Hey! It's almost Christmas and I am past due for an update. I won't try to detail all that has transpired since my last entry, but here's a high level summary in chronological order: quit old job, got married, went on honeymoon, started new job, joined new cycling team, headed to Elko for Christmas, Lauren starts grad school in three weeks. A disjointed list if I ever saw one, but a list nonetheless.
The married life is treating us well. Quite well. Even after the glitter faded from our honeymoon in Thailand, we still enjoy spending time together for the most part (gwahahahh) and form a solid team. Marriage changes everything and yet nothing. The primary change is the intangible gravity of the commitment and respect for one another. That changes everything, in a good way. I don't want to try and explain it so humor me and pretend to understand the concept. Too early in the day to expect the words to come out correctly.
I did indeed score that job I was striving for this past summer. Seems my 65-hour week commitment throughout those months was noticed after all and they offered me a full time position beginning October 8. In case you have not heard, I'm the sole mechanical design engineer for blossoming company Ugobe. Here:
http://ugobe.com/
Or better yet, here is their first product that is finally shipping (!) :
http://www.pleoworld.com/
I had a small but significant role in the design of Pleo, but my real focus is on new product development for the company. Determined not to be a "one trick pony", Ugobe is busting their butts to roll out the next wave of life forms. The products we make are border-line AI (artificial intelligence); Ugobe is allergic to the label "toy company" since we design companion pets that you can't "drive" but are instead autonomous and act according to sensory stimulation. It's not I-robot but the creepy surrealism is there. It is a dream job. I could not find a more engaging, challenging, or rewarding job anywhere on this continent. Not to rub it in, but I am rubbing it in.
And the 65-hour work weeks are a thing of the past. Things will assuredly flare up and demand a few overtime hours here and there, but overall I've averaged 38-45 hours per week since my start in October. I was really worried about over-working but seem to have a good handle on the work/life balance (kudos to Lauren on that one). Deciding to race again next year has also kept me from working too much. A lot going on, but without a few dozen 'balls in the air' to juggle I go stir crazy. Hooray for that little personality disorder...
Lauren is sleeping. We planned to hit the road around 10 AM and head down to Elko but there is no reason to roust her considering the road conditions outside. In Boise it never snows a lot, at least not here in town, but when the conditions are right the temperature drops and the little snow that does fall turns everything into a glacial sheet of traffic death. Don't ask me why I got up at 6 AM. I obviously don't have much to do if I'm finally taking the time to update this blog. Every now and again I wonder what I'll be like at 80 years old... Still getting up early, setting my alarm to boot, when there isn't anything that really must be done at such an early hour. If I am Yin then Lauren is Yang and as an 80-year-old I suspect she'll sleep until 3 PM each day. We'll have to wait and see on that one.
That's it for now. Excuse the incoherence.
12.23.2007
7.05.2007
July 5, 2007
Barely made it down here, but in retrospect I'm quite pleased with myself for postponing going to work for a few minutes to catch up on "me time". It's the fifth of July, as the time stamp and title most assuredly reiterate, and I've one bummer case of the Mondays.
I managed to sneak away from work on (the real) Monday afternoon to head up to Camp Alice Pittenger (CAP) in McCall; Lauren's home away from home for the past two weeks and the next six yet to come. She had a three-day respite between groups of cretins and I fully monopolized two of them (the days, not the cretins) with my presence. Funny what creatures of habit we all are, and after a mere 14 days at camp Lauren has reprogrammed her standard daily routine to be more conducive to leading a summer girl scout camp. During my time there we followed what I imagine is the typical daily schedule at CAP: up around seven, breakfast immediately following, craft time, nature time, lunch time, craft time, activity time, swim time, dinner. Lights out immediately at 10 p.m.; or else. Although I suspect my crafts and outdoor activities differ slightly from an eleven-year-old girl's, it did not stop me from embracing the time away from work, away from clients; away from this nerd-box laptop.
Regarding all the stimuli, CAP is freaking phenomenal. It possesses all of the elements you stereotypically expect to see at a girl scout camp: a Tinker Hut craft building, canoes and fun-yaks and sail boats and speed boats, a swim cove, mountain bikes, star-gazing telescopes, and a lodge/mess hall decorated with sickeningly adorable memoirs from years and troops now grown and gone (see: decorated tiles, quilts, Popsicle-stick mansions, and all the lanyard plastic bead jewelry your eyes can handle). There are so many animals roving around you'd think that Jim Henson lay hidden just out of sight, masterfully choreographing scores and varieties of animatronics to walk by and stand by whenever you venture outdoors. Oh hello deer, fox, bear, squirrel, fish, osprey...
But alas, I am back in Boise. McCall registered a high yesterday of 88-degrees F. Relatively speaking, 88-degrees in McCall felt blistering enough to warrant more than a few dips in the icy-cool lake. Driving down to this coffee shop, the radio DJ forcasted a Boise high of 106-degrees F. I do not believe that the F stands for Fahrenheit in both cases... I mean, 106-degrees is ridiculous. Fortunately I work in one of those well-insulated (from heat, light... and pretty much all sensory stimuli) labs within the university. Fortunately...?
Work is a bit bothersome. The aforementioned toy design company has recognized my abilities and made a few insinuations regarding potential employment; which is nice. The current job however is still draining too much time and not offering enough reward for my taste. I worry that my taste is impossible to satiate, however, so I am perpetually trying to suck it up and accept my job for what it most certainly is: reality. No one likes their job all the time, and I fear that I am spoiled by having things "this good" directly out of grad school. Sarcasm? Not sure, I'm tired.
And poof, my window of time has vanished, much like all molecules of water on a 106-degree summer day in Boise. Off to work for what will likely be a nine or ten-hour day. As mentioned, this feels like a Monday and it'll be hard to snap out of my funk. Thanks for tuning in.
-Calvino
I managed to sneak away from work on (the real) Monday afternoon to head up to Camp Alice Pittenger (CAP) in McCall; Lauren's home away from home for the past two weeks and the next six yet to come. She had a three-day respite between groups of cretins and I fully monopolized two of them (the days, not the cretins) with my presence. Funny what creatures of habit we all are, and after a mere 14 days at camp Lauren has reprogrammed her standard daily routine to be more conducive to leading a summer girl scout camp. During my time there we followed what I imagine is the typical daily schedule at CAP: up around seven, breakfast immediately following, craft time, nature time, lunch time, craft time, activity time, swim time, dinner. Lights out immediately at 10 p.m.; or else. Although I suspect my crafts and outdoor activities differ slightly from an eleven-year-old girl's, it did not stop me from embracing the time away from work, away from clients; away from this nerd-box laptop.
Regarding all the stimuli, CAP is freaking phenomenal. It possesses all of the elements you stereotypically expect to see at a girl scout camp: a Tinker Hut craft building, canoes and fun-yaks and sail boats and speed boats, a swim cove, mountain bikes, star-gazing telescopes, and a lodge/mess hall decorated with sickeningly adorable memoirs from years and troops now grown and gone (see: decorated tiles, quilts, Popsicle-stick mansions, and all the lanyard plastic bead jewelry your eyes can handle). There are so many animals roving around you'd think that Jim Henson lay hidden just out of sight, masterfully choreographing scores and varieties of animatronics to walk by and stand by whenever you venture outdoors. Oh hello deer, fox, bear, squirrel, fish, osprey...
But alas, I am back in Boise. McCall registered a high yesterday of 88-degrees F. Relatively speaking, 88-degrees in McCall felt blistering enough to warrant more than a few dips in the icy-cool lake. Driving down to this coffee shop, the radio DJ forcasted a Boise high of 106-degrees F. I do not believe that the F stands for Fahrenheit in both cases... I mean, 106-degrees is ridiculous. Fortunately I work in one of those well-insulated (from heat, light... and pretty much all sensory stimuli) labs within the university. Fortunately...?
Work is a bit bothersome. The aforementioned toy design company has recognized my abilities and made a few insinuations regarding potential employment; which is nice. The current job however is still draining too much time and not offering enough reward for my taste. I worry that my taste is impossible to satiate, however, so I am perpetually trying to suck it up and accept my job for what it most certainly is: reality. No one likes their job all the time, and I fear that I am spoiled by having things "this good" directly out of grad school. Sarcasm? Not sure, I'm tired.
And poof, my window of time has vanished, much like all molecules of water on a 106-degree summer day in Boise. Off to work for what will likely be a nine or ten-hour day. As mentioned, this feels like a Monday and it'll be hard to snap out of my funk. Thanks for tuning in.
-Calvino
5.31.2007
On a lighter note
All the better, I now see, for me to forget my 'dongle' and thus be rendered helpless and unable to crank out any work this morning. For now I am sitting at Big City Coffee out on State Street, 10 minutes' drive from home and 20 minutes' drive from work, turning to this online purge-hole to fill my time. Nearly three months ago I posted the blog about el padre mio, which felt good, but I certainly did not mean to let such an interval pass without a less-intense update. Some of you have expressed concern. Stop, all is well.
Can't go home, no sir, since I'm scheduled to meet a couple gents here in about 45 minutes to discuss a work project. Same old story in Calvin's world: getting to work at 7:00 a.m. does not allow me to leave at 3:00 p.m., due to my own inability to set some limits and walk out that door. A mired mix of perfectionism and egotism, the 50+ hour work week has become all too common. What? This is the real world you say? Yikes.
Lauren and I are due to wed in a mere three months (and change). Don't feel offended if you've not yet received an invite, we're on the ball but not THAT on the ball so you'll likely get one soon don't fret. Sometimes it catches up with both of us and we're bowled over by the immensity of all that's happening; I'm not talking about the logistics of the wedding, I mean the situation of us having found such a connection in one another and imagining/planning our future together. Sitting on the couch last night, I was spacing off recalling the times I spent alone and independent or rather independently lonely. Paid my dues, as well all tend to do.
Continuing this mental spaticity, an update on this job that I love/hate/can't seem to fully control: after having paid my dues with dozens of quirky independent inventor-types, on dozens of quirky 'inventions', I have sort of struck gold with the most recent project (the gents I'm meeting in ten minutes). You remember some of my old projects:
Refrigerator latches
External Catheter devices
Fly-line cleaner tools
Packaging/automation conveyor systems
Touch screen electronics enclosures
Bicycle transmissions
Animal telemetry devices
Prosthetic air expulsion valves
Not all bad, but honestly most of them will never make it to full production for various reasons. Well, of late I have been doing some CAD-jockey work for local business entity UGOBE. Perhaps you've heard of the Pleo dinosaur? It's the next uber-cool toy from the "polymath toy inventor" that created the Furby a few years back. Even though I'm just a CAD monkey right now, I'm hoping that they see my abilities in product design and innovative conceptual design. In this industry, the term CAD-jockey is quite derogatory and a label analogous to "expert video-gamer". Drawing a few shapes in SolidWorks, per some one's specs, isn't that difficult. Hashing out the details, brainstorming better solutions and alternatives and showing souplesse is what carves out a niche for oneself. They haven't seen it in me yet, but I think they will.
Maybe once the Pleo hits shelves this fall I can post some pictures to show off what I've assisted in developing. For now, however, it's all honor-system and you have to just believe that I am somehow involved with a pretty cool company that beats the pants off of anyone else I've designed for. Pretty cool, to understate an amazing opportunity.
OK, time to wrap it up. Hopefully I'll forget my dongle more often, this has been delightful.
Can't go home, no sir, since I'm scheduled to meet a couple gents here in about 45 minutes to discuss a work project. Same old story in Calvin's world: getting to work at 7:00 a.m. does not allow me to leave at 3:00 p.m., due to my own inability to set some limits and walk out that door. A mired mix of perfectionism and egotism, the 50+ hour work week has become all too common. What? This is the real world you say? Yikes.
Lauren and I are due to wed in a mere three months (and change). Don't feel offended if you've not yet received an invite, we're on the ball but not THAT on the ball so you'll likely get one soon don't fret. Sometimes it catches up with both of us and we're bowled over by the immensity of all that's happening; I'm not talking about the logistics of the wedding, I mean the situation of us having found such a connection in one another and imagining/planning our future together. Sitting on the couch last night, I was spacing off recalling the times I spent alone and independent or rather independently lonely. Paid my dues, as well all tend to do.
Continuing this mental spaticity, an update on this job that I love/hate/can't seem to fully control: after having paid my dues with dozens of quirky independent inventor-types, on dozens of quirky 'inventions', I have sort of struck gold with the most recent project (the gents I'm meeting in ten minutes). You remember some of my old projects:
Refrigerator latches
External Catheter devices
Fly-line cleaner tools
Packaging/automation conveyor systems
Touch screen electronics enclosures
Bicycle transmissions
Animal telemetry devices
Prosthetic air expulsion valves
Not all bad, but honestly most of them will never make it to full production for various reasons. Well, of late I have been doing some CAD-jockey work for local business entity UGOBE. Perhaps you've heard of the Pleo dinosaur? It's the next uber-cool toy from the "polymath toy inventor" that created the Furby a few years back. Even though I'm just a CAD monkey right now, I'm hoping that they see my abilities in product design and innovative conceptual design. In this industry, the term CAD-jockey is quite derogatory and a label analogous to "expert video-gamer". Drawing a few shapes in SolidWorks, per some one's specs, isn't that difficult. Hashing out the details, brainstorming better solutions and alternatives and showing souplesse is what carves out a niche for oneself. They haven't seen it in me yet, but I think they will.
Maybe once the Pleo hits shelves this fall I can post some pictures to show off what I've assisted in developing. For now, however, it's all honor-system and you have to just believe that I am somehow involved with a pretty cool company that beats the pants off of anyone else I've designed for. Pretty cool, to understate an amazing opportunity.
OK, time to wrap it up. Hopefully I'll forget my dongle more often, this has been delightful.
3.01.2007
Short story, short sighted
Similar to the author, Michael H. went to Spring Creek High School and played in the marching band as part of the Spartan music program. A percussionist by trade, the rattle-tat-tat of the snare and quad drum set was a precursor to his current occupation with the Elko County police force. Michael graduated somewhere between my sister and I; must have been 1997, as I believe he was only one year my elder during those sweet years of Spartan pride.
I have learned that, upon completing high school, Michael relocated to San ***** , California (Diego? Francisco? One of those), to pursue the eminent career in law enforcement. Soon thereafter he shot his first human in what had to be a moment of exorbitant emotion. Gang member? Doper? Nope: personal partner on the police force. Michael's partner of the time went berserk and started popping off fellow coppers; two policemen died before Michael put a bullet in the gunman.
Fast forward in time and Michael is back in Elko. Perhaps Michael returned to his hometown to flee the twisted go-fast world of South/Central California. He must have known of the severe, accelerating, indefatigable methamphetamine problem in Nevada? Perhaps love brought him back; I know for a fact that he has a wife and children he loves, supports, needs. At any rate Elko, Nevada is far from Green Gables, and the atmosphere grows more fetid and rank with each gram snorted, each slot-arm pulled, and each hooker rented. It's spiraling.
On the evening of February 10 of this very year, Michael responded to a call of public disturbance in South-Central Elko, a few blocks away from the elementary school I attended in 1987 - "Southside Elementary". Some whacked-out meth-head was screaming and trying to break down a door to a home, threatening (incoherently) the residents indoors. I do not know the specific details of the event, but I do know a few things: Michael found himself a few feet from the criminal. Criminal's eyes wild in tweaked-out dementia with saliva flowing from his rotting screaming mouth and limbs jerking in spastic, erratic motions. The man reached behind his back, desperately grasping at something tucked within his rear waistline.
In retrospect, Michael should have shot him. He had a family at home, after all. But he did not, he hesitated. Fortunately, the man was reaching for a hunting knife, and despite his spun-out oblivion the assailant eventually dropped his guard and was arrested by the surrounding officers. A quick search revealed just under 28 grams of methamphetamine; ready to distribute, ready to rock.
It is a small world. Michael was called to testify on February 28 in the Elko County Court House against the criminal - James Douglas Allan. My sister was at the trial, and my good friend from years past was the presiding judge. Aside Michael, four other people testified against JDA, all reiterating the details of his actions and possessions that night.
James Douglas Allan is currently awaiting trial in the Elko County Jail. Carrying 28 grams of meth with intent to sell could warrant anywhere from ten years to a life sentence in prison. At 53 years old, you'd think he's ready to slow down. Not so. The estate from his recently deceased father will pay him about $50k over the next few years, and James plans to sink that money into a legal battle to prove his innocence.
In Michael's words, he should have shot the man. Michael is, after all, a husband and a father.
I have learned that, upon completing high school, Michael relocated to San ***** , California (Diego? Francisco? One of those), to pursue the eminent career in law enforcement. Soon thereafter he shot his first human in what had to be a moment of exorbitant emotion. Gang member? Doper? Nope: personal partner on the police force. Michael's partner of the time went berserk and started popping off fellow coppers; two policemen died before Michael put a bullet in the gunman.
Fast forward in time and Michael is back in Elko. Perhaps Michael returned to his hometown to flee the twisted go-fast world of South/Central California. He must have known of the severe, accelerating, indefatigable methamphetamine problem in Nevada? Perhaps love brought him back; I know for a fact that he has a wife and children he loves, supports, needs. At any rate Elko, Nevada is far from Green Gables, and the atmosphere grows more fetid and rank with each gram snorted, each slot-arm pulled, and each hooker rented. It's spiraling.
On the evening of February 10 of this very year, Michael responded to a call of public disturbance in South-Central Elko, a few blocks away from the elementary school I attended in 1987 - "Southside Elementary". Some whacked-out meth-head was screaming and trying to break down a door to a home, threatening (incoherently) the residents indoors. I do not know the specific details of the event, but I do know a few things: Michael found himself a few feet from the criminal. Criminal's eyes wild in tweaked-out dementia with saliva flowing from his rotting screaming mouth and limbs jerking in spastic, erratic motions. The man reached behind his back, desperately grasping at something tucked within his rear waistline.
In retrospect, Michael should have shot him. He had a family at home, after all. But he did not, he hesitated. Fortunately, the man was reaching for a hunting knife, and despite his spun-out oblivion the assailant eventually dropped his guard and was arrested by the surrounding officers. A quick search revealed just under 28 grams of methamphetamine; ready to distribute, ready to rock.
It is a small world. Michael was called to testify on February 28 in the Elko County Court House against the criminal - James Douglas Allan. My sister was at the trial, and my good friend from years past was the presiding judge. Aside Michael, four other people testified against JDA, all reiterating the details of his actions and possessions that night.
James Douglas Allan is currently awaiting trial in the Elko County Jail. Carrying 28 grams of meth with intent to sell could warrant anywhere from ten years to a life sentence in prison. At 53 years old, you'd think he's ready to slow down. Not so. The estate from his recently deceased father will pay him about $50k over the next few years, and James plans to sink that money into a legal battle to prove his innocence.
In Michael's words, he should have shot the man. Michael is, after all, a husband and a father.
2.10.2007
U huh yeah
More and more often, I’m realizing, these entries only occur during strange times. It so happens that the last few ‘strange times’ have been defining pivotal moments of personal crisis. That is not the case this morning. No crisis here, no sir. It is simply quite early and I have opted to scream at the keys instead of making noise in this darkened house.
My sister and her husband and of course Jacob (or the Jacobian Matrix, as I am fond of calling him in my super-nerd world of mathematical humor) arrived last night about ten p.m. Funny timing with everything, since Lauren had to leave on a jet plane this morning at six to spend six days at a conference in Austin, Tejas. She will be missed dearly. Really, we’re doing phenomenally.
I get to watch Jacob wrestle (“rassell”) today at a tournament over in Eagle. Aside from my stellar home cooking and pleasant demeanor, the wrestling match is the reason for their visit. Sort of a last minute decision on their part, and I am so glad to see them all. Living a mere 240 miles away from family might as well be the distance across the
And now I will digress for a few lines, speaking of the
So I am beginning to screw my head on straight, emotionally, but I do not want to let the topic dominate this entry. Apparently my last entry reeked of desperation, because I got some amazing spiritual feedback from many of my family and friends. Thank you. The weather, the job, the house, the wife to be, her beloved eternal unremitting fountain of fur (McKinley)… are all separate yet correlated elements of the good life; a life I live everyday. Pair said ingredients with good music, art, and literature, and there is no room for emotional doldrums. Speaking of, here is my current/recently completed list of art forms:
Novelas: We the Living (Ayn Rand), 1984
Cinema: Volver (Penelope Cruz)
Musack: LCD Sound System, Cloud Cult, Junior Boys, My Brightest Diamond
Canvas: Adolph Gottlieb, duh
Oral Palette: $1.00 (two-pound) Peach Pie Scone from Big City Coffee. Tasty.
1.09.2007
Waffling
And it is here, sitting in my oh-so-favorite shop of coffee, that I am finally pulling my head out. Beginning to, at least. I am realizing that, if I do not turn things around, at the bare minimum I will have to change my description of values listed atop this blogging page. Life, love, spirituality, health, friendship. Those elusive yet invaluable qualities that make life worth pursuing.
I seem to have deviated from said list of values. In a deep conversation with Lauren (several deep conversations over the past few months, one profound discussion last night) I verbalized my perceived lack of control. The problem is not a lack of direction, nor a lack of purpose in life. I sit smug, confident in my life’s purpose (though what that purpose is I may not know for some time); however the micro-plans and immediate priorities throw my thoughts into bedlam. I feel like the train is on the tracks, in motion, though I’ve no way of predicting how many stops or detours wait on the route.
I am spiritually lost. A friend of mine (a dear friend actually [which I did not fully realize until last night]), in sympathetic dialogue, described his soul as his haven. His sanctuary. His private, secluded area of retreat to which he smuggled his problems; dragging them from the world’s chaos into his sheltered, secure refuge for dissection. I do not have such a place. The concept of my soul is mired in typical and atypical questions from the mind of a 26-year-old male. I have never felt so lost spiritually, or at least have never expressed it openly and admitted it to myself.
Family is concerned. Lauren is concerned. God is in question. Oddly, there remains an obstinate flicker of faith. “It will be OK, I’ll figure it out.” A phrase I hear myself (disconnected) reciting to my mother, fiancé, and friends. Actually, this is not a pacifier, nor a detached attempt to console those listening to (reading?) my ramblings. “It will be OK” wells from an unwavering assurance that this is all necessary; hard, damn near impossible to figure out, but imperative for my happiness. That same flicker, of faith, keeps me from freaking out all-at-once (though I fear it’s happening ever-so-gradually).
There it is: happiness. The word is seldom spoken, written, or otherwise vomited from my (limited) vocabulary without the conjoined twin “satisfaction”. Satisfaction: the act of fulfilling a need or desire or appetite. I set these ridiculous goals, kills myself to accomplish the goals (while concurrently setting other goals), then move on without acknowledging accomplishment. Hence the lack of control feeling, the train analogy. No one is at the helm; I don’t feel like I even got to buy the ticket.
Ironically, and this adds to the confusion, I’ve nothing to complain about. I look at my life’s elements: Money, Love, Health…. ? All is well on each front, though collectively I feel hollow. I really enjoy my job. I really love my fiancé. I really love my family, our house, the dog, my friends, my sport endeavors. Something, is missing.
No one wants to tackle such issues, and I’m experiencing a temporary alienation from my friends (I have not really vented this to anyone, though I suppose I emanate a scattered/phony demeanor that is compassion’s anti-serum). People get all squirmy, dodgy when asked about personal satisfaction, spirituality, love. God. What?
God is love. What? This comment is piercing, more so than any of the verses I’ve chronicled away in the annals of my Baptista upbringing. I hold tight to the concept as a tangible descriptor of an intangible entity. I feel? Check. I feel love? Check. I feel God? Maybe. My scientific, overly-educated cranium is leading me to spiritual tribulation, but the best-formulated chemical (scientific) explanations for emotion do not quantify my feelings.
12.15.2006
breather
Blah. Quadruple blah (i.e. blahblahblahblah). Crazy that, with so much positive change happening in life, I am caught up in the temporary negativity of my job. Temporary being a misnomer; I've been way too busy for about a month now, working at least ten hours every weekend in addition to the 45 or 50 hours during the week itself. I dig my job, but still haven't figured out how to draw that line and stick up for myself, for my endeavors.
But let me fill you in. Likely, if you're reading this you at least have some inkling of what has been happening en la vida Calvino, but I'll update anyway. Let's see... somewhere in the middle of October, I got my little paws on a most immaculate diamond ring. Since white gold and diamonds don't match my eyes, I decided to pass it on to the love of my life. After much haggling with her father for permission, I got the green light and asked Lauren to marry me at 1:00am on Saturday, October 27 (notice: I'm so-so with dates, but by chronicling the engagement in this blog I am [hopefully] avoiding the inevitable occasion when I forget said anniversary). We were up at her family's cabin in Garden Valley. It was beautiful.
That very Saturday, Lauren and I drove back into Boise and began house hunting. Seriously! We had decided we would not live together again until engaged, and although the house-hunting was at first an innocent afternoon time killer we soon became sucked in to the lovely whirlwind of home buying. We checked out maybe eight houses that afternoon and only toured four of them. The final house we toured, a 1905 bungalow located just a few blocks off State Street in the 'north end' of Boise, was disturbingly alluring. You know me well enough, I suspect, to ascertain that I take months to decide on substantial purchases. It would straight-up piss my sister off how calculated I was with my allowance and savings; so it surprised me more than anyone to make a $200k offer on something I'd seen only three days prior.
Three agonizing weeks later I got the house keys, and a clicker to my very own garage. Very own! The entire house is amazing, but the thought of having my own little work space drilled in the reality. Ah, so male sometimes, aren't I? The rest of the house is wonderfully eccentric, though quite functional: lofted ten-foot ceilings, hardwood floors, a potbelly wood stove in the main room, a loft with skylights, energy-savvy washer and dryer, stainless steel pert-near brand new fridge.... geeze. My sister even approved, claiming during her recent visit that my house was gorgeous, of which I can't take too much credit. Lauren has been going nuts. It's awesome to see her fulfilling her girly dreams in our house. We've had our challenges of compromise, sure, but anytime I surrender to her decorating desires I am blown away by the results.
Now... back to my job. It's an extra kick in the crotch not to have time to rake my yard! We have done a great job of avoiding the typical pile-up of boxes that happens when moving, but I have a list of tasks I am looking forward to simply because I have never owned a house or property before. I think the job is tapering. Heck, I have been saying that for months and the best that happens is a temporary undulation that instills false hope. It is my own fault for not being able to draw the line, and not being willing to take a hit by slacking a little. I have been in similar situations in life though with different ingredients, but here I am again trying to juggle three or four aspects while not wanting to be less-than-stellar in any of them. Fiance, Engineer, Cyclist, Brother and Son. Back in the crux of feeling so-so at all four because I won't let a single entity drop even a smidge. Something might crack soon, though this seasonal break could save me yet.
I will post pictures next blog. I would do it now but my camera and the transfer cord are in the other room... lazy? Ummm... I rode an hour outside then another three on the rollers this evening, so I am not sure lazy is an accurate adjective. More like anti-social: Lauren is having a party of sorts and invited all of her summer counselors from the girl scout camp. There are no males out there. It's not a matter of feeling intimidated. I am trying to let them be girly-girls and talk about girl things without inhibition. And yes, I'm being anti-social as well.
If you look back a year or so at previous blogs, I am confident you'll find mention of the twisted irony of training during this time of year. To go fast when it's warm, you have to train a whole lot when it's cold (nothing to do with temperature, just timing). The 'base' period of training occurs during the wintry months and involves more hours per week than any other time during the year. The challenge of logging 20 hours per week of ride time in Boise, in December, pushes the limits of time management, personal dedication, and sanity.
Along those lines, and yet completely random, here is a hooray list of my appreciation. Hooray for:
Sci-fi Audio Books: Especially Philip K. Dick's "A Scanner Darkly" read by Paul Giamatti
Peppermint Mocha Coffee Creamer: Brought to you by the seasonal elves at Internal Delight
Bulk Powdered Cheese: Nothing warms the soul like cheesy couscous after a winter bike ride
Rumplemintz and Hot Cocoa: Goes well with cheesy couscous? Goes well with anything.
Devotchka: Most amazing indie show I've seen in years. Highly recommend their 2004 disc "How it Ends".
Self-Parking Lexus: Pretty ballsy, and not a single child has been run over yet.
Ronco: dehydraters, juicers, dicers... billionaire. Genius.
But let me fill you in. Likely, if you're reading this you at least have some inkling of what has been happening en la vida Calvino, but I'll update anyway. Let's see... somewhere in the middle of October, I got my little paws on a most immaculate diamond ring. Since white gold and diamonds don't match my eyes, I decided to pass it on to the love of my life. After much haggling with her father for permission, I got the green light and asked Lauren to marry me at 1:00am on Saturday, October 27 (notice: I'm so-so with dates, but by chronicling the engagement in this blog I am [hopefully] avoiding the inevitable occasion when I forget said anniversary). We were up at her family's cabin in Garden Valley. It was beautiful.
That very Saturday, Lauren and I drove back into Boise and began house hunting. Seriously! We had decided we would not live together again until engaged, and although the house-hunting was at first an innocent afternoon time killer we soon became sucked in to the lovely whirlwind of home buying. We checked out maybe eight houses that afternoon and only toured four of them. The final house we toured, a 1905 bungalow located just a few blocks off State Street in the 'north end' of Boise, was disturbingly alluring. You know me well enough, I suspect, to ascertain that I take months to decide on substantial purchases. It would straight-up piss my sister off how calculated I was with my allowance and savings; so it surprised me more than anyone to make a $200k offer on something I'd seen only three days prior.
Three agonizing weeks later I got the house keys, and a clicker to my very own garage. Very own! The entire house is amazing, but the thought of having my own little work space drilled in the reality. Ah, so male sometimes, aren't I? The rest of the house is wonderfully eccentric, though quite functional: lofted ten-foot ceilings, hardwood floors, a potbelly wood stove in the main room, a loft with skylights, energy-savvy washer and dryer, stainless steel pert-near brand new fridge.... geeze. My sister even approved, claiming during her recent visit that my house was gorgeous, of which I can't take too much credit. Lauren has been going nuts. It's awesome to see her fulfilling her girly dreams in our house. We've had our challenges of compromise, sure, but anytime I surrender to her decorating desires I am blown away by the results.
Now... back to my job. It's an extra kick in the crotch not to have time to rake my yard! We have done a great job of avoiding the typical pile-up of boxes that happens when moving, but I have a list of tasks I am looking forward to simply because I have never owned a house or property before. I think the job is tapering. Heck, I have been saying that for months and the best that happens is a temporary undulation that instills false hope. It is my own fault for not being able to draw the line, and not being willing to take a hit by slacking a little. I have been in similar situations in life though with different ingredients, but here I am again trying to juggle three or four aspects while not wanting to be less-than-stellar in any of them. Fiance, Engineer, Cyclist, Brother and Son. Back in the crux of feeling so-so at all four because I won't let a single entity drop even a smidge. Something might crack soon, though this seasonal break could save me yet.
I will post pictures next blog. I would do it now but my camera and the transfer cord are in the other room... lazy? Ummm... I rode an hour outside then another three on the rollers this evening, so I am not sure lazy is an accurate adjective. More like anti-social: Lauren is having a party of sorts and invited all of her summer counselors from the girl scout camp. There are no males out there. It's not a matter of feeling intimidated. I am trying to let them be girly-girls and talk about girl things without inhibition. And yes, I'm being anti-social as well.
If you look back a year or so at previous blogs, I am confident you'll find mention of the twisted irony of training during this time of year. To go fast when it's warm, you have to train a whole lot when it's cold (nothing to do with temperature, just timing). The 'base' period of training occurs during the wintry months and involves more hours per week than any other time during the year. The challenge of logging 20 hours per week of ride time in Boise, in December, pushes the limits of time management, personal dedication, and sanity.
Along those lines, and yet completely random, here is a hooray list of my appreciation. Hooray for:
Sci-fi Audio Books: Especially Philip K. Dick's "A Scanner Darkly" read by Paul Giamatti
Peppermint Mocha Coffee Creamer: Brought to you by the seasonal elves at Internal Delight
Bulk Powdered Cheese: Nothing warms the soul like cheesy couscous after a winter bike ride
Rumplemintz and Hot Cocoa: Goes well with cheesy couscous? Goes well with anything.
Devotchka: Most amazing indie show I've seen in years. Highly recommend their 2004 disc "How it Ends".
Self-Parking Lexus: Pretty ballsy, and not a single child has been run over yet.
Ronco: dehydraters, juicers, dicers... billionaire. Genius.
12.13.2006
Goo!
Three months, three months! What the? Not too much has happened... just an engagement and the purchase of a home. I'll be updating real soon, not that I expect anyone to still read this silly thing. But hey the point is that I'm anxious to vent, and whether or not an ausdience exists is beside the point. Stay tuned...
9.19.2006
La carrera al angel
Some of you asked:
http://www.wellsnevada.com/racetoangel/Results06.pdf
In other news: I am legend. The annual Calvin drinking performance occurred last Friday, though its toxic repercussions lasted well into Sunday evening. I've heard I dance like Usher.
9.14.2006
thwarted
Do you know what a dongle is? Wikipedia quotes "a dongle is a small hardware device that connects to a computer to validate some piece of software". In my case, the dongle is a thumb drive that I am required to use on my laptop to run SolidWorks 2006, our chosen 3D CAD software. However, seeing as it's stupid-early and I came all the way down to this damn coffee shop to do some CAD work and left my dongle at home... well, I define dongle as "an unnecessary piece of shit".
Hostility? Yessir. I could be sleeping still. OK, probably not sleeping, but at least sitting on my own futon watching the morning news or pouring caffeine down Lauren's throat in an attempt to roust her this early. Asi es la vida, and instead of heading into the lab I'm going to kill an hour and a half here at the caffeine-dealer's crack-house. Holly and I are planning to meet at this very location at 7:15am; I need the visit and am anxious to hear of her trip to Norway.
There are some really amazing pictures on the walls around me, mostly of stalagmites (n' tites) from Horsethief Cave in Wyoming. The photos and their titles remind me of Cormac McCarthy's novel "Child of God". I won't go into detail, as the book is quite disturbing, but it is a worthwhile read and if you have 3 days to kill you should read it (to kill not being an intended pun, which you'll understand if you read the book). Anyway...
Something really on my mind, chewing at my innards like an invisible tape worm, is my team situation for next year (or lack thereof). I have thrown my resume all over the US, to every division three pro team and to a handful of the top amateur teams. I have not, however, heard anything substantial from a single team. If you know me, which you must if you are reading this silly morning rant, you know I prefer to plan out everything. If I have to fly solo next year and prove my worth at a few early-season events before being grabbed by a substantial team, so be it; I just want to know NOW so I can plan accordingly. Simply going with the flow, as they say, brings a metallic taste to my mouth and a rash to my hands (not really). A character flaw, I suppose? I have always believed in some sort of upper-tier plan for my life, a belief which spawns undulating sensations of confident serenity and apathy. It will be interesting to discover what is "supposed" to happen for next year. Annuit Coeptis, right? Hah!
Hostility? Yessir. I could be sleeping still. OK, probably not sleeping, but at least sitting on my own futon watching the morning news or pouring caffeine down Lauren's throat in an attempt to roust her this early. Asi es la vida, and instead of heading into the lab I'm going to kill an hour and a half here at the caffeine-dealer's crack-house. Holly and I are planning to meet at this very location at 7:15am; I need the visit and am anxious to hear of her trip to Norway.
There are some really amazing pictures on the walls around me, mostly of stalagmites (n' tites) from Horsethief Cave in Wyoming. The photos and their titles remind me of Cormac McCarthy's novel "Child of God". I won't go into detail, as the book is quite disturbing, but it is a worthwhile read and if you have 3 days to kill you should read it (to kill not being an intended pun, which you'll understand if you read the book). Anyway...
Something really on my mind, chewing at my innards like an invisible tape worm, is my team situation for next year (or lack thereof). I have thrown my resume all over the US, to every division three pro team and to a handful of the top amateur teams. I have not, however, heard anything substantial from a single team. If you know me, which you must if you are reading this silly morning rant, you know I prefer to plan out everything. If I have to fly solo next year and prove my worth at a few early-season events before being grabbed by a substantial team, so be it; I just want to know NOW so I can plan accordingly. Simply going with the flow, as they say, brings a metallic taste to my mouth and a rash to my hands (not really). A character flaw, I suppose? I have always believed in some sort of upper-tier plan for my life, a belief which spawns undulating sensations of confident serenity and apathy. It will be interesting to discover what is "supposed" to happen for next year. Annuit Coeptis, right? Hah!
9.13.2006
MOUNTAINS and mole hills
I've tried to stop working today, really. I came home, shut off the lights and holed up in my cool little cave of a bedroom at 4 pm this afternoon. My conscience had me back at the computer, phone in hand, by 4:15; so much going on. so much.
Or is there? Before this past month I'd never logged a forty-hour work week in my life. Now here I go with another fifty hour semana and I'm whining like the world is imploding. I just don't feel like I am excelling at anything I'm involved with in my job: I'm too busy to be a good boss, too inexperienced to be a good project manager, and too distracted to sit down and design the files I need to. Good timing with the season being over, as bittersweet as that is to accept.
The trip down to Elko over the weekend was a success. We rolled in to town Friday around six pm, and Lauren had found one of Lydia's puppies by approx. 6:00.54 pm. She came tearing around the house with a six-week old springer puppy in her arms, which my mother had already sold but not yet delivered. Lydia birthed nine of those critters, but by the time we went to Elko all were gone... save one. Thank goodness it was sold or we would have returned to Boise with a new pet. I don't need a creature depending on me for sustenance... but it was tempting.
The hill climb was Saturday; two hill climbs actually. Justin Mayfield won the Bogus Basin Hill Climb here in Boise in an impressive feat of strength and tactics. A serious pat on the back to Justin for finally bagging that event - he has valued that raced above all others since he started riding five years ago. As you know I opted to race in Wells, Nevada, at my own little world championship event. The event was super-validating for me, as I managed to pop off a great ride and smash my former record by nearly two minutes. Dig it. In 2004 I tried to beat the record but was cramping too badly. Hooray for bulimia! This year was pure velocity and determination and it proved I really am in the shape of my life.
Oh yeah, the aforementioned trip to Midvale, Idaho, was also rad. We got to check out Rodenator's varmint-destroying gun... in case you missed it on cnn.com, this device pumps a couple minutes' worth of oxygen-propane mixture into a ground-squirrel hole and ignites it; effectively liquefying everything within the tunnel system via a fire ball/energy concussion. I don't know if we tested 'dry' holes or inhabited ones, but I didn't see any survivors scampering out after our shots. Gruesome, but cool. In a good ol' boy sense.
back to work.
Or is there? Before this past month I'd never logged a forty-hour work week in my life. Now here I go with another fifty hour semana and I'm whining like the world is imploding. I just don't feel like I am excelling at anything I'm involved with in my job: I'm too busy to be a good boss, too inexperienced to be a good project manager, and too distracted to sit down and design the files I need to. Good timing with the season being over, as bittersweet as that is to accept.
The trip down to Elko over the weekend was a success. We rolled in to town Friday around six pm, and Lauren had found one of Lydia's puppies by approx. 6:00.54 pm. She came tearing around the house with a six-week old springer puppy in her arms, which my mother had already sold but not yet delivered. Lydia birthed nine of those critters, but by the time we went to Elko all were gone... save one. Thank goodness it was sold or we would have returned to Boise with a new pet. I don't need a creature depending on me for sustenance... but it was tempting.
The hill climb was Saturday; two hill climbs actually. Justin Mayfield won the Bogus Basin Hill Climb here in Boise in an impressive feat of strength and tactics. A serious pat on the back to Justin for finally bagging that event - he has valued that raced above all others since he started riding five years ago. As you know I opted to race in Wells, Nevada, at my own little world championship event. The event was super-validating for me, as I managed to pop off a great ride and smash my former record by nearly two minutes. Dig it. In 2004 I tried to beat the record but was cramping too badly. Hooray for bulimia! This year was pure velocity and determination and it proved I really am in the shape of my life.
Oh yeah, the aforementioned trip to Midvale, Idaho, was also rad. We got to check out Rodenator's varmint-destroying gun... in case you missed it on cnn.com, this device pumps a couple minutes' worth of oxygen-propane mixture into a ground-squirrel hole and ignites it; effectively liquefying everything within the tunnel system via a fire ball/energy concussion. I don't know if we tested 'dry' holes or inhabited ones, but I didn't see any survivors scampering out after our shots. Gruesome, but cool. In a good ol' boy sense.
back to work.
9.07.2006
Early
It's early, yessir. Work has been insane, insane I tell you. I was so apprehensive to start that forty-hour-per-week routine, and here I am well into a 50-hour week. Smooth transition I think not. I got up at five this morning, cranked out a couple proposals/quotes for clients, and now I'm taking a brief respite before heading to the office. McKinley and I are curled up on the couch... she seems annoyed at the sound of my keystrokes. I'm annoyed at her inability to keep her hair attached to her body instead of floating all over my house... I'll let her slide. I just looked at her and instigated the 100-decibel tail-thump that she emmanates in the early morning silence. Shhh.... Lauren's sleeping.
Anyway, the days are progressing well and I am finding reward in most aspects of my job. The bike season is winding down, down, down, which takes the edge off these long weeks. Just one more hill climb this weekend and I get to hang it up for a while. I had debated hitting a few more big-caliber events, but between logistical set-backs and financial drawbacks it became obvious I should call it a season. Call it a season of accomplishment, a season well-done.
But first, that hill climb. I'm opting to skip the local hill climb this weekend, AKA the Bogus Basin World Championship; instead I will be travelling down to Elko tomorrow evening then over to Wells, Nevada early Saturday a.m. The "race to the angel" climbs up to Angel Lake some 13 miles southwest of Wells, and is actually the first "road race" I ever did. Back in the day, 1995 riding a l992 Carbon Trek. Epic climb and a perfect way to end the season: family and friends present (both in cars and in competition), a nostalgic climb, and a brewery-sponsored barbecue. Although the barbecue typically consists of cold chicken wings, store-bought chocolate-chip cookies and wilted iceberg lettuce, the beer and epic climb overshadow all shortcomings. Best thing about the event? The promoters and locals could care less who you are! Last time I went down there I received zero acclaim for winning the overall! Awesome.
I get to travel to Midvale this afternoon, which I've been told is somewhere North of here. You know it's a small town when it's referenced to another unknown Idaho town. "Yeah you know, Midvale, it's about forty miles north of Weiser". What? I'm heade up there for a project, so apparently someone lives there - or at least works there.
G'bye.
calvino
Anyway, the days are progressing well and I am finding reward in most aspects of my job. The bike season is winding down, down, down, which takes the edge off these long weeks. Just one more hill climb this weekend and I get to hang it up for a while. I had debated hitting a few more big-caliber events, but between logistical set-backs and financial drawbacks it became obvious I should call it a season. Call it a season of accomplishment, a season well-done.
But first, that hill climb. I'm opting to skip the local hill climb this weekend, AKA the Bogus Basin World Championship; instead I will be travelling down to Elko tomorrow evening then over to Wells, Nevada early Saturday a.m. The "race to the angel" climbs up to Angel Lake some 13 miles southwest of Wells, and is actually the first "road race" I ever did. Back in the day, 1995 riding a l992 Carbon Trek. Epic climb and a perfect way to end the season: family and friends present (both in cars and in competition), a nostalgic climb, and a brewery-sponsored barbecue. Although the barbecue typically consists of cold chicken wings, store-bought chocolate-chip cookies and wilted iceberg lettuce, the beer and epic climb overshadow all shortcomings. Best thing about the event? The promoters and locals could care less who you are! Last time I went down there I received zero acclaim for winning the overall! Awesome.
I get to travel to Midvale this afternoon, which I've been told is somewhere North of here. You know it's a small town when it's referenced to another unknown Idaho town. "Yeah you know, Midvale, it's about forty miles north of Weiser". What? I'm heade up there for a project, so apparently someone lives there - or at least works there.
G'bye.
calvino
9.02.2006
random idea
We've all seen rally car driving in Europe, yes? Likely originating from a few good ol' (Euro) country boys betting a case of beer, these events are usually point-to-point and involve not only spry, sporty 4wd subarus, but everything from Semi trucks to motorhomes towing speedboats. Dig it. The objective is to set the fastest, blistering time while adhering to established rules.
So I'm warming up for a crit last weekend (more to come on that), and the idea of rally criteriums hits me. Freaking brilliant. Racing a crit, alone, is harrowing and challenging. But imagine the turn out and thrills if we started adding cargo and passengers to our two-wheeled transporters. Here's a few ideas for a sixty-minute crit:
Girlie-on-the-bars Class (GOT-B): Chosen girlfriend must be planted firmly atop the handlebars, at least one glute in contact with bars at all times. There could be different GOT-B classes, depending on girlfriend mass and geometry (i.e. weight and proportion). Style points are given depending on girlfriend's attire and facial expression. Girl is allowed to assist the rider by shifting weight, gears, and attitude at will.
Tot in Tote Class (TIT): Not necessarily your own tot, but someone's child (age six or less) in tow in one of those BOB child carriers. This again could be modified using a Trail-A-Bike apparatus for larger/older/more coordinated children. Style points are available, this time rewarded in direct correlation to your child's scream decibel.
Any other ideas? Let's turn this into an open forum and get the masses involved.
That's all for now. Stew on that idea for a while.
Oh, I won the crit, which is nice; but it would've meant more with Lauren on the handlebars, or with a five-year-old in tow.
Calvin
7.15.2006
Z-less
It's now Saturday afternoon. Four of the six stages have come and gone, all leaving their invisible marks and scars on my internals; lungs, legs, arteries. The time trial was this morning. I got all super-duded and had a phenomenal warm up. In the TT, looking fast actually does often equate to going fast. And boy did I look like speed.
I went out way too hard. Way. That's happened so many times in the past I have lost count, and at least this time I managed to limit the damage and recover to finish well. My time was somewhere around fourteen and a half minutes for the 6.6 mile course... sounds decent, but the winning time is likely below thirteen. Bummer to have good legs and not perform to your maximum. Story of the year.
Regardless, my mind keeps pogo-ing back and forth between negativity and optimism. I am pleased to be 'in the mix' this year, but am also frustrated to be lacking that confidence; the type of confidence that one obtains from always 'being in the mix', unfortunately, is temporarily beyond my grasp. This race should prep me well (mentally and physically) for the Twilight Criterium next weekend in Boise. Big money this year. I had to watch last year's event from the curb, having hung my bike up during Cascade 2005. So glad the tide is different now.
This is a difficult time in longer stage races. Your brain is tired but sleep evades you. Your body is depleted but your stomach is boycotting and has extinguished your appetite. I can only imagine what the Tour de France riders experience, averaging around 4000 calories burned per day during exercise... three weeks straight. Sheesh, no wonder so many go home due to 'gastro-intestinal distress' and pure exhaustion. Toughies.
That's all I can muster for now. I should be stretching, sleeping, eating, or preparing my bike for this evening's criterium. Perhaps I'll read for a while. I apologize for such a boring blog.
7.13.2006
Here, and not.
I am at the Cascade Classic in Bend, Oregon, attempting to mix it up with the big kids. So far it's going well, though frustrating, since I've wonderful fitness but terrible strategy and have blown it in both stages. The beauty in such stage races is that there remains four opportunities to 'get it right', and just maybe I'll be able to pop a good result against these yahoos.
Yes, bikes are good, though to be honest my mental energy is elsewhere right now. A few days back Lauren came down from McCall (camp Alice Pittenger - Girl Scouts) to have an MRI performed on her back, and to receive steroidal injections into the L4 and L5 surrounding muscle tissue. She's been in pain for quite some time, and the physical therapy she underwent (aimed at rehabilitating a bulging disc) had little effect. So... Monday was the MRI, which actually revealed zero disc bulge, but she went ahead with the injections (epidural style) to reduce inflammation and hopefully alleviate the pinched-nerve sensations for good. OK, good, end of procedure see you in a few months....
Doctor calls her the next evening (Tuesday evening, hours before she planned to return to McCall), to announce that the radiologist spotted a curious discoloration near the lower aorta, apparently down near the upper stomach. The color, the doctor explained, was a loose 'fluid' that, of course, should definitely NOT be there. Shit hits the fan, Lauren's spooked, the doctor calls her in for an emergency CT scan, and meanwhile I'm 335 miles away pedaling my bicycle in a silly race.
CT scan reveals nothing, though the doctor explains that such free-fluid-that-shouldn't-be-there caused such alarm because, typically, it is the byproduct of a growth, cyst, tumor, what have you. Lauren's still freaked. Lauren's doctor stresses that the CT scan revealed no such growth, but returns to the radiologist to further discuss the mystery-fluid in her MRI. So, as of now, they have no freaking idea what caused (is causing?) the fluid, but they are 'reasonably sure' it's not a tumor and Lauren has for the time being been placated and calmed.
I have not. Thank goodness Lauren hardly ever reads this (she abhors email, see Luddite), for I fear that my apprehension would only feed her worries. I know this sounds mushy, but I'd come unraveled if anything happened to her. After living with Jason and watching him go from a healthy gent in his late twenties to a full-blow battler of cancer within a few months... I don't know.
That's it. Reporting on the racing seems shallow at the moment so I'll hold off.
Yes, bikes are good, though to be honest my mental energy is elsewhere right now. A few days back Lauren came down from McCall (camp Alice Pittenger - Girl Scouts) to have an MRI performed on her back, and to receive steroidal injections into the L4 and L5 surrounding muscle tissue. She's been in pain for quite some time, and the physical therapy she underwent (aimed at rehabilitating a bulging disc) had little effect. So... Monday was the MRI, which actually revealed zero disc bulge, but she went ahead with the injections (epidural style) to reduce inflammation and hopefully alleviate the pinched-nerve sensations for good. OK, good, end of procedure see you in a few months....
Doctor calls her the next evening (Tuesday evening, hours before she planned to return to McCall), to announce that the radiologist spotted a curious discoloration near the lower aorta, apparently down near the upper stomach. The color, the doctor explained, was a loose 'fluid' that, of course, should definitely NOT be there. Shit hits the fan, Lauren's spooked, the doctor calls her in for an emergency CT scan, and meanwhile I'm 335 miles away pedaling my bicycle in a silly race.
CT scan reveals nothing, though the doctor explains that such free-fluid-that-shouldn't-be-there caused such alarm because, typically, it is the byproduct of a growth, cyst, tumor, what have you. Lauren's still freaked. Lauren's doctor stresses that the CT scan revealed no such growth, but returns to the radiologist to further discuss the mystery-fluid in her MRI. So, as of now, they have no freaking idea what caused (is causing?) the fluid, but they are 'reasonably sure' it's not a tumor and Lauren has for the time being been placated and calmed.
I have not. Thank goodness Lauren hardly ever reads this (she abhors email, see Luddite), for I fear that my apprehension would only feed her worries. I know this sounds mushy, but I'd come unraveled if anything happened to her. After living with Jason and watching him go from a healthy gent in his late twenties to a full-blow battler of cancer within a few months... I don't know.
That's it. Reporting on the racing seems shallow at the moment so I'll hold off.
6.20.2006
Morning commute
Always such a shame to see someone fulfilling grotesque stereotypes.
Example-
morning commute in Boise, Idaho [suppose'd home to innumerable rednecks and gun-toting closed-minded luddites]. Relatively hassle-free. Meathead in jacked up 4x4 Jeep, sporting the following bumperstickers: 1) Jesus didn't ride an Elephant. 2) My Jeep can kick your Hybrid's Ass. and 3) Who would Jesus Bomb?. Wow, hooray for Idaho.
I'm at work, though not planning to work today. We are all headed up to Garden Valley for a day's "retreat"; though in my developing sense of career-hood I've learned "retreat" is actually nerd-speak for "day o' meetings, albeit outside of the office." I hope we don't have too much to discuss, as Garden Valley is referred to as the Promised Land at this time of year.
Which, perhaps, is why I might run into my father [I am no longer speaking in terms of Idaho Bumper Stickers... father, not Father]. A few hours before my graduation BBQ he swung by for a six-minute visit and mentioned he was headed to GV to source work and a housing situation. No one has heard from him since, and based on prior experience I should expect the unexpected, i.e. to run smack into him during a micro-vacation from Boise. GV only has two bars, three if you count Painter Ed's single-wide home [a rather pickled gentleman my father once referred to as "Good People"]; so he should be easy to avoid or locate if I feel so inclined. I've no desire to see him. I admit, it would be awkward to introduce my workmates to him in such a situation. "Oh, hey dad, these are my co-workers... I didn't know you were up here. Wow, dad, you look/smell great as usual." Never ceases to push the envelope. Good for me, I guess.
Anyway, it should be a nice escape one way or another. I'm packing my [NEW!!] mountain bike along so I'll have someone snap some pictures of me pedalling around.
Example-
morning commute in Boise, Idaho [suppose'd home to innumerable rednecks and gun-toting closed-minded luddites]. Relatively hassle-free. Meathead in jacked up 4x4 Jeep, sporting the following bumperstickers: 1) Jesus didn't ride an Elephant. 2) My Jeep can kick your Hybrid's Ass. and 3) Who would Jesus Bomb?. Wow, hooray for Idaho.
I'm at work, though not planning to work today. We are all headed up to Garden Valley for a day's "retreat"; though in my developing sense of career-hood I've learned "retreat" is actually nerd-speak for "day o' meetings, albeit outside of the office." I hope we don't have too much to discuss, as Garden Valley is referred to as the Promised Land at this time of year.
Which, perhaps, is why I might run into my father [I am no longer speaking in terms of Idaho Bumper Stickers... father, not Father]. A few hours before my graduation BBQ he swung by for a six-minute visit and mentioned he was headed to GV to source work and a housing situation. No one has heard from him since, and based on prior experience I should expect the unexpected, i.e. to run smack into him during a micro-vacation from Boise. GV only has two bars, three if you count Painter Ed's single-wide home [a rather pickled gentleman my father once referred to as "Good People"]; so he should be easy to avoid or locate if I feel so inclined. I've no desire to see him. I admit, it would be awkward to introduce my workmates to him in such a situation. "Oh, hey dad, these are my co-workers... I didn't know you were up here. Wow, dad, you look/smell great as usual." Never ceases to push the envelope. Good for me, I guess.
Anyway, it should be a nice escape one way or another. I'm packing my [NEW!!] mountain bike along so I'll have someone snap some pictures of me pedalling around.
6.06.2006
Time passes
It's Tuesday... in June. Yikes! Where does the time go? The scary (yet exciting) fact is that I enjoy such rapid passing of time, and although I still haven't settled into my post-school rhythm I'm slowly gaining control of my schedule. First off, school is over, as most of you know. We all threw one hell of a BBQ (which many of you attended) and I nearly fulfilled my promise of a legendary drinking performance. Alas, at the end of the evening no one had gone streaking, and I woke up in normal PJ's and a moderate if non-existent hangover; yet I certainly pushed the inebriation envelope and won't be drinking like that for another five or six months.
It's five p.m. My day today: Ride, work, nap... headed out for ride number two. Not too shabby, a good schedule. I'm trying to regain some bicycling-confidence after a horrid experience last weekend at Mt. Hood. The weekend bared strong resemblance to the Tour de Toona back in 2005: good prep, superb legs, and an unwavering lack of belief in myself. Never underestimate my ability to mire good fitness in bad brains. I don't want to write about this... I'm upset but I'll deal and it doesn't change my love of the sport, nor my narcissistic opinion of everything in my life non-cycling related (hey the counselor says its OK!). That's the beauty in such a blog, created under the pretense of pure extemporaneous ramblings... let's talk about other things.
Like Lauren, for example. She leaves this Friday (or Saturday, if I can dissuade her for an additional 24 hours) to begin her two months' incarceration up at Camp Happy Girl in McCall. OK, it's not actually called that, but I haven't yet memorized the term the Girl Scouts of America has assigned to its institution. Ouch, I sound a bit sour, when in actuality I'm not too upset. I'll miss Lauren, but we'll get our visits in here and there. Plus, this is the frosting part of her job, after six months of scrambling to hire staff, write curriculums, arrange bus skeds; all the while dealing with typical "Hey I'm miserable to be here" co-workers. She's earned a couple months' stay in the wilderness. Any malevolence I express stems from pure selfishness.
This blog breaks the seal on a sparse year of personal journaling, and I'm looking forward to logging more key strokes in the months ahead. I'll have to fill you in on the unexpected side effects of non-academia. Tom Crawford recently graduated as well, and on his blog he mentions recently being denied a library card for summer enjoyment. I'm off the list, too, and just found out that my ID card works to enter my lab but no longer grants access to the building (in which the lab is located). Hooray. More later. The pic above was taken in Moab over Spring Break. Little after the fact, but worth posting. My mountain bike should come in sometime this week... dig it.
5.01.2006
all-most....
Aero project? Check (see below, nerdery in its finest). I modeled 60-mph airflow over the cross-bars of an empty Yakima roof rack. That black silhouette... yep, the Volvo. The top row is without a fairing, the bottom row includes one. If you really care, shoot me an email and I'll tell you the drag force an empty roof-rack adds to your car at such speeds. Nerds.
I'm up to page 18 with my renewable energy systems term paper. Roughly another seven pages and I'm golden. No worries. No? worries?
I'm up to page 18 with my renewable energy systems term paper. Roughly another seven pages and I'm golden. No worries. No? worries?
4.06.2006
crunch time
yes indeed, busy am i. busy enough to not bother with capitalization of proper nouns nor sentence headers. hah! hah, the life of a rebel!
OK, Enough of that. But seriously, things are insane. Next Tuesday: comprehensive exam (as in THE exam). One day later: Aerodynamics design project due. Two days later: Spanish test. Four days later: Renewable Energy Systems test. One week later: 25 page term paper regarding Proton Exchange Membrane Fuel Cells in Non-Automotive Applications. Two days later, another aerodynamics project.... Drip, drip, (cranium seepage).
Thank goodness I got to sneak away last week, though I wonder if the cold-water-shock-contrast of returning to this mayhem will send me into a coma. Lauren and I went down to southern Utah for a week; car camping four or five nights and lodging in 40-dollar hotels the remaining evenings. It was incredible, to understate things. I've a new-found respect for Utah's beauty... there are two or three thousand national parks along the southern edge of the state. Not really, but a buttload. If we gleaned anything from our week's visit, it is to budget WAY more time per national park. The Grand Staircase Escalante National Park, aside from having a bi-lingually redundant title, would take decades to fully explore. Two days in passing left us shell shocked though euphoric, and we're already planning a future return trip.
Managed to see my dad on the way back to Elko to Boise. Not worth writing about. He's getting old. He walks and moves like a 75-year-old ex-sumo wrestler, all busted up with arthritis and yet still working construction jobs in 38-degree winter conditions. Still a drunk. Still a travesty.
In contrast, we also got to hang out with my mom, Bob, Heather and Jacob for a day point five. Wow! Bob made us a meal that made up for one week's worth of camp-snack-junk food, and I enjoyed watching my mother and Lauren get to know each other even more. They really haven't spent much time together; ironic that they both mean so much to me, and yet there is such distance (geographical) between them.
Tonight I'm taking a break from studying. I'm headed to Lauren's to watch some good old fashioned TV and relax a bit. Three more weeks. Three more! Lord help me. Three more weeks till it's over; either ending with my Master's or a brain hemorrhage.
Thanks for checking back, it's been a while since I've written.
OK, Enough of that. But seriously, things are insane. Next Tuesday: comprehensive exam (as in THE exam). One day later: Aerodynamics design project due. Two days later: Spanish test. Four days later: Renewable Energy Systems test. One week later: 25 page term paper regarding Proton Exchange Membrane Fuel Cells in Non-Automotive Applications. Two days later, another aerodynamics project.... Drip, drip, (cranium seepage).
Thank goodness I got to sneak away last week, though I wonder if the cold-water-shock-contrast of returning to this mayhem will send me into a coma. Lauren and I went down to southern Utah for a week; car camping four or five nights and lodging in 40-dollar hotels the remaining evenings. It was incredible, to understate things. I've a new-found respect for Utah's beauty... there are two or three thousand national parks along the southern edge of the state. Not really, but a buttload. If we gleaned anything from our week's visit, it is to budget WAY more time per national park. The Grand Staircase Escalante National Park, aside from having a bi-lingually redundant title, would take decades to fully explore. Two days in passing left us shell shocked though euphoric, and we're already planning a future return trip.
Managed to see my dad on the way back to Elko to Boise. Not worth writing about. He's getting old. He walks and moves like a 75-year-old ex-sumo wrestler, all busted up with arthritis and yet still working construction jobs in 38-degree winter conditions. Still a drunk. Still a travesty.
In contrast, we also got to hang out with my mom, Bob, Heather and Jacob for a day point five. Wow! Bob made us a meal that made up for one week's worth of camp-snack-junk food, and I enjoyed watching my mother and Lauren get to know each other even more. They really haven't spent much time together; ironic that they both mean so much to me, and yet there is such distance (geographical) between them.
Tonight I'm taking a break from studying. I'm headed to Lauren's to watch some good old fashioned TV and relax a bit. Three more weeks. Three more! Lord help me. Three more weeks till it's over; either ending with my Master's or a brain hemorrhage.
Thanks for checking back, it's been a while since I've written.
4.04.2006
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