Growing Up

G grew up during the last moon. I realized it when i realized i was comfortable sending her alone to the the ladies locker room before her climbing class. She’d run purposefully down the hall, and return with clean hands and an empty bladder and an eagerness to impress me and scamper up the rock wall. Its the first I’ve let her out of my sight with no other adult around to tag in.

On recent rides, she’ll roll a mile straight downhill, unafraid, in control, stopping at intersections, just having fun. A fragrance of consequence finds me, i imagine her crossing up her wheel and sanding her beautiful face clean off skidding down Bell Road. There is nothing I can do but talk to her once she gets up to speed. Its going to happen eventually, i must work with it.

Last week we were practicing addition, writing it out, counting numbers and fingers. She didn’t understand 2+1 vs 21. A week later she was playing with my phone, seeing numbers, counting, reading, saying 19 is 1 and 9; her largest cognitive leap in a long long time.   Maybe ever, just riding along on the way to the gym.

This summer she’s been in a school&camp program, and spends the day with other 5s and 6s she’s known over a year, going on field trips and working on projects. She hasn’t brought her blankie to school in days. She just up’n decided it was time to leave it at home. She still sleeps with it every night.

Fridays are Water Day. Its a new experience sending her to school packing a suit and water shoes and a towel and something for Show & Tell. For her to remember it all, use it all, and get herself dry are a trifecta i could not imagine a year ago. Last Friday she made it clear she wanted to be ready the moment Water Day began. Its 108, i appreciate her enthusiasm. She wore her suit under her surf shirt, under her dress, with her flipflops. If she’d had a field trip that day she’d have had her Field Trip shirt on too. We had to run back upstairs on the way out so she could get a simple hair band instead of a scrunchy, which stays wet all day.

Growing Awful

Alana’s days go like this:

  • 25% whining
  • 30% shrieking
    • 20% in agony
    • 10% in joy
  • 20% adorable
  • 25% willful little bitching

I want to ram other drivers, be surly towards lifeguards, and pick fights on the intertubez cause I can’t smack the shit out of my daughter.

I can, however, let her sister do it.

Alana: Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddy, Genevieve not sharing!!!!
Me: m’kay, don’t care Alana
Alana: Genevieve pushed me!!!!
Me: *blink**blink*
Alana: Walk away, Yayo!
Me: Alana, quit whining

Sometimes i let her fall and cry alone when she won’t do what she is told. Sometimes i grab her sack-like and porter her while she screams for mommy, taking cruel pleasure in her discomfort. When Beckie also loses her patience i feel vindicated.   I say things to her like ‘GET! IN! THE! CAR!‘ then am plagued with guilt until i have a chance to make it right, only to lose my patience all over again and consider just walking out without her. I can’t do this, every single day, without my own tantrums.   I’m coping by adopting simpler goals – only a tiny bit of shouting, or dragging, or slinging her by her britches.

I’m sure G pulled all this shit too, but i’m too tired to go back and read about it. A 2 parent : 1 tinyHuman ratio was so much easier.   This is like 1:6.   Multiples are by 2s in fantasy league scoring:

(.5 human * .75 human) * 2 monsters * 2x disregard for my personal space * 2x canDrown

Cat on a Cactus

Authority Zero – Get It Right

I gave 3 weeks notice at work. 2 to do the right thing and wrap up a release, and an extra to burn down vacation. LiveNation stopped paying out vacation balance; all in all just another brick in the wall.

I had only ~4 days of work to do in that time, and the spaces in my Outlook calendar became a methadone program. The first day i forced myself not to check email at 9pm i got tremors. Other days i filled with bikes, house projects, trips to the pool. I finished Project Firebird, and tried new restaurants. Maad and I kayaked Saguaro Lake in the morning then installed blinds in the rental house – it was like a regular weekend day, including doing all the grocery shopping and not really feeling off work at all. I re-read my Java textbook – all 670 pages and a few of the indeces. It weighed more than my laptop, but i hauled it on commutes to work, to snatch some passages during the day and train a little. I slogged it on walks with Kila. When i was in Tent City there was this skinny, greasy dude passed out on his cinder-block sized bible during nearly all 7 hours in holding. I saw him the next day at kickout for another 3 hours, still wearing the dirty windbreaker, whispering his words, carrying his bible. Takes a junkie to spot one, i guess. A clean break, a payout, and a week off would have been smoother, but i’m not so sure better. A wean is more holistic.

I borrowed a big bike for a week, and hauled it up Mt. Elden, having so little fun i thought i’d skip replacing the Heckler entirely. It payed off on the downhill. I got this rock on Wasabi for the first time ever (pic, not of me, ganked off MTBR. thank you unknown photographer).

We daisychained onto Beckie’s Arizona Economic Roundtable Conference for 4 days in a nice hotel in downtown Flag, and didn’t move the car for 91 hrs. I couldn”t stop checking work email between trips with the girls around NAU, to Thorpe Park, the library, and Sunset Crater.

Cybro and I spent a lot of time together.

The 3 hrs I’d be in the office every other day, I mostly hid in my cube or scurried to the kitchen with my eyes down. Once I started shutting off, it was easier to continue distancing myself. The day after i dropped the bomb was filled with heavy conversations, which mercifully slowed or i subsequently managed to avoid . You get closer than you think after 7 years, and i struggled to balance closure with the reality that we hadn’t ever hung outside of work and weren’t about to start. Freedom to delete any incoming email that struck my fancy balmed a lot of the burns. All the shit i’d wanted to blow off i could, and tossed one deserving dilhole under the bus.  I went back for thirds on donuts and meeting leftovers and waved 6 times. I worked until 2:30 on my last Friday on an emergency release. Respect for great teammates. Then i wiped my drive.

My final week ‘at work‘ was about as much fun as you can have in Phx in summer. I commuted, then took the kids to the pool. I drank beer and got up at 4am for shuttles on Somo. On our first drive up the mountain we watched a cat bolt across the street with a dog right on its ass. It hucked itself up this saguaro, but was gone by the time we came down Geronimo. Pic courtesy of LateDropBob.

3 rides in armor and a full-face had me dizzy after the short climb on National to the dropin on 24th Street. It was worth it, to just geek out on trying the big bike. It was too big, literally, i needed a S not a M, and 4-5 lbs overbuilt for me. I liked it on the rock slots, where the wheels pushed back against everything that bucked me. I cleaned Trip to the Dentist on Holbert for the first time, and rolled the rock bridge and its exit and half of the boulder garden. It was partly me, partly the bike. The Heckler was a 4 yr old single pivot with a flexy rear, a 32mm fork and shitty rims. How can the next bike not be better, even if its not a 38 lb chro-mo sled?

Pro’s Market reopened their Central Avenue location. I brought home queso, pork, and a sack of roasted jalapenos.

I drank beer and got up at 4am for my first ride to Bartlett Lake. 65 miles, 4.25 hrs, and a lot of climbing. It started with a ~19 mile gradual ascent punctuated by a 3 mile climb up to Seven Springs Road. The drop into the lake was almost 14 miles, all but 4 of them down, and those 4 hurt. Statistically, the ride compared closely to Tortilla Flat, but felt little like it. The road was designed for cars with no speed limit less than 30. I hit stretches where I went almost 40mph for a minute at a time with no fear. It would be long slow death coming back up, with no switchbacks or narrow walls to distract me from my suffering. The three climbs out hurt, hurt less, and hurt more. I sailed home in under an hour.

hey buddy, there’s bacon a mile north!

The last day at work I commuted in, cause it was my idiom, and i was going to a happy hour. Another group of coworkers took me out to lunch. The 2 nicest places i’ve been in downtown Scottsdale. Outside of work, doing day-to-day things, watching people eat, i was overcome with melancholy. Work, workout, kids do not leave a lot of bandwidth. You miss out on good friends that way.

I see an Onion article out of this:

New Employee Won’t Stop Talking About Awesome Old Coworkers. Said new teammate Cybrothavan Gupta: ‘He’s sharp and easy to teach. We had a great lunch at the indian buffet. But he kept inviting us to a ‘street’ taco place near his old office. 15 years in software development and he ‘forgets’ about Hindus and cows? What a dick.’

Project Firebird

Peter Gabriel – Solsbury Hill

Project Firebird is a contract job I took on. I’ve been outriding the Heckler, and needed a new bike to progress. Such enablement tools cost about $4k, and I am a godlike-better QA Engineer than I am a bike mechanic. I need to clean Holbert, i need to push it at NRA, i need a rematch on Hangover.

I needed professional validation, i was losing focus and fight, slipping into the lukewarm pool of above-average nominal-commitment that my path at Ticketmaster carried me down. The raise and promotion i thought 2 years ago would come hasn’t come, the position in Dev would be a 50% paycut, and my lead developer was leaving. I wasn’t worried about my job, for at least the next 2 years, only that i would be doing exactly the same thing i was now. Stagnation = death in software. Eventually i would be expendable, with Live Nation having no more commitments to the Ticketmaster team. Shredding gnar is an expensive indulgence and daycare is not cheap. A festering clockpuncher’s acceptance of no-bonuses demanded a countermeasure of fiscal responsibility, along with a howl at the moon. Fuck yeah. The reward would be my first ever guilt-free bike, a nice bullet for the reso, and growing stronger from something not killing me.

I have done so many new and challenging projects in my career…I can solve a muthafuggin problem. I’m Duke Nukem with Rambo with an extra nut with a tesla gun. And yes, you diagrammed that sentence correctly; there is a functional energy canon blasting away off the extra cajone. Drop me into your program i will unwind it and break it and wash everything in arterial spray and get it ready for production. But being great within the structure of other top teammates is one thing; contracting you are alone. People are strange when you’re a stranger. Would 7 years working for The Man in the Big Leagues prove my shit the hardest?

Actually, yes.

Just about everything was easy, in stride. When it wasn’t, working through it or around it was not that hard. Worked up a good sweat, but not that hard. Nothing is as hard a TicketMaster’s 6-layer cake. The tech challenge was larger amounts of nominal, the real problem was the void – people who didn’t know what they wanted, how its built, or what acceptance criteria were.  I used new tools, parried verbage like ‘stakeholder‘ and ‘resource‘, defined, consensified, redefined and reconsensified and rediscoverd. I could still do an all-nighter, especially for $500. I learned a new tool and new language and was functional in 40 hours. I could cleanup good and write bloated spreadsheets explaining details in painstaking detail. I wore a tie and setup a LinkedIn account. The reward was creating a job for myself, a tax-writeoff, an empowerment. 3 months later I had 3 job offers. Fate and irony and opportunity all conspire, but after 1.5 years of fishing, 3 months later I had 3 job offers. I had a contract before i made the jump to Ticketmaster too, 16 hours at $100 an hour set me and Beckie up with full snowboard kits, and I’d say the whole TM move worked out pretty well.

At first it felt like an ATM machine. Need some money, go work on the contract. Maids coming, knock out some contract. Grocery store = contract. Overtime, bonuses, found money are the American Dream. They were in no hurry, and neither was I, and I banged and floated along enough for a drivetrain and 1 leg of a fork, taught myself MS Test Manager and Visual Studio in a single day, and whined about having to sit down and work for .17 hours of email and project management. The problems of startups showed themselves: amateurs and limited experience, talented people working alone instead of together, small-town mindset. Weeks went by with my hardware not working, timelines crept up, the reality of hacking through the weeds of a V1 program, coding test code around failures. Eventually I had to deliver all by myowndamself, which is pretty much how i knew it would be, which was why even though i loved the $bling$ i had a pissy attitude about it all along. Bush leagues. The level of tactical strategicness needed equaled that of a complex environment, so much shit did not work everything i did was an escher path through a barren network.  MS Test Manager is the worst thing i’ve ever smelled, in 2 hours I was the in-house expert.

Meanwhile, I got in the pipeline for 2 positions with huge potential, and an internal position requiring a move to LA. I went in heavy, striding up up with my 2 pistolas.  I was oddly calm and confident in ways I’d never really been about delivering a message, highlighting my strengths, and connecting with their needs. QAing a product was the easy part. So this is PR? I didn’t hate it, it was just boring, and stressful – finding ways to steer conversations back to examples i wanted to explain, contexts to provide, skills to demonstrate. I actually ate NOTHING (well, almost nothing) at a free lunch, I was so focused on proselytizing.

11pm on a Monday night i was getting the Heckler ready for a dawn National ride when I saw it – a crack in the weld between the chainstay and the triangle. My first thought was relief. Finally i can get rid of it. Then i cried realizing I’d be riding Desert Classic in the morning instead. My annual trip to the Helipad  brought it all into focus: close the contract, close the new job, buy a new bike.

In the next 2 weeks I put in 35 hours on the contract, and did face-to-face interviews with Apollo Group and Paypal. The first I had no idea how it went until a follow up call with the Director where we hammered out the role.  The interview for Paypal was harder than a dirty century:  7 45-min 1-on-1s back to back, and then a phone screen at night from India.

Project Firebird ended with an evening of flashbang code generation reported as a failure, to spare us all when we’d gotten to the point of garbage in garbage out. For under 2 weeks billed they got a huge test plan and 300 bug reports, automation scripts to validate acceptance-level functionality, and working samples for a toolset they had limited knowledge about. It felt fair, and I was feeling the finish when i topped my target of $4500. I got to my mark after 6 pay periods, it ended up as 17% overtime for a quarter, I did the final report and meetings during a slow afternoon at my day job during my last 2 weeks. Nearly a perfect landing. I’m pretty sure I don’t want another contract ever again, but i am shopping for a new snowboard…

I continued to ride the Heckler on dog runs, to remember its touch upon me like an influential lover.  It became intolerably leaky on its last beer run home, forcing Kila and i to walk and shuffle and ride on the rims with our 30 pack of beer. As I drank and contemplated, the tire went completely flat.  

I was feeling part of the scenery, i walked right out of the machinery

I quoted that song for the Princeton yearbook too. Some days I’ve regretted it, some i haven’t. I’ve felt much the same about giving notice at Ticketmaster.

naturally, i had to change my FB avatar to this:

The day i did this jump, i held off until a local guy showed me where to land and how to get out. Once I had the plan, the rest was all on me to execute. The stakes are the challenge, the puzzle solved is not — the bike pointing down a boulder-garden, steep trees on the snowboard, AES races. It mental. I think I can do it, which means i should, knowing how much better i’ll feel coming out the other side. I try to choose well, liking to only go a little big while taking my talents to south beach. During the marathon interview with PayPal i said about 12 times ‘there are a lot of good engineers, and i’m one of them.

They bought it. I’m owning it. I started on Monday.

8 hours into soaking in citrus juice, i was invited to a bbq the next day

The timing of the invite was truly regrettable.   There is no going back with fish, and i really need to share this.

Drawing on my expertise as a Master Salsatian, i attempted ceviche. Results: DELICIOUS!


Recipe:

  • 2 lbs mexican red snapper (aka, rockfish, ~$2.6/lb) that’s been frozen in a tupperware for a month
  • 2 red bell peppers
  • 1 very hot yellow paper, who’s name i do not know. Hispanic grocers assume the names are known to you. It is right next to the jalapenos and cayennes.
  • 1 large red onion. definitely red is better than white, and never do yellow in something not cooked
  • half a bunch of cilantro
  • 3 med tomatos
  • some salt
  • some sweet’n’low
  • juice from 3 lemons, and 1.5 bags of Mexican limes

1. Leave fish out overnight. This avoids having to quick thaw it using hot water and a tupperware. Don’t worry, the cooking process is to immerse the meat in citric acid and sear the flesh into an edible pate. Chop into 3/8th inch cubes, an ideal size for flesh-immolation and chemical burning

2. Buy a juicer. Squeezing fruit by hand is an eye-risk and leaves seeds randomly in a 20 foot radius. Unless you are looking to build hand-strength, or finger strength squeezing 50 half tinyLimes.

3. Cover fish in citrus juice, refrigerate for about 8 hours, stir often. Fish should turn deathly-white and exude a fine bouillabaisse   of lime-juice and sushi.

4. Chop up everything else, very small. Except the things that should be chopped super-duper tiny. Size matters. Anything fresh will be great in salsa, but a dip requires an upper boundary of corn-kernelesque, and a lower boundary of pasty but not watery.

5. Throw it in and chill for another hour or 2.

Salome Jug

This was a great day to have friends.     Brett posting up to lead the trip and Scott helping him, Sam bringing all his gear (including his mad melon), and Beckie driving my still-drunk ass to the trailhead. Coffee, one-hit, powerful movement, half-gal of water, and a mild 2.5 mile walk in a sauna are a great hangover cure. Then a cold flush for the next 2 hours as we crept through the ~half-mile canyon filled with that last remnants of spring, then 2.5 miles back up into the furnace.

On the way down, my head and stomach prompted flashbacks to a brutally steep hot climb out of Waimea canyon in Hawaii. But once i was sober enough to speak socially, i found our group of 11 great company and was quickly distracted.   It seemed most of us knew about 4 others of us, so everyone was polite enough and confident enough to just have fun. Granite slides and silly stumbles got everyone smiling, and for the first time in a long long time i found myself giggling and bonding with other adults for no spoken reason.

Everything was slippery, in some manifestation but not always another, eventually leading to the barest dryest freeest-from-algae rock making me doubt my footing. It might be covered in a fine silt, my just-wet enough shoes might slide. Risk aversion was the far better course, each careless thud brought the promise of a purple welt discovered that night in the shower. Short-term, however, the cold water and a dozen swims of 5 to 30 yards worked the contusions out. The group needing to keep pace kept hesitation from grabbing too much hold. Blood, breathe and base were tapped smoothly. Focus got a little crisper.

We turtle-walked, lizard-walked, old-drunk-man-walked, baby-with-a-load-in-diaper-walked seeking to keep knees and toes from bashing submerged boulders.   Palms and wrists sored following the easy-to-follow dry parts of the trail, adding 40% vertical distance up and down obstacles strewn across the canyon.   I dragged my lower arms in the water to dull the aches and feel out any submerged traps, then took to crabbing forward centered over my butt, finally doing chest-only breaststroke dragging legs on the surface. When it was deep enough i’d float on my back and fade out in the canyon walls above me, slipping into a nap for just seconds, still willing the hangover away. The walls of the canyon weren’t worn, they’ve had everything flushed out of them. Frames of color with sudden interrupts dripping gravity and violence. Dreams hurtling forward enough to leave their best tingle on my tips.   Then awake again for another slippery boulder obstacle, with renewed passion to attack the canyon’s highlights and low-level noise.

We came to the route’s only big cliff, a genuine canyoneering challenge requiring a 30 foot jump or rappel.  I’ve jumped 50 feet, which is an impression-making experience to be sure, but its not that hard. I’ve never crawled out on a line where i would 100% die if i fucked up, and I had to 100% commit to the move to get me out.  Never on the bike. Watching a couple guys go before me, and the explanation from a couple guys who’d done it before settled my anxiety and my worry, my superego and ego. Nothing, however, prepared me for the blast of terror i felt when my footing struggled to stick and i had only my hands to hold me. This was just to get to the spot to clip in for the rappel! I instinctively turned and started to head back, back up the canyon, anywhere but towards the cliff. I settled down, followed the line outward, and on shaky legs dropped 5 feet down the handline to the launching spot. The rock was angled down and left, worn smooth. Holding the line with 1 arm and tossing my pack into the pool with the other, I felt the pitch and gravity pulling me sideways towards the rocks. I crouched down, quickly realizing that offered me no way to jump out. It seemed like i hesitated out there for a long time, but on Sam’s film it looks like i just stood up and walked off. Somehow I got my feet under me and counterbalanced my weight enough to take 2 strong steps and leap, getting my first good view of the landing as it came rushing up to me. I joined the others on the flat rocks by the side of the pool, cheering and laughing as the rest of the group made their way down the cliff.

Thanks Brett for the scoutmastering! and Sammy for capturing the day and letting me repost your vid.   Read his writeup here.   No point-and-shoots were injured in the making of this video. i was like ‘m’kay…sam’s here, cool the camera stays in the dry bag.‘   The one-handed jump with Sam hanging onto the camera is off-the-scale commitment to blogging about your radness.