July 2007 Archives
It isn't every day you can take an online quiz to find out which American Civil War General you are. I found this originally on Civil War Bookshelf.
You scored as William T. Sherman, One of the Union's greatest heroes, your capture of Atlanta helped guarantee Lincoln's re-election and the winning of the war. South of the Mason-Dixon, they think you're a monster, but you're really only a little crazy...
Which American Civil War General are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
It isn't very analytical or reliable, I'm sure, but for what it's worth, I'm mostly a collection of William Tecumseh Sherman, Ambrose Burnside, and Ulysses S. Grant. This reminds me that I have a number of Civil War books to read before the year is out, one of which is Grant and Sherman: The Friendship That Won the Civil War by Charles Bracelen Flood.
When attending fun events like conventions or car races or festivals, it's best to go with a clear goal in mind. Not only will you have a better time, but you'll have a better time than most of the people around you.
You see, most people attend conventions or car races or festivals with only the vague plan of "having fun", figuring they can work out the details after they pass through the gates. These people end up wasting hours and dollars trying to "wing it". By the time they leave, all they have to show for their winging is a tacky souvenir t-shirt, a belly full of fried food, and an unshakable feeling of dissatisfaction.
The best way to avoid that fate (especially the tacky souvenir t-shirt) is to have a clear goal in mind.
For example, if one is attending Comic-Con, one might say, "I plan to photograph a minimum of thirty caped crusaders." Not only is the goal measurable, but it's achievable, since there won't be a shortage of cape-wearing attendees. To make it more challenging (and more satisfying as a result), one might increase the specificity of the goal by making a Comic-Con photo checklist.
Or if one is attending a car race in a metropolitan area, one might say, "I plan to drink beer until the cars stand still and the buildings go speeding by." While this goal doesn't state a specific number of beers, the likelihood that the necessary quantity of beer will be on tap to achieve the goal is extremely high.
Those are two hypothetical examples. Let's take a look at an actual case study - this weekend's Gilroy Garlic Festival.
Like most people, I could have attended with the hazy notion of "eating lots of garlic", but that felt too ambiguous, so I set a clearly defined goal: to eat at least three garlic items. I know, it wasn't a very creative goal, but in all honesty, I wasn't feeling very garlicky yesterday.
Armed with my goal, I attended the festival with a sense of purpose. After surveying the food booths, I picked my first item - beer-battered garlic fries ($5). They were delicious appetizers.
From there, I ventured over to the famous Gourmet Alley and ate a garlic sausage sandwich ($5). Both items had been heavy on garlic and I was nearly over my clove limit, but I still had one item to go.
I was just about to give up hope when I spotted the booth offering free garlic ice cream. The line stretched for a hundred feet, but I endured the wait and the heat to eat two cones of cold garlic goodness.
As a reward for achieving my goal, I watched the festival's first professional chef cooking competition, which featured four prominent Bay Area chefs competing for a prize of $5,000 and 1,000 pounds of garlic. Just so it's written somewhere, Tony Baker, the executive chef of Montrio Bistro in Monterey, won the competition. (We might have to dine there the next time we're in the area.)
While watching people prepare improvised dishes might not seem like the most exciting thing in the world, it certainly beats watching cars (or buildings) racing around in loops.
Anyway, the point is that my festival experience was better because I had a goal in mind beforehand. At least I think it was better. I might have to attend the festival next year with the only aim of "eating lots of garlic" or "having fun" to compare and confirm.
Song on my mind... "The Story" by Brandi Carlile
All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to
It's true...I was made for you
We saw her last night at San Jose's Music in the Park. She is one of those singers whose recorded voice doesn't do her justice. She put on such a good show, I'm tempted to pay to see her perform the next time she passes through.
Last summer, one of my favorite shows came out on DVD, a fact I realized this week, thanks to my less than impressive powers of observation. Then again, considering it took The-Powers-That-Be thirteen years to release it, a year doesn't seem so bad.
Now that I've written a paragraph about it, I should probably mention its name. The show was called The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. and it lasted an entire season on Fox in 1993. It was a western-comedy-sci-fi show about a lawyer-turned-bounty-hunter who is hired by robber barons to capture a notorious gang of bandits that murdered his father, a legendary federal marshal.
Less than a decade later, another western-comedy-sci-fi show on Fox would venture into the same convention-defying territory as Brisco and suffer a similar single-season fate. That show was called Firefly. I must have mentioned it once or twice. Anyway, I don't know why I have an affinity for short-lived, offbeat shows, but I do, and I don't think I'll ever be able to quit them.
The show introduced me to Bruce Campbell. I hadn't seen The Evil Dead trilogy, so I had no idea who he was. At the time, I simply thought he was perfect as Brisco. Part of it was his constant look of bemusement, part of it was his great chemistry with the other actors, especially Julius Carry, who played Lord Bowler, and Kelly Rutherford, who played Dixie Cousins. I took an instant liking to him.
The show also introduced me to one of my favorite television theme songs. Randy Edelman wrote it and the heroic song has enjoyed greater success than the show. NBC used it during last year's Winter Olympics and I've heard it used in numerous movie trailers.
Brisco enjoyed 27 episodes of life before Fox pulled it. Since then, it has enjoyed several years of cable syndication. I'm just glad The-Powers-That-Be finally came to their senses and released the show on DVD.
Before The-Book-By-You-Know-Who came out, there was speculation as to what its last word would be. I couldn't understand why this would interest anybody, except for maybe a few gamblers in Vegas, and truth be told, I still don't get it.
Of course, the whole thing sparked my curiosity and made me wonder what the last words were of other notable books. So, for fun, I grabbed The-Book-By-You-Know-Who and nine other random books from my bookcase to compile a quick list of last words. While I was at it, I grabbed the first words, too. As you will notice, none of the novels started with Once or ended with after...
| Title | Author | First | Last |
|---|---|---|---|
| Adventures of Huckleberry Finn | Mark Twain | You | before |
| Atlas Shrugged | Ayn Rand | Who | dollar |
| Casino Royale | Ian Fleming | The | now |
| The Chronicles of Narnia | C.S Lewis | This | before |
| The Color of Magic | Terry Pratchett | In | alternative |
| Don Quixote | Cervantes | Idle | farewell |
| Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows | J.K. Rowling | The | well |
| The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy | Douglas Adams | Far | universe |
| The Lord of the Rings | J.R.R. Tolkien | When | said |
| Pride and Prejudice | Jane Austen | It | them |
On Saturday, I woke up early with what could best be described as anxious glee. As soon as I had opened my eyes, I was leaping out of bed and yanking the front door open to see where the delivery guy had chosen to hide the box containing The-Book-By-You-Know-Who.
At first, I thought he had done a keen job by tucking the box in the darkness behind a patchwork of freshly woven cobwebs. But after reaching in and pulling out only cobwebs and an angry spider, it dawned on me that maybe UPS or FedEx didn't make deliveries before six in the morning.
A blanket of disappointment draped itself over my shoulders. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning who rushes to count the presents under the tree only to discover that mom and dad have decided not to put anything out until after every last relative has arrived, including Uncle Stu driving from Schenectady.
I made a pot of coffee, sat by the front window, and tried to read an unrelated book about events that transpired in 1620 around Cape Cod. On any other day, I would have been absorbed in the tale of William Bradford and Massasoit, but on Saturday, it lacked the magic and wizardry I craved. It was like satisfying the desire for sashimi with California rolls.
Throughout the morning and early afternoon, I tried my hardest to go about my day as though the fate of the world didn't depend on the arrival of a book - one spellbinding, life-changing book. As everyone knows, I usually spend my Saturdays checking the front door and windows every five minutes to see if any peculiar packages appear or suspicious vans drive by, so I would say my attempts at normalcy were successful.
Unfortunately, no peculiar packages appeared, only a couple of leaflets - one offering cleaning services, the other offering Sunday services. If it weren't for leaflets, I could probably get by with a recycling bin half the size. No suspicious vans drove by either, only the usual SUVs delivering kids to the community pool. I did notice an ice cream truck and mail truck zip by five hours earlier than normal, but other than that, nothing. I began to worry the book might not show up at all.
Two hours passed. Unable to contain my anxiety any longer, I decided to see if anybody else in the neighborhood had received book-sized parcels. I didn't want to appear like I was snooping, so I grabbed the mailbox key and pretended to walk to the community mailbox while surreptitiously peeking at porches for any telltale packages. I breathed a sigh of relief when I reached the box and saw that nobody had received anything. That meant there was still a chance the book was on its way.
I was just about to turn around when I realized how suspicious it would look if I walked all the way to the mailbox without actually checking for mail. Keeping an eye out for onlookers, I opened the mailbox and reached in quickly. Instead of snatching bills and junk mail, I jammed my fingers against a box - a book-sized box with a picture of an owl carrying an envelope on the side.
I stared stupidly at it for a second before comprehension reached my brain. I shouldn't have been looking for delivery vans; I should have been looking for the mail truck.
I rushed inside with the box, ripped it open with care, and plopped down on the rocking chair to discover what happened to our boy Potter.
I know it isn't a race and I know one should savor these things, but I couldn't stop reading and turning pages, even when I knew I wasn't going to like what happened on the next page. Twenty-seven hours later, I was done with the book.
It was as happy and sad as I expected it to be. On a couple of occasions, I muttered, "Please don't let something awful happen to Character X!" And then, as though she had anticipated my dread, Rowling would let something awful happen to Character X. It was brutal, yet brilliant.
I know it will only count as one of the fifty-two books I read this year, but I can already tell you that I'm hankering to read it again before the year is through. In the meantime, I'll return to the story of the Mayflower. Now that I've had my fill of sashimi, California rolls don't sound half bad.
A recent Battlestar Galactica marathon (the new series) inspired me to dig up anything I could find on the original series. One bit I found was a book by the same name written by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston thirty years ago. How far the concept has come! While I can't get enough of the cable series, the book was disappointing. Instead of reading like a science fiction classic, it read like a tired space western with lazy dialogue and uninspired action sequences. Whatever made the story work on the screen failed to make it to the page because it was a truly awful book.
When Rich mentioned that Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons was his favorite comic story of all-time, he piqued my curiosity. After reading a copy borrowed from the library, I can see why. It’s a graphic novel that deserves more than one reading. It contains a complex story that involves morally ambiguous characters and spans two generations of costumed adventurers (a.k.a. superheroes). A movie adaptation of the comic is rumored to appear in theaters next year and my only hope is that they don't make a mess of it like they did with Moore's The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.
When Tony Blair recently resigned as prime minister, it felt like as good a time as any to read more about him, but before I dug around for Blair biographies, I thought it might be good to read about a few of Britain's previous prime ministers. (Yes, I know I haven't finished reading the biographies of my own country's past leaders and I promise to remedy that eventually, but in the meantime...) The first one that came to mind was Winston Churchill. John Keegan's biography of the man who led England through World War II is brief, but well-crafted. It portrays Churchill as a brilliant speaker and a prolific writer (he wrote 43 books) with great ambitions and a deep interest in history. He was a hardheaded man without any friends. He was also plagued throughout his life by illnesses and injuries. His early opposition to Hitler and appeasement made him an outcast and was a serious (though temporary) blow to his political aspirations. Now I'm curious to read some of Churchill's writings, especially his early war memoirs.
As my last two posts likely indicate, I've been on a Potter binge lately. With the completion of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I'm now ready for the last installment in the series, which I'm waiting for as I type this (no sign of a delivery van yet). The books are still as dark and delightful as I remember them. I'm just hoping the last book lives up to the anticipation. Oh, and if you don't hear from me over the next couple of weeks, it's because I've been checked into Potter Rehab.
On Tuesday, I finished reading The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It's the first DailyLit book of notable length that I've completed. It took several months to finish, but felt a lot shorter. As for the book itself, I had forgotten how much I enjoyed Conan Doyle's writing style. Reading his mysteries was deeply satisfying.
According to The Writer's Almanac, the sequel to J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit arrived in stores on this day in 1954.
It took the great author seventeen years to write The Lord of the Rings. Any anticipation or buzz The Hobbit had created in 1937 must have completely dissipated by the time The Fellowship of the Ring was published. It's hard to picture Tolkien, or any other writer, being able to do that today.
Can you imagine if J.K. Rowling had done that? What if she had published Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in 1997 and then told the public they could look forward to reading all six exciting sequels some time in 2014?
The news probably wouldn't have gone over so well. Her publishers would likely have sued her. Pottermania, if it were ever to develop, would have been postponed by at least a decade.
On the upside, so many people would have lost interest by then that there wouldn't be idiots photographing individual pages of the books and posting them on the web. There also wouldn't be newspapers printing spoilers in the form of reviews mere days before the official release.
On the downside, if there was still any profit to be made from movie sequels in 2014, Daniel Radcliffe would have had to portray a 12-year-old Potter when he was 25. By the time they filmed the last movie, he'd be 35. Just imagining the world overrun with Harry Potter: 90210 jokes is enough to make me glad we don't have to wait seven more years.
In anticipation of the final book in the Harry Potter series, which arrives this Saturday, I've been rereading Books 5 and 6. I had hoped to finish the fifth book before the premiere of the fifth movie last Wednesday, but I only succeeded in getting through fifty pages before the lights dimmed in the theatre. It might have helped if the idea had occurred to me earlier than that morning.
I finished Book 5 on Sunday and went straight into Book 6. I'm currently halfway through The Half-Blood Prince and should finish before The Deathly Hollows appears on our doorstep this weekend.
I've noticed a number of people reading Rowling's books on the bus and train. Some have gone as far back as Book 1 to ensure everything is fresh in their heads when they start Book 7.
Instead of reading the first four, I watched their cinematic counterparts, reasoning that reading all seven over two short weeks would lead to Potter Burnout before the big day.
It's hard to believe that it has been two years since I read the fifth and sixth books. It's also hard to believe that the ten-year journey with Rowling and her boy wizard is finally reaching its end.
For now, I'm eager to find out what happens to Harry, Hermione, Dumbledore, and the rest (all in good time, of course, no peeking at leaked material). I'll get to the sadness of seeing it all end another time.
One of the perks of walking to work is the chance to take different routes depending on the circumstances or my mood.
There is the fast route - the one I take when I need to get in early and don't want to dawdle. There's the cafe route - the one I take when the urge for coffee is too much to resist. There's the circuitous route - the one I take when the morning is too perfect to be spent inside and I want to postpone the inevitable.
And then there's the route I've been taking for the last two weeks: the scenic route. Contrary to the leisure the name implies, it's the second quickest way to work. It's also a safer, more relaxing option that eliminates the shadier elements of the downtown area (traffic, panhandlers, garbage).
It leads past a cafe and through the university, where I stroll along tree-lined walkways, past lawns and flowerbeds, past a fountain that flows during the spring and summer, and past an ivy-covered tower. If I time it right, the tower's Westminster chimes ring as I'm trekking by.
For fun, I drew a rough map of the routes mentioned. Please note that this map is intended for illustrative purposes only and should not be used as a walking guide or an electrical diagram.
I saw Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix last night. There wasn't a line to buy tickets, but there was a line for seating. By the time the movie started, every chair in the theatre was filled.
Here are some of my observations from last night's viewing...- The first ten minutes were the film's weakest. Once we left the Dursleys at 4 Privet Drive, the movie improved dramatically.
- The actors who portray Harry, Ron, and Hermione (Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson) have matured and gotten better in their roles.
- Draco Malfoy and Hagrid had little more than cameos this time around.
- Filch was prominently featured, but had few lines. He mainly skulked, grimaced, and hung decrees on the walls.
- Neville Longbottom made giant strides in this film and received more development than any other character.
- The back story of Luna Lovegood was eliminated to save time, so the audience was presented with a bizarre blonde witch with a high-pitched voice and bare feet. She seemed to have a greater connection with Harry than Harry had with Cho Chang (Potter's highly touted love interest).
- Thankfully, two of my favorite characters, the Weasley twins, Fred and George, weren't eliminated from the movie. They were clever and mischievous and provided one of the film's best moments.
- The innocence and wonder of classes and magic at Hogwarts, as seen in previous films, is nearly gone in this installment. The closest it came to recapturing it was during the training meetings of Dumbledore's Army.
- The pace was brisk and had to be in order to cram 870 pages of book into a 138-minute movie. The screenwriter did an admirable job, but he sacrificed an awful lot of background to do it. Characters and concepts were presented without introduction, so unless one had previous knowledge, either from the books or movies, one had no idea what was going on or why it was happening.
- I was overjoyed to see the return of one of my other favorite characters: Remus Lupin. There is something about his genuine kindness towards Harry and something about the actor who portrays him (David Thewlis) that makes him incredibly likable.
- Quidditch was missing from the movie, which was disappointing.
Ranking this with the other Potter movies, I would put this one right in the middle, behind Prisoner of Azkaban and Sorcerer's Stone, but ahead of Goblet of Fire and Chamber of Secrets.
If you're familiar with the Potter series, I recommend this film. Although I'd suggest seeing a matinee if possible. If you're a Potter neophyte, then I'd suggest renting the previous films to familiarize yourself, otherwise you'll get little satisfaction from the movie.
I'm not a fan of people asking, "How was your day?" It seems like an innocent question, but in truth, it's a devious question that demands an ambiguous, if not dishonest answer at best. When people ask it, they don't want to hear...
George: How was your day?
Me: Bad. I -
George: (looking at his watch) Would you look at the time? I'm late for the bus I need to jump in front of.
And they really don't want to hear...
George: How was your day?
Me: It was the worst day of my life. Do you have a few hours? I need you to relive it with me, blow by bloody blow. It began this morning when I mistook the cat food for cereal...
What they want is for you to distill your day down to a word and round it up to the nearest positive term...
George: How was your day?
Me: (looking an inch away from death) Splenderrific.
George: Excellent!
Wouldn't it be nice if there was a way to answer the question clearly, concisely, and honestly? Now there is, with a system I like to call Day Grading. It's complicated to explain, so I'll use an example instead. Let's look at yesterday...
| Explanation | Points |
|---|---|
| A new day begins | +100 |
| Strange overcast and muggy weather | -5 |
| Have to go to work | -5 |
| Remember I'm getting paid | +4 |
| See people in line for the Harry Potter movie, anticipate watching it tomorrow | +5 |
| Finish reading my 25th book of the year | +3 |
| See part of the All-Star game, Nationals lose yet again (-10), but Ichiro hits an in-the-park home run (+3) | -7 |
| Strange weather becomes even stranger with rain and thunder | -5 |
| See promo for The Singing Bee, a new game show where people sing lyrics for money, looks dumb and humiliating (-5), hosted by Joey Fatone of 'N Sync fame (-2) | -7 |
| Watch news about an evasive White House (-5), Iraq (-3), Lebanon/Palestine (-3), and a balloon-flying man in Oregon (+1) | -10 |
| Total | 73 |
See, I add or subtract points in my head as the day progresses, depending on my experiences and observations, so when George asks the inevitable question, I have an answer ready...
George: How was your day?
Me: Oh, C-.
George: Ouch. I'm having a C+ kind of day myself. I would have been at a B- if it hadn't been for those insidious Singing Bee commercials.
Me: I know what you mean. What a downer.
The next time somebody asks you how your day was, give Day Grading a try. If he or she gives you a befuddled look, don't forget to add 2 points to your total. It might just be the boost you need to take it from an A to an A+ day.
While most Americans were preparing big Fourth of July barbecues and planning extravagant firework displays in their backyards last Wednesday, I was hiking to Clouds Rest (elev. 9,926 ft.) in Yosemite National Park.
Not wanting to bake while I hiked (highs were expected to be in the mid to upper 80s), I started from the Sunrise trail head (elev. 8,200 ft.) around 8:10, which wasn't as early as I wanted, but ended up being early enough.
The trail started with plenty of shade and was easy on the feet. It had an upward grade that was barely perceptible. Several guidebooks had rated the hike as strenuous, but I had a hard time believing them as I sauntered along.
After 1.5 miles, the effortless walk in the woods ended abruptly. The innocent, forest trail suddenly became a steep series of uneven granite switchbacks. Each sandy step I climbed confirmed the appropriateness of the strenuous rating.
After a mile of climbing, I reached Sunrise Creek Trail Junction. I came across two hikers sitting on rocks. One, who had hiked the trail before, reassured me that I had survived the hardest part. I took comfort in her words, not knowing that the hardest part was still to come.
The trail abruptly descended and gradually regained altitude over the next 2.5 miles. I crossed a number of creeks and passed a beautiful lake on my way to Sunrise Camp Trail Junction.
The trail widened and grew steeper as the summit of Clouds Rest came into view.
The climb to the top was easier than I expected, but harrowing once I reached the sign marked Clouds Rest Foot Trail.
The peak, which is perhaps twelve feet wide at its broadest point, offers an incredible view of the snow-topped peaks and wooded valleys that make up Yosemite.
The view is better than the view from Half Dome primarily because one has a view of Half Dome.
Despite the hard climb, the journey to the top only took three hours. I had the peak to myself for ten minutes before another hiker arrived from the opposite side of the mountain. He had climbed more than 5,000 feet over a stretch of 10.5 miles from the valley floor to reach the top. His effort put mine to shame.
I wished him a Happy Independence Day and he said, "It most certainly is and I can't think of a better way to celebrate it." We then gave each other space (as much as one can feasibly give under such circumstances) and silence to enjoy the top of the world.
After forty minutes of gazing at the scenery, taking photos, and shooting my standard panoramic video (I call it the 30-Second Spin Shot), I said goodbye to Clouds Rest and headed down.
The return journey was quick and relatively straightforward. Things went well until I reached the segment right before Sunrise Creek Trail Junction. The segment that had been an abrupt descent on the way out, was now an abrupt ascent on the way back. And it was an ugly one at that.
The brisk pace I had been maintaining had tired my legs and I paid for it with every step over the ridge. With the temperature rising, I drank a lot of water in the effort. I had packed approximately 2.5 liters for the nearly 15-mile hike. Normally, that would have been enough water, but not this time.
Fifteen minutes from the trail head, I ran out of water. It was an avoidable mistake. I had a bottle of iodine tablets and had passed plenty of water sources on my way down. I just hadn't paid attention to the amount of water I was carrying or consuming. It's a mistake I won't repeat.
I reached the trail head right around 2:10 and made a beeline for the grocery store in Tuolumne Meadows. I nearly drained an entire bottle of Powerade on the spot.
If you have a chance to visit Yosemite in the summer, I highly recommend hiking to Clouds Rest. It's a difficult hike, but it's less strenuous, less dangerous, and significantly less crowded than the hike to Half Dome. Plus, it offers a view that rivals, if not surpasses, the view offered by its better known granite sibling.
You can find more photos from the hike here.
Two weeks ago, one of my favorite Giants players passed away. Rod Beck was just 38 years old. He pitched for San Francisco from 1991 to 1997 and was the closer. While with the team, he made it to the All-Star Game three times.
Today, I dread save situations. No matter how many runs the Giants score, no matter the size of the lead, it never feels safe. It feels as though the team is handing away the win when it hands the ball to the bullpen.
That wasn't the case when Beck was the stopper. When he came in, the game was as good as over. (It's true, he blew saves like everybody else, but he seemed to do it so rarely.)
Back then, I craved save situations. In fact, I would be disappointed if the Giants went into the ninth inning with a greater than three-run lead because it meant Number 47 wouldn't be pitching.
Besides performance, Beck had personality and it showed through his appearance. He was a stout figure with a mane of hair best described as a wild mullet. He had a huge Fu Manchu mustache and a right arm that swung like a pendulum as he looked at the catcher for his sign. I remember emulating that arm motion for fun when playing pick-up games.
His best pitch was the splitter. It wasn't very fast, but he threw it hard and made hitters look silly as they swung at the ball futilely or watched it snap by for a strike.
His best season was in 1993 (he saved 48 games), but he was instrumental to the Giants all the way through 1997, when the team replaced him with Rob Nen. He started to decline after that, playing for Chicago, Boston, and San Diego before fading from the game in 2004.
Despite his mean, bulldog look, Beck was known for being friendly and kindhearted. Reading through some of his obituaries, I wasn't surprised to learn that he was heavily involved in charity work and was adored by teammates and fans alike. It was heartbreaking to learn of his substance abuse and one wonders if it contributed to his death somehow.
In my heart, Beck will forever be a Giant, one of the notable names in the team's history, and I'll miss him.
Before I write about my Independence Day hike, I need to write a clean and proper report about my Desolation Wilderness backpacking trip. A quick and dirty summary simply won't do. Go on and lace up your boots while I rewind time by two weeks...
Day 1 – Glen Alpine to Heather Lake
The trip began at the Glen Alpine trail head (elev. 6,560), not far from Lake Tahoe, around 2:30 on a Friday afternoon. It was sunny and in the mid-seventies.
The first mile was a wide and rocky fire road with a steady uphill slope. It was the perfect surface to practice not falling while wearing a 35-pound pack. Somehow, I succeeded in staying on my feet, which was good because the next mile was a series of switchbacks that only grew rockier and steeper.
By the time we reached the three-mile mark, right around the Gilmore Lake junction, the pack felt comfortable and my feet felt steady, but I was beginning to feel exhausted. The combination of altitude and elevation gain was taking a toll.
After three hours of hiking, we reached camp at Heather Lake (elev. 7,900). We had hiked nearly five miles and climbed roughly 1,300 feet, which is nothing to an experienced backpacker, but is a fair amount to a rookie.
We set up camp quickly, warded off mosquitoes while eating dinner around tiny camp stoves, filtered nearly three gallons of water for the next day's hike (there were six of us, roughly 2 liters each), and stayed up until the cold and dark finally chased us to our tents and sleeping bags.
Day 2 – Heather Lake to Mt. Tallac
While two of the group went fishing early in the morning, three of us hiked the perimeter of Heather Lake, which was a challenge since only half of its shore has a clearly defined trail. The other half is rocks, boulders, or snow.
Miraculously, we survived the off-trail jaunt and returned to camp in time to join the group for a hike to Mt. Tallac.
One of the neat features of my backpack is that the top can be removed and used as a day pack. I loaded it with a hydration pack and snacks.
The first four miles of the six-mile hike to Mt. Tallac were easy. The trail was either flat or downhill until we reached Gilmore Lake. The hike grew more difficult as we crammed a nearly 1,800-foot climb into the last two miles.
The two things I remember most about Mt. Tallac is the wind and the view. At the peak, the wind gusts felt strong enough to blow a person right off the mountain. It was a struggle just to stand and pivot to take a 360-degree video.
As for the view, it was breathtaking and well worth the climb.
When we got back, we ate a hearty dinner and retired early due to the rapid drop in temperature. I thought I'd get a good night's sleep after such a hard hike, but the constant wind gusts kept waking me up throughout the night. Several times, the tent felt as though it was going to snap from its anchors and roll over.
Day 3 – Heather Lake to Mosquito Pass
After a quick breakfast, we said farewell to two in our group who had to return to work on Monday. We relocated our camp to a smaller site on the west end of the lake. After settling in, we hiked a short distance to beautiful Lake Aloha, a lake that is home to several granite islands.
We hiked as far as Mosquito Pass, which gave us a glimpse of China Flat.
As we returned from Mosquito Pass, we spotted the first visible plumes of the Angora Fire, which we would later learn started twenty minutes before we saw it. From the ledges overlooking Lake Aloha, we watched the fire grow.
After ninety minutes, we returned to camp. We thought the fire was a good distance away, so we felt safe staying the final night before heading home. Only on our way out would we learn just how close the fire actually was and how lucky we were.
Day 4 – Heather Lake to Glen Alpine
On our final day, we awoke to smoke. It was everywhere. The strong wind gusts of the previous three days were gone. Without the easterly winds to protect us, the smoke had moved in, obscuring everything, including the sun.
We quickly broke camp and headed to the Glen Alpine trail head. My pack was perhaps five pounds lighter and our path was nearly all downhill, so it made the outbound hike much easier. My pack would have been even lighter if I hadn't been the rookie of the group and tasked with garbage duty (remember, leave no trace).
We reached the car without incident and were overjoyed to see that nothing had happened to it. We slowly made our way back to Highway 89, passing a number of fire vehicles and exhausted firefighters on the way out.
Conclusion and Lessons Learned
All in all, it was a great trip. I'm eagerly anticipating my next backpacking trip. Of course, there are a couple of things I would do differently next time and I wanted to list them here...- Pack less clothing – I had an extra long-sleeved shirt and pair of convertibles I didn't need.
- Pack camp sandals – Comfortable footwear around camp would have been nice.
- Rice packs – Somebody brought rice packs from Ranch 99. They're individually sealed bags of rice and shrimp or chicken that one can boil in water for seven minutes and eat. I got a chance to try one and it was delicious.
- Pack a bandanna – It makes a great cooling rag, face towel, and mosquito swatter.
- Keep a set of clean clothing in the car – It would have been great to be able to change into a fresh t-shirt and shorts for the ride home.
The Frenzy is over, at least for this year. I crossed the 20,000-word finish line on Friday. I used a screenplay software program known as Celtx, which made formatting easy. The program also had an online word count feature that proved to be on the conservative side. It told me I had written 20,098 words. When I uploaded the text to the Script Frenzy site for validation, they gave me credit for 20,998 words. I don't know who wrote those additional 900 words, but I bet they're the best 900 of the whole batch.
Given the fact that I wrote the screenplay by the seat of my pants, the story took several unexpected turns, including a 10,000-word scene in the middle that involved four characters at a ballpark, watching a baseball game, drinking beer, and talking. That happened because I suddenly got a clue about the story I was writing and my poor characters had to work through the background and details for me. One of the characters got so bored spouting exposition that he opted to drink himself into a stupor and pass out so he wouldn't have to say the rest of his lines.
I don't know if it's allowed, but I'm thinking of taking the basic outline of the screenplay and using it as the basis of my NaNoWriMo novel in November. From there, it might be fun to adapt whatever comes out of that effort into a screenplay next year.
I saw Ratatouille on Saturday. As soon as it was finished, I wanted to see it again. As with every new Pixar film I see, I was tempted to call this one my favorite of all time, but because I truly like it, I’m going to resist.
Instead, I’m going to envision how I will feel about it a year from now, and I believe when Time has had a chance to shake Ratatouille through the filter of perspective, it will be my second favorite Pixar film of all time.
The order will look something like this (from most to least favorite):- The Incredibles
- Ratatouille
- Finding Nemo
- Toy Story 2
- Cars
- Monsters, Inc.
- Toy Story
- A Bug’s Life
Ratatouille is another step forward for the studio. The artistry, animation, attention to detail, and storytelling are all levels above any previous efforts. Despite the fact that the movie is about a talking rat who dreams of being a chef in Paris, it felt more "real" than any film I've seen in recent memory.
The world the animators created felt so complete. In every scene, in every corner, there was a treat for the eyes. Gusteau’s kitchen was full of shelves, stoves, spices, pots, pans, utensils, and dirty dishes. The pantry was filled to the ceiling. When dinner service arrived, the kitchen was busy with a full complement of chefs preparing dishes that made my mouth water.
One of my favorite scenes was when Remy, the main character (and a rat), reaches the rooftop and discovers he’s in Paris. It's near sunset and the skyline is breathtaking. As the camera pans, one realizes and appreciates just how much time and effort the animators spent researching and studying their subject.
Finally, one of the reasons I loved the movie was the orchestral score that accompanied the film. Michael Giacchino, who wrote the music for The Incredibles (and Lost), created a musical feast for the ears. In parts, it felt as though the music came first and the action on the screen was a physical representation of the sound. It made the film feel dynamic and alive and it topped off what was a wonderful movie experience.
- soda
- feet
- dialogue
- animals in the road
- tires
I changed my first flat tire yesterday. As far as locations were concerned, I couldn't have picked a better spot. M noticed the flat while we were parked at Asilomar State Beach in Pacific Grove, only a hundred feet from the Pacific Ocean. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. Temperatures were in the mid-sixties and there was a mild breeze - ideal conditions for car repair.
The actual changing didn't take long. I simply lifted the car with one hand, ripped off the flat with my teeth, and threw on the spare. At least that’s the story I’m telling my grandkids in a few decades when jacks, lug bolts, and tire irons are obsolete.
Before dumping it in the trunk, I inspected the flat tire and discovered the source of the leak - a mean-spirited metal screw had punctured the rubber. It likely attacked the tire near the train station where a new apartment complex is going up; throwing itself in the middle of the road where it knew an unsuspecting wheel would roll over it.
Concerned the spare wouldn't survive the sixty-mile trip home, M called a few local gas stations to see if they'd be able to patch a flat on a Sunday. We thought none would and we were right. We enjoyed what is known as a hollow victory. Afterwards, we decided the next best option would be to drive to the closest Co$tco where we knew they serviced tires.
I thought there was a Co$tco in Monterey, but I wasn't sure, so we charted a course for Gilroy where we knew one existed with absolute certainty. We hopped on Highway 1 and crept at a steady 50 miles per hour, fearing the spare would blow if I drove any faster. Cars behind us came up fast and flew past. I lasted a mile before losing my nerve, and exited at the next off ramp.
We pulled into the first gas station we found and I asked the attendant if there was a Co$tco in Salinas. I didn't say Monterey because I didn't want to jinx us. The hedging worked because the attendant replied, "Yeah, there's one in Salinas, but why not go to the one in Sand City? It's just four miles down the road." I nearly jumped across the counter to hug the man, but there were strangers watching, so I simply smiled and said, "Thank you".
We got back on Highway 1 and inched our way to Sand City. It took a great deal of resolve to ignore the cars zipping by. I made a point of avoiding eye contact with the rearview mirror, which was eager to show me the mile-long trail of cars tailing us.
When we reached Co$tco, luck with us. The good people at the tire department were able to squeeze us in and get us back on the road with fresh tires in less than two hours.
