Christmas Season Things and Stuff

I am currently at my Granddad's house in Texas enjoying a quiet morning and looking forward to spending the afternoon with my good ol' pal Jared, his brother Brett, Joe, and my cousin Tanner.

I didn't have time to post this story earlier, so here it is:

On Friday evening we drove to church for the Christmas Eve service in the new building. The parking lot was terribly icy, and as we searched for a parking place, we saw a teenage guy slip and fall pretty bad. My brother and sister both began laughing and making fun of him. I mentioned that they probably shouldn't laugh at the poor guy, but as usual, they didn't listen and continued to laugh. As soon as we parked, my sister opened her door, stepped onto the ice, and instantly fell. She landed on her back and slid partway beneath the car next to us. My Mom screamed, "Andy! Help her!" But I was too busy laughing. My sister was very upset because she got mud on her jacket and tore her pantyhose.

“Christmastime Has Come, There’ll be Toys for Everyone . . .”

Once again it is time to celebrate my favorite holiday of the year. This morning we opened our presents, since we’ll be leaving for Texas early tomorrow morning. This has definitely been the strangest Christmas I’ve ever had. First, it still doesn’t seem like Christmas because I’ve been so busy with school and work until recently that I haven’t had time to “get into the Christmas spirit,” as people say (I hate that expression). I haven’t even been to the mall since October, which is rare because I usually do my shopping there. This year, I either bought stuff for my family online or handed my Mom cash (I didn’t want to go to Victoria’s Secret to pick out lotion for my sister. That store frightens me). Also, I opened my main gifts early: World of Warcraft from Joe (we each paid half, so it was our gift to each other). I also received a rather nice drum set from my parents (and I’ll be paying for 35% of it or so myself). It’s a beautiful black Ludwig set including toms, bass, snare, throne, hi-hat stand, and crash stand. Unfortunately it didn’t come with any cymbals, so I’ll have to save up and buy them later. The head for the snare sounds like crap, as well: I’ll buy a nice Remo head soon.

A slight digression: I’ve started playing the drums (hence the new drum set). A friend of my brother’s needed a place to store his drum set a few months back, and Joe has been keeping the set in his room. In the past couple of months I’ve been slowly learning to play in my free time. I really enjoy it.

Back to the main topic of this post: this morning as we opened presents my Dad was a bit irritating. When he opened the box from me and my sister, he pulled out a white polo shirt and said, “Ooh! A girly man shirt!” My Mom was annoyed by that remark and explained to my Dad that it was a very nice shirt and was in no way effeminate. His next gift was a bottle of cologne. He sniffed it and said, “Is this for men?” My Mom pointed to the box where in large, bold letters it said: “For Men.” A few minutes later, I opened a Fourteeners calendar from my parents. I flipped through it and found a photo of Mt. Bross and showed it to my Dad and asked him to tell me which one it was. “Democrat! Er . . . no, um, Gray’s? Torrey’s? Is it Holy Cross? . . . Pike’s Peak?” He basically went through the list of every fourteener we’ve climbed and still didn’t get it, even when I said, “remember? The summit is often compared to a football field?”

In a few minutes we’re going to have lunch at P.F. Chang’s, my family's favorite Chinese Bistro (whatever that means). I’ve never been there, but they all say it’s wonderful. This evening we’ll go to church. For the past few months our church has been building a new sanctuary, and this will be the first service inside. It seats 7,000 and looks pretty cool. I think they'll have a musical like last year, so it should be entertaining.

Movie News

Matchstick Men
(Nicholas Cage, Sam Rockwell) 2003: 79%

The Trouble with Harry
(John Forsythe, Edmund Gwenn) 1955: 70%

Elf
(Will Ferrell, Bob Newhart, Ed Asner) 2003: 68%

Dodgeball
(Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn) 2004: 43%

The True Meaning of Freedom

I had my last two finals today, and they both went exceedingly well. I am now free for Christmas break!

One Down

On Friday I had my first final: Cultural Anthropology. It was an interesting class, since I've always enjoyed learning about cultures around the world but have never had a chance to study them in-depth in a classroom setting. The final was more difficult than I had expected, even though I studied a while for it. It was mostly essays and short answer questions with a few multiple-choice thrown in. When I was finished with the exam, I didn't think that I had done well, and I was a little depressed about it. Evidently I've lost my ability to judge my own performance: I checked the class website this morning and discovered that I got a 95% on the test. Now, if all of my other finals can go this well . . .

Thinking up Titles is Difficult

This morning I went to work, as usual, and when it was time for me to leave I walked to my car and was dumbfounded when I could see it sparkling from 100 feet away. Just this morning it had been covered all over in a thick layer of dirt (I haven't had time to wash it since the last big snow). My car looked so different that at first I wasn't sure if it was mine. When I unlocked the door and hopped in, I noticed that the inside had been vacuumed and smelled strongly of soap. I had a theory as to this miraculous happening and my Dad confirmed it when I returned home: while I had been working, he drove to the library and took my car to a nearby carwash. Wow. I thought that that was pretty nice. My Dad's a cool guy.

Today is my sister's sixteenth birthday. This evening I picked up one of her friends and brought her back to our house, and in the meantime another of her friends had arrived. The three of them enjoyed a candle-lit three-course pasta dinner . . . and the most interesting part of the evening: my brother and four of his friends from Rampart acted as waiters. That part of the dinner was a complete surprise for my sister, and the other girls were both a little nervous having five seniors serve them.

Books to Slay and Orcs to Read

My parents have returned from their trip, and everything is back to normal. The worst thing that happened while they were gone was that I burned a quesadilla (I guess I'm finally growing up, since the past times they've left us home alone we've had much worse accidents).

Finals week begins Monday. I don't expect any of my finals to be too difficult, but I have a few hundred pages to read for various classes that I've been trying to avoid for many weeks. On Friday I'll be able to register for classes, and I'm excited because now I'll be able to get into junior and senior level literature and grammar courses.



World of Warcraft, the brand new massively-multiplayer-online-role-playing game (MMORPG), has been stealing a good portion of my free time. In the past I've stayed away online games of this sort, mostly because my internet connection sucked and I didn't want to pay monthly fees for the game. Now that I have a good connection and a steady job, I have embraced the MMO world (and the fact that WoW received a 9.5 from GameSpot helped sway me). World of Warcraft is a superb game with a vivid environment, deep roleplaying system, powerful items, and a seemingly infinite amount of quests (I could pile on more adjectives, but you get the point). I'm playing as a Dwarven Paladin, and as of now I'm level 18. I don't even want to think about how many hours it's taken me to make it this far. The scope and size of the game are staggering, and I constantly feel very small. I was especially depressed when I saw a level 30 pie vendor in one city. Must . . . reach . . . level . . . nineteen.


Sitting in chairs in taverns is great fun . . . for a little while

Underwater copper mining: an invaluable skill

Gryphons are a great way to get around

So pretty

Level 20 orcs are tough

No Parents Week

Well, I was able to watch the sun rise today, and the traffic on Powers isn't so bad at 5 AM! I dropped my parents off at the airport this morning. They're flying to Williamsburg, Virginia, and they will be there until Tuesday. A friend of my parents', a retired Delta pilot, offered them plane tickets to anywhere they wanted to go. For awhile, they wanted to go to Switzerland . . . then they changed their minds and thought that Costa Rica would be a great place to visit. Last month, though, they settled on Williamsburg because it wouldn't cost as much. My Dad has seen the town before and he loves the Colonial history, so I'm sure they'll have fun sightseeing (and taking a break from work). All I know is that if someone offered me free tickets to anywhere in the world, I wouldn't even think of traveling within the United States.

While they are gone I'll be in charge around the house. I'll have to take care of the dogs, pick my sister up from school, cook meals, clean bathrooms, wash dishes, prevent Joe from bringing girls over to spend the night like he tried to last time my parents were away, etc. I'm sure we'll get along fine without my parents, but it will be a little strange.

Reading News

The American
Henry James
30%

Lightsabers
Kevin J. Anderson
63%

The Glass Menagerie
Tennessee Williams
75%

The Dragon King
R.A. Salvatore
66%

Thanksgiving 2004

For the past two years I traveled from Siloam Springs, Arkansas back home to Colorado for Thanksgiving, so I’m glad that I didn’t have to travel this year. Last year I made the trip with my friend Mike Glass. It took us about 13 hours, but we had a good time . . . well, maybe not a “good” time, but a memorable time, at least. We took turns driving, and while I was driving during one terribly boring stretch somewhere near Wichita, Kansas (I can’t be sure of our exact location because every part of Kansas is identical to every other part), he started pulling out his nose hairs with a pair of pliers. It was clearly painful, because he screamed like a little girl and his eyes couldn’t stop watering. I repeatedly told him to stop, but he didn’t listen. I think he might have been protesting the OAR CD we were listening to (we have different tastes in music). Strange that that should be the first thing that comes to mind when I think of last year’s Thanksgiving. Oh well, good times.

This year's Thanksgiving was out of the ordinary, because for the first time in a few years we had guests. When we lived in Guatemala, we spent our Thanksgivings with our pals the Wheelers at their house, but since returning to the U.S. we’ve been Thanksgiving hermits.

Three people joined us this year, all friends of my Dad’s from church:

Hannah: a half-Japanese / half-Korean woman in her early 40’s. She was very nice, but difficult to understand due to the fact that she spoke extremely fast and with a strong accent. She told us that she works on the Air Force Academy base and cuts cadet’s hair. She averages about 40 haircuts per day, but she said that she gave 100 haircuts one day right before July 4th. She promised to make sushi for us sometime.

JJ: mid 20’s, from New Mexico. He’s part of an unsigned band and has played shows all over the world. He was very outgoing and charismatic. After we ate, Joe and I showed him around downstairs, and he noticed all of Joe’s guitars and the drum set in his room. Joe played the guitar for him for awhile, and he was impressed and even offered to let Joe practice with his band sometime.

Russell: early 20’s, from Nebraska, currently JJ's roommate. Interestingly, he was blind and had a thick, black beard. From what I’ve heard from various people, he’s an exceptional pianist. He had a great sense of humor and kept the conversation going for most of the meal. As we were all finishing our pie, he said that he felt like he was a part of our family and wanted to come back for Christmas dinner.

The next few days we’ll have leftover turkey and pie for every meal (I had a big slice of apple pie for breakfast this morning). Ahhh, Thanksgiving is great.

"History Never Repeats"

Yesterday was pay day at the library. I've been receiving my pay through direct deposit lately, so I checked my account online ten times yesterday, but it was never deposited. I was a little worried because this morning the bank took $200 out of my checking account for my monthly car payment, and that cut my finances down considerably. This morning when I arrived at the library I looked through the check box thinking that the wonderful folks from the payroll department had inexplicably given me a regular check instead of depositing it for me. It wasn't there. Optimism be damned! The only explanation: for the second time they had forgotten to pay me. The PPLD payroll department is clearly incompetent. I've heard from multiple co-workers that they have had all kinds of errors on their paychecks in the last few months. One lady received 72 hours of pay when she only worked 40 hours, and another lady has been receiving a $170 per month insurance stipend for the past three months completely by mistake (too bad payroll can't make a mistake that benefits me). I talked to Dolores, my supervisor, about the fact that my paycheck was missing again, and her reaction startled me. She mouthed the word "crap," which is especially significant for a woman who never says anything that could be considered inappropriate by anyone, and she told me that she was very sorry and even offered to loan me some money to get me through the next few days. It was kind of her to offer, but I told her that I had enough saved to get me by. My plans for the weekend are screwed up now because I had wanted to do some Christmas shopping for my family. On Monday I'm going to have a nice confrontation with the payroll department . . .

In other news, my Dad's car has been in the shop all week since his accident. The insurance company was kind enough to pay for a rental car to get him through the week . . . but it appears to me their "kindness" was really an excuse to pull a rather sick joke: they gave him a cream-colored PT Cruiser. I feel ashamed every time I come home from class and see it parked in the driveway. He told me that the first day he had it, he passed a group of Japanese tourist walking on the side of the road near his office (funny how they show up in the strangest places), and they all stopped walking and pointed at the PT Cruiser and took pictures of it. The saddest part: my Dad thinks that the car is really cool looking.

Early Morning Search and Rescue
(well, maybe not that dramatic)

We had another mini-blizzard last night, and this morning the roads are extremely icy. I woke up at 8 AM and went upstairs to get some coffee. My Mom was on the phone, and I heard her saying, "Oh no. Oh no. When will AAA be there? Is the axle broken?" Hearing that woke me up more than coffee ever could. When she was finished on the phone, she told me that my Dad had been driving down Pine Manor, the steep hill that's nearly a mile long right by our house (and incidentally the only possible way to leave our neighborhood), when he hit a patch of ice and skidded into a curb.

My Mom told me that I needed to drive down the hill and pick him up because he was late for an important meeting and couldn't sit around and wait for AAA to show up. I threw on a sweatshirt and began warming up my brother's car (since he was asleep, I didn't think he would mind). It was so foggy that the visibility was less than 100 feet, and I could tell immediately upon exiting the driveway that the ice was quite thick. I proceeded down the hill at about 10 mph until I saw my Dad standing on the side of the road. He hopped in, and I drove back to my house without any trouble. End of adventure, for me at least. He just drove off in my brother's car in the hopes that his meeting isn't over. I hope that my Dad's car isn't terribly damaged, but I guess we'll see later. The same thing happened to Joe about two years ago when he was driving my old car: it cost over $1,000 to repair the damages.

(Insert Random Title)

In the absence of anything really interesting going on in my life right now, I offer a few pieces of news that have nothing at all to do with me personally, but may be interesting:




Half-Life 2 will be released on Tuesday, November 16th. If you've never heard of this game . . . you must not be into PC gaming (that's okay, don't worry). It's quite possibly the most-anticipated game in gaming history. It has taken Valve Software about five years to complete it because of innumerable setbacks (most notably the theft of the game's source code about a year ago). For hundreds of great screenshots and movies of the game in action, head over to GameSpot. I bought the newest issue of PC Gamer tonight, and they have an exclusive review of Half-Life 2: it received a 98% rating, and they say that it is "arguably the best game ever made." I may end up skipping a class or two on Tuesday . . .



Star Wars: Episode III: Revenge of the Sith will be in theaters May 19th, 2005, and you can watch the brand-new teaser trailer here. As always, TheForce.net has great daily Star Wars news.

A New Holiday . . .

Today is National Don't Yield to Oncoming Cars When Turning Left at a Traffic Light Day. No one told me before I left for work this morning (amazingly, it isn't printed on my calendar), so I was understandably surprised.

At the Union/Research intersection, the light was green, so as always I did not stop but continued going straight (it seems absurd to mention that, but because of drivers I've seen lately, it is an important distinction to make). Two cars across the intersection were in the left turn lane, and as I entered the intersection, one of the cars turned left right in front of me. I immediately thought, "Wow, that guy really should have waited for me to pass. That was way too . . . " but a millisecond later, the SUV behind that guy decided to go, as well. This time it was far, far, far too close. I slammed on my brakes and came within literally four feet of smacking into the guy, and he actually slowed down when our vehicles were perpendicular. I honked at him and gave him a get-the-hell-out-of-the-intersection look. He waved at me, but it looked more like a greeting than an apology. So from my dead stop in the middle of the intersection, I began to accelerate as the light turned red.

On my way home about 4.5 hours later, I once again approached the Union/Research intersection. The light was red, so I stopped and waited for a couple of minutes. I was in the middle lane, prepared to go straight, and I watched the cars across the intersection with the wariness of a soldier entering enemy territory. The light turned green, I accelerated, and . . . surprise! Happy Don't Yield to Oncoming Cars When Turning Left at a Traffic Light Day! . . . the first car turning left did not yield. It was a teenage girl driving a brand-new Mustang, and she came within a few feet of hitting me before she realized her error and stopped. As I passed, I noticed that she looked terribly embarrassed.

Well, next year I'll mark November 6th on my calendar and maybe I'll just sleep in that day.

Sorry, But I'm Failing to Emote

I've been a Perfect Circle fan since they released the outstanding album Mer de Noms in 2000, and my enjoyment and appreciation of their music increased when I saw them live over the summer. On Tuesday they released a new album, Emotive, and I'm really questioning what Maynard James Keenan and the gang were thinking.


Emotive

A sticker on the CD cover says that it is a collection of songs about "War, Peace, Love, and Greed," and that description isn't far off. At the concert I attended, I witnessed firsthand Maynard's anti-war/Bush ranting, so I suppose that this album should not be such a surprise. Basically, it's twelve tracks speaking out against the foolishness/evil of war, hate, and discrimination . . . and that's about as deep as it gets.



Emotive features multiple covers of famous anti-war songs, including "Imagine," by John Lennon and "What's Going On," by Marvin Gaye. In fact, only two songs are APC originals, and one of those is a remix of the song "Pet" from their Thirteenth Step album, so it hardly counts. The song "Passive" is quite good, and it's the only song on the album that I've listened to more than twice.



Their "rearrangements" of the cover songs display the typical mix of soft tones and thunder that has become an APC trademark, and it definitely sounds good, but they are still covers. It seems to me that when a band releases a "Brand New!" album, fans should receive new songs, but these recycled anti-war songs are disappointing, and even worse: uninteresting.



In addition, the album feels rushed. I'm guessing that they really wanted to release it on election day. The liner notes lead me to believe that only Billy Howerdel and Maynard James Keenan did any significant work on the album; the other band members played on some of the songs, but this album appears to be more Billy and Maynard than A Perfect Circle. One great thing about the album: the artwork. The "reinterpretations" of World War II posters are especially cool (and by posting a few here, I am not trying to be politically subversive, nor do I support political subversion at any level . . . these posters are really funny, though).



I still contend that Maynard James Keenan has the best voice in rock and roll today, so I'll just wait a few years for the next APC album and hope that it will be a real album.

Snow!

Almost every Halloween a cold front moves into Colorado Springs, and this year was no exception. It began to snow late last night and was still snowing when I awoke. My Mom told me it was a snow day for my brother and sister’s school district, as well as pretty much every other district in town.





UCCS didn’t cancel classes for some reason. I decided that attending my physical anthropology class wasn't worth risking death (or worse: damaging my car), so I stayed home. My Dad drove my car to a mechanic to have snow tires put on, and he was gone for a very long time. The roads were so bad that it took him over twenty minutes to get to Research parkway from our house! On most days I can make it in about five minutes. Right now he and Joe are at the mechanics’ buying snow tires for two of our other vehicles.

The snow is not very deep overall, but the streets and sidewalks are covered in thick layers of ice. Our window wells collected some impressive drifts:


My bedroom window


Family room window

My dogs have enjoyed playing in the snow this morning. When Spanky stepped outside after her breakfast, she missed a step and landed in a deep drift.


Spanky pretends that she's a snowshoe hare


Rascal prefers a warm bed

Movie News

Big Fish
(Ewan McGregor, Jessica Lange) 2003: 93%

Dead Reckoning
(Humphrey Bogart, Lizabeth Scott) 1947: 90%

There's Something About Mary
(Ben Stiller, Cameron Diaz) 1998: 82%

Meet the Parents
(Ben Stiller, Robert De Niro, Owen Wilson) 2000: 81%

Action in the North Atlantic
(Humphrey Bogart, Alan Hale) 1943: 75%

Highpoints of the United States

Numerous people have climbed the highest peaks in all 50 states (or hills, as the case may be), and I used to think that it was something I wanted to try, you know, just so I could tell people, "Oh yeah, I've not only been to all fifty states, I've climbed to the highest point in every state." That ought to make the ladies go wild (or something). I recently found a book at the library called Highpoints of the United States, and after a few minutes of reading, I decided that it's not really something I want to do, mainly because it would be a terrible waste of time. Travel all the way to Florida to ascend 345 feet? No thanks.

I Hope I Don't Kill Anyone While I'm Driving

On Thursday I tore my last right contact. I had visited the optometrist the day before, and he adjusted my prescription and ordered a new box, but it won't arrive until next Wednesday. Until then I'll have to rely on my glasses, which is a very bad thing: the lenses are a few years old, and my prescription has changed since then. If that wasn't bad enough, the lenses are scratched and create a terrible glare when I'm outside. So far, driving has been irritating because I usually drive at times when the sun is right in my eyes (i.e. 8:00 AM and 4:30 PM) and I can't wear my sunglasses. If I accidentally run over someone or fail to stop at a red light, everyone will know why.

Billy Responds

Today Billy Corgan posted a short narrative of his recent book signings, including the one Joe and I attended in Denver, on his site (BillyCorgan.com). It's pretty cool to read about the evening's events from his perspective:

“. . . When we got to the book signing, we went upstairs in this massive place . . . I had only been signing for about 5 minutes when the fire alarm went off! At first, we didn't know what to do so I kept signing . . . ("he signed his books in flames") . . . after a minute of the wa-wa-wa-wa the man said we had to get out, that it was a real alarm . . . now here is the amazing part . . . all the fans went out of the store single file, everyone respecting everyone’s place in line . . . after we got an all clear, everyone went back in, again keeping their places and we started up where we left off . . . the staff of the store told me they were amazed at how well the crowd dealt with the situation, and no one took the opportunity to make off with my book for free . . . no surprise to me, of course. My cold/flu had now reached the point of full on no voice, so I had them make a sign that simply said:

I Have Laryngitis
I Am Sorry I Cannot Talk
I Love You

Whenever someone would ask me a question, I would just point to the sign . . . a couple of times people said really nice things, so I just pointed to the "I love you" part . . . Back to the show at Jake’s Crack Den . . . my laryngitis had now set in so bad that I could barely talk at all, which meant no singing at all . . . I was bummed as it threw off the show we had planned, plus, I could barely read the poems . . . Anyway, dear Denver, you always leave a mark . . . God bless you, that's all I got to say . . .”

My Optometrist Appointment is Wednesday

I was turning onto a street near our neighborhood and I thought I saw my brother in his car at a stop sign. I smiled and waved, but as I approached I realized that it wasn't Joe in the car; it was an Asian guy, and he gave me a bewildered look and waved back. The realization startled and distracted me so much that I came very close to smacking into a curb. I laughed all the way to my house.

“. . . Strangers Down the Line . . .”

Billy Corgan Book Signing
The Tattered Cover, Denver CO
10-23-04

Joe and I left at 3:30 yesterday afternoon for Denver. The drive was hectic, since it was just about rush hour when we arrived on the outskirts of the city. We found a parking place and walked a few blocks to the Tattered Cover bookstore. *Side note: downtown Denver rocks!* I had been to the book store last summer with my Dad, my sister, Joe, and my old pal Jared, and it is a truly awesome place to hang out (you know, if you are the literary type).

We went upstairs and found a line of tape on the floor leading into the “Event Room.” The room was full of people sitting on the floor; it looked like a line for a ride at an amusement park. We waited for over two hours before the signing began, and luckily I brought along some homework. Poor Joe just played with his cell phone the whole time and cracked jokes about Tibetan love slaves (don’t ask).

At 6:30 PM, a Tattered Cover employee came onstage and told us that he had good news and bad news. The good news: Billy would arrive at 7:00 PM for the signing as planned. The bad news: he had a bad case of laryngitis, and he couldn’t talk. A friend of his would read his poetry aloud at the Soiled Dove immediately following the signing, but Billy would not be able to perform any songs. To say the least, I was very disappointed. We soon heard grumblings nearby that the Soiled Dove only allowed people ages 21 and up to enter. Joe called the place on his cell phone and confirmed it. He was extremely upset. We finally had a chance to see Billy perform live, and Joe wouldn’t even be allowed to enter the building, and Billy had laryngitis! Since it wouldn’t be much fun to go to the show alone and leave Joe to sit in the car, I decided that our only option was to go home after the signing.

At 7:00 Billy came out of a back room led by a few Tattered Cover employees and his personal entourage. Everyone in line began to cheer. He was dressed in an overcoat and a beanie (I hate that word), and as he walked he wrapped a scarf around his neck. He sat down at a desk in the middle of the stage, and the signing began. The setup was interesting: on one side of the desk stood the manager of the Tattered Cover, and on the opposite side an employee and a rather burly fellow who appeared to be Billy’s bodyguard. Behind Billy sat a Tibetan woman dressed in a red silk kimono-type dress (sorry, I really have no understanding of Tibetan fashion). She has been touring with him, and I’ve heard that she is an amazing singer. When it was the next fan’s turn in line, they handed their copy of Blinking with Fists to the bodyguard, and he passed it to Billy. Billy then opened the book and signed it as the fan passed in front of the desk and said a few words to him. Since he had laryngitis, Billy only whispered to a few people, and he acknowledged others with a nod or a smile.


BC at Harvard bookstore in Boston last week
(no photos online of Tattered Cover signing yet)

After he had signed five books or so, the building’s fire alarm suddenly went off. The siren was terribly loud, and lights flashed everywhere. Billy and his bodyguard looked concerned, but he kept signing for two more minutes or so while the store manager ran to investigate. I didn’t see any sign of smoke, so I wasn’t worried, but I imagined a headline reading: “Five-Hundred People Die in Bookstore Fire.” Everyone in line around us began to freak out, not about the possibility of dying, but rather the fear that they would lose their place in line. At that point, Joe and I were only about twenty people away from the front of the line, and if we had to evacuate, we would surely lose our place. In another minute, the Tattered Cover employees began walking down the line informing everyone that we had to evacuate. We proceeded outside single-file and waited for a good fifteen minutes out in the cold until they confirmed that it was just a false alarm (we later hypothesized that someone at the end of the line might have pulled the alarm in an attempt to reach the front of the line. A clever, if despicable plan). Theoretically, we should have made it back into the building in the same order we exited, but when we re-entered the Event Room, that was clearly not the case: instead of being behind twenty people, we were now behind about eighty. So much for showing up two hours early.

When it was our turn, I handed the book to the bodyguard and stepped in front of the desk. For the past ten minutes I had been frantically trying to come up with something wonderfully original to say. In actuality, for the past month I had been pondering it, but what could I say to someone who has doubtlessly heard all forms of praise from thousands of fans over the years? When I was directly in front of him, he was signing my book, then he looked up at me. Predictably, I immediately became a nearly incoherent fool. I muttered something about it being amazing that he was here, then I basically told him that his music had influenced me greatly over the years, and I said thanks for everything. He smiled and nodded at me. Joe was a bit smoother: he said, “Your Gravity Demos have been an inspiration and a huge influence on my own music.” Billy’s reaction was great! He gave Joe a very surprised look and grinned. Billy’s Gravity Demos are a series of extremely rare instrumental versions of Smashing Pumpkins songs recorded before the Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness album, and I managed to acquire them a year or two ago. I’m sure that of the hundreds of people at the signing, only ten or fifteen had ever even heard of the Gravity Demos, so it’s no wonder that Billy appeared surprised. I had really wanted to prove that I wasn’t just some goofy kid who bought Siamese Dream five years ago, listened to it once, and then just decided to come to the signing on a whim. I wanted to show him that I was a true fan! But unfortunately we only had a few seconds to speak to him. Oh, for the chance to sit down for an hour and chat . . . oh well. Yes, I know I am very pitiful, and I won’t try to hide that fact.



We left the bookstore and drove home. I was disappointed that we couldn’t see him perform live, but in a way everything worked out for the best: I’ve had a bad cold all week, and I had to work today and study for a test, so it’s best that I wasn’t out until 2 AM. Besides, he’s finishing up his solo album, and when it’s released next year, he’ll hopefully stop in Colorado on his tour.

My Freakin' Wonderful Life at UCCS

I'm frustrated with my classes this semester.
Really, really, terribly, awfully frustrated.

Since I transferred in late, I had a terrible selection, and all my classes are freshman level. It's demeaning enough for me, a junior, to have to take a full load of freshman classes, but these classes are even more rudimentary than the freshman classes at John Brown University. Essentially, I feel like I'm in high school again. At JBU, I was surrounded by so many brilliant people, especially in my English classes, but now I am once again plagued by pot-smokers who only love to party and get drunk and don't give a damn about learning anything. I do admit that I have met/observed a few genuinely intelligent people.

My English class proved especially difficult to stomach today. It's hard to take most days, since I've read about 80% of the course material in other courses taught by better professors. We are currently discussing poetry, and my professor introduced the concept of iambic pentameter to the class. Very few people were able to grasp it. She was not explaining it very well, and I had to resist the urge to jump to the front of the classroom and explain it myself.

Every class period, I have to listen to students explain their own theories and interpretations of an aspect of short story, novel, or poem, and I use a great amount of strength holding in my derisive laughter. Today, for example, we read a Keats poem, and a girl kept saying that she thought it was written to a secret lover because of one ambiguous line. My professor explained no less than three times that the poem was written for Keats' fiance, a well-documented fact. The poor girl would not let go of her tenuous argument, and she wasted at least ten minutes of class time attempting to support it.

Students in the class do not seem to know anything about literary theories, philosophy, or even common literary devices necessary to discuss literature intelligently. I base that last bitter comment only on what I have observed; I suspect that a few shy people in the class may know more than they let on. I kept wanting to point out a wonderful use of synecdoche is the Keats poem, but the girl with the 'secret lover' hypothesis would not pause long enough.

I like the professor, but I'm seeing more and more how inexperienced she is. Today she read one of Shakespeare's sonnets out loud, and she paused at the end of every line, whether they were end-stopped or enjambed! I couldn't believe that a professor with a doctorate did not know how to correctly read poetry! I was nearly overwhelmed with a desire to tear the book from her hands and read it aloud myself.

I had planned to begin a discussion on the effects of high-frequency vowel sounds in Dylan Thomas' villanelle "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night," but I decided that everyone in the class would be so lost that they would think I was an idiot. So I tried my best to tune everything out, and I actually made some progress writing a sonnet. I'm not trying to say that the class is full of idiots (although there are a few). Most of them are freshmen or have never taken an English literature class in college, so I really shouldn't be so hard on them. I can't picture myself ever being that green.

I could talk about how my cultural anthropology professor has us read 80 pages in one of our textbooks every week yet never lectures or tests us over it, but I'm tired, so I won't go into all the annoying stuff in my other classes. I hope that my classes next semester will be more challenging/interesting, otherwise . . . I'll continue to suffer in silence, with occasional blog-venting.

Crime

I usually don't think of Colorado Springs as a high-crime city, but a few recent events have changed my mind:

My brother and few of his friends went to a steakhouse with their dates for homecoming, and as they ate dinner an unusual event occurred at the nearby Best Buy: a man entered the store, picked out a laptop, and tried to pay for it with a fake check. The cashier knew it was a fake immediately and called the police. The guy bolted out the door with the laptop . . . the story gets fuzzy here, but he basically shot and wounded two police officers, and after a brief car chase, a police officer shot and killed him. I know that computers are pretty cool, but was all of that really necessary? I don't care if it had an AMD 64 processor!

A few days ago, my parents went to a bank to work out some details on a loan (or something like that), and less than one hour after they left, a group of men armed with automatic weapons entered the lobby and (just like any movie with a bank robbery scene) they told everyone to get down on the floor, etc. etc. and made off with a few thousand dollars.

Ah, what dangerous times these are.

Movie News

The Royal Tenenbaums
(Gene Hackman, Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson,
Luke Wilson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Danny Glover,
Bill Murray) 2001: 87%

The Big Sleep
(Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall) 1946: 84%

Anger Management
(Adam Sandler, Jack Nicholson) 2003: 52%

The Wolf Man
(Lon Chaney Jr., Claude Rains, Bela Lugosi) 1941: 70%

Napoleon Dynamite
(Jon Heder, Efren Ramirez) 2004: 62%

Envy
(Ben Stiller, Jack Black) 2004: 51%

Star Wars: Battlefront

Yesterday I bought Star Wars: Battlefront at Best Buy, brought it home, began installing it, and discovered that the CD key that came with it was invalid. I typed the CD key in literally fifty times, with all caps, no caps, etc. I went back to Best Buy, exchanged the defective copy for another copy, began installing it, and the same problem occurred. I checked the LucasArts tech support forums and noticed that dozens and dozens of people had the same problem. I e-mailed tech support, and they e-mailed me back in a few hours with a working CD key, so all is well.

The game is very cool: it's essentially Battlefield 1942 with great graphics set in the Star Wars universe. I've only played online twice so far, and I was slaughtered both times, but hopefully this weekend I'll have some spare time to practice.

I let my brother play online, and I immediately regretted it. The first thing he said was: "Can you ride Wookiees? That would be so cool to piggy-back ride a Wookiee into battle." A few minutes later: "Remember that scene in the movie where Princess Leia was on the planet Boontat? Well, I'm playing as Princess Leia right now, and I'm going to capture this command post." For the next map: "Ooh! The battle of Tangerine on Tantooine! Whoa! That guy in an Endo-Wing nearly hit me! Dude, come look at my dysentery meter! It's awesome!" I suppose I can't expect everyone to be a true Star Wars fan.

My Search for a Vehicle is Finally Over

On Monday morning, my Dad and I went to a Honda dealership downtown and browsed their inventory. I test drove a 2005 Honda Civic VP (the next-to-lowest model in the Civic line). I really liked it, so we told the salesman that we would be back sometime in the evening to discuss the price. When we returned home, my Dad called a friend of his who owns a car dealership in Texas and mentioned our trip to the Honda dealership. My Dad’s friend said that he would call the dealership and get us a lower price. At first I was more than a little skeptical: what kind of influence could a car dealer in Texas have over a Colorado dealer? My Dad’s friend, in short, was able to get the Honda dealer to waive all of their hidden “dealer handling fees” (fees of that type can often reach over $400), and he learned that they had a brand new top of the line Honda Civic EX with a little hail damage on their lot. He talked them down about $4,500 on that particular car!

That evening I had to go to work, but my parents stopped by the dealership to see the car and drove it by the library so I could see it. Since I just ran outside for a minute to check it out when I was supposed to be working, I wasn’t able to test drive it myself, but I loved the car’s appearance and told my parents that I wanted to buy it. They both assured me that it drove very well, and since I had driven a similar model that morning, I was convinced that it was what I wanted. It was pretty dark outside, but it still looked nice. The hail damage, much to my relief, was very minor: only a few bumps here and there, hardly noticeable at all.

The next day, I had to work again and my parents went to the dealership to do all of the paperwork (it took them over three hours. Ouch). My Dad put the car in his name, so my presence was not required, although I will be paying for the car myself. When the negotiations were complete, my parents dropped the car off at the library and gave me the keys. By the time I left the building at 9:00 PM, it was dark, of course, so once again I could not actually see the car very well. I hopped in and spent several minutes trying to find the headlight and mirror controls. One really cool thing: it has a sunroof, but it took me awhile to figure out how to open it . . . so many shiny buttons.





I’ll be paying the car off until I’m about 117 years old, but this is how most people buy cars (or so I’m told). I would have liked to just hand the dealer cash and be done with the whole thing, but unfortunately my savings account is rather empty as of late. It must be nice to be rich.

Since my brother works at a bank, he was able to get me a loan with an amazingly low interest rate. Also, my grandparents surprised me by sending a check to help pay for the car. So, I am quite pleased with how everything turned out. I’ve received a great amount of help from many people, and I am very thankful. I'm so glad that I will no longer have to drive my Mom to work every morning.





My brother is a little jealous. He bought a new Nissan Sentra a few months back, but when he was car-shopping he desperately wanted the same Civic that I bought (even the same color). The night I brought it home he was flipping with happiness and asked me if he could take it to the homecoming dance. Yeah, right. We drove around and listened to Ugly Casanova (why I chose that CD as the soundtrack of my first test drive I’ll never figure out). Joe spent most of the drive hanging out of the sunroof, and later we swapped places so I could take a turn. He assures me that now I'll get all the ladies. Ahh, if only a car could have such power . . .

Give Me My Money

This morning after my cultural anthropology test I drove to the library to pick up my paycheck. I walked into the switchboard room and began flipping through the box of checks on the counter and noticed that my paycheck was absent. I mentioned it to the woman at the desk, and (I'm still amazed and angered by this) she said, "do you even work here?" Her tone irritated me as much as her question, and I instantly thought of ten beautifully sarcastic responses. I had seen her around the library dozens and dozens of times, but it appeared that she had never seen me before. I assured her that I wasn't just a guy off the street, and she told me to go to the payroll office upstairs. The woman in charge of payroll informed me that she had accidentally forgotten to print a check for me. She said that she would have it ready by Saturday. Beautiful: since Monday is a holiday, I won't be able to deposit my paycheck until Tuesday. It's a good thing I don't have any large gambling debts to pay or drug addictions to satiate, otherwise I would be in trouble.

Reading News

Dragon and Soldier
Timothy Zahn
79%

Despair
Vladimir Nabokov
100%

Tatooine Ghost
Troy Denning
81%

Mary
Vladimir Nabokov
83%

Dirty Jokes Told by Middle-Aged Women (on Accident)

Tonight I had fun at work. Well, I should say that I had fun part of the time. One of my fellow shelving pages is leaving the library to pursue . . . something, and we had a going away party for her. At the library it's a tradition for the person who is leaving to bring food for everyone else, and Jolene brought us cupcakes. As we ate, Marsha told us a story about a young boy she had seen at a department store recently. When his mother wasn't looking, the boy reached up and grabbed a mannequin's breasts and squeezed them, then he quickly walked away. Christine, my supervisor, said: "That reminds me of when Indiana Jones grabbed that statue's boobs in The Temple of Doom. He just wanted to get into her secret tunnel." We all noticed her unintentional female anatomical reference immediately. I began blushing like a third grader. My problem was that I thought that the slip was hilarious, but with three females present and only one other male in addition to myself, I didn't want to laugh too much. My withheld laughter manifested itself as watery eyes and a nice red skin color.

Blinking with Fists

Billy Corgan, lead singer of The Smashing Pumpkins, just released a new book of poems yesterday titled Blinking with Fists. And no, I have no idea at all what the title means. I've been a crazy Smashing Pumpkins fan since . . . 1995. Wow, that was quite a long time ago. My enjoyment of the band has increased in the past two or three years, and, as frightening as this may be, I'll go for entire weeks where I listen to nothing but the Smashing Pumpkins. The Smashing Pumpkins go far beyond popular rock music with their lyrics and diverse sound . . . this isn't an essay on "My Favorite Band," so I'll move on:



On October 23rd, Billy will stop by the Tattered Cover bookstore in Denver for a book signing, and after that, he'll head to the Soiled Dove for a poetry reading. I just bought a pair of tickets this morning, and Joe and I are both hopping with excitement already. It's incredible to think that I'll have a chance to meet and exchange a few words with a man whose music I've loved for a significant portion of my life.



I have not had a chance to purchase Blinking with Fists yet, but I hope to in the next week. After the poetry workshop class I took last semester, I've become a bit of a snob, so I'm not sure if I'll like it or not. I'm not such a fan that I'll accept anything he throws at me, but I definitely look forward to reading his latest work . . . and tearing it apart and writing a review (naturally).

Movie News

The Big Clock
(Ray Milland, Charles Laughton) 1948: 85%

House of Wax
(Vincent Price) 1953: 72%

The Bad Seed
(Nancy Kelly, Patricia McCormack) 1956: 93%

Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow
(Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie) 2004: 89%

Scholar of the Year (Sort of)

I'm a pretty good student: I do my homework, go to class (most of the time), and I generally do my best. I've always received A's and B's in classes, with the exception of Quantitative Literacy a few semesters ago, but we won't talk about that. I've never considered myself to be an outstanding student because I've always had friends who were much more devoted, smarter, better at sucking up to teachers, etc.

In the past few months I have received a few notable letters: the first came from the National Dean's List organization congratulating me for being accepted onto the list. Only 1/2 of one percent of college students make it onto the list, the letter said, so I should be extremely proud of my accomplishment. They even suggested that I inform my local newspaper. What?!

Today I received a letter--no, more like a packet--full of information from the International Scholar Laureate Program. The opening line of the enclosed letter reads: "as a result of your exemplary academic record, leadership potential and community service . . . you have been nominated to represent John Brown University this winter at the 2005 International Scholar Laureate Program." Hmmm. Community service? I haven't done any of that since I returned to the United States in 2000. So, I've been chosen to join 23 other students from around the nation for a time of "discovery and mentorship" January 5-9, 2005 in Arlington, VA. They will send me a "press release to distribute to the local news media." Alright, why would the media care? I suppose it is an honor to be one out of twenty-four people chosen, but I still can't understand why I was chosen.

I am suddenly reminded of a tragic episode of the Brady Bunch in which Jan is notified that she won an award at school, but when she goes onstage to accept the award, the school principle says: "The winner of this award is not Jan Brady." It was all some crazy mix-up, and the award went to someone else, and Jan cried. She cried a lot. I'll never forget her tears. I don't want that to happen to me. If I show up to the International Scholar Laureate Program and they say, "wait a second. That letter was supposed to go to Andre Wegnarl. Sorry for the mix-up," I'll feel pretty bad. I know I'm a good student, but what is all this about?!

Puppy Trouble

Spanky has been very sick today. This afternoon she threw up on the carpet, then a few minutes later threw up again. I left her outside for awhile in the hope that she would get everything out of her system. Rascal wanted to go outside, as well, so I let him out. When I let them both back in twenty minutes later, Rascal was acting strange. He kept following me around and looking up at me as if he was trying to communicate something. I soon found out what: Spanky had thrown up all over his backside, and his fur was covered with white chunks. He was miserable and shaking, the poor little guy. I gave him a quick bath and then put Spanky in her cage, where she will remain the rest of the evening.

Oh Great, More News

I received my new graphics card in the mail on Monday. It's an ATI Radeon 9600 XT with 256 megs of RAM. After testing many games (Battlefield 1942, UT2004, DOOM 3, Far Cry, Thief III: Deadly Shadows, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic), I can say that it was a good purchase. I'm so happy that I can play DOOM 3 and Thief III now!

Life was great. Until . . .

Yesterday I needed to free up disk space to install a game, so I uninstalled DOOM 3. As it was unistalling, Norton Antivirus kept popping up saying "Waiting for a scan of (such and such a file)." After a few occurrences, it stopped. I later decided to uninstall another game, and an error message popped up saying that the Installshield iKernal.exe was corrupted. I attempted to uninstall a few more games, and the same error message appeared. In addition to no longer being able to uninstall anything, I couldn't install anything for the same reason. I was very screwed. I think that somehow Norton corrupted the file by trying to scan the crap out of everything. I don't know the reason for sure, but I blame Norton. So at 3:30 PM, I began searching on the internet and on Microsoft's site for help with the problem . . . alright, this is getting boring . . . I basically followed all the instructions I could find on how to fix it, and nothing worked. So I decided to reinstall Windows XP. I backed up all my important files by moving them via our wireless network to our family PC, and burning the files on CDs. This process took a very long time. I formatted my hard drive in the meantime (a two hour process), then began the installation. Once it was complete, I spent another few hours getting my wireless network running again and installing Windows updates and drivers. So, I basically worked non-stop from 3:30 PM until nearly 1:00 AM. I still had a few more updates to work on this morning. The point of this terribly drawn out, utterly boring narrative is to explain why my Friday night sucked.

Ovlovteen News

Ovlovteen has finally hit it big: go to http://www.purevolume.com/ovlovteen and check out the band profile, photos, and even download three songs from the new album The Timely Death of a Famed Wiggle Worm. Support the band! Buy our music! We need groupies! Sure, our music may suck terribly, but . . . listen anyway!

Mas Noticias

I ran into Yvette's dad at the library a few days ago. I hadn't seen him since Christmas, and coincidentally I haven't spoken Spanish conversationally since then (lack of opportunities . . . hmmm, I guess that's not really true, since I had two Spanish speaking suitemates at JBU. Oh well). We chatted in Spanish for about ten minutes. It was strange, because I could understand everything he said perfectly, but I had trouble thinking of timely responses. As I answered one of his questions, I made a terrible grammatical error. He looked at me as if he wanted to say, "Wow, that was one huge grammatical error. I have no idea what you just said." He asked another question to help clarify what I had just said, and this time I managed to answer coherently. As the conversation continued, I grew more comfortable, and I even enjoyed it. He's a cool guy, and I'm glad I ran into him.

Last night I had another sleepwalking adventure, or so my parents told me. My dad was typing something on the computer sometime after midnight, and I rushed out of my room and whispered, "Dad! There's a lady outside having trouble with her kid!" My dad asked me what I was talking about, and I said, "Yeah, evidently some lady is having trouble with her kid outside." I walked back into my room and shut the door. My dad was understandably perplexed, so he went outside to see what I had been talking about. When he didn't see any women or children, he guessed that I must have been sleepwalking. I really need to stop doing things like that, it's creepy.

Nothing and Everything

Once again it's time for another "I-have-a-lot-of-news-but-I've-been-really-busy-and-this-is-my-first-chance-to-post-so-here-it-is" post. Good luck.

Well, I made it through my first 20 hour work/school week, and I am still very much alive . . . exhausted, but alive. I've decided that I will not do any homework until tomorrow night so that I can fully enjoy my weekend.

Josh and I wanted to climb Mt. Elbert (the tallest mountain in Colorado) on Sunday, but the weather forecast calls for rain and snow. I was looking forward to it, but I'm also glad for a chance to rest.

Last weekend I bought a copy of Battlefield 1942 and both of its expansion packs (Road to Rome and Secret Weapons of WWII) for $30. To make things even better, I split the cost with Joe. We played a few games last weekend, but we have not had any spare time to play during the week (when I return from work around 9:30 PM, he's normally in bed). The online play is the most intense gaming experience I've ever had.

As I've mentioned before, when I shipped my $300 monitor from JBU to Colorado Springs, it was somehow damaged in transit. I called UPS the day after I discovered that it was broken, and the woman I spoke to apologized and made it sound as if they would reimburse me. That was in May. I called in June and they told me that I had to talk to the shipper (JBU), so when I called JBU, they told me that I needed to take it up with UPS. In July, my dad spent a few hours on the phone (over a period of weeks) trying to work everything out. He even did a three-way call between himself, UPS, and the JBU post office. He talked rough to a few UPS people for all the run-around and spoke to multiple high-up managers. Every time it was the same crap: talk to JBU, etc., etc. A few days ago my dad called one last time and spoke to a manager. It seems that they refuse to take responsibility because the box was not packed according to their guidelines. Wow. Why did it take them four months to tell us this when they knew all of the details from the first day I called?! Now, let me explain how I packed the box: I used the original box plus the original styrofoam, but I placed a few shirts and a pillow in the box just for extra padding. I packed the box better than when it was shipped to me originally! UPS told my dad that the presence of the pillow and clothes constituted "poor packing." They reacted as if I had filled the box with open cans of tuna and razorblades and pointy rocks and fireworks and baby iguanas. A pillow! A freakin' pillow! Soft enough to sleep on! Yes, I am bitter. No hope for humanity.

Mt. Democrat (14,148 ft.)
Mt. Lincoln (14,286 ft.)
Mt. Bross (14,172 ft.)
9-6-04

Before I launch into my customary trip narrative, I’d like to briefly mention the history of these peaks (namely Lincoln). All three were heavily mined in the 1800’s, and dozens of collapsed mineshafts and other structures still remain near the trails. In the 1860’s, miners often raced each other to the summits and back to their mining camps. After one such excursion, a miner returned to camp and was so exhilarated by the climb that he called a meeting to name the mountain he had just ascended. Someone suggested calling it Mt. Lincoln, after the current president, and it was unanimous. The miners sent a load of gold worth $800 to president Lincoln as well as news that the mountain had been named after him. The president dispatched a messenger, and the message he delivered was one of the last things Lincoln wrote before he was assassinated. Ah, patriotism.

This fourteener trip was very different from previous trips, mainly because only my Dad and I went, but also because we had surprising and intensely frustrating setback. We left home at 3:30 AM (I only got about three hours of sleep). I noticed that we only had half a tank of gas remaining before we were out of town, and I mentioned it to my Dad. He said that we had more than enough to get us there and that we could find a gas station later. The drive to Alma was oddly enjoyable. For one thing, we passed less than a dozen cars the whole way. There’s something magical about being exhausted, having a terrible stomach ache, and knowing that you have one heck of a hike ahead of you. The coolest part of the drive was when we stopped on the side of the road about 20 miles from Fairplay (potty break). The only light we could see was from the moon and the stars, and we couldn’t hear anything except for the wind. It’s wonderful to leave the city every now and then.

It was freezing in Alma (below freezing, actually: 28 degrees). We brought all kinds of winter gear (I even brought long underwear, just in case), so we were well-prepared. We realized that the dirt road to Kite Lake was 6 miles, and we only had enough gas to make it three miles. Since it was 5 AM, there was no activity in town, and the nearest gas station was in Fairplay (six miles away). We parked in front of a liquor store (the highest liquor store in America, a sign on the window read). Dad scouted around town for a little while (it didn’t take long, since the population is about 100 people), and he confirmed that no one was around and there were no gas stations. Side note: I just noticed that I tend to use parenthesis way too often (oh well). I suggested that he call AAA. The person on the phone said that someone would come by to bring us gas in less than an hour, guaranteed. It took two and a half hours. I brought a book with me, but I wasn’t feeling good and I only read about ten pages. For most of the time we waited for AAA, I kept my eyes on the highway, hoping that the guy would show up soon so we wouldn’t get caught in a thunderstorm before we could ascend all three summits. When he arrived and added a couple of gallons to our tank, we drove up the dirt road and parked.

We hit the Kite Lake trail at 8:30 AM, and I was immediately dismayed by the number of hikers around us. It was labor day, so I had been expected to meet a few people on the trail, but I was not ready for that many. Two groups of about 20 people each clogged the trail more than anyone else, and every member of the group seemed to be carrying a walkie-talkie and shouting into it incessantly about llamas and alpacas. I’ve always been a fan of inside jokes, but that llama thing went too far (note: if you are confused right now, don’t worry, it’s not important). Near the summit of Democrat, I became so irritated as a group passed us that I said to my dad (in a loud voice), “I used to think climbing mountains was all about solitude and enjoying nature. Now I feel like I’ve come to someone’s family reunion.” A lady nearby overheard and gave me a nasty scowl. I smiled back.


Ice crystals


Mt. Democrat

We ascended Democrat first, then returned to the saddle connected to Cameron, then we hiked over to Lincoln, and finally Bross. Democrat was the most difficult of the three, mostly because of the seemingly infinite switchbacks and class 2 boulder field (although it was nothing compared to Mount of the Holy Cross).


Andy on Democrat (sexy pose)


Dad with Bross in background

I found Cameron to be the next hardest of the peaks, but unfortunately it is not an official fourteener, despite the fact that its summit is at 14, 238 ft. It is not a true fourteener because it only rises 157 ft. from the saddle it shares with Lincoln, and to be a fourteener it must rise at least 300 ft. My Dad was disappointed by that fact, and he’s decided to embark on a campaign to make the peak official. He plans make t-shirts that say “Cameron Counts!” I’m sure he was joking.


Mt. Cameron . . . the non-fourteener

Lincoln is the prettiest of the three peaks, and from the summit it has an excellent view of Quandary to the north (a fourteener I hope to climb early next summer).


Mt. Lincoln

You can also see Bross perfectly, but I must say that it is the most unimpressive mountain I have ever seen. As Gerry Roach, author of Colorado’s Fourteeners, said: “this rotund peak challenges photographers to make it look dramatic.” From the photos I took, it appears that I failed. Bross is, by far, the easiest fourteener I’ve ever climbed. The summit is perfectly flat and large enough to play football on, I’ve often heard people say.


Mt. Bross in all of its . . . grandness


The summit of Bross (future home of the Denver Broncos)


Dad and Andy on Bross summit (Lincoln in the background)

After a brief rest, we headed down toward the valley. The descent was much more difficult than the ascent. The trail was steep and gravelly, and I almost slipped a hundred times. I actually enjoyed this part of the trip, because I’d rather slide down a mountain than walk down (sliding is less tiring, you see). My dad hated it, though, because he has low-cut trail-runner shoes and had to stop to scoop out rocks every few minutes. My boots kept out every single pebble.


The long way down


Mine shaft of Doom

When we were back at our van, I was tired. My eyes felt strange, and I looked in the mirror and discovered that they were terribly sunburned. I should have worn my sunglasses the whole time. My feet didn’t blister up, though; I guess I’ve done so much hiking this summer that my feet have toughened up.

School and other Crap I've Avoided Talking About

After three weeks of classes at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs, I am ready to report that all goes well. I honestly prefer John Brown University in just about every way, but UCCS is still pretty cool (the thousands of lovely ladies on campus and the excellent view of Pike's Peak make up for most of the school's shortcomings).

On the first day of class, I arrived on campus 40 minutes before my first class was supposed to begin. Unfortunately, I spent that whole time hunting for a parking place. UCCS has numerous lots on campus (and a few off-campus accessible by shuttle, I recently learned), but every parking place was taken. I wasn't the only one who couldn't find a place; the traffic looked like a small-scale rush hour freeway. In short, I missed my first class. That irritated me, but I got over it. I now try to arrive on campus at least a half hour before my class begins, and I haven't had any more problems. When I returned home, I learned from my Dad that I would not be able to purchase the Jeep I wanted because no insurance company wanted to insure it. Evidently, the maximum lift insurance companies will allow is four inches or so, and the Jeep I wanted had a 5.5 inch lift. Even though I was disappointed, I am very glad that he called about it, because we planned to purchase the vehicle that very afternoon.

Commuting to school is more difficult than living on campus. For example, I have a four hour gap between my classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I don't know whether I should sit around on campus or drive back home. The first week of school I came home between classes, but I'm now realizing that I won't always be able to. It takes me about 20 - 25 minutes to drive between home and school, which equals much time and gas. Looks like I'll have lots of dead time.

I don't really care to talk about my classes because it's Friday afternoon and I'd rather think of other things. I do like them all, though. Next week I'll begin working 20 hours per week. Up until now, I've been working 16, which is quite enough. Tuesdays and Thursdays will kill me: I'll leave for class at 8:30 AM, finish with classes at 4:20 PM, then drive directly to work, so I won't be back home until 9:30 PM (when I'll eat dinner). I guess I'll have to adopt the Guatemalan routine of eating dinner terribly late. After a few weeks I'm sure I'll get used to it.

Clichéd and Stolen Titles: an Author’s Worst Sin (Next to Plagiarism, that is)

Book titles are important.
That is my only point.

Interesting titles can encourage people to read a novel, but bad titles can cause people to overlook a novel, at best (at worst, it could push someone to write a discourse similar to what you are now reading). If I notice that a novel’s title is an unimaginative cliché, I won’t bother to even read the synopsis, much less the novel itself. If the title is poor, should I expect anything better from the novel itself (I have read exceptions, but in a broad sense, this is true)?

The clichéd title trend disturbs me. Even worse, some authors actually steal titles from classic literature or use well-known quotes. I would love to ask a few authors: “Who do you think you are using a Shakespeare quote for the title of your crappy mystery novel?” just to see how they would defend themselves. Now, I admit that the first story I ever completed (not including the ones I wrote in elementary and middle school) had a clichéd title: 'Victim of Circumstance.' I recognize my error. It’s easy after writing a story to settle for something that quickly comes to mind and leave it at that.

One obvious problem when using a cliché for a title is that other books (and maybe even movies, computer games, diarrhea medicines, etc.) probably have the same exact title. I’ve seen at least five “Flash Point”s by as many authors, and the same goes for “Trial and Error,” “Pandora’s Box,” “Chain Reaction,” ad infinitum. Imagine this scenario: you’re at a party conversing with an interesting girl. She says that she recently read a great novel called “Shock Wave.” You read a novel of the same name just last week, and you tell her as much. As your conversation continues, you soon realize that the “Shock Wave” your acquaintance refers to is a gothic-erotic-vampire-thriller of the sadomasochistic variety (only sold in 'specialty' bookstores). The one you just read, however, is an historical fiction novel about the Thirty-Years War. You have nothing at all in common with her, and despite the fact that she’s beautiful, you halt the conversation and run to your car, fearing for your life. All of this could have been avoided if the authors had decided to be creative and think up fresh titles. Don't worry, I don't even understand the logic of that last statement, but for the sake of my argument, let us pretend that it makes perfect sense.

Perhaps it is a combination of laziness and an inability to be creative that pushes authors to resort to clichéd titles. Stuart Woods in his condo by the beach: “It’s time for me to face the facts: my career is almost over. I’m one hundred twelve years old, barely lucid enough to string a sentence together without help, and only old ladies read my books anyway. I’m dead in the water for sure. Yeah, that’s what I’ll call my new book: ‘Dead in the Water.’ I really just don’t care anymore.”

Anne Kelleher contemplates the completion of her latest novel: “Hmm, well, I guess it’s finished, for better or worse. Thank goodness for editors who know how to improve this poppycock. Now what about a title? Let me look at my bookshelf here. Well, there’s a good title: The Once and Future King, by T.H. White. Way over my reading level, but still . . . my book is about a guy who once loved a woman, and later in the book he loves her again. Yes! I’ll call it ‘The Once and Future Love!’ Breathtaking! Fabulous! I’m so very, very clever!” Curse you Anne, and may your putrid romance novels mildew and rot on the bookshelves of your witless fans.

The foremost transgressors are popular romance and mystery authors who write for people who buy paperbacks at airports between flights and don’t really care what they read as long as they read something. Looking over my booklist, I only spotted two clichéd titles, so it seems that I’m working well to avoid them. Am I making this more of an issue than it is? Sure, but it’s fun. Here are a few examples of this grave sin:

Clichéd titles:
Hide and Seek, Ian Rankin
Cruel and Unusual Punishment, Tamar Myers
Guilt by Association, Gilbert Morris
The Quiet Game, Greg Iles
Open and Shut, David Rosenfelt
Mistaken Identity, Lisa Scottoline
Cry Wolf, Tami Hoag
White Lies, Linda Howard
Balance of Power, James W. Huston
Desperate Measures, Kate Wilhelm
Winner Takes All, Nora Roberts
Every freakin’ travesty that James Patterson has ever written

Stolen titles:
Paradise Lost, J.A. Jance
Perchance to Dream, Robert B. Parker
Once and Future Love, Anne Kelleher
I’ve seen a few more, but I think I’ve made my point, so I’ll stop now.

Gray’s and Torrey’s Peaks
8-15 & 8-16-04

My Dad’s friend Dan picked us up at 4:30 PM on Sunday. I had never met Dan before, but he was a cool guy. He’s climbed a few fourteeners in the past couple of years, so when my Dad told him about our plan to climb Gray’s and Torrey’s, he was eager to join us (and he even offered to drive). On the way there, Dan and my Dad talked quite a bit, and I read Albert Camus’ The Stranger and occasionally entered the conversation when it became interesting (e.g. when the subject switched to mountain climbing or philosophy).

We reached the Bakerville exit and proceeded up the dirt road. I was a little surprised that Dan drove so slowly; after all, he had a good 4 wheel drive and no one else was around, but I guess he wanted to be cautious. When we came upon the nastiest section of the road, my Dad and I were dismayed to see that its condition had worsened in the few weeks since we’d last been there. Dad I and got out of the SUV and began piling rocks in the deepest holes and Dan tried for a good fifteen minutes to drive across it. We tried numerous approach angles, but the road was too steep and the washout too terrible. We continued piling rocks into the road until at last he made it over, and we continued on. Behind us a rather naïve group of people in a Ford Mustang decided to pass over the washout but realized how bad it was when they were closer to it.


Dan and Dad attempt washout repair

Near the trailhead we found a good-looking campsite and began pitching out tents. I chose a fairly flat area about fifty feet from the spot Dan and my Dad selected. As I pulled my tent out of the bag it began to rain, which encouraged me to hurry. In my haste I didn’t do a very good job of setting a couple of the stakes, which cause a section of my tent to collapse later that night, but it wasn’t a big deal. On the Mount of the Holy Cross trip I learned an extremely helpful lesson: always bring plenty to eat. For this trip, my Dad and I actually ate a little too much. We brought sandwiches from Albertson’s, ramen, Pringles, and Dan passed out hot chocolate and blueberry scones. I went to bed feeling very full.

Oddly, I have never been more comfortable in a tent than I was that night, and I have never slept as poorly. For the first time I brought my foam sleeping pad (it’s normally too bulky to bring along, but this trip we were able to store our gear in Dan’s SUV). I was warm, the rain wasn’t leaking in, and I had plenty of room, but I still only slept one or two hours at most. I think my insomnia resulted from excitement and the simple fact that my campsite wasn’t as flat as I had first estimated. I fought gravity all night and tried to keep from rolling down the (small) hill. Next time I’ll bring a pocket level and check the site before I pitch my tent.

My watch alarm went off at 4 AM, just forty-five minutes after I finally began to sleep well. I unzipped my tent and discovered that it was very cold outside. I suited up, complete with gloves and a warm hat, and began rolling up my sleeping bag and disassembling my tent. It only took a few minutes, then I walked off (with the aid of my trusty 38.5 pound Mag-lite flashlight) toward Dad and Dan’s tent. They were making breakfast, and I drank some coffee and ate a breakfast bar. I helped my Dad pack up his stuff, then we proceeded to the trailhead.


Early morning light on Gray's and Torrey's Peaks


We’re all wearing blue to frighten bears

The first couple of miles went by quickly, thanks to the easy trail and the sun rising at our backs (much better than in our eyes, I would say). After a few more miles the trail became noticeably rockier, and Dan and Dad began to lag behind. I patiently slowed my pace and waited for them, but then I saw a group of mountain goats about a mile ahead of us, and they encouraged me to rush ahead to get some photos (Dan and Dad, not the mountain goats). In case I have not mentioned it before, one of my mountaineering dreams is to observe mountain goats climbing on a cliffside and stand close enough to take good photos. So, I raced ahead and made wonderful time up the series of switchbacks, but by the time I reached the location where I had seen the goats, they were gone. I looked around for a long time, but I couldn’t spot them anywhere. I did find plenty of evidence of their presence, though, including thick tufts of white fur tangled around bushes and large pinecone-like spoor (I didn’t eat any, though).


Mount Kelso (13,164 Ft.) in background


Dad and Dan lag behind . . . very far behind

I sat and waited for at least half an hour for Dad and Dan to catch up. As they came nearer, I noticed that a girl was talking to them, and soon she passed them and approached my location. When she was close, I greeted her, and we talked for a few minutes. She was really nice (in more ways than one). I mentioned that I was waiting for the guys she just passed because I didn’t want to reach Gray’s summit without them. She thought that was really nice. Ah, nice. Dad, Dan and I made it to the summit alive, took a few minutes to rest, then headed down to the saddle connected to Torrey’s Peak. I noted that I was higher than I had ever been in my life: 14, 270 feet.


Andy on Gray's summit (Torrey's in the background)

Clouds began to form over Gray’s Peak while we crossed the saddle, and I hoped that they would stay far away from Torrey’s, at least for a little while. A few minutes later the clouds looked much worse, so my Dad suggested that I go ahead of them. I met up with the girl again, and I learned that her name was Katy. We hiked together all the way from the saddle to Torrey’s summit, and I enjoyed her company. She was from New York and had decided to drive down to Colorado to climb a few fourteeners. Wow. I was impressed. Not many pretty girls drive hundreds and hundreds of miles to climb mountains, of this I am certain (and she’s even climbed more fourteeners than I have). When we reached the summit we rejoiced much and took photos for each other. As I’ve mentioned, she was quite attractive, and I wanted to take a picture of her just because . . . um, well, just read the previous statement. I thought of saying– this is terrible, by the way, and I would never recommend saying anything of this sort– “Hey, mind if I get a photo of you? I just want to prove to my friends that there really are beautiful women who climb mountains.” I rehearsed it a few times, then began to wonder what the heck I was thinking. How could I even consider something so lame?! Must have been the altitude.


Torrey's Peak


The guys on Torrey's Summit

Dan and Dad showed up, and there was much more rejoicing and photo-taking. The clouds continued to approach, so we prudently decided to jog back down. We took another trail down (we didn’t want to ascend Gray’s from the saddle again), and we went very fast. Katy stayed with us for a little while, then she bid us farewell and took off when we stopped for a rest. *sigh* Dan noticed three Ptarmigans foraging in the bushes by the trail, and he took photos of them. I had never seen Ptarmigans, so it was cool to be so close. They were not concerned by our presence in the least, and they allowed Dan to approach within a couple of feet. By that time I was tired and didn’t feel like pulling out my camera.


Dad on the return from Torrey's

Near the end of the trail (or beginning, I should say), I jogged far ahead of Dad and Dan and went off the trail and followed the stream back to the trailhead. It was a fun detour, and I didn’t fall in the water even once. By the time we returned to the SUV, I had the worst headache I think I’ve ever had. I know, I know, “Drink more water!” I drank so much that I had to "step off the trail" every twenty minutes, but the pain still did not abate. The ride back down the dirt road made it even worse (surprise). The three of us dreaded passing over the washed out area that had given us so much trouble on the way up. We were too tired to spend twenty minutes rearranging rocks. We drove for a couple of miles, and as we came around every bend, we would say, “I remember that the washout was right here.” But it wasn’t. We finally realized that while we climbed during the day, a park ranger or someone had graded the entire dirt road and smoothed out the worst places. We didn’t have any trouble getting down. Dad and I were especially amazed by this, because we knew that the road had been awful for over a month at least.

The drive home was long and my head felt too bad to read any Camus. We stopped at a gas station in south Denver and my Dad bought me some painkillers. I really enjoyed Gray’s and Torrey’s Peaks. They were the easiest fourteeners we’ve climbed, but they were still challenging, and the scenery, as always, was well worth the effort.