I only have a few words to say

Some babble, some chat, some smack.

There’s nothing much on my mind today

Just a target I wish to attack.

Whenever I see his annoying face

on my screen it just ruins my day

And so in keeping with blog philosophy

I’ll simply blog it away.

The GOP lives to serve Limbaugh.

Almost fell asleep at a reasonable hour tonight, but the mind started its usual tricks right on the brink. Next thing I know I’m pondering some new coding angles, then the intro and first verse to Something is Dreaming starts cycling, then I realize it’s high time I wrote to Stan again. Next thing I know I’m up and at it. I have the usual rabid excitement building for the ski adventure spiked by the chance to see my distant bro’ once again after many years. Add in a nice mix of mega-recessionary job stress mingled with genuine appreciation for the technology I’m beginning to explore. I managed to talk the boss into letting me do some Rich Internet Application development, Flex in particular. and it’s hard to keep that out of my head.

So is there going to be a point to this post? Not really. I don’t have a buzz for any great rage at the politics of the day. The republicans are mildly pathetic, which is truly refreshing after the ruination they’ve been wreaking for the past decade. Loving the Obama show. I could watch a press conference every day if I only had time to watch (that is when I’m not sleepless) and I suppose he has better uses of his time than just to entertain me.

Jeremy started the ERB Barsoom series. I hope I’m not dooming him to a life of romantic disillusionment just because it’s the path I trekked for oh-so-long. I’m re-reading “Princess of Mars” in parallel. It’s still frippin’ great. While I’m reading it I AM John Carter- calmly dispatching Thark chieftains with ease and earning their gold, their servants, their sleeping silks and furs. My Deja Thoris sleeps soundly under my watchful eye. The descendant of a thousand jeddaks ponders her next artistic masterpiece, while I survey the kingdom earned with my fighting prowess. What a goofball.

The SF opera schedule is out for next year. It’s being panned by the erudite as an assemblage of “workhorses.” The economy has blown a giant hole in their budget so they can’t experiment with whacked out premieres to potentially empty houses. Instead we will dine on a diet of classics by the usual suspects; Verdi, Puccini, Mozart, Donozzetti, Strauss, even that glorious hack Wagner. I live for the summer of ’10′s Valkerie. Seriously dudes and dudettes, the single greatest work of art ever produced in the history of this ever-loving stinkhole of a planet has to be The Valkerie. Unless it’s Siegfried, or maybe Gotterdamerung. Sofia bought me the renowned George Solti recording of the complete Ring for Christmas. It remains upon the shelf, virginal to me until the Right Moment. Paraphrasing Miles from ‘Sideways,’ when is the perfect day to listen to Solti’s ring? The day you decide to listen to it. He was talking about wine, the lush. Wouldn’t hurt to combine it with a good bottle of chateau whatever and maybe some great herb as well. Is 12:43 am on a Friday morning an inpportune moment for perfection? I suppose it is… I’m fading as I type.

So to get to the point at last. It is exactly this

One thing you can say for the GOP — they only have one direction and one speed on their gearbox.

Reverse. Full speed.

PS: Never admitting mistakes, ever, is not strength.

Damn good question. Twice we made the endless slog up over clumping-snow ridge to the mid-point shelter, then dragged our heavily laden carcasses along the plateau past the airstrip and down the icy, fall on your butt repeatedly and then haul your ass up along with the couple hundred pound pack on your back slope, and into the where-the-hell-is-Van Vleck’s meadow. Twice we awoke to more of the same, at least this time without packs, but a slog nevertheless, westward and upward toward the Crystal Ridge, of course failing to attain it because it was just too damn far and we lacked sufficient daylight let alone energy. Twice we laid awake on the eve of departure wondering how we were going to be able to find the will and the strength to haul all that shit back. But there was no choice so we did it. Twice indeed we asked ourselves, “why Van Vleck’s, why?”

They say that time heals, but it also deludes. Four years since the last Van Vleck’s slog it’s on the agenda yet again. I can’t freakin’ wait. Aldous Womakinnon is back for an encore as official party mule. Horsebadordies, super salesman that he is, will be there in his standard role to try seducing us into some infernal shortcut which will cause us unnecessary boundless torment. Modest Max will wear his vague smile while enduring all. We’ll push our way to the haven of the gas-heated, no electricity, shelter of bliss, to no doubt discover the toilet isn’t working once again. We’ll consume our anchovies, herb, and rum, toast our victory at attaining the goal, ruminate upon our upcoming adventures, get sauced a bit more and go out skiing under moonlight, and then collapse on the spartan, forest-service issue cots.

OK, I’m not falling for it. Memory intrudes. It will be hell. So why the hell Van Vleck’s, I ask one last stinking time? I’ll tell you my answer. Because it kicked my ass, that’s why. The first year I celebrated my birthday in the hotel the night before hitting the trail and I greeted it with a blast of puke. It was all downhill from there. I should say uphill. The snow was deep, my ancient wooden skis had lost their camber, I let Horse do a disproportionate share of the trail breaking I’m shamed to say. The second year was a little better, until my ancient boots had their farewell kiss of agony to inflict upon my weary feet. I was never to use them again.

This year I’m ready. This year I’ve been working out, climbing Peak Mtn two to three times a week while Horse has been bicycling up to the top of Mt. Diablo. Aldous doesn’t need to prepare. He’s a fucking stud. That’s why we roped him into this. Damn mule will never learn. We may even have the services of a brand new comrade, Reed the super nerd, electric guitar master, all around party specialist and renowned trail breaker. Oh what luxury, to have four of us taking turns plowing ahead! We’ll be able to spread the load more, build the manifest to include even more potentially puke-inducing victuals. We can’t fail to make this trip legendary in the annals. Or else, Van Vleck’s will find a way to kick our asses one more time and we’ll never in our right minds consider returning… until the next time.

God I hate that place. Bring it on.

I had to watch this with the sound off, so I didn’t get to hear if they mentioned how many deaths there have been in this sport yet.

BTW- Horsbadordies dug this up. Blame him for any trauma it might cause.

Note: I changed the title of this post because I realized what it reminds me of; Buzz Lightyear’s flying demonstration in the original Toy Story which evoked the sneering commentary from Woody “That’s not flying. That’s falling with style.”

Here’s my latest performance GPS art. It consists of a roughly five mile loop starting at my house, proceeding due north (left in the image) along old San Pedro Mtn. road, then bushwhacking due East up a ridge to the top of the redundantly named Peak Mountain (one of several hilltops comprising Montara Mtn) and then down my favorite trail where I often walk with Dante.

Robert (Igloo Bob) gets credit for turning me onto the bushwhacking portion and partially open the trail with some garden clippers. There’s a fair amount of poison oak, so I don’t know if this route would even be possible once it comes out in leaves. Even without it can be dangerous as my lingering wrist rash can attest from my last venture into it a few weeks ago. This time I managed to avoid it for the most part.

Not a bad back yard.

Facts and Ridicule. Example A: Bob Herbert’s latest column in the Times. Here’s the close:

When the G.O.P. talks, nobody should listen. Republicans have argued, with the collaboration of much of the media, that they could radically cut taxes while simultaneously balancing the federal budget, when, in fact, big income-tax cuts inevitably lead to big budget deficits. We listened to the G.O.P. and what do we have now? A trillion-dollar-plus deficit and an economy in shambles.

This is the party that preached fiscal discipline and then cut taxes in time of war. This is the party that still wants to put the torch to Social Security and Medicare. This is a party that, given a choice between Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan, would choose Ronald Reagan in a heartbeat.

Why is anyone still listening?

Why indeed.

‘The Party Of New Ideas’ is back!

New Worlds has been upgraded to WordPress 2.7 (the latest and greatest). It still looks the same at first glance, but you’ll notice a bunch of changes when you go to make a post. The dashboard is a complete redesign. Much more modern, with some apparently cool features, but it may take some getting used to.

I’ll pop back to note what I discover as I explore.