It's Better in Wyoming.

Another resolution for two oh oh eight: shut the door. This is something I've been working on for a while now, but a frustratingly stupid phone call today, a revisiting of a lot of the hurt and anger of the past year, reminds me that the door is still, as the warning light sometimes says, ajar. Regret is dumb. I don't know of a more eloquent, comprehensive way to say it. This fact is easy enough to accept in the logical part of my brain, less easy for me to incorporate into my reflexive and emotional fiber. In related news, I wouldn't trade my life for Lindsay Lohan's. Or David Hasselhoff's. Relatively speaking, I'd also say I'm ahead of Barry Bonds and OJ, too. Regret is dumb: learning from past mistakes is smart.

I cut my skiing short this morning because the wind was nasty. The sun is deceptively bright today, though, so I under-dressed for my walk downtown, too. At the Curiosity Shoppe I saw my friend Jess, who said the predicted high in Laramie today is 7. Looking at the positive side, discomfort builds character, and cold burns calories. Plus, I wanted to look cool. Looking cool is a bit of a challenge for me. Okay, a lot of a challenge. I rarely think about the the low wardrobe expectations here in Laramie, and usually I view that as a positive. I mean, I love being able to teach in jeans and t-shirts. Grad students who've taught at other schools say they faced higher standards. Slowly I've been trying to increase the overall level of formality of my clothes, but my closet is spare of really classy outfits. Maybe that should be one of my resolutions: practice being classier. In unrelated news, I'm watching yet another HGTV show about real estate prices. I wonder i

Today was my first cross-country skiing outing for the season. There's supposed to be a storm coming into town tomorrow, and apparently it's coming over the hill today. About an inch or so fell while I was up in the forest. "Fell" is not really what it did; "blew in" more accurately describes things. Despite the wind, though, the trip was a good one. I did the creek trail, nearly 3 miles, in just about an hour. Not a record-setting time, but I'm not out to set records. In other, unrelated news: So far, I like The Subtle Knife. It's the book after The Golden Compass in the "His Dark Materials Trilogy." I find the series to be effective in helping me rethink my views on spirituality; the books, so far, have not 'turned me into' an atheist. In still other, differently unrelated news: My first experience with Ethiopian cuisine was alright. I'm not sure what I had--the spicy lamb stew, essentially, but I don't remember

Here are some things that are withing my grasp: - statistics on the reading habits of UK citizens. The number 2 book they don't finish is Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. - a bottle of Odwalla oj . - hundreds of songs saved on my hard drive. and hundreds of pictures. - 1.68 million potentially-relevant documents about "writing center privacy." - the street addresses for five Target stores within five miles or so. - the ability to register for a class in the spring, eliminate holds on my record, ask the instructor a question about a potential scheduling conflict. I'm sitting at Caribou Coffee on a day off, part of my holiday break between semester. I'm rarely struck at the amount of information that is within grasp: I've grown--like most other people, I think--quite accustomed to the ease of access. But ten, or even five, years ago a lot of this information would've required a substantial amount more work. Fifty years ago (maybe a bit

The ski trails at Happy Jack, according to Amber Travsky's web report this morning, were 'marginal.' The advice: take your rock skis. Well, I don't have rock skis, I've only got good skis, and I'd prefer to not yet turn them into rock skis. So I left them home and put on my running shoes instead. The report was accurate: not quite enough snow for skiing. On the other hand, too much snow for an easy walk. I wasn't sinking through the snow; it was more like walking on sponges: no real surface for pushing into the next step. I figure it shoulda been a good calf workout. Body count for today's hike: two humans, one dog. One of the people had hiking boots; his partner was on snowshoes. I heard Atmosphere Mountainworks is having a sale; it may be time to become a snowshoer.

Tonight I went to the public library to hear travel writer Mark Jenkins read from his new book. Good stuff, and the question and answer session afterwards was really great--he manages to make me want to both travel more and stay home more. He says that after all of his travels, he still feels fortunate to be able to come home to a place like Laramie. His passion for this town makes me think I should buy a house here, now. Maybe a range of experience can only take us so far. Or maybe we have to keep a sense of home in order to learn from our experiences. It's odd to feel torn between wanting a home and wanting to collect more experiences, but maybe it doesn't have to be a choice.

I played the role of super hero yesterday, donating a double unit of blood at the blood drive on campus. I even got a t-shirt out of the deal, one that says "I bleed brown and gold," part of the Border War competition between UW and CSU. I suspect the Rams out-donated us this year--the blood techs said they expected about 50 donors on Monday but that only 11 showed up. Turnout seemed to be better when I was there; another 8 people were waiting as I was in the process. The nurse who set me up on the apheresis machine used to live in Sidney; her son was a student of mine when I taught there. And the girl who sat next to me in the waiting area (I was waiting to leave and drinking a juice while she was waiting to get in) has family in Newcastle; one of her relatives (grandma or a great aunt) was a long-term substitute when I was in fourth-grade. I think my regular teacher had broken her hip, so Mrs. Elliot stood in for her while she recovered. Small world, and I like it th

I realize that a lot of my posts are about the weather. I mean, they may try to be about more than the weather, but really it boils down to the weather. Snow, fog, falling leaves, the smell of dirt, crisp air, clean sunrise: it's all about the weather. Here comes more of the same. The predicted high for Thanksgiving in Laramie is 29 degrees Fahrenheit. That's roughly 35 degrees cooler than today's high. Walking home from Coal Creek tonight, I can sense the cold front moving in. It means I'll be able to wear my new sweater and my down vest, but otherwise I'm not feeling excited at the prospect of cold. Not this year. In other, unrelated news, I'm trying to decide whether I should make stuffing or my sister's ginger-cranberry salad for the turkey event I'm headed to on Thursday. I was set on stuffing, but now I'm thinking that the salad would be more impressive. I dunno. Maybe I'll just take a store-boughten pumpkin pie. Yeah, I know tha

Not sure what's been up lately. Haven't had much desire to post. Don't feel like I've got much to say. I got an email the other day about how friends are for "a reason, a season, or a lifetime," and it makes me think. Part of my frustration over the last year has been in hoping I'd find the perfect lifetime set of puzzle pieces: then it would all fit together. Slowly I realize that it doesn't work that way. The puzzle image keeps shifting, and our job is to accept the new pieces that fit the new image. Some parts of the picture may stay the same, but others shift. It's not about trying to find the perfect pieces: it's about trying to fill out the present image as fully as possible. Or something like that. The stupid part is running around looking for pieces to fit a puzzle that's already changed. Tonight I started to shape my own puzzle in some new ways. I think I found a summer job, and a new group to join. Not a bad night'

I headed down to Greeley this weekend to visit my sister. Turns out, I'm going to be an uncle. A funny thing: I'd never thought about becoming an uncle before. I've imagined that someday my sister and Joel would have kids, but I never realized that, when they did, I'd become an uncle. How odd. But exciting! I'm going to be an uncle!

I think winter may be approaching. Snow started falling Saturday night (after a rainy, lightning-delayed homecoming game in the afternoon) and came down in big downy flakes through midday Sunday. Not much stuck to the ground; it was warm enough that it mostly created a wet muck of leaves in the gutters and a grey denseness in the sky. Today it was warmer--warm enough by ten that I could head across campus in my sweater, no coat--but the air is shifting and the frost, as they say, is on the pumpkin. I'm not sure I'm ready for the new season. I'm optimistic that we're still a good several weeks from bitter cold and inches of winter, but the shorter days are leaving a mark. I feel in my body less energy and a slipping of spirit. Sometimes the briskness revives me, but I wish already for more sun. Tomorrow I'll head to the hills to soak up some late fall rays.

So I admit that it was frustrating for the main streets both east and west of the house to be under construction at the same time. It's hard to make a turn north onto Grand when you're not at a stop light, especially because coming off the side streets the trees really block the view. Sometimes I just stepped on the pedal and said a prayer as I pulled out onto Grand: "Please God, don't let me die by getting rammed into by an old lady in a station wagon who is fumbling in her purse as she's driving down the road and not paying attention to me trying to get out into the street. Please God, don't let me get crushed by some sorority girl driving her boyfriend's truck with the six-inch lift kit who's talking on the phone and not paying attention to the road ahead. Please God, don't let me get hit by a garbage man driving down Grand." That was my prayer, or something like it. But, on the other hand, while 9th St. was blocked off I had the chance

I had been thinking about heading to the Snowies today for a long midday hike, up near Barber Lake or further up toward Libby Flats or somewhere off the gravel that heads out towards Elk Mountain. Instead I was persuaded by my colleagues Carolyn and Meg to bike along a newly-opened section of rails-to-trails by Fox Park. And as a result I discovered a new place to feel nearly alone. For the first hour I only had to share the trail with a coyote who trotted ahead of me for fifty or sixty yards before cutting down into the pines along the trail. Coming back I passed just one person, a woman wearing a bright orange vest who wished me a cheery good morning. In all I pedaled fifteen miles—certainly the longest bicycle ride I’ ve been on in a decade or so. The trail, topped with loose gravel and pitched at a consistently moderate four-percent-or-less grade, managed to feel uphill both ways. I expected to see a moose grazing in one of the beaver ponds along the path, but no luck.

Last Saturday was one of the better days of my life, for no memorable reason. In a year, I’ll have hardly a recollection of the day. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t great. Kaijsa and I drove over to Cheyenne for the Wyoming Book Festival. The Wyoming Libraries Association had rolled out its new ad campaign earlier in the week, and I was able to get more stickers from what I think is a fantastic marketing strategy. Here’s a pic of their take on the classic mudflap girl: At the festival we listened to Dave Romvedt read some poetry and play a couple of songs on the accordion, and we listened to Julianne Couch read from her tour-of-Wyoming-bars book, and we heard Alyson Hagy read from her new novel. Listening to Dave Romvedt, beneath the ‘Poetry Tent,’ with a maroon-leaved tree standing in front of a brick wall across the street from the Capitol, and the sun beating down, and perfectly early-autumn weather, I couldn’t have asked for a nicer start to the morning. Later in the day we caught

In church today the sermon was about worshipping with a clean heart. Tony said, “If you’ve got something standing between you and your brother, take care of that before you kneel to worship.” Essentially that’s what he said, anyway, more or less, though in a few more words. This has always seemed like good advice to me, though hard to follow through on: sometimes it’s hard to know exactly HOW to get the heart clean. Aside from Lipitor, I mean. And, importantly, worship—of any sort—seems a lot more meaningful to me if I can figure out how to do it with a clear heart as well. Lately things have been so misty, confusing, and distracted. Which is part of the reason that church has been so difficult to me these days—I don’t get much out of it because I’m stuck a long ways behind this cloudiness. Anyway, the message made sense, and I’ve been feeling lately that there are some people that I need to get clean with. (And, in some cases: get clean of. But that’ll be a story for another da

so I intended to head home this weekend (my childhood home, I mean), and then on to Rapid City for a friend's birthday party. Except the new auto I bought earlier in the day gave me the evil warning light, and I stayed home and waited for the car dealership to tell me that the sensor- jiggy was dead. Now it's all better. I hope. Instead of me heading north, my dad came down to Laramie to hang out with me and we hiked Medicine Bow Peak. This is the first time I've attempted and not completed the hike. Not because we ran out of energy, but because the clouds overhead threatened ominously. Like: "We are thunderheads of doom. All ye who continue upward shall be struck down. You have been warned." Or, as my dad said: "It's not the 'getting wet' that bothers me--it's the sudden drying out that I don't like." Which makes me wonder: would getting hit by lightning really dry you and your clothes out as it passed on through? Anyway,

Frontier Airlines offers a choice of Sun Chips or Doritos on their flights. No pretzels. On the flight from San Diego back to Denver, I'd say Sun Chips was the top selection by about 5 to 1. According to the flight attendant, this is not always true. (For the record, I chose Sun Chips.) She says that kids always choose Doritos, that California is firmly Sun Chips, and that flights to the Midwest--especially Texas--are typically weighted towards Doritos. (For the record: Texas is the fattest state in the nation; home of five of the ten fattest US cities. This may be coincidental.)

So I'm now going to post a bit about the DEMOLITION DERBY, which actually happened the weekend before my trip out here to CA. Backing up even further: in the few days leading up to the DEMOLITION DERBY, it rained pretty heavily, even producing a bit of flooding. This was bad news for the derby: the cars had a tough, tough time getting much traction in 10 inches of mud. The result: a not very demolishing derby. Slo-mo derby. Cars that were disqualified not because they were intentionally trying to stay out of the action but because they were axle-deep in mud and couldn't make a hit. Lame-oh: nowhere near the fun of DEMOLITION DERBY 2005. I had promised several people that DERBY '07 would be barrels of fun. Instead, we left early. Here's a pic that Kaijsa took of the contestants, though: Annalee said she didn't make it to the derby because of the big rains in the days leading up to the derby. The current of run-off was strong enough, as she was driving home, to rip of

So I'm not actually on the beach right now. But I was, yesterday morning, walking in my bare feet down the coast with my Uncle Rich, watching dogs running down the beach and kids playing the sand and a couple of dudes playing what looked to be "beach bocce." Right now I'm sitting in the E Street Cafe in Encinitas, trying to capture what it is that I've done and seen and learned on this quick trip. The highlights include: *taking the South Harbor tour and learning that the USNS Mercy is the largest hospital ship in the world, with the capacity for 1000 beds. *realizing that I could actually WANT to live in a place like this, a place so different that Laramie and Wyoming and seasons and rural-ness and mountains. * seeing Rembrandts and Monets and Manets with my aunt, an artist, who actually helped me appreciate some of the art I was looking at instead of just responding to it on a purely emotional level. Real artworks are cool. I'm trying to lay claim to a paint

If I ever decide to change the name of my blog, I think I’ll change it to “Nothing Wrong with North Dakota.” Cuz even if it’s better in Wyoming, my long weekend trip with Dad up to ND was pretty damn alright. Somehow I expected it to get colder when we crossed the ND state line. But even up there it was hot, damn hot. I think we set heat records every where we went. Minot was supposed to break its 90-year-old record by hitting 103. Teddy Roosevelt National Park, just off of interstate 94 in Western North Dakota, encompasses an area that has been affectionately referred to as “Hell with the Fires Put Out.” It’s got that feeling to it, too—that feeling, like the badlands in South Dakota and the desert canyons of Arizona, that you’re not in a welcoming place. The kind of place that makes you feel uneasy and maybe even a bit god-forsaken: that you’ve stepped out of favor with the compassionate forces of the world. The kind of place that you might get sent to after you’d committed some terr

Here's me, at the top of the world. Well, relatively close to it: as close as I can get in quick driving distance from Laramie. I had high hopes of being the only one on Medicine Bow Peak, but someone was there when I got there, a guy from Seattle. Then his wife and their two boys. It's hardly lonely at the top. Still, though, I only saw them and one group of three older ladies (out takin' pictures of wildflowers): a total of 7 people in six miles of trail. It's better in Wyoming. Yeah, I'm not sure what's up with the chipmunk look I've got going on, either. Here's a picture where I'm not effing-up the view: Spectacular, huh? I'm pretty sure that I take the same three pictures every time I go on the hike. But it's just as spectacular each trip, so I feel like I gotta take pictures, even though I've already got six at home just like this one.

My favorite part about seeing films on the big screen at the local theater is the cartoon parrot, just before the main feature. So totally hokey and 1987ish: I love it.

This weekend I rode with my sister, her husband, and their dog up to the Bighorns to go camping with my uncle. We all rode up front in their regular cab pickup, cuz Dawg doesn't like riding in the back. Even though the truck has a topper on it and Joel (brother-in-law) fixed it up so Dawg could ride on the doggy bed and stick his head through the pass-through to the cab. But no, Rudy (Dawg's real name) had to be up front with us. Man's best friend. Anyway, at camp Friday night we were eating some taters and steak when Dawg started gazing intently into the trees off to the side of camp. Out of the forest wanders a moose calf, not even 10 yards from our tents. Moose grazes along while we snap pictures, then heads off down the mountain. Of course it's just dark enough that our pictures show the outline of a moose, the gleam of moose-eye, and some clouds in the distance. But there really is a moose there! It was cool. Saturday we caught the brook trout and got sunb

2010 update: Fire in the Sky CANCELLED?! Say it ain't so. See my slightly more extensive note here , or jump directly to Jubilee Days's facebook page discussion about the cancellation . Or see the other 2010 Jubilee Days events at the schedule here . ***************** 2009 update: The Jubiliee Days website has finally been mostly reconstructed, so it's less a mess now than it was before. According to the information I could find, this year's co-headliners are Eric Church and the Lost Trailers. Click here for Eric Church's official website or click here for an NPR clip of four of their songs or click here for The Lost Trailers' official website . ****************** 2008: Click here for the 2008 Fire in the Sky show info . And click here for some info about the show's main act, Earl Ware and Coltrain . ***************** Original 2007 post: I like fireworks. Like grape soda and cheesey -weenies, fireworks make me feel like a kid again. Last night I went

Cheez It hired some dude to sculpt a 300-lb block of cheeder into a scaled down version of Mt. Rushmore. Why Rushmore? That's what I don't get. I mean, I like Rushmore and all, and it's a great national icon and all, but of all the great things that could be recreated in cheese, why not pick something from Wisconsin? Or some natural wonder, like Yellowstone Falls? Or something more cheese-related, like a cow? In unrelated news of much greater significance, yesterday I played pick-up kickball at Undine Park for about an hour (Our team destroyed the competition 24-11, for the record. But who's keeping score?), then played pick-up soccer at the practice fields for another hour-and-a-half. Today, I ache. Sadly, events like these remind me of my un-athleticism. It's not only that I'm out of shape, but also that I'm just slow to react and to think strategically. Lucky for me, the people who show up to these games are pretty cool people, and they don't make fun

So, a package of worms arrived for me today. It seems sort of weird to pay 30 bucks for a pound of worms. It seems weird to think that the USPS delivered a pound of worms to my porch. I wonder what else people are mailing across the country. When I worked at the bookstore, a guy once brought in a package of horse semen to have shipped. Anyway, I watered down the composting box and turned the worms loose. A pound of red wigglers (latin name: eisen foetida) is approximately 500-800 worms, by the way. They're tiny, maybe one-tenth the size of your average night crawler. But they can eat half their weight in kitchen scraps a day. Soon I'll be feeding them cucumber peelings, egg shells, apple cores, lawn clippings, and whatnot. Very exciting news. Now I've got to start thinking about how to protect my big investment when the temps drop next fall. Maybe I should also consider getting a lock for the worm box, to keep people from sneaking by in the middle of the night

Yesterday I took my new phone back to AllTel and traded them for a different one. I didn't like the one I originally picked out, an "LG RAZR ," was disappointing. It's hard to say why, exactly--I feel almost bad about taking it back. It wasn't broken, after all. But it just didn't have the same functionality and adaptability of my old phone, a entry-level Motorola. So now I've got a Moto RAZR , and it feels so much more intuitive. I feel like those people at the restaurant who say, "I HATE to complain, but this steak is just a bit too spicy. Do you mind if I change it for something else?" Or, "This Long Island iced tea is poorly mixed. Can you bring me another one?" The phone experience makes me feel like that kind of princess. Seriously, all the phone really has to do is make a call and store my contacts, right? So who gives a crap if it takes me three steps to get to the alarm clock instead of just two? I do, I guess. I probably cou

There were two other notable things this weekend. One was my unexpected detour to Wheatland Reservoir on my way back to Laramie. Enough said. The other is my lunch at Cheyenne Crossing. It was, by far, the best restaurant meal I've had in a good, long while. In fact, I don't remember when I've had a better lunch out. A buffalo patty melt, a Dr. Pepper, then rhubarb pie and a cup of coffee. The sandwich was juicy, with perfectly sauteed onions and just-crisp rye toast. The pie came out looking a bit jumbled, and the waitress apologized for not being able to get it out of the pan in a perfect slice. Way I look at it, I'd rather eat a pie that's been made to taste good than a pie that's been made to slide easy-like out of the pie plate. And the crust was good--chewy and crisp and not too thick--and the filling was tart like rhubarb should be and not too sweet. Events like this should be celebrated. It was a good lunch.

That's just one of the songs I heard this weekend, at the Black Hills Bluegrass Festival. Dad and I jumped on the motorsickles Saturday afternoon and pointed them towards Rapid City, then sat out in the grass until 10 and listened to half a dozen groups pickin on banjos and mandolins and fiddles. Then we went looking for a hotel room in town, thinking we'd go back up to the festival Sunday morning to catch the gospel show. No dice: every room was booked; apparently that's 'just the way it is in the summers here,' according to the night staff at one hotel. So we had a drink at Murphy's, then drove over the hill to Sturgis and found a place to lay our heads. Murphy's was sort of an odd choice for a drink--it's definitely the college hangout, so Dad was the oldest guy, by about 30 years. (That's also how much older than me he is, which maybe made me the second oldest guy there, maybe... hell.). But it was still a fun time. Sunday we rode the back r

There is, as they say, a first time for everything. Yesterday I was driving down the street, on my way home from a new haircut, when I saw a little kid riding his bike down the street. Then came a stroller. Then, dad, pushing the stroller while skateboarding . I've never seen that before. On my way to the haircut I was thinking about that part in Barbershop where the dude is laid back in his seat, getting his hair washed, while everybody else in the barbershop is looking out the window watching some crazy lady beat the crap out of a car. And he's laughing along with them, talking about how crazy she is, and then he realizes it's his car. For some reason, that part of the show cracks me up. In the paper yesterday I read that a Boy Scout waiting to have his immunization records checked was killed when he got crushed by a totem pole as he sat outside the camp nurse's cabin. When I think about the ways that I might day, that isn't one I spend a lot of time worrying abo

Saturday I hiked part of the Headquarters Trail. Yesterday I played soccer for about an hour and a half. Today I feel like somebody snuck in last night and beat me with a sock full of quarters. I think I'll try to run the loop at the south end of the green belt sometime this week, but I'm pretty sure it's not gonna be today. I spent more time outside in the last two days than I typically spend outside in a week. Saturday was Upward Bound bbq, an outdoor wedding, and the hike. Yesterday was soccer and mowing of the grass. Even my legs have gotten a shade darker. Which means, of course, that I'm still white like a ghost. But at least now it's not white like a bioluminescent ghost.

I tried to blog yesterday but it wouldn't let me in. Now I've got to be home in fifteen minutes to complete, finally, the last of the car sale. But I wanna remind myself of the things I wanna say. --False confidence --Safeway and receipts --The elusive search for a 36" inseam, sweet Lord Okay, now I'm back. Eighteen years of school--and the good grades I earned along the way--created a sense of false confidence in my ability to 'get things right the first time.' Now I'm discovering that, really, what I often did was avoid opportunities for failure: school was easy, so I put lots of time into that work at the expense of other things I was interested in. This is, I now realize, a stupid way to go through life. Failure is okay, and so is making a mess of things. Right now I've gotten myself into a mess, but it feels okay because I know that all of this confusion and headache and heartache will eventually lead to me getting it right. I'm not going to r

My friend David judges prospective purchases in terms of Walmart Great Value spaghetti, the 3 lb. box. Which costs, generally, 97 cents. So, for example, when I tell him I've been wondering if a new shirt is worth thirteen bucks, he says, "Get the shirt that's ten bucks. Do you know how much spaghetti you can buy with the leftover three dollars?" If you're not great at math, three dollars will buy approximately nine pounds of spaghetti, according to the Micale Index. Last night at Safeway I was looking for fruit. For 2.88 American dollars, I bought two pounds of fresh strawberries. No matter who you are, that's a deal. When I got home I cleaned them up, sliced them up, and had a bowl of them with some coffee ice cream. Today I printed off a recipe for strawberry-rhubarb crisp (I think the neighbors have some rhubarb that is coming along well. Maybe I'll have to freeze the strawberries until the rhubarb is ripe enough for me to carry out a midnite raid.) I&

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From a May 24 AP story: The little boy spotted the pretty pile of colored sand on the floor of the vast hall and couldn’t resist. Slipping under a protective rope, he danced all over the sand, ruining the carefully crafted picture. Never mind that it was the creation of eight Tibetan monks who had spent two days cross-legged on the floor of Union Station, meticulously pouring the sand into an intricate design as an expression of their Buddhist faith. ----- According to the story, the monks were very laid-back about the incident. If that's true, I admire their restraint. Since they typically destroy sand designs like these anyway, maybe it's easy for them to let go of their attachment to the work. For me, I guess I want my work to last. But, like sand paintings at the train station, so are the days of our lives.

I rented Borat last night. I wish I had my money back. What a stupid, stupid film. Maybe my judgment of the film reflects my lack of sophistication and refinement. Or maybe it reflects my red state values. Or maybe I just can't take a joke. The thing is, it really wasn't funny. I hope that I'm smart enough to appreciate good satire; this wasn't it.

So it occurs to me that my recent posts lack optimism. I sound like one whiny, pessimistic, negative, self-pitying, cynical old grump. So the cheery title to today's post--"HURRAY!"--is part of my effort to shake myself out of this pathetic valley of despair and celebrate the good things going on all around me. Hurray for: --my old neighbors, Jeff and Natalie. Jeff got a new job closer to both sets of their parents, so they pulled out on Saturday for Twin Falls, Idaho. They had me, and some other friends, over last week for dutch-oven chicken, and they loaded me up with all of the stuff in their freezer that they didn't want to haul across Wyoming. So now I'm blessed with pheasant drumsticks, a couple of chucker birds, some pork choppies, and several bags of currants. They're good people, and I'm sad to see them go, but I'm happy that they're headed on to better things. --Wyoming weather. Yeah, I realize I spend a lot of time waxing poetic about th

Whoever said that honesty is the best policy was lying.

It occurs to me, today, as I was reading an email from a friend of mine, that sometimes you can't win. So instead of spending a bunch of time trying to make things right, sometimes it's smarter to say, as my friend David would: "fuck 'em." Which is not quite the same as being indifferent. It's just a healthy recognition that sometimes you can try to make connections to others, and to do right by them, and be a friend to them, and they'll still misinterpret your actions. So, instead of getting all worked up about it--and probably making things worse by trying to make them better--"fuck 'em" seems a much more appropriate response.

I guess one thing I like about riding the motorcycle, after just getting back from my first weekend trip, is that it forces me to prioritize. What I mean is, it's generally pretty easy for me to get sidetracked thinking about what's for dinner, or thinking about summer plans, or thinking about a cute girl, or thinking about neat cabin floorplans, or whatever. On the bike, if I get sidetracked and start daydreaming about stupid things, I could end up dead. Another thing about the motorcycle: At 55 miles an hour, it felt like being on a fast horse. At 75 miles an hour, it felt like being strapped to the wing of an airplane. Mostly, though, what I want to talk about is the overall experience. People talk about how the big attraction of riding a motorcycle is the 360-degree view that is unobstructed by glass and door columns and such. And in fact, that's pretty damn neat. BUT, it's only part of the total sensory experience. The really cool part of the ride, for me,

So, tonight I went with my friend Aaron (my roommate back in the undergrad days) to dinner at another friend's place. We had steak and salad and bread. But one of the steaks--one from Tom's dad--was huge, a one-and-a-half-inch-thick slab of ribeye . So we left it on the grill while we had dinner. Then, after we gorged ourselves, the big steak was finally done. We had it for dessert. We're the opposite of vegetarians. While other people are cutting out meat during the main course, we're adding it to additional courses. Mmmm , steak. It's like ice cream, only meaty. Mmmmm . Then, after dinner, we came back to Aaron's house and played video games. I just died 29 times and killed one enemy, playing a first-person shooter. At this point I'm happy to report no feelings of increased aggression. I don't feel like driving down to Federal and shooting up the guy who pulls up next to me at the light. I don't feel any more like slapping the crappy customer servi

I love learning the history of words. I love the word 'vapid.' 'Vapidity' is, in fact, a real word, not just one I made up. 'Vapid' probably comes (according to dictionary.com) from latin roots related to stale wine. It's accepted meaning, these-a-days, is 'without liveliness or spirit; insignificant.' Princeton's WordNet 3.0 gives this contextualized use of the word: 'a bunch of vapid schoolgirls.' My blog has been feeling a bit vapid lately. Thoreau says, 'Moral reform is the effort to throw off sleep. Why is it that men give so poor an account of their day if they have not been slumbering?' You'd think, after a perfectly good day like today, that I'd have something to stay, something of substance . Instead, mere vapidity: that of no significance, the essence of flat wine. Our man Henry also says, 'We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn,

What a day! 60s in Laramie, clear skies, everybody out in the shorts and flip-flops enjoying a day that felt not like spring but like summer here. I decided to go up to the Snowies and try to get a hike in on the North Fork loop. My feet almost froze: I kept sinking into 18-inch snowbanks that still hadn't melted off. My pants got soaked up to my knees. But it was absolutely awesome. I walked up to the open field on the east side of the creek, up where I always hope to see a moose, sat on a fallen log and ate my apple, and then headed back down the trail. I was surprised to find another guy coming up on my way down; he agreed with me that it was a great day. When I got back to the house I showered up and took a nap. Not too productive a day, but refreshing. I feel more awake now than I have in weeks. Months, maybe.

So I offered some Sleepytime Extra to me roommate and she says she got the worst night's sleep of her life. I, on the other hand, slept pretty well on both nights that I've had a cup before turning in. Today I got a massage, a follow-up from the one I had three weeks ago. The lady is amazing: I can't believe how good my back feels right now. I feel relaxed and full of energy. Tomorrow I'm going hiking! And right now I'm headed home to have a cookie bar! Man, this week is looking up!

My friend sent me an email today with this ad for a new drug that's storming the nation: All I wanna know is: Where can I get my prescription filled? In other related news, I learned that Albertson's sells Celestial Seasonings Sleepy Time EXTRA, which is sooped up with valerian, an herb, according to the box, that is "a folklore favorite used for centuries to soothe the mind and body at bedtime [and] promote extra fast, restful, natural sleep." I had some last night before bed. And slept the whole night through, gentle like a baby. It tastes good too!

I've got some things to say tonight, but I'm not sure I can string them together with much coherence. So I'm not going to worry about it. I went to the celebration event for the Cowgirls' WNIT championship victory tonight. I guess that's what you call it, anyway. Remember the Cowgirls' big win? Yeah, that was like three weeks ago. Maybe more! A while ago, is what I'm saying. So now, on a Monday night long after the 15,000 came and cheered and did the wave in support of the home team, a mere 500 fans (I'm being optimistic ) came out to recognize the impact of the girls' big dance. Including me, though I'm not sure why. I don't like watching the State of the Union Address, and this was sort of the same: people stand up at the podium, talk about how great they are, blow smoke about how great the audience is, then there's a bunch of cheering and clapping. Lather, rinse, repeat. One thing, though, was that the speakers kept talking

So my friend Dave rolls out to West Virginia tomorrow morning, to begin his new job. He came over for dinner last night, banana pancakes, deer sausage, and some crispy crowns. It feels sort of odd to say goodbye but necessary too. I got him Ed Abbey's collection of essays, "Down the River." And in some ways that feels like a pretty decent metaphor for friendships these days--that they're part of the current, never quite the same, always moving and shifting. Sometimes our lives get pooled up together--we have the opportunity to enjoy friendships in relative peacefulness--and sometimes we ride the rapids together, through the turbulent times. And sometimes we get separated, pushed back into isolation around this island or diverted into some canal. 'Goodbye' seems like a funny thing to say, because we're still riding the same river, and our paths will cross again. In other, less reflective news, I like breakfast for dinner. Pancakes, waffles, french

So a few weeks ago I responded to a posting on the campus classifieds, a woman from Riverton who needed to be on campus for summer and fall and who was looking for a place to stay during that time. The living situation she'd intended to have ended up falling through, she got the shaft, and was looking to find something, quick, that would work. It sounded like a pretty good situation for me, I thought, so I emailed her so that I could ensure I'd have help with rent through summer and fall. She came down to check the place out (with her husband), and indicated that she was definitely up for sharing the place with me. In the meantime I haven't been looking around for other rentals or roommates. Tonight I got an email from the woman, saying she's sorry but she's got something else lined up that is going to work better for her. How she's sorry and all, but it's a perfect situation and thanks anyway. After I've already talked to the landlord about puttin

I bought a springform pan last night. In general I'm a minimalist when it comes to cooking and baking--not a big fan of recipes that require special equipment. But I'll making an exception when it comes to cheesecake. (I'm sure that, in a pinch, it would be possible to make do with less than a springform. Of course.) I don't know why I'm so excited about building a cheesecake, but I sure am. Personally, I think that big cracks in the top of a cheesecake are a sign of success. Because the cracks make it obvious: this thing is for real, not some outta-the-box b.s. that is designed to look fancy but really tastes like cold cardboard and has the consistency of crystalized ice cream. About the VT shootings: see my earlier posting . I think I cover my feelings adequately there. Except I should also say, I hate the media coverage during the first half-day after 'breaking news' happens, because the stations really don't have much new to add to the coverage, but

So I just back from church, and I definitely have to say that change is in the air. On the walk to church this morning, I feel a warmth in the air that's not been there before. Spring is here. At the corner of 8th and Kearney a lady was out in her yard, cleaning out the old and making room for the new. I may go back by and ask if I can raid her flower beds--she's got some cool looking stuff that's coming back from last year. Lambs ear, sedum, and bulby stuff, daffodils and such. Last night I pulled out the crapgrass that's growing in the little flowerbed in front of the house. I'm thinking about throwing a seed mix in the back yard, there's not enough grass back there to call it a lawn, but maybe some wildflowers would take. Or, maybe that'd be a ridiculous idea. I think that Megan, the girl next to me at church, hit the nail on the head this morning. The lesson was about whether anything is beyond God's power. Her comment was, We know that nothing is be

Note: it's spelled 'Vedauwoo.' I misspelled it long ago on this post but find that people find their way to my blog accidentally this way, so I'm leaving it. But, since I'm hoping you'll visit this amazing landscape: here's a decent, quick overview of the place, with a basic map and some pics. And here's my endorsement: it's a cool place. Here's just a piece of Vedauwoo on that foggy frosty morning . In completely unrelated news: Right now CMT's playing the video for Jimmy Buffett's "Bama Breeze"--a tribute song to the businesses that got wiped out in Katrina. I like the song and the video, and the hope for rebuilding: At The Bama Breeze You're one of our own down there You never drink alone down there Good God I feel at home down there At The Bama Breeze You can drink some beer down there Argue laugh and cheer down there Pass another year down there Second set the owner LuLu Gets up with the band A beer in her hand

Well, this weekend made up for last. Metaphorically, at least. If last weekend felt like a continuation of the cold of winter, this weekend felt like new life. Thursday night I drove to George's folks' place in Gurley, hoping that the weather would be good enough on Friday morning to plant trees. But, Friday morning dawned cold and snowy, and George was short of a couple species, which he couldn't pick up until later that afternoon. So we spent Friday cleaning up limbs and bark and tumbleweeds around a windrow George had cut down for a neighbor, and then we lit them up. Fire is hot. Friday afternoon picked up the rest of the trees. The sun on Saturday came up in a cloudless sky, cool and a little breezy, but a good day that felt like spring. The new neighbor came over, and George's brother helped out, and between the four of us we planted a couple hundred trees in about four hours. Sloppy joes for lunch, and chips and Mt. Dew and cake, and then back on the road to Laram

The elk stew I made yesterday may be the best pot of soup I've ever made. I think I once made a potato corn chowder with bacon that was pretty good--really the only competition to the stew I made last night. As always, I never work from a recipe, so it's hard to say what I did right. A can of pinto beans, a can of green beans, a can of corn, a can of diced tomatoes. Two turnips, a potato, a tablespoon of minced garlic, two carrots. A beer. I prepared the elk on Tuesday night, by searing it in some olive oil with a good dose of salt and pepper. Water to cover. Then some chicken bouillon , basil, rosemary, dill, more salt, more pepper. Cook it til the vegetables are tender. Simple, healthy, and delicious. My kind of dinner. This is in opposition to my roommate Jill's kind of dinner. She also goes for simple, healthy, and delicious: Lean Cuisine. She probably thinks I'm crazy for taking so much time to prepare dinner; she can unbox it, heat it, and eat it in th

So I suppose that maybe I've always liked books because they offer some chance to get out of this world. But I've never really thought of my reading as escapist until last night I started the Chronicles of Narnia, hoping that it would be engaging enough to make me forget, for the moment, the depressing pessimism and the sense of futility that's settled upon me. So far, the plan is working. Digory and Polly are in the wood, trying to decide which world to go to next. Before their trip, Digory's uncle says, "Knowledge is never gained without some sacrifice." The story feels oddly familiar. (Of course, Dig's uncle says this as he tries to justify blowing up guinea pigs in his magic experiments. So I think that maybe old C.S. is being a bit critical of the idea that new learning must always come with pain to self or others. I'm not sure whether I'm inclined to agree or not, at this point.)

I thought it would be spring by now: new growth, the circle of life coming back round to the phase of birth and rebirth, carbon dioxide and oxygen exchanging in balanced harmony. A sense of warmth and peace and oneness. The tulips at my sister's place got totally destroyed by the frost. The buds were almost ready to open, but the cold went all the way through, leaving the leaves darkened and limp. Nipped in the bud, as they say. A half-inch of hoarfrost at Veedauwoo when I went up Saturday morning. Incredibly beautiful, yes. Conducive to new life, no. There's so much that IS being renewed in me. But this week has been another of those hard frosts, and the unbearable weight of winter and loss leaves me shivering. On a happier note, one reason it's better in Wyoming: at Veedauwoo I had the entire trail to myself. I didn't see one other person on the entire Turtle Rock loop. And not just because the morning was thick with fog, either: Mine were the only tracks in

I can't help it. There's something about 15,462 people, all of one mind, lifting their hands in the air, waiting for it to come around again, a bright gold sea of fans, doing the wave. Doing the wave. Doing the wave. And here it comes again: doing the wave. All day long we work and communicate and collaborate and coordinate ourselves, trying to accomplish work that pushes forward our humanity. But stuck in our cubicles, our snow plows, our check-out stands, our home offices, it's so hard to see how it all fits together. Are we really working for the common good? Does our tiny contribution make a difference? Do our efforts really fit together to create a coherent pattern? As I lift my hands in the air along with several hundred people above and below me, and then watch as the motion carries on to our right, all of these questions are answered. The wave is a microcosm of society, an ephemeral happening, people joined together in solidarity, momentarily laying down t

About a month ago, I was preparing for a conference in NYC. I decided to add a few days to my trip so I could check out the town. Needing a place to stay, and not wanting to shell out big bucks for a hotel, and wanting to meet someone new, and knowing that there was no way to see the entire city in a couple of extra days, I decided to stretch myself a bit. So I posted a request on Craigslist. Here's the bulk of the posting I submitted in late Feb: ----- Here's the story. I'm headed to nyc in late March for a conference. I'm extending my stay for a few days and hope to find somebody who loves the city and wants to share her favorite parts of it. I figure, there's no way I can see the town in 2 days, so I'd rather make up in quality what I'll lose in quantity. Me: 6'3, grad degree. smart, witty, thoughtful. not cool or cultured in the elitist sense. i eat meat. i don't have good fashion sense. i like classic rock (which i define right now as