my name was, unbeknownst to me, printed next to the title of Drum Major for '05. So here it is. I’m backing away from the Renegades after this season closes. It’s time to move on. Things have changed, and not just with me. Admittedly, I’ve not lived up to my potential as a Drum Major, but getting closer to the politics behind the scenes has revealed a lot of rather disenchanting management techniques. The Renedrama is waring on me, and I believe it's a result of helter-skelter structure and processes. True, it's all a part of the growing pains associated with a maturing organization, but the dynamic duo, the visionaries Chris and Lee, they need a general manager to run things right. I believe they have one in Greg as long as they don't burn him out. He's got the energy, the resources, and the skills. He is management material, if not the best conductor in the world, but above all, he's an inspiration and a positive role model to many in the corps.

Mitch gave some sound advice a while back; when you’re fed up with a hobby, put it down for a while. Come back when you miss it. Marching in the corps has become less of a fun hobby for me, and more of a stressor. I’m not out for good. As long as the corps survives, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to die any time soon, I’ll be around. Maybe do a year or two later on, take a couple off, come back, that sort of thing. On that note, I miss photography. The outdoors. Backpacking the Sierras in the summer. The beach and body-boarding. I miss my weekends. I’ve missed music festivals and time with my non-corps friends. And, frankly, I miss learning. I had a lot of other hobbies before the Renegades. I’ve also been thinking about taking some entrance exams and writing up some applications for grad-school. My brother has been hounding me for a few years on that one, and I’m starting to feel that it’s time. All-in-all, I think this will be a good thing.

Thank you, Grandpa.

lessons learned

2005-08-08T21:31:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened over the last few weeks. I’m single again. Not my choice, but single nevertheless. I also now have an enemy in Mark, my old roommate. He chose the dollar over a friend, and for the first time in a long time, a bridge has burned fairly spectacularly.

Mark is the gentleman-scholar who, for the past few years, has had trouble maintaining new friendships longer than the time it takes for his ego to really present itself. As a result, he seems to have burned more bridges lately than he has created or strengthened. This isn’t a loss on my part, but it’s not a pretty situation either. As long as I’ve known him, he’s been little more than polite to me, rude to my friends, has led a self-serving and cluttered life in San Francisco, and he is the reason I had to blow my one free weekend this summer ridding the apartment of, among other things, a several-year-old blanket of grease and dust. I was thinking about the series of Visa or Citibank ads preaching that quality of life ought to be held in higher regard than money spent in maintaining it. I believe these ads are targeted toward the Marks of the world; those who measure their success by the personal monetary value created by their decisions and actions. For me, the message is clear: stick to the fundamentals; family, love, friends, health… the things that have the biggest affect on happiness. In the end, he has vowed (threatened) to “teach me a lesson” out of this. What he may not realize is that I’ve already learned one much more valuable than the one he may have had in mind.

Speaking of spectacular fireballs, so ended the relationship with Lolita. In one week’s time, it went from love to “I can’t date you anymore, the distance and your traveling are too much for me”. The phone call came while out with some friends for the start of the North Beach Jazz Festival. She was nervous and had trouble spitting it out. I was a bit shocked, didn't say much other than, "okay, let me call you in a couple hours" and that was that. My messages went unanswered for a week. Since then, including during an awkward performance weekend in North Carolina, it’s been little communication if any. This one hurt. It’s taken every ounce within me to respect her wishes, but sometimes I can’t help but think “what the fuck?”. Of course, the sad irony here is with the conversation I had with Sally wherein I dealt her somewhat the same kind of blow. Yes, this was a bitter lesson in karma that I cannot dispute, but I am going to miss this girl for a good while.

writer's blog

2005-07-17T22:05:00.000-07:00

Here’s the problem I’ve encountered so far with blogging. I’ve had a lot of thoughts that I’ve wanted to write about. I’ve thought about my grandparents and the time I was able to share with them over the last couple of years. The thankfulness that I feel for that opportunity while toiling for my mother’s cousin’s business. Stuff about the entire family and what I believe is likely to happen with everyone over the next several years. I’ve worried about my sister and her relationship with my parents. I’ve worried about my father’s happiness and how his career is quickly ending in spite of his best efforts to eek out a few more productive years. My grandparents’ health is declining; they’ll soon require assistance, and I’m no longer around to offer it. I’ve wanted to write about the sequence of events that lead up to and followed my abrupt (albeit expected) departure from my last job. The searching and hiring process that brought me to FKI. I guess the problem isn’t really with blogging, rather it’s my reluctance to commit to putting these memories into words. I guess I’m just worrying that these thoughts fade before I do write them down. A good example of this risk is my lapse in blogging activity over the last month. I distinctly remember several instances wherein I thought, “shit, I should write this stuff down”. Then… gone.

Counterexample: I was impressed by Sue’s sister, Grace, when she whipped out a notepad and spontaneously started scribbling. The context was an independent showcase of folk singers taking stage at a small co-op music studio in Berkeley in April. We were there more-or-less on a whim to support a friend of hers from LA. This girl had one helluva voice and guitar licks to match. I didn’t ask what Grace was writing, but the fact that she was prepared to immortalize her thoughts so easily hooked me. Kinda like how a professional photographer will never be caught without a camera of some sort. Grace is a writer by trade, and somewhat of a hopeless romantic, but moreover, she is a girl of conviction. Her work is pretty intriguing (http://www.grackyfroggink.com/froggfiles). Her lifestyle, religious devotion, and her family are all testament to this. She, in fact, was the one who took responsibility over me when I knocked myself unconscious on the slopes in Big Bear in April. Ugh… another potential tangent… more on that one later (I hope). Sooner or later, I’ll have to run a word search among my blog for “later” and start filling in those tangents. Maybe I’ll title the entry “leftover thoughts” or something. Anyway, I learned a lot during that moment about how people who are committed to writing just never seem to stop.

Iron Cactus

2005-07-16T02:30:00.000-07:00

Austin is the only blue city in Texas; the only city that voted against dubbya. I guess it comes as no surprise that it’s the first city I’ve seen in Texas that somewhat resembles cities in California or the east coast. The architecture, the diversity, the nightlife, proximity to fun stuff like the natural caverns of San Marcos. Chad’s girl, Michelle, lives here. I’ve hung out with her a couple times back home; she serves as a shining example of what this city, indeed all metropolitan areas of this state, are becoming. Progressive, freethinking individuals who succumb less to the “Republic of Texas” mindset, and more toward the “world-economy” trend. I like it. I’ll admit, my time in Austin was a fleeting moment of intimacy at best, however, I walked away confident I’d at least found the best margarita in town. Iron Cactus on 6th serves upwards of 20 styles of agave nectar alongside some dern-goood seafood enchiladas. Atmosphere is modern/industrial minimalist inside a circa-1870 brick/mortar on 3 floors with a big patio up top… dig it.

So, it’s been a while since I’ve written. Sorry, folks. I was doing some math earlier this week. These are guesses at best, but I think over the last 2 months, I’ve spent approximately 100 hours in my apartment. Half of that was last weekend. From early May to early September, I’ve counted just shy of 40 flights on my schedule (yes this includes all those short-hop connectors). I’ve been busy for most of my life, but never this busy. Frankly, sometimes it’s just freakin nuts, and I fear I’m losing friends over it. I’m just thankful I have a bed in my place now, so coming home is more of a pleasure than a chore. In any case, I’m writing now, waiting for a flight, during the first chunk of relaxing down-time I’ve had in a few weeks. Yay.

Last weekend, James and I turned the apartment upside down. I hardly recognize the place. It’s clean now for the first time since 1995. I remember when my brother lived there, I’d visit for a night during Blue-Devil camp. The place was dusty then, and since that time, I sincerely believe there was never any serious effort toward a thorough cleaning until last weekend. I submit exhibits A through F as evidence; each similarly sized dust-bunnies extracted from various corners of the apartment, and each completely engulfing a dust-pan. I think James was genuinely grossed out a few times. I won’t go into detail about the grease on the stove-hood. So, we’re well on our way in developing a home of which we can be somewhat proud. More importantly, I don’t have to be [as] embarrassed about the place in front of Lolita. To her credit, however, she was very lo-key about it all. I’m sometimes amazed at how cool this girl is. I mentioned to her last week she has the looks and brains of someone who could be so much more demanding of a boyfriend… she liked that one. :-)

FUBAR

2005-06-11T01:32:00.000-07:00

Monday, back to work. Tuesday, I get word that the South Carolina customer was extremely unhappy with our installation. Hardware maladies were popping up allover the building, and they want more supervisor training. On top of it all, Mitch bailed out in the midst of everything. I respect the guy for how he thinks, what he is capable of, and what he’s accomplished in his career, but as a project manager, I think he’s misplaced. He needs to be above this role, in one where his influence is greater and more useful. I’m not buying his “I’m doing this because I want a simpler job” bullshit. He needs to be in Cincinnati barking orders to the divisions. As a lowly project manager, he’s like a trained Doberman on a short chain expected to perform the role of a cuddly Spaniel. Clearly, he's becomming fed up with being smarter than his superiors, and it shows in how he gets bored or distracted from the day-to-day PM duties.

So, I get the call early from Dick, “We need you in South Carolina tomorrow”. Shit. The project that just won’t die. So a couple of days and sleepless nights later, after somewhat diffusing the situation, here I am. Fubar’d hardware manufacturing is going to have me tied up in Spartanburg again next week, and I have another packed weekend ahead of me. I guess I can buy a bed and work on my apartment some other lifetime. Weather delays have me getting home at close to 2am tonight, and Lo won’t be able to stay over. Woe is me. But hey, in retrospect, if these are the worst cards I’m dealt for this coming weekend, then I’ll take ‘em. Time to board.

trifecta of sorts

2005-06-11T01:30:00.000-07:00

Sunday night, the weekend really started to get interesting. Lolita decided to back out of coming to Brandon’s birthday party. James and I went, and he really took to the group. I kept thinking he’s really folding into the SF mix pretty well, and he mentioned how cool he thought my friends are. Sweet. Lolita gave me an assignment before we parted; tell Carlee about us. No problem, I thought. There’s nothing between us anymore but the continuation of a really great friendship. Well, I failed; I wussed out. The “topic never came up”. Oh well, we all had fun, and Kim’s cooking was fantastic. Then, as I was leaving B’s gig, I got a phone call from Sally. Uh oh. I screened it.

She called again, and I answered. She spoke as she walked: “Hey where are you?” “Out in the Richmond” I started recognizing the echo of her footsteps… oh shit. She was in the lobby of my apartment building. I heard the familiar door buzzer as someone let her in. She was walking up the stairs. I asked “Where are YOU?”. “At your place! Who do you live with?” “A guy named James” I grew suspicious, as James was standing right beside me. “How did you get in the building, Sally?” “Someone let me in.”

I started to realize in that instant that Sally and I were not on the same page of our former relationship. Clearly, she was looking to rekindle something that in my mind had burned out nearly two years ago. “Sally, that’s my new girlfriend who let you in.” It was the first time I had used the word to describe Lolita. It felt awkward. Lo and I haven’t really had that “conversation” yet. But it was necessary in this case for the sake of brevity and to make a point. Sally’s tone turned quickly. “Oh…” pause. “oh, ok, I’m sorry, I’ll let you go” I knew I had hurt her. It was something I promised never to do when we were together. She hung up.

James and I headed for the #38 bus. I started thinking about the narrowly avoided catastrophe, and what could have been had she not called. Then I started wondering why she called in the first place if someone had let her in. Something wasn’t right. Then she called again. “Hey, I met your girlfriend. Lolita, right?” “Uh, yes…” She continued, “Don’t worry, I told her I was looking for James”. I pictured my dating life coming to an abrupt end. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was a late bloomer growing up; couldn’t get a date to save my life in high school, and college wasn’t much better. Suddenly, I’m faced with the prospect of 3 relationships, past and present, riding hard and fast into a dangerous turn… a trifecta I would never have bet on. I cut the conversation short, saying things like “we kinda drifted apart over the last two years” and “I hope this doesn’t hurt our friendship.” I felt like such a weasel, but I needed to do some damage control.

I called Lolita and told her the truth. I mentioned that the girl who had just lied to her was an ex from my previous SF life. I knew Lolita would see right through the “I’m looking for James” schtick, particularly because she knew that he was new to the city. Lo was not impressed. I was in deep shit, and the bus ride home took way to long.

She was sitting on my “bed”; the futon mattress that was now serving temporary duty on the floor in my bedroom. She was dressed up, hair was curled, easy on the makeup, and working on her students’ grades. My affection for her grew ten-fold upon realizing that she had not just left. I stared for a moment as if to see her for the first time in a year. She was beautiful. Ready for a night on the town. I swallowed the largest lump of humble-pie that my throat I could muster and I started explaining.

Here’s the deal guys. Eat crow while it’s warm. I’m not talking about women, here. It’s bigger than that. I learned as a kid that lies and cover-ups benefit no one in the long run. I used to lie to my own parents and siblings as if there were no consequences. Little did I realize at the time that trustworthiness is a critical part of growing up. Without it, you’re alone. People who care about you stop caring, and that’s the part that sucks. Having learned this lesson early (thank you, Boy Scouts of America), I knew I didn’t want to mess this up, so I made the investment early… while the crow was still warm. I think we grew a lot closer that night. It was our first 2-hour “rough patch”. How cute, eh?

So it turns out that Sally pulled a real psychotic move that night. Not only did Lolita not buzz her in, but Sally kept ringing apartments until someone did. Kinda weird, but it gets worse. After I spoke with Sally, I figured she would turn around and leave. No. She continued and knocked on my door. I can’t imagine what might have been going on through Lo’s mind at this point, but it couldn’t have been good. Expecting perhaps to see me, she instead saw Sally. At Sally’s flank was her side-kick, Judy. I never really liked Judy. Picture Wren and Stimpy, and you have a pretty good idea of what these two are all about when they’re together. So it turns out that Sally was unphased by the news of my relationship. She apparently wanted to get a good look at this new girlfriend, and concocted a scheme to knock on the door and throw out a lie. I lost a lot of respect for Sally that night.

I learned later that Lo, of course, was calm, cool, and collected during that delicate little moment. I’m growing to like her more and more.

Treasure Island and Tonic

2005-06-11T01:29:00.000-07:00

Unfortunate circumstances have led me to the first opportunity to write in days. I’m sitting in Dulles airport half-way through a particularly hellish trip home at the tail end of a particularly hellish week.

Except for a funky flight, my stint on the project in South Carolina ended last week without any major glitches. All in all, a good learning experience, although the guy in charge, Mitch, was becomming increasingly weary of this project. I got home late on Friday, met my new roommate, and we grabbed a beer down on Polk. Mark did a pretty good job of clearing his stuff out of the place, but it was still a mess. Anything he figured he didn’t want, including the 6 year old dust bunnies in just about every corner of the apartment, he left behind. I also get to deal with his two crapper bikes and 3 bookcases in the living room. Lovely. James is cool. Score another one for Craigslist; I can tell this is going to be an excellent roommate situation.

Saturday’s rehearsal went well. I credit the location and the weather. Treasure Island has never steered us wrong. Kudos to Mistress Keli for putting us back in our old digs. Lolita and I decided to give up on the secrecy, so I’m letting some of the folks in the corps in on our relationship, one by one. I really hope this doesn’t blow up in our faces as some sort of high-schoolish Renedrama.

That night; James joins us for a quick bite and a couple rounds on Polk Street. Tonic has turned into a college meat market. Maybe it’s me… It’s been a while since I’ve hung out there on a Saturday, but I swear that place was worse that night than I had ever seen before. 22 year-olds who should have been cut off 4 rounds ago, trash on the sticky floor, glasses lingering on the tables indefinitely. There was only one bartender, and he was more interested in a giggly brunette than he was the $20 bills being waved in front of his face by eager yuppies. I wasn’t proud of my neighborhood that night.

Sunday’s rehearsal was even better. We finished learning the show, and effectively finished the 2005 pre-season on a real upswing. James even bussed out to the island to catch the run-through. I thought that was pretty cool of him. I can’t even get my best friends in the city to come to a friggin’ performance. I’m happy about how the season is shaping up. I’m seeing a morale in the corps that I’ve never seen before; I think they call it professionalism. I credit the roughly 90% vet rate, the smaller, tighter hornline, and of course, the incredibly intense battery line. They continue to lead the corps in all measures of success this year, and the season hasn’t even started.

sore

2005-05-31T15:12:00.000-07:00

This always happens. Two days after strenuous exercise, I always get sore. I rolled out of bed at 9. I'm stiff, listless, and nonproductive. My claim to success today was an averted crisis with a client in Texas... that's about it. Oh, I've finalized the side-trip to Atlanta, so that should be a fun drive. But it looks like I won't be getting home until late Friday night... ugh.

Mt. Le Conte

2005-05-30T19:04:00.000-07:00

I was too tired to write last night, although I had a lot of thoughts during the day. Saturday night was spent planning a trip to the Great Smokey Mountain National Park using Bill Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods" and www.gorp.com for inspiration. The park straddles the Tennessee/North Carolina border, marked by the Appalachian trail. It's the east-cost equivalent of Yosemite, and it is gorgeous. A midnight run to Wal-Mart for maps and a disposable camera caused me to oversleep (actually, it was the fact that I'm reeeeally not an early riser), so I hit the road with a vengeance.

A town called Cherokee, which lies on an "Indian" reservation (why hasn't this term been abolished yet?), serves as a gateway to the park. It seems its sole purpose is to distract visitors from the point of their traveling using mindless shops, an amusement park, restaurants, etc. Apparently, they're catching on to the frivolity of it all, as one shopkeeper dubs his wares "Antiques and Junque". A Harrah's casino, brand new, gives the town the final wannabe-South-Lake-Tahoe touch. Finally... the ranger station to the park. Noise and commerce give way to lush beauty and relatively undisturbed lands.

I met a ranger who hooked me up with a nice topo of the park and gave some insider tips on the best day-hikes. I took his advice and decided to forego the original plan of walking part of the Appalachian Trail to Clingmans Dome. As suspected, this is what the majority of tourists do. Clingmans is the highest point on the AT, but it is only a 1/2 mile hike from the road. Mt Le Conte, rises to only 50 feet short of Clingmans, but is a much more satisfying hike. 10 miles round trip, 3500 foot elevation gain to the peak, and most importantly, much more solitary. Sweet.

The three-day weekend seems to have drawn a lot of folks from allover. The Yosemite allegory is true on this account as well. Licence plates from New York to Georgia, families, purists, romantic couples, visitors from Europe, Asia, and many many bikers. Seems like every local chapter of every motorcycle club on the east coast had a ride scheduled through here this weekend. I cram the lead sled into a shoulder of the road and prep for the hike.

1:45pm. I take a guess: 3 hours up, chill for :30, 2 hours down. These numbers are based on prior experience, although there are a lot of variables. In anycase, with a 2 hour drive home, I'll be getting in late, and as the ranger put it, sleepin' good tonight fer-shore. I start off with a pretty healthy pace, using a deep, cadenced breath.

One thing I really enjoy about these kinds of experiences is the chance to let the mind wander. Work, family, friends, love-life, you name it. As long as the body is occupied, productive, and on autopilot, the mind is free to produce some pretty entertaining thoughts. Muscle memory is cool. I've experienced this while driving, skiing, showering, and marching drum-corps late in the season after the show has been completely memorized. It's a natural high, and it's better than pot. I'll get more into these thoughts in later blogs.

The single-track trail is well maintained and dotted with some impressive features. In one 5-mile peak-bag, mix several steep spots, flat spots, staircases, bridged stream-crossings, plenty of shade provided by lush old-growth forests, and some really cool people. Stir, and serve on a cool, misty Tennessee afternoon, and you've got one happy hiker. Alum Bluff, about half-way up, is the main attraction for most. It's an exposed rock that juts out over the trail about 100 feet up and 200 feet wide. An archway (not sure if it's natural or not) crowds the trail into a dark, murky staircase that tends to scare the children traveling through it. The trail only gets better farther up after most folks have turned around. That's where the payoff is. Near the top is a cropping of small cabins available by reservation to overnighters and weary backpackers.

You wouldn't know it by looking at me, but I think I'm in better shape than when I graduated from school. I hit the peak in 2 hours flat. Thank you, Renegades Contra Line. The summit is 6600 feet high, and although there are mountains even in Los Angeles county that are 3000 feet higher, the views rival them as well as those of the Sierras. I've seen photos, but the reason why the Cherokees originally named these mountains for their "blue smoke" is now very evident. The mist lingers in the troughs between the rolling hills, and squinting over the 50 mile vistas, it looks like a foggy dawn over choppy seas. A big bird flies overhead to greet us heavy-breathed hikers, and my attempts to summon Ona's birding expertise turn up fruitless. Over the next 45 minutes the peak welcomes a group of German Chicagoans, a couple dudes from the other end of Illinois, a rather introverted father and son sharing some quality time, and a threesome of Hindus from Atlanta. One of them worked for Apple in Cupertino the same time I worked for E&Y around the corner. Small world.

I envy the man who dies doing what they love. I hope when I go, I'm traveling really fast or at least I'm in the arms of someone who loves me. This man had both, and I envy him. He died on the trail this afternoon, amidst beautiful surroundings and life-long friends. A heart-attack on mile 3, and he was laid to rest 30 minutes before I hiked by on the way up. Stunned onlookers passed in silence as his friends mourned the body beneath the yellow tarp. I passed on the way down, and noticed a group had gathered in an impromptu wake to learn about the deceased. His friends were middle-aged, fit, purists. This was not a man attempting something for which he was not prepared. I guess it was just his time. One of the keepers of the cabins, Mike, explains that he and his party were regular annual guests. Mike and I walk for a while, sharing travel stories and such before he turns around. He's keeping his legs warm. Soon he'll be carting the man up the hill in a trail gurney with the help of a couple rangers. Tomorrow, he'll be brought down by horseback, as helecopter services are reserved for "living emergencies".

I get to the car in an hour and 40 minutes, thighs burning from the long decent. I feel better today than I have in a long time. I need more of this. Chad returns a call, and we catch up for an hour during my drive. Good thing; I was getting sleepy. I miss the good times he and I shared when we were both in the bay area, but he's the kind of buddy that neither time nor distance affect. Every conversation is as if we had just spoken the day prior. Back at the hotel, a hot bath and a Corona await. The night ends with the sweet sound of Lolita's laugh from 3000 miles away. I'm a lucky man.

two step and sashimi

2005-05-28T00:19:00.000-07:00

I've never been to a DMB concert. I've had plenty of reason to; friends and siblings have been, and all tell me how great the live shows are compared to the CD's. But now I know I NEED to go see Dave Mathews live, and this is why. I whitnessed what had to be one of the best bands in the Carolinas, and they claim to be the Ultimate Tribute to DMB. Two Step is their name, and they put on one helluva show. Their cover of DMB's cover of Hendrix' "All Along the Watchtower" was incredible, and these guys are in their early twenties at most. Anyway, that's how the night ended.

Today went well. Did some training with a fairly large group of orderfillers at the building. These girls crack me up; although sometimes they get a little unweildy. I was asked by 3 different ones if I was married or had kids. I had to cut one off when she asked what hotel I was staying at and for how long. Freaky Carolinians. South Carolina is a beautiful state. It's like a big spacious back yard with some very interesting people living in it. Mitch and I finished early and I worked from the hotel for the rest of the day.

8pm, and I felt the need to explore. I took the Grand Marquis and v8'ed my way toward Barnet Park to check out a Jazz Festival I had heard about earlier. Good stuff; the crowd was into it, nice bowl-type venu with lush grassy fields. The music was smooth, relaxing, funky. A group called Spyro Gyro headlined with some cool original stuff, but I liked the opening act better. Time to move on.

I ventured toward Greenville on the advice of the clerk at the hotel. Aparently, that's where the night life is around here. Lolita kept me company for the drive as I unwittingly got lost. This girl is great; more on this later. A couple laps afoot around the center of town, and I stumble upon a sushi place that opened just today. Some miso, Sapporo, and a plate of sashimi, and any doubts about South Carolina sushi quality are quickly squashed. The bartenders were chatty about how the town had changed as they grew up. Aparently, the place was pretty run-down as recently as 10 years ago. Reminds me of old-town Pasadena/Burbank/SOMA/etc during the 80's.

Recent gentrification and development has brought a lot of life to this town, aparently. They're quick to point out that the european auto manufacturing satellite facilities (BMW, Jaguar, M-B) and the corresponding automotive engineering school has helped on this front as well. Of course, along with the new night-life come the bible-thumpers on the street corner, heavy police presence, and eventual risk of drunk-driving/etc. All in stride, I guess. Two guys next to me recommend the bar next door.

I walk into it, and upstairs was Two Step jamming away. A great end to a great night.

what is blog?

2005-05-26T21:52:00.000-07:00

I have friends. They have Blogs. They say "read my blog, here's the link". I don't, and I feel like a butt for it. I never kept a journal as a kid, and I still don't know what a blog really is (is it an acronym?). But I figured it's a pretty effective way to keep in touch with someone, and aparently using the phone has become rather passe. So I figured, why not.

Welcome to my blog, whatever it turns out to be.