Humor me

T Bro took this one. You can see my black rain jacket that he got carsick on later in the afternoon.

Lotus flowers, golden monkey tea and Hung Far Low

One of the things my brother and I do when he comes to Portland is visit Chinatown and take in the Classical Chinese Garden, its authentic tea house and surrounding environs. This itinerary always presents a plethora of opportunities to indulge our inner twelve-year-olds in between sitting reverently in the tea house drinking tea and walking the gardens.

We go from this:



To this:





We like a little diversity in our states of mind.

Hung Far Low is a now-defunct Chinese restaurant and bar that benefited handsomely from its willingness to cater to the lowest common denominator (such as myself and T Bro) in its name selection. The damn thing's been photographed a bajillion times. And you know what? It's still funny.

Pink's Open Letter

Posted by Wasteland Fan

I love this song for the music as much as the lyrics.

Thing is, I'm not sure it's fair, though. (Even setting aside any concerns about someone coddled by the celebrity culture lecturing anyone else.)

Thoughts?

Friday Chipmunk Blogging

Today, Trailhead Brother and I drove up to the Timberline Lodge ("Danny's not here, Mrs. Torrance...") We ate lunch at the Cascade Dining Room, then went outside, where we met this guy. These are T Bro's pictures. I think I might take my gear up there soon and see if I can get them to pose for me.

Ow.

I made an offhand comment last week about going on a "beat-the-shit-out-of-myself" hike along Eagle Creek. I felt a little sheepish after I got back, because it was 6.4 miles of relatively easy uphill and downhill walking.

But I really did beat the shit out of myself Sunday. Mr. T, Thomas, TK and I packed up and lit out for the Saddle Mountain Natural Area in the Coast Range, with a view to hiking up to the summit of Saddle Mountain. The hike begins in a cool, scrubby alder forest, and proceeds upward.

The first 1.7 or so miles are just your standard, uphill hiking. It's not too difficult -- at least for an adult. TK, however, announced that he was finished and wanted to be carried at about the 1.2 mile mark. He'd already done a pretty good job, so Mr. T put him on his shoulders and we pushed on.

But about .3 miles up the trail, the trees disappeared and the hot sun replaced them. Mr. T, usually a man of seemingly superhuman physical capabilities* ,announced that he would prefer not to keep hiking uphill in ninety degree heat with a hydration pack on his back and a 35-pound 4-year old on his shoulders.

I couldn't really blame him. But I really wanted to get to the top of that mountain. So he encouraged me to keep going, which I did. So TK and the puppy stayed behind with Mr. T, and I pushed on uphill for another half mile. The trail ducked briefly back into the forest, and emerged again in the full sun.

The trail reached a broad saddle (get it? Saddle Mountain!) and I got a view of the final push to the top. Ugh.

See the trail with the tiny little people?

So from there I had to descend sharply (the trail in the foreground is overlaid with chain link fencing to aid your footing), then start the steep approach to the top. This would have been merely lung-busting, but the terrain was unstable, with loose rocks and scree sliding under every step. I made extensive use of the cables and improvised stairs that were occasionally available. Going up isn't the problem on ground like this -- it's realizing you're going to have to deal with the same ground on the steep descent, which is much more difficult.

Then, as a bonus, when I reached the very top I got swarmed by blackflies! Nature's own reward. But the views were wonderful.

If you look a little bit to the left of the cliff's edge, you'll see Mt. Rainier, partially obscured by smog.

Clearcuts. Not so beautiful.

Realizing I was nearly bonked from the climb up, I scarfed down a few fistfuls of trail mix and some water from my hydration pack. Descending would be precarious and difficult, and my leg muscles would require energy to gain purchase on the scree. After I finished, I asked a group going down to advise the guy with the towheaded kid and the puppy that his wife had made it and would be heading back shortly.

As it always is, descending was harder than climbing up. It was the kind of descent where you wince when you hear the telltale "roooooooossssh" of someone behind you sliding on the scree, expecting them to carry you down the mountain at any moment. As of yesterday, my legs and back were still sporting a nasty ache, and my knee didn't want to bend without a bit of agony. But my strategy of popping Advil and hoping it would go away worked wonders, and I'm in fine sporting condition today.

This was the scene when I returned to the family:


And this was the scene from my perspective at a TK-requested rest stop down the trail, as I lay limply back on a boulder:


It was a delicious hike. It should, however, be done with proper foot and ankle support, lots of water and, if you are knee- and ankle-weak like me, a pair of trekking poles for the descent.

Incidentally, Bert has done the same hike this summer, apparently with far less pain and agony than I did. Methinks Bert is in very good shape. (He also got better pictures.)

*I'm not exaggerating about Mr. T's endurance abilities. It's true. Once he did a six-mile hike up a mountain carrying both a full backpack and my 30-pound photo pack on top of that, because my knee hurt. Then again, it was only about 55 degrees, too.

Nostalgia

Posted by Wasteland Fan

I am waxing a bit nostalgic this afternoon.

My relatively small, university-dominated town just got a new Qdoba Mexican Grill casual burrito restaurant (to join the relatively new, but already established, Moe's, Chipotle, and Bajio, as well as the old standby La Bamba, with the "burritos as big as your head"). In addition to being another data point in the burrito's slow but sure usurpation of the burger as fast food of choice, the Qdoba reminds me of the two-hour lunches TH and I used to take when we were both in law practice in Indianapolis. (Is two hours accurate, TH? I don't think they often approached the three-hour milestone, did they?)

I miss that.

P.S. We didn't always go to Qdoba. We also frequented the Nordstrom Cafe and a little Indian buffet called India Garden. Speaking of India Garden, if you get the chance, ask TH about her not-so-secret admirer.

Complaint department, Tuesday morning

Blogger has been such an asshole lately. I've been trying to do a post for the last two days on Sunday's hike, but one minute pictures will load, and the next minute they won't. I'm not a big Blogger hater -- for the most part it has worked swimmingly for me. But the last two days have posed a serious challenge to my temper.

In which disgust renders me speechless

Remember these images?




From Oregon Live:

Fireworks may have ignited a fire Saturday afternoon that burned about an acre in Ecola State Park near Cannon Beach.
****
The fire started about 4:15 p.m. on a bluff near the main parking lot. The popular coastal park was evacuated while 40 to 50 firefighters from several fire departments and the state Forestry Department battled the blaze.

I took those images of or on that very bluff. It's an touchingly beautiful place. The Oregon State Police are in pursuit of "two male teenagers" they suspect set off the fireworks in the parking lot adjacent to the bluff.

Fireworks.

China, Montana, what's the difference?

So Mr. T's back off to China next week with co-worker, China virgin and Trailheadcase commenter Tony. I won't be going along this time, because 1) I don't feel like going to south China during typhoon season, 2) my mother-in-law has no more vacation time left for the year to babysit, and 3) the sole memory I have of the city they're traveling to is the view into the toilet.

So you can imagine that I've spent much time, both in person and over instant messaging, haranguing Tony about the things to do and not to do to avoid getting sick:

1. Remember the adage, "peel it, boil it, or forget it."

2. Take Immodium along but don't be silly enough to think it will actually help.

3. Do NOT take your cues from Mr. T, who has been there six times, and who was never very careful to begin with.

4. Don't forget to brush your teeth and rinse your toothbrush with bottled water too.

5. Don't eat anything that looks like it might contain butter or cream, and thus potentially harboring those preformed toxins that made me ill. (Do click that link, or you'll miss my fish head picture.)

Obviously, I don't mean to suggest that somehow China is more likely to make a person ill than any other country. I followed these same guidelines when T Bro and I went to Europe. But the food in Spain was a little closer to my every day fare than what I got in south China. I suspect that has something to do with it.

I've also been trying to persuade Tony to e-mail me some posts to put up at his place (keeping in mind that he won't be able to access Blogger on the mainland.) Of course, that would break his record of not having posted since June, and we can't have that.

For my part, I'll be entertaining Trailhead Brother from this coming Wednesday till Sunday. We're doing a neat little exchange at the airport Wednesday. T Bro comes in at 11, we'll all have lunch together, then put Mr. T on his plane at 2:35.

Then, when Mr. T gets back on September 2, he's actually taking a week of real, live, no-work vacation! Yipppeee! We were going to take a road trip up to Yellowknife in Canada's Northwest Territories, but for a number of reasons we'll be spending it in Montana instead. Thus I will be spending my birthday there, which I find quite fitting. Unless we do a road trip up into Canada, this shouldn't affect my blogging.

That's the report. As you were, folks.

Fun With Pugs

Posted by Wasteland Fan

Lots of dog blogging here lately. I don't have a dog. Still, not one to watch a theme weave it's way through the blog and not participate, I thought I'd share the following:

Wow -- Because you certainly wouldn't want to do it intentionally

Headline of the day:

"Las Vegas accidentally passes public defecation law."

Better than a kidney stone, I suppose.

Friday Dog Blogging

Lest you form the erroneous impression that I play favorites, I offer you this Friday Dog Blog of the esteemed Lovable Mutt. This dog's entire life strategy, with a single exception involving her regard for high value food items, can be expressed by the words go with the flow. Because I am wholly unacquainted with that philosophy myself, this at once inspires in me respect and annoyance. At times I can see that she desires something, but is maddeningly unwilling to expend the slightest effort to pursue it. When I pick up the leash, she jumps about excitedly, but when I attempt to get her out the door, she demurs. When her dogly counterparts (both current and past) have received treats, she has stared at her companions intently while they ate them. But when offered her own, she invariably sniffs in a bored manner and wanders away.

Her attitude is almost uniformly deferential, especially to me. But occasionally she will become interested in a toy, rawhide, or other food item, and will act as though she would happily take off my hand if interfered with. (Interestingly, this does not extend to TK, though I've drilled it enough into his head to leave her alone at those times.)

There is also a touch of mental vacancy to her that I have concluded is really a front for stubbornness. She is a dedicated wanderer when allowed outside, and will pretend to be unable to hear or understand a command to return.


Though ancient enough now to be extremely sedate, she was capable of much tomfoolery in her youth, especially in cahoots with our dear and departed Golden Retriever, who was of an age with her. Mr. T and I would return to our crappy student apartment after a day of toil to find coffee tables overturned, phones off hooks, and household items shredded to tiny, unidentifiable bits. The two little brown ponies would be reclining nonchalantly on the couch, completely oblivious to the state of the living room. Butter, had they managed to steal it from the refrigerator, would not melt in their mouths.



These days I call her the Last Dog Standing. Her much feistier contemporaries have gone to the great bark park in the sky, and yet still she remains, unobtrusive and silently shadowing me around the house. At the age of 14, I'm afraid that won't be so much longer.

A walk among waterfalls

The Columbia River Gorge is home to the highest concentration of waterfalls in North America.* It's also a mere 40 minutes from my house, and it seems closer than that. Thomas and I, along with a friend, hiked about 6.4 miles along the Eagle Creek Trail today, past Punchbowl Falls and up to High Bridge. (All while poor Mr. T was getting a root canal.)

I really like Punchbowl Falls.

A quick .3 mile side trail leads down to Lower Punchbowl Falls, and when you hike upstream on a gravel shore for a bit, you reach this:



See that gentleman in the picture? Though I'm fairly certain I've never seen him naked (one's memory isn't infallible, of course), I do know he's suffering from a terrible case of shrinkage, and quite possibly poor judgment. I bring this fact to your attention thanks not to my eyes, but to simple Aristotelian logic: That water's friggin' cold. Upon reaching the stream, I donned the wicked new sandals I'd packed in the day pack, and entered the water. Thankfully, the pain gave way to simple numbness after 30 or so seconds.

It's lovely there.



*I have seen the claim made that the Gorge contains the highest concentration in 1) the Pacific Northwest and 2) the world. I'm unclear what the truth is. But there's a snotload of waterfalls, which is all you really need to know.

More on Childcare

Jeannie has weighed in with her thoughts on the parenting issues, and I (as usual) weighed in with a lengthy comment.

For now, I'm off for a lengthy, beat-the-shit-out-of-myself hike this afternoon. So I'll be out of it for awhile.

Not a temperate post

If this case proceeds to sentencing, I hope this sick fuck goes to prison. But I suppose since he's a rich, entitled country singer, that's less than likely. This shit makes me ill, people.

And these folks have a problem with the Dixie Chicks?

All this and a swimmer too

And now, a different question

In light of my recent post on mothers, fathers, and paid work, I think this piece asks the next logical question.

Note to Thomas

What, me?

No matter how innocent you look, you must acquaint yourself with this immutable principle forthwith: If you want to remain in my good graces, you will never again shit in my shoe. That is all.

Eye pop of the day

This was definitely not on my birth plan.

Monday dose of Thomas

Three weeks in the life of a puppy is an eternity. He was small and compact when we got him, but now he's taller, and all legs. And we are still fighting the Chewing Wars. Fortunately, this has given TK the opportunity to exercise his blossoming sense of humor. In an effort to imitate the puppy, this weekend he walked into the room with one of my shoes in his mouth. He was endlessly pleased that I found this hysterically funny.