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These are the Daves I Know (I Know), Vol. 1: Frank

New feature here in the Nyetverse - an e-mail, single questionnaire style interview with cousin-in-law Frank. I know, I know, you're all dying, stepping over one another in line like so many Potterian first night whores, wanting to be the next interviewed. Relax - just send me an e-mail. Interview time! So here's Frank:

And here's the interview, in its warts and all glory (Don't forget to check out Frank's blog, too!):

Okay, form questions first.

1. Howdy member of the Nyetverse. What brought you to these parts (and by parts, I naturally mean the ill-defined faux-communicative space that is The Ballad of a Tin Man)?

You know, I think originally I found the wondered and splendid treasure that is the Ballad after a raucous time with the Ellis clan. As I remember you had posted something about a wedding...or was it a book review. I keep it to a wedding, sounds cooler. Once I read a bit, I instantly realized the Nyetverse for its true identity: Heroin. Once you migrated to the Blogger domain and began to talk about SASI issues like Robsters, I couldn't get away...nor would I want to.

2. Many people look at life as a pencil with two eraser ends. If asked in, say, a gimmicky blog entry, what would you say is the point?

Well with two erasers, could you have a point? And obviously those unenlightened people have never seen Monty Python's Life of Brian, because if they did, they would assuredly drop the dumb pencil analogy for the truth...when you think of it, that is: Life's a piece of shit.

3. Your area of professional pursuit is [insert profession here]. Given a scant 75 plus or minus years on this rock, how do you justify that?

That's easy, I justify my professional pursuits and hard work as [insert lame motivational quip here]. I don't have to justify a need for professional development. I mean Hell, I'm an academic in training...I only do this for my own shits and giggles anyway, so it's not a waste of 75 scant years on a rock. A rock, that mind you comes with a free trip around the sun...

Phew. Alright, some Frank-o-centric questions...

4. You're closing in on two years as a state-recognized member of the Ellis-Johnson clan. Terrifying, surprising, or otherwise? In a splintered age, what are your thoughts on family?

In a splintered age, sometimes I wish it were the gilded age, at least then it would be pretty...sort of. The Ellis clan is beyond any description. I came from a totally weird upbring also, but the difference is that the Ellis' are weird in a Partridge family way. My family was weird in an Osbourne sort of way minus money...

In all truth I love the Ellis' (and Johnsons) beyond words. I would have never thought 'strangers' could adopt someone like me into their personal worlds.

As far as my own family...well Jordan and I are content with cats for now.

5. Grad school and thesis writing - here's an opportunity to air your thoughts on the experience.What's your take?

Well, I've grown up a lot for sure. It has been really hard, and will continue to be hard, but it is for the best. I need the rusty-blade stabs of irony and murphey's law, as they temper me for anything I may encounter later. If I had to do it again, I would, though I may have chosen a different advisor.

The lesson: Life is hard...even when it is just 'school' where you are protected. Also, grad school in general is a lesson in denied gratification. I don't think you get to feel like you've done a good job at what you do until you get tenure.

6. Speaking of, you're soon moving to Illinois to continue pursuing such experiences. How much does moving suck, and what are some honest thoughts on leaving Texas in the rearview (for both you and your wife)?

Moving sucks like a black hole, without the joy of knowing that you'll become a part of the singularity after the event horizon...can anything suck more than that? I have a very real desire to just throw everything we own away rather than have to pack and drive...ugh.

I am super excited to be rid of Texas (distance from loved ones not included). As far as college goes, Texas is light years behind the rest of the country. In Illinois I will be insured, tuition free, and paid for my contribution to the 'body of knowledge'. Here I racked up debt, can't afford insurance, and still had to pay tuition.

On the other hand, I was born and raised here, and it truly is a beautiful state. Texas has a bit of everything, and its gonna have a little bit of me when I go. I don't know if we'll be back later in life or not. I do feel at times like I am dragging Jordan out of her world, but she continually reminds me that she is an excited participant as well. I'll let you know if that changes during the first Midwestern winter storm...

7. You've commented before on the generally decayed state of the country, usually in regards to the general public's voracious appetite for material experience. What do you think is wrong, will it ever be better, was it ever better, and maybe most importantly, how do you stomach it?

Faux independent thought, that's what's missing. I realize that our environment, upbringing, and financial situation in life plays a big role on our choices concerning the material, negating a true independent thought, but it seems we are such sheep as a society today. Maybe Max would say the same of the generation of his youth, but the tremendous mass marketing in today's society has bred indifference. Worse, it has bred control IMO. Product placement ( e.g. putting sugary cereals in reach of toddlers at supermarkets), strategic commercial whoring (e.g. The Simpsons Movie adverts in BK & 7-11, the very companies the writers originally made fun of for mass commercialization ), and mass media hype have created a society full of Orwellian proles. Those people who do not ever seek to find information from several sources, and think about that info no less, got Bush elected. I can stomach it, though I try with lots of coffee and burying myself with thesis work...

8. Correct me if I'm wrong - but you've "become religious" (for whatever that means) in recent years after a relatively agnostic childhood. What are your reflections on this, and how do you view the interplay of science and your faith?

You know, I'm not sure my parents truly know what agnosticism is. They were their own breed. My 'rents did something right by basically letting me decide what ever the hell I wanted was true...had the Pastafarian been around in my formative years, I may be trying to touch you with my noodley appendage. Actually, funny story: I had a 'girlfriend' in 3rd grade by name of Victoria Waddel (they all called her Waddle the duck) who was in a very baptist family who persuaded me to come to church with her (my first time in a church btw). I signed up, and soon began to be picked up each Sunday by 'the short bus' (ah...comic genius) painted white with the Church's logo. Well, a fellow 3rd gradian, Christina Shipwash (shipwreck in other circles) had her overzealous eye on me in the pews. One day, about 2 months into the gospel, Christina goads me into a race to the bus after Sunday school. Me being the 'boys are better than girls' boy that I was obliged. We had beat the group by minutes...minutes that passed like eternities as Shipwreck began making out with me (now note that I was only a cootie infected 8 years old). I went home in stunned silence and never returned to that church...

My decision to 'become religious' came while I was dating Jordan, and during my philosophy seminar. After reading several primary sources including Aquinas, Goldman and St. Augustine I came to the personal conclusion that the only real difference between atheism and spirituality (be it Christianity, agnosticism, or other faith) is choice. Pretty much all of the religious stances have logically sound arguments when you begin to look. I chose Christianity for a few reasons. I guess the most benign reason would be "why not?" I know, weak arguments, but this is an interview, not a philosophy debate.

In my opinion, there is no discrepancy between Christianity and science. As I have written about on my blog, the two coexist flawlessly, save for the individuals who cannot come to grips with that fact. Religion is definitely not a cop-out for things we can not explain. There is an explanation, we just haven't progress the knowledge far enough to get at it yet...

9. Speaking of science - reading your CO2 debate with your grandfather has been highly awesome. Without rehashing it too much here, what is your overall though on the science of global warming and its interplay with politics / economics / etc.? How in the hay do you trust anything as pure in this environment?

Politics, and socially inept scientists is why I am even having the debate with my grandfather. The politicians take a stand on the issue based on some very fleeting data, and then push, push, push. This opinion filters down into the public consensus, and becomes ingrained. Think of it...for the most part, politicians now agree with scientists and believe in Global Warming, and consequently, so does a lot of the public (see media hype above). The public at large doesn't understand how scientific knowledge progresses and grows. The main crux of this is the misnomer of what a scientific theory is. But this issue is more complicated than just that. There is a contest between environmental ethics (what we should do...i.e. conserve, reduce emissions) and the community ethic (what we do in practice...i.e. hardly anything). Scientists need to do more to help evolve the community ethic in America, but are socially ill-equipped to do so. There is a inbred distrust of scientists from the public, mostly because of their 'thumb our nose up' attitude toward the 'uninformed' citizen. That's why I think websites like "Real Climate" and others are the key to changing the attitude of society. Scientists need to learn how to communicate with the laymen--and politicians in such a way that the true scientific consensus is heard and understood.

Actually, in talking with Don [grandfather], I have become intensely interested in this disconnect, and am planning on trying to incorporate it into my Doctorate work concerning river management practices.

10. And also speaking of science, we're on an insane, exponentially progressive wave this past century plus. How does it feel one, to be engulfed in this particular period of history, two, to be something of a a foot soldier ( i.e., one among many) in the grand scientific endeavor, and three, the silly question - does it bother you that meta-science can't possibly exist, that you can't ever really verify the scientific method as the best method by using the scientific method?

Good question...the silly one that is. As far as being one among many, the only worry I have is making my self employable once I'm done. Luckily, I have improved my odds with my acceptance to U of I greatly. Also, in changing from music, I have it much better (Good violinists are literally a dime a thousand). Now...to the silliness. SciMeth[adone] is the best by consensus. That's really all its got going for it. Currently the biggest criticism lies in the peer review process. SM will likely evolve as major paradigm shifts in knowledge occur with technological advances and financial support for research improves.

11. Our musical interests intersect quite a bit, but I would venture that our expertise (correction, your expertise, my faux-hip asshattery) do not overlap much at all. Subquestions:

Why / what keeps you playing classical music after all this time and (obviously) other professional pursuits? MAybe the obvious q, but why not music as the main job?

A desire to keep my sanity...on both counts. I love music, but I left it because I can't stand all the drama. Also, I'm not good enough of a player to achieve greatness in the music world (I hear dissents from family already). The thing is that I am pretty good, and so I could get gigs and such, but in order to survive financially, Jordan better be rich, or I'll be doing what my peers in the Corpus Symphony do: most of them play in 3-4 regional orchestras..they are constantly on the road, and always practicing. Most of them hate music consequently...and yet they only make ~40k a year on that music. No beuno. My choice to play , means just that. I choose to enjoy it, and thus I do not hate it like so many professional musicians out there.

What is the best way to approach your classical music from the outside?

I'd recommend bringing food and alcohol...oh wait, you weren't trying to approach musicians. With an open mind. And since most 'outsiders' don't have extensive backgrounds in music hist/lit, they should read the program notes before the first downbeat. I know the music may sound pretty, but how can you enjoy Bartok, Stravinsky, Schoenberg. if you don't know something more about what the composer was up to when he wrote it?

How do you listen to simpler, more pop music - do you find your expertise renders you unable to enjoy pop on say, a twelve year old level?

Gernerally yes...I am disgusted with most new songs on the radio. However, the I-IV-V chord progression is so pop[ular] for a reason. Even Bach knew it sounded good. He just had an organ/harpsichord instead of a fender. For more on how I feel about pop music see: This YouTube Vid

12. Another music-oriented question: I've noticed that you often reference composer's intent and what songs are supposed to represent / mean. This clearly requires a good deal of background knowledge before you can really start to "get" a piece. What do you think of this classic question, the visceral experience of music vis a vis the intended interpretations that go into its composition - are you able to separate these experiences?

I'd venture to say that any composer would like the listener to enjoy the piece. That's a given. Music takes on a deeper dimension if you know why/what for the work was written. Even better things happen as one begins to understand the structure and harmonic makeup within. Music is good ear eating from any standpoint, but knowing the deeper stuff leads to an improved experience. Who knows, you may even learn something right? I see no difference in wanting to understand the socio-political environment Tchaikovsky was immersed in, how he was struggling as a gay opium addict in a country that made him write nationalistic music (like 1812) when he didn't agree with the country's actions, than I do in understanding that Paul and the boys didn't record in the same studio on Abbey Road because their egos had grown too large, and Paul too 'transcendental Indian guru".

Music is incredibly visceral for me. The feelings and mindset I have in a moment of beautiful music on stage may be compared with a direct visit from God. There is really nothing like it, and it is hard to describe. These feelings on stage are super intense, mind blowing experiences, that rock to the core in a way that you think you can't go on, but somehow your soul insists that you continue to participate in the sound. I've been on stage during concert playing in front of 1000s of people, screaming on the inside, crying on the outside, and unable to control myself, or stop playing. Some recording of pieces I have played still shake me up so much I can't listen to them in public. It's a truly wild experience I wish more people could share...maybe lots of drugs is the answer? And to the last question, I can separate the feeling from meaning, but why. To me it is all one and the same...to Jordan's dismay (I always make her listen to a piece before I play it, pointing out its finer details).

(If you want an example for that one, you spoke about the 1812 overture in a recent post and how Americans are missing the subtlety - how do you feel about the argument that the 1812 overture comes to mean something entirely different, way outside of the author's intent, once it's used 5000 times as July 4th music?)

13. I read something lately by Daniel Dennet, a philosopher from Tufts U, who claims that he worries that ideas (memes in his language) are growing at a faster rate than the human brain data capacity to store them. He is, in essence, worried that certain ideas (he actually mentions classical compositions, for one) will be lost into the abyss because of our limited capacity to keep things in the active cultural consciousness. So I ask this because you're at a crossroads of someone living in the 21st century, well-informed about a classical form of art AND being bombarded witht eh cutting edge of scientific knowledge on a daily basis. Is some of our most treasured art doomed to the abyss? How do you keep that stuff "active" without seeming like a stuffy sentimentalist who only listens to the classics / classical because of their elite air?

I disagree with Dennet (as you describe him). I think that Classical music will thrive in the next generations, and I am in no fear of it being lost to the ages. Consider this point: Can you name me one piece by Leopold Mozart? Antonio Sallieri? These guys were classical music composers, but you don't hear them on NPR's classical music hits right? They were already dropped b/c they didn't sound good enough to keep...yet, if you want to, you can get recordings of both artists. I guess what I'm getting at is that all of the music available today will be here tomorrow. It will not be lost. The more popular stuff will likely continue to be dredged up by Radio DJs even. As someone in the future decides they'd like to explore a genre more (like the all but lost Punk era) they'll be able to get on iTunes and download it to their iPod microscopic. In fact, I think that soon, the collective commons will become a lot more powerful, and well be able to get a lot of this stuff free (at least I can hope right?)

Tiger Dog, Tiger Dog, Does Whatever a Tiger Dog Does

That's the view going north on Scottsdale Rd at the intersection of Scottsdale and the Carefree Highway. And since I took that picture, and not the Beck, who travels on this road every day en route to work, it could only mean one thing: another dog was getting shaved. Sadly, Sparkle lost the game of rosham this morning, so she, too, would join Wrigley in the ranks of militaristically coiffed dogs. Here's some pics of Sparkle in pre-shaved form, smiling her way along in life...

In those last three, you can practically see the wheels slowly turning - "Wait a minute, when Wrigley left home by herself the other day she came home looking like a rat... Evil humans." So yep, we evil humans did indeed drop Sparkle off at the groomers for a summer buzz cut. I'll let the pics speak for the new Sparkle as she is rather adorable (though at the same time looks even more pit-bullish and killer-y). She is much more comfortable now and the other dogs in the complex are far too smart to laugh at her (plus with her hair shaved, you can quite easily see her tattoo that says "The Hamster, The"). Anyhoo, here's a sampling...

Of course, Wrigley wasn't about to let there be a post of nothing but adorable Sparkle pics, so she decided to get in on the action, too, with memorable consequences:


And that should just about cover it for this very dog-centric post. I also got a short-haircut this week, but I lack both the cuteness and the artistic merit to include myself here, so you'll just to have to use your imagination. Thankfully, this time Sparkle did not run into me while I was using clippers. So it's just short, not stupid looking. :).

It's a Nyet Off!!!

Thoroughly frustrated at the piece-o-crap site that was the Burger King sponsored "Simpsonize Me" page, I went another route and went to the Simpsons movie page (coming out Friday - YEAH!!! I mean, Spider Pig!!!) where you can create an avatar of yourself (and then use a fancy screen capture to save that avatar). I also went to a miscellaneous South Park page where I did the same thing with my SP likeness. Here are the results:

Sweet. Join us next week for more narcissistic moments starring, well, of course, me. I'm fabu.

(And I don't care about the potential craptitude of the Simpsons movie, I am seeing it this weekend. Loyalty is loyalty. Or something).

Twenty Jokes? Can I Get to Twenty?

So it's hot in Phoenix. You and I could remove our pants and/or shirts. S & W are not so lucky. Wrigley in particular struggles with this and tries to dump all of her hair onto our futon. The Beck has other plans for this summer...

Twenty Jokes

1. Have you met my albino ferret? It's name is, uh, "Fig-Leaf."

2. I hear they chopped down the ivy at Wrigley early this year.

3. Why is the Wrigster calling her water bowl "my precious?"

4. The WD weight loss plan - you too can drop three collar holes in fifteen minutes.

5. Sparkle asks, if Wrigley plays the Ghost, do I play Whoopi Goldberg?

6. Has anyone seen a really big lab rat that likes to chase squirrels?

7. Wrigley gets mad, says I am so going to shed all over your... ah, crap.

8. Robert Edwards, eat your heart out.

9. Now that we have the white sports coat, where's the pink dalmatian?

10. Wrigley Idol says that it's a nice day for a white shedding.

11. Shave and a haircut - two bites.

12. Wrigley Travolta says, "My hair. They touched my hair."

13. Wrigley the Muppet says, "I'm not getting naked for anybody, even if it is artis... oh, crap."

14. Sparkle McCartney sings "I'm Looking Through You - Where'd Wrigley go?"

15. Sparkle asks, "How many Wrigleys does it take to screw in a light bulb? One - you put her in a room, and she's so freaking bright you don't need a light bulb anymore."

16. Sparkle with crossword puzzle "32 Across: 7 letters, skinny-ass white hairless breed. Wrigley, help me out here..."

17. Sparkle: Man, armadillos are ugly when they lose their shell.

18. Sparkle: I knew there were some weird species in the desert, but damn...

19. I guess Steve Nash isn't the only fast white thing in Arizona anymore...

20. Why won't Wrigley stop asking everyone "What EEEEEES it, man?"

And the bonus joke:

21. What has four legs, no hair, is unbelievably skinny underneath her missing coat but is still one the cutest gals around?

This girl:

You can see many more pics of my poor shaven dog if you click here.

(But really, the Wrigster, as RIDICULOUS as she looks, is a lot happier with her summer buzz cut. I am sure Sparkle will follow suit shortly. I may even follow suit shortly - it's hot in heeere).

Add it Up

Yeah.

So the Beck roped me into the supportive role of going to see a show by Sigma (myspace site), a punk (kinda) metal trio featuring one of her vet techs, Jon (that's him in the photo up top) (the one sans trashcan on head). Not that I am not down with the crazy circus metal screaming lyrics genre as a rule - my bud Verbal's band Crisis Bureau (myspace site), while not really meeting the "circus" qualification, in fact kicks quite copious amounts of ass. I mean, gels and the Clear aside, Crisis Bureau's music gets you so amped / powerful as to surely have been outlawed by major league baseball (I know this; have used the Bureau juice myself while throwing 140 lbs around on the bench press. You quiver in my presence). And Pantera's stylings will always do on a day crying for testeronorific release. So yeah, a San Antonian KISS / KZEP upbringing leaves a lot of room in my heart for appreciation of the subtleties of hollered vocals and abuse of the E/F/F#/G G# power chord section of the guitar. So while roped in, I was looking forward to some aggro music and anticipating some awesome blank looks from the i(n)Vet(erate) showtune listener.

I was not the only roped-in one, either. Beck's colleague and fellow vet Katy and her husband Tad were joining us in the excursion. Like an idiot, I had left my phone in silent mode, so I missed all 12 calls that Beck made between 5:30 and 6 warning me that they were all coming over and we would then head out to the show. I finally called Beck, realized the dealio and had about 7 minutes to get dressed and make our refugee camp of an apartment look reasonably presentable. I succeeded - the two vets changed out of their work clothes into more punk-metal appropriate garb*, and we headed down to the show.

(* - I shouldn't fail to mention that we with our non black-dyed, unidirectional unspiked hair, our Gap-bought garments and possession of a high school diploma (in terms of age, not intelligence - I think) stood out at the show like nobody's business. Jon even told the guy at the door to let us in for free and must have said something like "they're the old folks" because we were instantly recognized by the doorman upon entry BY NAME. It was like being Norm, if everyone at Cheers were not of legal age and thought Norm was a narc. SO we got in free - but the entire event involved a pseudo spotlight on us as people who didn't belong, didn't be very long. I felt like an anthropologist, or maybe like Jane Gooddall amongst extraordinarily disenchanted and apathetic apes. We were not welcomed as on of them, nor were we the recipients of eye contact, for that matter. Chapter 73 in the Who's catalog of "justifications for one of our first hit songs." Though these kids probably would have sneered at Roger Daltry, too).

BUT, the show was supposed to be at 7:30 (hmmmm... aggro punk metal on opposite the Wheel of Fortune: dubious) so we had an hour to kill beforehand. We hit up the Taco del Mar (quite tasty) near ASU, headed to the club where the doors STILL were not open, and ventured to the DQ ghetto, I mean country, for a pre-rock blizzard. Wow - really, for a Frank Lloyd Wright-designed dairy queen, you'd think they'd attract more vibrant clientèle. Scary dudes with all kinds of unfriendly tats (spider webs, knives, barbed wire crossed out and labeled "passé"). So we were out of place even when trying to get dessert, which is precisely the type of thing that never happened at Squirrels and Soups (only since we didn't have kids in sports uniforms and weren't fat, I guess we actually were kinda out of place there, too). As it stood, our Blizzard Techs pulled off the job swimmingly and we managed to make an exit without getting TOARN (tattoos of a racist nature).

So finally the show... which still hadn't started. It's 8:20 or so by this point, and Tad is getting upset. Here's Tad looking upset with Katy providing angry backup:

In due time, though, the show, for better or worse, did go on. What precisely happened is that the drummer wandered on stage and started smacking the first of what would be a near ceaseless, machine gun repetition of straight ahead 4-4 bass drum driven sixteenth notes that made up for with volume what they lacked in clarity. And Jon jumped on his bass (which, btw, was by far the best played instrument on stage) and the first of many muddy low note, super-distorted metal riffs started scratching from the guitarist's corner of the stage. And then the guy who is pictured above with the trashcan on his head ran on stage wearing a leopard mask and screaming something into an electronic megaphone rife with feedback. He then ran around like a complete idiot and smashed cymbals, trashlids, stools, etc., anything that would add to the noise.

Noise: the problem. Crisis Bureau shows are orders of magnitude louder than this show was, but they play with precision, so there's something discernible going on in each ear-blistering note. This was just mush, unfortunately - true, when the band dropped out and let someone play isolated, it sounded fine (Jon's bass riffing, for all his psychotic jumping around, sounded spot on when solo). But for the most part, it was a thirty minute drive-by of muddiness, accentuated by the aforementioned occasional solo instrumental breakthrough and a whole lot of vocally garbled "fucks" and "yous."

So not my favorite type of music, granted, but I'm trying to qualify myself as someone who is capable of dropping the "all metal sucks" curtain - that said, maybe it was the venue or the stage or an off night, but this was way too imprecise for my taste. But at least they had energy, right? Um... there were a TON of 11-16 year olds there to see The Adolescents, a very big-time hardcore band from the early 80's who feature members of Agent Orange and Social Distortion. But they were quite clearly there ONLY to see the Adolescents and could give a FF about anybody else. But rather than any aggro shouting of "you suck" or worse, they just... sat there. Sigma is blaring away on stage at the peak of their emotions and energy, and fifty or so kids are all sitting along the walls and not moving a muscle. Leopard head trashcan boy continually challenged them and ran around the pit area to try to get SOMETHING started, but to no avail; apathy was in full effect. Beck, katy and Tad were disappointed in this (as, obviously, were the band members), but it served as a nice little crystalline representation of youth doing what they do best. It was, in a sense, perfect apathy, a we're here for one thing and one thing only and care so little about whoever this opening band is that decibels be damned, we're just going to sit and wait. The ADHD element was gone, but otherwise, this was lazy youth at their who-cares apex.

So that was interesting. After the set, Jon came out and apologized for the lameness of the crowd; Beck et al paid him compliments. Don't get me wrong; they definitely knew how to play and were very into their own approach; I just personally feel you can't sacrifice that much musical coordination for energy (particularly if that energy is falling on deafened ears). After about five minutes we made the "gotta get up early tomorrow" speech and left the club (well, we stopped to go to the bathroom on the way out to be greeted by a bathroom attendant. Awesome).

Beck then missed the 101 exit twice while telling stories about my bachelor party. And Katy and Tad used the word "gay" roughly seventeen times to describe a European music contest they watched recently in Finland. We got back to the condo not too late (9:45?) and caught the tail end of the new show (x 3) du jour, Scrubs. A good night, all told. And speaking of good night...

(oops - I thought I'd let the uninitiated in on the pun of this post. The title, Add it Up, is a song by seminal acoustic punk band the Violent Femmes. And the band we saw last night was named "sigma," which is the Greek sign you use for the sum of a iterative sequence (aka a series). You will never be able to accuse me of being non-forthcoming about my nerd-ness).

Down. Set. Blue 42. Hut. Hut.

The alarm did not go off at 5 am this morning, even though it was supposed to. I imagine this is because the Beck was In Charge, and in lieu of her usual method of hitting the snooze button repeatedly, she just set it for 5:20. No foul, just later than expected. And you can't really blame her, given that she's been waking up around that time to start her days ultra-early and get in workouts before trucking up to Dove Valley to work twelve hours. Yikes. So it goes. We clambered out of bed, Beck took the dogs out and we got ready to go about our day...

But wait, you undoubtedly ask, why were we getting up so early on a Saturday morning? Ah, enter the planning styles of Christina. She spent a day at a spa a couple of weekends ago and at a resort last weekend, and somewhere amidst all the lounging she decided she needed to "get up off my butt more." She looked up a local hiking club - more on that later - and found a group hike that was happening this morning at Mogollon Rim, a group of trails up in the mountains about 30 miles east of the bustling metropolis of Payson, AZ. So even though we have mountains that are no more than 10 minutes from our respective homes, even though Christina rather legendarily failed to make it from the car to the base of the mountain in her last hiking endeavor, we met outside our condo at 6:15 AM to drive to Payson for a 4.5 mile hike. This would actually turn out to be a pretty solid idea - long drive aside, Payson sits at about 5000 feet in elevation, and the trail we hiked even higher than that, so the long journey meant a reprieve from 110 degree days. We got to hike in the 80s (meaning we felt pleasantly warm, like Jane Fonda in a leotard and headband) and hang out in shade in the 70s (getting to feel as cool as Jane Fonda in a leather jacket). Awesome.

(As a side note, last night the weatherman's 7 day forecast read 101-100-101-102-100-101-100, and I never thought I would be so psyched for a seven day stretch of 100 degree temperatures. Ladies and gents, it's a veritable cold front - the monsoon season is upon us, so nicer days (101 IS nice, I promise) and Stormy Weather in the near future).

So we piled in DC's CR-V and headed east on Shea to Target to meet up with our hiking group. All of the people were older than us and the leader had a dog he claimed was a miniature pincher runt but our resident animal expert thought looked quite a bit more like a chihuahua mutt. The dog was pretty impressive, though,a s it was about 10 inches tall and made the hike along with the rest of us. Props to Amber. We agreed to meet at the McD's in Payson for breakfast. So the drive to Target was 20 minutes, it was about another hour to Payson, and another 40 minutes to the hike site - a lot of driving, gleefully (is there any other way) provided by Danimal. Fortunately, the scenery is gorgeous - here's a glimpse of the cactus-laden highways and mountainscapes the adorn the twisty highways all the way to the hikesite:

So after a stopby at McDonald's and a hair-pulling decision by Beck and Christina to cave and purchase breakfast, we headed over to the site. Beautiful, very flat path through a fairly densely wooded area that provided a lot of shade and coolness. We had tons of views (like this one)

and all in all had a fun time trekking along. We stopped for a break about halfway and then headed back via a more open, even flatter route. That's when these started creeping in...

Rain; thunder & lightning; bears. They were looming. Beck initially claimed that this "was just part of the risk of hiking;" DC & I did not share this fatalistic sentiment. We were, roughly, non-plussed. Fortunately we were close to the end of the hike, because we were crossing the road that led back to the parking lot. Our hiking leader (who shall remain nameful), Rich, crossed the road and kept us going along the twisty trail. People behind us in the group stopped and pointed down the road but we, being idiots, followed our leader. And about a quarter mile later, when the storm clouds were knocking on our collective doorstep, we stopped AGAIN and consulted with some fellow hikers about whether we had missed our turn. But they said, "Oh, Rich has been here before, let's follow him." So like a devolved lemming's retarded cousin, we did.

So naturally, it started raining. We were not happy. Dan decided that God was punishing him for something; there were several biblical references and demands alongthe lines of us, "If you're going to plague us, at least throw down some locusts." At one point Dan pondered whether his teenage Playboy collection was to blame for our fate. Still, we pressed on, eventually reaching "first-borns" in our plague trash-talk. And then it started to lightning - and then we met a family of hikers who told us they had just seen a bear - and THEN, it started to hail. Really small, easy to confuse with big drops style hail at first, but then some decent BB and small pea-sized ice pellets starting ringing down on our heads. It was around this time that Rich decided that indeed, we had gone the wrong way for twenty minutes. SO we turned around, and Beck went into speed-hike mode. We got soaked and pelted / welted. Terrible. We got back to the road ater dancing through rain puddles in time to see that indeed, the parking lot was about 100 yards away from where we had crossed earlier. ARGH. A nice guy from our hiking group picked up Christina and Beck in a truck and drove them to the lot while Dan and I ran. (This, incidentally, reminded me of the last time I ran in the rain). We made it, didn't melt and all of our camera equipment was fine, but we were none too pleased with Mr. Big And. Beck and Christina, of course, pulled off the soaked look swimmingly:

So we made the 40 minute drive back to Payson and hit up McD's (again) for lunch. Beck tried to steal my McFlurry and the ice cream gods gave her brain freeze in retribution. HA! We ate at the town park and took in a little little league baseball before driving back to Scottsdale.

Good times - we took a nap break and then reconvened at Dan and Christina's for grilling, margaritas / mojitos and a viewing first of a Gorillaz concert (huh?) and then Borat, which DC had never seen. Hilarious. Good day, and we didn't even need to tune into ESPN for 3 hours to catch 12 minutes of L.A.'s new darling boy.

Here's the full photoset from today's journey (click the pic below). Keep in mind those cactus and landscape pics were snapped from a moving vehicle and through glass (darkly). I think they came out pretty well, considering. So a good Saturday in Sunny Azz, good work by Christina organizing the trip and F minus for Rich, who had he beed able to get us back to our cars in a more direct fashion would have kept us out of the rain and hail entirely. Ugh.

Fatty Fat Mark Grace and the Trappings of Hybridity

Mr. Mark Grace made me laugh on four separate occasions during the D'Backs game against the Brewers last night, so I thought it was about time we take a step back into yesteryear and post the Fatty Fat Mark Grace Listserv. This is another thing that may be a little too nerdy for people to stomach, but seriously, click the link. I traced the season of Mark Grace for a month in 2000 while winding up my Rice career, and did so in gloriously idiotic and occasionally funny fashion. Enjoy, and now I'll document the four homers Mark hit last night:

1. As the game started, Mark Grace and his play-by-play partner, Daron Sutton, were talking about the pre-game bratwurst spread they have been given. Sutton asked Grace "wow, Mark, have you ever been so well fed in your life?"

"No," Grace replied, "Tonight I am at the peak of my fatness."

Somewhere, 72 subscribers to the Fatty Fat Mark Grace listserv smiled.

2. Kevin Mench, right fielder for the Brewers in the game, if you haven't heard, as a gigantic head. A huge noggin; a veritable planetoid. It's like an orange on a toothpick. I could go on. It's like Sputnik; there, I just did. His nickname, in fact, is "Shrek." Last night Eric Byrnes popped a weak looper into right; Mench came charging in, but as he leaned over to field the ball, he wiped out, the ball dropped in and the hustling Byrnes got a cheap-o double. As the review is playing, Grace chimes in something along the lines of, "Really, Mench's problem here is just gravity - once that head tilts too far to one side, it's impossible to stop." Cheap, but funny.

3. In a few weeks, when the Cubs are in town (thanks again, ZACH!!!), Grace is hosting a charity event on Sunday afternoon where people can sit with him as he and Sutton announce the game from the bleachers. The event has a theme - "long-haired rock n' rollers" - and the likes of Dee SNyder from Twisted Sister weill be in attendance, AND Grace and Sutton said they would dress up as late 70s / early 80s hair rockers. Grace says, "And Daron here will becoming as Boy George of Culture Club." Sutton replies, "Oh yeah, that guy rocks." And Grace deadpans...

"Come on Don, be my lover, not my rival."

4. The last one was just cruel - with 2 on and the score tied, the Brewers brought in a minor league call up named "Balfour," pronounced like "Eddie Belfour" (of the Stars onceuponatime). And Grace just starts going off on him, first starting going on about "This is like a batter being named "Whiff"" and then just digging into him as the at bat continued, calling him "Ball Four" every two seconds. When Reynolds hit his 3-2 offering about 490 feet to left center, Grace concluded, "Well, Mr. Ball Four, maybe that's why you've spent so much time in the minors. Maybe you should go back and learn a thing or two." It was really just trash-talk, funny because of how insanely outrageous it was...

So, the game was actually going well, because the aforementioned three run shot gave the DBacks a 5-2 lead in the 8th. And I was waiting for the Beck to come home when suddenly she called me because she was driving home through the desert of northeastern Phoenix and... she had run out of gas. In a hybrid car that gets 50 mpg, Beck had forgotten to fill up. D'oh! Fortunately, the electric motor had enough juice in it, so she cut the A/C, drove slow and made it to the next station. This came at the end of a long, hard day, and fortunately tragedy was averted, so we shouldn't make too much fun. On the plus side... we now know that the Prius does not actually get infinite miles per gallon. AH, reality, you are a harsh mistress.

Finally, I would be remiss if I did not mention that I just IMed with Nyetverse heroine, the PGoat, and she reports that all is good in Rhode Island. She also wanted everyone to know the level of insanity she has suffered - a client, who three weeks ago had to come in twice to see her dead, frozen dog to really believe that her pet had been euthanised, just called Ali *at home* to check on the progress of the dog. Oh, dear. Crazy appears to still run in the sad waters up there...

But otherwise things up there seem good, and it was nice to hear a familiar voi... see her typing, which just smacked of Ali. I mean, Times New Roman, Font 12! Apparently it's a signature style.

And before I trail off, I should also report that I had a reasonably productive day - got ye olde resume up on several online sites. Started the arduous process of sending out feeler e-mails and generally did a lot of searching. I also checked out the ASU Philosophy Dept. website as a good place to start and may have gotten motivated enough to take the GRE in a few weeks - we'll see. I probably owe an entire post to the deafening drone of these days, my ridiculous level of indecision / apathy / malaise, but I would probably have to type that in black font on this black background...

Parklife (Modern Life is Rubbish)

I've been meaning to post these - there's a crazy assortment of ducks, storks, cranes and geese - real geese, not those BS Canada Geese who populate the Northeast - at Vista Del Camino Park. SO here are some pics I have snapped of them in the past couple of weeks... enjoy.

Oh, and just for the record, do not try to chase them off the course because THEY WILL COME AFTER YOU:

Weekend Update

Greetings and Salutations...

Another fun-filled Saturday as we met up with D & C at their resort in Scottsdale, the Valley Ho. No, silly, it's not a call-girl service, it's a brilliant play on words. Or something. Anyways, the local resorts have great rates over the summer because, honestly, what kind of idiot would vacation to the desert this time of year, but Danstina took advantage of it and spent the day lounging about poolside. I ran about 5 miles, then went and played a round at Vista Del Camino and decided I was not entirely up for looking at the beautiful people - I let D&C have their nice relaxing day and waited for the Beck to come home from work and working out. So she got here and THEN we headed over to eat at Trader (no relation to Joe) Vic's, the Valley Ho restaurant. And now I have caught up with the beginning of my own paragraph.

So first we walked into the wrong restaurant / bar - apparently Tally Ho is so schwank it has a north and a south wing - so we had to walk through the hotel grounds to get to Trader NRTJ Vic's. And boy are we glad we did. A word to future visitors of Tally Ho - there are two sets of curtains. One is opaque, one is sheer. One first floor couple, let's call them Raider Rick & the Sally the 'Ho, chose option B. Milk is not the only bad choice. Future visitors, please consider passers-by sensitive eyes before you get your unsightly schwerve on, or at the very least blast some umpa-chinka-wah-waoooow music so we can have a heads up as to when to avert. Gracias.

So, after a rather unsettling free-per-view special, we headed over to the restaurant to meet out Zonan friends. It turns out that it was Real Estate and/or Plasticine parts night at Vic's, and having neither for sale property nor implants we were a little out of place. Scottsdale, it seems, is Far East L.A. and has a few of the beautiful people. Cool. Dan noted that no one else was reading a book at poolside that PM, and it was more of something resembling a flirting skills exhibition. How you doin', indeed. But that's not where the fun stopped - we had Waitertron 5000, a really freakishly cheery guy with angular movements who will probably end up playing a robotic gigolo in A.I. Part 2. And we had three foot straws for drinks that came in large wooden bowls with leg supports that the restaurant menu claimed were "authentic replicas of Polynesian gods." Ahhhh... thentic replicas. Love it.

Good food, though ridiculously expensive, and all in all a great night with XtinDan (It doesn't work as well that way). The Beck bowed out after a long tiring day, and we headed back to Rancho Condonero.

Sunday we slept in a bit; Beck went to the gym (I opted out with Ultimate later that day) and headed down to the Phoenix Art Museum which, it turns out, IS open on Sundays. Cool museum with a Southwestern Art focus along with the usual high art period collections and traveling exhibitions. VERY cool installation of work by a contemporary Scottsdale artist Philip Curtis and a nice modern art collection taboot. I unfortunately neglected to take any shots of Curtis's works (I'll get some next time), but here is one from the Phoenix Art Museum website:

And here's an assortment of unlabeled, mostly contemporary art from the museum (and no, I'm not leaving it unlabeled because I am lazy, it's because art should speak for itself independent of context blah blah blah etc.) (or I'm lazy, your call):


That's the news and I... am... outta here.