It's Better in Wyoming.

Last Wednesday some Greenpeace activists were on campus, trying to recruit new members. Since I don't know much about Greenpeace, I stopped to talk to one of the recruiters. The conversation was something like this: Recruiter : Do you know much about Greenpeace? Me : No, actually. Recruiter, in automaton voice : Greenpeace is a group created in 1971 by a handful of thoughtful, co mmitted citizens who leased a small fishing vessel, called the Phyllis Cormack , and set sail from Vancouver for Amchitka Island in Alaska. Their mission was to protest U.S. nuclear testing off the coast of Alaska with a brave act of defiance: to place themselves in harm's way. Despite being intercepted by the U.S. Coast Guard, these daring activists sailed into history by bringing worldwide attention to the dangers of nuclear testing. That was more than 30 years ago, and in that time, Greenpeace has indeed changed the world. And we continue to make the world a better place. Our committed activists a

Disappear from your hometown. Go and find the people that you know . Show them all your good parts , Leave town when bad ones start to show . What a shit day. You'd think that making the right choice would be satisfying, but I've managed to screw even that up. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. My one real talent in life seems to be drawing other people's emotions into my mess. Ta da! Rick pulls off another great feat of heart-rending wizardry! Majick! Effffffffffffffffff. In related news: I'd say I was sorry except that "sorry" (1) isn't an appropriate excuse for stupidity and (2) doesn't begin to make-up for colossal prick-ness of the past 48 hours. I know.

One of the books I'm reading right now--one of the free copies I got last weekend at the conference in Denver--is Adam Shepard's Scratch Beginnings. The book is about the author's year-long project to see if he can rise from clothes-on-his-back to his own place, $2,500, and a vehicle. It's an interesting book so far, built in part on the concept of an "attitude of success." I think he simplifies things too much, at times, but it definitely makes me think about some of the self-sabotaging behaviors we choose: "I knew going into my project in Charleston that alcohol and drugs and mental disorders ran rampant on the streets and in the homeless shelters of America, disorders that require rehabilitation and medicine and counselors. The only revolutionary discovery I was able to make for myself was that a lot of guys with those problems didn't even seem to really want help. They were content with the release that drugs and alcohol gave them. A five-do

Apparently tonight was "romance night" at coal creek. Aside from me, a girl wearing headphones and working on a some schoolwork, two dudes sitting behind me in Carhartts and plaid button-downs and Justin lace-ups talking about ranching and politics, and the bearded prophet in the corner, the other tables were mostly populated with young couples apparently in the let's-try-it-on-and-see stage of love. You know it, that stage of love (or like, at least) which is characterized by a good deal of direct gazing into the other's eyes and much, vigorous, I'm-deeply-interested-in-what-you're-saying nodding of heads. That stage of love (or like, at least) which is characterized by the better-than-everyday-but-still-trying-to-look-casual clothes and hesitant gestures of thoughtfulness. [Update, 2/21: Here's some fun evidence that I was right about last night being coffee-sponsored Romance Night. You have to read 2/17 and 2/20 to see the coffee-shop connection.

"...after he's been hooked I'll play the one that's on his heart...." Today was the 21st annual Murf the Surf Poker Run today, up in Centennial. I admit, I almost didn't go. For starters, it was a relatively cold forecast (high of 17 in town), plans with Stephanie got messed up, and I wasn't feeling confident enough about my elbow to ski the five-or-so miles. But instead, I caught a ride out with Nina, Kaijsa, and Carrie, drank a beer in the back of the uphill shuttle, snow-shoed the route, drank a beer in the downhill shuttle, and ate ribs back at the Trading Post. And, all-in-all, it was one fucking great day. I love this place. I love sharing an amazing snowy day with 500+ crazy fools, seemingly all with a Pocket Traveler of vodka, hot damn, bourbon, or whatever in their jacket and willing to share.. Or, in the case of my friend Katie, a homemade box-wine backpack covered in 'Rock the Vote' and 'Keep Abortion Legal' and other blue-

Micale's Mighty-Simple Beer Bread (AKA: 1,1,3,3. 1,350) is usually a hit. At pot-lucky events, people are usually pee-their-pants happy to see me show up with a warm loaf and some butter and jam and honey. Tonight I discovered that perhaps the only thing better than Micale's Mighty-Simple Beer Bread is a tray of Fisher's Mighty-Simple Cheddar Beer Biscuits, topped with some turkey-sausage gravy. I just destroyed the first helping; now i'm headed back for another plateful. As viva voce would say: 'We do not fuck around.' Fisher's Mighty-Simple Cheddar Beer Biscuits (AKA: 1,1,3,3,1) 1 Tbl baking powder 1 beer (PBR works well! so does a thick porter! beer is good!) 3 cups flour 3 Tbl sugar 1 cup (ish) of grated cheddar (or whatever you like; I think a saltier cheese would be quite wonderful) Heat oven to 325. Mix the dry ingredients. Pour in the beer. Mix until everything's moist. Work in the grated cheese. It'll be sticky. I used the end of my

So I guess I should say something about prom. I don't really know what to say, though. Here's a picture of me and Stephanie, looking pretty awesome. What you can't see in the picture is my awesome cranberry/merlot/burgandy cummerbund. To me, nothing really says prom like a cummerbund. Except maybe a stretch limo with kids sticking their heads out the top. Or a gym decked out in some terrible streamers and cardboard carousel horses. Or boys and girls out on painfully shy dates at fancy restaurants looking embarrassed about the whole thing. I have to say: prom as a dorky grown-up was a lot more fun than prom as a dorky kid. Back then, prom was such an effort not to be a dork--at least for me, it was. But the Pretty in Prom fundraiser for the local ballet group ( Ballet 7220 ) was apparently just a chance for most of us adults to fully embrace the dork-ness (dorkiness? dorkdom?) that we never grew out of. Going to prom, though, reminds me of some things I'd forg

a bowl full of uncertainty, regret, and fear. i could think of better ways to start a saturday. rather than letting those old nagging half-doubts get me down, though, i was at happy jack by 8:30, finally ( finally ) getting in my first xc-skiing of the season. at long, long last. this morning i started at the headquarters trailhead, just past the lincoln-head rest center. the first quarter-mile or so was just a slog across ungroomed snow to get over to the top of the upper uw trail. really, i would've been faster through that section on the snowshoes. but there on the upper uw trail, on the first bit of slightly down-sloping gliding, i had a thought. i've needed this . i don't think of xc skiing as something that i need in my life, and i'm sure i could survive without it. but this morning, with my breath momentarily incorporating, condensing into white mist in front of me on a perfect february day, the feel of the snow sliding out of sight beneath me felt like ret

I could think of worse ways to start a Friday.

Friday: snowshoe on the way over, near chimney park dinner at stumpys (i love this place) soak in the hot springs Saturday: soak breakfast massage do some work at the pub beat stephanie at cribbage dinner at the wolf hotel saloon soak Sunday: soak breakfast at the del rio drive around a bit looking at real estate return trip I guess when you break it down like that, it looks almost boring. But in fact it was great, just a relaxing getaway from most of the rest of life. In other weekend news, go Saints!

Somehow on facebook yesterday I came across a request to become a fan of a sausage roll. I didn't become a fan. But the amazing thing is, 500,000 people have become fans, and I'm betting this group will hit their target of 1.5 million in the next day or two. Really, what compels a person to become a fan of a sausage roll? Facebook mystifies me. Does anyone actually make new friends (real friends, I mean) by uniting in the common goal of love for sausage/dislike of Cheryl Cole? (Cheryl Cole, for the record, is a British singer/dancer who, according to Wikipedia, "rose to fame in 2002 after becoming a member of pop group Girls Aloud through ITV's reality television programme Popstars: The Rivals .") If not, what motivates them to join causes like this? Biodiversity Conservation Alliance, the non-profit here in Laramie that I volunteered with a few summers ago, has 144 fans. And they actually DO something. The American Red Cross has 171,000 fans. The U.S. H

Turns out, The Welcome Wagon (see my previous post ) is associated with a label based partially out of Lander, Wyoming. Like, wow. The label, Asthmatic Kitty, also lists Brooklyn and Indianapolis as other office sites. The label also carries Sufjan Stevens, whose music (according to my musically knowledgeable roommate Adam) is often used by Wyoming Public Radio for their between-segment interludes. Seriously, what are the chances that the first music I've been really excited about in a good long while (no offense intended to Johnny Flynn, whose music I was recently introduced to and who I'm also pretty excited about) would have a Wyoming connection? As my ever-optimistic friend Katie would say: "I love life."

a while ago, my friend melissa turned me on to the fuel/friends music blog . i like it, since it exposes me to music and musicians i wouldn't otherwise come across. yesterday's post is about a group called the welcome wagon. i also discovered an interesting review of their show at everyday liturgy , and i like their sound enough to pass it on: i like those horns, yeah. it's gonna be a good week.