July 31, 2008

I began this month with a retrospective post looking back at my past life, past music and past times. I thought it was only appropriate to take and appreciative look forward at what can and will be.

Forty-four days...just 6 weeks...from today (or thereabout), Hope and I will become parents. This is such an exciting thought but also seems to feel like a daunting task. Many of our conversations now look forward at what we will be doing, how we will be raising/educating and what we need to do in preparation.

There really is so much to do. Beyond finishing a bathroom or readying a nursery, we talk about sports, school, college and money. We talk about the general state of the world, of our country, our state and our home. We talk about being more involved is some things, less involved in others. We talk about transportation, vacation, environment, grand parents and friends. We talk about societal issues and how to raise our children to be concerned, involved, caring, cultured and socially adept to make the right decisions about topics that will be up to them.

There is far more depth here than I can do justice in this brief blog. I'm sure I'll touch base on all these things over the coming months and years, whether through published word, conversation or just general parental guidance. I hope you only do the same for your children, your friends and their children.

Pax vobiscum

Bicycle Commuting - Intermezzo

I've noticed a lack in reporting on my bicycle commuting this summer. A few factors have contributed to my lackluster performance as of late.

1. Flat tire on the road bike - my road tires are roached...dry rotted and squared off. I have new tires on the way but I was hesitant to fix the flat and try riding again out of fear that the same would happen again. I fear I have picked up too much glass in my front tire and I really, really do not want to catch a flat at 30 mph on the road. Actually, I fear the resulting wreck.
2. Titanium ARC project - it is coming along. I've needed some parts for the past weeks and finally placed the order the other day. I should be able to get it together over the next few days.
3. Hope was gone for over two weeks and then worked all last week. So I brought Gibson to work. Commuting on a bike becomes a little past difficult when you have a 110 pound dog to bring to work. I suppose I could try putting him on a bus....
4. It's damn hot. No really, my drive to work often finishes with a low to mid 80's ambient temperature. This puts a damper on my desire to hop on a bike for my morning commute.
5. Gas got more expensive and I felt like contributing to the oil exec's profits. Oh...wait a minute.
6. There is NOOOO...rule six.
7. Riding the full suspension mountain bike to work is really not appealing. Knobby tires on pavement never equates to fun. They just don't belong there.
   
8. Tell me to get off my lazy ass...I should be riding a bike. Really.
   

A night in...

Did some yard work together.

Cooked dinner together.

Cleaned the kitchen together.

Watched Fantasia together.

Felt the baby dance to the music together.

What a wonderful night.

What more could I ask for?

My little happy dance

After a long day at work, Fibby and I finally had a chance to catch up on the phone. It has been far too long since we last spoke. The news she shared with me picked up my spirits and caused me to dance my little happy dance as soon as I got out of the car in my garage.

Yaaaayyyyy Phoebe!

Is this how's it going to be?

I registered to volunteer for the Democratic National Convention a few weeks ago. About a week ago I received my "ticket" for the volunteer orientation and was directed to a really cool website that allows everyone to set up car pools. The ticket stated that the orientation started at 9 on Saturday morning. By Thursday, I had arranged with two other people for a car pool and we aimed to arrive at about 8:30.

Friday afternoon, we received an email stating that the doors open thirty minutes before the event and that they wanted us there before the doors open.

What? They tell us this a day before? I hope this isn't a sign of what is to come. I'd think general organization and communication would be a top priority.

Here we go....

Ned

I decided to reinstitute the Nederland rides. In a previous job...a previous world...we used to leave our office at 12 on Fridays, drive to Ned, ride for many hours and finish up with a filling meal at Mountain Burger. Trust me, we tried a double and couldn't finish it...this is a very satisfying meal!

For the past three weeks, Phil and I have been leaving the office at 5:30 on Tuesday tothe Tuesdays, for the past three weeks, Phil and I have been driving the hour up to Nederland to ride the trails. We don't have a ton of time so we cram as much riding in as possible (generally 2 hours) before the sun goes down. We have talked about bringing lights and riding past dusk but as of yet, we have not found the need to throw halogens on our handlebars. It could be a motivation thing....

Why Nederland?

The riding there is pure fun. Rolling hills, nothing too taxing, good terrain and twisty trails that force you onto the last few knobs toward the edge of your tire. Your elevation gain over the front range contributes to a 10-15 degree decrease in air temperature and you are sheltered from the sun's intensity by a good deal of shade. You laugh, you grunt, you sweat and you grin. Everyone who has been introduced to Ned falls in love.

You start off on a trail that twists back on top of itself. You could be 50 yards ahead on the trail but you can reach out and give a buddy a high five. After an ever-so-brief climb, you hit a slow doubletrack climb that gives you a quick elevation gain. From there, you can bomb down a ripping singletrack that takes you past an old yellow bus. This trail feels almost tunnel-like...the vegetation hangs over that trail so close that you can't see into the woods. There is one straight shot where you can see ahead for about twenty or thirty yards but beyond that, you are riding on pure skill and reaction. To the other side of this doubletrack is a trail that looks almost like a mogul run. It is tight but if you have the skill, you can carve your turns from the top of each bump to the next. Great fun! From there, you can follow a double track out to a lollipop and there have been several other offshoots that we have been eyeing for future exploration. Our bushwhacking expedition last night took us down to a small pond with a little skiff. We rode out of the woods last night in the dark, quite satisfied with the evening ride.

There's more to explore, c'mon up, we are going again next Tuesday!

The Personhood Initiative

I love my morning dose of NPR. I was actually yelling at my radio this morning during my drive to work. Mind you, this has nothing to do with the basis of the actual story but the fact that a person did not have the willingness to speak of her convictions.

Colorado Public Radio does a fantastic job of finding interesting stories, getting far more in depth and asking probing questions. This morning, CPR interviewed three young adults who are getting more involved in politics. They found a young Republican, Democrat and Independent.

The young Republican was a 20 year old woman named Kristi Burton. She is working on the "Personhood Initiative" which all Coloradoans will be voting on this year and claims to be the spokesperson for said initiative. They are working "To see that the Colorado state constitution is amended to include pre-born from the moment of fertilization as having their "personhood" clearly established, so that they may enjoy equal protection under the law."

It is fairly clear the inquiring mind that this is the first step toward making abortion illegal. But would she admit this? Not at all. However, the CPR interviewer had the chutzpa to continue pushing this point. Eventually, Kristi was willing to admit that she didn't like abortion much. And finally, after additional prodding, Kristi came out with the statement that it is truly a movement toward condemning abortion.

My political views aside, if this is what you are focused on, have the nerve to speak to your convictions. Don't dance around and try to avoid answering the question. If you don't like, believe in or appreciate abortion, just say so. I felt like I was listening to a candidate bobbing and weaving. What a senseless waste....

Now, should I get started on the tenets of The Personhood Initiative? Naw, it's too easy....

We are at war

This is not for the squeamish.

I received an email with a video attachment moments ago. The video is of an A-10 warplane firing on a group of four soldiers.

Mind you, I'm not one to be turned off by a violent movie or novel. But those are images of fiction. This turned my stomach. Have we become so callous to what our American soldiers face every day that we can watch a trigger video and feel giddy about killing our "enemy"? That we have put American men and women into a position where they have to kill? That we, as a whole, only lament the fact that our armed services have to spend more time in Iraq? Afghanistan? Have we forgotten what we have sent them there to do? How that will affect them for the rest of their lives? That they, too, have guns aimed at their heads every day?

Is this what has happened to us? We view a video of four men being killed as entertainment for the masses? We can joke about it and post incredibly inhumane comments that are completely anonymous? This is sick.

I become, more and more, my mother's son with every passing day.

What are you going to do?

This past winter, Hope and I traveled back to Maine for the holidays. We got to see many close friends, folks we simply live too far away from.

One night, we were invited to a small party at Brandon's casa. After an amazing dinner (everything he cooks is amazing), we sat around playing a really goofy board game and then ended up in a conversation about politics.

Rob and Heather are from Maine but living in Australia. Brandon grew up in Maine and never left. Hope and I are from Maine (actually, Hope is from Alaska) and live in Colorado. We all share similar views and all agreed that we are voting the same way. Ultimately, that is 5 votes going to the right (or left, if you will) side. But that's not enough.

We concluded that simply discussing the same issues among friends would not be enough. We aren't going to change each other's minds and we don't need to. A simple vote, while important, is not necessarily enough to ensure a victory for the Democrats. We needed to become more involved. We needed to spend some time trying to lend a hand beyond the one that pulls the lever at the ballot box.

Hope caucused this year for Obama. I stayed home since I am a registered Independent. As summer progressed, I continued to have the same conversations with friends and continued to ask what we are going to do to help out. But I never really asked myself what I would do.

Another conversation with a like minded individual opened up the idea of volunteering for the convention in Denver. And that is exactly what I am going to do. I have signed up as a volunteer. I have received my ticket for the orientation. I have found at least one other person from my neighborhood to carpool with. And I head down to be orientated on Saturday.

I will not, however, drink the koolaid.

Validation and vindication

Hope returned from Maine with the baby book my mother kept for me (along with a scrapbook...yikes, we aren't even going to talk about THAT here). Enclosed in the baby book, along with the standard familial anecdotes and firsts was a copy of what I believe was entitled "The Mukai Sentinel".

All you Main-ahs out there will likely recognize the loose affiliation with our other locally esteemed tome of journalistic excellence. One of my Mother's attempts to guide my education and likely keep me out of her hair for more than five minutes was to have me publish a weekly family newsletter. I was able to write, edit and publish all pieces of my opus on our Apple IIc. What a magnificent machine. When completed and if memory serves, we would mail each set of letters out to our extended family in New York, Jersey and points to our north (well, west really).

An early form of a blog, perhaps? Thanks and kudos to my Mom!

In other news....

My baby book also noted that I never wanted to wake up in the morning. Not only as a baby but into childhood. And that I was grumpiest in the first moments following my exit from slumber.

All still true!

I need to research further if I had trouble falling asleep at night. Which may explain why I am writing this somewhere past midnight. With that note, I retire.

Land Rover Trials and Tribulations

As most of you well know, Hope and I are the proud owners of a 1967 Land Rover Series IIa 109" Station Wagon. You also know it takes us to many fun and inaccessible areas here in Colorado.

And occasionally, it craps out.

The look on my face must have been priceless. There was nary a verbal epithet, not even the chance to mutter f**k in my mind. Just pure, unadulterated shock. My guess is that my jaw dropped.

And what happened, you wonder.

Well, I drove the Rover to work yesterday simply because it had not been run in about two weeks. I left the office to go grab a burrito at Chipotle during lunch. As I pulled into said establishment, I misjudged the turning radius and was about to scrape down the side of a black Acura. So I calmly applied the brakes (they worked). I went to shift the truck from second gear to reverse (mind you, this is a looooong reach...reverse is all the way across the transmission and way forward). The shift lever ("Main Gear Change Lever" if you are a Land Rover freak and insist on calling the hood the "bonnet") snapped off in my hand, leaving me in neutral.

After the shock subsided, I climbed out of the truck, pushed it back and then began pushing it forward into the space. A nice fellow in a Ford pickup jumped out and helped me push it all the way into the space as it was slightly uphill.

Good fun. Luckily, the repair should cost less than $200, which may be the cheapest repair to date. Ah, the joys of owning a vintage vehicle. At least it didn't happen miles up into the woods on some nasty 4x4 trail.

The slackjaws

Had another run in with the slackjawed kids from next door the other day.

One of them was inside the garage playing around and the other burst in through the open door and exclaimed, "What the hell is going on in here?"

My calm response was that "we don't use that kind of language in this house." The child had a blank look on his face. Not unlike the one that past across my mind.

An internal conversation began immediately. "What the f**k did I just say? We don't use that kind of language, what the f**k does that mean? Who am I, Ned Flanders? Hi diddly ho neighbor-ino, what can I do-diddly-do you for?"

I'm in a flat spin out to sea....

Things not to do to your pregger wife

My friends, I apologize. I've been remiss in spending any time updating this blog as of late. I have, instead, been busy riding my bike, skating whenever I can, signing up to volunteer with the Democratic National Convention and generally pissing off the pregger wife. Yup. That's the biggie...pissing her off.

I'm not quite sure how this one came about. Being the prankster I am, I'm sure the niggling desire to continue my merry ways overcame all sane and better judgment.

My friend, Anthony, the one who takes the fantastic biking pics (amongst other things), decided that his Xterra was not returning the best fuel economy for everyday driving. He settled on a Mazda Miata which I duly pointed out is a woman's car (note to female friends...this does not mean that only women should drive the Miata. I am merely suggesting that some cars seem to be marketed more to women than to men. Hell, I think the Volvo is a women's car but I still like it. Alright...flame away!). Not this one. This is a full on race car. It has been turbo'd. It has a race suspension (it literally corners like it is on rails). Race tires. Race wheels. Race tranny. It will kill a Corvette C5 off the line. AND. It gets over 30 mpg as a daily driver. Pretty cool!

On the first day, Anthony took me for a spin. Going into the first corner at around 60 mph, I reached up to grab the A-pillar to brace myself. It wasn't necessary. The Miata zipped around the corner and accelerated into the next. When we stopped to turn around, Anthony climbed out and let me drive back. It was too fast. I found myself backing off the gas simply because we were going way too fast on a quiet little frontage road here in Golden. Good fun!

That night, I told Hope I got to drive a race car. She asked why and I...this is where that merry prankster kicks in...said I was looking at it. She asked why I was looking at cars without her and how I could afford it. I said I traded a Cannondale for it. She said, "oh, your old frame". I stumbled here. I told her it would be the tandem (oh boy). Response: "WHAT? You are going to get rid of OUR tandem? I love that bike". I responded calmly that we are not using that bike right now, won't be using it any time in the near future and that when we are ready, we can always get a newer, better model. This, needless to say, went over poorly.

The next day, Anthony needed to drop the work truck off for some maintenance. He let me follow him over in his new race car (see, I just can't say I was driving a Miata). So I took a cell phone pic of me driving with the top down and sent it to her at the next stop. She wasn't pleased. She asked where Gibson sat when I was driving this car. I took a cell phone pic of Gibson looking handsome and stately in the passenger seat of said Miata (see, Gibson doesn't have these hangups about Miatas...). Her response: cute pic but get rid of the car.

Then brother Jeff called. Asked why I was pissing off the crazy pregger lady. I told him to vocally ream me out while I explained the story to him on the phone. His conclusion? I'm an idiot.

I allowed this to play on for several days. I was even considering picking Hope up at the airport in my friend's race car. But I had to back it off eventually. The charade had gone along too far and I could sense the frustration building. I let it slide in a later conversation that I hadn't traded for the car. That I was just being my foolish and prankish self.

Hope returned to Colorado quite pleased. And as soon as she got back, I went and looked at a new Jetta TDI. It starts again....

"That was close"

I spent a great portion of today working around the house. No, really! I did!

I vacuumed the entire garage. As some of you may know, our garage has been a bit non-functional since the flood. An entire room plus new baby furniture is currently stored where we used to park Hope's car. Then the torsion spring broke on my side of the garage and I have been a bit remiss in fixing it.

So...I cleaned the garage and moved all the stuff from Hope's side to my side. Then I parked my car on her side. Yup. I figured I did all the work, why not park inside again? I even vacuumed out her car too. Cleaned the windshield. Cleaned the dash and all the other plastic parts of her car (it's a Saturn, so there was a lot of plastic!).

But today's entry isn't about my work or all the cleaning I did (I even repotted my aloe). It's about the visit I had from one of the neighbor's kids. He wandered in with the typical slackjaw question: "What'cha doin'?"

Generally, my disdain is thinly veiled. These are the kids who now have a four-wheeler track around their backyard. The "parents" brought in rocks and ramps and routed it over their picnic table. These are the kids we can hear wailing on the far side of the fence. This is the family who purchased a dog and leave it in the backyard all the time. The smell of pot and various masking agents often waft into our backyard when we are grilling or enjoying the quiet of the night.

Today, I decided to try and be a touch more patient with the younger of the two boys. He began batting around the tennis ball we use to mark where Hope is supposed to stop when she pulls into the garage (if you haven't seen it, it is hung by a hockey lace and nudges the windshield when she pulls in and stops). He was having fun, I could clean around him and he wasn't a nuisance at all.

Then, I heard the step-father calling for him. He went zipping out to explain where he had disappeared to. Not much later, he showed up inside our garage again. He said, "That was close." I, in turn, asked, "What was close" without thinking to much of the comment or the question. His reply was to the effect of, "I almost got a spanking."

Wow. I'm not sure quite what kind of parent I will be. But I'm fairly certain that I won't be the spanking kind. I never want my child to be afraid to see me or to come running out of fear of physical retribution. I'm certain there will be times when Hope and I will have to mete out punishments or groundations but I can't fathom ever feeling the need to spank our child-to-be.

So. One would hope the story was over now. But it isn't.

He began playing with the tennis ball again. Then his older brother showed up. The two played for no more than 15 seconds before they began arguing about the ball. I walked out to throw more trash in my can and the youngest began screaming and ran out of the garage. The oldest came out slowly afterward and ran for the street with a smirk on his face.

My assumption is that violence begets violence. If it is ok for Dad to smack a child, then it is certainly ok for a brother to emulate his father and do the same. Now, being an older brother, I certainly know and remember that siblings fight and sometimes punch. But I can only hope to set an example for our child that will let him or her understand that such violence is unnecessary. I hope someday our society and our world can follow suit.

Returning to the sanctity of my garage, once more devoid of the neighbor's children, I continued about my business all the while mulling over these thoughts. It was a little while later that I noticed the tennis ball was missing.

I still have not found it.

July 1, 1998

I spent a good portion of tonight playing guitar until my fingers bled. Ok, that's not true. I played until my fingers in my left hand were so numb that they could only mash the strings against the fret board.

I have tried to always put a date on songs that I have written. I pulled out my old notebooks and sight read many old songs tonight, some that I don't even really remember writing or how they go. And I found the date of the first song I ever wrote, just 3 days over 10 years ago. Wow.

It is pretty incredible to think of all that has happened over those ten years. I keep wanting to put pen to paper and write again but it seems that I have a bad case of writer's block. Thus, I keep writing here hoping that the dam will break loose and music can get written down on paper again.

Some time soon, I hope....