The Cellphone Debate

There are two types of cellphone owners, those that love the RAZR and those that HATE it!

I hate the fact that every single person on this planet owns the same phone that I have and I hate it even more that they didn't have to shell out a few hundred bucks for it. Still, I've had my RAZR for a long time now and I'm still very much in love with it. I love it because of one thing...it is virtually indestructible. I've dropped the thing so many times and yet it still ticks.

My sister has this weird phone curse where none of her phones last. One phone got dropped on the head so much it would randomly not allow her to hear the people calling her...so you call her and you hear her go: "Hello? Hello? Oh, sorry, my phone is acting up again, I know you can hear me, but I can't hear you. I'll call you right back in a sec." *click* Then her phone will work when she calls back. Ghetto! After a while it wouldn't even work when she calls back.

Her next phone, within a week of her getting it, she dropped it on a granite tile at this bar. I see her pick up her used-to-be clam-shell phone, it's now in two pieces connected by the wire that links the two. She had to talk in it like those kids cups with a string phone.

Finally, I convinced her she needed a RAZR because of its toughness. She didn't want to have the same phone as everyone, but couldn't resist when the pink ones came out. She was very happy with the phone for a while...dropped it right away and it lived. Then...she lost it.

I told her there's something very wrong with her... Her phones are either committing suicide or running away from home. Poor phones, "I can't take this anymore, I going to kill myself! Shit, I didn't die. Plan B: Run away!" Her phone insurance actually cut her off at some point...I didn't think they could do that.

Edit: Don't praise your electronics! They can NOT be praised. My phone died on me shortly after I wrote this entry. It was a battery thing. I've noticed that when I first got my phone, I could hike around the world on just one charge and still have juice left to talk smack about your mom...now I can't go to the grocery store without the battery dying. The battery problem would be not much of an issue if I still had my car charger, but I loaned that to my sister who lost her other charger...and then her car died and it has been in the shop for over 2 months now with my charger...yeah been there since this blog entry. So I had the battery replaced, bought myself another car charger and all is well, but I'm not praising that phone anymore. Also, what's up with my sister and her phones, charger, car and shit? Too weird.

McClellan Butte

I just finished Into the Wild yesterday and I highly recommend it for those that have contemplated selling all their possessions and roaming the earth. I’m going through my adventure books kick at the moment so this was a good read after finishing Into Thin Air a short while back. Krakauer is just an amazing writer, he does his research and gives various background stories that are as fun to read as the main story arc. In Into the Wild, he talks about a kid who decided to go on an extended solo journey but was eventually found dead. He compared various solo adventurers and talked about their love for solitude yet they still yearn for human companionship in between adventuring. The thing that gets me is that through his writing you do feel sad for the boy that died, but the true heartbreak comes in for the people that loved him...that waited years to hear from him. I sometimes worry that I'm falling too hard into the selfish solo adventurist category…I feel like I lose sight of the fact that having people that love me is a true blessing and as such I should not be so careless with my own life.

I said I was probably going to miss out on hiking this weekend because I was helping out with PAX…but of course I’m a bad liar. Or maybe not…because I just kept getting lost. So if strolling into the woods blindly and turning whenever I hit a tree is considered hiking that’s just about what I did. I don’t know how the hell I keep getting lost these days.

I’ve decided to hike McClellan Butte because it’s supposed to be a decently burly hike (8.8 miles 3800ft gain) that is pretty close to Seattle, so that I could make it back to help at PAX. Just look out for signs pointing to the trail and not wandering into whatever trail you might see along the way like me, and you’ll be fine. I wandered into Alice Creek with this creepy dark tunnel and freaked the hell out of myself.

I couldn’t find a trail from there so gave up and turned around, right at that little trail junction, I saw a lady walking her dog and asked if she knew the way and she pointed up a little further at another trail…with the big fucking sign that said “Mc Clellan Butte Trail”. I smart!

Then right at the point where I saw the peak, I lost the trail again and wandered onto the scrambling point trail. Freakiest thing EVER! I climbed halfway up before I realized this could not possibly be the trail because it was just too dangerous for a hiker. That scramble felt like it required some heavy duty climbing gear. So I slowly made my way back…then found the real trail. Yay, me! Way to get lost constantly.

Overall the hike was pretty easy, the trail is being worked on so most of it is nicely maintained. The hike felt like a slightly more difficult version of Mount Si in that the trail is kind of uneventful and the view is about the same up top…but it does get a lot less traffic which is nice.

Short slide of hike here.

Grandpas and PAX

Hmmm…while it could be true that I attract only the worst of the worst crowd with my amazing get-the-fuck-away-from-me-aura in dive bars, I don’t go out of my way to be unfriendly in the finer establishments. In fact I might be drawing in the creepy old guys because I’m usually equal opportunity smiley and friendly in places where I don’t feel like some jerk would come up and grab my ass as a new means of pickup line. Buuuuut, it doesn’t mean I’m not a creepy old guy magnet, in fact I have reasons to believe that even on my death bed, I attract them.
Those of you that know me, you’ve probably have heard of the French grandpa story, those that don’t, please…pull up a chair and enjoy yourself at my expense.
So I’ve mentioned on and off that I went on a solo backpacking trip around Europe for six weeks about 3 years ago… Well, I had pretty much gone from country to country partying my little ass off. I had also been trying to ward off some dreadful bug which I’m pretty sure I had caught back in the office but was momentarily staved off during my must-hold-on-until-the-end crunch mentality. Then vacation hits and that bug was seeping in. Somehow running around Ibiza drunk during a lightning storm screaming, hooting and hollering with joy has brought this bug to backhand me full blast. I woke up hungover and dehydrated with a raging fever. I had a plane (Ibiza is very far from the coast of Barcelona for those that haven’t been, it took my overnight boat more than 9 hours to get there) to catch to get to Spain to get my ass to France to make my way towards Italy.
I slept for as long as I could but one thing that came to mind was the advice Brian gave me before I left. He warned me that I could get sick during my travels, he said if I do, just suck it up and keep moving because you won’t remember the sick part, but it would be crappy to get stuck in one place. It’s true, the human mind has an amazing way of conveniently forgetting all the minor “suck” parts in life and keeping the good memories. So I made my way to airport, got the next flight out. From Barcelona, I took the train to Nice, France. The train from Nice to Rome was not due for another 8-10 hours, so I had to hang out at the station during this time.
I wasn’t just a little sick at this point I had a fever that made me weak and shakey and the worst case of the chills. It was sunny that day but I wore two t-shirt, two long sleeve shirts and my jacket (basically all the warmest clothing I had), sweating my ass off but I felt so cold at the same time…I was downright miserable. They made the chairs there obviously single chairs so that people can’t sleep there but I tried to prop myself and nap then the train people told me I can’t prop myself up. Bastards. Then this French grandpa (I call him grandpa because he looks at least three times my age, no joke) came up to me and asked me in French how I was “Ça va?” I took a few years of high school French and all I can remember how to say is, “I have a headache. J’ai mal à la tête.” I try to get back to resting my eyes. The grandpa came back to me and told me I should get some hot drinks in the café next door, I’m shaking my head, but he insisted.
I’m thinking hot drink might not be so bad…the grandpa walked along side me. I ordered a hot chocolate while the grandpa got coffee. The grandpa spoke some rapid French to the waitress and paid for our drinks before I knew what was going on…I tried to pay him back but he would take it, so I thanked him. I was touched that this random stranger was being so nice.
We walked back to the train station and he asked how I was again. I was actually feeling quite a bit better, “Bonne.” He nodded, then grabbed my face and tried to lean in for a kiss. I screamed “NO!” and jerked away. Everyone around us was staring. The grandpa goes, “Ciao.” And walked off quickly. I didn’t even look to see where he went, I was in shock that someone could do that. I felt like I was on the brink of death, looked it - and this old guy was trying to make out with me in broad daylight in the middle of a fucking train station. If I wasn’t already sick as a dog, that would have made me feel sick as a dog.
Now while French grandpa was a scary experience, I had another nice Irish grandpa story. I wanted to hit this outdoor rave in Ireland called Planet Love…to get there they had a bus that would take us from Dublin to Antrim. So I partied and toured Dublin for a few days. While I was there, I was in the pub chatting with these guys and this grandpa came up to me and said a bunch of stuff in Gaelic that I couldn’t understand. The guys told me, the grandpa wanted to teach me to how to Irish dance. Who am I to say no to such a nice sweet old man? The Irish grandpa twirled me around and I was dead tired by the SECOND song. I could not keep up with this grandpa and I was there to go to a rave that was supposed to be at least 12 hours long.
So…did I take many pictures during my 6 weeks there? … …I don’t want to talk about. No really, it’s okay, I don’t want to talk about it. Yeah…I took zero pictures...okay…not only am I currently pissed off at myself, but I write myself a daily “Fuck you!” letter. So leave me alone already.

There will be no hiking this weekend because my sorry ass has volunteered to help at PAX…because apparently I enjoy babysitting other people’s kids for free.

Ewwww... Again!

I went out with my sister last night (DUN-Duh-DUHN!) so you know what that means. That means I get to put up with her friends AND get hit on by really old men (well…just one old guy this time).

In all honesty, all her friends were really cool this time, they minded their own business, wanted to get drunk and have a good time. The place we went to, Amber, was a bit meat markety last night, but that was expected since the place was THE place the Mariners and Yankees were going to for after-game party. So everyone was there to be seen and to see the players. I’m going to baseball hell, but I really didn’t care. I just don’t know the game or players well enough to know who’s who. I didn’t want the guys to point out, “Oh that’s Derek Jeter.” And I run over to take a picture of the poor guy who wants to have a damned drink in peace. He’s the only name I remembered from all the guys there because my old roommate used to play this Xbox baseball game that he endorsed.

So we all packed into the VIP lounge like a bunch of over-cooked sardines trying to rub elbows with the ball players. Not really my thing anymore. A few years back my buddies and I used to hang out at Belltown packed in like sardines to rub elbows with the Mariners. Freddy Garcia used to bring in some of the healthiest (read tall and big boned) girls on the block.

So if you came here to read about baseball players, I’m sorry. I don’t know them.

Instead I’ll talk about the old guy that I don’t know either. Soon as we get up to the VIP lounge this old drunk guy (he looks twice my age) stumbles toward my sister, I have no idea who he is. She’s smiling and saying hi, leans in for a quick hug and dives out of the way before he tries to plant a kiss on her. He smiles and greets me, I wave and say “Hi”. He gestures at his lips and says, “On the lips?” I instantly stop smiling and say, “NO!” That’s just disgusting. He looks shocked, “You don’t do that?” I keep moving on with a stern “No.”

Seriously, these rich old men are getting on my nerves. To make matters worse, the guy actually stumbled up to me later and asked, “Are you afraid of me?” Normally I would tell the guy off, but it was apparent that he was so drunk that whatever I say would be moot. I just told him, “No,” again and walked off.

*shudders*

The thing that gets me about all this isn't necessarily about getting hit on by an old guy. It's the fact that I see a pattern here. I'm that creepy old guy magnet.

*shudders*

I know I’m not exactly a spring chicken myself, but... What makes them think I’m interested? What draws the old guys in? Do I smell like moth balls? Is it the Extra-Strength Sea Bond I use? And in all honesty I wouldn’t mind talking to an older gentleman (gentleman being the operative word here), but it’s the fact that I get the gross disgusting tactless lines time and time again.

Proof That My Friends Are Crazy

I keep complaining about how crazy my backpacking buddies are...and it doesn't seem possible that people could be that crazy... But while cleaning out my hard drive, I found videos that my buddy Fraser took during our trip to Mount Daniel that really does prove they are indeed crazy (I never got around to watching them till now myself).
On our way back down, Fraser said we should practice stopping on a snow covered mountain in case we slip and fall on the really steep part. Sounds sane, right? Yeah, but then he insisted we should all do a flying leap down the mountain to kick off the practice:



In this video, you hear me going WTF!?




And then when we got down still further, you see the guys crossing over this creek...that water is gushing with the force of ALL the snow melting off the mountain, which also means, fucking FREEZING! What you don't see off-screen is the waterfall on the otherside. So you see the guys trying to not fall into the rushing water and plummeting to their doom...then you see me in the background going "Fuck that!" and sauntering around the fucking thing.

Just Vanilla

I saw a good movie - an honest to god, damned good movie. Go watch Little Miss Sunshine! It’s awesome in the way that makes me go, “Damn, now that’s what a good movie is about!” It’s not a movie about cool effect or watching stars be hot and sexy, it’s a simple movie with some real good writing. It’s also a movie that reminds you that even when things are bad, life is still worth laughing at.

I took my little brother to my favorite local park to ride his new bike…because with all my good influences of buying him Eragon books and playing lots of video games, he’s bound to get beat up in high school, maybe he’ll get in good enough shape to make a run for it.
Still, today was muggy and hot in Seattle so after a few rounds in Seward Park, I asked him if he wanted to go for ice cream since we were taunted by the ice cream truck at the end of every loop. He loved the idea (even though I later found out from my sister that he usually doesn’t care for ice cream).
So we went for some real ice cream at Baskin Robbins. I realize I haven’t hung out with my little brother much because he’s eleven…that’s like barely human. I didn’t know what kind of ice cream he liked. I asked him. He told me, “I like vanilla ice cream.” Me, “Just vanilla?” He replied, “Yeah.” I laughed because while my other brother is a lot more like my sister, Alec is a lot like me. I used to love just plain old vanilla ice cream too. I told him, “Well, you know, I used to love just vanilla too, but you know what else is really good? Brownie Sundae.” Apparently he’s never heard of that option. I asked if he wanted vanilla on a cone, cup or brownie when we got to the shop and he decided to try the sundae. He was in love with it. Yay, me! One more bad influence on the little brother and counting! I went for the plain vanilla in a cup. I do understand the love for the plain and simple but he should at least learn that he has options even with "just vanilla".

Gothic Peak

In light of my recent bitching about the crappy film line-up, one film has been suggested multiple times. The Descent. Yes, people I know it’s got good ratings but look at what the damned film is about. It’s about a bunch of ladies on a cool outdoorsy adventure and they get killed in gory ways. Yes, excellent! Why didn’t I think of going to see that before? Hmmm…because you know…being scared shitless while hiking solo could motivate me to move a little faster on the trail. Because hours alone on a trail doesn't leave me thinking that some crazy axe murderer is lurking just behind that tree already? Yeah.

I’ve missed going out clubbing on weekends. I’ve missed it so much that I made plans to go on an easy day hike on Saturday so that I can be out that night. I figured Gothic Basin with a mere 9 miles with around 3000 feet elevation gain would be easy enough. Then Daniel bugged me about hiking and I mentioned going to Gothic Basin…and of course these crazy testosterone filled men couldn’t just “hike”…he immediately decided we needed to climb Gothic Peak (making the trip 12 miles with 4100ft gain).

The hike up to Foggy Lake despite being over 4.5 miles felt short. Overall the hike up was a little harder than I expected because the elevation gain didn’t seem that impressive for the distance, but then I realize the first 1.2 miles was completely flat, so all the elevation gain is within 3 miles which burns a little more.

We were still pumped full of energy at the lake, but we stopped for some lunch and I brought my water filter to pump some nice cold (very very cold) mountain lake water.

A few people were swimming in the water, but most of them pretty much do the same thing, they take off their shirts, dive in, scream like a little girl and quickly swim back out. Despite the blazing sun, the air is very cool up there.

After lunch we scrambled our way toward Gothic Peak. The ridge toward the peak was creepy as hell with a steep few thousand feet drop to the other side, I got a bad case of vertigo just hiking along that ridge. Then the last quarter mile toward the peak, the trail became loose gravels and boulders the size of my head. After hearing loud crashing boulder slides a few times from Daniel making his way up first, I decided I didn’t want to chance it. I’ve used up much of my luck on Mount Daniel and Mailbox Peak this year, I want to save whatever I have left for something important, like maybe a good powder day later this year. And I wanted to save some energy for going out at night.

Turns out it didn’t matter. The hike still took too long and I didn’t get home till 11 and I was honestly dead tired from hike 11.5 miles. The trip back down the trail was amazingly harder than going up…the trail somehow was a lot rougher than we remembered it. With the trail surface being extremely uneven, it was hell on the ankles and knees.

Slide of trip here.

Geeks At A Picnic

Yesterday was our Annual Company Picnic or what I’d like to refer to as Watch Out-Of-Shape Geeks Hurt Themselves. Yes, despite the fact that we, the game developers, often wow the world with our powerful, muscle-bulging physique…we are not so finely tuned for friendly company flag football games.

Did anyone get hurt yesterday? I’m not sure, I got distracted by the meat roasting in the corner. However I counted at least two people that got hurt the day before from doing their practice game. One guy ran into a fence so hard he has a nasty bruise on his head and his eyebrow almost needed stitching, but the doctor told him it would heal with less scarring if they taped it. Another guy could barely walk because he pulled a hamstring.

Did I join the game? Hell, no. Brian asked why I didn’t want to play…I told him I didn’t want the upper-management team to trample the hell out of me. The “friendly” games are getting more serious…this year, the team that upper-management belongs to got t-shirts made with all their names on the back and the years they’ve won on the front. I don’t want to be the one holding the ball when those guys are on the field.

Slide here.

Wait! Wait! So being that I work for a geek company, am I going to see Snakes on A Plane? What? That would mean we would have to put down the irons that we're pumping, ruining that set and sit still in front of a brightly-lit screen for a few hours. Unheard of! Hahaha, you motherf*cking bet we're going to see ourselves some motherf*cking snakes during motherf*cking work hour.

The Meat Market

I went out with my sister last night because I figured it would be unhealthy to sit at home alone and read all the time. About five minutes out with her group, I realize it’s unhealthy for me to subject myself to such crappy meat market atmosphere. This guy, Dave, a friend of her friend was trying desperately to pick up every chick within shouting distance while we were having dinner.

I knew I didn’t like Dave the moment I sat down and my sister gave me an apologetic look. I later found out my sister was so insistent on getting me out because she wanted me to save her from this group. She didn’t want to get stuck talking to Dave who wanted to brag about everything about himself, from all the dates he’s been on recently, to his job and his Ferrari. At some point, the guy launches into a thousand questions about me…not the kind where you know he wants to know anything about me really, but the kind you do when your date trainer taught you to ask about the girl. I try to be non-specific about my interest…but then my sister’s friend volunteered that I love hiking and doing outdoorsy stuff…Dave starts talking about his good friend who loves to climb and snowshoe and do everything outdoorsy. The guy was shopping for his friend too. He starts giving me a hardcore selling schpeal on his buddy and telling me I should give him a call. I told him to just invite his buddy out. He said his buddy is out of town but starts fishing in his wallet for his buddy’s card and told me I should check him out on his website, I told him to keep his card because I’m not in need of his friend’s company.

The guy thinks he’s being sauve but he manages to get on my nerve with every word. He next shows us pictures of his cats on his phone and tells us how he doesn’t have kids but he has cats. I think he expected us to fawn over his cats’ pictures. I don’t even like cats. Then my sister says, “We’re supposed to help Dave pick-up a hot tall Caucasian lady.” Dave adds, “Yes, brunettes preferred, but I’ll settle for a tall blonde too.” I’m looking at the guy…he’s 5’8”, Asian, not attractive and in his mid-to-late-forties claims to be 35…I’m not even going to pretend like I can help this guy out. I figured I could focus on the food which was amazing. My sister asked if I wanted to go see a movie or go play pool with her after dinner, I told her pool sounds like fun.

Soon as Dave finishes his dinner he shouts for one of the guy to get up and be his wingman. SHOUTS! Who the fuck does that? Then they go off and hit on the table with 4 ladies next to us. I’m ashamed to be sitting in the same table as this guy, but I’ve still got my dinner. A while later, the wingman comes back and said he couldn’t do it anymore, “Too much bullshitting going on.” Dave is still over at the other table, but on the other side, another guy was working the same angle. At some point, Dave shouts desperately from that table, “WHERE DID MY WINGMAN GO?” Smooth. A short while later, he stalks from the table, hopping mad muttering, “I’ve never been shot down that badly.” Shocking! The ladies’ table was right behind me and I can hear them still talking crap about the guy.

My sister and I wanted to leave to go shoot some pool, but then the entire group wanted to come with us. The night could not be saved. I stayed for another drink at the pool hall, but left before I could even finish the drink. I just wanted to go home, sit around alone and read.

The one funny thing was this story my sister told me at the pool hall:

Sister: I had this friend who had been hounding me to set me up with this old guy.
Me: Oh, yeah…I remember her. The 45 years old guy?
Sister: Yeah, that’s the one. So the girl kept text messaging me over and over. And one night I was out with Melissa and they were out somewhere else, and she text’d me again. I figured it couldn’t hurt to stop by.
Me: Dear god, I told the girl to not bother.
Sister: Oh no, it’s not even the guy. Soon as we get there, Melissa looks at the guy and said, “Oh you must be the Old Guy.” And then she starts doing what I do when I mess up.
Me: Hahahah! Go, Melissa!
Sister: Yeah, she realized what she said and instead of letting it go, she spends the entire night apologizing for it.
Me: Which obviously only make things worse.
Sister: Exactly.
Me: Wow, how’d you find a friend that pulls your special move?
Sister: I don’t know, but I now see why you give me so much shit for not shutting up.

I'm going buy Melissa a drink next time I see her. The singles market is just too strange and funny.

Crunch Crunch

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch… Crunch…crunch. That’s what you'll hear if you walk by my cubicle these days. I am forever eating non-stop and it’s driving me crazy. I’ve been trying to eat a little healthier these days to reward my body for allowing me to push it to the brink of falling apart and not punishing me for days afterwards.

It’s nice to be able to push yourself to the point where you know you should be hurting the next day and you walk away with a slight ache in the joints. I really appreciate this. So I’m trying to incorporate more veggie in my diet. Then I read The China Study and I realize I need to cut the percentage my animal protein intake by about 6,578%. So for lunch I tried this veggie sandwich. I’m not doing that EVER again…it feels like I haven’t eaten – brain no register food, brain starved to caveman talk. It’s nice to know that decreasing animal protein decrease my risk for heart disease, but I’m sure my risk for dying from inexplicable disease increased from my lowered quality of life.

Now excuse me while I grab another bag of carrots and a white nectarine.

Pirates and Mold

Ever leave work for oh…maybe a week or so and forget to empty all drinking cups in your work area beforehand? And then you come back and stuff are talking to you from a cup? Well, yeah, me neither…nothing to see here, just move along.
So I was in the kitchen area boiling and scrubbing the hell out of the cup for fifteen minutes when a coworker asked about my diligent cleaning scheme. I told him about the talking stuff and he asked, “Now was it just talking to you, or was it sitting on your chair and coding for you?” I sighed, “No, the thing took after me and was just sitting there mouthing off, surfing the web, and reading other people’s blogs.” Scary how replaceable I am.
What am I doing these days? Well, our current project is still not quite done…but instead of waiting, I get to help on other projects. I’ve moved onto helping make some menus for Pirates of the Carribean 3…but instead of helping, I’m really terrorizing the team. It turns out they have nothing designed for the menu, so I demanded a menu mock-up…when the designer quickly scraped together one, I rejected the design as impossible and asked for redesign. Did I mention I can be a bit of a bitch?
Thing is, I’ve seen that exact same menu design before for when my old team was working on Narnia, it’s a quest log that looks like an open book with a lot of text on both sides of the book. Problem comes in with the fact that the Nintendo DS screen is super tiny with 256x192 pixels…you can (at most) fit one side of the book. So I’m pushing for a redesign because even though I don’t mind at all wasting my time on a menu that will be useless (because time to waste is what I have at the moment)…I’d like to give them something they can actually use.

My sister mentioned wanting to see a movie tonight and she's letting me pick... Is it me, or do all the movies currently out suck horse poo? I mean there's actually a movie out in box office that has ZERO% on rottentomatoes! I'm currently leaning toward Little Miss Sunshine or Who Killed the Electric Car, but I don't think either one is her type of movie.

Don't Coddle the Child

Today, instead of working at metamorphosing myself into a monkey, I thought I ought to read about them. So for lunch I went to park to read and to soak up whatever sun I can get before the summer ends. Summer is ending way too quick, days are already much shorter – I know this because I love walking at the park after work and previously there is daylight out at 10, now it’s dark by 9.
A bunch of books came in for me during my week away from work…a couple by Cavell, some hiking trail books and “Love at Goon Park”. I was reading the Goon Park book and was mentally shaking my fist at Watson for thinking that kids should not be coddled and that they should be raised in baby farms away from the parents when my brother, Jeremy (24), called.
I had sent him to go pick out a bicycle for our youngest brother, Alec (11). He called to see if he should pick up some elbow pads and knee pads for Alec.

Me: What the hell? Did you think he was just going get on the bike and fall off?
Brother: I don’t know, he might fall.
Me: Yeah, and he’ll skin a knee, he’s 11, he could use a skinned knee. Be sure to buy him a helmet though.
Brother: Okay.

After I hung up with my brother, I went back to cursing Watson for his don’t-coddle-the-child psychology.

Lopez Island

After not slipping to my doom on Mailbox, I thought I ought to curb my misanthropic ways and maybe trying hanging out with some people. My girlfriend from high school, Myra had sent out an evite a while back for a bike ride out in Lopez Island, which I declined in favor of a solo backpacking trip, but then changed to a “Yes”. It ended up being an awesome trip. I saw an old elementary school friend there, and met a bunch of other people that likes doing outdoors activity.

When Myra called me on Friday to arrange carpool and such, I found out a total of 19 people will be going. I remember thinking there’s no way in hell 19 people will show up. Some way…some how, all of us managed to get up at 6am on a Saturday morning to gather each other up, drive 1.5 hours over to Anacortes, to get in line on time for the 10 o’clock ferry. EVERYONE made it. We even got an unexpected group discount for the ferry ride. That means some 19 people (probably) didn’t spend Friday night getting smashed until 2am.

The day was just beautiful and perfect for a bike ride, sunny but not boiling. The island was sweet for someone like me who hadn’t ridden her bike since she started this blog (except for the day before the trip to de-cobweb and make sure the bike still maybe works). Most of the island is pretty flat, the parts that were hilly weren’t too bad…every one of the hills were just long enough to get your heart-rate up but flattens out right before you think you’ll die.

The only snag we ran into is that with 19 people…there are varying degrees of fitness even though all of them are young and in shape. All my backpacking buddies are crazy fit and I’ve always felt like a slow out-of-shape person next to them…but apparently the slowest of the fittest is amongst the fastest of the fit. The fastest riders in the group were a few of the people who own road bikes and rides regularly; I didn’t seem to have a problem keeping up with them. The rest of the group always trailed behind by a good half an hour…and the people up front mentioned it’s because most of the slow group has mountain bikes. I looked at my bike and looked at them, looked at my bike and looked at them…they said, “You don’t count because you’re a monster. In fact, you’re never allowed to ride a road bike with us.”
In the end, we ended up riding around 34-35 miles. I wasn’t too sore in the legs…but every part that touched that seat was not happy with me. When we had to hop back on the bike to ride out from the ferry home, everyone groaned.

I’m now intrigued by the idea of a road bike…it’s fun to just ride really really fast. So, somewhere between buying mountaineering gears, and a kayak, I’ll need a road bike.

Slide of the trip here.

Lost on Mailbox Peak

My over-confidence in my ability to hike alone is going to be my downfall.

I was bouncing with energy on Thursday, so I figured I should go on a day hike and since it was sort of raining, I figured going to a new place was pointless when the view would be non-existent up top. Also, I do miss me the good trees over at Mailbox Peak.

The day started out normal enough, I stopped by North Bend to pick up some snacks, water and a hitchhiker. Yeah, I said hitchhiker. I know, I know…blah blah, he could hurt me…make me wish I was dead. I’ve heard the drill before when I picked up my last hitchhiker. Sometimes, you look the person in the eyes, and you see another human being that could use a lift. I figured even though my destination was coming in 5 exits, I could take him maybe 10-15 exits down if he wanted. Turns out he was heading to Montana; I told him maybe he should wait for someone that wants to travel further than 5 exits. He said, “I’ve been waiting here for 3 hours, even if it’s 5 exits, it’s still closer.” So I told him to hop on in, he had a full extended-trip backpack and a smooth wooden hiking stick. He happily shook my hand, “Hi, my name is Joe.” Joe was just cheerful and talkative…very intelligent sounding too…we chatted about backpacking and mosquitoes. I brainstormed over a good place I can drop him off at to increase his chance of getting a ride…North Bend is pretty damned popular, can’t believe he couldn’t get a ride there. I thought maybe the next rest stop…then I realize my destination exit has a large truck stop and truckers are known for being nice to hitchhikers. I asked Joe if he would like to be dropped off at the truck stop, he sounded very pleased with the destination and mentioned he was wondering where the nearest one was. I gave him my extra bottle of water and one of my bananas before he left, he thanked me profusely and I was off.

After he left, I spent a few minutes thinking about how nice it is to be given the privilege to help another fellow person out. Then I hear, in my head, all my friends yelling at me for picking up a hitchhiker and it made me a little sad. The fact that the few bad apples made it dangerous for one human to help another is just too terrible.

Mailbox Peak is still the evil hike that it always was…steep as hell and slippery from the rain. I’ve been a little depressed lately and almost gave up after hiking the first mile. Still, I’m stubborn and once on a trail, I don’t turn back. After the second mile, my head cleared and I realize I’ve been a little down because I realized all my hiking has made me more of a loner than I really would like. I missed my friends and family…still my not wanting to drink so much is making things very difficult. I had made plans with my best friend for a shave and drink that evening, so that was something to look forward to.

Um…we interrupt this blog with my current brain trauma…my brother just came in my living room and asked if his pants look good on him. I told him they looked decent but a bit tight around the ass… maybe he could wear a baggy sweater or something. He laughed, ran off and said the pants belong to his ex-girlfriend. I told him I’m going to tell everyone that he’s a cross-dresser.

So back to Mailbox…this would be my third time up there, and it really does get easier every time. Being a weekday, the place was empty, I saw ONE guy the entire time…he was running up the trail while I was slowing dying and dragging my sad corpse up the hill. Once at the top, I looked at my newly purchased GPS and found the thing to be worthless, it calculated the total trip distance to be 1.9 miles instead of 4…so basically it wasn’t taking into account the straight uphill sections and assumed I was standing still during the times I was hurting the most. I shut the damned thing off with the intention of returning the piece of crap the next day.

After a quick lunch, I headed back down. I somehow lost the trail on the way down. Problem with Mailbox Peak is, the trail is always faint and with not much of undergrowth and dead twigs and pine needles everywhere, everywhere looks like a faint trail. I figured if I just keep heading down and toward the general direction of where I think the trail is, I would find it…but the damn trail was slick and I kept falling and sliding down the trail. Then I came to a cliff edge and I realize why the trail actually winds around a bit near the top. I started clawing my way back up and continued toward the direction of the trail…until another cliff edge. This was not good. This side of the trail got really bad with much of the trail covered in decaying old trees…sometimes you think you’re stepping on a solid dead tree and the thing crumbles beneath you causing a nasty downhill spill and slide.

I realize belated during all this, that I forgot to tell someone where I was going…I’ve gotten over-confident in my hiking ability. Dumb. Still I figured if I make it back up top, all should be well..right? As I got myself simultaneously more and less lost for the next hour, I started thinking about my possible death (death seems to be an inescapable thought when hiking or scrambling on scary mountains). I thought about this book that I’ve read a while back, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (I can’t say I highly recommend it, it’s good for the habits part but shitty for the methodology part. I found the book on “Free Stuff” table, so it’s worth reading for free) and I thought about this part where the author mentions beginning with the end in mind. The idea is to picture your own funeral, and think about how you want to be remembered by the people there…you should live your life by how you wish to leave your footprint (keep in mind, it has been a few years since I’ve read this, so I could be completely off). I thought about my mom wanting a nice wig for me if I actually shaved my head. I realize I do need to work on being a better friend, sister and daughter.

I continued slogging toward the direction that I thought the trail was while I entertained these morbid thoughts. After being lost for what seems like an eternity, my mind started playing tricks on me with self doubt – what if I was going the wrong direction. Panic! Then I remembered I had my (not so worthless now) GPS. I didn’t mark any point, but I knew that if I head toward I90 according to the map, I would be going the right way. I used the GPS compass to navigate toward it, and found the trail some 15 or so minutes lately. I was covered in sticks, leaves, mud and pine needles – saddest looking hiker ever!

Soon as I got off the trail and was back in phone signal area, I called Brian up for the drink and told him I’ll pass on the shaving. Good ol’ Brian never questioned my random plan changes and said, “Sure, let’s have that drink then we’ll talk.”

Happiness is finding the trail after being lost for what feels like an eternity.

Quick slide of Mailbox hike, I didn't take any photos after the peak part because taking pictures of places I could slide off and die from was kind of the last thing on my mind at the time.

Tuck and Robin Lakes

I had planned the Tuck and Robin Lakes backpacking trip as a 3 day/2 night thing on Monday-Wednesday…with the intention of camping at Robin Lakes, and spending the second day scrambling around the nearby Trico and Granite Mountains. It ended up not taking that long for us to scramble around the two mountains so we left early on Tuesday. So we hiked up 7.5 miles the first day then hiked 11.5 miles the second day, all with full packs on. I had bruised hips and collar bone by the end of the second day.

That was my third backpacking trip and before I left, I weighed my pack and the god damned thing gained 4lbs since my first trip. One would think that with more backpacking experience, I would learn how to shave the weight off; instead, I keep buying more unnecessary crap. I think it’s the extra Advil and Blister packs that I bought, fucking Advil weighs a ton.

Tuck and Robin Lakes are as gorgeous as they come. Everything about the place was just wonderful…I love the mix of well paved trails with lots of boulder fields so you feel like you’re taking a slightly off the beaten path. Scrambling with a full pack ended up being a lot easier than I thought…really, when you’re clinging onto rocks for dear life, you don’t notice the extra weight.

Charlie was absolutely in love with all the boulders...crazy mountain goat man that he is.

Link to a slide from this trip.

RIP Camera, Hello Bike

I’m still alive! The new pictures posted in my Flickr account isn’t done by the some creepy stalker hold me hostage for free Chinese food from my mom’s restaurant, because god knows, she’ll let them keep me. That’s a total saving of three people’s worth of food daily.

In some really sad world, my favorite camera died. It coughed up some blood and went into the light. I guess I’m a bit too hard on my equipment sometimes…like I expect it to be able to scale cliff sides with me and get all banged up with me and still survive…so not the case. Still, after having that camera for the last few months made me realize how much I love it, so I went out and got the same one (yes, my wallet is bleeding).

So I just realize I’m going to completely chicken out on shaving my head. I honestly was getting really excite over the prospect of sitting around rubbing my clean shaved head with a nice cold PBR in hand, but the one thing that has been holding me back is having to explain it to my mother. I’ve thought about it and thought about it…and it was really starting to depress me. It depressed me to the point where I realize, it’s just not worth it. I know my mother will cry when she sees me…and I really don’t know how to deal with that. I’ve made my mom cry once in my life and it made me feel like smallest person in the world - whatever joy or personal growth I might gain by lopping off my hair will be greatly diminished by this.

I figured I need to save these big stressful moments on my poor traditional Chinese mother for more important things, like…oh when I bring home a boyfriend who is a big black dude escaping from death row.

In a happier world, an old friend of mine, Myra is organizing a bike riding party in some nearby island tomorrow, so I figured I should take my bike out for a spin today. I had to literally dust the cobwebs off the poor thing. I took it out to my favorite park and rode around the bike loop, then on the streets along Lake Washington. I hadn’t ridden a bike on the streets since I was in grade school, I forgot how not freaky it is. For some reason, when I got my current bike a few years back, I got scared of the idea of riding on the streets, like people would swerve just to hit me. I’ve also driven along that same Lake Washington streets many times and people on bikes (especially with that lady who you know just bought her bike, wobbling back and forth on the road) always freaked me out, so I figured it must be just as freaky to be the rider.
Oddly enough, when I’m on the bike, I feel less freaked-out, like I own the damned road with my little two-wheeler…every damned car must move out of my damned way! Suddenly I become that lady with the wobbly riding, and I am oblivious to all the cars around me. Good times!

Ptarmigan Ridge

I’ve been belly aching so much about how some pretty hikes are too easy and how trees make poor conversationalist, that you might think I’m one of those asshole client that can’t be pleased. Think again! Yesterday, I have actually found a hike that even I have a hard time grumbling about despite the low low elevation gain (2500ft) and crazy long drive away (3hrs). The entire hike was just gorgeous from beginning to end…although the trail guide said the ridge was 8 miles roundtrip, the trail continues on for what seems like forever. We had to leave because it was getting late and in the end, my GPS said we hiked 10.9 miles.
I would talk more about it, but it’s late and I need to get start packing for my backpacking trip tomorrow. No, we’re still not done with our project, but due to the insane “wait” time, we’re told we can take some time off to decompress…so I figured instead of planning some major vacation to visit 4 wonderful men in Gay Area, I ought to stay close.

Slide of Ptarmigan Ridge here.

Men, Stay Out!

Every now and then, I clean the dirt from my nails, bite my tongue from crass jokes, and try to fit into polite society. My girlfriend Gigi is only going to be in town for another week and a half so I invited her to hangout with my sister and I at the Tower Club.
We managed to snag the best seat in the house:
The view in this place is just crazy good, even the view from the ladies restroom is absolutely stunning (this is the window in the stall, each stall comes with this view, and the toilet faces the window):The funny thing is, the men’s room don’t have nearly as good of a view (or so I’ve heard) and there’s this sign right outside of the ladies’ room:Check it out, I have actual hair (for now anyhow) and not pigtails:You know how you can tell when you've been hanging around guys too much? When we were hanging out in Belltown Billiards later in the night, some hot (more than) half-naked go-go dancers appeared next to our group. Not only did I make some God Of War + VG Cats comic reference to the ladies' ladies. I instinctively shouted, "Thank you, ladies! And thank you, God, for bringing us the ladies!" The guy next to me said, "What are you doing inside my head? Are you reading my mind? Did I just think out loud?"

The Guilty Love of My Life

I took my car in for service today, it was loooong overdue - oh, by maybe a few miles give or take 10k. I love that false sense of security one feels driving away from the service station. It's this nice and clean feeling like your car and you just saw the dental hygienist or something - and clean teeth makes one invincible. Prior to taking the car in, I felt like I was driving this ticking time bomb, like at any given moment, my poor baby will choke on some sludgey oil, hack a few times and just explode.

I never thought I could get attached to some stupid material thing like a car, but I've found that I'm oddly attached to my car. It's a 2001 Land Cruiser that I bought back in October 2000. I remember when I first drove it, it just purred all over the road and to this day, it's still purring all over the place. It's such a gas guzzler that I sometimes feel so guilty and terrible about it, but most days I love it. There had been numerous occasions when I'm looking for a trail all alone in some crazy rough dirt road that makes me feel so grateful that my car is so reliable in that terrain. Over the weekend, the trail leading up to Hester Lake was partly a trail for off-roading vehicles, I saw all these different Jeeps roaring by with snorkel attachments...it made me hug my baby for not croaking. Then I looked at the odometer, it has clocked nearly 125k miles, I thought about my car getting old and me having to put it under, it nearly made me cry. The amount of crap my car and I have gotten into together has far outnumbered anything anyone has weathered with a loner like me in recent years.

One that instantly came to mind when I thought about recent solo trip was during Super Bowl Sunday this year, I thought I ought to drive up to Whistler because NO ONE would be there except ME! I mentioned this to my snowboarding buddies and they said, they didn't want to pay an arm and a leg for last minute lodging, I told them the idea was to drive there at night and crash in the parking lot and get Princess Parking when the park opens. The one buddy that ended up wanting to go whined about how hard driving up there would be and how much harder it would be to drive back...so I banned him. Sorry, I can drive 8 hours without blinking alone, but if I have someone whining in the passenger seat, I would have to push him out of the vehicle moving at 80mph at some point.

The day ended up even more beautiful than I could hope for. I got the best space in the lot when I rolled in at 7a.m. Folded down the chairs and took a nap in spacious luxury until the place opened at 9. The day was beautiful with a slight snow dusting, taking the highest lift "The Peak" on Whistler will take you above the cloud line. All you can see is snow, and where the snow ends, the clouds take over, off in the distance you can see other peak tops, the sun is shining brightly...it's like sitting in heaven.

(Picture taken with my shoddy camera phone.)

Around 3:30 I snowboarded right up to the lodge, clicked off my bindings and strode right in, they were just doing the coin toss. The game was playing on 3-4 big screen TV and 3 projectors and many smaller TVs. The bar was packed to the teeth, but a single girl in a bar will eventually find a damned awesome seat. I took off at the beginning of the last quarter because the out-come was predictable by then. I drove back to a very depressed Seattle, but my car and I had an awesome time.

I'm just happy my car got its teeth cleaned.

Drink Order

I was at my sister's place tonight and she asked me what I wanted to drink:

Me: I would love some hot tea, and maybe an ice water.
Sister: *blinks and looks confused* Would you like a Screwdriver?
Me: No, some tea would be lovely.
Sister: What? Did you want a Screwdriver or hot tea?
Me: Just the tea please.
Sister: *blank stare* Wait, did you want the Screwdriver with that?

This went on for about five minutes before one of her servers came by and said to her, "I think your sister wanted hot tea." Sometimes I think I should just give up drinking altogether to stop confusing my poor sister, but then I see a good Guinness on tap, and I think, "Fuck that."