May 2008 Archives

One of my worst fears when visiting someplace new, especially someplace far away, is that I won't have enough time to see everything I want to see. It's a difficult fear to overcome. Even as I sit here writing this, I'm still struggling with it.

In my head, the struggle is between my inner child and inner parent. The child wants to see it all and see it all now. The child believes this will be his one and only opportunity. He believes missing a single sight, a single landmark, a single museum, will mean the end of the world.

If I stop for a second, I notice my inner child sounds eerily similar to how I sounded when I was six or seven, when I wanted the latest toy or game. "Everybody else has one. Why can't I?" I remember saying to my parents. Now that I'm an adult, that refrain has become, "Everybody else has been there and seen that. Why can't I?"

My inner parent sounds eerily similar to my dad when he had to deal with a younger me -- the way he stressed each word, emphasizing the fact that he was the voice of patience and reason. My dad's softer, calmer method of convincing me was always more effective than my mom's louder, more passionate plea to stop driving her up the wall with my whining.

My inner parent explains that even if I had more time, I still wouldn't be able to see everything. He gets sidetracked reiterating the concepts of limited resources and the importance of setting priorities. He finally gets back on course and promises there will be future opportunities. "If you like it as much as you think you will, you'll make it a priority to return." He throws in, for good measure, an adage along the lines of, "Be happy with what you have and make the most with what you've got."

After hearing that, a younger me would continue to fight, refusing to accept the reality of the situation, and making myself miserable to prove a point. An older me is more inclined to shuffle his feet and grudgingly accept the argument. They aren't the words I want to hear, but they are the ones I need to hear, even if it's only me talking to myself.

Song on my mind... "Cecilia" by Simon and Garfunkel

Celia, you're breaking my heart
You're shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I'm down on my knees
I'm begging you please to come home
Come on home

Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I'm laughing

This song never fails to lift my spirits and brings a smile to my face when I hear it. Some people believe Simon wrote it about his dog. Others believe he wrote it about an actual girl. I like to believe he wrote it about St. Cecilia, the patron saint of musicians, and creative muses in general.

My muse is a shy and elusive spirit. She disappears at the first sign of doubt. When she's gone, it's agony, but when she finally reappears (usually of her own freewill), it is pure bliss.

(Or, As A Grail Knight Said, "You Have Chosen... Poorly.")

(For archival and amusement purposes only.)

Last night, the three remaining contestants sang three songs: one chosen by the judges, one chosen by the contestants, and one chosen by the producers. As you will see, in most cases, these weren't the people who should have been doing the chosing. Let's travel back in time and relive an abbreviated version of the show...

Round One

Paula chooses Billy Joel's "And So It Goes" for David Archuleta to exploit his timbre, which makes me instantly wonder, "Aren't there laws regarding minors, their timbres, and the exploitation thereof?" I hate to say it, but the song really accentuates Archie's timbre, which sounds dirtier than I want it to, but Paula started it. His first lines are a cappella and it's my favorite Archie moment of the entire season. This moment dies the instant he starts squinting, a nasty habit he acquired after ALW told him to keep his eyes open. (My resentment of that bit of advice grows with each passing week.) Randy claims Archuleta could sing the phone book and sound great, which is Jackson's way of saying he would have preferred to have heard him sing the phone book. In fact, this just in: Archuleta's first single will be "Area Code 650: Al-An". Platinum all the way, baby.

For Syesha, Randy chooses Alicia Keys' "If I Ain't Got You". The beginning starts out too low, but she works her way back into her vocal comfort zone and finishes strong. For the first time, I can envision the type of song she would sing on the radio, which is to say, something in the catchy, yet generic family.

Simon chooses Roberta Flack's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" for David Cook, which reinforces my belief that he's out to get him. Cook looks nervous and his first few notes sound tentative, but then he hits a couple of critical notes in his falsetto and he's suddenly in a groove. The song builds and builds until the crowd is in a frenzy and the last twenty seconds outshine anything Archuleta has done vocally up to this point. Afterwards, I search YouTube for Flack's original version and discover Leona Lewis, Simon's X Factor discovery, sang the song, which now reinforces my belief that Cowell likes Cook a lot.

Round One Rankings:

1. Cook
2. Archuleta (by a hair)
3. Syesha

Round 2

As soon as Archuleta says he's singing Chris Brown's "With You", I hear my inner Admiral Adama yelling, "Action stations! All ears, action stations! Brace for impact!" Archuleta's phrasing is all wrong and I say this with all sincerity, dancing and David don't mix. They should never mix. If there were ever a time to put him behind a piano, this would be the time. I don't care if he can't play a note. Have him play middle C for ninety seconds and it will be a million times better than whatever it is he's doing right now.

Syesha chooses to sing Peggy Lee's "Fever". For once, the whole Broadway effect doesn't work, yet it's an improvement over what Archuleta just did. I drift off at the end thinking about her pre-song interview, which rubbed me the wrong way. It seemed like she was doing a bad impression of Reese Witherspoon doing an impression of June Carter Cash.

Cook's choice is Switchfoot's "Dare You To Move", one of my favorite songs. A tiny voice in my head shouts, "Yes!" The song starts slowly, which would be okay if he had four minutes to perform it, but he doesn't. He's barely into the best part of the song and it's done. It feels incomplete and I feel gypped. I want more. That's what she said! Actually, that is what she said... she being Paula.

Round Two Rankings:

1. Cook
2. Syesha
3. Archuleta

Round 3

Perhaps the producers are out to get Archuleta because they give him "Longer" by Dan Fogelberg. It's bland. It doesn't help that his background singers aren't in tune or in time with him. I suspect they might be singing a completely different song. Anyway, I have to agree with Simon's assessment of the performance. It's "gooey". I would only add that it's also "squinty".

Syesha returns in her third sparkly outfit of the evening and sings "Hit Me Up" from Happy Feet, a movie I saw that involved dancing computer-generated penguins. For a second, I thought it was a Rihanna song. I mean, it sounds like something Rihanna would sing, but as it turns out, it's something Gia Farrell would sing. As everybody knows, Gia Farrell is a female pop singer who sounds like every other female pop singer out there, which shows you just how highly the producers think of Syesha.

Finally, Cook sings his third song. The producers yoke him with Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing" and an orchestra. I can already hear how it's going to sound, but I listen anyway, because if it's anything like what I hear in my head, it's going to be good. David doesn't disappoint and Simon sums it up nicely by saying, "David Cook wins the night."

Round Three Rankings:

1. Cook
2. Syesha
3. Archuleta

Prediction

Are we in for another predictable American Idol elimination show tonight? Unfortunately, the answer is sYESsha.

I don't know where he's walking from. I don't know where he's walking to. The only thing I know is when I take a certain light rail train to work, he and I cross paths some time during the sixty-second span known as 7:53 AM.

It wasn't something I noticed right away. That first day, many months ago, I only remember passing some guy with brown hair, a book bag, an iPod, and blue jeans as we walked to our respective destinations, and those details didn't stick in my head until we had passed each other three or four days in a row. (So, to be accurate, that first day, I only remember passing some guy.)

At the start of Week 2, I began to take note of the time:

• Monday - 7:53
• Tuesday - 7:53
• Wednesday - N/A (took bus)
• Thursday - 7:53
• Friday - 7:53

Indubitably, when we passed each other and I peered at my watch, the time would be 7:53.

This has now been going on for several months. It has begun to feel like something out of The Outer Limits. I'm tempted to stop him and ask him where he's heading or how he keeps such a consistent schedule, but I fear the reality his answers would reveal would pale next to the reality I have imagined, which is this...

He's a passport photo booth repairman.

Wait, that isn't it. It's this...

His name is Kyle McGillicuddy and he's a technical writer for a software company with office space overlooking Plaza de Cesar Chavez. He lives in a fourth-floor loft in one of downtown's many luxury apartment buildings. While it affords him a short fifteen-minute commute by foot, he can barely afford the lease, so he supplements his income by playing poker at Bay 101, a local card room, in the evenings.

So far, the supplementing hasn't been as successful as he would have liked, but he is optimistic he can continue to make a profit (however meager) as long as he stays focused and maintains discipline, not only at the card table, but in all aspects of his life, including his morning routine.

This is why he always wakes at exactly 7:15, showers for exactly five minutes and thirty seconds with the knob turned exactly 1.5 inches counterclockwise (the faucet is marked), shaves for exactly three minutes, brushes his teeth for two minutes, dresses in ninety seconds (clothes laid out the night before), drinks precisely nine ounces of coffee (black), eats half a cup of regular oatmeal (with one cup of milk and seven drops of honey), checks the weather and reads the New York Times online (two articles and one opinion piece), pours the remaining seven ounces of brewed coffee into a travel mug, grabs his book bag, puts his shoes on (right foot first), descends the stairs (left foot first starting each flight), reaches the street at 7:45, passes some strange guy (who wears a tan backpack and always checks his watch) at 7:53, and reaches his desk at exactly 8:00. It's a system that seems to have worked so far, so he sees no reason to change it.

For his sake, I hope he gets a raise soon so he won't have to rely on Lady Luck to put food on the table (or bring pizza to the door). Of course, once he stops playing poker, he will likely slack off and I'll no longer see Mr. 7:53 on my way to work. That will be a sad day, I'm sure. Until then, though, I'll keep an eye out for him, continue to check my watch (so I don't accidentally jinx him), and keep my mouth shut (to prevent pesky reality from butting in).

It's Saturday, May 3rd, and as I pull into the Dowdy Ranch Day Use lot, I revel in the fact I'm at Henry Coe's eastern entrance a mere three hours after its opening for the season. I register at the visitor center (barely a year old and still looking pristine), pay the five-dollar day-use fee, and ask the rangers for some hiking suggestions.

"Something in the neighborhood of ten miles," I say after one asks me how far I want to go.

She points me to a seven-mile counter-clockwise loop consisting of the Max's Corral, North Fork, Scherrer, Center Flats, and Hersman Trails. "You'll get some nice views," she says.

The other ranger pipes in, "I always tell people to bring plenty of water and beware of the hills."

"Are they like Hobbs Road?" I say with a shudder, thinking of the tortuously steep trail by Coe Headquarters.

"Not as steep, but more sustained," says the ranger.

I thank them, return to the car for my boots and poles, and head for the trail at the end of the lot, near the restroom and picnic area.

I start down Max's Corral Trail and immediately lose the trail. Instead of one clear path through the field of tall grass, there are several paths. It's the first democratically chosen trail I've ever encountered. I'm not sure how the exact process works, but I believe whichever way receives the most votes (or boots) becomes the newly elected trail.

For an entire minute, I stand in the field with a lost look on my face. I then remember the ranger's advice to keep an eye out for brightly colored tape tied to trees. "They mark the way", he said. I easily spot one and hurry in that direction, looking over my shoulder to see if anybody spotted my embarrassing moment of confusion.

Once out of the field, the trail choices narrow to one unmistakable path of trodden grass. It winds its way down the hill in a series of easy switchbacks.

Down I go through what feels like an orchard. Near the end of my descent, I pass a barbed wire fence and come across another field of tall grass. I hear the sound of running water ahead of me and soon encounter the North Fork Pacheco Creek, which I believe marks the start of the North Fork Trail.

The trail crosses the creek at least five times. I manage to keep my boots dry until the last pass, when my left foot decides it would be cool to be wet. Dumb foot.

In short order, I reach the Tie Down Trail junction. Here, I decide to visit Tie Down Peak and an unnamed pond just off Yellowjacket Trail.

I climb the Tie Down Trail and soon begin to see parts of the Kaiser Aetna Road across the valley. As I get higher and begin to wind my way around the peak, I catch a glimpse of the Dowdy Ranch restroom and picnic area.

Despite being so close to the peak, I can't find a safe way to scramble to the top, so I make the downward detour to what I'll informally call Yellowjacket Pond, a small body of brown water that is home to many dragonflies.

I snack before backtracking to the North Fork Trail. A quarter of a mile later, I'm at the impossible-to-miss Kaiser Aetna Road. I encounter the only other people I'll see on the trail all day: two hikers and two bikers.

I wander up the road, searching for the Scherrer Trail and come across a signpost that simply says "Trail". No apparent trail appears anywhere in the vicinity of the sign, but according to my map, this is the spot where the trail should start.

For three seconds, I contemplate returning to the ranch by way of the boring road. Then I dive into the brush.

I climb what looks like a potential path. It's entirely uphill and I soon begin to have serious doubts about the wisdom of my decision. Nothing indicates the existence of a trail. There is a striking absence of brightly colored tape anywhere.

I gain a little confidence when I reach a clearing at the top of a rise and see a faint path through the grass leading to what the map says should be Scherrer Lake. A feeling of joy sweeps over me as the lake comes into view.

I spend a few minutes here before returning to the "main trail". The next mile goes slowly as I climb what seems like an endless series of hills, guided only by my map and an improvised GPS device I build on the spot using three twigs, half a Clif Bar, my left sock, and a dime. At one point, I notice a series of trees with tape tied to them, but they lead off into grassy oblivion.

The climbing starts to take its toll and I'm just beginning to believe it might never end when, out of nowhere, the Center Flats Road appears. By sheer luck, I come out right where the road and the other end of the Scherrer Trail meet. I know this because a sign with a words "Scherrer Trail" duct taped to it says so. I wonder if the lack of a permanent sign is a budgetary issue or a certainty issue.

The road has a mild downhill slope to it and I follow it all the way until I reach the Hersman Trail. The prominent restroom/picnic area is in sight the entire way.

I wander down the Hersman Trail, another obscure, single-track affair, make a quick detour to see Hersman Pond (it's dry), and soon find myself back on the Kaiser Aetna Road, just two-tenths of mile from Dowdy Ranch.

Back at the lot, I sit a spell at one of the many picnic tables and scour the map for potential hiking destinations the next time I pass this way. Pacheco Falls and Mustang Peak are two strong candidates. Soon afterwards, I hop in my car and slowly make my way back down to Bell Station, Highway 152, and civilization.

You can see a few more photos from the hike on Flickr.

If the producers of American Idol had given me a chance to direct last night's episode, this is how the show would have gone down...

• Ryan introduces the four contestants.
• David Cook sings his two songs.
• Syesha and Archie smile and wave to their adoring fans.
• Ryan sends Jason home and tells everybody to tune in next week.

The whole thing would have been done by 8:15 and America could have enjoyed the rest of its Tuesday night.

Unfortunately, nobody asked me to direct the show, so it all went a little differently. Here are the details...

The Final Four have the task of performing songs from the vast Rock and Roll Hall of Fame catalog. This bodes well. I can feel it in every sarcastic bone in my body.

Round 1

David Cook is up first and his first song is Duran Duran's "Hungry Like The Wolf". He performs it well, but it's just a shinier, more refined version of the original. On the upside, it isn't karaoke. On the downside, it isn't bloody brilliant, which I expect every Cook performance to be at this point in the competition. Being good or solid doesn't cut it anymore.

Syesha Mercado's introductory clip rubs me the wrong way. She explains how Tina Turner's "Proud Mary" has been covered a hundred times, essentially saying the song comes with baggage. Luckily, it baggage she overcame once she looked in the mirror and said, "Just do it. Just have fun with it." Apparently, even people with stratospheric egos need to give themselves pep talks now and again. As she has done for three straight weeks, she gives her performance a Broadway spin, but not in a bad way. It instantly makes her my second favorite contestant of the show. Here is somebody (besides Cook) with the killer combo of talent and stage presence. Here is somebody actually trying to win.

Jason Castro, the anti-in-it-to-win-it contestant, performs next. He admits to recognizing only a few of the five hundred songs on the Hall of Fame list. One of them happens to be Bob Marley's "I Shot The Sheriff". I thought when Castro and Marley met, it would be magical. Instead, it's quirky and different and does nothing for me.

David Archuleta follows this with Ben E. King's "Stand By Me", a song little Archie sings in his room to himself when his dog can't take it anymore. The song choice is predictable. David goes gospel whenever he can. His singing is pretty, but hollow. Something is missing. When he finishes, the crowd goes insane. Apparently, I need a dose of whatever delusional drug they're taking because Archuleta's performance is only a step above okay for me. I also can't help thinking that if he came back in another four years, after obtaining a college education, his own personality, and some backbone, I would appreciate him a whole lot more.

Round 2

David Cook returns and redeems himself with The Who's "Baba O'Riley". Perhaps in the context of the real world, Cook is nothing special, but in American Idol Land, he displays a sensibility and sophistication that his competitors lack. He seems to be the only one who voluntarily listens to music during his free time and actually has a modicum of musical awareness. During his performance, I keep imagining Archie asking his dad, "Who is The Who?" His dad replies, "Nobody. Just a bunch of guys going to hell, so I don't want you paying any heed to them. Now, be a good boy and finish watching the Charlotte Church DVD I got you."

Syesha's second performance is good, but I don't think it's as strong as her first. She sings Sam Cooke's "A Change Is Gonna Come". I can't get over her opening comments, when she compares her journey on the show to the struggles of the civil rights movement. It's as though she says, "Let's forget historical significance for a minute and focus on me."

Ryan seems almost embarrassed to introduce Jason and, for his part, Jason doesn't seem all that eager to be on stage. He explains he's going to sing "Mr. Tambourine Man" by Bob Dylan, who may be my least favorite Bob in the musical world. Before the first strum of the guitar, I know it's going to be horrible. And it is. At one point, I think he's doing a spot-on Dylan, with the unintelligible mumbling, but then I realize he has simply forgotten the lyrics. Simon tells him to pack his suitcase, but I'm hoping the people behind Vote For The Worst save him at Archuleta's expense.

Speaking of which, Archuleta takes the stage again. This time he's singing "Love Me Tender" by Elvis Presley because Archie has never tortured us with a "romantic love song" before. It's actually incredible to watch him tackle a Presley song. Elvis, even when he sang gospel music, still managed to ooze charisma and sex appeal. You could feel the emotion behind his words. He believed them. With Archuleta, the song is just a combination of sounds he has to make because a piece of paper tells him to. The crowd, still high on their meds, cheers for him wildly. The judges give him hyperbolic praise, topped with Simon's assessment that David A. "crushed the competition". And I can't help but think, "Simon must still be hoping for a slice of that Vanessa Hudgens/Jonas Brothers/Hannah Montana/Ashley Tisdale market."

Predictions

If I could pick the Top Two, it would be Cook and Mercado. If there's a shocker tonight, I hope the David going home is Archuleta. Otherwise, I think Ryan will be showing Jason the door and Jason will only be too happy to go.

I should learn to keep a pen and a scrap of paper in my pocket when I'm hiking (or at least remember I have a Moleskine tucked away somewhere in my backpack) so I can jot the thoughts that cross my mind while I'm on the trail. This isn't because I have epiphanies that require recording for fear of losing them forever. Rather, this is because I keep stumbling over the same mundane thoughts and the only way I can think of clearing them out is by writing them down.

To help the de-cluttering begin before my next trek, here are three pieces of mental riffraff I've repeatedly run across on my recent hikes. I've tried to pare each of them to a paragraph for the sake of conciseness and clarity.

1. "Meditation in Motion" - This phrase has haunted me since my scramble to Snow Creek Falls in Yosemite a month ago. For some people, meditation requires stillness and silence or sitting and chanting or body-bending poses on mats, but for me, it's the repetitive nature of walking in nature that most readily facilitates contemplation. Hiking is meditation in motion. I don't mean it in some pretentious or self-important way. Not every walk in the woods is an exercise in deep philosophical thinking or soul searching. I'm just saying it can be. The activity allows for the possibility. It's just another reason why I love to hike.

2. Day Hikes and Toe Dips - During my last two hikes in Henry Coe, I have been thinking about how little of the park I've seen because I limit myself to day hikes. It has been a source of growing dissatisfaction. I find myself wanting to spend more time in the park -- to see more and experience more. I have the growing desire to experience the park differently. It feels as though I've only dipped my toe in the pool, or at the very most, waded around the shallow end. It's time to swim out until my feet don't touch the bottom, which in hiking terms means backpacking (one-nighters to begin with), something I haven't done for a number of excuses. It's time to take the plunge.

3. Repetition of Experience - Near the end of every hike, I always ask the question, "Would I do this hike again?" I usually answer it with a simple yes or no without seriously exploring the reasons why I would or wouldn't repeat a hike. This weekend, I gave the matter 0.6 miles of thought and made a list of general reasons why a particular hike or place (like Big Basin or Half Dome) would be worth repeating or revisiting...

• Something is so spectacular about the place or view that it's worth the effort in lieu of a new experience (good ol' opportunity cost).
• Something about the place or view has changed, deeming it worth another visit.
• Something about the place or view is about to change, deeming it worth one last visit.
• Something about me has changed. For example, next June will mark five years since my last trip to the top of Half Dome. That's five years of accumulated knowledge and experience, which may enhance the hike or give me a different perspective on the way up.
• Sharing it with somebody else. I'm thinking of children in particular. I think it would be very cool to one day summit Half Dome with my daughter(s) and/or son(s). (How open-ended is that sentence?) It would be a blast and definitely worth the effort.

(Posted after the fact and for archival purposes only.)

Before I begin, I just want to say this: the next American Idol recap I read that makes reference to diamonds or roughs is going on my blacklist. Instead of using the same jaded phrase, I want to see somebody make reference to "finding a Neil in a haystack" (because I'm dorky like that).

As a kid, I was exposed to what some might consider a dangerous amount of easy listening music, so for better or worse, I'm fairly familiar with the music of Neil Diamond, which means I recognized a majority of the songs sung on last night's show.

Depending on how you feel about Neil Diamond, last night was either double the pleasure or double the pain, as the final five contestants got to sing two (two!) Diamond masterpieces each.

In order to squeeze those ten performances into a single hour, Ryan had to herd the contestants and judges around like cattle. His sense of urgency was palpable and understandable. Ten two-minute performances means 20 minutes of singing. Throw in the required 35 minutes of commercials and that leaves only five minutes for Paula's babbling and little else.

Jason Castro gave two half-hearted performances. His rendition of "Forever in Blue Jeans" was downbeat and depressing. It lacked momentum. He followed that up with what must have been the most lethargic version of "September Morn" I've ever heard. On a positive note, Jason did manage to get off his stool and stand upright (mostly) for the second half of the song. Unfortunately, this effort sapped his remaining strength and he was incapable of singing complete lines from that point forward.

David Cook's take on "I'm Alive" was standard at best. It was good, but never rose to great. His second song, "All I Really Need Is You", was the best performance of the night. He channeled Diamond's sound in places and infused the rest of the arrangement with his own sound. It was the only song I could imagine being a hit on the radio today.

Despite her previous poor performances, I was hoping Brooke White would do well. She gave "I'm a Believer" a go, but the song was too much for her. Her mugging and grinning all seemed forced and fake. Instead of trying to do Smash Mouth's version of the song, she should have given it her own spin or gone with a different piece all together. For "I Am, I Said", she ditched the guitar for the piano and was suddenly "in the zone" again. The song fit her perfectly and her performance felt authentic. It reminded me of why I liked her in the first place.

David Archuleta sang two of Diamond's biggest hits: "Sweet Caroline" and "America". While his vocals were technically impressive, his performances lacked charisma. Both songs felt too big and grown-up for him. His version of "America" was nauseating and reminded me of days gone by, when Kristy Lee Cook was still going strong. His take on "Sweet Caroline" was so icky (especially the way he sang "touching me... touching you"), I had to cleanse my memory by listening to Diamond's original version several times, followed by a few views of Jonathan Coulton's cover...

Syesha Mercado's rendition of "Hello Again" was solid, but forgettable. The most memorable thing about her performance was her hair (it's mean, but true, but mean, so I'm sorry, mostly). For her second song, she sang a rousing version of "Thank the Lord for the Night Time". She spruced it up with some of her Broadway flair, but it was still only so-so for me.

While my dream Bottom Two would be David A. and Syesha, I don't think that dream is coming true. In all likelihood, tonight's Bottom Two will be Brooke (backlash for last week's elimination evasion) and Jason. With any luck, Jason will go home. The boy is tired and needs a nap.