Haunts

We took G to her new school today, so she could meet her teachers and her classmates and we could meet the staff, and its not all such a sh0ck in 2 weeks. She was shy for about 2 min. The other kids in her class were very friendly and that made her feel better, nice to see kids of all different colors in the class. as soon as she saw the new toys and new playground she was her typical gregarious self. such a wonderful upbeat little girl - she surely doesnt get it from me.  She insisited on going back to say goodbye to her new teacher.

We drove around the neighborhood, to the house and back, to see the uphills and the downhills and the intersections.  The daycare is 1.2 miles, with 1 big intersection - a vast improvement for our 2-wheeled endeavors vs. now crossing 5 lights and the 202.  The McDowell Mountain Ranch park is 1 mile away, is offering Memorial Day-to-Labor Day memberships for $120, and has a good enough gym and pool to at minimum handle our shit through summer. Though the scenery at Mountainside Fitness will surely be much better, i think the pool shall help compensate for that. Too bad the skate park does not allow bikes - i would love to learn how to drop a bowl.  The nearest unfenced playground is 1 mile away, uphill, which means rolling home will be much better. The desert area is .5 miles for Kila to be onleash, .3 if i duck behind the school.  There is a lot back there, a lot of good walks to be had, probably no super gnar gnar, but i will remedy that with that with a shovel.

Alana and Kila and I rode out to pick up G again, more firestation runzeheunding, more budding bipedalism, but absent any melancholy. Grab it while its good.  Look for the next thing that is good.  Chooses to be near the next thing that is good. I am fortunate that I have had the opportunity to make choices in my life, I am jaded and resolved to continue to take advantage of opportunities, and I am sensitive to reflecting honestly upon them and their fragility.

G wanted to explore the construction site behind the Church again today.  It will only be around for a few more weeks, irregardless of our zip code.  She may ultimately be Daddy’s negotiator for AC service at Casa V. I am stoked on many levels.

WFH

The troubled economy makes salary adjustments and bonuses thin pickings. I understand. I’m not happy about it, but I understand. I get other perks, 2 days a week, to get all i like out of work along with most of what i like out of a day - software, sunshine, coffee, and the good company of my Budding Bipedalist, with a bike and no traffic or need for a shower. Its all work, whether its for TM or for G&A, I enjoy it all in the right doses and the right mixtures…perhaps it means I have embraced my sellout, perhaps it means i am blessed.

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the carnage is kinda scary
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About 4 we turned to a workout - mine and hers. Seriously…how did she get back there and manage to spill my beer?
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then the Burley with Kila for some nubby-nosing en route to pick G up from school, and one of the World’s Most Perfect Spots!  How many awesome things can you count in this picture?

  1. baby
  2. beer
  3. bike
  4. sunshine
  5. budding bipedalism
  6. runzeheunding (offscreen)
  7. blogging about my radness

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failing to cap my recently-replaced rear shifter cable had a secondary benefit
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Goodbye Hawes! Goodbye Pass Mtn!
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Goodbye Firestation and Evil Traffic Light
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Goodbye Red Mtn Church - thanks for letting us poach your parties and your spigots and your grassy areas, thanks for letting us hit your staircase and your curbs and launch off your bbq pits
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Goodbye Boeing’s Longbow factory
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The McDowells, are you ready Kila?
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riding home from school
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Almost as soon as she got in the trailer, G asked me if we could go up the bumpity-bumps and down the big hill near home. This took some Q&A to figure out she meant the giant mound of earth they pushed up at the construction site behind Red Mtn Church. We got up the hill, but could only reverse course to get down.

Everyone was already extremely extremely dirty, why bother holding back? The girls made mischief in the sand til they were good and done. Alana spilled my 3rd beer of the night, and my 2nd of this ride - if this sounds like I’m having too many beers, its cause I’m drinking none of them!

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G had to potty, i told her just pick a spot any old spot
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The desert area next to our neighborhood used to be 2 miles long and a mile wide, but the highway and the golf course and the church have wittled it away to just enough for Kila and I.  I’d be amazed if anyone but us is ever out there. I only know every inch of it cause Kila needed runs every day for 10 years. It worked with my love of exploring on the bike, which fed my need to string routes together. I have the zone around my house so dialed that moving is terrifying, but also a challenge to find something new. Kila is getting old, she will not want to roam outside a comfort zone like she used to; she used to do 18 miles up and down Bulldog Canyon.  But there is a high school and a wash and a canal blocks from the new home.  It will be fun for us.  I managed to find every jewel in the sand in Rocky Point; Kila and I will work it out.  And who says I cant bring a shovel and a mcleod and make some ramps into the wash pit?

House Rules

After about 9 yrs, its time to codify the house rules.  Especially after some new guests hit the table for the first time in awhile. Good times were had, thanks James and Dave.

Rule #1: Little scuffs of the ball do not count as a shot, do not count as an interference, do not affect the game.  As long as you are just setting up or gesticulating a point with genuine emotion, the attitude of “fuck it, balls move!” shall prevail. Balls can be put back to their original spot, given that no advantage has been gained. This is an offense-friendly room.

Rule #2: 3 balls in a row gets you a bong hit.

Rule #3: scratches are ball in hand, this is a offense-friendly room.  See Rule #1.

Rule #4: Garbage stays down.  See Rule #1.

Rule #5: you gotta pay attention to when its your shot.  Delay of game is a penalty worthy of beheading.  There are people waiting for opportunities. See Rule #2.

Rule #6: scratch on the break is not a loss, its a loss of break, rerack bitch.  See Rule #3.

Rule #7: everything is in play.  Dogs, kids, toys, aggressive heckling…its all part of the playing field.

1 Day & 1 Year

R.A. Holmes, PhD, mother of 2, FTW:   Lost Dutchman Marathon, and a spot on the podium today, after just one year.

G and I headed out at 8am to meet Beckie at mile 14.5 by 9.  She came flying in on about a 7.5 minute/mile pace.

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she got in so quick G never got into the feeling of watching the race, and was back in the car before having a chance to stretch. The race route ran along ours for about 2 miles, so we waved at Beckie and waited for her where she turned onto the smaller roads at mile 16.

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Then out past the finish, where we rode a few miles back on the 2bike.

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waiting is hard on a tinyHuman
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there’s Mommy!
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“Beckie Holmes of Mesa, AZ finishing with her daughter”
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3:41
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Superbowl Sunday

Damn, I’m good.

really.

Dennis Miller, Tony Kornheiser…I can crush them both, easily, even if they double-team me.  Bet on me for fantasy-league fantasy-league.** I’ve been heckling a long time, I can win over or initiate bedlam at any bar or party with a flick of the finger.

the genius of my art is knowledge of the game, no fear, spontaneity, and a high BAC. Brushing up at urbandictionary.com is a plus. I’m not gonna be one of those candyasses in denial; i am funny, but I am really funny with a few beers and a tight game.  its ok, I’d give up my liver to have a contract on MNF.  I can take funny pics, cause the moment remains.  But the heckles disappear on the party-hat-infused breeze.  Suffice it to say they were as good as the food. Seriously! Can i get a witness? Don’t even get me started on The Who.

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I’m amazed at how a slow broil leaves only the sweetest richest flavor in a jalapeno. and a Superbowl ad taught me that vinegar will cure sting ray bites. Armed with this knowledge i am ready to face bubonic plaugue, radiation poisoning, and the zombie virus. I must have missed the Tim Tebow ad. Bacon and cream cheese after a lot of salsa and salsa verde convinced us to leave fajitas for Monday, but provided a nice pork-flavored drizzle for the veggies.

The pre-game of Pass Mtn to NRA to Pink Park set the mood.  For me, at least.  No one else but G made it to the end, and she cheated.  Great game, amazing display of nip-tuck football, based on how few penalties and how few big plays and how few hits on the QBs. I invented a system for the chaos in my fridge - start all beers on one level, and as the day goes on, restock warmer beers on adjacent levels, then work along the axis of replacement. Can’t go wrong - freshman year of college there was a single uninterupted path that led from Prospect Street to my hallway, got home every time. The only trick is remembering if you are moving right to left, top to bottom, bottom to top or left to right.

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** Each metaheckler selects a heckler, much as hecklers select players. Score +1 when your heckler wins an argument or votes with the majority on a call, -1 when your heckler loses an argument, and +3 if he or she wins the Fantasy League. Metahecklers may also be hecklers, but it is not permitted to choose yourself in Fantasy League Fantasy League.

The value of stuff is inversely proportional to the pain in the ass of moving it

my old TV is worth exactly $100. nice, flat screen 36inch tube TV.  150 lbs.  I dont even want to take it to my beach house to replace the really shitty tv there, cause i dont want to carry it up the stairs  (though in my defense, they are very steep and very narrow).  When I was researching how to price it, I could not find any big tube TVs at circuitcity.com or bestbuy.com or crutchfield.com.  A guy bought it, practically crapping his pants with glee, that he was getting a nice big TV cheap.  I helped him get it into his Expedition, i guess he had help getting it out.

I carted Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations around for 22 years. I read it once, freshman year, and could not remember what it was about.  I had to read Wikipedia to be sure I didn’t want to keep it.  By pitching Ludwig I am abandoning something, but its not his influence. Hauling Ludwig around imbued him with value. That value was imbued by professors who understood him far better than I ever didn’t,  and who imbued in me a desire to impress them by collecting their valuable books.  I have no idea why Ludwig was valuable to me; it was surprisingly easy to leave him in a worn cardboard box on the curbside of the Goodwill store, along with David Hume and Friedrich Hegel and a Java 1.2 guide . The Goodwill guys didn’t give a crap enough to greet me, they left a pad of tax receipts on the wall for me to tear off.  What some call one of the top 5 philosophy works of the 20th century, and assorted other works, netted $50 in tax writeoffs.  Ludwig will hopefully find his way to the $.50 bin somewhere.

I have baby things that are beautiful and inspiring and kept our baby safe and close and secure and full of the smiles of a newborn child, and i can not get $20 for them.  I can list them on Ebay and with fees and shipping net $18, or deal with some asspod on Craigs List and get $14.  They all found good homes with friends of friends and the IT guy who fixes my constantly-broken laptop, and they made me gush with well-wishes for the new parents, somehow drilling into an estrogen source i did not know i had.  A nearly brand new humidifier that we bought for $45 before G was born and used twice I reaped a windfall at $25.  An extremely-dusty but otherwise-perfect car cover will be sent back to Nashville in Bette and Bob’s dirty laundry.

The prospect of moving forces you to cull, to really evaluate just what to keep.   for those of you following, the move has blown up, yet again. I am becoming like Brett Farv (spelled incorrectly, as a sign of disdain) with my constant “we’re moving, we’re not moving, we’re playing for the Jets” bullshit.

The culling is not limited to stuff.  Habits, patterns, fears, confidences, memories and skeletons.  The books, the pictures, the mollies in the drywall and the spunk on the garage floor: the things you can’t remember why they made you smile or pang with regret without those things - off they go.  It hurts immediately, then its very liberating.  You are your past completely, and not at all.  Sartre said that, basically.  I kept him.

A buffer of happy consciousness, a spot-checked memory, a plastic bubble with a warm blankey, a plan for a path to follow. A manifestation of the will, as Nietzsche would say. I kept lots of Nietzsche. I don’t see anything wrong with it, self-improvement of the mind and the soul and the capacity for nimbleness. Code review. Wisdom. I need the strength if I am throwing myself into change. And its always changing. I am getting an epoxy-painted garage floor first thing when we finally move.

Jo’s ladder - 8th grade woodshop, 1982
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My daughter is a pampered brat and Disney is a dusty old fart

We got free tickets to see Disney on Ice. Impossible to resist. The 11:30 showtime would force me to stay sober while drowning in the world’s biggest daycare, but the Cox Suite promised free food and soft drinks and free-range babies.  G was psyched, as she always is.  She was also uncharacteristically bitchy.

She strutted in, she demanded food, she demanded a seat, she demanded food, she demanded a seat, she demanded a drink with her food and would not sit in her seat. She wanted to touch all the dessert trays and snack bowls and demanded her food and her seat - she knows better, they don’t pull that shit in daycare.

The last few years have been a boon to have access to all the events we have. I feel compelled to ask for tickets whenever available because its such a privilege to get such awesome seats to such premiere events. I get it that G doesn’t have a notion of the $300-amazing-family-experience that has just landed in our lap, but I try to inspire in her an appreciation for how much special fun we will have. Mostly I succeed.   Being spoiled is not ugly if you are sweet while reveling in it - just look at my dog.  Hence my disappointment and chagrin at her disinterest and sense of entitlement.  She is usually so much better? 

I want to cut her some slack on some things, like it being earlier in the day and her not wanting to sit still.  Or even think still.  Live entertainment is slower, and more focused than TV.  Its faster in its way, but those moments of the puck getting 1-timed at 90mph are strewn wantonly amidst set changes, tv breaks, and referee meetings.  G is definitely…not short-attention…but a smart little girl of the internet age.  You need to own her interest.

And, the suite isolates you too much from the live experience. Its certainly more convenient, just like your living room. You can move and run around and stretch and scratch your balls and get some cookies and chicken fingers from the kitchen . You can do everything but pause the Tivo.  The suite is far superior for the family as a whole, but you lose so much of what makes the event special.  You are not amongst the groundlings, where friendships and rivalries develop with strangers, where you don’t climb all over the furniture cause someone will call the usher if they dont smack you first.  You don’t feel the rumble of 10,000 people jumping and clapping, have your vision filled by a behemoth NBA center dwarfing over his trainers, or hear the thack thack thack thack thack of a puck skittering along the boards.  I get ansty in the suite sometimes too.  Plays, musicals, the circus…for me at least…require so much more attention and focuson top of it all.  There are few highlights - more tension and drama that you immerse yourself in, which when done right, build on themselves as the show progresses.  Its been years since I have given myself over to a play; its been 5 years since I’ve been to a movie or a stand-up show.

G’s behavior is somewhat fitting, given that of her parents, even if she is the root of it.  But I have chosen my internet and WFH and rides in unpopulated spaces vs. suffering the public or my child in public.  I know the alternatives, and respect their value and their costs.  G has not and does not. G is selfish, in a completely non-pejorative sense.  There are single moms paying, perhaps a lot, for seats in the upper deck and for expensive concessions so that they might share a day with their kids. I wish G was more appreciative of the good fortune she has in having parents with hook-ups, but I’m just not sure how much she ever will given these conditions.  I am disappointed in both of us for having so indulged her.  She needs to suffer on a ride with me, get some reality back into her fantasy.

Against the backdrop of it all, another circumstance in my pre-disenfranchised kid’s favor, it that Disney is a franchise, in a way I’ve never before appreciated, cause it moved so glacially slow i never noticed.  The movie Cars came out 4 years ago, but Disney maintains the site and the franchise as if its current. Bolt (by Disney), Finding Nemo and others that I thought are way better movies are…well…movies. They came, we saw, they conquered, we burned pirated copies.  The things Disney chooses to make their flagships stick around a long long time. Why?  They all are vaguely dated, dull, ‘merican, and sexist, even Cars, even before they stick around a long long time. Minnie Mouse could not change a flat tire to save her life, and 50 or 60 years later, neither can the female Porsche Carrera Sally who gave up her job as an attorney to WAHT?!? crusie the slow lane and be Lightning McQueen’s girl.  They play these scenes over and over, almost right out of the movies, but dumbed down and slowed down like a Broadway-Americana-40’s-Attention-Span-Review, on ice.  Even the multi colored groundlights with the multi-shaped templates that made the ice look like any background on the computer could not do enough to make it as good.

too much analysis? It could be i’ve ruined my daughter and am using my silver tongue to excuse it, like David Caruso pretending to be Steve Carrell pretending to be David Caruso in Jade? It could be that she just likes hockey better.

Sharing Stoke

James put together an hysterical home video after him, me, Byron and Alex had an awesome ride up National and down Geronimo.

The reaction on MTBR was a skinny, lycra-wearing man’s version of Fight Club - desperate men desperately trying to reconcile their passion with their S.Os in our  disassociative modern world.

I am very lucky.  Beckie likes riding enough and has ridden National enough to indulge me, and tolerate a polite amount of bike stoke. In return, I must tolerate a polite amount of furniture stoke.

When i really go off on Sedona or Goat Camp or snowboard stokage — or today when i first made the Chutes and all but the last turn out of Yuri’s Folly at Phoenix Mtn Preserve (below) — i have to sit through NPR-stokage from her.

I fiddled in vain with the Xtranormal program, trying to make camera angles that accurately depict where a character smiles and nods but does not talk, but could not make it accurately portray one’s inside voice? Perhaps I can submit an enhancement request.

Me: And the snow was so rad!! We shredded through trees!!! Hip Deep!!!. We tore up first tracks on this cornice and it was pow-pow heaven!!!
Mrs. Cball (outside voice): wow that is cool.
Mrs. Cball (inside voice): and then the Chief of the CBO actually told the President of Goldman Sachs that his portfolio was not balanced. Can you F**KING believe he said that!! Homey just cracked off on that muthafugga!
Me: how was your day?
Mrs. Cball: and then the Chief of the CBO actually told the President of Goldman Sachs that his portfolio was not balanced. Can you F**KING believe he said that!! Homey just cracked off on that muthafugga!
Me (outside voice): wow that is cool.
Me (inside voice): And the snow was so rad!! We shredded through trees!!! Hip Deep!!!. We tore up first tracks on this cornice and it was pow-pow heaven!!!

It could be worse.  At least we are polite, and avoid emasculating each other.

It could be better. It is a pretty big gap between us.  But hardly the only one, of which there are many in any relationship.  My wife did not know the significance of “Did you get me my Cheez Wiz, boy?”  when i lobbed a tube of honey mustard at her, obtained by riding drunkenly up to Bashas and back for an assortment of gourmet mustards into which to dip our leftover xmas ham.  Swallowing your stoke is like suffering with yellow mustard. Beckie does not know the significance of good mustard either.

I’ve tried to stoke Beckie’s stoke by buying her several nice bikes.  The resulting coefficient-of-stoke-stoking is always positive, but regrettably not so potent as to become self-perpetuating ala a nucular reaction.  Throwing money is still my best fallback move at xmas, and chicks always dig something new and shiny.  Lo and behold, on the next day she rode the Bianchi for the first time in a long time, wearing new gloves, socks and (almost new) jersey.  New helmet was available but forgone.  This just prior to my pilgrimage for mustard, which she begrudgingly acknowledged was tastier.  There is a strong foundation for a peaceful coexistence, if not victory

things don’t seem so hard on the intertubes
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Retrospective

So I guess the ending of any year with a “9″ at the end prompts the obligatory pondering of the past. It hadn’t really occurred to me that the decade was ending until a couple of days ago when the media started going crazy with retrospective pieces.  As I let the realization of where we are in the space-time-continuum sink in a little, it seems odder and odder, and makes me feel older and older, that the awful ’00s are finally over.

We started this decade in Tucson, me in grad school, Jason working for one of many doomed-to-failure start-ups, living in a tiny, old  house, next door to some crotchety neighbors who hated us, with Evil Jo, Kyler the one-eyed cat and a very sweet dog with a penchant for escaping from our 6-ft fence-enclosed yard. We had no money but lots of time. No kids, undemanding jobs, short commutes, simple house.  Life was good. We spoiled the dog like our baby and I stressed about coming up with some sort of dissertation topic.   I taught classes and worried about people taking me seriously.  Jason played Frisbee, even commuting up to Phoenix to play.  We were  young.

Fast forward 10 years and now we have lived in our current house for almost 10 years.  It’s bigger, more complicated, takes more work.  We have a pool.  And bills.  A new very sweet dog, and a cat with two eyes.  A long list of cats who have come and gone in that time  (Smudge, meatplow, endo, slim, diego, argos…).  Jo has moved on.  Two kids.  Long commutes.  Stressful jobs that pay well.  We have found professional success, but at the cost of giving up the flexibility that comes with less stressful careers.  We have guilt about daycare.  We tag-team on childcare so we don’t spend any time together.  Jason no longer defines his life by Frisbee, but has successfully filled that hole full with a new obsession, bikes.   I run marathons.  I have wrinkles.  Jason’s hair is getting grayer.  We’ve both gotten thin, then fat, then thin, then (now) fat again.

These changes have been so gradual, a little bit every month or day, an incremental change with each new decision that builds on the last decision until one day you wake up and your life is unrecognizable from where you started.   I now understand the mid-life crisis.  I also understand the unexplainable joy that comes with the unconditional love of  your child. 

Pain and pleasure, risk and reward.  Those very things that generate the most stress are the same things that give the most happiness.  What a decade.

Open Presents, Drink Nog, Ride Bikes

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this was much more interesting to Beckie
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a bell for every bike
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i love my brain
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*suspicious*
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when BestBuy left a message on the machine about delivering a giant-ass TV, I was bummed the surprise was ruined.  Then i was like “cool, my wife bought us a giant-ass TV!!”
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once again, Beckie bought all the gadgets, I bought all the gear
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