Corner Kick

SEMPER in print and free download

2012-01-28T15:16:00.000-08:00

The ebook has been well received so far. Thank you to all who have read it!

If you've read it already, please stop by the Amazon page for the book and write a short review. Just scroll about halfway down and look for the create your own review button on the right. One quick paragraph with your thoughts is enough.

Two items of news about the book.

First, I will be running a promotion offering the ebook for free download during the San Francisco Writers Conference, which runs February 17 through 19. You don't have to be at the conference to get the ebook for free. Since I will be volunteering at the conference for my fifth year in a row, I just thought that would be an appropriate time for a promotion. All I ask is that if you take advantage of the free download and like the book, you consider doing two things:

Actually buy the ebook (or the print version if you prefer), and/or
Write a short review at the book's page as described above.

Surveys show that the two biggest reasons people pick up a book are (a) personal recommendations and (b) familiarity with the author. With only short stories published, I hope everyone who likes SEMPER will help out with category (a).

Second, the print version of the book is now available at the createspace.com store and will be available on amazon.com in about a week.

I'm so incredibly excited about all this that it's hard for me not to talk about it all the time. I promise I will not become one of those tedious constant self-promoters. But it's hard, you know?

Rabbit Hole Day

2012-01-27T03:51:00.001-08:00

My book SEMPER now on Kindle

2012-01-22T07:40:00.000-08:00

I have independently published my novel, SEMPER. It is now available in the Kindle store and soon will be available in print (give it a couple weeks). The front cover is on the left--photo credit my dad, Fred Dudley, during our trip to Glacier National Park last summer. The back cover is below it, photo credit and photoshop wackiness to me. That's my older son in the picture, at Grinnell Lake in Glacier.

The book can be found at the Amazon Kindle store. When I looked for Beta readers, I asked for folks who had liked The Hunger Games. Everyone who liked that most awesome book really enjoyed SEMPER as well, even though the stories are really nothing similar at all. I hope you also enjoy it.

Here's the blurb from the back cover, which is the same as you'll read on the Amazon page:

Dane’s sixteenth birthday holds a choice he didn’t expect to face: Should he take his place as Semper, obeying his cruel uncle and twelve generations of Southshaw Truth, or should he follow his heart and risk exile and death to unearth the real truth? An exotic huntress, a mythical ghost-man, and a tailor’s daughter hold the keys to his answer. And to the survival of Southshaw itself.

The book's Amazon page also has an internal preview with almost three chapters, so you can check it out before buying. Also, over the next two months I'll be making it available a couple of times for free download; look for those announcements. The first will be during the annual San Francisco Writer's Conference, February 17 through 19, where I'll again be working as a volunteer.

I'll post again when the print version is available. Dear friends, I would love your support in letting other people know the book exists. I don't plan much promotion since I really need to get back to working on the sequel.

haiku wednesday - the what? what? washington! edition

2011-12-28T10:32:00.000-08:00

This week's words are demolish, resolution, transform

Was my last 3WW actually in August? And is this really the last 3WW of 2011? What a year. Resolutions still yet to be made, parties to be attended, and bowl games to be won (go BEARS). But at least I can bookend the year with two 3WW entries.

demolish dissent
transform mayor into king
resolution passed

new resolution:
demolish uncertainty
transform "try" to "do"

hope demolished when
a resolution broken
transforms gold to lead

turkeys in maui

2011-12-04T21:33:00.001-08:00

Photos! From Hawaii! Without you in them!

That's right, folks, dinner is over and a plate of cookies is on the coffee table, and... what's this? Father is setting up the movie screen and getting out the carousel slide projector... OH MY GOD it's vacation photos.

Settle down. I've hidden the ipecac, so just forget trying to pretend you're sick. There's no polite way out of this.

We flew early Saturday from San Francisco through Kona, with a layover long enough to share a half a serving of airport food for about $73, thus getting used to the price tags in Hawaii. I had not known they used the Bob & Doug metric system (double it an add thirty) for prices in Hawaii. But now I know. Here's a photo of the boys sitting in front of a statue at the Kona airport.

Then, on to Maui, only a 20 minute or so flight. We cruised over Molokini, which was cool since we planned on snorkeling there later in the week.

Getting the rental car was easy, but after driving a half mile Maria insisted we swap it because the air conditioner "wasn't cold." Seemed plenty cold to me, but we swapped anyway. Three hours later (after Costco, Sports Authority, and Safeway stops), we were on the road and arrived at our room at the resort, the Ka'anapali Beach Club, around 8 p.m. Pizza from the onsite take-out window was actually reasonably priced and tasty, so it was a good evening.

The view from our room, looking northwest from the 9th floor:

On Sunday we attended the resort's welcome presentation (90 minutes of sales pitch for different activity vendors), got shaved ice in Lahaina, and walked the Ka'napali beach walk. While the boys ate their shaved ice under this enormous Banyan tree, a bird pooped on my shoulder.

And here's a photo of one little bit of our resort, part of the lobby:

And overlooking the beach:

And the boys having dug some giant holes in the beach. Two little boys came and helped for a while.

Tuesday we drove the Road to Hana. A couple people told us not to waste our time, but most everyone else said it was a must-see. It's like six thousand miles of road without one single straight section more than fourteen inches long. And it's about as wide as a twin bed for most of the way. We made many stops and saw several gorgeous waterfalls. I won't try to tell you what to see. There are dozens of excellent guide books. Here are some photos from that day.

After a hike up an access road used by hunters. I don't think the "no trespassing" sign was for us.

Sam and me scampered up the muddy side trail to the head of this small but very pretty waterfall. This was at one of the state park rest areas.

And another waterfall. If you're staying in Ka'anapali, you really want to come over to the windward side where it's all lush and stuff.

And there's a place where you can pull off the side of the highway, and you don't even have to get out of your car to take a picture of "old Hawaii, life the way it used to be." Just like going to Jamestown or Colonial Williamsburg, only... different.

But then we got to the very coolest place. A small cove with not only a black-sand beach, but with its very own cave-tunnel.

That's the sand. Here's the cave.

The next day we went snorkeling at Molokini. We got a great discounted rate (for promising to sit through the timeshare presentation), and the boat ride was fun. The guys at Blue Water Rafting were awesome and made the excursion well worth the time and money, but the snorkeling was, quite frankly, far far far superior at Black Rock.

The day after, we hit the beach at Kihei with two families from back home that were also vacationing on Maui the same week. It was awesome to hang with them for the day (waves at Leo, Karen, Gloria, and Jeff). I'd put up a photo of us all, but I didn't get them to sign the release form. Plus, Maria would kill me. Instead, here's a very cool silhouette of Ethan:

We did the luau at the Ka'anapali Beach Club that night, and although it was much smaller than the two luaus we'd seen on Kauai back in the day, it was incredibly fun and entertaining. Intimate and casual, it was less about big production and more about storytelling and the dance. Really enjoyed the fun family that played the music. Plus, they had gorgeous harmonies. I doubt anyone who is looking for a "luau experience" would ever bother coming to this luau. But if you're staying at the resort already, and if you want a cheaper meal that is pretty good with fun entertainment and you're not looking for a big production, this is for you. I loved it. A bit campy, a bit self-effacing, and cute hula dancers with lots of ink. What's not to love?

The day after that--when are we now, Thursday? Thanksgiving!--we hung at the beach at Kapalua with Gloria and Jeff for a while, then drove down to see the fancy shmancy hotel in Waileia. We also walked along the beach walk for a bit, but we didn't make it all the way down the coast to the nude beach, which Maria particularly had her heart set on. So, sorry lads, no photos. Our Thanksgiving dinner was seafood at the Hula Grill in Lahaina. While the food was good (a bit overpriced for home but not for Maui), the view was awesome and the service friendly. Maryann finally got her Singapore Sling--she'd last had one 45 years ago when she met Gary in Oahu when he was on leave, and she was dying to have another one.

On Friday morning we had a professional photo shoot done--the fee was waived and a free 8x10, just for attending the orientation on Sunday--and the photographer, Steve, was cool. He spent an hour with us, taking all kinds of photos. Our Christmas cards are starting to look like those pretentious families that have photos of themselves from all over the world... two years ago it was London, last year it was Central Park, and this year it's Maui. Haven't thought about next year yet. Anyway, we did it up right.

Until next vacation, your intrepid correspondent signing off. Wait. Wake up. The show's over. How much did you miss? Maybe I should just start over from the beginning...

ymrotb

2011-11-27T09:58:00.001-08:00

Mostly when I'm traveling on vacation I don't have time for sightseeing or relaxing because I'm so worried that my blog does not have enough rules. I am happy to say that recent trips have yielded a few new ones for you all to follow. Please take note.

Personally, I can't imagine the kind of heathen that might throw laundry bags down the ladder. If you are that kind of heathen, I think I might want to get to know you better.

The above proved helpful advice from TSA at the Hilo airport in Hawaii. I had to point out the sign to a woman in front of us who was about to run her twin babies through the x-ray.

That one goes without saying. I think they need to post this one in the halls of Congress.

in memory

2011-11-07T11:01:00.000-08:00

Tony was my stepfather since before I could remember. My earliest memory is from 40 years ago, when I sometimes rode on the back of his motorcycle. One time, when climbing on, I touched my shin to the end of the exhaust pipe and had a severe burn for weeks, or months. I think I was three years old. I have other memories from that time, but I'm not sure how true they are. I remember Tony chasing one of our cats out the door with a BB gun after the Christmas tree crashed to the floor.

When I was seven years old, my mom and Tony moved away and settled in Las Vegas. He had thoughts of making his fortune gambling, but within a few years he switched to driving a cab. I think he was well suited to it--he knew the ins and outs of the city like no one else, understood people, and had the patience to sit in 115 degree heat waiting for an airport fare.

I visited from Connecticut sometimes, spending large chunks of my preteen and teenage summers in Vegas as the city grew up around them. Tony and my mom took me, my brother, and my stepbrother to Disneyland when I was maybe 11. They took us to Palm Springs, San Diego, the Grand Canyon. Tony took us into the desert--back then, the open desert started where Decatur Boulevard crossed Spring Mountain--and let us shoot his .22 rifle and his revolver at targets. He took us to the fights sometimes.

Over the past 15 years, he's been adored by my boys. He always had a new toy for them when we visited. Later, he had BB guns he taught them to shoot in the back yard. More recently, he was the dealer for many a poker tournament that ended in cheers and tears in the kitchen. All summer, my boys were planning for the next epic poker tournament we would have this Christmas when we went to visit.

Tony passed away this weekend and will be dearly missed.

writer friends, how do you self-motivate?

2011-11-03T08:07:00.000-07:00

People (yes, literary agents are people despite the rumors) keep telling me my novel is well written but not right for them at this time. I can understand their position even when the novel seems to fit exactly with what the agents say in their "what I'm looking for" paragraphs on their web sites.

But I'm not posting a rant about the query process. That's a post I've written in my head a hundred times and will keep caged there.

Rather, I'm looking for tips on getting remotivated. Specifically, I've got an idea for a fun and exciting sequel to the novel-on-submission, but I'm having a hard time committing myself to it when the original is getting that "let's just be friends" reaction from agents. Should I look for a new idea, or should I work on that sequel anyway?

My top five strengths: #3, Connectedness

2011-10-25T23:09:00.000-07:00

About two years ago, I did this thing called Strengths Finder 2.0 at Day Job. In 2011 I will blog about my top strengths and perhaps about my least strengthful parts of me.

Strength #3: Connectedness

People strong in Connectedness believe that all things are linked, that there are few true coincidences, and that all events have some sort of reason.

I'm not sure I totally buy into the "all events have a reason" thing. I don't believe there is a "reason" for things like this and this and this. But that's not really what Connectedness is about. It's not about rationalizing tragedy, whether for personal comfort or political or religious purposes.

Instead, it's more like the Tao or The Force. Or both, at the same time. That is, all things are connected in a way that we can not (yet) measure. Call it life force, collective consciousness, fate, dharma, or whatever. I'd prefer we not call it God, though, because this is not a Religious thing. Connectedness has nothing to worship, no rites or rituals, no borders or boundaries to be recognized and maintained and warred over.

Science identifies three fundamental natural forces: gravity, electromagnetism, and nuclear forces. We can calculate these physical forces, measure and predict them, use them to explain and describe the world around us. Physical properties such as mass and electrical charge, and conditions such as proximity, affect the strength of these forces. Might there not be another fundamental force that also governs attraction, repulsion, friction, and tension--among living things? We can't (yet) measure it, but I am certain of its existence.

For a long, long time I called myself an atheist. I detest organized Religion because it is a social structure that by its very nature draws a bright line between good people and everyone else. Its very purpose is to create a social discrimination. Although Religion is not the cause of every conflict through history, it has provided a very willing and capable channel through which the worst in people have be exploited. And that continues today.

Recently, however, I've come to understand that I do indeed have a faith. Some of my friends encourage me to call it God, or to recognize it as what they call God. But that's not right. Might as well substitute another name for God--Zeus, or Odin, or The Dude. They all make just as much sense, since they all rely on a manifestation that I simply don't agree with.

I am sure there is some Religion out there that has at its core the same belief that I'm failing to explain here. But I don't want to know it because then I'd have to consider myself to be of that faith, right? And that is counter to my beliefs. If everyone is connected, and if everyone is equally legitimate, then how could I possibly join a group that by its very existence implies that everyone outside the group is inferior?

I don't love everyone. I don't even like most people. There are some I can barely tolerate. But I accept everyone and try to treat them with respect, courtesy, kindness, and trust. We are all connected, and if I cause someone pain then that will come back to me at some point. Similarly, if I treat people right, that will come back to me also. I have seen this happen in all aspects of my life. And it's this belief, I think, that guides me in my interactions with others.

Although I'm far from perfect and can snap like any person does from time to time, I hope the people that really know me would say I'm even tempered, fair, generous, kind, and respectful. Because we're all made from the same stuff, and we're all relying on each other.

Glacier National Park

2011-08-28T22:28:00.000-07:00

Back in late July, six intrepid souls boarded airplanes in four different states, all bound for Kalispell, Montana and five nights of camping. We were prepared to face the worst of hardships: Grizzly bears, deep snow, lite beer, and no showers. The boys and I took off from Oakland at 6:30 a.m. We arrived in Kalispell around 1 p.m. Three hours later we would be joined by my father, my brother, and my nephew.

Packing for five nights of camping is not that tough. Packing in order to take all that gear on airplanes is tricky. We brought everything but food, fuel, a cooler, and bear spray. All those things were easily obtained before getting to the park.

In grand Dudley tradition, our plans were... somewhat fluid. As in, we were making some of it up as we went. We had car-camping reservations our first two nights at Fish Creek near the southwestern entrance to the park. We also had a backcountry reservation for one night. The rest? Trying to get to one of the many first-come, first-served campsites. I know, right? A bit of a risk.

The trip is labeled above, A to F, in chronological order.

A: Fish Creek car camping campground
Fish Creek is near Apgar Village, a touristy yet charming little town with a ranger station, a tiny general store that has (reasonably) freshly popped popcorn, and six souvenir stores. Also a motel or two, and a little dock. Plus stunning views.

We camped our first two nights at Fish Creek, attending the ranger presentation on wildlife the second night. The rangers we spoke to throughout our whole trip were helpful, kind, informative, and delightful. I'm hoping they found us to be the same.

Anyway, pretty standard car camping as a warm-up for what was to come. Here are some photos from our time in Fish Creek and Apgar Village:

At the boat dock looking eastish, at the peaks we'll soon be visiting.

Check out the tents below. The red one is Ethan's $39.95 special from Target, a two-man rig that he shared with my nephew, Max. Later it would be tested by gale winds and heavy rain. We ended up ditching it in the dumpster rather than flying it back to California because two of the poles were broken and tiny holes were being worn into the bottom. In heavy wind, it flattens out. Literally. The fabric was hitting their faces that night.

The rest of us had reasonable tents. The bright yellow one is Sam's one-man; the dun-colored one is my one-man Big Agnes (which I totally love), and the blue one was a two-man shared by my brother and my father.

Here we are fixing dinner the first night. Foil-wrapped dinners cooked on the open fire, the perfect way to start a camping trip.

Me and da boyz at the edge of Lake McDonald, reveling in the beauty.

B: Apgar Lookout Day Hike
A short drive from Apgar Village is a reasonably strenuous day hike, Apgar Lookout is 3.3 miles each way, with an elevation gain of 1,850 feet to the summit. It meanders around the side of the hill and back in a trio of long switchbacks. The views are spectacular, but the hike itself was a little disappointing in that a fire in 2003 has left the hillside littered with fallen and standing dead trees. Still, it was a fun hike and the views were worth every step. It's a reasonably crowded trail, being so close to Apgar Village, and in fact along the way up we encountered a coworker of mine coming down. Small world. If you hike this trail, bring lots of water. There is little or no shade.

Photos!

Represent!

This guy popped up about 10 feet from where we'd sat to eat our lunch. Then he bounded away, startled. We couldn't get our cameras out in time, but I saw him again on the hike down and nabbed this photo.

Train!

See what I mean about the views? We figured we could see one of the distant peaks in Canada from here. Which I figure qualifies me to be an expert on foreign policy.

C: Going To The Sun Road, and Many Glacier Campground
Originally we planed to backpack our third night and car-camp the remaining two nights, but the campground we'd reserved was still closed for unsafe snow bridges on the trails. But the ranger hooked us up with a night at Cracker Lake instead, upon high recommendation. So we booked it for our fourth night.

So we got up early on the third day, got our backcountry permit, and watched the introductory video required of all backcountry hikers in Glacier. This video covered two primary topics: (1) the principles of Leave No Trace, and (2) the many, many ways a grizzly bear can kill you. By the end of the video, I had been convinced that no hiker had ever returned alive from the back country of Glacier because they were all eaten by bears.

With our hiking expectations set properly, we set off on the long drive across the park, aiming for Many Glacier campground. It is one of those first-come, first-served sites, so we wanted to get there early. It turned out well, and we snagged two adjacent sites and had a good evening after a great day hike.

But first, the long and terrifying Going To The Sun Road. This is a "marvel of engineering," according to the brochure, though cynical Ethan was unimpressed. This road winds along the side of the mountains, with snow melt waterfalls cascading onto, across, and next to the road. Much of the road was under construction, and it's exciting to see a monstrous dump truck bearing down on your rental SUV, threatening to squeeze you off the narrow lane and send you tumbling back down to the valley floor, hundreds of miles below. But again, the views are spectacular. And there's a visitors center at the summit, which we did not get to go into.

Photos!

The visitors center at the summit.

In the parking lot of the visitors center.

D: Grinnell Lake Day Hike
Since we scored our campsite before noon, we had all afternoon for a day hike. We chose Grinnell Lake because it was near, and it didn't have quite the elevation gain of others, but it was also highly recommended. Fairly easy hike, about 8 miles including hoofing it from the campground to the trailhead, with some up and down but mostly flat.

If you like, you can catch a boat and ferry the majority of the distance across Lake Josephine, then have a pleasant walk of less than a mile each way to get to the lake. We preferred to hike around Josephine. Once at Grinnell Lake, we all waded in the glacier water, which was somewhat colder than ice. But intensely refreshing. Along the way, we detoured to "Hidden Falls" and navigated a puny but entertaining suspension bridge. We also rubbed elbows with two or three boatloads of people who had ferried in from the hotel.

Still, another gorgeous hike. (Are you sensing a pattern here?) But we were still one day away from the main event.

Photos!

The hotel. Our trailhead for Cracker Lake the next day is behind the hotel.

The lakes were really this color. Really. Stunning.

Part of the trail traversed a raised boardwalk. Yes, that's me in the SuperDad tee, with the bear spray on my belt.

There were so many views like this that eventually I got tired of photographing them and just enjoyed them instead.

The suspension bridge was great fun for Sam, who almost pitched himself right off into the icy, swift-moving stream below.

Doesn't look dangerous, does it? Drowning is the #1 cause of death in the park. A few people drown there each year.

Grinnell Lake, with some minor wave action from the breeze. This is where we waded.

Dunking in the glacier water. Only the oldest (my dad) and youngest (Sam) on our trip did this here. Nearly all of us dunked in a mini waterfall on the next day.

Happy hikers!

E: Cracker Lake backpacking overnighter
We woke early on our fourth day to drizzles and dire predictions of downpours and thunderstorms. We were divided. This was to be our backpacking overnighter, but half of us didn't want to be stuck up in the mountain in an exposed campsite in a downpour. The other half figured we'd get wet there or get wet here,

With 6.1 miles to the campsite and a gain of 1,400 feet, we could either day hike in and out and stay in Many Glacier another night, or we could strap on our big packs and commit to camping. We got to the trailhead in overcast but dry weather, so we decided to spend the night on the mountain.

The first 1.5 miles of this trail is a muddy, slippery track covered in horse poop. It's a tourist horseriding trail along there, and it was a muddy slog. The rest of the 6.1 miles, though, was spectacular. It wound through jungle undergrowth, along lakesides, along a riverbed, and across low ridges. No matter which way you looked, the view was gorgeous.

Fresh bear scat on the trail and recent reports of a grizzly sighting (the previous day) had us on our toes. We followed the rules, made lots of noise, and kept close together. One ranger had said, "Six seems to be the magic number. We've never had a mauling of a party of six or more." My father cheerily noted we could set the record. Anyway, we never saw a bear, but I'm pretty sure he was around.

We lunched on squished PB&J again, about 2/3 of the way up.

As we neared the campsite, some hikers coming down warned us of a mountain sheep ahead, and a pair of badgers on the trail. Badgers! So we proceeded with caution. We saw the "badgers," which I thought looked more like woodchucks.

But still, badgers freak me out 6 miles from the nearest first aid, so we kept our distance. The next day we found a volunteer who told us they were actually yellow-bellied marmots. And yeah, as soon as I picked up a rock, they showed their yellow bellies and ran away.

The hike was tough. I'd never hiked quite that far with a full pack, and the boys hadn't either. But we all did just fine, and when we reached the campsite it was... spectacular. We set up tents, hung our food, pumped water, and then enjoyed an amazing dinner of top ramen and hot dogs. The campsite has only three tent sites, so the six of us shared the wilderness with another man and his son. We were essentially alone on the mountain. Except for the mountain sheep.

This site also has an old, abandoned copper mine a hundred yards up the hillside, which we explored briefly (photos below). So, all through the day the forecast had been for biblical thunderstorms, the kind that would make Noah think twice about setting up a tent in, yet the weather actually was 70 degrees and sunny. But as the sun set, we could feel the weather changing. It held up until we all went to bed (early), but overnight the winds were righteous and the lighting not so far off. Rain fell, but not terrible. It was mostly the wind. I had to restake my tent twice, and poor Ethan and Max kept having their tent flattened by epic gusts.

We survived, and the rain stopped in the morning. We broke camp and headed back down. This time we were drizzled on most of the way, which actually was pleasant in its way. But the horse track at the bottom was a mess and not that fun a way to finish our wonderful two days.

Photos!

Getting geared up for our hike in.

This is why I bought them both new backpacks last weekend. The ones they had for this trip sucked. Bu they wore them well, didn't they?

Sam is about 75 pound soaking wet. I think he carried 28 pounds in his pack.

This is the mini waterfall near Cracker Lake where most of us dunked our heads. A welcome, icy refresher after 5.5 miles of hiking with full packs!

One more of Sam. Yes, he carried his share.

And when we took a rest, he rested like a champion.

Resting just a half mile to our tent sites. But the view and the meadow were too good to pass up.

From one of our tent sites, overlooking Cracker Lake. The blue was stunning. Just fabulous colors.

One of the sheep wanted to know who was setting up tents in his front yard.

And then he posed for us. He held that pose for at least five minutes, until all available cameras had snapped several photos.

Inside the abandoned copper mine. Ethan wanted to head deeper in (it goes back a mile, one ranger said), but I would not let him. I am a scaredy-cat that way.

Photo from the mouth of the copper mine overlooking the tent sites. Ours are the two with the colorful tents. The other gent and his son had the third site.

Cooking ramen and hot dogs! A well deserved rest in a gorgeous place.

The hike down was wetter, with lots of drizzling rain the first hour. Ethan had his pack in a garbage bag, but eventually we just took it off since it kept falling off anyway.

Water break. Rain gear deployed.

F: Rising Sun campground and hot showers!
We got back to the parking lot at the trailhead almost exactly at noon, bought some coffee and cocoa at the hotel, then drove back around to the Rising Sun campground. Another first-come, first-served campground, we weren't sure we'd find any place to stay. And, with our flights early the next afternoon, we thought maybe we should go over the pass and find something in Fish Creek again.

But we stopped in just to see if anything was available. Again, we snagged two of the last four sites, and they were adjacent. Our luck was unfathomable. Even better, the ranger told us that the visitor center/gift shop just up the road featured hot showers. $2.50 for an 8 minute token. SCORE. This was the best news all trip for me, amid a storm of good news. So we supped and repacked everything for air travel, then showered and bedded down.

Our final day we drove back to Apgar Village and dropped some of our gear off with the rangers. Our donation included two canisters of bear spray, three bottles of beer, an unopened block of jack cheese, and an ice chest. Some other stuff, too, that we couldn't bring home or didn't want to carry.

All in all, it was a trip I will remember the rest of my life. And it was just terrific to get to spend that time with my dad, my brother, my boys, and my nephew. Could not have designed a better summer vacation.

celebrating on I-95 in New Jersey

2011-08-23T21:15:00.000-07:00

I only just realized that last Friday was the 7th anniversary of my first blog post. That means I've been blogging two years longer than Twitter has been alive. So I can forever say that for a two year period, my blog had more readers than Twitter.

How did I celebrate? Well, I didn't remember to celebrate. So I drove from Philly to Princeton for some presentations, then back to Philly, where I had a scrumptious dinner at the Wendy's that caters primarily to the homeless, drug addicts, and aspiring thugs. I finished by wasting the night catching up on work and getting ready for my 7 a.m. flight home.

This boy knows how to treat himself right.

I knew you were all dying to know this.

Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?

Haiku Wednesday - 99 cent edition

2011-08-03T09:39:00.000-07:00

This week's words are appear, dose, pierce

Can't believe it's August already. My news is that, thanks to the illustrious badass writer/publisher Phoenix Sullivan, I have a story for sale on Smashwords (and Amazon and other places.) If you want it for free, email me and I'll send you the coupon code. I only ask that you write a review and/or purchase the full anthology with stories from 18 other authors.

appear, unwanted
a dose of truth sometimes hurts
cold eyes pierce your soul

crave your morning dose
cell phone shrieks pierce train's rumble
dreams appear distant

thin shadows appear
sun's rays pierce the foul twilight
small dose of spring's hope

raising the rules ceiling

2011-08-01T18:53:00.000-07:00

Thank you for your consideration. We are working on a plan to pave the entire planet; until that time, we apologize for the inconvenience.

Clarity of Night contest entry

2011-07-16T00:12:00.000-07:00

Jason Evans at Clarity of Night has dipped into the crazy brew again and is running another contest. I just sent in the entry below and hope it makes the cut. (Only the first 100 entries get posted and considered.)

The task: Use this photo (titled "Elemental") by Jason as inspiration for a fictional piece of 250 words or less in any genre. That's about it.

Although I will adore you forever if you comment here, please visit Jason's contest page and see all the entries. There are some really terrific writers there that make this a high quality contest.

UPDATE: My entry made it in exactly halfway, at number 50.

Shadows on Concrete
by Peter Dudley

All that remained were shadows on concrete. An atomic flashbulb caught a mother kissing her infant. It burned a snapshot onto the concrete wall behind them even as their bodies vaporized.

A thousand miles away, a “lucky bullet” from an M1 Garand found its way through a hundred leaves and into the breast pocket of a soldier squatting for a piss behind a bush. It pierced a letter lovingly scripted in blue ink, a crisp snapshot of a pregnant woman, and the soldier’s heart.

Half a century later, a man stands on a ledge overlooking a pit as wide as a city block and as deep as the sorrow lodged inside him. Concrete, asbestos, steel, and glass. Twisted, melted, crumbled to dust. Somewhere under the grinding treads of the backhoes lie the pulverized bones of his granddaughter and her unborn son.

Ten thousand times he has asked forgiveness. His only reply is hollow silence. He turns to the board labeled “Missing” and again gently touches the snapshot of a young, pregnant woman. Her golden hair is eternally swirled by a gentle breeze.

He has kept the M1 rifle all these years, in a locked trunk in his attic. A single bullet clatters against his old dog tags in his breast pocket.

He turns to shuffle off to the bus stop, the crisp January chill churning aches in his old knees. The cold sun spreads his shadow across the concrete, even as he fades away into the winter afternoon.

the devil made us do it

2011-07-05T08:33:00.000-07:00

The Tasmanian Devil, that is. An endangered critter that could fade into history embodied only by the whirling dervish of Bugs Bunny cartoons.

The authors of the stories in the anthology "Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever" are donating all profits from the sale of the ebook until July 15th, 2011 to help save the devils.

If you've not bought it, please do before the 15th. I don't need the profits, but these little critters do.

For more information:

To skip the information and just buy the book:

... but if you can visit those blogs, if only to thank them for helping promote this donation, that would be nice. Thank you.

Independence Day

2011-07-04T09:43:00.000-07:00

Today in the United States we celebrate not only these words but the spirit behind them.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,

And that's about all that most Americans have ever heard (if that much) of the Declaration. But the men that rose up against the English king in the 1770s weren't simple rabble rousers out to take power for themselves. Some no doubt met that description, but most did not. Many turned to Independence reluctantly, and they were careful to outline their grievances. But even in the Declaration they hinted at the thinking that led to the form of government we have now.

Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.

Today we change our government every few years, or at least the people who are governing. While this has solved many of the problems of a monarchy, it has not been flawless.

Today we do not celebrate our government, our elected officials, our troops, the Revolution, or the fact that we won it. Today we celebrate the courage and wisdom of the people (men and women) who stood up for their liberty against tyranny. They risked their lives and livelihoods for their ideals.

Sometimes it's very difficult to tell the difference between insurgents and freedom fighters. On July 4th every year, and indeed on every day of the year, Americans should seek the wisdom to be able to tell the difference, and to take the side of liberty rather than the side of tyranny in the world's conflicts.

Read the Declaration recently? If not, find it here.

the difference between the lightning and the lightning bug

2011-06-23T23:25:00.000-07:00

I attended a portion of the Black Economic Council's conference in Oakland today. Specifically, the keynote luncheon and awards presentation. My boss won the "mensch" award (because he's a really great guy), and a coworker was given the "transformation" award (because he's a cousin of Optimus Prime). Anyway, one of the other award winners gave an awesome acceptance speech that, in the great tradition of awesome acceptance speeches, went on WAY too long.

But something he said hit home with me as a writer, especially given the recent flap over the idiot who's releasing a version of Huck Finn with a certain word changed.

The background: this award winner met a man whose mother was the granddaughter of a slave. It's striking to think how little removed we are from that culture, though it seems like ancient history. This man held the hand of a woman who held the hand of a slave. That's how he put it. Just one touch away. Not so distant after all.

As part of this story, the man was corrected by a wiser man nearby. "Don't say she was a slave," this wise man said. "Say instead that she was enslaved."

The difference between the right word and the wrong word is the difference between the lighting and the lightning bug.

To say someone "is a slave" is to blame them for their condition. It's what they are, that phrase says. No big deal. She's a slave. She's five feet tall. She's brown-eyed. That's who she is. That's who she'll always be. You can't change her eye color. You can't change her being a slave.

To say someone "is enslaved" is to illuminate that they are a victim of someone else's inhumanity. This is a big deal. She's enslaved (by someone else). She's repressed (by someone else). She's beaten (by someone else). Being enslaved is a condition that can be changed... by changing that someone else.

Think on that a while. And pay attention to the way simple phrases and images appear in the media, and in casual conversation. Notice those places where a bias has crept in without looking like any bias at all. Understand how words affect us on deeper levels. I'm no fan of political correctness--that overt, childish mockery of language that creates whole new doublespeak and which inhibits the free exchange of ideas. But we all need to be aware of how the words we use affect others. And ourselves.

I'm sorry for ruining the economy

2011-06-21T22:04:00.000-07:00

No, this has nothing to do with Day Job. I appear to be ruining the economy all on my own.

Here's how: A beta reader of my YA WIP (with a working title of "The Thirteenth Semper," currently being queried to agents) wrote this to me today:

My 14 year old daughter passed up a trip to the mall to stay home and read your book.

So, my apologies to all you merchants at our local mall. God forbid my book ever gets published. Can you imagine the impact to retail sales figures?

The Voice Thingy... IT'S ON! BRING IT!

2011-06-18T10:06:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Robin many ages ago, the blog readaloud was born. Then, Paca kept the tradition alive with the Voice Thingy. And Voice Thingy happens once more this weekend. I'll post the players below; if you join in, comment here and I'll update the posting. There are many free services for posting, from youtube to podbean. Join in. Don't be afraid!

Here are the current players:

Hear the Author - WRITING MONSTER!

2011-06-16T22:11:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday night I posted my story called "The Wind Cries Mary" for B. Nagel's writing prompt, Wake Up, Writing Monster. Here, I read it aloud. Even better, I fired up GarageBand and played around, so you get cheesy sound effects to go with the melodramatic reading!

Podcast Powered By Podbean

Enjoy.

Reposted below is the text of the story, in case you'd like to read along.

The Wind Cries Mary

I never imagined the thwump of a desk clerk’s dispassionate stamp could be so electric.

Six years. Six years I’ve wormed my way through courtrooms, slimed through the seedy lives of distant relatives, and sifted through the midnight dirt of forgotten, overgrown plots. All to win the legal right to force my distant relations to give me the finger.

The middle finger. Of my third cousin, six times removed: Mary Shelley.

The parts are assembled. The solar panels are on line and capacitors at full charge; I can tell because my iPod fills the lab with the raw guitar riffs of Hendrix. I wonder what my Artist will think of Purple Haze when I drop the switch.

The bones are true, but I’ve taken creative license with the flesh. I had planned to use whatever fresh meat came my way, but advances in cloning not yet legal back in the States are proving ... fruitful. It was a simple matter once I thought it through--wait tables at a few writers’ conferences, swab the used cutlery. Voila! Instant Genius! Just add agar.

Such excursions have brought me the biceps of Stephen King, the hair of Dave Barry, the heart of Garrison Keillor, and the jowls of Evil Editor. Or, more accurately, have given my Artist those physical attributes.

The rest, stuffed between the bones and leathery skin of the legends, is flesh taken from med school cadavers at ten dollars a body. I don’t know who the poor souls were, but they all died in delightfully violent ways after desperately hard lives. Thus the restraints you see on the body.

I hobble on my crutch across the room, humming with silent electricity. The acute bite of my missing toe, attached to the Artist only minutes ago, gives me sweet elation. My creation, the greatest author ever, soon will rise from my operating table.

The cameras roll, and my sweaty hand grips the switch. Tight chest, quivering breath, weak knees. I pull with the weight of my entire life, yanking the handle from its cradle and smashing it to the circuit. Lights flicker, sparks fly from the transformers, and electricity arcs across terminals for effect only. It’s all very dramatic, to be sold for a lot of money to The History Channel. I’ve already sent in my proposal for the screenplay. I will insist that I be played by Matt Damon. Or Colin Firth. Either is fine.

I relinquish the switch, drop my crutch, and thump-drag myself to the side of the table. I fight the urge to touch his skin and feel the warmth and life filling him. There are also three million volts filling him. Soon--ten point six seconds exactly--the buzzing and lightning subside, and the lights warm to a smooth fluorescence.

I pant in the way I probably would if I had just made love to a beautiful woman. My forehead is slick with sweat, and my jaw trembles. I’ve never been so nervous.

There!

A flutter of Chaucer’s eyelid! And a tremor in the left forefinger of Cervantes! I run my fingers along the rugged thigh of Melville, Hawthorne’s knee, Beatrix Potter’s shapely shinbone. All the way to my toe. I imagine wiggling it on the end of my own foot, and it quivers where it now lives, then curls along with the toes that walked that road less traveled through that yellow wood.

O! My heart thumps, my blood boils within me.

It’s alive!

I revel only a moment and shake myself back to my duties. I loose the restraints and shuffle to the desk. Quill, pen, paper, typewriter all sit ready to receive the combined genius of my Artist.

It convulses. The blood has begun pumping, oxygen is flowing. Oh, it’s glorious! His head lolls left, right. His mouth opens. A groan rises into the lab, harmonizing with psychedelic guitar riffs.

It sits up.

It swings its legs around, off the table, thumps to the floor. Wobbly, it swoons around until its blank gaze lands on me with lightless eyes. It considers me for a full minute. Can it see me? Does it recognize its creator?

I put my hands out, then sweep them to the desk with its beckoning tools. “For you,” I declare. “All for you!”

The creature surveys the implements. A perplexed frown darkens its brow. “Aaarrrghah,” it growls, and stumbles to the desk. With one deafening swipe, it crashes the assembly to the floor.

In despair, I cry, “But you must write! Do you not want to write?” Assembled before me are the greatest writers that ever graced the planet. I do not understand.

“ARREEGHH,” it spits at me. “Asshole.” The creature looks clumsily for an exit, then pushes past me to stumble to the door. “I need a drink.”

Barging through the door, it pauses long enough to glare at me one final time. The finger of my third cousin six times removed, rises slowly, backed by Hemingway’s toothy grin.

The Writing Monster, now awoken, shuffles away to Cap’n Salty’s corner bar.

Stunned, all I can do is retrieve the fallen implements and set them back on the desk. My missing toe throbs in agony as I stare at the blank page, mocking me from the platen of the ancient manual typewriter.

Almost against my will, I right the fallen chair and sit. My fingers hover over the keys. One click, then another. Soon my fingers fly as fast as the machine can handle.

I have swept up the broken pieces of yesterday’s life, but those lives that lived are dead.

The wind gusts through my open window, billows the curtains, and whispers all their names in my ear. As the breeze passes on into the night, it whispers one final name.

Mine.

haiku wednesday - the writing monster edition

2011-06-15T17:54:00.000-07:00

This week's words are grip, prefer, thread

Ooh, so much potential in these three words. But what, you ask, is the deal with that Writing Monster thing? Another writing prompt, which I encourage all of you to do. Click through that link after you breeze through the haiku today, please! B-Dot and I thank you!

tight grip on loose thread
they prefer control to peace
arms talks unravel

those who prefer love
reach out with hope in darkness
grip the unseen thread

lose your grip, cowboy
taunt life's wild rodeo bull
clowns prefer red thread

Waking the Writing Monster

2011-06-14T22:47:00.000-07:00

A thousand words on the theme Waking the Writing Monster. That's all B. Nagel asked for. Surely, if I can do it (and I did, below), you can, too. Post yours to your blog (or in my comments if you don't have a blog, but seriously, why don't you have a blog if you're going to be writing a thousand words in response to a blog-based writing prompt), then comment here and on B. Nagel's site with the link. I can't wait to read yours.

If you read this story, leave a comment. Even if it's just to say, "I read it." You don't have to be witty or pithy or sublimely erudite or whatever. Just let me know you came.

Then come back this weekend, when you'll get to listen to me do a truly over-the-top melodramatic reading of this story. It's gonna be fun.

UPDATE: B. Nagel has the roster of those who played. Play along! Even though the deadline has passed, let us know if you write & post something.

The Wind Cries Mary

I never imagined the thwump of a desk clerk’s dispassionate stamp could be so electric.

Six years. Six years I’ve wormed my way through courtrooms, slimed through the seedy lives of distant relatives, and sifted through the midnight dirt of forgotten, overgrown plots. All to win the legal right to force my distant relations to give me the finger.

The middle finger. Of my third cousin, six times removed: Mary Shelley.

The parts are assembled. The solar panels are on line and capacitors at full charge; I can tell because my iPod fills the lab with the raw guitar riffs of Hendrix. I wonder what my Artist will think of Purple Haze when I drop the switch.

The bones are true, but I’ve taken creative license with the flesh. I had planned to use whatever fresh meat came my way, but advances in cloning not yet legal back in the States are proving ... fruitful. It was a simple matter once I thought it through--wait tables at a few writers’ conferences, swab the used cutlery. Voila! Instant Genius! Just add agar.

Such excursions have brought me the biceps of Stephen King, the hair of Dave Barry, the heart of Garrison Keillor, and the jowls of Evil Editor. Or, more accurately, have given my Artist those physical attributes.

The rest, stuffed between the bones and leathery skin of the legends, is flesh taken from med school cadavers at ten dollars a body. I don’t know who the poor souls were, but they all died in delightfully violent ways after desperately hard lives. Thus the restraints you see on the body.

I hobble on my crutch across the room, humming with silent electricity. The acute bite of my missing toe, attached to the Artist only minutes ago, gives me sweet elation. My creation, the greatest author ever, soon will rise from my operating table.

The cameras roll, and my sweaty hand grips the switch. Tight chest, quivering breath, weak knees. I pull with the weight of my entire life, yanking the handle from its cradle and smashing it to the circuit. Lights flicker, sparks fly from the transformers, and electricity arcs across terminals for effect only. It’s all very dramatic, to be sold for a lot of money to The History Channel. I’ve already sent in my proposal for the screenplay. I will insist that I be played by Matt Damon. Or Colin Firth. Either is fine.

I relinquish the switch, drop my crutch, and thump-drag myself to the side of the table. I fight the urge to touch his skin and feel the warmth and life filling him. There are also three million volts filling him. Soon--ten point six seconds exactly--the buzzing and lightning subside, and the lights warm to a smooth fluorescence.

I pant in the way I probably would if I had just made love to a beautiful woman. My forehead is slick with sweat, and my jaw trembles. I’ve never been so nervous.

There!

A flutter of Chaucer’s eyelid! And a tremor in the left forefinger of Cervantes! I run my fingers along the rugged thigh of Melville, Hawthorne’s knee, Beatrix Potter’s shapely shinbone. All the way to my toe. I imagine wiggling it on the end of my own foot, and it quivers where it now lives, then curls along with the toes that walked that road less traveled through that yellow wood.

O! My heart thumps, my blood boils within me.

It’s alive!

I revel only a moment and shake myself back to my duties. I loose the restraints and shuffle to the desk. Quill, pen, paper, typewriter all sit ready to receive the combined genius of my Artist.

It convulses. The blood has begun pumping, oxygen is flowing. Oh, it’s glorious! His head lolls left, right. His mouth opens. A groan rises into the lab, harmonizing with psychedelic guitar riffs.

It sits up.

It swings its legs around, off the table, thumps to the floor. Wobbly, it swoons around until its blank gaze lands on me with lightless eyes. It considers me for a full minute. Can it see me? Does it recognize its creator?

I put my hands out, then sweep them to the desk with its beckoning tools. “For you,” I declare. “All for you!”

The creature surveys the implements. A perplexed frown darkens its brow. “Aaarrrghah,” it growls, and stumbles to the desk. With one deafening swipe, it crashes the assembly to the floor.

In despair, I cry, “But you must write! Do you not want to write?” Assembled before me are the greatest writers that ever graced the planet. I do not understand.

“ARREEGHH,” it spits at me. “Asshole.” The creature looks clumsily for an exit, then pushes past me to stumble to the door. “I need a drink.”

Barging through the door, it pauses long enough to glare at me one final time. The finger of my third cousin six times removed, rises slowly, backed by Hemingway’s toothy grin.

The Writing Monster, now awoken, shuffles away to Cap’n Salty’s corner bar.

Stunned, all I can do is retrieve the fallen implements and set them back on the desk. My missing toe throbs in agony as I stare at the blank page, mocking me from the platen of the ancient manual typewriter.

Almost against my will, I right the fallen chair and sit. My fingers hover over the keys. One click, then another. Soon my fingers fly as fast as the machine can handle.

I have swept up the broken pieces of yesterday’s life, but those lives that lived are dead.

The wind gusts through my open window, billows the curtains, and whispers all their names in my ear. As the breeze passes on into the night, it whispers one final name.

Mine.

#1 again at $55 million!

2011-06-09T09:01:00.000-07:00

Many of you know that my Day Job is managing a workplace charitable giving campaign at one of the world's biggest companies. I'm happy to say that yesterday the news became official with this United Way press release: for the second year in a row, Wells Fargo ranked as the top employee giving/United Way campaign in the country. It's good to be #1. And even better to repeat.

Good timing on the announcement because in two hours I'm speaking on a panel about workplace giving campaigns.

haiku wednesday - the hotel room edition

2011-06-08T13:11:00.000-07:00

This week's words are alter, fond, tranquil

I love these words. Though I'd love altar, fondle, and trank more. As in, "Trank out, Bishop, there's one behind the altar you can fondle." OK, yeah, I need to switch to decaf. I get it.

tranquil full-moon's light
can deeply alter one's mood
you're fond of werewolves?

fond of scented soaps
she longs for tranquil moments
to alter time's rush

fond of foolishness
alter your attitude, child
be tranquil, wild wind

Ringing praise for Jacob Wonderbar

2011-06-01T22:25:00.000-07:00

Like many of my friends, I've been lurking around Nathan Bransford's blog since he started it, way back when tweeting was something only birds did. A couple of weeks ago, he launched his novel, Jacob Wonderbar and the Cosmic Space Kapow, and I was fortunate enough to attend the launch party and get a signed copy of the book.

(For the record, Nathan, those stickers I won for getting the closest wrong answer on that space question? I gave them to the little kid that was hanging around the children's reading area.)

I asked Nathan to inscribe it to my son, Sam, whose 12th birthday was only two days later. Sam seemed to think it kinda cool to get a book signed by the author (had he not gotten a pile of cash from grandmas, too, he might not have thought it such a hot birthday present). Anyway, yesterday he started reading the book.

Today he finished it.

I asked him what he thought, and he said he liked it. A lot. Sam just turned 12 and is very, very well read for a 5th grader. He "reads up" frequently but also loves the typical 5th grade stuff like Wimpy Kid. So a quirky middle grade space adventure was right up his alley.

I asked if he'd write a short note to Nathan sharing his thoughts. You know, a sentence or two. This is what he came up with:

If you can't read his handwriting (I told him I'd type it up, so he never expected anyone to see the scrawl), here's what it says:

Dear Nathan,

I loved your book Jacob Wonderbar and the Cosmic Space Kapow. I like the goofy planets and the silly people on them. I especially liked the Numonia planet. If the people knew about Earth, why would they be so impressed by a dwarf tree with 2 yellowing leaves on it? Anyway, I loved your book and can't wait for your next book to come out. Thank you.

From, Sam

Now, stop bothering me so I can go read this book. I only got to chapter 2 before Sam snagged it.

haiku wednesday - the it's june? wtf? edition

2011-06-01T15:47:00.000-07:00

This week's words are erratic, luminous, omen

It's June. WTF? It's June? Already? But it rained today. By now our hills are supposed to be brown and dry as shredded wheat. The big ones your grandfather ate, without any frosting. Anyway. How am I supposed to do three haiku when eight of my 17 syllables are already used up?

erratic flight paths
luminous buzzing, loud zaps
bad omen for bugs

the luminous minds
ponder erratic omens
see different futures

we ignored omens
erratic economies
our luminous dreams

write! read! post!

2011-05-17T11:46:00.000-07:00

We're long overdue for another Robin's Voice Thingy. The theme: Read what you create for the writing challenge that friend B. Nagel will post to his blog on May 12. If you can't do that, then read whatever you want.

Post date: Saturday, June 18.
UPDATE: B Dot's invitation is now real.

Don't know what a voice thingy is? Simple: Record your voice reading your work and post it to your blog on the given date. Then, visit the other participants, bask in their wonderfulness, and garnish generously with comments. I will keep a list of all the participants and post links to their entries.

Are you in? The date for posting your own thingy will be somewhere in mid June, so you've got TONS of time. The seven other times we've done this, it's been a hoot.

Please invite others! All are welcome, especially if they bring zombie cows. Ask questions in the comments.

Oh, one last thing, for haiku wednesday, where the words are brandish, forbid, manage:

forbid fear's cold clutch

don't let doubt manage your life

brandish your sharp tongue

blog announcements

2011-05-09T22:27:00.000-07:00

Gather round and pay attention. I'll only post this once. I have several important announcements.

First, be careful...

You haz ben warned. Ceiling Cat is waching you.

This site also meets all accessibility guidelines of the ADA. Or the ASPCA. Or the ABBA. I can never remember which.

To contact Security, just go up the stairs to your left, through the double doors, then down the ladder to your right into the shark tank and swim across to the nuclear waste disposal area, where you'll see this helpful sign:

Have a nice day.

Easter poem

2011-05-09T12:50:00.000-07:00

The challenge at this contest was to write something about Easter. I came up with the following. OK, it's more about parenthood than Easter, but it at least has Easter as a backdrop.

The... um... Resurrection?

The rev'rend thought it might be fun
To have an Easter play
And give it to the kids to run
Cuz we were in his way.
On Easter when the curtain rose
The Rev let out a roar,
"That isn't how the story goes!"
And up when gasps galore.
Samantha, dressed up as a nun
Went into Jesus' tomb.
Tom said, "Hey, sister, take this gun.
There’s zombies in that room!"
But then Darth Vader blasted her
and Tommy shot him dead,
and Princess Jasmine (Jennifer)
cut off poor Tommy's head.
"A cowboy? No!" the Rev'rend cried
As Billy galloped in
With Snow White standing by his side
(but it was just Corinne).
A werewolf howled at the door
Before the curtain dropped.
We all yelled "Wait, we got tons more!"
As in the Bunny hopped.
The Rev looked like about to burst
And growled through his tears,
"This Easter, it’s the very worst
I’ve had in sixty years."
But someone started clapping then
And everyone joined in,
And then my dad screamed out "Amen!"
above the glorious din.

haiku wednesday - return from the wild edition

2011-05-04T12:38:00.000-07:00

This week's words are grace, jitter, thin

Last week I was in the mountains of Yosemite, reveling in the beautiful, granite peaks and persistent, dramatic waterfalls. So I missed 3WW. But it was so totally worth it.

grace and hair get thin
the jitter has left her bug
but still she dances

children's feet jitter
thin and gaunt, they eye the feast
forget grace, let's eat!

broken faith, lost grace
thin alibis hide nothing
jitter in your voice

Yosemite! Hikes! Photos!

2011-05-01T22:55:00.000-07:00

For the past four days, I went with our Boy Scouts troop to Yosemite Valley. It's hard to believe that this was only my second time here; I have lived less than four hours away for 25 years. Not only is it spectacular, but compared to most campgrounds, the facilities are worth ten times the price.

The drive to the park, once you get past Merced, is beautiful in the spring. Much of it is along the river, with lush glades and meadows and dramatic rapids. When you finally get to the park, you're treated to a deep green and granite wonderland. We lucked out with the weather--although it was hard to get out of a cozy sleeping bag into a chilly 25 degree (Fahrenheit) morning, by 10 a.m. it was in the 50s and hovered around 60 most of each day, with only a few wisps of cloud above.

Maria stayed only the first night, but the rest of us were there three nights. The campsite was pleasant--open and spacious, with a stream gurgling directly behind.

The campsite also had spectacular views of Half Dome and other peaks, if you found the right spots to look up between the trees.

Three nights camping in Bear Country taught us a lot about bear safety. In fact, we got an extensive lecture and Q&A from a pleasant but stern ranger who gave us the ins & outs of bear safety. "A fed bear is a dead bear," they say. That is because if a bear gets any human food, over time they lose their natural inhibitions and invade campsites more frequently, eventually moving on to aggressive actions that are dangerous to people. At that point, the bears get put down. We learned the lessons well, but still we had one bear encounter and two raccoon ("little bear") encounters in the night.

I went on three separate hikes. The first was a pleasant walk along the Merced River past Yosemite Village (wonderful mini downtown of Yosemite), up to the Lower Yosemite Falls. We walked 2 or 3 miles and took the shuttle bus back to camp (the buses are quite nice and convenient), and it was a good introduction to the valley at 4,000 feet elevation.

We saw a few deer in Yosemite Village, right there in the middle of the parking lot.

The second day we went on a hike to Vernal Falls, up the Mist Trail. It was recently opened for the season. The first mile or so is a good effort up a paved path to a wooden footbridge. Leaves you a little breathless at this altitude, but not terribly challenging. At the footbridge, most of our contingent turned back because they weren't sure they could make it to the falls and back in time to cook dinner. Eight of us, however, pushed on with the intention of going that last 0.3 miles and double-timing it back to camp.

So we started up. And up. And up. This was like climbing the back steps into Mordor, only without the orcs and Sauron and Gollum, and the scenery was stunning.

And it was misty.

Mostly the trek was like this, so that third of a mile took a bit longer than we expected. But we powered through and made it pretty quickly, up to the final section, then took five minutes to enjoy the view.

On the way down, we caught a few rainbows.

We made it back to camp about 20 minutes later than we'd hoped, but it was well worth the extra effort.

On Friday we made an assault on the trail to the top of Yosemite Falls. About 3.5 miles each way, with a 2,500 foot vertical ascent (roughly). It's a trail with so many switchbacks that it looks like the cartographers used a seismograph to draw the map. We first took the shuttle bus to the trailhead, where we had a good view of our destination:

Oh, sorry. Some clarification:

Halfway up we stopped for lunch, in a shady place with a slight descent. A good resting point before the second set of switchbacks. And pretty much the last good look at the falls along the trail; the trail curves up and to the left, so you lose sight of (but not sound of) the falls the rest of the way.

... and more rainbows! Unfortunately, my photography skills can't possibly show how glorious these rainbows were. They are huge, and so close you feel you can touch them, and brilliant and unwavering.

At the top, there is an overlook that is essentially insane. To reach it, you inch down a sand-covered, treacherous, 24-inch-wide Ledge o' Death. Two of the scouts ran down there before I could stop them. Here's the view from the last part of the Ledge o' Death. Doesn't look too bad from here, but Mr. Scaredy-cat Adult-In-Charge (me) made those two leave and did not let any of the other scouts go down to the overlook. I feel bad about not letting them go there, but to be honest I found it terrifying. Not "thrilling and terrifying." Just terrifying. It is really quite dangerous, and you essentially have to be out of your mind to go there. Or a kid because kids have no sense of their own mortality.

The climb was still quite an accomplishment. The view from the platform is not as spectacular as you might imagine, and looking down on the water as it curves over the lip of the granite is not as dramatic as you might think. But making it to the top and reaching that physical goal... that was cool. Plus, at the top there was quite a bit of snow, and the boys had a great time with an epic snowball fight.

We double-timed it back to the bottom. The climb took nearly 3 and a half hours, but the descent took a little less than two hours. As we reached the bottom of the trail, I noticed a sign I failed to see on our ascent.

All in all, it was a phenomenal three days in one of the most gorgeous places on Earth. The visitors center museum is engaging and simple, with history and nature laid out clearly and colorfully. The ranger programs were interesting each night. The campsites were in great condition, the bathrooms were heated and clean, and the free, hot showers at the Curry Village camp were a welcome relief at the day's end. I can't wait until we go back. Maybe Nevada Falls or one of the peaks next time--El Capitan, North Dome, or Half Dome.

Happy Fifth Blogday, EE!

2011-04-23T11:30:00.000-07:00

Happy fifth anniversary online, to the evilest editor I have come across. Wickedly funny.

Join his anniversary party here!

A Trip To Las Vegas

2011-04-22T05:42:00.000-07:00

One of the first books I built and wrote in fifth grade was a memoir. What ten year old has enough life to provide a memoir? Certainly not I, but I had to write something and hadn't yet hit my stride as an author of fiction. Unfortunately, I hadn't hit my stride with memoir either, so the result is rather... fifth-graderish, I'm afraid.

The cover is lively enough and shows the author's love for the art form known as "scattered stencil in marker." In grade school, I loved all sorts of stencils. I was known to draw big flowcharts just for the sake of using the stencil to draw the little boxes and diamonds and arrows.

All the books show their 33 years. But now you're thinking, "I get the dollar signs. It's Vegas. But what the hell is that brown spot? Did the cat throw up on the book?" It's a cesta.

Cleverly, I hid the fact that this is BOOK ONE in a series. You have to look inside to find that out, and by this point I've got you 90% hooked.

Because every book needs a Table of Contents, and also at this point I looked ahead and saw just how many freaking blank pages I'd have to fill with something. Note the use of multiple fonts, either to add spice or to account for my lack of discipline and patience.

Now I'll just let you enjoy the story, and I'll revisit you during the chapter break. Enjoy!

I get tears in my eyes when I see how, even at such a young age, my writing talent was evident. Clearly I understood the concept behind NaNoWriMo 25 years before Chris Baty ever came up with the idea of going for word count, word count, word count. A ticket in my name, a ticket in my brother's name, and a ticket in Brian's father's name. Genius: using 18 words where one would otherwise suffice.

By the way, 1977 had two Tuesday the 27ths. I believe this one was in December.

Allow me to break in here and point out that my education on gambling was perhaps more advanced than most nine year olds. Now, also, you understand the jai-alai cesta on the cover.

How many nine year olds know about point spreads? See what I mean?

Although I knew enough to write "Kelloggs brand cereal," I left out the trademark symbol.

You may think this book ends somewhat abruptly, mid-sentence. No! We actually played racquetball twice most days when we went to Las Vegas. Plus, there's a sequel, and clearly I knew enough to end with a cliffhanger.

It is both hilarious and distressing to see what I chose to write about in my book about this trip. Thirty-five years later, I wish I'd picked other details. The trailer park my mom and stepfather lived in, behind the Frontier Hotel. It's been paved over and is now the back parking lot of the Fashion Show Mall. Instead of which teams won which games, maybe something about MGM's enormous fronton and the unique game of jai-alai, which I came to adore as one of my favorite things in Las Vegas. The Hilton, where my mom worked in the accounting department and where we swam in the pool. They had thin, smallish pool towels with green stripes down the middle. The breakfast joint we went to, Sambo's, which was not the model of diversity. Desert hikes... all kinds of things. But cereals? Which teams won which games? Sigh.

But... maybe some of that's detailed in BOOK TWO. Stay tuned.

The Author

haiku wednesday - the lost week edition

2011-04-20T15:51:00.000-07:00

This week's words are cleanse, knead, melt

Wait... where did the past seven days go? BIG apologies to everyone for not getting round to your entries last week. I had meant to, but things got in the way. Kids with track meets, extra meetings at work, blah blah blah. You know all the excuses.

cat's paws knead my back
warm purr, tensions melt away
cleanse me of my day

god's hands knead the Earth
cities melt, crumble to dust
cleanse and start over

cleanse hands; knead warm dough
melt butter; dribble on top
I love your biscuits

haiku wednesday - running-out-the-door edition

2011-04-13T16:28:00.000-07:00

This week's words are evident, illusion, tragic

Gotta run... trying to do this in five minutes or less...

evident flirting
was my imagination
tragic illusion

his lies: evident
his success: an illusion
her dead end: tragic

no illusion here
doubt not evident madness
tragic, yes, but true

elbow pictures

2011-04-12T21:57:00.000-07:00

Back in January, I broke my elbow. Or rather, the hulking, slow, dope of a fullback on the other team slammed me down after I beat him to the ball, and HE broke my elbow.

I would like to say that what follows is not for the faint of heart, but it appears my non-displaced fracture of the radial head is actually pretty wimpy, as broken elbows go.

First, a graphic I sketched with my own crayons right onto your computer monitor (NO, I did NOT steal it off the googles, thankyouverymuch. Well, OK, maybe just a little.):

The first thing you can tell from this illustration is that I have very neat penmanship with crayons. The second thing you'll notice is that the radius makes up 33% of the bones in the elbow. So breaking it is, you know, painful.

I think this is a view of the elbow from the torso side. That is, something like the photo below, with x-ray quality images of the bones overlaid in a helpful and illustrative manner (that's the purple part... or maybe more of a periwinkle):

So, what broke in my elbow was the radial head, or the lumpy part at the end of the radius. Here is one of the x-rays taken during the healing process, with the area of the radial head in the red box. If you look closely, you can see a pale arc through the bone that should not be there. That's the non-displaced fracture. The inset enlargement shows it more clearly.

Do not be alarmed! That is not blood.

So anyway, the big news today is that the doctor (or, Physician's Assistant, I found out later, but either way she is very cute) says that the bone is now healed. I can return to getting knocked down on the soccer pitch, lifting heavy objects like full bottles of beer, etc. I get to return for one final x-ray in two months just to be sure it's all good.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my TMI post for the day. Thank you for reading.

haiku wednesday - multitasking edition

2011-03-30T13:27:00.000-07:00

This week's words are loud, persuasive, riches

Today I write while participating in a conference call. I could be called on to respond at any time. I like to live dangerously, on the edge.

tacky shirt, loud pants
your riches ain't persuasive
public speaking fail

votes are hard to get
be loud or be persuasive
but riches work best

persuasive kisses
riches flash in gold, diamond
loud alarms ignored

rules of the blog, safety edition

2011-03-28T17:56:00.000-07:00

This applies to your own clothing and equipment, thankyouverymuch.

Personally, I believe the best way to eliminate clothing-related accidents is to eliminate clothing.

Let's meet for launch (and... haiku wednesday, self-promotion edition)

2011-03-23T08:09:00.000-07:00

Games, puzzles, prizes. It's like the elementary school carnival that all the cool kids are too cool to go to, but deep down they just want to play the games like everyone else, so they go and they strut around scoping out the beanbag toss and cakewalk from the corner of their eye while they pretend to make fun of the other kids, all of whom are just happy as can be, until they finally give in and throw the beanbag just once, with a derisive sneer, and they realize that no one has made fun of them, and now the other cool kids are doing it too, and pretty soon they've forgotten they're cool and they're asking their mom for MORE money to play the beanbag toss again because they only need three more prize tickets for the googly-eye glasses or maybe the black widow spider ring or that basket weave finger trap.

I don't mean to set expectations too high. I don't think there are googly-eye glasses or a black widow spider ring OR a basket weave finger trap at the launch party.

But tell you what. If you buy Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever, the anthology my most recent story appears in, and you let me know you bought it, I'll enter you into a drawing for a black widow spider ring or a basket weave finger trap. Bob and Rob, and anyone else who already bought the e-book: You're eligible, too.

If you don't want to play in the launch carnival but you just want to buy the book, you can go straight here:

By the way, here's today's Three Word Wednesday contribution, which utilizes the words dual, volley, and identical:

volley of fiction
no identical stories
(dual purpose haiku)

My top five strengths: #5, Relator

2011-03-09T16:27:00.000-08:00

About two years ago, I did this thing called Strengths Finder 2.0 at Day Job. In 2011 I will blog about my top strengths and perhaps about my least strengthful parts of me.

Strength #5: Relator

People who are especially talented in the Relator theme enjoy close relationships with

others. They find deep satisfaction in working hard with friends to achieve a goal.

For the first 38 years of my life, I thought I was an introvert, a tech guy with my head down, a get-things-done kind of person who shunned social situations. Turns out I was wrong, sort of. Strengths Finder 2.0 tells me I'm a Relator. (Not someone who sells houses.) After careful consideration, I agree.

Chances are good that you have the ability to instruct.... It’s very likely that you fill your mind with new ideas... you understand why individuals behave they way they do in different situations. By nature, you bond with and work well with people who tell you what they want to accomplish in life. Driven by your talents, you may have friends who come to you for guidance, suggestions, or recommendations. Topics might include situations in their personal or professional lives.

As my best man, Chris, said in his ~~roast~~ toast at my wedding, I am a hard person to get to know. I am not public with my thoughts and feelings, never have been. I've been a better listener than sharer. I find so much more ease and comfort when writing than when speaking. But, he added, it's worth the investment.

In high school, I offered a shoulder to cry on. It seemed that all the girls had boy-based sorrows they didn't mind confiding to me, though none of them were interested in being sorrowful about me. Which still makes me a little bitter, to be honest.

I see today that this has been a theme throughout my life. It hasn't always been shoulder-crying; sometimes it's been career planning, relationship assessment, or work-politics navigation. I've spent my life seeing "both sides of the issue," assessing why people make the crazy (and not so crazy) decisions they do.

I think this has helped me in my writing; I spend a lot of my creative effort on making sure characters behave the way they should, are motivated by situations the right way. I think my stories have a ring of truth, even when they're utterly fantastical, because the characters are believable.

So feel free to bring me your problems or the issues you're struggling with. I will probably be able to help you through them. I won't give you answers, but I'll help light your way as you find the answers yourself.

I get it. I can relate.

Mexican ice pops

2011-03-06T13:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we went to Mi Pueblo supermarket in Pittsburg to get burritos for dinner, some Mexican bread (pan dulce), and a few other things. It's a lovely market, bright and big and clean and very festive. The food court is quite good (Ethan gave the burritos 9 sombreros out of 10).

On the way out, Sam noticed a huge bin of ice pops and begged to get some. It was just a buck fifty for a big pack of them, so we figured even though the unfrozen liquid glowed like it had been packaged in Chernobyl, we could try it. I knew we'd be in for some hilarity, however.

How the #@?# are you supposed to eat an ice pop in this shape after it's frozen?

First, Sam cut off the thin end. He quickly realized that unlike with an Otter Pop, you can't squeeze the thick frozen part out through the tiny opening. Also, sucking on the end of the plastic was somewhat less than satisfying. We ended up slicing the whole thing open and dumping it into a bowl.

We've puzzled over it for some time. The boys even googled the manufacturer to see if they had an owner's manual or instructions on how to eat the damn thing. Personally, I'm fascinated by the crimp in the middle.

So how about it, friends? How does one effectively eat one of these things? I am baffled by the design.

my start in self-publishing

2011-02-26T21:25:00.000-08:00

These days you can't search for online porn without hitting a link of some literary agent or writer talking about self publishing. Or try finding information about the federal budget or gay marriage, and sooner or later you'll end up on a site opining about how self-publishing will kill the publishing industry or destroy authors.

I'm happy to say I was way ahead of them all. Just like Thomas Paine self-published "Common Sense," when I was in fifth grade I self-published a series of books. Each book enjoyed a successful initial print run of one copy, with hand lettering and lovingly drawn illustrations. I still have nine of the books--I think there were eleven in total. This is what they look like today, after 32 years:

Two were non-fiction: "Classic & Vintage Cars," and "Forced Journals." The rest comprised my first real foray into fiction.

Mrs. Waldo, my fifth grade teacher, taught us how to make these books. We stitched together the pages with thick string. We glued paper over thick cardboard covers, then finished off the blank with binding tape. The rest was easy--write the story and draw the pictures.

While my books span many genres--travel, science fiction, memoir, fantasy, non-fiction--they all have one thing in common. My handwriting gets bigger as the pages go on. Typically, I get about 40 words a page early on, but by the final pages I'm down to a dozen per page at best.

I hope to blog about each of these books throughout the year. It will give you a chance to see my writing roots, and it will give me a chance to reminisce about my times at Hopewell Road School, where I had two teachers. One set me on my publishing path, and the other became my stepmother.

haiku wednesday - has it been that long already? edition

2011-02-23T09:41:00.000-08:00

This week's words are figure, juicy, stress

I think I missed two weeks in a row. Business travel just sucks the days right out of the calendar. Also, isn't it funny how, when kids are babies, we look forward to when they're teens because we'll have so much more free time? And isn't it funnier that when we finally get there, there's even less free time?

As you'll see below, this week I engage in epic haiku failure. (Actually, I kinda like the middle one.)

juicy that guy? wow!
you stress wrong syllables, man
figure it out, dude

stress over diets
when she looks in the mirror
juicy pear figure

centerfold figure
they call her "juicy lucy"
parent's midnight stress

more rules of the blog

2011-02-13T16:44:00.000-08:00

Talk about habitat encroachment.

more rules of the blog

2011-02-13T09:12:00.000-08:00

As I am the conveyor of the rules, this is one especially close to my heart. Though I may entertain certain exceptions.

haiku wednesday - six more weeks of football edition

2011-02-02T21:06:00.000-08:00

This week's words are abrasive, handful, loss

These are great haiku words. Which really increases the pressure to write good haiku. In a way, I like the weird words better because when I write crap, I can blame it on Thom's words. Today, I have no excuses.

handful of nothing
abrasive turf scrapes your face
missed tackle, your loss

handful of soft breast
abrasive sweater slips off
loss of innocence

abrasive, cold, hard
memories of love and loss
handful of beach sand

Rabbit Hole Day

2011-01-27T12:08:00.000-08:00

Lewis Carroll was born on January 27th. The idea of Rabbit Hole Day is to stop making sense for 24 hours to honor the birthday of the guy who came up with Alice and the white rabbit and Cheshire Cat and all that. I, however, take a different approach. I honor the day not by being inane and insane but by penning a poem that attempts to mimic something. You get to decide what it mimics.

The Mountaintop

"My son, much wisdom have I earned
in years gaflecting through this life,
and leaves both diftly and supimely turned
through happy times, still boredom, and raw strife.

Now to the mountain you must go
and seek yourself the whigid peak,
through thrickened air and white, pernulling snow
to find the wise man there and bid him speak.

Avoid the Anter-Frithing Bear,
with brakish claws and grizing teeth,
and of the black distawling trees beware--
their gnabbish limbs and tangled roots beneath.

And when you reach the mountain's top,
behold the effervizzent view.
You'll find the wise man only when you stop--
for wisdom found is wisdom that finds you."

All this, my father said, and more
and sent me off with heavy pack.
I stand upon the summit, muscles sore,
and look ahead, and left, and right--not back.

Alone, I call out for the man
to see if he will come and speak.
I turn to face the place where I began,
when just a boy I set of for this peak.

So long ago! So far away!
A lifetime's journey, there to here.
I sit alone in silent, gray dismay
and wonder if the wise man will appear.

I think of what my father taught,
and all the things he said to do.
And then my father's voice floats to my thought:
"Behold, my son, the wise man: it is you."

haiku wednesday - twice a month, by hook or by crook

2011-01-26T16:35:00.000-08:00

This week's words are conniption, janky, scooch

You just can't say these three words together without using a southern accent.

Jenny had triplets:
Conniption, Janky, and Scooch.
She don't spell so good.

damn janky tee vee
don't mind mama's conniption
scooch in and smooch me

janky alarm clock
boss' conniption awaits
scooch over, hit snooze

haiku wednesday - memorial edition

2011-01-12T21:18:00.000-08:00

This week's words are harmless, moist, yelp

Normally I write three haiku, with at least two of them trying to be humorous. I wrote this one and then thought that writing two humorous ones would just not seem... you know.

yelp, bark, growl, howl, snarl
"harmless" rhetoric bites hard
moist cheeks in Tucson

What did we expect?

2011-01-08T23:05:00.000-08:00

By now, everyone knows about the terrorist attack in Tucson that killed six and critically wounded a member of the US Congress. And everyone has been reminded of Sarah Palin's hit list.

At the time the hit list was originally posted, I found it in extremely poor taste and wondered how Palin or her supporters could find it acceptable. We were in a state of war, for one thing. We had soldiers dying overseas. It seemed to border on reckless, but the country took it as just another bit of Palin's over-the-top political rabble rousing. "It's only Sarah," we said. We'd come to expect that from her.

Worse, we'd come to expect it from that side of the aisle. Months before Palin posted her map, a few zealots showed up at a political fundraiser in Phoenix with handguns. One carried an assault rifle. They weren't breaking any law; they were simply exercising their first and second amendment rights.

At some point, an invisible line was crossed. Civility, reason, and graciousness were tossed out as unnecessary trappings of the weak. Intelligence and education were deemed luxuries of the elite. "Real Americans" no longer needed to respect or listen to people who disagreed with them. Real Americans were going to take back their country. Ready, aim...

If I, or anyone I know, had posted a hit list map with gunsight crosshairs on it in March of 2010, we'd be behind bars, under severe interrogation, and charged with serious crimes within days. Hours, perhaps. And I don't necessarily disagree with that.

Why, then, did the country shake our heads and shrug when Palin did it? What did we expect would come of it?

My top five strengths: #2, Ideation

2011-01-06T23:54:00.000-08:00

About two years ago, I did this thing called Strengths Finder 2.0 at Day Job. In 2011 I will blog about my top strengths and perhaps about my least strengthful parts of me.

Strength #2: Ideation

People strong in Ideation are fascinated by ideas and are able to find connections between seemingly disparate phenomena.

I love having this strength because it allows me to tell people, "Hey, I'm just the idea guy. You figure out how to make it work."

Recently I've been thinking a lot about the 25 years since I graduated high school and all the different things I've done. Along the way, I came up with or started several business ideas that never got off the ground. Some were a bit inane, like during the dot-com boom wanting to build an online store to sell men's underwear and socks. The only viable exit strategy was to sell to a bigger retailer. I suppose it could have flown after all. Cheap commodity items that single men need to buy regularly, easy to ship, no fuss about needing to try them on. But really, who wants to tell people at cocktail parties, "I sell tightie whities over the internet"? That idea was scrapped early.

My entrepreneur kick started in college, when I took an entrepreneurship class for engineers with my friend Belinda, who affectionately nicknamed the two teachers "Slick" and "Hick," perhaps the two most appropriate nicknames I've ever encountered. Anyway, our four-person team came up with Chef EARL (Easy Access Recipe Library), a handheld electronic cookbook with--get this--modules you could plug in. Like Atari game cartridges. The year was 1989, and not only were the founders of Google still in diapers, but the World Wide Web hadn't even unveiled its www or http yet, and Windows 3.0 on a 286 PC was soon to be state of the art.

Chef EARL was to be the first in a series of electronic hand-held gadgets for consumers and the home. This was when people were still agog over handheld spell checkers and handheld dictionaries with a single line of text (similar to calculators). This was cutting edge stuff. The picture above is a scan of the cover of our business plan.

Of course, we never pursued it and all got jobs after graduation.

Only a few years later, I came up with the nutty idea that the University of California (where I went to college) should--get this--have a web site for their athletic department! Crazy, I know. Only a few schools had begun such a zany idea. No one knew how to make money with it. But with a new friend Reza, we put together a business plan and proposal. This was way fun because we got some free tickets and got to pal around with some folks in the athletic department for a while, but ultimately we had not much to offer. Meanwhile, another company (I think they were called FansOnly at the time) got some venture funding and had signed a few big name schools. We ultimately advised the athletic department to go with the funded group, which has turned into a big business. Below is an actual slide from our initial presentation, outlining some of the features.

A few years later, in 1999, my friend Chris and I, after kicking around some ideas, put together a business plan that was one of the finalists in the Haas School of Business business plan competition. We presented to a theater full of people as well as to a panel of judges. This helped us get into meetings with a half dozen venture capital companies, which was a real learning experience.

What was the business? Keep in mind that, in 1999, gift certificates at stores were paper and generally required a manager's signature. They were treated like cash and could be very easily forged. If they were tracked at all, they were tracked in a ledger. Our idea was to build a platform, not unlike VISA, to process gift certificates in stores and online and on the phone. Essentially, our idea was what today is the gift card industry. I think we were pretty close to getting some angel financing and had some promising discussions with venture capitalists, but just as we got going two competitors we were tracking announced multimillion dollar venture rounds. We only had a plan and a mockup at that point (and a corporation), and we decided we did not want to play catch-up, so we dropped out. (1999 was also the year my second son was born, so time was tight and money was dear.)

Not long after, Chris and I joined with three other friends to found pledgepage.org, which we launched about nine minutes before the dot-com bust happened. PledgePage was a site dedicated to helping people do fundraising for walks and runs and rides and such. I used it to help chronicle and track fundraising and training for the Avon Three-Day walk for breast cancer we did in 2000. Eventually, we realized we were not going to make any revenue with it, and the build-and-flip market had dried up, so we donated PledgePage to a nonprofit called CharityFocus, who is still running it today. It's had nearly 8,000 people register pages and raise over $3 million, with over 60 million page hits. During our run with PledgePage, I managed to get us into Red Herring as a Catch of the Day.

What's really interesting, I think, is that I only resurrected my interest in writing after I got out of the startup entrepreneurship game. I was in small companies until 2001, when I got my current Day Job. It was about 2002 that turned my ideation toward plots and characters and poetry and away from business plans. I think it was a good move, though it has yet to play out in the revenue department.

This time, though, I think I'm on the right track.

haiku wednesday - the new year's hangover edition

2011-01-05T13:02:00.000-08:00

This week's words are plausible, taint, willingly

There's nothing romantic whatsoever about the word plausible.

they die, willingly
blood and tears taint the desert
threats seemed plausible

plausible future
our histories taint the night
willingly you come

willingly, I fear
don't taint my world view with facts
plausible or not

Accelerate your career

2011-01-02T21:21:00.000-08:00

A LOT of people ask me for informational interviews at my Day Job. Most of them are coming out of MBA programs with some sort of emphasis in sustainable or responsible business. I think it's great, and I love meeting them and telling them about the industry.

But I hate to tell them I think they just wasted $80,000 on their MBA. So I just keep that to myself.

Honestly, unless you're getting practical education in a specific field of business, I just don't see how an MBA pays for itself. Most of the people I see went back to school for the degree, not the education. Most got a "management" or general business MBA. They did it under the vague impression that having an MBA would get them a better job, make them better dressed... I don't know. I never understood the appeal beyond being able to put MBA on the resume. I always thought practical experience trumped classroom theory.

Last week on the train I saw a poster for a night MBA program for working executives. The tag line was, "Accelerate your career." And I got it. People (other than me) have careers. They view their jobs as a pursuit rather than a means to other ends. As such, a faster career would be a better career, in the same way a bigger house would be a better house.

And having MBA on your resume could, in theory, accelerate that career.

Back in high school, I took a job at a local drug store. It actually was the ideal high school job--good hours, cute female coworkers, quality supervisors, low pressure. But I didn't need money. Something drove me to have a job. I didn't know it then, but I think I see it now: I wanted a job so that some day I could leave it.

A lot of people I know strive for biggerbetterfasterMORE. An accelerated career means bigger paychecks, which means a bigger house, in a better zip code, with more prestigious friends who wear better clothes, drink fancier wine, and drive faster cars. And, remarkably, most of them seem happy on that path.

But it's not for me. As much as I love my Day Job, I can't imagine diving in so deeply as to strive to accelerate my career. I'm not ambitious in that way (though when opportunity steps in front of me, I'll take it). So I walk a tightrope with as much balance as I can muster--success at Day Job, but only so much as it supports Real Life.

That's why I quit my second job in high school. Why I didn't rejoin a company when they offered to bring me back after a layoff. Why I refused to compromise my integrity at another job, and I got fired for it. Why I took a 30% pay cut to do something I believe in rather than take a two hour commute for a lot more money. Why I'm far more likely to get an MFA after I retire than I am to get an MBA. Ever.

Some people are desperate to accelerate their careers. Me? I'd love to slow down real life so I can live more of it.

(By the way, I've never really understood why "executives" go back to school for MBAs. If you're an executive, shouldn't you already know from experience what they'd teach you in classes?)

A 2010 send-off

2010-12-31T11:42:00.000-08:00

Set the clocks and pop the corks.
Fill the living room with cheer.
Get the plates and plastic forks--
Tonight we kill another year.

A year of laughter, tears, and love,
A year of fortune and bad luck.
A year of "none of the above"--
A year of cliches run amok.

A year of ninety thousand words,
Of beer and rocks and scouts and games.
Of faith and soccer, boats and birds,
Of travel, trips, new cats, and names.

Twenty years of wedded bliss!
New business cards, new iPad too.
A birthday party for my sis,
And GIMAH and some bad haiku.

We bid farewell to twenty-ten
with champagne kisses and a song.
And now let's do it all again.
(Unless I've got my dates all wrong.)

haiku wednesday - at least once (more) in 2010, by god

2010-12-29T13:21:00.000-08:00

This week's words are buckle, evade, wedge.

New year's resolution: Do 3WW more times in 2011 than in 2010. Shouldn't be hard. This is only my second one all year.

concrete wedge plummets
foundations crack, posts buckle
no thing evades time

evade temptation
courage and resolve buckle
this new wedge splits us

hop in the car, son
wedge in close and buckle up
there's cops to evade

I don't think "Asteroids" had the same effects

2010-12-27T13:43:00.000-08:00

Our Wii is on the fritz. I think the laser is off track or something. At first, it caused minor withdrawal symptoms in #1 Son, but he soon got over it and found other ways to occupy himself (notably his iPod Touch).

Apparently, according to science, this is also destroying his ability to drive in fog. He's only 14 and doesn't drive yet, but don't let that fact cloud the issue at hand.

The NPR article linked above references science done by researchers that, quite frankly, could have come to me first and saved some of their grant money for a truly kick-ass publication party. This research shows that shoot-em-up action video games, like the Call of Duty series that my boys and I enjoy, enhance certain skills such as focus, multitasking, and the ability to take in visual data and process it quickly. The end of my blog post linked above theorizes exactly what this science shows.

Which of course highlights the subtext of this post: I am a genius.

Predictably, however, NPR readers went ape shit at the suggestion that action video games could have any effect on society other than to create the next crop of war-mongering misogynistic philandering neanderthals--i.e. Republican Congressmen. (But let's be honest, without war-mongering misogynistic philandering neanderthals, who would protect The People from gay marriage?)

Be that as it may, I believe this research, and I've always thought that video games are not entirely useless. I can see these skills in my boys. There may be other ways to enhance these skills (football, hockey, soccer, and basketball come to mind), but I think today's child needs both physical activity and video games. Plus books, theater, and social groups.

Video games should rarely be taken as more than a special kind of toy, but people also need to realize that toys build skills, and these toys build a lot more skills than the ability to grow up into a successful and productive psychopath.

workers below, and the rails are h-o-t HOT.

2010-12-22T23:32:00.000-08:00

Yet More Rules Of The Blog

We just spent four days in the desert. Las Vegas and environs, in particular. In my life I've spent many days in Las Vegas. I've seen four days in a row where the temperature was 115 degrees or more. But I've never seen four days in a row of heavy rains. Before this trip, that is.

With that in mind, watch your hands and please be aware of the workers.

That is all.

PS: Prize to the first person to identify the location of this particular sign. Must be present to win. Must be at least 18 years of age and legally able to cross state lines to collect prize.

Things I Learned in 2010

2010-12-20T22:07:00.000-08:00

Because Erica did it and I thought it was an interesting idea, I thought I'd do it, too, in my own special way. In the interest of hoping some of you don't make the same mistakes I did, here are some things I learned in 2010, in no particular order or level of quality:

It's easier than you think to steal a catalytic converter from a Toyota 4Runner.
It is possible to overcome time zone changes with coffee and Diet Coke, but not for three different time zones in five days.
Californians lose 30 points of IQ when they have a ballot put in their hands.
Emails that have the subject line "Quick question" always contain a question that takes 30 seconds to read but seventeen painful hours to answer.
Sedona is insanely beautiful, and helicopter rides are ~~expensive~~ fun.
Rock climbing is really fun and really, really hard your first time doing it. Oh, and it's 90% legs and 10% everything else.
Using an iPad and wireless keyboard not only gets bigger word count, but it also gets you noticed by strangers at Peet's.
Nederland (CO) is a place I would really like to visit again.
Some high school classmates don't change at all in 25 years, and others are unrecognizable. Sometimes that's good, and sometimes... not so much.
If you carry a FREE HUGS sign at an amusement park, most people will aggressively ignore you.
If you hug the hottie carrying the FREE HUGS sign at the amusement park, your momentary embarrassment will be far outweighed by the blissful karma you gain.
Des Moines, unexpectedly, is not a place that makes me think I must escape immediately.
Being a Senior Vice President is pretty cool.
Tornado warnings may usually pass without incident, but one is enough for me, thanks.
It is possible to be #1 in something and still not win the "best of" award.

I learned a lot more stuff, but mostly I learned to just take it easy, man. That is to say, abide.

there will be no more levity on this trip!

2010-12-17T10:45:00.000-08:00

When I was in my early teens, I went backpacking with my brother and my father. Near the trailhead, we passed what appeared to be a group of inner city kids, about my age, on a day hike with a couple of adult leaders. I don't know what happened to cause such anger in the leader less than a half mile from the parking lot, but as we passed them he turned, halted the line of kids, and yelled at them, "That's IT. There will be no more levity on this trip!"

Perhaps he was using the word levity in a way I was not used to. Or perhaps he was just a meanie.

In any case, I was reminded of that story when I read this post at the US Chamber's blog, "The ChamberPost," today. What struck me most about this, apart from the fact that The ChamberPost looks unfortunately like The ChamberPot at a quick glance, was just how colossally selfish, stupid, and reactionary young parents are these days.

Earlier this week, a parent called the cops on a preschool because they duct-taped his little brat's sleeves together so he wouldn't hurt a teacher or other students. I guess the father never thought to actually discipline his kid for being a little shit all day. A better lesson for his boy would be to drop the weight of law enforcement on the teachers and staff of the preschool. Classy. (Then again, you know what they say about the proximity relationship between fallen apples and their trees.)

Then on Wednesday we learned about a class action lawsuit filed on behalf of some parents who want to force McDonald's to stop making their children whine. Instead of working on changing their children's bratty behavior, these parents chose to put their efforts into changing the behavior of one of the world's largest companies. Again, apples and trees. One wonders if the first time these parents will hear the word "no" will be when the judge kicks them out of the courtroom, as I hope he or she will.

And now this. Swing sets removed from playgrounds at the mere threat of a lawsuit. This parent apparently thinks it's easier to hire a lawyer than to apply a band-aid. The real tragedy is that this is not an isolated case. Liability risk is causing some schools to be built without playgrounds at all.

This is simply astonishing to me, and a tragedy of epic proportions. No, I'm not kidding. This lawsuit culture we've built, this culture of blaming someone else for everything and then demanding through courts and police that they be punished or pay, is hurtful to the future of our society. There is no freedom when you can be hit with a lawsuit after being hit head-on. There is no democracy when a man with a lawyer can hold the levity of hundreds of kids hostage.

These lawsuits illuminate the disgusting aspect of our culture that encourages people to blame others for everything, including their own shortcomings.

Religion or cross words?

2010-12-16T22:38:00.000-08:00

Wait, sorry, that was supposed to be crossword, not cross words. Religion is already full of cross words. Just listen to any zealot, and a lot of the words they use will be cross.

But no, I'm talking about this new thing called Neurotheology. NPR did a story on it, so it must be either very leftist or... um, socialist, right? Anyway, it's going to be more honest and informative than FOX news will be, that's for sure. Right?

Well, maybe. See, the Neurotheology article reports that a scientist did brain scans of religious people before and after eight weeks of meditation, just 12 minutes a day. What this showed was pretty interesting and significant, and actionable--with this simple, non-intrusive technique, people can actually get their brains to work better and improve their memory. This was shown in tests.

The conclusion, however, is that somehow the spiritual nature of the activity is the source of the improvement in brain function. That being religious and meditating is what causes it. Not just the meditating sans the religious aspect.

But waaayy back in January, 2006, TIME magazine ran an article about ways to stave off Alzheimer's. And I quote:

Several studies have found that folks who regularly engage in mentally challenging activities—like reading, doing crossword puzzles or playing chess—seem less likely to develop dementia later in life.

Hmm. Sounds maybe like... 12 minutes a day of heightened concentration exercises leading to improved memory and brain function.

Kind of like 20 minutes of exercise a day leads to better muscle tone and improved body function.

Not really that surprising or revolutionary, to be honest. And really, really hard to tie to spirituality.

Which actually appears to be what the scientist who did the neurotheology study concludes. Smart man, that. He says, "One could try to conclude one way or the other that maybe it’s the biology or maybe God's really in the room, but the scan itself doesn't really show that."

In other words, "Hey guys, I've got some results, but in order to understand them we'll need a whole pile of more research money. All of you who want to prove that there's a higher power, put your money in this bucket on the right. All of you who want to disprove the existence of God, put your money in this bucket on the left."

Genius, this guy. I bet he could totally beat my time at the NYT crossword puzzle. (Around 11 minutes for Wednesday's puzzle this week. But it was late.)

Unless he starts watching FOX news regularly, in which case he may end up like the other couple million zombies who still think Obama was born in a foreign country.

That CRAP that you get at McDonald's

2010-12-15T15:52:00.000-08:00

This past election season, our community was thrown into a tizzy because McDonald's wants to put a new restaurant in our area... with a drive through window. You can imagine the horror that ensued. Personally, I think it would be kinda convenient. But a good friend of mine, a lawyer, led the charge against this McDonald's restaurant insertion. For legitimate reasons. I've got no beef with him.

But that's not what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about a lawsuit filed against said McFood store. Essentially, the class action lawsuit would force McDonald's to stop advertising toys in their Happy Meals. They don't want McDonald's to stop including the toys, or stop selling Happy Meals. And they're not asking for damages. They just want them to stop advertising that toys come in Happy Meals.

Why? I quote:

Children nonetheless influence the purchasing decisions of their parents.
McDonald’s exploits that influence, by bombarding children with advertisements for
Happy Meals with toys, knowing that it will result in kids nagging parents to purchase
nutritionally poor Happy Meals for their children.

OH MY GOD. CHILDREN WHINE WHEN THEY WANT SOMETHING, AND THEY WANT HAPPY MEALS WITH TOYS.

Oh the horror! Oh the humanity!

OK, my reactions:

Pretty much all children whine when they want something.
Parents need to grow a spine and say "no" once in a while.
It's pretty stupid to expect McDonald's to have your best interests at heart. They sell fatty, salty, sugary comfort food and always have.

I do think McDonald's should be forced to do something about their Happy Meals, though. They need to reduce the excessive packaging they use, and they need to include only toys that actually have a chance of being used at least once instead of being torn open, being recognized as utterly useless, stupid-looking, licensed landfill fodder, and being thrown in the trash on the way out of the store.

This is quite possibly the most ridiculous lawsuit I've seen. It really shows American "parents" to be the helpless children they are. I think we should make a law that says if you're not mature enough to say "no" to a kid when the kid whines about a Happy Meal, you're not mature enough to have children.

Reindeer Names

2010-12-13T22:52:00.000-08:00

I do enjoy a lot of things about Christmas. Mostly the old-timey songs like Rudolph and Let It Snow and White Christmas. And the famous poem, Twas the Night Before Christmas. I used to read that to the children when they were little. Under protest, of course, but tradition is tradition, no matter how disagreeable.

Just now, though, I was thinking about Santa's eight named reindeer. Rudolph, I thought, doesn't really count. He's like the Justin Bieber of reindeer--a manufactured celebrity with a freak physical condition (nose vs hair) and limited talent, loved mostly by naive children.

No, I got to thinking about the eight backup singers and began wondering about their names. The names apparently came originally from the aforementioned poem, written in 1807. I have come to the conclusion, after careful study and a few glasses of red wine, that this poem--and the corresponding song about Rudolph--needs to be banned. They are clearly a celebration of drug gang culture.

First, we've got Blitzen and Donner, who were originally named Blixem and Dunder meaning lightning and thunder. These are violent names. Gunfire names. And of course, Santa's "ho ho ho": Vixen, Cupid, and Dancer (being in the Arctic, that would be Pole Dancer of course). Dasher and Comet are the bag men, obviously.

Still working on Prancer. It's either the gang's pimp or Santa's gay little brother. Either way, totally unwholesome for Real America's children. I am certain Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck would agree with me on this one.

So the next time your child breaks into a raucous chorus of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," smack him and lock him in his room. We should not be celebrating corrupt drunk cops that enable drug gangs. For that's clearly what the song is about: Poor Rudy's kept out of the gang. So he becomes a cop, but he's a lush (thus the red nose). One day Santa has a problem--all his goods have been seized, and he needs some help. Here comes Rudy to save the day and make sure all the drugs get out to the streets, keeping Santa in business and finally being let into the gang.

It's sick, really.

Because we should never forget

2010-12-06T11:13:00.000-08:00

A big thank-you to Anonymous, commenting on my previous post about affirmative action.

Today is not Memorial Day. It is not Veterans Day or any of the other holidays set aside for remembering those who have spent part of their lives defending my country, my freedoms, and my safety. But it's a pretty good day to do that anyway.

Faces of the Fallen

Reported at the above site are these totals to date:

Year	Iraq	Afghanistan
2001	0	12
2002	0	49
2003	486	48
2004	849	52
2005	846	99
2006	822	98
2007	904	117
2008	314	155
2009	149	317
2010	59	469

Draw your own conclusions about the efforts abroad. Personally, I still say going to war in Iraq was one of the most foolish US foreign policy blunders of all time. Had the US focused 100% of its will on bin Laden and the Taliban and not gotten seduced into the idea of rebuilding Iraq in our image, things likely would be very, very different today.

the body heals itself, usually

2010-12-03T16:38:00.000-08:00

The human body generally heals itself. Get a scrape, new skin grows. Catch a virus, your immune system deals with it. Twist your ankle, it'll get better.

Society also tends to "heal" itself--this belief is the foundation of capitalism and democracy. Bad policies in place? The electorate will throw the bums out. Bad economy? Investors will buy low, and the economy will grow again. Generally, I think we can see over time that this is, at least at a superficial level, true.

But suppose you got a huge gash on your leg, long and deep. Without at least some first aid and maybe stitches, the wound will not heal itself. You may even bleed to death.

Does society suffer the same kinds of wounds? Are there gashes so deep and big that they can't possibly be healed by society's natural ability to adjust?

Yes, there are.

In 1998, California voters made Affirmative Action illegal for the University of California. Since then, UC Berkeley has gotten far less diverse. The university's freshman class is only 3.4% black and about 12% Hispanic. There are nearly ten whites for every African-American. There are 13 Asians for every African-American.

In a state (California) where there is no racial majority (every ethnicity is less than 50% of the population), this is a tragedy. While I hope that one day we will achieve a "colorblind society," which was the chief selling point of Prop 209, today we have a huge wound in our society that needs emergency help. This is one rift that is not going to heal itself. Eliminating Affirmative Action in the hope that it will create a colorblind society is much like eliminating medical care in the hope that it will create a disease-free world. It is backwards and destructive.

If UC Berkeley had been this racially lopsided when I went there in the 80s, I would have gotten a much less valuable education. This is a real shame.

a blog service announcement

2010-11-18T09:55:00.000-08:00

Although this is yet another rule of the blog (YAROB), it is for your own safety, after all. Be careful out there.

digital overload? what digital overload?

2010-11-15T09:51:00.000-08:00

Using social media is a big topic at work these days. Some studies show it to be a productivity killer in the workplace, and most companies have some policy to govern usage of blogs, Facebook, YouTube, etc. Theories abound about how social media is creating information overload, how it's connecting us in more meaningless ways while ruining our "real" relationships, or how it is, you know, leading to world peace or something.

This particular article, about how teens and youth really don't suffer from digital overload like us old fogeys of the pre-internet generation do, caught my attention.

As parents, Maria and I try to limit our kids' screen time to something that seems reasonable to us. We have a tremendous amount of screen resource in our house--TV, Wii, desktop computer, laptop computer, cell phones, iTouch--and some of that gets used for homework, or creative activity that is really beyond just play. Our kids fight us at every turn. Ethan whines and has tantrums when we tell him to turn off the iTouch or the Wii. Sam sneaks into our home office to tune into "The Office" on Netflix watch-it-now, even if we've told him he's not allowed to.

The article linked above highlights something that's been scratching the back of my mind for some time, though: what is reasonable for adults might not be reasonable for kids.

When I was little, I was very active--rode my bike miles almost every day, ran around the yard a lot, shot the neighbor's chickens in the butt with my BB gun, blew up plastic models with fire crackers, that kind of thing. Normal boy stuff. But I also watched three to four hours of television, on average, every single day. Did my brain rot? Maybe. Who knows how smart or successful I'd have been if I wasn't watching Kung Fu Theater or Spaghetti Western Week or Godzilla destroying Tokyo (again) on the 4 O'Clock Movie?

Certainly my generation has a digital affinity lacking in our parents. We all know stories of "grandma on facebook," but for the most part those stories are extremely rare when you compare to the total population of grandmas. But facebook is heavily used by the 40-something generation, as is email. But 40-somethings don't text that much on average, while kids text all the time.

When I was in 7th grade, my dad gave me an Apple ][+ computer for Christmas. When I was a freshman in high school, IBM came out with their PC. Home computers did not exist prior to this. The first Mac was not introduced until 1984, at which time the TRS-80 and Timex Sinclair were still popular alternatives. At this time, my dad showed me how to use his Telex machine at work. Electric typewriters were still state of the art, especially the high end ones with the erasing ribbon so you could backspace over mistakes.

Part of me wonders if I might actually be doing my son a disservice by limiting his screen time. When the rest of the children around him are learning how to live in the new world of digital and information overload, should we really be slowing him down just because we adults don't get it, can't handle it? If he gets enough physical activity and does well in school (straight A's on his last report card), should we just let him calibrate himself and develop the skills he'll need as an adult when technology and information continue their irresistible march to ubiquity?

A good example is Call of Duty: Black Ops, a game just released and which we picked up for the Wii last Friday. At any given moment during game play, there are at least four things happening on the screen at once. There's a running ticker of events, a map and radar in the corner, a scoreboard and timer, enemies moving around on and off screen, helicopters arriving, etc. You can even chat with other players by voice in online play. While I can only keep two or three of these things in my attention at any given time, the boys seem to have no problem seeing and responding to everything. This seems like an ability that should be developed rather than retarded.

How do you regulate or encourage your children's participation in the world of digital overload? If you have no children and therefore have all the answers, how would you approach this?

Yet more rules of the blog

2010-11-06T09:45:00.000-07:00

With the recent election results and a new conservative mandate, we are experiencing more restrictions and rules on behavior than ever. Please observe the new rule added to the other rules of the blog.

more rules of the blog

2010-10-20T22:25:00.000-07:00

The original rules can be found here. New rules have been put into place to supplement the original rules. Please observe them. Thank you.

-- the management

Be careful when naming your union

2010-10-20T16:42:00.000-07:00

Last night I saw the movie Waiting for "Superman." It is a good movie, and if you can see it at a screening with a live discussion panel afterwards, you should. One of the speakers last night was an executive from a local teachers union. Frankly, he said little to change my mind about teachers unions being a main cause of the downfall of our public schools. In fact, his attitude, from the words to his tone of voice, was terribly defensive. He preferred to declare the film a pack of lies rather than talk about education.

Anyway, I guess that put education in the back of my mind all day today. So when I ran across a "child-killer" character named "Medea" in this blog post about novels, I paused. I googled it and found the wikipedia entry for Medea, which indicates that indeed, in the original myths, she murdered children.

But I'd heard that name before. Where had I heard it before?

Oh, I know! It wasn't the name Medea, it was the acronym MDEA, which was pronounced Medea.

Mount Diablo Educators Association... our local teachers union. (Not the same union represented by the gentleman noted above.)

I'm not saying that teachers unions are made up of child killers. I'm just wondering why the leaders of teachers unions have never denied that they're made up of child killers. Isn't that kind of strange?

is it possible to look MORE bald with a goofy helmet?

2010-08-21T17:55:00.000-07:00

(Apologies to my facebook friends, who may already have seen the photos I posted there.)

Our last full day in Bend, Sam and I went off with dear friend and wonderful hostess Tiffany and her son to climb a rock. Of the four of us, I was the only one without any time in a climbing harness. Sam had completed his Climbing merit badge at boy scout camp. Suffice to say, I was excited and nervous.

We set off for Smith Rock, about 40 minutes north of Bend, Oregon. This is a gorgeous river gorge and huge upthrust of stone in the middle of the high desert of east-central Oregon. From the outside, it merely looks like a setting for one of those old Western movies where everyone dies of dehydration. Then you get up on top and into the gorge, and my god it's beautiful and dramatic.

From the parking lot, hiking off into Smith Rock State Park.

From a switchback along the trail into the park. The river gorge is simply spectacular.

This was taken from the base of our climb, across the river.

We hiked in about a half mile. It starts with switchbacks to descend into the gorge valley, then a pleasant hike along the river and an ascent up various steps to the base of the route our guide had picked out. Did I mention our guide? Aaron, from Chockstone Climbing Guides, was our mentor and guide for the day. He'd picked out two routes for us, spanning 2 p.m. to 7 p.m. The first, Cinnamon Slab, is a 5.6 climb. The second, Ginger Snap, is a 5.8. I had some idea of what this meant because Big Bro had explained this to me the week before. 5.6 sounded OK but tough. 5.8... we would see.

Long story short: Climbing was fun but much, much harder than it looks from the ground. The Cinnamon Slab climb looks like an easy jaunt up a sloped surface, but when you're fifty feet off the ground and have a 14 inch wide surface you're clinging to at a 75 degree pitch with no footholds, it takes a little focus to keep your cool. On top of it all, you're wearing this really goofy helmet that, you're thinking at the moment, will only serve to keep your scalp from getting lacerated as every bone in your body breaks as you bounce down the rocks to the bottom.

But then you remember you're on belay, and if the person on the ground likes you and your guide has properly anchored the rope at the top of the climb, you're pretty safe. So you carry on to the top, sweating like a cold beer on the tar in a Las Vegas parking lot in August.

Here are some photos from the Cinnamon Slab (5.6) portion of our day.

Aaron, our guide, setting up the route. Relax, ladies. He's married.

Sam belaying, with Aaron as backup.

Sam nearing the top of Cinnamon Slab. The point he's climbing in this shot has a surface only about a foot wide. There are holds on the outside of the rock, too, but I found those not as tempting as maybe they should be.

Me at the bottom of Cinnamon Slab, taking my first steps up any climbing route ever. I look pretty manly in this, don't I? Except for the dorky helmet, of course.

Me about halfway up Cinnamon Slab. Here it's about two feet wide, maybe a little more.

When we had just all finished on Cinnamon Slab, a group of 7,000 experienced climbers arrived and started loitering about six feet away from us. OK, maybe it was more like 12 people in climbing gear, and I don't know how experienced they were. The way they hovered, though, it appeared they intended to climb the routes we'd set up already.

No matter what they were there for, I was certain of one thing: I was not excited to have an audience. I knew I would make a total fool of myself. 43 year old doofus in a goofy helmet slipping off the rock and ending up dangling upside down from one foot caught in a tangled mess of rope. I was sure that was my future: a future filled with laughter from below and blood rushing to my head.

I did go up the Ginger Snap route. It starts with a little scrambling up some boulders until you get to the flat part. I stood on that last ledge for maybe five minutes trying to figure out how the hell I was going to go up even one more inch. I sortied and retreated a number of times, frequently thinking I had made it as far as I could for my first day. But Tiffany, the evil slave driving torture dragon lady, "urged" me on from below. And up I went. And damn, was it HARD.

Tiffany used a zoom for this one. You can see my right foot is on a solid ledge, but tell me where the hell I'm going to put it next when I hoist up onto my left foot?

Another zoomed shot, as I step up off that ledge on my way to the top.

Sam struggled a little with this route, too, but he made it all the way. You can get a sense of the route here. Sam is roped in, by the way--it's just hard to see the rope in this shot.

After we were all done, we headed off to the Terrabonne Depot for cold beers and dinner. Highly recommended after an exertion like climbing or a long hike. The black ale was outstanding and the service very friendly.

It's funny how, that day, I thought I enjoyed climbing but never really felt a need to do it again. As I get farther from the event, though, I begin to think about how I'd love to go out and challenge myself again. I learned a lot on Ginger Snap as I found or missed footholds, held my body close to the rock, used one or two fingers for balance as I stepped up. Clearly this won't be a lifestyle sport for me, but I would not be surprised to find myself on another wall sometime in the future.

Especially since Sam seems to love it so dearly.

Things that take six years

2010-08-18T23:38:00.000-07:00

According to a Google search, it takes six years to

Sit on a couch
Dematerialize the art object
Decide not to charge Tom Delay
Earn a Bachelors degree
Return to the United States
Create a shop window display
Reform a pedophile
Earn $61.5 million playing football
Accomplish next to nothing
Reunite the cranberries
Decide that starvation and pain may not be where it's at
Blow $3 million on drugs, clothes, and parties

Google the phrase "six years," and you see a lot of stories about sports teams, the Iraq war, and felony convictions. Apart from the conviction stories, which seem to have a lot to do with fraud, murder, and child pornography, mainly the stories focus on things that are decidedly still in progress.

As in, "after six years of war, Iraq still unsettled." And, "after six years of war, bin Laden still at large." And, "after six years, eleven out of nine Americans still don't understand fractions." And, "after six years, Alistair Cook still dead." (Remarkable, isn't it? I thought he'd died in the 70s.)

You'd think they might have had the courtesy to have one that said, "after six years, Corner Kick blog still struggling to find itself, not unlike the Buddha who spent six years starving before realizing you can't get enlightened on an empty stomach." Or maybe, "after six years, Corner Kick blog still unengaging, not unlike Hayden Christensen and that chick he was engaged to but just broke up with."

So it is that I come to six years of blogging, with little to show for it beyond a couple of web awards and a bunch of really awesome totally cool writer and blogger buddies. Thanks to those of you who stick with me.

I've no idea why you do it.

Even Buddha's friends left him after six years of malnourishment and self denial.

caves, rivers, and obsidian

2010-08-15T10:14:00.000-07:00

Less than 24 hours after a great weekend camping with friends at Lake Sonoma, we packed up the car and drove 500 miles north to Bend, Oregon, to visit dear friends we see only once in a while but who are definitely of the "friends for a lifetime" variety.

A word of warning to those attempting this trip: You may be tempted to stop a the Taco Shop in Redding when you gas up. But you'd be better off going across the street to Del Taco or around the corner to Taco Bell. Remember the movie "Coming to America" with Eddie Murphy? How his future father-in-law runs a restaurant called "MacDougall's" or something like that, and he literally stole the McDonald's handbook? Yeah, this place was essentially that place, only a white guy stole the Taco Bell handbook. It passed as sustenance. That's about the highest praise I can offer.

We rolled into Bend in the early evening. I love Bend. I could move here and not look back. The Deschutes River is beautiful, and you can see Mount Bachelor and the other peaks from most of the town. The downtown is charming, with a ton of art and coffee shops without the self-righteous elitism of some outdoorsy liberal granola type places. It feels welcoming, even if it lacks much diversity. Neighborhoods near downtown or west of the river sport elegant charm in their layout and architecture, with pertly maintained yards and kids zipping around on bicycles. Haven't been much on the Wal-Mart side of the highway, but I get the sense it turns more deserty and ranch housey and gun racky in the back of pickup trucky. Ish.

So Wednesday I took the boys to the Lava River Cave just south of town about 30 minutes. It's this very cool pipeline cave originally carved or formed by lava millions of years ago. We took our flashlights and hiked the mile or so to the very end, where you have to crawl on hands and knees the last 60 yards or so. No photos except this one at the entrance to the cave:

Into the abyss!

In the afternoon we visited the Bend farmers market and bought some of the most luscious blackberries I've ever had. In a "welcome to Oregon" moment, there was a real hippy looking family there with a naked three year old boy, and they bought some fruit and sat right in the middle of the grass smack in the center of the market and had their picnic. No one seemed to care much.

Thursday was a busy day. We left early to go to Lake Paulina for a six mile hike around the lake.

The Dudleys and our hosts, including pup Angus, at the trailhead.

Besides the amazing scenery, the lake offered two special treats. Below are a select few photos from the hike. I couldn't put too many of them here because I was always the last hiker, which meant most of my photos of my companions were from the rear, which I have learned in 20 years of marriage does not make for a good suite of photos of your wife to post to a public forum.

The trail mostly followed the edge of the lake in single file. We only encountered a couple of other small groups all day long.

At some points the lake reminded me of Tahoe; at others, it had more of a high desert look. But it was beautiful everywhere.

One of the special treats along this hike is the obsidian flow. The boys scrambled up it looking for the purest samples.

Some obsidian rocks Ethan liked.

After scrambling back down the obsidian flow, we hiked on. Our intrepid guide and hostess, Tiffany (yes, the same Tiffany we stayed with on our trip to England), led the way to "the beach."

Alpine lake marshy meadowish place, with squishy footing and a marshy smell.

Ethan in one of the hot springs dugouts, with Angus splashing in the lake behind.

The other big treat along the hike was an area of hot springs at the northern end of the lake. It's not quite three miles from the campground to the hot springs. The boys sat and had a hot soak before lunch, and Ethan especially enjoyed the warm water. The "beach" comprised an impressive collection of pebbles without a single grain of sand, so some mile splashing was accompanied by a chorus of "ow! ow! ow!" when Sam tried to wade into the lake itself.

Angus and Ethan, again.

One other great thing about stopping for lunch here was seeing a bald eagle soar over. Unfortunately, it flew past before I could really understand what I was seeing, and it lit in the top of a tree and never took off again until after we left. If this isn't a bald eagle, I hope someone will tell me. I'd never seen one before as far as I know, so this was a cool sight.

The eagle from far away, at the top of the dead tree.

Zoomed in crop of the same photo.

No, this isn't a bird's eye view from the eagle's perch. From the beach, the trail pitched pretty much straight up a big hill, then along the side of the hill around the rest of the lake. The views were astounding, and even after six miles of hiking this I was not at all tired of the scenery.

That night the ladies went into town for dinner and a free outdoor concert while the boys and I stayed back at the house. The boys watched the movie Spaceballs, but I got online and worked--our big software installation of the year was Thursday night, and as with all such endeavors it was not without hiccups. In the end, it succeeded which allowed me to enjoy our Friday activities with less sense of stress.

Friday I worked some more with a phone meeting an lunch with a local colleague, then in the afternoon I joined the families for some lazy tubing in Tumalo State Park. Beautiful day, nice lazy river, not too crowded. And the water wasn't as cold as you might expect.

Sam especially enjoyed the tubing. So much so that he fell out of his tube at least twice.

On Saturday, we visited Chandy and had a nice relaxing day of it with a walk in her neighborhood and another along the river walk near the Old Mill shops around twilight.

View from a bridge looking downriver, too dark for my blackberry camera.

Today, Maria and Ethan will visit with Chandy and her family some more, but Sam and I will join Tiffany and her son Henry for a rock climbing adventure. Sam has his climbing merit badge, and Tiffany and Henry have climbed multiple times in spots around the world. I'm the novice in the group. So maybe the next installment will include some photos of me hanging cheerily from ropes wrapped comically around various appendages. Stay tuned. Then unfortunately tomorrow we have to head home to real life once more.

Writing Contest Alert

2010-08-09T21:15:00.000-07:00

Dear blogger friend Writtenwyrdd is holding a flash fiction contest this month. She is generating the prompt from a raked-up mire of coagulated blog thought, and she wants your help. Go to her blog here and read about the contest and then spend two minutes helping generate the prompt.

Then get your engines ready to flash before August 29th, WW's fourth blogiversary.

Pinnacles National Monument

2010-08-02T23:01:00.000-07:00

Big Bro came West from our nation's capitol for our third annual camping trip last weekend. We originally started planning this a year ago, which means we finally decided to seek an appropriate destination this June. Everything within driving distance was booked except Pinnacles National Monument near Soledad, so Big Bro booked one of the many vacant campsites.

I know two things about Soledad. First, it gets to about 183 degrees in the summer. In the shade. At night. Second, there's a prison there. The wikipedia page for Soledad has this helpful and cheery note:

Also located near Soledad is... a maximum security penal institution which includes a 64 bed inpatient psychiatric program primarily servicing high security inmates who have a major mental disorder....

So we gathered up the children, bought $150 worth of snacks and beer, and drove south. It turns out that the campground is quite a distance from the Soledad side of the park, so we were somewhat disappointed that we could not spend our evenings enthusiastically and cleverly taunting the inmates from our sleeping bags. Still, having not checked the weather report, we set off confident in a weekend of beer drinking for me and Big Bro and boy scout competence and responsibility from the 14 and 11 year old boys.

All we really knew about this place was that it sported a swimming pool, housed some caves that might be partially open, provided some hiking trails, and disallowed campfires because of very high fire danger. Only after we got home did I see this welcoming nugget on their web site:

During the summer, extreme temperatures can make hiking uncomfortable at best, and possibly dangerous for those who are unprepared.

Good thing we had two boy scouts with us.

We also discovered, when looking at trail maps, that Pinnacles sits right atop the San Andreas Fault.

Seriously, it was hot but not unbearable, the pool was like a huge bowl of kid soup (chilled like gazpacho and not far off in hue), and the hiking was nothing short of breathtakingly spectacular. Our campsite was cleverly located near--but not under--shade trees, with a colony of gopher holes dense enough to rival the most populous slums of Mumbai. Or maybe they were snake holes. Or holes for trap door spiders big enough to capture small mammals. Regardless, we thought it best to huddle our tents on the other side of the parking space.

We arrived Friday afternoon, and since it was WAY too hot to hang out at our super-exposed campsite, we went off to hike the trail to the caves. A short hike, only 0.7 miles each way from the parking lot to the reservoir. Along the way are caves with narrow passages and low overheads that bang knees and heads indiscriminately. These are not caverns under the ground but caves that look as if God simply dropped a handful of enormous boulders and allowed them to fall where they wanted. The path weaves in and among the boulders and rock walls. Really interesting and beautiful. When you remember to forget that the park sits directly atop the San Andreas Fault.

Below is a map of the two hikes we did. We did the Friday hike on Friday afternoon and again on Sunday morning, and we did the Saturday hike on Saturday.

Here are pictures from Friday's hike:

Ethan, Big Bro, and Sam at the trail head

The first stone stairway we encountered.

Da boyz on the trail, looking at the foliage including some red poison oak.

Approaching a tunnel blasted from the stone.

The tunnel. Not long, but very cool.

The final stairway up to the reservoir.

The reservoir, which is not as big as it looks. It's also more brown than the dirt, and, we're told, is populated with leeches almost to the extent that you could walk from one side to the other on their backs and not get the soles of your shoes moist enough even to seal an envelope. We did not swim.

Looking for "bouldering" spots--like rock climbing only without equipment.

Sam and Mark bushwhacking through the caves, off the trail, hoping to meet up with Ethan and me a bit down the trail. After an arduous climb up the creek bank, they made it.

Here are pictures from the piece de resistance, Saturday's hike around the High Peaks trail. If you ever go to Pinnacles, you must hike this trail. Unless you have a doublewide body, in which case you will see that "steep and narrow" really means steep and narrow.

The first decent view on the High Peaks trail. Not the best we would see.

The trail continues upward alongside cool rock formations and climbing cliffs 20+ million years old.

Ethan, me, and Sam at the first of the High Peaks area. From here, the trail went flat across the ridge for a while then dramatically up again to Scout Peak.

Sam and Ethan after a short break. It was about 10 a.m. at this point, a little over 90 minutes into our hike, and the temperature was in the mid 80s already.

Sam, the intrepid explorer, the 11 year old conqueror of nature. He does look a little like Teddy Roosevelt here, doesn't he? TR was the one to set aside Pinnacles as a national monument. Bully!

Checking out the view from Scout Peak, where there is a restroom with an antenna. Your guess is as good as ours.

From this point, we could either go down an easy trail and up a bunch of switchbacks on the "tunnels" trail, or we could take the "steep and narrow" trail of High Peaks. Which do you think we took?

Right. Steep. And narrow. The ranger told us that this trail was build in the 1930s, and shortly after that rules were enacted so that no trails like this could be built any more. Because the building of them is too dangerous. Much of the trail was blasted right out of the rock, with steep drop-offs and narrow passages. Thank goodness for the steps and railings.

The first of the narrow bits.

The first of the steep bits. I'm pretty sure this is the stair that Frodo, Sam, and Gollum climbed to get into Mordor.

Another narrow bit. Keep in mind Ethan is five feet tall and approximately 80 pounds. This trail is not recommended for the tall and wide.

Another of the narrow bits. Children can walk two abreast. Which means that Frodo and Sam probably enjoyed the walk. And I kept a lookout for spiders the size of Chinook helicopters. But we didn't see any.

A view from one of the narrow bits. You can make out the shape of the flying turkey vulture. We did not see any condors, which live in Pinnacles. There are only about 300 California condors in the world, which is the result of a successful repopulation effort after the population dropped to 22 in the 1980s. Turkey vultures have a 5 foot wingspan; condors have a 9 1/2 foot wingspan. I wish we could have seen one soaring. That would be quite a sight.

Sam spent much of the hike pausing and looking back to make sure the rest of us were still alive. He was always in the front.

After the hike, we were happy this national campground had a swimming pool. A dip in the brisk and refreshing water followed by a pleasant nap on the shady lawn completed our hike in a most agreeable manner.

On Sunday morning before heading home we went back up through the caves to some climbing sites we'd seen Friday. Pinnacles is a serious destination for serious climbers, and all along you can see routes up the stubby cliff faces where climbers left hardware embedded in the rock or splashes of chalk where their hands gripped. The routes are amazing to look at for a non-climber. Sam is a natural--he steps up onto the first foothold and then resembles Spider Man as he vacuums his body to the rock face and scrambles around effortlessly. On the trail, when he wasn't looking back to see if we were still alive, he was remarking how he wished we'd brought some rope and a couple of harnesses so he could do some real climbing. Sometimes the boy frightens me.

All in all, it was a real success of a camping trip. We're already beginning to plan for next year's trip. We've agreed that we want to find somewhere that has vacancy. We have also agreed that we will begin looking for sites next June. It worked so well this year.

Rules of the blog

2010-08-01T22:11:00.000-07:00

The Management has instituted new blog policy. In order to continue to receive premier service from this blog, you must obey the rules posted below.

Note. FOR ANY PURPOSE.

My Clarity of Night contest entry

2010-07-20T08:13:00.000-07:00

Hullo everyone, I've been busy. I don't apologize for not blogging, but I do apologize for not reading and commenting on your blogs as I normally do. It's been just too busy with work, work travel, family vacations, and all that.

Jason Evans has a new contest going over at his Clarity of Night blog. The title is "Uncovered," and the photo prompt was inspired by the most excellent Stephen Parrish's most excellent debut novel, The Tavernier Stones.

Below are both the photo prompts and my entry into the contest. I did not set out to write a poem; it's just what came out when I wrote my first attempt, realized it was crap, and then got the hell out of the way of my muse. Also, I realize now that the dark gem is an emerald, not a sapphire, but what the hell. It's only a prompt, right? I don't have to stick exactly to every detail, right?

SMOLDERING

As slow as winter, fear seeped into our speech.

Its icy tendrils crept among our minds and
Insinuated themselves around our hearts.
Its fragments latched onto words and tumbled
Through our cabled veins on the blood
Of twenty-four seven news.

Politicians and pundits coiled and bit,
Rattling their tails and sabers.
Their forked tongues spit venomous words:
FascHISSt. SocialHISSt.

TerrorHISSt.

We wrapped ourselves in unfurled flags
Against fear’s relentless freeze.
In the false heat of patriotism,
We danced around crackling pages
Consumed
Focused on the flames
Ignoring
Ashes that rose and collapsed
To smother us under
a silent, colorless blanket.

Buried deep, our collective soul
Smoldered and survived
Until the blue, white, and red embers
Of our better selves rekindled
Melted away our fear
To shine and sparkle once more.

Hear the Author number... um... seven!

2010-06-03T23:02:00.000-07:00

Hard to believe we've already done six of these "read something and post it to your blog" thingies. Originally demanded by Robin, this time we are inspired by our wonderful friend, Paca (that's DOCTOR Paca to you... well, to us all, I guess).

UPDATE: Sylvia has put together a list of all of us playing this round.

My reading, in the podbean below. I apologize for the crappy sound quality. I blame the equipment available (a Rock Band USB microphone connected to my Mac mini) and an utter lack of understanding of how to work with sound on a computer.

And the full text of the story is below in case you want to read along. This story did not win any awards in the contest, but I still like it.

Alone

Up here in the branches, the wind slithers under my coat and tightens around my arms. My breath freezes in my beard. This new rope scratches, but it warms my neck.

Wind whistles through the barn nearby, and ice breaks with thunderclaps on the river. Smoke escapes from the farmhouse chimney, disappearing into a gunmetal sky. As if from nowhere, one big crow flaps onto a close branch and stares me down with coal eyes and a black icicle beak.

Through cracking lips, I croak, “You never seen a man hang himself before?” My teeth chatter. I grasp the trunk to keep from slipping. “You come to stop me?”

“No.” The quiet voice visits my mind directly. The crow cocks its head to the side, its beak shut. The voice is Sarah’s. “I’ve come to witness.”

I glance to the ground, skin prickling. Sarah might be there, my shovel still buried in her naked chest, her blood staining the gray snow. Jefferson might stand next to her, headless. I whisper, “Begone, adultress witch,” and I shiver in every bone, right to my soul.

Sarah’s voice coos, “You will be warm enough, husband, when you join your brother in Hell. I bear no fault. He took me by force.”

“Begone!” I swat at the crow. My foot slips. I pitch forward and swing down in a slow arc, feel the rope cut my throat and freeze my breath. A gauzy haze drowns my vision, and the crow ascends through barren branches.

Ducklings Reprise

2010-06-03T21:17:00.000-07:00

Remember yesterday? No, neither do I, usually. But yesterday we had ducklings.

Today, the mom and the seven wee ones came back. They came quacking into our front yard. We're not sure if they came looking for the one injured duckling, or if they were simply terrified out of a neighbor's yard by the gardener's leaf blower. I prefer to think the latter. I prefer to think they don't care about the little one that is now on its own at the hospital, never to be reunited with its mama.

Anyway, two new pictures. I like the second especially.

Mama and ducklings walking on our side path.

Mama and ducklings choosing the perfect
moment for to be photogenic.

Make way for ducklings! with photos!

2010-06-02T21:43:00.000-07:00

My younger son called me on my way home from work today. He's 11 and still has that munchkin voice, but he's losing his little-boy lisp.

"Dad. When will you be home? We can't get the ducklings out of the pool."

"Ducklings?"

"Yeah, a mom duck and eight ducklings. They can't get out. We saw on youtube someone made a ramp from a lawn chair. We're waiting for you to get home."

Twenty minutes later, I arrived to find, indeed, eight ducklings and one mama duck swimming around in our pool.

First, we grabbed two lengths of old, useless baseboard and lay them into the pool as a narrow ramp. I had visions of Ping boarding his boat from the Yangtze.

We herded the mama (with her lings in tow) toward the ramp, but the mama kept jumping out next to the ramp and quacking urgently to her brood. They, of course, eschewed the ramp and tried for the more direct route--jumping out like mama did. But it was no good. Even the best of them could only manage a couple of inches out of the water, a good six inches below the lip of the concrete coping.

At the insistent pleas of my younger son, the one who had seen the youtube video, we removed the useless baseboard and slid one end of a lounge chair into the pool. It made for a much wider ramp, but it's a plastic weave and the ducklings simply hopped through the holes instead of climbing out. The mom seemed overwrought trying to quack her ducklings into jumping higher.

About this time, the neighbor boy arrived to help. He noticed that one of the ducklings was no longer swimming with the rest. He was just floating around, one leg hanging limp. We don't now how it happened, but we think he maybe broke it getting into, and then out of, the skimmer (where the water gets sucked into the filter). I used the baseboard (not so useless any more) to lift him up and out of the water and deposit him onto the patio.

Mama duck seemed far less agitated but still unable to extract the rest of her family from the pool.

Finally, I got sick of the failed ramps and went to get an old sheet of beadboard left over from a long-ago bathroom remodel. I lay the beadboard in the pool upside down, and it made a fair beachhead. (You can see the lounge chairs in the background.)

Within minutes, mama duck led her kidlets up and out. The exit wasn't so kind to the little ones, with the top of the ramp three inches off the ground. One by one they tumbled off the edge onto their heads, popped right back up, and waddled off through the gate behind mama.

Unfortunately, the injured baby could not walk and was left behind. Maria scooped him up into a box and took him to the Lindsay Wildlife Museum, which has an extensive and top-notch wildlife rescue program. They whisked the duckling into the back room (stat!) and asked for the whole story. They will fix him up good. I am imagining him on the gurney with a blood pressure monitor and an IV drip and a team of surgeons just like in Grey's Anatomy. Here's the little guy on his way to the hospital, sitting on a dish towel.

When mama got her babies out, she hightailed it out of our yard and across the street. The seven mobile kids seemed not one bit upset about leaving the wounded behind, and the little injured one seemed to take a philosophical approach to the whole affair. We have no idea where the family skedaddled off to. They went into another yard, under a fence. They're probably stuck in another neighbor's pool as I write this.

Beer Labels!

2010-05-28T15:53:00.000-07:00

I thought when I pitched a competition, I'd have a ball seeing all the entries. But I guess the kickoff was weak so only two friends took a shot. Still, the goal was achieved, and two strong entries finished in a tie, which means only one thing: a shootout to determine the winner! I'll line up the shots and then drink them, and I'll declare myself the winner and hoist the cup in the end.

Here are the two entries, both of which will grace the bottles of my new brew in time for the opening game broadcast of the World Cup. First, only because I received it first, is Gene's entry.

It's based on the FIFA World Cup 2010 logo, cleverly updated for the topic at hand. I've modified it further to include the only thing that's clearly missing:

Then there is Jen's entry. You may recall that she originally suggested Dudley's Old Peculiar as the name of the batch, but that turned into Dudley's Old & Peculiar. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to take that as an insult or not. In any case, the label is definitely good enough to put on the bottles, and it probably describes both the beer and the brewer.

So there you have it. Inbounds Ale and Old & Peculiar.

ahoy, matey, weigh anchor and cast off!

2010-05-21T10:45:00.000-07:00

The boys and I are going on a cruise this weekend. An overnight cruise on a ship that will not leave the dock. This will be my sixth time spending the night on this ship. It's Ethan's fifth time and Sam's third. I think. I've lost track.

It's time for our annual scout overnight on the USS Hornet aircraft carrier, Ethan's second favorite place on the entire Earth. (His first favorite is Disneyland.) Here's a photo from one of our early overnights on the Hornet, when Ethan was just a Bear cub. This must have been our second trip. Didn't we both look young back then?

Ethan was so enamored of the Hornet that when the pine car derby came around, we decided we had to make an aircraft carrier car. This is the absolute pinnacle of my craftsmanship with woodworking. Ethan did most of the painting himself.

Years later, when Sam became a Tiger cub, we all went together. Here's a photo of the boys on the flight deck with one of Sam's best friends. That was four years ago; now all three of them are in the same Boy Scout troop. (The kid hanging off the missile is not with us.)

Although we sleep in bunks in the berthing areas with lots of other people snoring and whatever, and although the food is cafeteria quality, and although it gets cold and drafty at night, I actually am really looking forward to this trip. The Hornet puts on a great overnight event, and it's fabulous to see such a piece of history come alive through the stories the docents tell and through the eyes of the kids.

Hopefully I won't forget my camera. Come back next week to see photos from this year.

BEER LABEL UPDATE

On Sunday I'll be bottling the beer I brewed two weeks ago. I still have only two label submissions. As it stands now, I'll be using both and sharing them on the blog next week. If I get any more at dudleypj@gmail.com, I'll include them in the batch.

WRITING UPDATE

I am happy to say that on my recent business trip I managed to write for several hours on airplanes and came up with about 4,200 new words on the new new novel. The new old novel is under submission, and the old new novel was semi-abandoned a couple months ago in favor of this new new novel.

Beer! Brewing! Need a name and label!

2010-05-09T22:57:00.000-07:00

In keeping with my new years resolutions for 2010, I brewed a new batch of beer yesterday. It's an Irish Red Ale, which they say is a lot like a Scotch ale but not quite so Scottish.

I had to start by buying a new stopper and air lock because I broke the old one with the last batch. Turns out if that rubber stoppers get hard and dry as they get old, and if you push too hard, they actually slip down into the carboy. We managed to work it out, but we broke the airlock during bottling. So anyway, with the new equipment in place and a fresh ingredient kit from Beer, Beer, & More Beer, we brewed.

The beer looks great. It now ferments and settles for two weeks, then I'll bottle it. Two weeks later, just days before the opening game of the World Cup, it will be ready to drink.

The only problem is, I need a name and a label for it. Normally I'd do this myself, but I'm turning to you, all my friends, to do it for me. This is probably as close to a blog contest as I'll ever come, so you better jump on this opportunity before it expires.

The task: Name the beer and create a label that can be printed on Avery 5264 labels, which are a great size for both the 22 ounce and the 12 ounce bottles. These are 3-1/3" by 4" with rounded corners, and you need to be aware that I am not very good at printing bleeds unless you also provide me a six-up version that can be printed on my Mac Mini.

The context: This beer will be consumed mostly in a hot tub with the World Cup on the big screen. Some will be given away to friends, probably. Children may be present, so no X rated labels. (Actually, feel free to send X-rated labels. I just won't pick them as winners.)

Submissions: Email the name and artwork to me at dudleypj@gmail.com, no later than May 23, 2010.

The prize: I dunno. Maybe, like, I'll say thank you. And you'll get the thrill of having your work displayed on beer bottles in my home.

Let us pray, or, like, whatever.

2010-05-06T12:26:00.000-07:00

Dudes, it is the National Day of Prayer here in the good old U S of A, despite what some fuddy-duddy judge dude says. Our founding fathers had the good sense to set up a system of government that separates church from state, and which leaves enough wiggle room for the state to cozy up to the church when it wants. Cozying up is good. I like cozying up, given the right cozy-up partner (that cozy photo there's me and Carrie Underwood). And wiggle room is good, especially with that same cozy-up partner. And really you can cozy up almost anywhere, especially if... sorry, lost my train of thought there. What day is it?

Oh, right. National Day of Prayer, which causes much angst and gnashing of teeth. Did you know there's a group called Freedom from Religion Foundation? I like the concept because, really, isn't freedom what this country's all about? The pilgrims left Europe because the church didn't like the way they worshipped the old white-haired dude in the sky with the big beard and the magic finger. Which is weird because all of them worshipped that same dude, from the same book.

But the Freedom from Religion Foundation has a really funky acronym. FfRF. Sounds like something a dog says when its got a tennis ball in its mouth, or the sound that comes out when you get latte foam up your nose by accident. I think it's because of this funky sounding acronym that they are so wound up and tense over religion. They think people are making fun of them, saying "FfRF" and giggling, so they feel like they have to prove themselves or something by being as militantly devoted to their cause as Franklin Graham is to his.

Here's what I think: We don't need a National Day of Prayer. Congress, back in the ancient days of the 50s or whenever, solved a problem that didn't exist and didn't need solving. People who pray have like fifty-two days of prayer already. Some people pray every day. They really need another one where the government tells everyone who doesn't pray that we should all be praying? On a Thursday in May? This is necessary?

No, it's not necessary. It doesn't help the spirituality of those who are already spiritual. It doesn't create spirituality in those who aren't. It's not like National Day of Prayer raises awareness of God. National Day of Eating Fewer Trans-Fats, now that I could get behind. It's practical, and there's a public health aspect to it. But there's only one purpose a National Day of Prayer can serve, and that purpose involves solidifying the political power of the religious over the non-religious.

But instead of joining in that battle, I think I'll quote from two very wise men.

“Life is short and complicated and nobody knows what to do about it. So don’t do anything about it. Just take it easy, man. Stop worrying so much whether you’ll make it into the finals. Kick back with some friends and some oat soda and whether you roll strikes or gutters, do your best to be true to yourself and others – that is to say, abide.”
--The Dude

“Sir, my concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God's side, for God is always right.”
--Abraham Lincoln

And, with one final thought from Mr. Lincoln, I say, "Happy National Day of Prayer." Take it easy.

looking for happiness in the bottom of a D cup

2010-05-04T23:10:00.000-07:00

Here in California, we have a lot of fake boobs. We also have a lot of things that create fake happiness. Napa offers wine, Marin offers marijuana, and Genentech offers Valium. These mind altering substances offer a brief illusion of happiness but do not actually make people happy. Fake boobs may or may not make certain people happy, for real.

A week or so ago a woman in Orange County went so far as to fake some credit in order to pay for her new fake boobs. She was looking forward to hitting the bars to show off her new chest, but it looks like she'll be spending time (six months) behind bars instead.

Back in 2005, ABC aired a story about a new trend: parents giving their children boob jobs for high school graduation. Presumably, the gift was limited to daughters. But again, this is California, so anything's possible. The best line from this story:

The gift of breast implants costs about $7,000. "But I don't think you can put really a price on your child's happiness," [Jennifer's mom] said.

That's right. No price is too high for our child's happiness because, you know, money can buy happiness. If the Jaguar doesn't do it for you, maybe a nice rack will. If that doesn't work, maybe Xanax is for you.

Here in our very own elementary school, my younger son acted and sang in the school play. He was a cardsman in Alice in Wonderland, and although it wasn't a starring role, he had several lines and loved every minute of it. By all accounts, the play was a smashing production, and I agree. Really well done, with some terrific performances. Around the last week of rehearsals, though, I heard an ugly rumor that some of the little girls (these are 10 and 11 year olds) had begun taking anti anxiety medication because of the pressure of this play. This wasn't about boobs, of course.

But this was: A retailer in the UK was recently forced to pull a product from its shelves. The product? Bikinis for girls younger than 10 years old. Bikinis with padded bras, for girls younger than 10 years old. The article notes an anonymous source with a possibly reasonable explanation for this, but really. Come on. Really?

Padded bras for little girls? Women stealing money to get boob jobs? Children taking anti anxiety medication to make it through the school play? Parents buying their daughters new boobs to create self esteem?

What the cuss has happened to us?

At least this lady knows how to teach her son proper values. If he's gonna steal the Xanax she hid in her bra, she's gonna turn him in to the cops. Talk about looking for happiness in the bottom of a D cup.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

2010-05-03T09:58:00.000-07:00

Poor Louisiana.

too much salt? not enough salsa!

2010-04-26T23:12:00.000-07:00

Brazil has leapfrogged California. No, not economically. According to Wikipedia, California's Gross State Product (GSP) is $1.8 trillion compared to Brazil's $1.5 trillion Gross Domestic Product. (Personally, I think California's grossest state product is asparagus, but that's not my point.)

My point is that Brazil now has the coolest government. We already knew they had the best beachware, but now Brazil's health minister is urging the country to cut down their high blood pressure. While we here in the US fret about things like salt intake, Brazil is pushing exercise, from dancing to sexual intercourse. (I'm guessing that the reason the rate of high blood pressure rose in 2009 in Brazil is because of the minister's announcements. If I knew the government and the health industry were behind me, I'd do everything I could to juice up my blood pressure right before my doctor appointment. You know, to get the prescription.)

Back in 2003 we had a choice to make in California. Our governor was kicked out, and we had 135 candidates on the slate in the special election. Eventually we selected The Terminator, who has proved to be mostly inoffensive. That's about the best I can say for him. We thought it would be totally cool to have a kick-ass actor as governor again. Harken back to the time when Dutch was governor. A tough guy for tough times, a real Americ... um, tough guy that understands guns and manly modes of transportation such as horses and motorcycles.

Me, I hoped we'd go a different film star route. I hoped we would follow Italy's lead. In 1987, a full 16 years earlier, Italy saw the wisdom of electing a former porn star to Parliament. Cicciolina, a Hungarian born porn star, in 2002 failed to win an election for mayor in an Italian city. I am sure defeat was hard for her to swallow. Maybe, had she won, we would have had ridden her tail--um, coattails--to a victory of our own.

Yes, we had our very own ex-porn star running for governor of California, the eighth largest economy in the world. Mary Carey, a former ballet dancer and current porn star, ran on an 11-point platform that included making lap dances tax deductible. Carey promises to run for President of the United States when she turns old enough (35). According to Wikipedia, she will be eligible for that position the 2016 election. And why shouldn't she? She's already familiar with all the other positions politicians engage in.

If only we'd elected Carey, we'd still be ahead of Brazil. Plus, when a porn star urges more sexual activity, it feels authentic. When a regular old health minister does it, it seems... doctory. Like the old guy with cold hands that tells you to turn your head and cough. I'd much rather hear it from Carey. Plus, I'm sure she's very familiar with politics since, being a California based porn star, she is likely familiar with the club at which the RNC hosted some, um, "meals." Which means she's probably heard a lot of political chit-chat through the years while she was working.

California's loss may be Louisana's gain. Porn star Stormy Daniels is preparing to run for Senate against disgraced Republican David Vitter. I dearly hope she wins. I'm considering moving to Louisiana just to vote in this election. How a Senator can co-sponsor a constitutional amendment to protect marriage, then get caught with his pants down like he did... and still be electable is a big question. And now that he's running against a porn star. It just doesn't get any better than that.

God bless America! (And Brazil a little bit, too.)

PS: Be sure to keep your salt intake low. And get your blood pressure checked regularly.

Wednesday invades Saturday

2010-04-24T17:10:00.000-07:00

Today is Saturday. And a GLORIOUS Saturday it has decided to be. Which, unfortunately, means a lot of weed pulling. But it also meant a youth soccer tournament between Walnut Creek Soccer Club (my son's local club) and youth teams from Sheffield Wednesday. No ash clouds in sight (or any other clouds for that matter.)

Wednesday arrived Thursday to play Saturday. They may also be playing Sunday, but they won't be playing my son's team. My son is on the second flight team, and only the top flight are in the tournament. I don't have any idea what the results were, but judging from the American parents' comments, it seems Wednesday schooled our boys pretty good.

But what was fun for my son was a coaching "clinic" the Sheffield coaches put on today. Essentially it was four weeks of practice squeezed into sixty minutes. They asked my son's team to be the practice squad, so a few of the boys and a few younger ones were run through a frantic but professional set of drills. It was great to see the demeanor and action of the coaches, watch how they ran the drills. I didn't take any notes at all because, thank God, I don't have to coach this year. Hooray for me! Yay!

The best part of the day was the language barrier. The boys had no idea that "in ya come" means "stop the drill and come listen to me." They had no idea that "have a breather" meant "stop the drill and take a rest." One boy said that the main coach (who had a wee hint of Scottish brogue) was completely unintelligible, and not a single word was understood.

Here are some more of the photos. Sorry they stink. They were taken on my blackberry. My son is #61, the one clearly exhausted after the first drill. (Apple doesn't fall far from tree.)

Here, Sam is successfully dispossessing one of his good friends. A natural defender, my boy. Again, apples and trees, limited distance relationship.

Final wrap-up before quitting. No breaks for an hour--the boys did a terrific job keeping after it and represented their club well. Very coachable set of boys, those.