A simple question; a funny thing

Today at work my boss asked me this: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Put another way; “what do you want to do professionally”, or “what do you want to do to sustain a certain level of comfort and lifestyle”.

Well…I’m not married, I don’t have kids, I’m not a homeowner, and I have no substantial debts. So what’s there to work for? Not a whole lot, at the moment.

Since my financial responsibilities are effectually inexistent, the question then becomes “what do you want to do with your time? What are your passions? What interests you? Why do you get out of bed in the morning?”

Should be an easy one, right? There is no simpler question than “what do you want”. And I’m really good at answering in the short term; I want to sit down, I want that chicken sandwich, I want the check, I want to remember where I parked. Easy.

The medium term gets a little tricky; I think I want to go hiking this weekend. I think I want a haircut every five or six weeks. I think I want a dog. Or maybe a cat. Or maybe a moped.

But push it to the long term and I’m completely lost. I don’t know where I want to be in a year, or five years, or even six months for that matter. I don’t know how or where to spend the rest of my life. My LIFE. MY GODDAM LIFE. Which is a cryin’ shame because I only have one of those, and I can’t pause it to think, or rewind it or start all over.

By not having long-term goals, any short or medium ones I do have aren’t building towards anything. Duh.

So after a bit of thinking, here’s what I know: I want at least the basic necessities, and for me that includes pocket money for movies and restaurants now and again. I want to be liked, by myself and by most of the people that know me. And I want to enjoy and be good at what I do.

If those are the long-term goals, I think there are two possible ways of getting there. The first is by considering work simply a means to an end. “I do what I have to so I can go home and be happy”. The second is not partitioning work from the rest. “If I’m not happy, fulfilled, and successful at work, then neither am I at life”. It occurs to me that, while the former seems to allow for a higher chance of becoming financially successful, being miserable for at least a third of my day is no way to live. On the other hand, either being totally satisfied or not is a lot of pressure, I think.

Here’s a Banksy 

Mount Adams - 19 August, 2011

 

So. I climbed a mountain. But you know what? It wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Not by a long shot. And it’s not like I’m filled with exotic accomplishments either. This was just an accessible, yet supremely rewarding hike.

And it went a little something like this:

My friend/coworker (froworker), Josh, and I decided to attempt to summit and return in one day instead of two; certainly not unprecedented, though probably a bit ambitious, especially for a couple of out-of-shape twenty and thirty somethings. We left our Portland base at 5:45 AM and drove through The Gorge to the mountain. After arriving at Cold Springs Campground around 8, we packed and re-packed our bags, chatted with some folks, and hit the trailhead at 9:01.

Some quick facts about the hike:

Elevation at camp ~ 5,600’

Elevation at peak ~12,300’

Elevation gain ~ 6,676’

Distance from camp to peak ~5.7 mi

Since the round-trip distance was only 11.4 miles we decided to measure the hike in terms of elevation, rather than miles walked. Therefore, Lunch Counter at 9,000’ became the halfway point each way, even though it was more than two-thirds of the distance from the car to the summit.

The first 1,500 or so feet wound around a dusty, well-marked path cut through lava rock meadows, with evergreen bushes and colorful mountain wildflowers livening the otherwise barren, reddish-brown mountainscape. Giant Rock Cairns stood guard over the path, ensuring we were headed in the right direction and whistling marmots greeted us with their usual indifference as we passed.

 The next 1,500 feet up to Lunch Counter was on the snowfields, so the going was a bit slower. The sun still shone brightly, and even though we were gaining altitude, the temperature remained a lovely 65 degrees. Some blogs I read claimed it was a two-hour trek from the parking lot to Lunch Counter, four hours from Lunch Counter to the summit, and three hours back down to the car. Which as it turns out is a pretty accurate estimate if your name happens to be Flash Gordon. Or Clark Kent. Or the Goddamned Batman. The first leg of our trip (from trailhead to Lunch Counter) took about three and a half hours.

Lunch Counter for lunch. Go figure.

We broke for about an hour. Even though the air temperature was warmish, I still decided to put on a jacket to keep from cooling down too much. My froworker boiled some snow to replenish our spent water supplies while we ate bagels and granola bars. What lay ahead of us was truly a sight to behold; a mile long snowfield leading up to the 11,600 false summit called Piker’s Peak. Watching clouds created by, and then lifting off the snowfield, I couldn’t help but think my next three hours were about to be very painful. Until now I had been walking without gators, which I decided to put on before continuing up the mountain.

After lunch we pressed on. All those that had gone before us were glissading down; swooshing and zooming past, taking full advantage of the nearly 2000 foot long glissade chutes. A few hours later, it was just the two of us climbing silently up the mountain, through the clouds, and on to the summit. Despite the occasional fog-induced whiteout, there was no wind, no movement on the mountain. While I rested, the loudest thing I could hear was the beating of my own heart.

Cresting Pikers Peak was a welcome break, and an accomplishment in and of itself. For as long and arduous as that last 2,600 vertical feet felt, Lunch Counter seemed impossibly close. I’m pretty sure that if I had a stone, or a paper airplane, I could have hit Lunch Counter. But I didn’t stop long. Josh was below me in the clouds, and on the other side of a relatively small valley I could see what I thought was the final rise to the summit. Despite the thinning air, my legs somehow felt strong and fresh. I headed across the valley and up again, only to discover the top was a second false summit. Grumble. No matter, the top was in sight; just a few hundred more yards to go…before I discovered the third and (thankfully) final false summit.

Aaand the top.

It was a bump. A bump at the top of a mountain. It’s actually kind of difficult to explain what the top looked like, so I made a video of it.

I had about thirty minutes to myself. No people, no noise, no bugs, not even any airplanes in sight. For half an hour, my entire existence was me, my mountain, and the pinkeining sky of an epic sunset at altitude.

By and by, Josh made it to the top. We took a few pictures, executed a high-five, and admired the clouds. I wanted him to experience the same solitude I had, so I took my leave and headed back down.

We were mostly off the snowfields as the light failed, but still had about an hour and a half walk through the dark. We both had headlamps and GPS units, and were able to follow the path without much issue at all.

Thirteen and a half hours after we set out, we were back to Cold Springs Campground; tired, hungry, thirsty, and mountaineers. 

"It Doesn't Get Any Countrier Than This"

McGraw Southern Blend

I feel like there are three types of men who wear cologne: Men who wouldn’t otherwise be aware of
its existence had someone else not purchased it for them, men who did bother to put a little time and
effort into discovering which scents are worth having, and finally, those men who are willing to buy a
brand purely on endorsement.

And there are plenty endorsements out there, celebrity or otherwise, hawking men’s cologne. David
Beckham, Michael Jordan, and Antonio Banderas, known for being the sweatiest, smelliest high
performance athletes and actors have cashed in their names and bottled their fame, charisma, and
sexual prowess so that you, luck guy, might partake in their sweet success.

This stuff, McGraw Southern Blend, has two major endorsements going for it: Tim McGraw, and the
whole entire South. That’s a lot to distil down to an aggravatingly small one fluid ounce bottle. One the
one hand, you have Mr. All-That-Is-Man Tim McGraw. That guy’s moustache alone can bench press 150
lbs, play the guitar, and fix an engine, all at the same time. And on the other hand you have the South;
not the incestuous lynch mob south, but the refined, sophisticated, values oriented high-society South.
I’m talking watching fireflies and heat lightning through the oak trees from the front porch South.

So has it worked?

No, unfortunately not. For starters, the bottle is a joke. The cap looks like a chintzy gold painted plastic
Christmas tree ornament done wrong. The top of the bottle is supposed to be saddled in “leather”, but
the plastic is so cheap it could actually be mistaken for treated cardboard.

The cologne itself wants to be manly with tobacco and whisky base and middle notes respectively.
However, this is as much commentary around current perceptions of manliness as it is ineffective
essential oils. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t smell bad, but it doesn’t smell good, either. And what little
scent there is doesn’t last half as long as most other colognes I’ve tried. What we have here is little more
than a fuzzy memory of southern heritage, a half hearted attempt at emotional evocation, which is
probably a long way from where McGraw had intended on landing.

Ain’t That The Way It Always Ends?

Ship Shape and Ready to Sail - Pure Nautica Discovery

It’s the first week of July and summer has finally found the Pacific Northwest. Fitting then that I should get my hands on Nautica’s new-for-2011 Pure Nautica Discovery, a summer scent if ever there were one.

Keeping well within the brand’s wheelhouse (get it? (wheelhouse is both a nautical term for the location a ship’s steering wheel and jargon for “sweet spot” (OK, never mind, jeez))), the bottle fades from nearly clear up top to a lovely topaz blue color. Grooves at the bottom of the glass add a weight to the bottle that anchors the brushed aluminum look of the cap. It’s a smart, safe package to be sure.

So what’s it like to wear?

Top notes are nice and airy; a little citrus noise balanced with a splash of sea water. It’s not too fruity which is fine because this scent is definitely marketed towards the male half of the population. Middle notes don’t stick around long, but lavender, ginger, and coriander do make themselves known, for a while at any rate. Bottom notes, the ones that hang around all day, are surprising; sandalwood and Virginia cedar settle down to a very pleasant aroma that does not lend itself to fatigue - very important if you’ll be wearing this every day. Really, it’s like carrying around a mug of spiced summer cider. Delicious. 

This is a scent devoid of all drama; perfect for someone just discovering cologne. Wear it to work, around home, and even out in the evenings. This is likely not for the connoisseur, it doesn’t really speak to a specific personality. Wonderful, then, for most of us.

Am I King?

(Review of Sean Jean's I Am King cologne)

Well, that all depends on how you look at it.

Current life cycles for a new cologne or perfume have been reduced from decades to maybe a couple years (by contrast, Coco’s Chanel No. 5 was introduced in 1921 and still tops $100 million in sales annually). With our insatiable ADD buying culture, we are constantly looking for the latest and greatest - considering new products obsolete even before they hit the market. So from that perspective, the fact that Diddy’s “I Am King” will even have a 3rd birthday to celebrate this November is in and of itself an accomplishment.

Packaging is elegant; a simple, clear glass bottle tinged pale lilac topped by a glassy mirrored cap gets the job done neatly. The understated branding in the bottom corner doesn’t scream vanity. Nice.

However, when you grab the top you notice two things right away: Firstly, you’ve stuck your grubby hands all over the once pristine cap, leaving smudgy finger prints behind. And secondly, the top is much lighter than it looks. You realize that it isn’t (probably wisely) actually made of mirrors, but cheap, shiny plastic. The whole experience is somewhat…disenchanting.

But hey, this is all about the scent, right?

“Top notes” (the very first thing you smell while the cologne is still wet) are all citrus fruits. Tangerine and Orange walk into your house uninvited, but that’s OK because they don’t stay long. While they take leave, you realize a darker more complicated somebody has been sitting in the corner the whole time. The “body” (what comes out when the top notes depart) draws out wood tones including cedar, sandalwood, and oakmoss, as well as sea water, lemon and cranberry. It’s like a warm summer’s night on the Riviera in a classic wooden speedboat. And there are a lot worse ways to spend your time.

The undertones settle down in a few hours to an enjoyable yet subtle spice and that’s exactly where they stay all day or all night. To test the longevity I sprayed directly onto my skin and then went for a five mile run. Sweating out three pounds of water weight later (no exaggeration) the scent was still hanging on, though in reality there wasn’t much left.

To be honest, I didn’t think I was going to like any scents by Puff Diddly, or P Daddy, or whatever it is that he calls himself right now. I figured the cologne would be like his recent music; juvenile, uninspiring, and increasingly irrelevant. But actually, I quite like I Am King. Is it the best cologne out there? No. It’s not even the best cologne I’ve personally owned. But is it King of the moment? Sure, why not.

What up

So I kind of forgot that I have a blog. But realizing I have one isn’t like the “oh cool, I have a cabin in the woods that I haven’t been to in years” kind of thing to remember. Also, it’s not quite as bad as “oh my God, I forgot I had a kitten when I sat down on my couch just now”. No, it’s more of an “Ah, fuck. I forgot I had a house plant and now it’s dead” kind of thing to remember.

Just add water.

You know how I said I was inspired to do a triathlon? Well, I do. I bought a bike, I bought those five toed running shoes, and I bought a wet suit. I also made a spreadsheet to track my progress. 

Actually, Imma step back for a second and explain why training for a triathlon is a big-ish deal for me. See, years ago (like 2004) I was in a foot race with a friend of mine named Luke. Luke just got back from basic and thought he was hot shit. So I took him to school. But, while I was learning him a lesson, I learned myself one too. During our 40 yard dash I felt something pull in my knee, and then I kept right on going (to widen my margin of victory). Since that day, I’ve had illio-tibial band syndrome (or ITBS for short). In case you’re wondering, the IT band connects the outside of your knee to the outside of your butt. And ITBS is when that band rubs over other parts of your knee. It feels a little like someone is spinning a drill bit into the joint every time you take a step. When I wanted to hike, run, walk, bike, or do any kind of physical activity for more than just a few minutes at a time, the ITBS would flare up and I would have to stop. The solution was 45 minutes of stretching before the activity, carrying a knee brace around with me at all times, and not being surprised when I had to take a stretch break every half hour. It sucked big time. Big time.

   

TL;DR I’ve had a bum wheel for years

And then black magic a miracle happened. I bought those five toed running shoes that I mentioned earlier and then returned them almost immediately (that wasn’t the miracle). I returned them because they say you have to build up the muscles in your feet to compensate for the lack of support from the shoes. But I guess it fosters a more natural footfall. And I guess I’m way too lazy to do that. So the shoes I got instead help with “pronation” (which is when your feet tend to roll inward). What the hell, worth a shot, right? I take the shoes home, can’t find my brace, and start running on a treadmill anyhow. I figure I’ll stop in a like 3 minutes or whenever the knee starts to hurt. And do you know what happened next? I ran for two and a half MILES (miracle). And then I ran the next day for three MILES (miracle). And the day after that I biked for 20 MILES (miracle). Overnight, my seven year ailment is completely gone. Not a trace, not a hint, not a twinge; not even the memory of pain in my knee.

TL;DR new shoes fixed it

Watch out, fother muckers, I’ve got some miles to make up.

So I’ve been tracking my progress. I’ve got columns for running, biking, swimming, walking, hiking, and lifting. But I’m so enamored with just the idea of being able to run that running has been my focus. I came damn near to running a hundred miles last month.

And here’s another nifty little side effect of the running: I lost like 10 lbs and two percent body fat. How cool is that shit? That shit is cool.

More on that as it develops.

Here's a picture of Captain Jack Sparrow

Creationism

We don't know whether or not there is a god. We think there is. But either way he didn't create your universe. That was Phil. Phil was in charge of developing alternative ammunition for the army. So we took his new shells over to a quiet corner of the range and fired off a few rounds. To Phil's surprise, as much as anyone else's, the bangs were a bit bigger than expected, each producing a sustained reaction where matter was seemingly created from nothing. Right in front of us, three tori began slowly expanding. We hung around for a bit, watching the glowing doughnuts until it was decided that we should keep one of the three universes; the other two were quickly destroyed. We moved your universe into an empty and unused hanger bay near my office and then got back to work. Every few days Phil would go out and check on it, admiring the emerging shimmering lights and pretty colors. He was also keeping tabs on dimension, rate of expansion, total mass, etc. After a week, your universe was about the size of a sledding inner tube; chock full of stars, galaxies, and planets. Phil figured at the current rate of expansion, which was accelerating, we’d have a month or so before terminating our little project or risk damaging the hanger bay. Interestingly enough, a week later your universe stopped accelerating. In fact, it stopped growing all together, settling down to about the size of nice above ground swimming pool. Then it began to rotate in on itself. The bottom would pull up through the center and spill over the top, keeping movement between the clusters of galaxies constant.

Anyhow, it wasn’t long before both of us were reassigned to different parts of the base and our project was all but forgotten. We would amble over to that bay on occasion, just to check things out, maybe grab a bite of lunch if we had the time. But as the months and then years wore on, our visits became less and less frequent. Yesterday was the eighth anniversary of our creation, and unfortunately, the third anniversary of Phil’s death. Ever since those first big shots were fired he wanted to start another universe. He said that it wasn’t that yours had gone dark, exactly, but it did lose a lot of the color that was once there. So Phil got together one last shell, he said he added a little something special to this one, and again we went out to the range. He counted backwards from three, pulled the trigger, and wouldn't you know it, the damn fool blew himself to high heaven. Its not that there was Phil everywhere, the fact was that there wasn’t any Phil ANYWHERE. Just pop! gone. Well, needless to say I got a bit spooked about the whole thing and haven’t really come around much since then. Just once a year, on the anniversary, I come all the way out to the still empty, still unused hanger bay and pay my respects.

I forget how pretty your little universe is, sometimes.

Shifting Focus

So, I’ve been thinking; I lost steam here for two reasons, as far as I can tell.

Firstly, I may have been overly ambitious in my aim to buy cars, write about them, and then resell them. I didn’t want to check back in until I made progress obtaining a dealer’s license, or reviewing a car. That shit is expensive, folks, and I don’t have that kind of money.

Secondly, I feel the need to always be clever, witty, funny, or insightful. If I can’t be at least one of those things, I shy away from writing. I’m not sure where this feeling comes from, but it seems to inhibit my progress.

So what am I going to do about it?

You’re looking at it. I’m writing a post that has very little to do with cars or motorcycles. I’m also not trying to be clever, witty, funny, or insightful. Feels good.

I think I’ll also lift the focus to encompass anything I damn well please. Watch this:

• Everyone go see “The King’s Speech”! What a masterpiece.
• I make a fine pasta sauce.
• I started running yesterday, training for a triathlon and to summit Mt. Rainier in August.
• I’m really digging on the songs from madeinheights.bandcamp.com

See what I did there?

I'll try to do this more frequently. We'll see how it goes.

here's a picture of a dragonfly