Catching Some Rays

I haven't been running much lately.

There's a sore spot on my foot that makes it a tad painful to pound the pavement. A real athlete would suck it up and gut it out, putting in the miles despite the discomfort...especially since the running doesn't seem to make it any worse. But, well...no. Not me.

I've also been spending a lot of time working on proposal contracts. That's good for the bank account, but it really cuts into my leisure time. Oh well. The quest for Work/Life balance continues.

The good news is that Claire and I have had a few opportunities to enjoy the outdoors on the weekends. I don't have much to say about these treks, but will at least share a couple of photos. Here's me at Lake Dillon. (And yes, I do see the irony in wearing my running team shirt in the first photo I show after saying I haven't been running. But hey...it's a nice shirt!)



We also went to Glenwood Springs, and had the chance to hike up to the cemetery that contains Doc Holiday's grave. If I read the placards correctly, it's not certain that Holiday's remains are actually there...but there is a marker to commemorate him. The trail has some gorgeous views of the valley, but apparently I was too busy enjoying the scenery and the company to bother to snap a photo. But the cemetery itself is nicely groomed, and is worth visiting. (Click to embiggen.)



I had been there before, but had forgotten that Kid Curry is also buried there. After watching "Alias Smith and Jones" as a kid, I had assumed that Kid Curry was a fictional representation meant to represent a Sundance Kid type of character. But apparently he was a real guy, though there was nothing in the text at the gravesite that implied he was a master gunslinger.

I'm not sure why the adjective "Kid" is used to evoke an image of toughness. I'd think something like "He-Man Curry" would be a more imposing moniker. But maybe there's something about the cowboy days I don't understand. Perhaps the ravages of age occurred earlier in those days; by the time a guy was 21, was he over the hill? I don't know.

Anyway, we also visited the Sunlight ski area. It's cute. We will probably try skiing there this winter.



I'm back to proposal work next week, but expect to have some interesting topics to discuss by next weekend. Wish me luck, and have a great day!

Not the Hell Your Whales

Does the Prime Directive apply to messing with the civilization on Earth?

I believe we all know that the answer is "The Prime Directive is sort of a moral guideline, not to be taken too seriously...especially if a Star Ship Captain feels he has a good reason to violate it." It's rather like the pesky US Constitution and federal law when those conflict with what the President wants to do via executive order.

OK, perhaps that's not a good comparison, since Star Ship Captains have a MUCH higher standard of personal morality than Presidents do. But still, the point is that we would all agree that if you have to go back in time to prevent the Borg from assimilating humanity, or if you have to seduce Joan Collins and then push her in front of a truck to keep Hitler from winning WWII...well, it's probably worth doing.

What got me thinking about that, you ask? Well--after reading my post about Johnny Sokko, someone asked me what other TV shows had made an impact on my life. This of course prompted an entire oil gusher of philosophical exposition, since talking about TV is one of my passions. I won't subject you to the entire discussion (at least not right now), but I will share some of the key points...as well as the questions that the thought process generated.

Captain Kangaroo was probably the first show that molded me, forever making me laugh at cascading ping pong balls and get creeped out by anthropomorphic grandfather clocks. Major Astro taught me that space travel was intriguing, and that science was cool...especially in cartoon form. Superman taught me never to get involved with female reporters, and to always leave the window open in the storage closet. Sea Hunt taught me to always carry a hose-cutting knife when scuba diving, and Bonanza taught me that owning millions of acres of prime agricultural real estate gives you the right to beat people up without consequences. Rocky and Bullwinkle guided me to my current relationship with religion, and Underdog taught me the value of having a great theme song.

Though Major Astro provided my first solid exposure to science and science fiction, I must also reluctantly give credit to Irwin Allen. Because my parents regarded the Twilight Zone and Outer Limits as too scary and potentially damaging to the psyche of fragile youth, the only other sci-fi I got to watch were things like Land of the Giants, Voyage to See What's on the Bottom, and The Time Tunnel. (Allen was also responsible for Lost in Space, but thankfully Star Trek removed the need to ever watch that piece of crap.) In retrospect, Allen's shows are universally terrible...but at least they dealt with something other than cops n' robbers or cowboys n' injuns. Anyway, thinking about The Time Tunnel got me reminiscing about the Star Trek episode where the Enterprise went back in time. And those thoughts raised some interesting questions about the application of the Prime Directive.

I’m sure there have been college papers written on these topics, but I’m not going to bother researching academia; as usual, I’ll just offer my opinion unsupported by anything other than my flawless application of Vulcan logic.



Gary Seven. Though the Enterprise definitely interfered in an immature (pre-YouTube) civilization, it’s pretty obvious they didn’t violate the Prime Directive on this one. Any actual impact on Earth culture was instigated by Mr. Seven…and he’d have done the same stuff if the Enterprise hadn’t appeared. The jet pilot raised his family, the security guards continued to patrol the launch complex, and Teri Garr ended up with a boyfriend in exactly the same way as it would’ve happened without the actions of James Tiberius Kirk, et al.



Save the Whales. Swiping a couple of humpbacks didn’t change much either, so the extra US Navy logbook entry about attempted sabotage on the nooklar wessels would certainly be overlooked in the grand history of the planet. (And transparent aluminum was invented by the guy who invented transparent aluminum, obviously.) Edith Keeler fulfilled her destiny as a street pancake, too, so Mr. Hitler and company were eventually met by guys who had not been converted into worthless bleeding-heart pacifist hippies. (And no, I am not going to get into the discussion of whether Obama is Ms. Keeler's modern-day protege.)

But here’s where those thoughts led me: Why couldn’t Kirk use the sun-plunge acceleration technique to go back once more to beam Edith out of the way of the truck right before she got splattered? Bones and Scotty could substitute something meaty from the food synthesizers; slap a dress on it and nobody would ever know. (No DNA tests in the 1930s, so roadkill is simply roadkill.) That way, Kirk could have a steady girlfriend on board the Enterprise, therefore allowing the entire female half of the crew to focus on their Star Fleet duties without fantasizing about the fact that the randy Captain’s Facebook page listed him as single.

Yeah, yeah, I know--a time travel side journey for personal romance is probably frowned upon by Star Fleet management. But not for the reasons we might think. People of our time would view the trip as a colossal waste of resources – we’d see it in terms of fuel costs and crew paychecks. But energy doesn’t seem to be a major problem for those who have tamed matter/antimatter reactions, and the crew is paid to explore strange new worlds…so visiting a time of stone knives and bearskins would be well within the job description. Why not take a day to retrieve a gal who would make the boss happy…which would in turn improve the morale of the entire ship?

The only drawback would be if she insisted on preaching her crazy notions of pacifism and do-gooderism on board the Enterprise. If she convinced the crew that they should all become Romulan-huggers, well…the consequences could be dire. The next thing you’d know, the galaxy would be overrun by rampaging Klingons, Mugatus, and Gorns. Oh my.

But that does raise the intriguing idea of going back in time to snatch doomed personnel so they can contribute to the future. Fred Saberhagen explored the idea in his book “After the Fact”, but what if we extended the idea into other arenas? Dr. McCoy could fix Houdini’s appendix and then put him to use designing next-generation Corbomite Maneuvers. Grab John Lennon to entertain the crew and save them from being subjected to Spock’s crappy lute ballads. And Bruce Lee could teach Kirk how to do better karate chops.

Well, OK, nobody can do better neck chops than Kirk. But you get the idea. Look at the past as a personnel resource, and you could definitely improve the quality of your crew. If nothing else, historical figures who died young would be delighted to be redshirts, even if they only got to live a few more days.

Anyway, let’s close this discussion with the top ten ideas for JJ Abrams to consider for the rebooted Star Trek universe:

• Nomad meets V’ger (and this time, it’s personal)
• Space Hippies Meet Landrew
• Trelane at the OK Corral
• The Galileo 7 meets the Jupiter 7
• Quinto-Triticale (get it?)
• Yangs and Komes vs. the Ekos/Zeon Alliance
• Scalosians vs Talosians
• Who Mourns for Our Donuts?
• Music Smackdown: Kirock (n' Roll) vs. the Rap of Khan
• Short Circuit 6: M5 is Alive!

Have a great day!

The Great Gig in the Sky

RIP Anton Yelchin.

When I first saw Mr. Yelchin as the new Chekov, I thought "He's not remotely like Walter Koenig!" Oddly, the main disappointment was that he didn't have a Beatle haircut. After all, Zachary Quinto had Nimoy's coiffure...right?

But Chris Pine doesn't have Shatner's rug, and Simon Peg's profile is a mere sliver of Jimmy Doohan's. So what?

My instant reaction to the new cast was that Pine is fine, Quinto is superb, and Karl Urban is perfect as McCoy. And Zoe Saldana appropriately rocks Uhura's earbuds. It did take me a bit more time to warm to the new Sulu, Scotty, and Chekov, though, with acceptance of Yelchin being the most difficult transition for me to make. But by the end of the first movie, I was sold. His youthful Rooskie enthusiasm and tentative portrayal of competence won me over.

I am truly saddened that we have lost him. My sincere condolences go to his family and friends, and to Star Trek enthusiasts everywhere.



Take care, my friends. And give your loved ones an extra hug.

The Daily Planet

This past week provoked some sweet nostalgia.

First, it was my most influential swim coach's birthday. I have been fortunate to swim for several coaches I greatly admire, including Doug Sidles, John Deardorf, and Dick Reamon. But in addition to being a great coach who dramatically improved my swimming, Bill Spahn also served as the inspiration for my own swim coaching career. He is a great guy who has been a fantastic influence on a huge number of athletes over the years. Happy Birthday, Bill! And thanks!

Kudos to sharp-eyed readers who noticed that Bill is pictured in the photo on the left, while his movie-star doppelganger (Ted Hartley) is pictured on the right. Bill did have a supporting role in "Dr. Thunderfinger Is Forvever", but his acting career unfortunately stalled after that performance. Hartley's most notable role was hotel owner Lewis Belding in "High Plains Drifter", where he participated in the "Welcome to Lago" bed-whomping scene that became a minor Wichita Swim Club tradition on swim meet road trips.

(In the movie, when the townfolk tired of Eastwood's attitude, they snuck into his hotel room with sticks and ax handles and went all Clockwork Orange on the drifter during his sleep. Unfortunately for them, he anticipated those shenanigans...and was outside the window with a surprise for them. Anyway, we modified the maneuver for general audiences, using pillows rather than baseball bats to administer a feather-filled whuppin' to fellow swimmers who refused to get out of bed with the expected enthusiasm for early-morning swim meet warmup. (There were no anti-bullying laws in those days, so I'm pretty sure we violated no statutes. Heck, we viewed it as a sort of public-service alarm-clock substitute.)

My next nostalgia reminder came in the form of a 100-foot tall Japanese flying sphinx who takes orders from a 10-year-old boy. That's right -- we're talking about Johnny Sokko and his flying robot.

Just as Bill Spahn influenced my swimming, my best friend and college roommate Mickey influenced most of the rest of my life...by introducing me to the joys to be found in the magical world of excessive TV viewership. Mickey and I spent many an hour absorbing the life lessons found in classic shows.

The number one lesson is probably to avoid Japan and all its humongous monsters -- unless Johnny Sokko and Giant Robot are on hand to save the day. (Or maybe UltraMan. Or sometimes Godzilla.) Other, perhaps more personal lessons came from the Beverly Hillbillies (it's nice to be rich), Green Acres (start every day with hotscakes, and always wear a vest when working outdoors), and Popeye (eat your vegetables, date skinny chicks, and solve every conceivable problems with brutal violence.)

Anyway, without Mickey's relentless commitment to prioritizing television over scholasticism, I probably wouldn't have ended up majoring in Radio/TV/Film...and I wouldn't be nearly as observant about the subtleties to be found within cinematic entertainment. For example, take a look at this picture:



It's pretty obvious how Giant Robot achieves flight. He has rockets on his back. Sure, they don't seem to be properly aligned for straight and level flight, and probably risk melting his feet and/or buttockular area, but I'm willing to suspend skepticism because of the general Japanese reputation for excellence in robotics.

Superman, on the other hand, has no visible method of propulsion.



Perhaps it is some sort of directed gravity control. If so, his ability to control it must be biological in nature, since he appears to need to exert greater effort when he wants to go faster. But whatever provides his thrust, it apparently violates Newton's third law of motion in that there seems to be no equal and opposite reaction as he flies. But here's my biggest question: Since he is always shown flying head-first, how does he reverse his body orientation for his elegant feet-first landing whenever he comes swooshing in through an open window? That would seem to be a pretty impressive acrobatic feat, but nobody ever talks about how cool it is to watch him somersault in for a landing. Hmm.

They never show him moving faster than a speeding bullet, either -- but I'll accept that based on the logical idea that it provides greater ego satisfaction to have the bullets bounce off your impressive pectorals than it is to use your speed to move out of the way like a panzy. Whatever. As for changing the course of mighty rivers, well, you and I could do that ourselves using a simple shovel...given enough time.

Anyway, here's another observation I've had when watching the old TV show that I love so much. During the opening title sequence, I am curious about the sequence where they fire the speeding bullet. Knowing the size and bulk of the cameras in use at the time, I'm guessing that the gun and hand pivot for the shot, rather than having the camera revolve around the pistol. Either way, though, the lack of recoil certainly implies that the gun was mounted to something solid; I doubt that even a professional marksman could hold it that steady...even when firing a blank round.

OK, that's all I have for today. It's been fun reliving some childhood and college memories. I hope this discussion sparked some fun memories for you, too. Thanks for dropping by, and have a great day!

Lifting the Cone of Silence

The worst thing about being unemployed is the uncertainty about your own financial future.

The second worst thing is all the dadgum work involved. You have to look for jobs, comply with the multitude of requirements to qualify for unemployment payments -- and find ways to economize. That's what I've been doing...and that's my excuse for my prolonged silence and temporary disappearance from the blogosphere.

That is a legitimate excuse, isn't it?

Anyway, these posts may continue to be sporadic for a while. We're not done with our actor-similarity quizzes, nor with the Star Trek homage mashups...but today's post is merely a straightforward hiking trail review.

Pawnee Buttes Trail — Northern Boondocks, Colorado



Okay, there isn't really a location known as Northern Boondocks, but it's probably just as meaningful to most citizens as the actual description: "Just about midway between Keota and Grover, Colorado." (I didn't have a chance to see the sprawling metropolis of Grover, but Keota is pretty much just a barn and a windmill. Definitely too small for a WalMart or anything.)

Pawnee Buttes consists of a couple of impressive sandstone towers rising up above the buffalo grass prairie of the Pawnee National Grassland. If you've never been to a National Grassland, it's really not hard to visualize: Just imagine lots and lots (and lots) of tall, windblown grass spread across flat plains from horizon to horizon, punctuated by the occasional yellow or purple wildflower. Maybe some cows here and there (and their hubcap-sized residue.)

Technically, the buttes don't "rise above the prairie" so much as "they haven't yet eroded down to the level of the prairie." (Hey, we are all about scientific accuracy here. And by the way, they have found dinosaur fossils here.)

You have to drive about 15 miles on dirt roads after leaving the pavement, and need to keep a sharp eye out for the faded brown signs that direct you to the trailhead. There were a few mud pits within the road, which caused us some concern since I've been trying to ride the last ounce of rubber out of my bald tires...but we managed to splash through them without getting stuck. You'd think traffic would be sparse so far from civilization, and indeed there were zero passenger cars to be seen en route. But there was surprising volume of truck traffic, which I assume existed to service the numerous oil wells and/or missile silos that pepper the area. If we'd have gotten stuck, I'm sure one of the truckers would've given us a push.

The trail itself offers a ~5-mile round trip across grass, around the buttes, and up to the base of the most distant formation. Part of the trail winds through eroded gullies where you hear the sounds of a variety of prairie birds and get a feel for the diversity of life in the seemingly barren environment. We didn't see any snakes or lizards or mice, but there are bound to be millions of them in the vicinity. We did have the chance to see a lone coyote trotting down the path a few dozen yards in front of us. He looked us over, but obviously recognized that it would be folly to mess with highly-trained swimmers.

Even the simple dirt path parts of the trail offer lovely views (though I'd hate to be out there in the heat of high summer). Click to embiggen this view and you'll notice the giant wind farm visible in the distance. I know that windmills aren't exactly a native part of the landscape, but I generally find them to present a pleasing aesthetic.



I really enjoyed this hike, and consider it worth the long drive from Denver. I bet it would be especially beautiful at sunrise or sunset...but we were there from mid-morning to early afternoon.

I guess that's all I have to say about Pawnee Buttes. But I did want to share a couple of other photos from the previous day. The first is a view from the road leading up to the Eldora ski area, where we had a very pleasant hike on the less-than-well-marked Jenny Creek trail.



This photo is from the dam of Barker Reservoir looking back toward Nederland. I thought it was very pretty.



So that's it for today. Please tell your friends that despite my absence, I am indeed alive and well...and still in search of the elusive winning lottery ticket. Thanks for dropping by, and have a great day!