Douche or Dumb?

Aside from the obvious fact that the spaces are half-sized for a car, there are three signs in front of the car that state this is motorcycle parking only. Apparently, it doesn’t take brains to own a poor man’s Mercedes.

Oops

This person was the first to the trailhead.  They must have figured that not many people in Boulder (of all places) would be interested in hiking that day.  When we returned an hour later, the lot was full and others were circling like vultures, eager for a place to park.  I just love thinking about how this happened in my mind.  Backing in, shutting off the car, putting on the hiking boots, walking away from the car and clicking the lock button “yep, job well done”.  Or, more likely, yammering away on a smartphone not even knowing what day it is.  -JV-

 

Look Who’s Back.

Women Drivers/Park-ers

I laughed out loud at a couple of these.

Thin Oxygen In Colorado

Residing in the dense oxygen and humidity of sea level California I’m drunk with the overindulgence in thoughts of Colorado.  A couple of friends from the high state have sent a couple of bad parking photos to me.

Anxious to get on the trail, they just park their VW in the middle (dead center) of the road.

Sometimes you just have to say, “What the fuck.” (Miles from the movie Risky Business).  These folks seem to follow that line of thinking when it comes to their free-spirited parking style.

"Hello, AAA? Yeah, a snowplow just rammed my Subaru off the side of a mountain. Yes, I was halfway parked in the road...on a blind corner. What's your point?"

Pre-run thoughts this morning…

It’s difficult to express my distaste for where I live now; it’s sunny and 60 degrees and I’m surrounded by lush green mountains after two months of Pacific rains.  Yeah, I’ll get out today for a couple-hours-run but, like most days, it’s half-hearted and solitary.  If I use my running as a measuring stick for my enthusiasm of my CA surroundings, I’d have to say I’m running on or near empty.  The only remaining fuel that powers my low motivation is the image of the Rockies and their trails, and their peaks, and their people, and their vistas, and their sky, and everything.  I’ve spent more sleepless nights over the last few weeks than I’ve spent days running.  With a tough little 50k just 20 days away I force myself out the door for uninspired time on my feet.  3 miles of pavement up and down the same trail, then back track home on the pavement.  Dark gaps of listless life fill the time between runs.  California has become a tremendous disappointment for me.  The visions I’ve carried of it for the last 25 years have dissolved into a murky visage with less substance than the morning fog so familiar to me now.  The dilemma is substantial but as each day rounds to meet the arcing light the decision becomes more lucid and steadfast.  I’ve never believed the cliche that life is too short, however, I do feel that certain stages of life are truly too short.  With that in mind, I choose to make this short stage of my life worthwhile, regardless of the uncertainty and potential hardships.

Been a while but the parking gods are strong

So, over the last year I’ve snapped photos of parked cars here and there but never got around to posting them. I took the following and felt it needed publication.

This dope is a prime candidate for one of those charming large set of anatomically correct balls that some hillbilly invented to adorn the trailer hitch of vehicles like this one. We’re at the grocery store here; the owner is likely one of those shoppers who leaves his cart cockeyed in the middle of a narrow aisle while deciding between Fritos and Doritos.

“Always Seemed Like Such A Nice Boy…”

"Seemed like a sweet young man."

Bomb suspect’s teacher, family dismayed, shocked (AP)

This is regarding the xmas day attempt by Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab (U.F.A – unidentified flying ass) to blow up a Northwest flight in Detroit.

Go get ’em media wizards! Just once I would love to read that a crazy, killer, terrorist, molester, ax murderer, nut bag actually gave some clue of his crooked personality in his outward appearance.  e.g. “Family and neighbors say it was just a matter of time before bomb suspect acted out.  That boy is crazy! -bomb suspect’s grandma.”

Side note:  Detroit?  I’m surprized anyone even heard about the incident in that ghost town.

Time to Terminate

Does that watch have a sun dial?

In an article by, of all sources, Yahoo’s News Blog, the topic of  politicians, and the public in general, using Twitter is discussed.  This ridiculous still image from a video of the Terminator Gov talking about the deal to tackle the $26 BILLION budget deficit in CA raised some eyebrows due to not only the silly props (knife) but also the medium used (Twitter).  It seems obvious to me, if you dive like a hawk onto a defenseless field mouse, which equals the Gov’s mental level that with the knife he’s saying, “I’m planning some big budget deficit cuts.”  Still…oh, what’s the point?  Government has become such a fantastical show that you have to view it with the same suspension of disbelief as you would a science fiction movie like “Men In Black”.

Also, what’s with the elephant fascination in the picture?  Is this guy the next Teddy Roosevelt without the brains or gumption?

I was already tired of Twitter after 19 posts on it but this article and the piece on NPR today drove the 140 character nail in the coffin for me.  I’m done using it, just like I was done using Facebook back in January (never looked back and never regretted it).

Ticket Lottery for Michael Jackson Funeral?

To begin, I’m a huge Michael Jackson fan.  THE only photo of me in my high school yearbook in my graduating year is me performing the MJ pose of yanking up my baggy pants and twisting up onto my toes with bent knees, head tilted down.  I began listening to and enjoying the Jackson 5 in the early 70’s.  “ABC” was one of my favorite songs as a kid.

Like most true MJ fans, I’ve been a bit dismayed at the craziness that has surrounded his life both personally and physically.  Most were shocked at his death, but after the initial sadness when I heard the news over the radio while driving along I-80 crossing over the Utah/Nevada border, I realized I wasn’t surprized.  It reminded me of Elvis’ death.  I was only 11 years old and in NY visiting my father.  He strolled up to my in the courtyard where he lived in Manhattan in that August afternoon; I was climbing one of the trees there and he simply said, “Elvis died”.  Like any memory in everyone, I remember things in photos in my mind, Elvis in white sequined jumpsuit, twisting youthfully to “Jail House Rock”.

It was the same with Michael Jackson.  I immediately envisioned him on the cover of “Off The Wall” (my favorite album).  For the next 8 hours of driving I listened to stations playing MJ songs and talking about his (death mostly) life.  I’m sad but not shocked by it all.

The lottery for tickets only surprizes me in that they aren’t selling the tickets.  With the immense budget problems (IOUs for repayments???  It’s like “Dumb and Dumber”), I figure $1,000 per ticket should at least cover LA’s budget deficit.  They could have a red carpet walk with “E” tv there, along with all the other paparazzi, just like the Oscars.  Seems odd that the poor and jobless residents of Los Angeles are going to have to pay for the police to manage the multitude of people trying to get close to the Staples Center.

Where are we going as a country and as humans?  Is this an example of our intelligence and sense?

simple appreciation.

“I’m moving to Alaska.  Do you want to buy any of my stuff?”  Grant, my college roommate asked.

“What are you getting rid of?”  I responded.

That’s how it began, my struggle with enjoyment of fine things, at least things I found to be fine, and my desire to live minimally.

Grant had a chair, a Charles Eames chair that I called, “the mushroom chair” (circa 1948).

I assumed he would be keeping all of his backpacking gear, so this is the one thing I wanted.  I ended up trading a nice watch of mine to which I had no real attachment.  Grant wasn’t dumb (probably still isn’t) and I knew that he knew the value of the chair, so I had to offer up something of equal value.  It would be the only thing I would take off his hands before he moved from Michigan State University to Fairbanks Alaska the day after we graduated, driving the entire way there in his beloved Ford Crown Victoria, which promptly died upon reaching Fairbanks.  Other than one letter from Grant, explaining the primitive cabin (no plumbing, no electricity, no heat) and temporary job (school bus driver) he found, I never heard from him again.  It’s been sixteen years.

I loved the chair, the shape, bent wood, stained dark, faded Herman Miller sticker under the seat.  The awkwardness of the chair is likely what attracted me to it.  I couldn’t sit at the dining room table in it, lest my chin would be at table level and about two feet away.  There are no arm rests on it.  I would sort of just have to ease back into the wide, curved seat until my back compressed into the leisurely-tilted backrest.  This chair is good for cocktail parties, reading, and smoking a pipe.

After college I lugged it back to Flint, Mi where I lived with my mom for a couple months trying to get my bearings and a job.  I landed a job with EDS (Ross Perot’s company that he sold to General motors for 700 million).  Many nights I came home to my apartment in Detroit and sat in my Eames chair strumming away awkwardly at my Seagull acoustic guitar.  When I moved to New York the only piece of furniture I brought was the chair in my Saab 900 Turbo.  My apartment was sparsely adorned, but cool as hell with my chair.  I dragged it with me again to Boston when I moved there, always taking up too much space in my car in an overbearing and inefficient way.

When I considered moving away from New England I somehow decided to part with the Eames chair.  My girlfriend at the time, the one I regret losing to this day, asked her father if he was interested in it and he immediately wanted to see it.  He bought it on the spot.  The second I pulled the car door shut after dropping off the chair and leaving his place I regretted it.  I don’t remember what I sold it for but feel that it wasn’t worth it.  Perhaps I could use the chair as an excuse to veil my reconnection with that girl I so stupidly lost.

I have come to realize that the fascination with this chair is an indication that I appreciate simple things, simple designs, simple living.  Life is uncomplicated with few material things.  The simplicity of sitting comfortably on something with few ornaments, no excess fabrics, no lace, or brass tacks, just bent wood, some bolts and rubber bushings on the seat and back for cushion.  Contentment through elegant function.