Its been almost 3 weeks since i rode National, the longest time in awhile. I was dreading this ride – the horror of commuting over to Somo, the monumental effort at getting out of work early, the heat, the first big tech ride post-Moab\Fruita…but most daunting was having to face the mountain. i felt like i was crawling home after a fight with Beckie, or when you first run into a girl you broke up with. It happened with my prom date a few months after we broke up – it wasn’t pretty at all. This was going to be awkward. JB was supposed to ride with me but flaked; would have been good motivation to have that commitment to get out of work and to the trail, and having a wing-man to face The Ex.
i got into my car at 4:20, but alas the perils of rush hour delayed that for a full 30 minutes.. I went east to 101, got in a slowdown, but things picked up from 60 and on Baseline. 25 min to 46th St. Maybe Scottsdale to 202 will be faster next time. i was pissy and sour, work sucks its one crisis after another day-in and day-out. On the one hand, that is what i get paid for and why i can keep my own hours and have so much free reign. On the other hand, i could give less of a shit if this upcoming Tom Waits concert series and its pioneering of virtual ticketing for Access Manager will in fact be the much-touted solution to scalpers. i do not know who Tom Waits is, but apparently he is quite popular. Olympics, Ticket Exchange, Kiosk…ho-fucking-hum i am slogging from the shitty new office through rush hour traffic so I can ride The King!
I was confused and disoriented having to drive to Somo, out of sync, did not know what i wanted to ride. i was going to park at 46th and do my normal loop up National and down 24th, but it felt wrong…like going to all the places we used to go. fuck it i was already in the car, i decided to park at 24th, go up Geronimo and out National to Telegraph, then maybe back up National and down 24th. I’ve never gone up Geronimo or up National that direction, it would be unfamiliar, like a first date. it would also be rough and rugged and uphill in all the wrong places. Some people get in a funk and have to ease their way out, or they retreat. that’s never been my style; getting challenged has always been what picks me up.
This was the first song on my player when i got rolling at 5. its hard work finding this kind of irony.
Saying i was rolling, however, would be a generous description of my labor up Geronimo. some of its gettable, some of it isn’t, some of it i simply could not keep pedaling it was so hard and steep. The worst was the first half mile, but every slot or sequence that makes the ride down so much fun was a slow hike-a-bike on the way up. i did ok, actually, but could do so much better… 40 minutes later i hit BV.
Some quick math told me 30 minutes to Telegraph and maybe as much as an hour on the ride back would make this a pretty long day. I could always bail on the road or back down Geronimo. I put on just my knee pads for the ride down — i felt a little naked, but it was too hot to fully armor-up and getting a little un-used to the armor is probably a good thing to keep my confidence strong. I paid close attention to the uphill and downhill on the ride out National and it just didn’t seem like it would be anywhere near as bad as the climb up Geronimo. a hot Tookie MILF jogger was stretching at the top of Telegraph when i dropped in and refueled. it was just too awkward us being the only 2 people there, standing next to each other and not acknowledging each other. She was bracing to get hit on, and while she was hot, i refuse to be creepy-dorky-desperate guy. So i finished my cliff shot and coolly let her start talking to me. Introductions, awkwardness — just like my ride; i said goodbye and started the climb up National while getting a great view of her butt as she went down Telegraph.
The climb had its tough spots as i knew it would, but it was not bad at all. It took only 40 minutes to recover the 30 minutes out, i got to hit all the fun obstacles that are so hard to climb, and get great views of the lines and drops that seem so hard on the way out. The Catwalk i walked a few spots, but it didn’t get in my head at all. I felt pretty good when i got back to BV, and charged down National as the sunset bloomed. I keep finding new fun moves down the top of National every time i ride it. it just isn’t as steep as it used to be. Down 24th, some good moves some sloppy ones, some awkward fumbling like the first time hooking up. Not my best ride, but a pretty strong showing all-things-considered. Sometimes its not about how hard a hit you can give, but about how hard a hit you can take.
G’s taken to whining, sighing, and grunting her displeasure. She knows what she wants to communicate, and it seems to me that she is refusing to verbalize as a conscious choice to convey her base emotional response. Its like she is so adamantly in disagreement that she does not condescend to actually use the language.
Its very snotty. Its very sophisticated.
She doesn’t stand a chance; I’ve been suffering through Jo’s screaming for 26 years.
woke up and to the gym for running and playing while mommy and daddy got their yoga and fit on. A too-brief grand prix in the enormous shopping carts at Frys, then a spin on the bike in the cul-de-sac.
JB, his wife Michelle, and their 2-yr old Natalie and infant Ethan came over for the aft. After some personal issues were resolved and some territory marked, JB and I hammered up Las Sendas and out Tower Trail while the women and children swam. Return, reverse, repeat – except the trail was easier, and we began drinking heavily.
Pool, playing, swinging, power-eating, and general almost-interaction with another little girl ensued. and a lot of hamburger.
next day was more of the same. a long trailer-ride, a romp in the park, swimming and the first ever by-herself-with-waterwings-floating-&-almost-propelling-herself incident. So much progress in so little time. more park, more hamburger, more .
it’s rained on and off for the past 2 days. Its been under 60 degrees. its been wonderful. i have just started feeling like riding again, but so tired from cleaning and maintenance post-Fruita\Moab trip that i have not wanted to deal with mud. After the first night”s storm i figured it would be a perfect day to ride Hawes – all the dust and kitty litter would be washed away, and i was working from home on a day before a holiday where we usually get cut loose at 1pm.
The storms went on and off til 5pm, and a security audit forced me to pump out a release for the day after the holiday weekend. I didn’t move from my desk til almost 4:30. Then another storm hit. I just didn’t feel like dealing, so i sat on the trainer for an hour and a half.
I was planning to roadie on Saturday wtih singlespeedsycip (Mark), and was looking forward to him kicking my ass, but with the weather he decided to go later in the day if at all. So i stayed up late and drank a lot of beer, and slept late, and lazily rolled onto Hawes at 11. I figured conditions would be primo, and in part they were, and in part they weren’t. The temps were great all ride – end of May and I rode from 11-2 with barerly any worry about my 2 liters of water. The track was tacky in some spots, but you could see every skid and brakelock done by other riders. and there was a lot of sand already forming just an hour after the rain. Hawes has steadily increased in traffic since we moved here, i have no right to complain, but seeing how its developing deep ruts and pits makes me sad. It has gotten harder in some places, which is fun, and more rocks are being exposed and forming part of the trail’s surface, so i just have to accept the changes graciously, though it is not always easy
Today the conditions were going give me my best shot in awhile at climbing all trials on the Tower Trail. And since i really needed to get some mileage, it was going to become the Hawes Greatest Hits route that’s all killer no filler: Las Sendas -> Mudflaps -> Upper Mudflaps -> Tower counterclockwise -> down Saddleback -> out Twisted Sister to Big Rock-> back Twisted Sister up and down Mine -> Ridge Trail to the road -> down TRW. About 20 miles and 3500 feet of climbing in 2.5 hrs.
I struggled finding motivation initially, but cleared Mudflaps and got all but one spot on Upper Mudflaps where my front wheel sunk in a sandpit above a water bar and slid off the trail. I felt crappy but solid, and that made me feel good that i was having a good climb even when not feeling well. I nailed the staircase and perked up going down the slot trail by Alex’s house, and almost cleared the hard incline at the trailhead that i’ve never seen cleared. Then i just focused on spinning, spinning, finding the lines in the ruts and switchbacks, resting when the trail gave me chances, and spinning. And before i knew it I was at the top and cleared it all!
a long downhill made better by some new rock options that have been built up, a perk of the increased traffic, and in another 45 minutes i was at the end of Twisted Sister getting ready for the last push of the ride. i was flowing, the trail seemed easy and flat; it always feels like this coming back from a Moab trip. The climb to the Mine also rolled off me easily though i was tired, i was in a good zone with my bike. The last 30 minutes down Mine and through TRW were really just a blur of hammering and flowing. i barely remember it, which is unusual. the post-Moab lull is over.
There was a great episode of Frontline on the other night called “Growing Up Online”. It talked about members of a high scool class of 2007 and how the internet has affected their socialization, the media bombardment they have grown up with, the pitfalls of too much usage, parents reactions, and other related thoughts.
I could relate to a lot of it, since my age and hobbies and profession make me not so far apart from the teens being chronicled, but still probably 5-10 years younger than most of their parents. The technologies that the story focused on were the pop subsistence ones the internet has given us: camera phones, texting, Facebook and podcasting. I personally don’t care for any of them, because i find them all shallow compared to more meaty e-tools like digital photography, blogs, and forums. but the purpose they served in the day-to-day lives of the teens were no different from what they serve in my life – creativity, self-expression, friendship. And if i choose more sophisticated and specialized uses of the internet, its not in this case a sign of greater intelligence, but i think the self-confidence that comes with growing up and being a relatively happy and well-adjusted adult and knowing your own preferences. I would be texting and geeking out on MySpace if i was 18.
The story further got into the good and bad of living on the net, something again i could relate to by the time i’ve been sucked in on self-created project. this past week most of my free time was spent learning some movie making studios and encoding programs so i could make a movie of our Fruita\Moab trip. Or how i compose posts and dwell on some of the things on MTBR for hours. Or how you can craft your persona and change your own self-image – play the part of yourself as Nietzsche said (and see how smart i make myself appear by quoting Nietzsche?). The painfully-obvious conclusions were that anything is healthy in moderation, good people will make mostly good decisions, and everything on the internet is bullshit.
Genevieve has been walking in this e-space since she started wathcing Baby Einstein. Her TV addiction is painful, even more so because she simply is not hooked on it when she is around me alone – in the mornings she might once say “wanna wash ddd” and i quickly shut her down and then she happily plays with her trains or puts on shoes or destroys the goddamn house but at least she is thinking and running and playing with me. The other night, after she had been sitting in a chair staring at Cartoon Network for 2 hrs while Beckie and I cooked and worked, she threw a tantrum and tossed remotes about the room and bit me when I changed the channel to, ironically enough, Frontline.
I understand the allure; i’ve spent whole nights working on getting a flaming logo or a spinning logo to look just right on my website.
I think a few hrs a day is ok, and we’ve been lately letting her watch the TV in the kitchen while we are at least in the same room. And there is no denying how much she has gotten out of Dora and the other decent programming we feed her. I like how creative and aware she is as a result of all the media. She loves looking at pictures, and sitting on my lap while i work the computer, and lately has gotten hooked on trying to take her own photos – its cool, its not like it wastes film, i just dont want her dropping the camera!
its ok in moderation. but Beckie and I have both at times found ourselve lost in the e-world, and i see it happening to G regularly. We cant be the blind parents on Frontline – it wasn’t that their daughter was posting Goth porn of herself on MySpace, its that she had no real life to the point where she spent all this time inventing Goth porn. Beckie and i have to get the fucking needle out of her arm.
The move finally happened the week I was on vacation. I have a lovely view of the Papago Buttes from the parking lot <sigh>. The only reason no one noticed Somo more from the old site was cause it was SO FUCKING BIG you didn’t see it. We had a heat wave, and I’m burned from tech riding, so too early to say how things will shake out riding-wise. The shower is not ready, and its going to take me a few commutes to figure out a decent route to the area — getting from the canal across the river will suck, or as Yuri described the area “nexus of crap”. For rides at Somo, I think I will simply need to block my calender and leave at 3 on days I plan to ride, or ride in the mornings. It will evolve, and I will make the best of it that I can.
Meanwhile, i did discover 2 things i really like about the new layout. We’re on the second floor, and while this effectively adds 5 minutes to the commute at the allegedly “closer” facility, it does give me the opportunity to climb some stairs every day. Don’t laugh – I almost never climb stairs except when we are in Rocky Point. So my hammies, calves and achilles should get some more work than they currently do. It will be amusing to see no one else but me on the stairs, even though they are faster than the elevator. I may have to leave trinkets and whatnot in the stairwell just to see how long they go unnoticed.
We also have a collection of razor scooters floating around the office. The floors are mostly concrete and the layout is long and thin, so its quite a hoot to zip from one end of the building to the other. It took me a few tries to figure out which foot to ride and which one to paddle. My right felt better on the deck, which was weird cause its my back leg on both the snowboard and the bike. But on the scooter, you basically have one leg to hold your weight and the other to just push you along, so that leg serves much the same function as the back leg on bike and board. It made me realize why my right side is stronger during the balance poses in yoga, something I had always wondered especially since its the one that had surgeries. So, I’ve decided to use my left for all my scootering — it should help with strength and balance, and really help when i have to go goofy through the trees on the snowboard.
at least that is something positive about the new place.
Swim season began in earnest this past weekend, when the late Spring died a brutal and sudden death at the hands of Summer. After 6 days away, i worked all day today to make time to take G in the pool this evening.
Beckie said they swam a lot over the weekend, and that G was really comfortable playing on all the floats and engaging the water a lot more from a swim-like position. Translation: she hung onto my arms and pretended to kick while flailing in a general direction. She also blew bubbles like a pro. Seems that with water-wings, doggie-paddling before the end of summer is a distinct possibility.
G was a little slow getting in with me, since we have not been in together yet this year. But when i talked her into jumping into my arms from the side, all hesitation was lost. Typical pool shenanigans ensued, and as per usual, it all led to Toss the Baby.
I could feel her turning her body more and more into the toss. Last year, she seemed to wait passively for the throw. This year she tensed up like she was ready to spring. All the wrong muscles were tensed, that is to say…all of them, and she threw herself out into completely un-balletic directions that served no purpose for either height or style, but she was definitely digging the big air.
Big air leads to big landings, and i was worried that the splashing would freak her out and she’d go running from the pool terrified yet again. But instead, i started laughing and spraying water off my face and she seemed to pick up on it. After a few times, she genuinely got into shaking the water out of her head and laughing about it. The biggest test came when she went under on the landings, but 3 times in short succession she popped right back up, got her bearings, and started yelling “Again!” We only got out when she started shivering, and this came with much protestation.
I will genuinely proclaim this an accomplishment if it happens again next time, or how she reacts during her next bath. Come to think of it, she was actually pretty chill about getting her hair wet in the bath this morning. Exciting possibilities!!
G has learned how to avoid mortal peril for at least 8 seconds. She understands danger, she understands her locations, she just is extremely easiiy ADD distracted.
Today we made it safely from the car door to the front door of the Vet’s office, without a leash. Then we made it safely approximately 45 yards to the Ace Hardware, using up approximately 85% of the sidewalk space en route. Then we walked to a single aisle for a single item and did not impale\puncture\poison\slice\chip\rake\lop\paint or superglue ourselves. We needed to be restrained back to the counter.
The baby can understand reason. Its an amazingly exciting possibility. The optimisim it generates goes far beyond its actual time-savings; it speaks of the future and the not-always-mortally-imperilled tinyHuman she may become. But she is still a lot of work to keep jamming reason down her throat. Worth it, but a lot of work, it would be easier to carry her if she hadn’t become such a load. Perhaps the body becoming hard to carry goes hand-in-hand with the mind ready for responsibility.
We hopped on the merry-go-round at the park today, and she wanted me to spin her faster faster faster. And as i told her to hold on she held on, but this of course did not last, and in the course of being distracted she eventually toppled off at low speeds. I let it happen. She toppled off at higher speeds on Saturday and I watched the whole thing go down and plucked her safely out of the air. This makes me supremely qualified to manage babies going horizontal.
Why allow this?!?! you may ask.
Because this was an opportunity for maximum parenting.
She understood the whole idea of letting forces get beyond her ability to stay in control. It was written all over her face, and in her not crying when she hit the ground. She knew she’d gotten too ambitious. So I said “falling is bad” right after she said “Again!” And she hesitated after asking me to go faster, and i said “falling is bad” and she said “falling is bad.” We repeated this at least half a dozen times throughout the evening, maybe she remembers what it means, maybe she doesn’t. I have learned her well enough to recognize this toehold into her cognition.
i’m pretty sure i think about Ultimate every day, though I no longer have anything to do with it. Just happens. i don’t try to think about it, just happens. Reminders of places and people and things and feelings and smells, friends who are busy with a game next Tuesday, Byron sends me some scores, a t-shirts, discs. Addiction.
i got into a discussion the other day with a friend who is a casual player in Spring League, and he asked if i would change my mind about playing. i will change my mind about playing when i change my mind about walking, or when microfracture becomes easy and affordable. all that is left is the addiciton.
He suggested I just go out and walk, and he is not the first. But that is not how i can play. Its not that I can’t go slow, I tried it, it sucked. I went 40%, and it was totally and completely no fun being out there and holding back cause once you start holding back why bother ever going hard? Are you out there to make a few great plays and get burned repeatedly on commonplace ones, and if so, what kind of shallow selfish prick are you? Are you out there to just have a casual run and break a sweat? and if so, you are not me, and did not play competitive ultimate for 15 years.
Go ho or go home.
The last league I played…after 2 years post surgery #2, then a few leagues, and then foolishly running 4 practices with Ironwood in ’06, and then taking another year off since 4 practices of real running made me ache so bad…our team was horrendous. Sam drafted me and i figured semis for sure but flukes and injuries and a 1-8 record and i never played for a team so bad in 20 years. and I was still running hard and throwing my body around every point, still helping total newbs who were just out to have a few beers cause their friends signed them up, still thinking i could change a game, and still feeling the high in those moments when i still could change a game. It is how I play, and it was wonderful, or so it seemed at the time. And so it seemed every time. There is nothing like the rush of body and mind working together to attack! attack on O, attack on D, attack the disc, go ho or go home. Its why i have one knee and suffer shoulder and collarbone achiness and my middle finger on my right hand just feels harder to bend from throwing thousands and thousands of forehands. The pain has finally gotten through to me what no adversity or frustration or grassburn could: stop.
What’s left is dealing with the addiction.
I wish I could find a way to find balance that did not involve pretending I never went to Albuquerque, or could read the reports from Nationals without my heart skipping a beat and a tingling in my cock to run. I can not play, i can not play, and i still can not move on.
The easiest and only solution that has not driven me crazy with desire to play is to stay completely away. My shoulders and hip and knee mostly feel great, which is quite nice. And I do not have the constant restlessness and stress of trying to be a hardcore player in a team sport. The most stress you get on a bike is about sucking, or a stupid hiker, or a car…moments otherwise sealed off in the joy of playing. Ultimate stress and politics did not always blend well with the aggression i brought to playing. Too much stress and aggression; the price for the rush.
All that argues the merits of staying away. i accept this as there being no alternative and not being in constant pain. But it does not address my fundamental dissasociation from myself. I have to not think about things when they come up, and they always come up, and they always trigger memories that only grow less passionate as i stay away from the game.
I must abandon my memories, in bad times kill them off and in good times hold them at bay. How can i look back on these influential once-in-a-lifetime moments and feel their power over me and my history but not be moved to resume the course upon which they were found? How can I abandon my own history? How can I not take pride in who I am today and not see the influence of team sports, the reliance on hard work, and the confidence great plays gave me? If I deny who I am, will i change who i am?
The last time i touched a disc was taking my collection of them down from the walls in the gear room in preparation for the painter. They’ve since been sitting in a hefty bag in the garage. I want to remember my history, i want to write down memories of things i will never do again, the stories behind the discs and the great plays that you never forget. I really want to throw. but i can only barely manage that in moderation. And i wonder if when i am finally able to write down these memories, their resonance will be gone.
a taste in moderation:
The Callahan in 2003: I was captain of Ironwood, we had a great chance to go to Nationals, and the pain and sweat and adversity of all season came down to the backdoor game against Never Nice Guys from San Diego. And everything you could want to have in the game-to-go for us was there: homefield advantage, they played the harder previous game, legs…and we were up 5-3. And then the wheels fell off and so many little things misfired and all that ever was weak about Phoenix Ultimate became exposed in the biggest game of the year against a superior, more-experienced team. And it was 12-5, and then our O finally scored. And I was the D captain, playing in front of hundreds of my local friends, and a great pull that hooked downfield exactly 90 yards in front of me. And a big sprint upfield that became faster as i saw where the pull was landing, and then the realization that they were setting up right in front of me, and then i turned on the jets, and layed out, and was 4 feet in the air and totally horizontal and catching the disc for the defensive score. We lost 15-10.
my first t-shirt in 1989: it was Spring Regionals my freshman year. The team was good, not good enough for Nationals but good enough to come close. I just began to taste what being good was about, I bought a UNCW Seamen t-shirt, an original Toad-Dye – shirts from Toad Leber who was a local fixture in the Wilmington, NC scene. It was the longest road trip I’d ever done, the biggest tourney I’d played in, the best night of post-travel drinking and camaraderie I’d had with the older players during my lonely freshman year. still have the shirt.
picking up with Houston at Centex in 1999: I got plugged in through a friend that I had met through a friend at a tournament in Tucson and impressed enough to get on the team. I had a very solid, very solid weekend with a Nationals team. I played better in the earlier games, but still came on strong in the harder games. I ended the tourney something lke +15, 3 turns all tourney, and 2 goals in the finals which we lost to another Nationals team 19-18 at hard cap. I remember proudly scoring those goals late in the game, in short spaces that were suited to my ability to get open, when the team needed an open cut and another weapon and i came through when the game came to me, and realizing how I could be an effective middle on a Nationals team. I was an Observer at Nationals in San Diego later that year, and some of the guys on that team asked me why I didn’t come out to play with them that fall…cause I didn’t think I could make the roster as an out-of-towner, cause I was mind-fucked by living in Tucson to give up on a chance at a real team, cause i…cause i was stupid and blew my best chance at an Open Nationals appearance. but I could have — i outplayed some of the guys they took to the Show with them that year. I could have. and that is what must count at the end of the day, after 10 years of playing in the desert of Arizona left me nothing to show for it but coulda-beens and never-weres. I could have.
Life can be stressful, even in the best of times. But if its success that makes the pace so unforgiving, its hard to complain about a free trip to New Orleans.
Less than 4 hours sleep and i was extremely jittery in the morning getting ready for my 7am flight, even before the coffee. i flailed and flumbled in my exhaustion and early-morning haze, barely managing to clip my keys and bottle opener to my backpack as i grabbed my gear for the shuttle to the airport. These are 2 important things not to lose track of in New Orleans, and it exhausted me menatally do deal with such responsibility after so little sleep. then i ran into a guy on the van i vaguely knew from work 2 years ago, then getting off the van i ran into a girl i vaguely knew from ultimate 2 years ago. then i ran into the mass of humanity everpresent at the SW security gate at Sky Harbor. This was all to much stress for me so early in the morning after so much stress working to get away for a few days. Booking Sam to babysit overnight for G (a first for all involved), packing, tieing up the chaos at work. So i went around the corner, ie to the next set of gates, to US Airways to slip through the short security line and avoid the stress. No worries…I was about to have 2 days to cram as much etouffee and Turbo Dogs down my throat as humanly possible. The fat guy at the TSA started asking me where i was going – New Orleans, no Dallas first, shit – and then why i was getting on at US Airways instead of Southwest. ummm…cause there is no line, and I really don’t mind walking if it lets me avoid, yknow, stress. He seemed bitter, like most US Airways employees.
then i went in to the ladies room, thinking it was the men’s room, and was so relaxed and sleepy i did not notice until on the way out a woman saw me and thought she was in the wrong room. Wow, did not occur to me. does that say women are less confrontational about where they pee? Clearly my New Orleans mood was already on.
we finally took off and flew out over the McDowells and i could just make out the Sunrise trail. that was cool – i’ve never quite figured out from the view of the mtns where Sunrise is. I first had to triangulate on 124th St. and Hidden Hils. Work on the plane, finish a book, and then before we knew it the Albuquerque airport, the ghetto bus is filling up and i pull my shit off the middle seat after those are getting plucked, and the dude in the aisle goes “is this open” and the woman on the end actually goes ” well, um, i guess so.” What do you mean “you guess so?” you had to be there, she actually didn t want to commit to her final answer. A few bloody mary’s took the edge off things. SouthWest business class includes drink tickets when you print out your boarding pass, but nothing stops you from xerox’ing the tickets, so armed with 4 I was prepared to enjoy my beverages and be a polite passenger.
EVENTUALLY arriving to my hotel ~3:30, then as soon as possible it was off on a walk to the Quater! Stopped for the essentials: sunscreen, eyedrops, and beer.
The Quarter is a fun walk when there is nowhere to be and a backpack full of beer. And it actually appears to be somewhat bike friendly, as I’ve seen gobs of bikers working their way down the streets.
One guy was locking up at what was obvisouly his work, and I almost offered him some $$ to rent for an hour, but urban riding requires 2 hands, and what would i do with my beer? So i walked,
and I took photos. I started down Bourbon street, which is what it is, but between then shitty bars and shitty strip joints and 1st beer and daylight, all i could do was smell the waft of piss and puke and shit and and beat-down strippers. Not like I remember from my last Mardi Gras. Maybe I’d walk it on the way home.
Moving through the Quater to Royale Street and things were much more copasetic. I meandered for a
few hours, and eventually camped out on a curb listening to a fun live band that mixed jazz, reggae, rap and some flutes. I got drunker, and more melancholy missing G and even more missing B. there are women everywhere in the Quarter and they all look good, be it the beer goggles or the N’awlins lubricant. The curb I am sitting on and writing from offers a perfect view of asses.
Eventually after many beers and much wandering I ended up at Coop’s Place based on my sister’s recommendation. I was getting pretty drunk and pretty hungry, so anyting sounded good, especially a suggestion. It was perfect. A loud, casual rock bar. I ordered the Jambalya Supreme, which came out almost instantaneously and had clearly been scraped from the bottom of the pot. Whatever. It was still good, at least to my untrained palate. They played Aerosmith, they played the Stones, they had wireless internet. what more could i want? a few Abita Purple Haze’s.
The night wound down and I walked up to my hotel just as two of my coworkers were arriving, poor choosing on their part if you ask me.
The next day we got up at 8 to head to the JazzFest, but realized breakfast and a nap were still feasible since we didn’t have to be there til darn near 11. Other than the dehydration and direct sun, i had no complaints. Nina and I were the only ones to bring hats, and I the only one to buy sunscreen. weird, shoulda suggestedd it to everyone. But i did worry that my 40oz of water would soon be gone, and for the ~3 hrs we worked watching the kiosks debut i was hot and tired and had some fabulous butt-crack sweat developing.
The kiosks were doing fabulously, knocking out sales and willcalls faster than tellers. We found a few bugs and a few usability erros, but mostly was a great time watching our baby in action. One of the developers Kevin who wrote the UI just had a blast talking to the crowd and getting their opinions, and i have to say it was cool to watch. Software is business, but it is creative, and its great to be on project where you and yoru teammates really take pride in what your build.
We took a lunch break, and while overpriced and long lines there is food everywhere at JazzFest. So much of it is so good and looks so good as people are walking by you. The trick is finding the lines from which the food that looks the best actually originates, which is no small feat. Lunch accidentally became a poyboy with shrimp, not bad, but i could have done so much better.
Back to the kiosk, a few patterns we identified in the problems, some notes regarding log messages we need to check. Its always neat to watch when we turn around fixes and the team hums along in good order – you see a problem, we all hit it hard and own our shit, and thousands of something-goers are happy again. But seeing it up close was becoming cooler and cooler the longer it happened. I could see our team knocking all this out in a day or 2 and imagine the improvements! In fact, mid-week the next week that is exactly what happened in the space of one day (and night) we fixed 50% of the total errors we were getting which was 10% of users. One night – 5% improvement, that sounds small but it is huge.
This good feeling about my work led right in to us getting cut loose for the day. Kevin, his friend, Nina, Dave and I split off and walked about the Jazzfest. It was stages and arts and crafts and beer tents and food. We eventually settled in on a spot on the lawn near the main stage to see Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. It was great, crowded, but great. One cool thing about JazzFest is it does not seem like so many other concerts with their posing and their mosh pits — this was like a giant picnic where everyone was out ot have a good time. Hence, the people’s whose fold-up chairs we were sitting in did not get mad when they showed back up to see us sitting in them.
But it was crowded, and we could barely see the stage and had to watch most of the concert through the monitors. Robert Plant sounds great, but looks awfult. Still it was so cool to hear him play old songs like Black Dog and new songs in the same set. He has always moved forward, and you can see that in his works for almost 40 years now. I’ve been lisenting to Led Zeppelin 4 and his newest Enchanter for 2 straight weeks.
After Robert Plant, Sheryl Crow was due on the main stage. It was just me and Nina by then, and she wanted to see Ozomatli. I had one of their albums Street Signs and liked it a lot, and was tired of the crowds, so off we went. It turned out to be a much better call. Easy beer, easy port-o-lets, easy food (seafood-stuffed mushrooms…yummy), and a great vibe where everyone was dancing and cheering and smoking big fat blunts 10 feet from the New Orleans cops. I wanted a hit so bad, it was the first contact high i’ve gotten since going to see Bob Dylan at the Spectrum in Philadelphia my junior year in high school.
A $10 ride on a school bus dropped us back at canal street and a 15 block walk from our hotel. I levelled with Nina, something I try to avoid with co-workers: we needed walking beers, and i needed to buy a gift for G. It was cute, it had frogs, and they squeaked, and it cost me $12!!!! I’d show my c@#k any day for $12!!!!
It is a 5-star restaurant, the likes of which i have never eaten and will likely never eat again. The service was impeccable, the food was exquisite, the ambience was divine. Ifelt so dirty just being there. I had Turtle Soup that exhumed a delicious dirty meat flavor in every sip, Sheep’s Head – which apparently is an actual fish – and it tasted beautiful, and a bread pudding that was air wrapped in sweet dough, all while sipping Wild Turkey on the rocks.
The next day i got up just late enough to catch breakfast and drink the last of my Turbo Dogs and Dixie’s Blackened Voodoos before my flight. Breakfast, even biscuits and gravy made out of yesterday’s sausage, was delicious. A mellow flight where I used the rest of my drink tickets and watched Into the Wild again and read Do The Right Thing by SouthWests’s own James Parker. Back at 4, Sam bolted, Beckie was in Big Sur for 2 more days. Barely a break to recover from my hangover before diving full-fledged into my tinyHuman.
I like the double-fisted, New Orleans spirit she exhibits.
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all that is left is the addiciton. 
