They're Baaaaaaack

I am jet lagged out of my friggin' gourd, friends. But we have arrived home safely.

My appetite has still not returned from the food poisoning (your surmise was correct, Rose). Five lost pounds later, I have concluded that the South China Diet has South Beach beat all to hell.

And it wasn't the tequila. That's just what happens when you stop into a Tex-Mex restaurant in Hong Kong for lunch and stick around for the rest of the afternoon. Heh.

I gotta get some rest, then I'll download the pics and start posting on the journey. Wasteland is in Portland till late tonight, so I have to rest up to have dinner with him. More later.

The comments were hilarious, by the way.

"Like Gloria Gaynor, I Will Survive"

Thus sayeth Trailhead in her most recent e-mail. Following an absoutely hilarious reconstruction of a conversation between Trailhead and Bladerunner about Trailhead's condition (which I will allow TH to share if and only if she decides**), TH provided the following encouraging close:

Anyway, the timing of this little plague was actually pretty good. It hit right when we arrived in Yangjiang, and I'm much better this morning. This is a darn good thing, because we're leaving in an hour to drive to Guangzhou and catch a flight to Nanjing, which I'm told was the seat of the Ming dynasty.

This e-mail is from today, though I received it yesterday. Wrap your mind around that one!!

**Okay, I will share this snippet from TH's email: "Diarrhea? Please. I aspired to diarrhea last night. I prayed for diarrhea. When it finally arrived, I threw diarrhea a goddamn ticker tape parade, because diarrhea is like winning the fucking Powerball compared to throwing up god knows what in a hotel room in South China every twenty minutes until there is nothing left to throw up anymore."

Funky Computers and Funky Food

Alas, dear friends, I have received word from TH that all has not gone according to plan in China. Bladerunner's computer is refusing to allow her to upload any photos. So, I have none to post. Add to that this recent correspondence from TH:

I have spent the last 24 hours in my hotel room in Yangjiang throwing up something I ate at some point, along with all the stomach lining I've built up over the last 35 years. I would be tempted to blame the seafood in Zhu Hai except that it was extremely, uh, fresh. In the last 30 hours I have eaten a single piece of bread, some orange juice, and two bites of a croissant. What a diet plan. This also means that I missed the opportunity that was offered to me to go into the countryside and meet and photograph a typical farm family and their rice paddies (which are a lovely green). I would have loved to, but vomiting on unsuspecting people is not the best way to represent the West, eh?

Fate, cut the kid a break for goodness sake!

Note to Self

Tequila and jet lag don't mix well.

Grim

Check out the trailer of Al Gore's new movie. If you can't view it from this site, go here.

A Post with No Name

We leave for China on Saturday. Wasteland will be posting the digital images I send back, but most of the commentary will be posted upon my return.

You know, I struggle with the ethics of travel, especially international travel. Such activities are energy-intensive, as well as money-intensive. On the other hand, I think Americans are far too insular for their own good or the good of the rest of the world.

So I go. Because I want to see how the rest of the world lives. I want to meet people in other countries (and other parts of this country), and partake respectfully of their culture. And, I admit, because I love it. I love seeing places that before only existed for me in my imagination.

When I get home, I have a whole season of photography waiting for me. The end of April will find me on the hunt for the fairy slipper orchid in the Columbia River Gorge, and visiting the Tom McCall Preserve in the Gorge as well.

After the close of summer, I hope to settle in for awhile, and just live. There hasn't been enough of that in the last three or so years. Then again, I'm probably not very good at it in any event!

Time to make another run up Laundry Mountain.

Creeping Rhinoviruses and Pre-Trip Dread

So we're having a fairly busy week. Each of us has big, time-consuming projects going on at work, there is a laundry mountain in my house that grows by the minute, I'm trying to squeeze in progressively longer hikes each day, and we're preparing to leave the country for 8 days.

So naturally, cue The Cold. TS came down with it in wicked form on Sunday morning, and I'm waiting, transfixed in clammy dread, for the hammer to drop on me or TK. I really don't want to be in the throes of a nasty bug on a ten-hour flight, and I really don't want my son to be sick when I leave for said flight. I tend to get a low-grade anxiety before I embark on a trip anyway, and I don't need the prospect of illness to add to it.

I'm probably vastly overstating my own importance in the whole TK/illness situation, as the child is blessed with two appallingly indulgent grandmothers, one of whom will be presiding at Trailheadquarters (I really like that word, Wasteland!) during our absence. I expect that, approximately four seconds after "Mimi" arrives on Thursday night, TK will forget that his parents even exist.

Hell, he thinks we're going to China to get him a new bathtub fish. He'd probably prefer that we get after it already.

Law of Nature #86957

The degree of shitheaditude exhibited on a Sunday morning by a three-year-old is directly proportional to the severity of the migraine/cold suffered at the time by said three-year-old's parents.

[My small voice crying "Help meeeeeeeeeee...."]

Confidential to Arjuna and his bootylicious canine

Hilarious, you horny alligator you. You made my day.

The Vultures Are Back

I think I have it figured out.

Setting aside for a moment the disturbing fact that Trailheadcase is number one when you google "vulture anus," I think I understand why people keep googling that phrase.

Consider this paragraph from the third site listed under "vulture anus:"

If hyenas don't deserve their reputation as loathsome scavengers, vultures certainly seem to. When we arrived this hapless zebra was half a zebra. Athumani said it probably died from natural causes earlier in the day. The squawking, squabbling, grunting vultures started at the anus and worked forward from the inside - vulture beaks cannot penetrate the thick zebra hide. There was constant turn-over as new vultures swooped in and the group fought amongst themselves for good spots.

(Emphasis added.)

Mmm. Yummy. Eww. So I guess everyone googling this phrase just wants to know -- is it really true? Do vultures eat the anus first? Well, folks, I think you have your answer.

Anyway, this still does not fully explain the first google in this category, which was, more specifically, "does a turkey vulture have an anus?" Perhaps this original googler was more concerned that the turkey vulture might be subject to the principle of what goes around, comes around. Vulture karma, if you will.

I should go back to blogging about slugs.

Update: As I continue to get hits from those of you googling this phrase, would one of you kindly drop me an e-mail (see sidebar to the right) and let me know whether my surmise is correct? Or is there something I'm not getting here?

A Theory of Lawyer Assholery

In my super-cool niche law practice, I don't spend a lot of time on the phone with other lawyers anymore. Bloggerdad and I have our share of interactions with opposing counsel, but due to the geographical situation, he conducts most of those communications nowadays.

But I'm handling a small matter for someone back in Indy that required me to make a phone call to another attorney today. This reminded me of what I hated most about my old practice: that the prevalence of assholery among lawyers is far greater than in the general population. And it's not just garden-variety assholery, like the wanker who cuts you off on the road, or the person who really isn't an asshole all the time, but is just acting like one in a particular situation.

No, the kind of assholery that's more prevalent in lawyers is an aggressive, almost accusatory I'm-going-to-impugn-your-worth-as-a-human-being kind of assholery. I have encountered it both in men and in women. When I first started practice, I used to cower quite a bit more in the face of this bullshit than I do today. Today, after five or so minutes of her hostility, I said to the Asshole Lawyer in question, "Is there something wrong with what I'm proposing to you? The tone of your voice suggests you have a problem."

"No," she sniffed. "I don't really care one way or another."

Yeah, fuck you too.

Even though I don't take this shit lying down anymore, it still annoys me for the rest of the day. And that's where people like this get their power, I suppose. But you know, paybacks are hell, and what mystifies me is why these people don't understand that.

You never know when a lawyer you've shit on is going to be in a position to do you a favor or not do you a favor sometime in the future. It's highly unlikely that I will be in such a position vis-a-vis Asshole Lawyer, given the nature of my practice now. But consider the concept that businesses have come to understand, that one dissatisfied customer tells five people, and each one of them tells five more, and so on. I will probably get a couple e-mails from my lawyer readers asking who Asshole Lawyer is. And I'll probably tell them.

So my advice to new lawyers is this. Get your power trips elsewhere. Maybe it makes you feel all superior to be gratuitously rude and nasty to other people, whether they are lawyers or not. But if the day comes when you're on fire, don't expect anyone else to piss on you to put you out.

Ahem. That is all.

What I Did Last Weekend

These photographs were taken at the upper elevations of Ecola State Park on the northern Oregon coast. The beach in the distance is Cannon Beach, and the funky shaped sea stack that appears in both images is Haystack Rock. The view from Ecola to Cannon is probably one of the most photographed images in Oregon. Of course, I don't care. I still had to do it myself.

Cross-posted at THI. (If you've seen them already or find nature images boring, scroll down and you'll be back in the comfortable bath of angst that is Trailheadcase.)

Miscellany and a China Trip

I am annoyed this morning because Blogger is declining to upload my last few digital snaps from Montana. Fine, Blogger, I'll do it later. Meanwhile, I have film to edit and a new laptop to set up, aside from my regular work.

But for now, a few housekeeping matters. In twelve days, TS and I will be going to China for 8 days. First we go to Hong Kong. While he does work-related stuff, I'll be hanging out with a good friend who moved there a little over a month ago. Then we catch the ferry to the mainland and drive to Yangjiang, a "small" city of 2.6 million on the South China Sea, where TS sources many of his products. Then we go back to Guangzhou and catch a flight to Nanjing, a city 3 or 4 hours from Shanghai. After about a day and a half there, we'll drive to Shanghai, where my friend from Hong Kong will meet us again to spend the weekend.

During my absence, I'll be leaving you in the capable hands of Wasteland Fan, who will post my images and my always incisive, witty commentary that you have all come to associate with Trailheadcase **cough grin cough**. I've told him he's welcome to have free rein of the site, but he's a busy guy, so it will likely be All China, All The Time. Treat him right, or else.

A Sunny April Day in Glacier National Park: Better Than a Stick in the Eye

A sunny April Fool's Day on Lake McDonald

Towhead adds some much-needed rocks to Lake McDonald

Towhead and Trailhead Kid confer on rock-throwing strategy

Bathroom Territorialism and the Common Three Year Old

Bladerunner's brother and his wife own a two bedroom, ski-in, ski-out condo here at Big Mountain. (We'll call the Trailhead Brother-in-law Rear Engine. We'll call his wife Grasshopper. Lest you think I'm taking nicknaming liberties, I will advise you that these were their self-selected trail names during their 1996 Appalachian Trail thru-hike.) They came in from their home in North Carolina this week, and we drove over to visit for awhile.

Rear Engine and Grasshopper have two sons -- the 4 year-old Towhead, and a 3-year old I like to call Laser Boy. I call him this because this kid fairly vibrates with intensity. When he gets really into an activity, Rear Engine told me today, he literally starts to quiver. Laser Boy was asleep in the second bedroom when we arrived last night, and they moved him into the other bedroom so we could go to bed. I awoke to sound of a door opening and a small voice this morning.

"Hey! This is my room and I like to watch TV in this room and you guys really shouldn't be sleeping in my bed and I watch TV in here because this is my room and I want to watch TV and what are you guys doing in ---"

"Laser Boy!" Rear Engine hissed. Squalls ensued. Sounds of footsteps as Rear Engine dragged Laser Boy into the other room. More hollers.

We learned later that Laser Boy is inordinately attached to the bathroom in the room we are occupying, and felt it was extremely unfair that his toilet options had been limited. He had entered the room with the intent of spending some time on his favorite can, and was highly perturbed to find the place occupied.

The screams eventually subsided, though, and we kicked around the mountain all day. The snow is melting. Tomorrow we head to Glacier National Park.

On the Road Again

Long weekend in Montana, folks. We'll be leaving tonight, so that Trailhead Kid doesn't drive us batshit crazy because the ride is too long. We won't make it much past southeastern Washington tonight, but that's far enough. I'll be posting from the condo in Whitefish, so let's hope something post-worthy happens. Maybe we can even top the thrilling drama that was the Boston Lettuce Bird Flip post from last summer. Oh, the humanity.

The Bitch, The Bitch, The Bitch is Back

Thanks to a new hard drive and a saint of an IT guy.

Sock it to me, cats.

Tough Crowd

Come on. Between horny alligators, the relative sexual skills of conservatives and liberals, and dog shit, no one had anything to say today? Jeez, what do you people expect, War and Peace?

As a sidenote, right now I am installing a new hard drive into the antique laptop. This will become my backup, and I'll work with my images on that. It will also fill the gap till I get my beautiful shiny new laptop next week.

They Could Start in My Backyard

San Francisco is going to turn dog shit into alternative energy.

I love these people, and might be sorely tempted to go live there if I could afford more than a cardboard box under an overpass.

Here's how it works:

In a pilot program to start this year, Norcal Waste, a garbage company that collects the city's trash, plans to use biodegradable bags and dog-waste carts to pick up the poop in one of San Francisco's most popular dog parks.

The waste will be run through a methane digester, a tank in which bacteria break down the feces to create methane. This biofuel can then be piped directly to a gas stove, heater, or anything else powered by natural gas.

Who's Ever Heard of a Great Piece of Elephant?

My good friend J bought me a T-shirt for Christmas one year that said "Democrats are sexy. Who ever heard of a great piece of elephant?"

Well, there's this story that won't die about the ten reasons Republican men are supposedly better in bed.

Let's just say -- ahem -- that hasn't been my experience.

Knock Knock. Who's There?

Um, an alligator.

So it's alligator breeding season and some horny male gators are leaving the swamp and knocking on suburban doors:

BONITA SPRINGS, Fla. - So now the alligators are going door to door. When Lori Pachelli heard someone knocking at the door of her home in a gated community in this southwest Florida community earlier this week, she looked out to see an unwelcome visitor on her front stoop: an 8-foot alligator.

The bull gator, which had wandered up from the pond behind the house, had a bloody lip from banging its head against the door.

Jeez, answer the door already, lady.

Via Feministe.

Note: Yeah, that's one of my shots. One of my biggest photographic frustrations is my consistent failure to get a really good gator shot. Wish one of the fuckers'd show up at my front door.

ENFP, to a T

Just took the online version of the Meyers-Briggs test. (Or what someone said was the online version of the M-B test.) Wow.

This is me. And this.

The test is here.

Update: It occurs to me that this is the sentence from the first link that makes me say "holy crap, that's me": "This strong drive to unveil current events can make them tireless in conversing with others, like fountains that bubble and splash, spilling over their own words to get it all out." (Emphasis added.)

What, me?

Trailhead's Laptop Lies Here, 2002-2006

My laptop lost its battle with old age and infirmity today, requiring me to cough up eleven hundred bucks for a new one, ouch. Posting will be light around here till it gets here. Meanwhile, have yourselves a time in the comments.

How 'bout that George Bush, huh?

More Meme Whoredom, Wherein My iPod Reveals Itself to be Eerily Possessed

Oh, this one’s irresistible. The Magic 8 Ball Music Meme: Use the shuffle function on your music player and see what you come up with in answer to the following questions. Here goes.

How does the world see you? The Painter, Neil Young.

Will I have a happy life? A Love that will Never Grow Old, Emmylou Harris. On cue now – “Awwwwwww.”

What do my friends really think of me? Help Me, Wynonna Judd. (Thanks a lot, guys.)

Do people secretly lust after me? What is Life, Shawn Mullins.

How can I make myself happy? A Lighthouse’s Tale, Nickel Creek. (Considering this is about the suicide of a heartbroken lighthouse keeper, perhaps I should re-evaluate this meme.)

What should I do with my life? I Am, Train. Heh.

Will I ever have children? (Or more, I guess?) I’ve Come to Expect it From You, George Strait. Who could that be?

What is some good advice for me? Am I the Only One, Dixie Chicks

How will I be remembered? Cuckoo’s Nest, Nickel Creek. This just keeps getting better and better.

What is my signature dancing song? Fortunate Son, Creedence Clearwater Revival

What do I think my current theme song is? Fat Bottomed Girls, Queen. I shit you not.

What does everyone else think my current theme song is? Be Free, Loggins & Messina

What song will play at my funeral? Brokeback Mountain, Gustavo Santaolalla. Really? Who knew?

What type of men do you like? Easy Come, Easy Go, George Strait. Okay, this is just getting weird.

What is my day going to be like? H.W.C., Liz Phair. Bladerunner should be happy to hear that.

Confessions of a Meme Whore

My name is Trailhead, and I am a meme whore. I cannot help it. If I see one, I reflexively respond. Perhaps it's my penchant for vanity posting, for blathering on gleefully about the smallest who-could-possibly-give-a-fuck minutiae of my life. I don't know, and I really don't care. And if you're still reading, neither do you.

Today's meme comes from Kristy, who has tagged everyone capable of reading her post, which of course -- of course!-- includes me.

What are the things you refuse to do because of your prior employment?

I won't watch law shows or read law novels. No way, no how, nuh-uh. I've never seen an episode of CSI, Law and Order, or Law and Order Special Thingamajiggy-wiggy Unit. I haven't read a Grisham book since law school, and the only law movie I like or can even tolerate is My Cousin Vinny. People, I do this all day long; it doesn't need to follow me into my leisure time. Plus, they always get something wrong anyway, and that drives me batshit crazy.

I think that's it. Most of my youthful employment was restaurant-based, and I am enough of a chow hound to ignore or repress what I know about the restaurant industry.

The usual suspects can consider themselves tagged. Those without blogs, cough it up in the comments.

Another Idling Post -- Only Eight Months Later

See up there under the Trailheadcase where it says "militant idler"? I'm serious about that, you know. In fact, I let people know at the very beginning of this blog where I stood. More than once.

So Trailhead, you ask, why don't you write about it more? Well, mostly it's because I'm too busy idling. But it's also because I frequently use other stuff in the media to jumpstart my own commentary, and it's a rare thing to find something in the mainstream media affirming my vision of idling. But lo, today we have a Fortune article by Anne Fisher on CNNMoney.com entitled, "Be smarter at work, slack off."

Damn straight, Anne Fisher. Now, I can think of at least three of you who are thinking, "yeah, right. Slack off and get sacked is more like it." Hey -- I can't fix this with a snap of my fingers, people, I can only write about it. And you can nod your heads and continue to pour out contempt upon your greedy, asinine employers who do not understand that they are only hurting themselves when they suck the very life out of their workers. Well, they're hurting their workers, too, but who really gives a flying cat fuck about them, right? So it looks like we'll have to concentrate on the serendipitous fact that slacking is good for bidness.

Fortunately, we have Ms. Fisher here to underscore this point:

Consider that for most industries, the U.S. can't hope to be the low-cost producer in a global economy. With innovation now our main competitive strength, creativity is crucial for anyone who wants to move up.

But it's really, really hard, if not impossible, for the human brain to come up with fresh new ideas when its owner is overworked, overtired, and stressed out. And in today's wonderful world of nonstop work, 40% of American adults get less than seven hours of sleep on weeknights.

Come on, seems like a bunch of whiners to me.

Indeed, "the notion that busyness is the essence of business can only do us long-term harm," writes consultant Tom DeMarco in a book called Slack: Getting Past Burnout, Busywork, and the Myth of Total Efficiency.

Sounds like the bidnessperson's version of Tom Hodgkinson's How to be Idle. I'll have to pick it up.

But really, you say, this sounds great but there are no concrete examples to prove that this works out in practice as well as it does in theory. Well, you're right -- that's the weakness in this argument. There's only one example, and that's of an obscure little company of little consequence, called Google:

Google's headquarters in Mountain View, Calif., is a famously laid-back place, replete with lap pools, massage rooms, pool tables, free haute cuisine, and loads of other stress-reducing amenities like onsite dry cleaners and hair stylists.

"We want to take as much hurry and worry out of people's lives as we can, because a relaxed state of mind unleashes creativity," says Stacy Sullivan, the company's HR director. "And everybody's on flextime here, so we don't reward face time or working super-long hours. We just measure results."

In the end, what else matters? Of course, not every workplace can match Google's. But plenty of companies might do a lot worse than to emulate the thinking behind it.

At the risk of sounding like a Johnny One Note (like I really give a shit about that), think of where all your best ideas occurred to you. I can think of one of mine. Back when I worked in Indy in the same office as Bloggerdad and Trailhead Brother, it was TB's and my practice to cut out of the office in the mid-afternoon and get a Big Ass Drink at the Jimmy John's down the street. One day, I was in the process of trying to figure out how to get one of my clients out from under a 6 million dollar lawsuit (well, that's what the plaintiff thought it was worth, which isn't saying much).

Did the lightbulb moment come to me while hunched over my computer screen? Please. You know me better than that. It was on the way back to the office, Big Ass Drink in Hand, that I thought of a brilliant fucking argument. Needless to say, matters ended well for my client.

Archimedes I'm not, but the point stands.

Go read the whole article.

I Heart The Hill Country

Here is an article about Texas Hill Country, one of the best places left on this overpaved lump of rock. I spent four days photographing the area in mid-April of 2001. About this time of year, and continuing into mid-April, wildflowers start to pop out and swarm the landscape. And here's the thing: It's not like a few pansy-ass wildflowers here and there and then a bunch over there in the park. In a good year, they are freakin' everywhere. Our home base was in Fredericksburg, which has a lot of German food, including pastries, and is an altogether charming damn place. I highly recommend it.

Oh, and let's not forget to conduct the shameless whore of my image blog. Here are three of the wildflower shots I came home with. Some of you've seen the post already. Click on it anyway. It strokes my fragile ego.

A Modest Proposal

Could we please just purge our vernacular of the term "bootylicious"? Please?

Excuses, Excuses, and The Memoirs of a Canine Pain in My Ass

Well, spray me with birdshot and call me Harry Whittington. Darned if it didn't snow two days in a row last week here in the valley. That meant that TK was home, as everyone here freaks out when it snows, because a) it hardly ever does and b) there are lots of hills on which to slide and crash into things, unlike Indy where everything is mostly level. So his Montessori preschool was closed. This is one of the reasons blogging around here has been so light. That, and the aforementioned speechlessness that was briefly interrupted by my fit of pique over the Oscars.

I went around our yard and plugged every potential dog-squeeze-through spot with some big clay flowerpots. (TS repaired them permanently this weekend.) Diva Dog (not her real name, but better than the generic Trailhead Dog) watched me do this with a contemptuous expression that said, "you silly woman. Do you really think you can foil my escape? I stay here because I want to," she seemed to scoff before sniffing the air primly and flouncing off to stuff herself under the bed again.

Really, there is no way to overstate just what a prima donna this dog is. She's been this way since the beginning. Ten years ago, TS and I moved to North Carolina from a college town in Florida. Our first weekend there, we decided to take in a little local color, and visited the local flea market. We wandered the aisles of crap until we stumbled on a box alive with a squirming black mass of fur. We stopped to take a look, and there was Diva, stomping all over her brothers and sisters, pausing occasionally to chew on one of their ears or tails.

At the time I thought this sort of thing was endearing.

The woman in possession of the box advised me that her champion cocker spaniel had escaped one day from the yard (sounds familiar), and had embarked on a multi-hour spree that involved at least one tryst with a neighboring dog, whose pedigree was (approximately) half chow and half German Shepard. Diva and her siblings were the result of that unholy union. "I'm takin' 'em all to the pound if I can't find 'em homes," she said in an ominous tone.

TS and I looked at one another knowingly. Heck, we were a couple of poverty-stricken twenty-five year olds with two dogs. Clearly we needed another animal. I stuck my hand into the box and Diva commenced to gnawing on my index finger.

"Aww, this one's chewing on my hand," I said, charmed.

How those words have haunted me. Of course, the principal reason they do is because TS repeats them to me every time Diva does something obnoxious, which is usually about two times per day. This, despite the fact that Diva early on abandoned me in favor of my mate, and resolutely remains His Dog.

The other dogs observed and noted Diva's attitude almost immediately upon her arrival. But then again, she did make her intentions clear from the start:


(Isn't that carpet hideous? Oh, my salad days.) Diva's attitude did not abate as she grew out of puppyhood. Here she is, flaunting her thievery of one of the best cherry tomatoes from the garden:



Then again, she did become a passable trail dog, except for the time she ditched her pack in the Adirondack Mountains, requiring us to spend half an hour looking for it:



Interestingly, Diva has one other quality that goes a long way toward redeeming her in my eyes: she is very protective of Trailhead Kid. (Of course, that's probably of a piece with her thinking that she is the rightful Alpha Female in the house, but I'll let it slide.)

When we brought TK home from the hospital, I remember walking into my bedroom and placing him in the bassinet next to my bed. Diva Dog trotted into the room in an unusually business-like manner, plopped herself down on the floor next to the bassinet, and commenced to viciously growling whenever our two other dogs darkened the bedroom door. To this day, she will not countenance what she feels is overly rough play between TS and TK. And she is clearly TK's favorite pet. He has no use for our other dog, a much less offensive mutt of a gentle, forbearing nature. She sniffs him too much.

There's no accounting for taste, I guess.

A Drop in the Bucket is Still Water, I Suppose

This is interesting:

John Ivanko uses wind power, solar power, and a wood stove to meet the energy needs at his bed-and-breakfast, Inn Serendipity. He serves food from his organic garden and composts the leftovers. Even the bath tiles at the inn were chosen with the environment in mind -- they were produced from recycled windshield glass.

It seems to me that the value in things like this is not the quantitative "difference" it makes environmentally, but 1) the impact it has on raising awareness, and 2) the first nudges toward starting a trend. I find myself wanting to visit, in no small part because the thought of those organic strawberries in the pancakes is making me hungry.

Read the whole thing.

Google Search of the Week

From THI, this time. From the UK, this google: "Nasty things up poles."

That pointed phrase navigated our googler to the "Up to my ass in alligators" post. Somehow I think that wasn't what our googler was looking for, but it's interesting that (s)he thought it might be.

In the Lottery of Worthless Dogs, I Own the Powerball Winner

Does this look like an animal with the get-up-and-go to lead me on a 75 minute cat-and-mouse chase around the neighborhood at 7:30 a.m.?

Shithead dog.

Blogger Ate the Oscar Bitch

I lost the original post bitching about the Oscars. So, continue it here, or on the thread below. I believe the last comment was Bloggerdad wondering whether anyone agreed with him that Constant Gardener was, in fact, the best picture of the year.

More Gnashing of Teeth and Wringing of Hands, Post-Oscar

I'm still sitting here gnawing on this thing. Wasteland's suspicion that there may have been a "WTF? It wasn't that good" sentiment playing into the results of the Oscars makes some sense. But it doesn't solve the problem for me entirely; maybe it would if Brokeback and Crash were the only two films in the category, but there were other, better pictures in the category than Crash. But did those suffer from the same affliction as Brokeback? I found this piece by Kenneth Turan at the LA Times illuminating. Turan writes:

I don't care how much trouble "Crash" had getting financing or getting people on board, the reality of this film, the reason it won the best picture Oscar, is that it is, at its core, a standard Hollywood movie, as manipulative and unrealistic as the day is long. And something more.

For "Crash's" biggest asset is its ability to give people a carload of those standard Hollywood satisfactions but make them think they are seeing something groundbreaking and daring. It is, in some ways, a feel-good film about racism, a film you could see and feel like a better person, a film that could make you believe that you had done your moral duty and examined your soul when in fact you were just getting your buttons pushed and your preconceptions reconfirmed.

So for people who were discomfited by "Brokeback Mountain" but wanted to be able to look themselves in the mirror and feel like they were good, productive liberals, "Crash" provided the perfect safe harbor. They could vote for it in good conscience, vote for it and feel they had made a progressive move, vote for it and not feel that there was any stain on their liberal credentials for shunning what "Brokeback" had to offer. And that's exactly what they did.

Turan also points out that Brokeback was, in many ways, the easiest to digest of the remaining films in the category, all of which
were "discomforting" pictures. And none of them got jack. Go read the whole thing.

What's a Girl to Do

When things appear to be circling dangerously close to the drain (I don't care what Fred Rogers says, I think you can get sucked down the drain); when her consumption of Girl Scout cookies is reaching truly concerning levels; when options seem few and unattractive?

What's a girl to do? Why, pack up the kid, get the hell out of town and see her friends, of course.

Check your calendars, midwesterners. You will feel a disturbance in the force late Sunday evening, and it will continue until Friday morning. Who can pencil me in?

A Number of Things That Are Very Wrong With Me

1. Last night I sang TK to sleep with Janis Joplin's "Mercedes Benz." My voice still is just croaky enough to do a passable imitation, but now I'm concerned that my three-year old won't get the irony of that song. Oh well. I'll explain later.

2. Every time I hear the song "Dancing Queen" I think of Wasteland Fan. Wow, that really didn't sound right, did it? What I mean is, we listened to a lot of Abba that autumn five years ago when we carpooled to work together, may God save our silly little souls.

3. An hour ago, there were Thin Mint crumbs all over my desk. Fortunately, using my superior intellectual capabilities, I solved that problem. I ate them. All. Crumbs too.

Number 3

The topmost pic is of Longmire Inn. Longmire is a few miles inside the Nisqually entrance to the park, on the west side. There was a bit of snow there, but nothing crazy. Once we got up to Paradise at 5,400 feet, it was extremely cold, and there was a boatload of snow, as you can see from the second picture. That's a ranger station. The bottom two are pics of the mountain from just below Narada Falls. I shot the mountain with the film rig till sunset. When I got back in the truck I couldn't move my fingers. Brr.

Little Beirut Averts a Pestilence

When I lived in Indiana, I knew all the local politics. Hell, I was marinated in them. But as a newly-minted Oregonian, I know exactly dick about Oregon and Portland politics. Lately, I've come to rely on the proprietors of the recently-launched Loaded Orygun to educate my ignorant ass.

While visiting said website today, I learned that Portland, a city the elder Bush once tenderly referred to as "Little Beirut," has issued a "not no but hell no" to the GOP's request for bids to host the 2008 Republican National Convention.

Carla at Loaded Orygun observes:

[Portland Mayor] Potter says that Portland doesn't have the necessary hotel room space or convention space, even with the expansions at the Convention Center. Plus the cost to fumigate the city once the RNC cockroaches take their leave would be prohibitive.

I say we open up Dignity Village in the parking structure at the Convention Center and let the Republican delegates pitch tents alongside the homeless. The city could charge $150 for tent space and access to toilets inside--which will stop working halfway through the Convention in Katrina aftermath style. Let the GOP see what their leadership is really all about.

Ahem. Damn right.

Looks Like Someone's Got a Case of the Mondays*

Well I let the Bladerunner (TS) go off to work with my digital point-and-shoot, which contained all the snapshots from our sortie to Mt. Fuji Rainier (thanks, Kristy). This excludes, of course, the "real" images, which are on rolls of Fuji Velvia 50 and will shortly be sent off for processing.

(Stop with the cacophony about getting a digital pro setup, already. Yes, I know I need one. And as soon as my pocket change adds up to the $2,500 I'll need to get a digital SLR with the same capabilities as my film camera, I will hie to my favorite online camera store and procure same. Until then, anyone complaining about how I am still in the photographic dark ages will be fined $100 toward getting me out.)

I know the tone here at Trailheadcase has not been cheery of late, and if you're here today hoping to find an inspiring example of positive thinking, I suggest you point your browser elsewhere with dispatch. If, on the other hand, your mood can be improved by reading the grousings of a discontented, serotonin-deprived curmudgeon who has been indoors way too much of late and thinking to yourself, "jeez, at least I'm not that far gone," why then make yourself comfortable and sit a spell.

Cuz the hits, they just keep comin'.


*Bonus points to anyone who can name the reference.

Well Here's a Week We Can Flush Down the Can

Parenthood changed a lot of things for me, but one of those things came into sharp relief this week: the under-5 set, at least the ones who go to preschool or daycare, really are just spectacularly active little petri dishes. Their sweet little bodies cultivate any number of pathogens, some of which make them mildly ill, but subsequently knock out their hapless parents for an entire week.

Before TK was born, or when we still had a full-time nanny, sickness in the Trailhead house was not common. Then we sent our little Typhoid Mary to preschool and all of sudden I'm on my butt one week out of four in the winter.

But anyway. The voice is back, if only a croak, but at least I'm no longer whispering. I'm still hacking up bits of lung into my coffee, but hey. You can't have it all.

It's sunny today and I have cabin fever so we're going to Mt. Rainier. Pics later.

A Post About Nothing

Well, in the last three days my voice has gone from husky to totally nonexistent -- a rapid transition from sexy to tracheotomy. Today I have achieved bullfrog, but only intermittently. Those of you who know me must know what voicelessness is doing to me. Plus, 98% of preschooler-management is spoken. I have a few meaningful facial expressions, but those only go so far.

Meanwhile, after looking at the headlines it's difficult not to conclude that the world is congealing into one magnificently odiferous turd: The witless Democratic establishment has decided that eating its young is the proper trajectory for the party, and has pushed one of its most talented candidates right out of politics. Buh-bye, Paul Hackett. Way to go, guys! But wait. Is anyone really this stupid? Does anyone do anything this absurd without intent? Dunno, my question for the day, I guess. Stupid fuckers, all. At least Howard Dean knows what's what. Guess he's had personal experience with this sort of "Washington skullduggery."

In other news, Deadeye Dick has decided to break his offensive, arrogant silence by deigning to give an interview to the criminally obsequious Fox News (way too many adjectives in that sentence, I know). That'll be a hard-hitting interview. "Tell me, Mr. Vice President, how have you been bearing up under all this? How terrible was it for you when it dawned on you that this man assaulted your birdshot with his face?"

Okay, enough about politics. The other day Full Moon says, "okay, here's what I don't get. You have this blog, and it's called "Trailhead-case," she observed, emphasizing "trail." "Yet, you talk about politics all the time. Why is that?" Fair question, FM. Partly it's because politics is really pissing me off right now, and I tend to obsess about things that piss me off. But more importantly, politics has a direct impact on my life as a lover of the outdoors. A quick example: The Bush administration wants to sell off public lands to compensate for slashing federal funding of education in order to keep Paris Hilton in tax cuts. That sort of thing tends to get me worked up.

But enough of that, really. Who can pay attention to such things when Willie Nelson has released a gay cowboy song? Written by singer-songwriter Ned Sublette during the "Urban Cowboy" craze in the early '80s, "Cowboys are Frequently, Secretly (Fond of Each Other)" contains such sterling lines as "What did you think them saddles and boots was about?" Nelson recorded it last year.

As soon as I'm finished here, I'll be skipping off to iTunes to blow my last 99 cents on this one.

It's Official: It's No Longer Funny

Deadeye Dick's victim has had a heart attack. Seems he has some birdshot lodged in his heart that's causing "irregularity in the heartbeat." Funny how that works.

Happy Birthday, TK Nana/TH Mom

Lawyer Humor: Yes, Probably an Oxymoron

Which Federal Rule of Civil Procedure Are You?

YOU ARE RULE 8(a)!You are Rule 8, the most laid back of all the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. While your forefather in the Federal Rules may have been a stickler for details and particularity, you have clearly rebelled by being pleasant and easy-going. Rule 8 only requires that a plaintiff provide a short and plain statement of a claim on which a court can grant relief. While there is much to be lauded in your approach, your good nature sometimes gets you in trouble, and you often have to rely on your good friend, Rule 56, to bail you out.
Take this quiz!








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Go to it, lawyers.

Just Shoot Me

Okay friends, I have preschooler-bestowed pinkeye, a tuberculitic cough, no voice and a deadline.  

But Dick Cheney mistook a 78-year old millionaire attorney for a quail this weekend (hey, I can understand that), so I thought I’d let you guys just get it all out of your system right here.  I know you can’t keep a lid on it, so get after it – it’s all fair game.    I’m guessing Bloggerdad will start.  

To get you started, see this hilarious link from HuffPo.

(You know, it goes without saying this is only funny because the man is "doing well" and expected to be released early this week, and because I am advised by the hunters in my life that this sort of thing is not uncommon. In fact, TS once did the same thing to his dad, though on a smaller scale.)

Cheery Thought of the Day: Tornadoes, Hurricanes or Volcanoes, It's All the Same

The 4th most dangerous volcano in the U.S.

Of the eighteen most dangerous volcanoes, half of them are situated within 500 miles of my home. I live within 150 miles of three of them, and within 50 miles of the 4th most dangerous.

Maybe it's time to move to Montana. But wait, the wildfires. Back to Florida? I don't think I even need to say it.

Back to the Midwest, you say? Yeah, where a tornado decimated TS's daily commute three years ago? (He was home with me and our five-day old son, instead of driving when the tornado hit, as he normally would have been.)

The lesson -- shit happens, everywhere. As Bloggerdad would say, "life is short. Eat dessert first."

(Another Weird Ass) Friday Random Ten and a Drive-By Dog Blog

1. Seal -- Tinsel Town
2. The Doobie Brothers -- It Keeps You Runnin'
3. Walela -- Muddy Road
4. Jimmy Buffett -- License to Chill
5. Shawn Mullins -- Pandora
6. Blondie -- One Way or Another
7. Willie Nelson -- On The Road Again
8. Billy Paul -- Me and Mrs. Jones
9. John Mayer -- Why Georgia
10. Marvin Gaye -- Let's Get it On




This is the dog that drives TK crazy. She tends to sniff at everything, all the time. He can't stand that. "She's 'niffin' me! She's 'niffin' me! That dog is drivin' me nuts!"

By a Thread

Well, TS jetted off for a five-day business trip this morning, so naturally, cue some pinkeye for TK, a couple of migraines for me and a big work project that has to be finished pronto.

But the sun is still shining this week.

What's up with you, kids?

Lo! And the Angels Sang Hosanna: Trailhead Gets Some (Sun, That Is)

There is no more perfect winter day than that which was gifted upon the upper-left-hand corner of Oregon today. So the only rational thing to do was pack up the backcountry skis and head to The Mountain. And the cherry on top of this sundae is that all the annoying snowmobilers* were back at home grunting and watching football today, and not annoying me.


I do not ordinarily take photographs of any kind, even snapshots, through the windshields of vehicles, moving or otherwise, but today I threw standards to the wind and allowed sun-induced joie de vivre to consume me entirely.




Today was the big day for TK: He got to 'ki all by himself (TK feels that enunciating an "s" before consonants is insufferably priggish, and avoids it whenever possible.) The Mountain Tracks Ski & Snowboard Shop went above and beyond by offering to rent us a brand new pair of skis since they were out of TK's size in the rentals.


This is the Trillium Lake Loop, a roughly 4.5 mile trail.


The inevitable: 'kiing loses its allure, and the backpack gains it.




Sun!

And now, every inch of my body is screaming at me like Bobby Knight at an errant referee. Can't wait till my muscles stiffen up overnight. It's like being hung over, only better.



* Yes, I know they can't possibly all suck; but the only the ones I've encountered have all seemed like thirteen-year-olds drunk on ego, testosterone, and a grossly inflated sense of entitlement. And those were the parents.

Sleeping In, But Not Really

Today was my day to sleep in.

[a voice filtering through layers and layers of sleep]

TK: Mooommmmmy? Hi. [slightly louder] Mooommmmmmmy? HI! [getting impatient, yelling now] MOOOOMMMMMMMMYYY??? I SAID HI!

Me [woozily]: Hi, TK.

TK: Wake UP, Mommy! It's Christmastime!!

Friday Random Ten and a Drive-By Dog Blog

1. Liz Phair -- Take a Look
2. America -- Ventura Highway
3. Bob Marley & The Wailers -- No Woman No Cry (Live)
4. Dwight Yoakam -- Fast as You
5. Nickel Creek -- The Lighthouse's Tale
6. Queen -- You're my Best Friend
7. Shawn Mullins -- Changes
8. Hank Williams Jr. -- All My Rowdy Friends (Have Settled Down)
9. John Mayer -- My Stupid Mouth
10. R.E.M. -- So. Central Rain




Trailhead Dog apparently can't get into a really good dog-sleep unless she's twisted into a bizarre, decidedly un-doglike position.

Resistance is Futile, You Will Be Assimilated

Give up. Punxatawney Phil's annual foray into the yard now has corporate sponsors. Well, knock me over with a farkin' feather, the bidness people have assimilated the groundhog. Figgers.

Drop That Gas Pump, Ma'am, And Back Away Slowly

So I hear Bush is going to say "America is addicted to oil" in tonight's SOTU address.

Hey, I'm as glad as anyone to see our president addressing our oil issues, but isn't this a little like Pablo Escobar complaining that people snort too much coke?

A Tale of Two Shitties

I suppose you all know that 1) Coretta Scott King has died at the age of 78, and 2) Alito was confirmed.

Crappy day all around.

Broke Backlash?

Well, the Academy Awards nominations are out. Brokeback leads the group with eight nominations. I was particularly pleased to see Jake Gyllenhaal get a nod for best supporting actor. In truth, I was even a little more impressed with his performance than with Heath Ledger's. It would have been awfully easy to make Jack Twist a caricature. But Gyllenhaal added such amazing texture to what could have easily been a generic devil-may-care rodeo cowboy. Gyllenhaal perfectly portrayed the elusive truth that the "stable" partner sometimes depends almost totally on his more expressive partner as a conduit for emotional release -- in some respects, even as a means of feeling.

I'm rooting for Brokeback, but not just because it would be a wonderful thing in these medieval times for a gay-themed movie to win at the Oscars. It's the theme of self-emergence in the wilderness that captivates me most.

So since I'm rooting for Brokeback, the S.A.G. awards gave me some pause; I believe the film was almost or totally shut out (Wasteland? Full Moon?) I'm wondering whether there is a "Broke Backlash" forming that will affect its performance at the Oscars. Thoughts, film-ies?

Question for Portland Area Visitors

What's the best fishmonger in town?

(I love the word "fishmonger.")

Memes, Glorious Memes

Rose did not tag me with this meme. But I think she secretly wants me to do it.

So let's get after it:

Four places I've worked:

1. A large Atlanta law firm
2. A large Indianapolis law firm
3. Legal Aid Society in a southern town
4. A collection agency

Four movies I'd watch over and over again:

1. Office Space
2. Gross Pointe Blank
3. Arthur
4. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

Places I've Lived

1. North-central Florida
2. Greensboro, North Carolina
3. Atlanta, Georgia
4. Lake Oswego, Oregon

Four TV shows I love to watch

Well, this is embarrassing. I don't have any.

Four places I've been on vacation

1. San Juan, Puerto Rico
2. Spain
3. Banff, Canada
4. Texas Hill Country

Websites I visit daily

1. Yahoo
2. Various left-wing and other blogs
3. The Washington Post
4. Blogger

Four of my favorite foods

1. Conch chowder
2. Succotash from Yats in Indy (it is too succotash, Flies)
3. Bloggerdad's stuffing
4. TH Mom's roasted potatoes

Places I would rather be right now

1. In the kitchen of my old house after a dinner party with the Wastelands, Full Moon, and the Pickerings. Though that would probably confuse the new owners.

2. The Montana house.

3. The Florida Keys. Or backpacking the Florida Trail.

4. At the Museo del Vino in Madrid, eating the Norwegian lobster cream soup and their signature rice pudding.

Friday Random Ten -- The I Want To Be In The Islands Edition

1. Loggins & Messina -- Long Tail Cat
2. Seal -- Love's Divine
3. Sade -- Kiss of Life
4. Jimmy Buffett -- Someone I Used to Love
5. Harry Nilsson -- Everybody's Talkin' ("I'm going where the sun keeps shinin'...Goin' where the weather suits my clothes")
6. Liz Phair -- H.W.C. (This would probably be more the "I Want to Be In Key West" Edition)
7. Gustavo Santaollala -- Snow (So much for the islands)
8. Jimmy Buffett -- Conky Tonkin'
9. Queen -- Crazy Little Thing Called Love
10. Carolyn Dawn Johnson -- I Don't Want You to Go

More Turkey Vulture Hijinks

Via the e-mail inbox, I am advised that if you google "turkey vulture anus," the fourth-listed item is Anonymous' comment from last week: "Was Scalia behind the turkey vulture anus search?"

Who's gonna be able to resist a teaser like that?

Now if only we could get it to the top of the list when you google "Scalia."

Your Liberal Media

What's wrong with this paragraph?

WASHINGTON - Senate GOP leaders plan to confirm Supreme Court nominee Samuel Alito early next week after dealing with a filibuster threat from Democratic die-hards who worry that the conservative judge would swing the court too far to the right.

First to get it right in the comments gets the Trailheadcase Turkey Vulture Award.

Dangerous Vegans

Anyone see this in the national media? Yeah, didn't think so. Apparently the great national security threat of our times comes from people who literally wouldn't hurt so much as a honeybee:

For example, more than two dozen government surveillance photographs show 22-year-old Caitlin Childs of Atlanta, a strict vegetarian, and other vegans picketing against meat eating, in December 2003. They staged their protest outside a HoneyBaked Ham store on Buford Highway in DeKalb County.

An undercover DeKalb County Homeland Security detective was assigned to conduct surveillance of the protest and the protestors, and take the photographs. The detective arrested Childs and another protester after he saw Childs approach him and write down, on a piece of paper, the license plate number of his unmarked government car.

"They told me if I didn't give over the piece of paper I would go to jail and I refused and I went to jail, and the piece of paper was taken away from me at the jail and the officer who transferred me said that was why I was arrested," Childs said on Wednesday.

The detective did not comment in his report about why his license tag number was already visible to the public.

Thanks be to God the gummint is there to protect us from those militant pacifists.

The detective wrote that Childs was "hostile, uncooperative and boisterous toward the officers." Childs said today that the agents shouldn't have been there in the first place, squelching legal dissent.

Boisterous. Boy am I in trouble. Anyone ever seen me near a chocolate cake?

Does anyone have any more on this? Did this little carrot-eater actually threaten someone at some time, or does the DeKalb County Division of Homeland Security really have this much time on its hands?

Via Pandagon.

Google Search of the Week: Return of the Turkey Vulture

Is there some issue I'm unaware of with respect to the anus of a turkey vulture? Some urban legend I'm not in on? Because this is the second time "turkey vulture anus" has landed someone on this site. And it's from a totally different part of the country, thus precluding the likelihood that its some high school kid doing a project on the anatomy of a turkey vulture.

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Like a Case of Road Rash, Only Funny

I am in physical pain from the brutal hilarity of The Beast's 50 Most Loathesome People in America, 2005. Don't forget to read each person's "sentence."

Not for the faint of heart; there are a couple that even I winced at.

Give yourself plenty of time to savor it. It's a work of fucking art.

Here's a teaser, from the 43rd most loathesome person, Rush Limbaugh:

If political discussion were sex, the Limbaugh audience would be a horde of virgins beating off to deranged rape fantasies.

No. 35, Michael Brown, is utterly breathtaking in its display of the cold, hard truth.

Amazing stuff.

Via Shakespeare's Sister.

Wherein Your Blogger Attempts to Stave Off the Urge To Become Jack Nicholson in The Shining

Introducing: The Florida image marathon.

It Burns, It Burns! Someone Make it Stop!

Probably not much posting today, as I'm absorbed in some work.

In any event, this is enough to make me want to stay off the internets and out of the TV room for the foreseeable future.

I believe it was Arun who said, "as I travel the world, I sometimes cross a cultural desert."

Molly Ivins is Mad As Hell

And she's not gonna take it anymore. Molly says "not no but hell no" to Hillary for Prez.

In what amounts to a "fuck you, Hillary, et al," Molly Ivins prescribes the cure for what ails ya. I love you, Molly:

Enough. Enough triangulation, calculation and equivocation. Enough clever straddling, enough not offending anyone. This is not a Dick Morris election. Sen. Clinton is apparently incapable of taking a clear stand on the war in Iraq, and that alone is enough to disqualify her. Her failure to speak out on Terri Schiavo, not to mention that gross pandering on flag-burning, are just contemptible little dodges.

After reminding the Democratic Surrender Monkeys what the plls really say, we get to my favorite part:

Bush, Cheney and Co. will continue to play the patriotic bully card just as long as you let them. I've said it before: War brings out the patriotic bullies. In World War I, they went around kicking dachshunds on the grounds that dachshunds were "German dogs." They did not, however, go around kicking German shepherds. The MINUTE someone impugns your patriotism for opposing this war, turn on them like a snarling dog and explain what loving your country really means. That, or you could just piss on them elegantly, as Rep. John Murtha did. Or eviscerate them with wit (look up Mark Twain on the war in the Philippines). Or point out the latest in the endless "string of bad news."

Do not sit there cowering and pretending the only way to win is as Republican-lite. If the Washington-based party can't get up and fight, we'll find someone who can.

I feel all tingly all over. Go read the whole thing. Every word is delicious.

Off to the Races

I feel it necessary to commemorate a milestone in the young life of Rose's offspring, Astrid. Miss Astrid acquired not only a good deal of mobility this week when she up and started crawling, but also achieved a significant alteration in the power structure. Fortunately, Rose is on top of things, and has created a "baby run" for her.

Plus, here is the funniest photo essay ever, captured while Rose and Uwe were trying to prevent their daughter from becoming the kind of foot-fetishist whose google searches land her on Trailheadcase.

Congratulations, Astrid. Give 'em hell, girl!

No Good Googles This Week

Where are all the pervs and excrement-fetishists?

Update: Oops, one of the pervs is back. "Kidnapped and gagged," this afternoon. They're baaaaaaack....

Friday Random Ten

Because it's fun, and comparing mine to the young hipsters keeps me humble:

1. Killer Queen, Queen
2. Simply Complicated, Jimmy Buffett (are you happy, cayo loco?)
3. Vahevala, Loggins & Messina ("I'm thinkin' 'bout, when I was a sailor...")
4. Wild Montana Skies, John Denver (Yes, damn it. John Denver. You don't know the half of it.)
5. Slide, Goo Goo Dolls
6. The Devil's Right Hand, Steve Earle
7. Why Can't I? Liz Phair
8. Bears, Lyle Lovett
9. The Lighthouse's Tale, Nickel Creek
10. Big Yellow Taxi, Counting Crows

Look at that list. What the hell is the matter with me?

Steve Earle and the Goo Goo Dolls, for crying out loud? Liz Phair and John Denver?

Friday Cat Blogging and a Bonus Dog Pic

"My belly needs scratching. Get after it already, wouldja?"

Everyone, meet Cosworth, the most recent addition to Trailhead Brother II's household, and...



Everyone say hello to Full Moon's Sam ("Yam," to TK), who is delivering a similar message.

Wherein Your Blogger Relates How Technology Has Thrice Grievously Failed Her in as Many Days

I was sitting up here a couple of days ago, diligently working – a rare state of affairs in any event – when I began to hear the soothing sound of a waterfall in my peaceful, zen-like mind. Only it wasn’t in my zen-like mind, it was in my laundry room. I leapt up as though bitten on the ass and bounded into the guest room, which houses our laundry facilities. Whereupon I was met with the sight of gallons and gallons of water pouring (zen-like) out of my brand new, front-loading washer and onto the floor.

I screamed a little, then began grabbing towels and things to throw on the floor, and screamed a little more. (Fortunately, we’re not very good at folding laundry, and so there were a bunch of clean towels piled on the guest bed.) Then, like an idiot, I realized that water was still pouring out of the washing machine and I frantically hit the cancel button, to no avail. The deluge continued.

I took the stairs four at a time, emitting little yelps along the way, and grabbed a couple stock pots, then took the stairs back up four at a time. After positioning one of them underneath the cascade, I grabbed the phone and called TS.

Me: [Gasping] “HOW DO YOU TURN OFF THE FUCKING WATER TO THE WASHING MACHINE?”

Him: Wha--? [Apparently not discerning that I was asking for reasons beyond general enlightenment.]

Me: “TELL ME, NOW!”

Well, I finally got it shut off. By that time, the carpet outside the laundry room was not merely wet, but could fairly be called sodden, and I had nary a dry towel. By the time TS got home to help assess the situation, gravity had interceded, and there was a goodly amount of water in the garage.

Well, the insurance guy has been out and he assures us that it’s probably not the end of the world, and that it will all dry out, even inside the wall. My washing machine guy, on the other hand, is still uncertain why my washing machine declined to stop spewing forth water at the appropriate time. But because he is a washing machine guy, he ordered a part and promises to install it on Monday.

Then today, I met TS and Tony for lunch, whereupon I discovered that the driver’s side door on my Volkswagen Jetta had developed an antipathy to performing the most basic door-like function: closing.

Have you ever driven a manual transmission vehicle while using your left arm to hold the door closed? No? Good. Don’t – and then you might not nearly die a horrible fucking death because you failed to make the sharp left-leaning bend in the road while steering with a single hand, since your other hand was busy keeping the door from swinging open into oncoming traffic at the apex of the curve.

No sooner had I returned home and settled back down to work than my computer flashed, for approximately an eighth of a second, a blue screen with a bunch of words, one of which was “VIRUS,” before shutting down entirely. It must have been just kidding, because it fired right back up again. Or it might just be waiting to utterly fail me at the worst possible time.

The Luddites had a fucking point.

More Brokeback

For the Brokeback junkies among us: read this.

Thoughts?

Paul Hackett Makes Me Hot*

Because he says to hell with the genuflecting, craven Democrat paradigm, instead choosing to be bluntly honest about matters:

"The Republican Party has been hijacked by the religious fanatics that, in my opinion, aren’t a whole lot different than Osama bin Laden and a lot of the other religious nuts around the world," he said. "The challenge is for the rest of us moderate Americans and citizens of the world to put down the fork and spoon, turn off the TV, and participate in the process and try to push back on these radical nuts – and they are nuts."

Thank you, Paul, can we have another?

More:

With succinct coherence, Hackett said: "I’m pro-choice, I’m pro-gay-rights, I’m pro-gun-rights. Call me nuts, but I think they’re all based on the same principle and that is we don’t need government dictating to us how we live our private lives."

Then he applies a much-needed smackdown on marriage equality issues:

Asked to define being pro-gayrights, Hackett said anybody who tries to deny homosexuals the same rights, including marriage, as every other citizen is un-American. Are you saying, he was asked, that the 62 percent of Ohioans who voted in November 2004 to constitutionally deny same-sex marriages are un-American?

"If what they believe is that we’re going to have a scale on judging which Americans have equal rights, yeah, that’s un-American. They’ve got to accept that. It’s absolutely un-American."

You're got-damn right it's un-American, junior. I love you, Paul.

Go read the whole thing.

And you know what else? He refused to apologize when the Repubs started squawking about it.


*I'm just stodgy enough to feel the need to apologize to his wife for this statement. But I just can't help it.

Hey Look, Everyone!

Flies with Moose.

Aliens Kidnapped Al Gore in 1999

But they've apparently returned him, and retrieved that ineffectual stick-up-the-butt they dropped off for the 2000 election.

Al swipes back at the Bush Administration's response to his speech.

Observations Across the Spectrum

The Supremes have upheld Oregon's physician-assisted suicide law. If I have some extra time today, I'm going to read the opinion, at which point I will report back. (Yes, I know, I said I had trouble doing legal analysis unless I was getting my hourly rate. But I'm interested in this one, so bite me.)

You know, Oregon does a lot of sensible things that the rest of the country won't touch. Mail-in ballots, assisted suicide, medical marijuana. Interestingly, Oregon's state constitution is modeled after Indiana's. Which should give you some small idea of the vast oceans of difference in how they get interpreted. I have concluded that it's the rain. You just start to not give a shit after awhile. "Fuck it, it's been raining for the last 45 days. Let's pass an assisted suicide law."

Anyone watch the Golden Globes? Is it just me, or would it be a real pisser to co-write with the computer-eschewing Larry McMurtry? Let's hope he had an assistant kind enough to scan his typewritten drafts and e-mail them to Diana Ossana.

As for the award for best score, well, just insert heavy sigh here. I will defer to the words of Shakespeare's Sister:

How does Gustavo Santaolalla not win for Best Score? I. Get. It. John Williams is a great composer blah blah blah. He doesn't need any more awards. And none of his scores have ever given me the shivers the way Santaolalla's did.

Ditto.

What's everyone up to today?

Passed Along Without Comment

'Sup?

(Yes, I still use that as shorthand. I'm tragically unhip, I told you.)

What's going on with everyone today? What happened this weekend? What are you listening to? What are you reading? Blogging anything fun? Planning any trips? Just feeling like a smart ass (Tony)?

Here are some links to what I've been browsing this morning:

I like this article. I'm not crazy about some of the views on animals displayed in this piece. But I love it anyway, mostly because this is one cool cat.

Al Gore is back, and he's pissed off. And I'm glad someone is, because every other eunuch in the Democratic leadership is too busy beard-stroking and navel-gazing to stand up to these right-wing lunatics.

Over The River and Through the Woods

To Mt. Hood we go. Gotta get out of this rain now that it's the weekend. So we're throwing the backcountry skis, the snowshoes and TK's little sled into the truck and heading east. A little elevation and -- poof, you've got snow.

Friday Random Ten

Because its fun and indulgently self-referential, I'll partake this week. From my tragically unhip iTunes shuffle:

1. If You're Here When I Get Back, John Eddie
2. He Was a Friend of Mine, Willie Nelson (Brokeback Mountain Soundtrack)
3. Opening, Gustavo Santaolalla (Brokeback Mountain)
4. The Fox, Nickel Creek
5. Another Road, Loggins & Messina
6. Melissa, The Allman Brothers
7. The Painter, Neil Young
8. A Horse With No Name, America
9. Ocean Front Property, George Strait
10. A Love Song (Live at the Santa Barbara Bowl), Loggins & Messina

Google Search of the Week

Wow.

From no less distinguished an institution than the United States Supreme Court, believe it or not, someone landed here today doing a search for….I can hardly wrap my brain around this….

“O Karma Where Art Thou”

Some things are just too precious. Where indeed??

UPDATE: TV-junkie Wasteland, after allowing this to sit for six-plus hours, has reluctantly clued me in to last night's episode of My Name is Earl, from whence this phrase arose. Still, funny to imagine the justices enjoying an episode of Earl.

(Last week's Google Search (turkey vulture edition) here.)

A Couple of Light Thoughts on Brokeback Mountain

We saw Brokeback Mountain awhile ago, and it’s been beating the shit out of me ever since because, like a good film is supposed to, it splits you open and leaves you trying to gather your own emotional entrails for a week or so.

In the end, I decided I had just a couple of points to make about it. First, I hear a lot of people saying “this isn’t a gay movie.” That bugged me before I saw it. After all, what is a “gay movie”, anyway? Philadelphia? The Bird Cage? But whatever a gay movie is, Brokeback Mountain ain’t it, according to them. No. What it really is, they say, is a love story, and a tragic one.

As if it couldn’t be both a gay movie and “just” a love story. One or the other. Pick.

Now, I think there are several different reasons why people say “it’s not a gay movie,” but the one I’m talking about reflects a certain truth – that it’s just never occurred to a lot of people that a pure love story could be about two people of the same sex.

And once that occurs to you, well then wow. You’re in a whole new world, Junior. What these folks are finding is that they relate to Jack and Ennis – and their tragedy – as just people in love, and not as GAY PEOPLE in love, and therefore it isn’t a gay movie. I see this disconnect as a salutary development, in a way. People are finally – finally! – seeing the love, instead of their bias.

But part of me still hates it when someone says “Oh no, it’s not a gay movie!” (with the unspoken “don’t worry!”) Well, folks, it patently is a gay movie, and I’m not going to cheat my gay friends out of one of the most compelling love stories ever made by denying it. So, it is a gay movie, dammit.

But then again, it isn’t. It isn’t a gay movie, in the sense that there are several themes running through this film, and the gayness of the main characters is only one of them. And it’s probably not the most important one, though it’s related to the most important one, which is what happens when you can’t, don’t, or don’t know how to live authentically.

While it’s clear that Ennis deeply feared violence should he openly acknowledge his relationship with Jack, that’s not the whole story. He didn’t just keep his homosexuality on a short leash – he rationed himself every feeling, every joy, and every human connection on the stingiest terms.

I don’t think it’s an accident that Ennis and Jack came together “out there,” or – as the overused and insufficient cliché goes – “in nature.” John Muir said, “fears vanish as soon as one is fairly free in the wilderness.” Things get genuine. Because that’s all there is.

Aside from the interpersonal, the film itself is awesomely gorgeous, with the Rocky Mountains of Alberta standing in for Wyoming. I know it’s a cliché, but see it on the big screen if you can. The soundtrack is masterful, and I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed Willie Nelson’s music as much, or Emmylou Harris's. (And that’s saying a lot.) But if you’re not willing to let yourself be a little bit emotionally hijacked, maybe you should skip it until you are. Or maybe you should just go anyway.

More on Anonymous Annoyers

Welp, the lawyers are all over this like a pack of dachsunds on a snausage. Wasteland included a valuable link to much of this discussion in the comments to the previous post, and I'm pulling it up to the front page. So, go here for more discussion on what lawyers think the statute means, doesn't mean, and what constitutional principles it violates and why.

For my part, I have trouble doing legal analysis unless I'm getting paid my hourly rate for it, so I'll leave it up to those for whom it's a compulsion.

My Name is Trailhead, and I Approved This Annoying Message

Hmmm. This provision was signed into law last Thursday:

"Whoever...utilizes any device or software that can be used to originate telecommunications or other types of communications that are transmitted, in whole or in part, by the Internet... without disclosing his identity and with intent to annoy, abuse, threaten, or harass any person...who receives the communications...shall be fined under title 18 or imprisoned not more than two years, or both."

Lawyer friends: Anyone care to take bets on how long this steaming pile of unconstitutionally vague* dung lasts?



* Not an exhaustive explication

Karmic Justice?

Wasteland has sent me this little tidbit, suggesting that Earl Hickey might find some karmic justice in these events. I pass it on to you with no further comment:

FORT SUMNER, New Mexico (AP) -- A mouse got its revenge against a homeowner who tried to dispose of it in a pile of burning leaves. The blazing creature ran back to the man's house and set it on fire.

"I had some leaves burning outside, so I threw it in the fire, and the mouse was on fire and ran back at the house," Mares said from a motel room Saturday.

Village Fire Chief Juan Chavez said the burning mouse ran to just beneath a window, and the flames spread up from there and throughout the house.

No one (human) was hurt.

Post-Christmas Multimedia and the Trailhead Family

We're reading, watching, and listening to so much good stuff we got during the holidays that I thought I'd plug it on the ol' blog.

Thanks to Bloggerdad, Trailhead Kid has been enjoying (along with his parents) The Life of Mammals, a multi-DVD set hosted by the irresistible Sir David Attenborough.

I purchased The Sex Lives of Cannibals at the Powell's in the Portland airport before we flew out to Indy. I haven't laughed so much on a flight since I read Bill Bryson's The Lost Continent on the trip from JFK to Indy on our way back from Madrid (ask Trailhead Brother how that went). Author J. Maarten Troost and his then-girlfriend (now wife) Sylvia move to an atoll in the South Pacific called Tarawa. Are you thinking a lush island paradise? Think again. Hilarious.

Finally, thanks to the Wasteland Family, TK has been enjoying his new They Might be Giants CD, Here Come the ABC's. My favorite: "C is for conifer, over 500 kinds...."

Highly recommended, all.

The Scene of the Crime

Well, I see a couple of bright spots here. One is that it's orange highlighter, not black permanent marker. Another is that we made it three years and four months before having a major wall-scribbling event. Still another is that I hate white walls, so this was going to be painted eventually anyway.

Still, I didn't know when it was going to be painted, and I had hoped to have a little leeway on the matter.

And Bloggerdad, this is not funny.

Trailheadcase Google Search of the Week

"Does a turkey vulture have an anus?"

Listen, I don't even know where to begin with this one.

Why wouldn't it?



(And to think I almost ditched this image because I cut the top of the vulture's head off. But I guess the head isn't what matters.)

Pat Down

Well, we still don't know what Pat Robertson's New Year's Resolutions were, but we do know that "I resolve not to be such a douchebag" was not among them:

The Rev. Pat Robertson said Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon is being punished by God for dividing the Land of Israel. Robertson, speaking on the “700 Club” on Thursday, suggested Sharon, who is currently in an induced coma, and former Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, assassinated by an Israeli extremist in 1995, were being treated with enmity by God for dividing Israel. “He was dividing God’s land,” Robertson said. “And I would say, Woe unto any prime minister of Israel who takes a similar course to appease the E.U., the United Nations or the United States of America. God says, This land belongs to me. You better leave it alone.”

It occurs to me that one of my resolutions should be to pick more challenging targets than Pat Robertson.

Via TPM.

Horror

I've been sitting, watching it all unfold. The joy near midnight as word came that "We Got 12 Alive!" The relief as one ambulance came down, then no more. We were told that the miner in that ambulance was unconscious, yet with no visible trauma other than apparent shock. I began to wonder why no more came. Then, out of the blue, a woman literally rushed Anderson Cooper during his broadcast with the bizarre, horrible news.

The families, so relieved, so happy -- then utterly destroyed.

The CEO of International Coal Group advised during a press conference that 27-year old Randal McCloy is the only survivor, and he is in critical condition.

May they all find peace someday.

An Astonishing Act of Self-Involvement to Close out 2005

I've been noticing that a lot of bloggers have been posting their "top ten posts of the year." Generally, these bloggers are picking out ten of their 2005 posts that they like the best and posting a wrap-up of them.

In almost all its incarnations, blogging is a pretty "self-referential" activity. (I cannot remember which blogger used that term and when, but one did, it stuck with me, and I'm using it.) Even so, it seems like a pretty striking act of self-involvement to actually take the time to pore over your work, pick out the ten posts you like the best, and create a whole new post with links to them.

So naturally I'm on board with it.

But because I do have a modicum of self-restraint, I will restrict myself to five:

In August, I reminisced about very nearly eating a grape I found on the ground once (after a mere three days of backpacking.) I like this post as much for the comments as for the actual post.

I like this post not because it's a prizewinning piece of writing, but because the described events encapsulate all the weird quirkiness of Montanans.

Here is "what passes for intelligent conversation at Trailhead House."

These two posts set forth my ethos of laziness.

That was kinda fun. Perhaps I should treat this as a self-originated meme. I think it's your turn, Rose!

(I'd tag you, Tony, but I'm not sure you've done five posts all year.)

Time-Waster of the Day

I'm always eager for humor that trades on my longstanding nemesis, word verification.

Zharc! The Comment Word Verification Dictionary.

This post is my favorite, I believe.

Chortle of the Day

This is one of those things that you are not supposed to find funny, because someone was injured, even if just on the ankle:

FREMONT, Calif. - A pack of angry Chihuahuas attacked a police officer who was escorting a teenager home after a traffic stop, authorities said.

The officer suffered minor injuries, including bites to his ankle, Detective Bill Veteran said.

The five Chihuahuas escaped the 17-year-old boy's home and rushed the officer in the doorway Thursday, authorities said. The teenager had been detained after the traffic incident.

On this, the dawn of a new year, thanks be to God that we still live in a world where you can read a headline containing the phrase "pack of angry chihuahuas." For that, I am deeply grateful.

Via Feministe.

Post-Christmas at Chez Trailhead

Whaddaya know, here we are back home after a week gone. TK has discovered that his remote- controlled motorcycle is an excellent way to terrorize the Trailhead Dogs (thank you, Bloggerdad). We were going to leave for Montana this morning, but a quick check of the family kitty revealed that we had spent the farm to go back to Indy, and should probably retrieve the Trailhead Dogs from the kennel forthwith, or we might not be able to get them out of hock at all. Oops. So, no Montana for us.

Air travel yesterday was more annoying than usual. TS found himself on the random and mysterious special-enhanced-double-secret-probation-security list, which added a bit of a delay. While we were waiting to check in, I suffered my own little humiliation involving a bad left ankle that, thanks to two sprains in one month a couple of years ago, sometimes gives out for no apparent reason. While standing in line, I made the mistake of expecting that ankle to actually bear my weight, and promptly did a face plant in front of the hordes of holiday travelers. I landed on a sharp part of TK's car seat buckles, and now have a lovely black and blue pattern on my upper thigh.

Then we were delayed getting out of Indy to our Chicago connection. This, along with the fact that our luggage missed the connection that we made by running balls out through O'Hare, got us home at the decidedly unpleasant hour of 2 a.m. Pacific Time. This was all the more unpleasant since we had adjusted to Indianapolis time, and so it felt like 5 a.m.

But you know, it was a good trip. We played many games of euchre, saw cherished friends, and ate like Hoosiers. And now we are home, enjoying our many wonderful Christmas gifts, and about to spend New Year's Eve with some of our oldest and most intimate pals. All things considered, I can't think of a more auspicious start to 2006.

See you next year, everyone.