Reading (For Dummies)

Relay For Life

When I was 15, my mom got some bad news from a doctor. She had cancer. I remember when she had a friend of hers over for tea, informed her friend, then started crying. I was reading a book in my bedroom, but couldn't anymore. I couldn't see. I didn't want to not have a mom.

Fortunately the cancerous growth, small as it was, was removed and hadn't spread. For that, I almost started believing in miracles. But miracles don't happen; research, treatment, and medicine happens. Want to help other people beat cancer? Donate some moolah to this fundraiser that I'm taking part in. If I raise the most money, I'll do surprising things to earn it. Like skip around the track without regard for the people who question my sexuality. Or do sommersaults for a lap. Or things even more amusing...and I'll post all sorts of pictures right here.

Gone Country

The last time I went cross-country skiing was in Austria. I was bad it, and fell a lot. So somehow I thought it was a good idea to go skiing in the Five Ponds Wilderness for three days, carrying a backpack full of gear.

We came in on Friday night, when it was supposed to be -7 Fahrenheit, and skied a few miles to the Cranberry Lake lean-to/campsite. We slept in tents because of the cold -- a good idea. I woke up a few times in the night shivering from from the lack of solar thermal generation (yeah, my -20 bag wasn't cutting it), and because frost was forming on the breathe hole of the outside of the bag, and ice crystals were falling back in on me and going up my nose. Ah, winter camping. There is nothing quite like it.

We woke up Saturday to perhaps the most beautiful day ever. The sun brightly shone through a cloudless dark-blue sky. A high pressure system had moved in, pushing all our air pollution out to the Atlantic. We didn't roll out until almost noon, a tribute to our sun worship and newfound 20 degree "warmth".

It took us until sunset to reach camp 2, the High Falls lean-to. Only about 4 miles away, it was a unique challenge to get to on skiis because of the terrain. Going up and down narrow rocky trail can be tricky as hell. Especially when carrying a huge backpack on one's back.

We made it, though, and due to the temperature being so much warmer here (+5F!) we slept in the lean-to for the night, promising to get an earlier start on Sunday. We had to, there was about 9 miles of skiing left to tackle on our final day. So up and at 'em we were, to High Rock, then home. Skiing with a backpack is surprisingly warm in the winter, even when the temperature is below zero. I had to strip off most of my clothing, leaving only a polypro undershirt, underwear, and waterproof ski pants on for most of the travelling time.

Another trip accomplished, another pair of slightly sore legs. But I improved at my skiing capabilities a bit, and should be able to do it sufficiently well without a backpack. So long as I close my eyes and pretend I'm on a bicycle, anyway...

Summarizing Syracuse

When I go wandering the streets of Syracuse, contemplating the next move, I liken my predicament to a rhyming schizophrenic gerbil. I could crawl into Richard Gere's out-hole, or await my fate like Joe Braithwaite. I missed my usual wandering in Oakwood Cemetery for my birthday this year, so I played a little double-time midnight trekking a few days later, which literally left me hiking from sunset to sunrise in -20C (-4F) weather. I stumbled upon this unbelievable gravestone, in which the wife has apparently passed away, and the husband's side of the joint rock is just waiting for a date to be etched in. The odd thing in the flower cup on the left side is a trowel, either someone's idea of a little practical laughing, or a sign of things to come.

It's been a lonely winter since Georgia, but loneliness can be all-too-good, as I'm beginning to recall. Extra time to concentrate on the self-improvement category again. So I'm back to riding my indoor trainer (hoping to shake off some of my winter weight gain), cooking, reading a ton, and otherwise trying to be productive in a house that's entirely too cold for typing and internet use (as I type this, my fingertips are numb, in spite of the knit polypropylene gloves).

I've been getting a bit worried about the job situation, though I suppose I shouldn't be. Even the family pressure to move to location X is finally ending, I guess my wishy-washiness and moving about, coupled with my brother's recent moving halfway across the country has finally beaten everyone into submission. My brother Jason I cannot thank enough, for he has bitten all the major bullets, paving the way for we younger siblings to move about and make other such decisions without raising eyebrows.

And of course in other news is the death of my poor Subaru, which apparently is in need of a transmission transplant. Without it, it will slowly grind its gears away until there is nothing left, at which time it seems rather unlikely that it will move any longer. So I'm off to looking at newer modes of transportation, including the unbeatable walking, which at least allows me access to the sort of organic mushrooms that won't bar me from getting a security clearance.

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

I am officially tired of not having a home.

After the adventures of the last two weeks, living out of a backpack, canoe, compact, and pickup trucks, I arrived in Syracuse for a single night of R&R before flinging myself back out in the world. I purchased a ticket for DC on an hour's notice. My destination: the SFS job fair.

I ended up spending my birthday in a strange city, surrounded by strange people, which somehow seems to be the state of affairs of life lately. A bunch of us from Syracuse went to eat at a very very horrid restaurant (a waitress that didn't speak English, $5 bottled beer, and wine that tasted something like vinegar). Suddenly Rome looks more appealing, though I'm still pushing to move to more southern climes. The events are just another of those down notes that I have to laugh at , smile, and be thankful for living through them. Does older mean wiser?

Don't Wake Me, I Plan on Sleeping In

Wrestling alligators and chasing the legend of my biological grandfather were but a taste of what I've been doing the last few weeks.

I was part of a group lead by Polar Humenn and Steve Buer through Okefenokee Swamp in southeastern Georgia. As the legend goes, my grandfather crash-landed some variety of experimental aircraft in the swamp in the late 1940s, and went missing for a day and a half before being discovered by a trapper. I can only assume that the swamp was not a national preserve at that point.

We departed on what would become a marathon drive (after a night of soaking in Polar's hot tub), finally getting out of Syracuse at 8am. We arrived at Buer's apartment in Atlanta sometime around 2am. We didn't stop very often or for very long.

New Year's Eve I got to walk around in downtown Atlanta with David and Jithka. We went to the Martin Luther King Memorial. Seeing the Czech couple's reaction to the civil rights movement made it worth it. Being there even helped shake off some of my own racial guilt. So many of my caucasian friends admit to feeling somehow guilted by what happened our fellow countryment of african descent, even though the days of publicly accepted racism were over long before we were born. Somehow the visit allowed me to distance myself from all that. Surprising too was the racial makeup of those visiting the memorial and museum -- at least 75% were of european descent.

The new year's was celebrated in downtown Atlanta, watching the Peach drop in what can only be described of as a "the South will rise again" show of homosexual pride. C'mon, you're watching a peach drop from a goddamn long skinny phallus-shaped tower. Perhaps I was only reading into things due the vast quantities of Vitamin B-3, L-Arganine, and Yohimbe I've been popping in an attempt at keeping up with my tattooed virgo of a bedwarmer. I may not be 15 anymore, but I'm getting there...

We headed off for Macon after a few hours of sleep, most of us hung over, a few still stoned from the night before, for another 6 hours on the road. We made it just in time to get a campsite, where I slept under the stars...at least until 6am when it started gently drizzling on my face and sleeping bag. We were hurry to put away the last of the previous night's beer and hit the road again.

We were on the water by 10am, paddling south along one of the canoe trails for our destiny. We saw a canoe and a kayak about an hour into the trip; those would be the last strangers we would see for the next four days.

Our first night was on a Chikee, a small wooden platform with a port-a-pot, big enough to sleep 8 -- convenient, as there were exactly that many in our party. Cooking, drinking, and a lot of talking ensued before we decided to hit the sack -- the next day would involve 12 miles of paddling.

We spotted our first 'gator on day 2, with what was later to be revealed as a bobcat hanging from his grinning mouth (not pictured). Kind of unfortunate, as bobcats seem to be becoming a rarity in the swamp. We proceeded to Floyd's Island, where a cabin awaited us.

Day 3 included more alligators, some minor strife with paddlers, some blisters on my hand, and a whole lot of sun and warmth. We spent the night in Roundtop Chikee, where we experience Swamp Ass (not to be confused with Swamp Gas, this is the stuff that comes otu of the toilets when they have been composting human feces for too long).

Day 4 was a quick 5 hour hop back to civilization, then to Florida, where we camped out in Fort <> somewhat illegally. We arrived after the campground closed, let in behine a hapless camper who was leaving (we closed the gate after her). A night fending off raccoons and was followed by swimming in the Atlantic Ocean. Afterwards, we returned to Atlanta to rest up before heading off for some caving.

A front came in, flooding out quite a few of the Tennessee caves, so we went a little further south -- Alabama. Limrock Blowing Cave was our final destination. Buer had been there before and was a pretty good guide. The cave was carved by a fairly large river, making it quite different from New York caves. We were able to walk about normally throughout the cave, the rooms there large enough to stand and jump about in.

We spent over 4 hours wandering inside. I even lead the group through a rather treacherous room of breakfall that was tight to squeeze through -- Buer had never found his way through it, and somehow I managed to convince myself to try. The cave just kept going and going and going after it -- about 2km of huge carved passageway working its way up to the sandstone top of this limestone mountain. Enough was enough though...although the cave itself wasn't cold, we were tired to the point where we needed some gumbo, and headed back to the outdoors to cook it up.

Another marathon 22 hour drive home to Syracuse began in Alabama at 6:46AM. We came home via a waffle house (which left me wanting to vomit at how much grease was involved), Skyline Drive in Virginia, and an ice storm. A much needed sunburnt head and a huge deficit of sleep later, I can honestly say I'm at peace for a little while.