Dandruff

Archaeologists add to the scientific and historical record by digging stuff up. While much of this diggery is concerned with neanderthal skulls and brontoceratops tailbones, etc, there has also been a wealth of knowledge extracted from the stuff that people threw away. Cooking pots, tools, weapons, and even old footwear have provided important clues as to how the ancients lived, and how events unfolded.

From more recent civilizations (Colorado gold rush miners, for example), the archaeological record has included things such as food tins, glassware, and the occasional bit of recovered writing paper. Even those items with little or no scientific value may be cherished by antique collectors and students of lost cultures.

Are we in danger of losing these valuable resources from the past? And if so, what is causing this depletion of buried historical artifacts?

The answer is "Yes!", my friends, and recycling is to blame.

Here is one possible future to contemplate: When our society collapses and civilization crumbles (also known as the "AlGorepalypse"), there will be no leftover physical remnants of our culture, because we will have recycled everything. Future historians will have plenty of bones to study (not to mention artificial hips and teflon arteries), but no bean cans, papers, or 2-liter Pepsi bottles to provide the context for understanding our culture. They'll probably think we were some sort of hybrid cyborg creatures who lived in a world without literature, portable food storage, or carbonated beverages.

We must stop this madness now, my friends, or future generations will be clueless, and our legacies lost for eternity. Can anyone truly understand our world without access to our junk mail and cereal boxes? I think not.

For the more immediate future, though, my concerns are of a smaller scale. I heard on the news the other day that some cities have passed laws prohibiting BOTH paper and plastic bags from being used to transport groceries. While I can't quote you the exact paragraph, I'm pretty sure that the US Constitution clearly grants Congress the power to force people to buy certain products; so I'm sure no elected representatives will lose their jobs over this. But it seems to me that both paper and plastic bags still have some utility that "reusable" cloth bags just don't possess. It's a shame to lose this.

In the aerospace industry, there's a concept called a "trade study", where the engineers look at the consequences of an action before they take it. For example, if you want more power on your spacecraft, it's going to make the vehicle heavier. If you want it to last longer, you have to spend money for higher quality components, etc. In other words, there is ALWAYS a cost for any "improvement"...and a wise decision maker will try to completely understand those costs before ordering the change. I kinda wish our lawmakers were familiar with this concept.

I also fear that we're losing touch with some of our cherished cultural icons. For example, will our new laws make it illegal to use the incandescent bulb as a symbol for a great idea? Will "sliced bread" be outlawed because the crumbs created by the slicing process can't be recycled into fresh new loaves? Will our children's macaroni artwork be yanked from the fridge door and be recycled into dinner? These questions keep me awake at night.

Anyway, I kinda got off the subject, which was about how familiar things are disappearing. Just as there are no more dial telephones, cranks for car windows, or Sambo's Restaurants, there have also been subtle changes in the world of personal hygiene and fashion. When I was a kid, it was not unusual at all to see people with dandruff flakes on their shoulders, or people with big wet areas in the armpits of their shirts. Gold teeth, cufflinks, clip-on neckties, and puffy shellacked hairdos that could withstand hurricane-force winds -- these could be seen in public every day of the week. But they have all disappeared.

Some of these disappearances were driven by technology and some were driven by common sense. Aluminum chlorohydrate took care of the pits, and the eradication of the hippie plague took care of the bouffants. But my question is this: What happened to dandruff? At one time, it was a common ailment with only one cure: Head and Shoulders. So what happened? Did the other shampoos eventually adopt whatever secret ingredient kept the scalp from flaking? Or did global warming cause human skin adaptation for additional moisture retention? Or was it the fluoride the commies put in our water? Or adoption of daily showers, whereas the Fonzie generation bathed only once a week? I don't know.

If you have the answer, please let me know. Otherwise, you might want to start burying some of your trash rather than putting it in the recycle bin -- for the sake of your grandchildren. We MUST think of the children!

Thanks, and have a great day!

The Western Civ Solution

I intended to be a Math major. In high school, I absolutely loved algebra, geometry, and trig. I had some fabulous teachers who made it fun to learn and to play with mathematical concepts and problem solving. I had visions of becoming a scientist or engineer or theoretician, flexing my mathematical muscles to earn the world's respect as I earned a six-figure income.

Alas, I ran afoul of some bad faculty at KU. My freshman-year calculus teachers not only sucked the fun out of math, but just plain sucked. They took my previously favorite subject and rendered it incomprehensible. (I know what you're thinking -- perhaps I had hit the Peter Principle wall. This is not the case, though, and I can produce witnesses to testify on my behalf. These were crappy, crappy teachers. No one learned anything.)

[Until I began writing this post, I hadn't really thought about it...but in retrospect, I'd say that in general my high school teachers were of MUCH higher quality than my liberal arts college instructors. Seems backwards -- you'd expect the "higher ed" (and higher paid) faculty to be more highly skilled at their chosen profession, but with the exception of a few of my Radio/TV/Film instructors, most of my perfessers didn't exactly impart the wisdom and insight I was expecting to receive. Perhaps I'll have to explore that discussion in further detail in a future blog. I'd be interesting in hearing your comments: Are college teachers generally worse than high school teachers...or did I just fall into some unlucky educational abyss?]

[And don't get me started on my Physics II professor, Dr. J. Enoch. When the highest grade on the final exam is in the low 40s (out of 100), it's pretty obvious that the teacher failed to communicate the concepts with any effectiveness. And that was the class where I met Akpan, the stinkiest human being who ever walked the face of the earth. This guy's personal body stench made the 21st Street slaughterhouse seem like a bouquet of roses. But I digress...]

Anyway, the college class that relates to today's topic was called "Western Civilization", and was required for all freshman liberal arts students. The idea was simple: Read an entire book each week, and then discuss it in class to prepare you to write an essay about it during the dreaded Comprehensive Exam that came at the end of the semester. The books required were the primary works of history's greatest non-Asian philosophers, such as Plato, Socrates, Descartes, Nietzsche, and Marx.

Geez. These guys may have been deep thinkers, but as writers, they stunk like Akpan. For the first few weeks of class, I struggled to slog my way through the books, but just couldn't generate the energy to maintain interest in their convoluted and boring philosophizing. Blah blah blah -- they all just rambled on in interminable tedium; there was nothing at all about renegade robots, invading space aliens, or even flying monkeys. I think I might have finished the first assignment...but read a smaller and smaller percentage of the required pages each week. By the fifth week of the semester, I wasn't even opening the book. There were just too many good movies on TV for me to waste my time wading through lame ideas from stupid foreign dead guys.

But I knew that I couldn't graduate without passing this class. The stress was killing me -- Try as I might, I couldn't force myself to read any more of this garbage...but without reading it, I was completely unprepared to face the teacher's questions in the following class.

Then I had an epiphany. The logic unfolded as follows:

• Given: I am categorically unable to complete my weekly Western Civ assignments. No matter how hard I try, or how much I want to, I just can't make myself read an entire crappy book within the allotted time.


• Given: Worrying about being unprepared for class is causing unbearable stress.


• Therefore: Since nothing can change the fact that I'm unprepared, and worry is causing the stress, the solution is to stop worrying.

Once I embraced this epiphany, I was able to attend class without stress. If the teacher asked me a question, I would cheerfully answer with either a straightforward "I don't know," or an equally cheerful BS response, such as "Oh, I agree with Bob. The author was clearly saying that life presents challenges that require deep thought." Ba dump bum!

The surprising thing was that my grades didn't suffer all that much. I ended up with a "B" on my report card. Of course, I had to dis-enroll from the Liberal Arts College before it was time to take the Comprehensive Exam...which is how I ended up in the School of Journalism. But that's a topic for another time.

The point of today's historical interlude is that I've recently been suffering from a similar stress regarding my current workload. My new job is more demanding than I was expecting, and my duties with the American Patriots History Association are piling up. And with my recent diagnosis of Orson Wellesian cholesterol levels, I really need to pay more attention to my nutrition and exercise. Ergo, I have found myself freaking out a bit over the unrestrained expansion of my to-do list. But what's the point of learning life's lessons if you fail to implement them when the opportunity arises, eh? I've realized that instead of stressing about my workload, I should just approach each day with Western Civ resigned contentment. Hey, my task queue may be gigantic, but I know that I'll get everything done, eventually -- and worrying about things that there simply isn't time for...well, that's not productive for anyone but the cardiologists. Therefore, I'm going to smile, relax, and take care of myself along the way. I'll work hard and I'll be productive, but I'll also be cool about it.

That's the plan, anyway. If you notice me acting frenzied, like I've gone all Type-A or anything, just remind me that we're all just dust in the wind, dude. And have a great day!

Mt. Hope Hike

For the video of my friend Katie's 2011 Leadville Trail 100 run, I shot plenty of footage at each of the aid stations. But it bothered me that I didn't have any shots from up on the mountains, among the most difficult and challenging parts of the course. So I talked my buddy Reynold into taking a hike up Hope Pass, which most LT100 runners acknowledge as the part of the race that takes the most out of them. I figured I'd get some photos and video I could splice in with my raceday footage, and the audience would be none the wiser.

I'm sorry to say that my plan didn't quite work out. We picked a day where the constant clouds and fog would make it obvious that none of my pictures were from the race, which had been a nice and sunny summer day. Oh well. It was still a great hike, and the video should still give the viewer a feel for what part of the race was like. Here it is:



Trust me, my friends...until you've been through this course, you have NO idea what it's like to do this race. The thought of running 100 miles at 10,000 feet of altitude (and above) is daunting beyond belief...but until I hiked up Hope Pass, I don't think I really understood the challenges these athletes face.

Heck, I probably still have no real clue. But let me tell you -- Hope Pass is hard...and to think of doing it twice, the second time with 60+ miles on your legs already, well, it boggles the mind. I have an entirely new sense of wonder and awe when thinking about the grit and determination it would take to push yourself over that monster after being on the move for something like 12 hours already.

My mind is definitely boggled. Definitely.

Anyway, Reynold and I started just before sunrise, letting our headlamps illuminate the trail. It was a comfortable temperature, and we were well equiped for the hike. I had a couple of cameras and a monopod, and started out on fresh legs. Reynold is a very experienced hiker, with dozens of 14ers under his belt, and our initial plan was to make it to where we could see Twin Lakes before heading back. Of course, we'd keep an eye on the weather to ensure we didn't get caught above treeline in a lightning storm. Once the sun came up, the fog and clouds made for some gorgeous scenery.


It's a beautiful mountain. The path winds among trees in some spots, along tundra slopes in others. Near the summit, there are piles of jagged rocks to scramble through. We also saw wildlife.

The ptarmigans didn't seem to be bothered by the noisy humans wandering among them. But the pikas barked (chirped?) like crazy when we crossed their rockfield domain. We saw a bunch of these fuzzy little guys, but none of them seemed inclined to pose for photos. And they do blend in with the rocks pretty well. They seem pretty harmless and cute, but for some reason, I kept thinking about the harmless little bunny from MPATHG.

Anyway, we made it to the summit, which was somewhat anticlimactic. The apex of the trail was marked with nothing more than a haphazard pile of rocks and sticks, and the fog prevented us from seeing what surely were breathtakingly spectacular vistas on race day. I took a photo, but as far as you can tell, this two-mile-high summit could've just as easily been down on the plains. Sigh.

It was pretty steep going down the other side of the summit, but at that point, my knees were operating effectively, and I was still more of less able to keep up with Reynold. We came across a large open area that we assumed had been the "Hopeless" Aid Station, but there wasn't enough llama poop or other evidence of occupation for us to be certain. It was a lovely spot, though, and would make a wonderful campout destination. But after snapping a few pictures, we moved on.

The wispy foglike clouds seemed to give way to more cumulorific formations in the sky, so we began to get nervous about the possibility of thunderstorms. We were still hoping to make it to where we could at least see the Twin Lakes in the distance, but as the clouds continued to build, we were leaning more and more toward an early turnaround. And when we came to a spot in the trail where you'd have no choice but to wade through standing water, well, it helped us to make the decision. (Keep in mind, though, that the LT100 racers have no such options. They just keep going, through the puddles, streams, and muddy bogs. It may seem like an unpleasant prospect to run across mountain trails with wet and filthy running shoes, but don't worry -- they get to change shoes at the next aid station. They probably only have wet feet for oh, 8 or 9 hours, that's all. Piece of cake, right?

After we turned around, the trek back up the pass was still quite enjoyable. But once we reached the summit and began the descent back down the southern side, my knees began to show their weakness. Or perhaps it was all in my mind -- I'm not sure exactly what the cause was, but my confidence and speed in descending had vanished. I was afraid that my knees were going to give out, or that my balance would fail...and I would take a tumble that would leave me rolling down the slopes for far longer than would be healthy. I began to choose my footsteps very carefully, and to use my camera monopod as a balance pole to help me get over the stair-like rock formations.

It took me a LONG time to get down. Reynold was walking at a normal pace, but was WAY faster than I was as I hobbled along, testing each footfall like a swimmer putting his toe in cold water in the early spring. Reynold would disappear into the woods in front of me, and then would sit down and wait on a convenient rock somewhere until Mr. Molasses eventually came creaking along.

I hate being the slowest guy at anything, and despite my advancing years, I'm not too old to remember when I used to RUN down the stadium steps at KU, and sprint downhill sections of road races. I was good at descending at one time in my life -- what the heck happened? (Well, OK, it was probably the pounding from slamming down those hills that wrecked my knees in the first place. It's ironic to think that if I hadn't been so good at downhills THEN, I might not suck so badly at them NOW. Hmm.)

The good news is that I have some great resources available as I deal with my "issues". With all the trail running experts I know, and with all the support I get from my friends and swimming teammates, I should certainly be able to acquire some hints about technique changes, drills, or mental tricks I could incorporate into my trail training. There's a good chance that my egregious suckage is merely temporary -- an artifact of attitudes, or an old injury compensation that's been habituated. I should be able to overcome it. After all, as a wise man once said, "We forge our bodies in the fire of our wills!"

If you have any advice for me, please let me know. In the meantime, if you see an LT100 runner, give them a high five. And have a great day!

Devon's Birthday

I'm not sure why anyone would invite old people to their 21st birthday party...but for some inexplicable reason, I made the invitation list.

I've known Devon's parents since the early 80s, and consider them to be not only dear friends, but outstanding human beings. And it's been fun watching Devon grow up as a bright, friendly, and beautiful young woman. She has a great sense of humor, and has always been able to make me laugh. So, since I like her AND her parents so much, I'd have come to the party anyway...but with the additional enticement of a "Beer Pong" tournament, well, there's no way I was going to miss it. I even made a big batch of SpamBalls to show my appreciation for being allowed to attend.

The beer pong angle also convinced Tanner that he should attend with me. When I told him the details of the party activities, he announced that he was "unbeatable" at this particular sport. I was unfamiliar with the game, myself...and with my poor hand-eye coordination and low tolerance for alcohol, assumed that I would be the worst player at the table. But, I figured, if I teamed up with "Mr. Unbeatable", we might have a shot at holding our own.

And sure enough, we did OK. But it turned out that Tanner's renowned skill would only manifest itself if the game were played on a regulation table during a full moon at the equinox, and under very precisely controlled lighting and humidity conditions. Or at least that's what he said...I'm still not convinced that he has any skills at all, other than shameless use of hyperbole. I made many more scoring shots than he did, and kept us in the game with my raw determination and mathematical precision.

Or something like that. My unexpected expertise was for naught, though -- since Bob had obviously been practicing. I suspect that he's had a table set up in his office for months, and that all that "overtime" when he was supposedly working on "proposals" was really time spent honing his pongball-tossing skills. I mean, the dude was on.

Devon also claimed to have "mad skillz", but was more entertaining than effective. Still, it was a competition that will probably end up described in some sort of epic poem.

Throughout the years we'll sing the song
About that game of epic pong.
The young ones claimed their skills were strong,
But nonetheless, they both were wrong.

OK, it needs work, but you get the idea.

Anyway, it was a great party, and Bob cooked up some delicious burgers n' brats after the tournament. Overall, it was one of the best "turning 21" parties I've ever been to (which may give you some insight into the general excitement level within my life). I know that Devon will enjoy her life as an adult, and I wish her the best as she embarks on that wondrous journey.

As for me, well, I'm going back to my normal boring routine...and wishing I was 21 again. Oh well...at least I'm young at heart, right?

Savor the moments my friends, and have a great day!

Autumn

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day..."

As Vizzini pointed out, Plato and Socrates were morons; but Pink Floyd and Blue Öyster Cult have certainly created lyrical philosophy of epic magnitude. I recognize and applaud their contributions, and give them credit for guiding my generation to some of history's greatest accomplishments. Without the twin influences of "Money" and "Godzilla", I'm pretty sure the microwave pizza would never have been invented.

But ideology aside, the line I've quoted above no longer applies to my life in any way. When I was in my 20s, I remember approaching countless weekends by wondering what I'd do to entertain myself...how I'd plan my hours to avoid the specter of endless boredom. I went on trips. I performed my own oil changes and washed my car frequently. I even joined a motorcycle gang for a while.

Alas, times have changed. I do not remember the last time I had a "dull day". Oh sure, I've been in dull meetings at work, and have had conversations with dull people...but a dull day? I don't see it ever happening again. There's too much on my plate. There may be moments where I'm not exactly having fun, but nothing is dull.

Time flies, too. The snarling equinox is just lurking just around the corner. So, my question for you today is this: What do you consider to be the beginning of fall?

Is it when the aspen leaves begin to turn? Or is it when you turn your thermostat from "cool" to "heat"? Is it the first official NFL game? Or the baseball playoffs? Or is it the first day you need a sweater while you're waiting for the pool to open up for swim practice? Let me know what signals the new season for you -- I'll post the results here in a future entry.

In the meantime, I'm sure we'll have another heatwave at some point. But I'm certainly enjoying the respite from the constant perspiration (especially after suffering the humidity in Kansas). The moments may be ticking away, but I'm having fun. I hope you are, too.

The Land of Ahhhs

My dad still lives in Kansas. So when I want to visit him, I take the long drive across the prairies...and get to experience the amber waves of grain through a bug-spattered windshield while the car is tossed around by winds just slightly less forceful than those that took Dorothy and Toto off to Munchkinland.

The plains of western Kansas haven't changed much since the ol' green witch melted. There are more cultivated sunflowers, and armies of modern giganto-hightech windmills far outnumber the quaint old-style types that were used to pump water to the horse trough. There don't seem to be quite as many billboards promising eternal damnation for getting abortions or believing in evolution, and the few remaining Burma Shave signs seems to have very little to do with foaming beard removal aids.

You can't blame Kansas for trying to promote itself through association with classic movies. After all, most people do think of ruby slippers and dancing scarecrows, etc, whenever Kansas is mentioned. Either that or Mary Ann from Gilligan's Island. Or Marshall Dillon. Or the invention of basketball. But the fact is that the connection of "Oz" with "Ahhs" is pretty clever. I'm not sure I've ever said "Ah" about anything while in Kansas -- probably more like "Aughhh!" But still, "Land of Ahhs" is a good slogan.

Overall, the drive was pleasant enough. My brother went with me, and though I had fears that my undercharged air conditioner wouldn't be up to the task, we stayed cool and were able to chat about how we could best help our father during our brief visit. (We also talked about baseball, politics, movies, and the weather -- hey...it's a LONG trip.)

I'll spare you the details of the visit; it was mostly about organization and conversation. It's good to see the patriarch, of course, but these visits are not without their frustrations. Though neither has ever been elected to office, my dad and his wife apparently believe they have the same obligations as Congress -- to spend money they do not have on things that make no sense. But for a 92-year-old fellow, my dad gets around pretty well, and seems to get a kick out of having us kids there to talk to in person. It's always good to see him, and I know how lucky I am to have him around at that age.

Yes, it was hot there. 104°. My brother and I went running a few times during the visit, and were drenched in sweat within the first few hundred meters. And I'm not sure whether this was weather-related or not, but one of my dad's oldest trees chose to topple over during the night while we were in town. It showed the good taste to fall in the only possible direction where it wouldn't crush anything, so there was no damage. And as luck would have it, a neighbor was outside using a chainsaw when we discovered the fallen timber. By shouting over the fence, my brother was able to strike a deal with the guy to come over and slice it up for us.

The ride home was uneventful, and it's always good to be back in Colorado. I'm sure I'll be making another Kansas trip soon, and I'm optimistic that the state's ventures into technology such as windpower generation will spill over into adoption of other technological advances, such as using turn signals and accelerating on highway merge ramps. But we'll see. In the meantime, have a great Labor Day!

Interlude

I don't start my new job for over a week.

That seems like a LONG stretch of free time -- and to the untrained eye, may appear to be an adequate interlude to allow me to catch up on everything I want to do. I should be able to exercise enough to shed those last few unwanted pounds, read a few novels, and perform such a thorough deep cleaning of my home that I could be blinded by the sparkle of the chrome of the faucets. There should be time for extended napping, closet reorganizations, and perhaps even an early start on my 2011 tax returns. Such an interlude should allow me to begin my new career with an empty to-do list and a renewed spirit. I should report to my new office tanned, rested, and ready.

Sigh.

Alas, I wish it were true. But the fact is that I have obligations above and beyond mere domestic drudgery and Strategic Liesure for Optimizing Total Health (SLOTH). I have several veterans history interviews to finish editing, the Leadville 100 video to assemble, and a trip to Kansas to visit my dad. This interlude will vanish faster than a pie in front of Orson Welles. Instead of slamming down umbrella drinks in the Bahamas, I'll be manipulating a mouse and clacking on the keyboard throughout my entire hiatus. (Well, OK, there is one mountain hike in the schedule; more about that one later.)

But don't expect boredom from me, my friends. Even when I don't do anything but work, there are usually adventures and stimulating challenges that appear to suprise me. I shall keep you posted on those. And if you've always craved a blogular description of a trip to Kansas, I can promise that you'll be getting just such a thing within a day or two. Even though my back continues to creak under the load of my personal obligations, these challenges are not without entertainment value. Stay tuned for those.

In the meantime, have a great day!