Archive for August, 2007

Martians Ate My Parents? (or something like that)

Thursday, August 16th, 2007

Ok, blo­gos­phere, or what­ever you inter­we­b­zor­workpeo­ple want to call your­selves, this is a plea for help. I try not to depend on other peo­ple for much but this is truly impor­tant to me and if you can help me, I will be gra­cious towards you in quan­ti­ties hard to express.

There was a movie that I saw on tele­vi­sion when I was young (some­where between 6 and 13 (so 1989–1996 prob­a­bly)) that involved some kid wak­ing up in his bed, see­ing a weird glow­ing over the hill behind his house and then get­ting abducted by aliens that wanted to do ter­ri­ble things to him. Eventually, this kid escapes from the aliens and returns to his home and finds com­fort with his fam­ily. Unfortunately, it turns out that the kid’s fam­ily have already been taken over by the aliens and turned into aliens them­selves and another adven­ture ensues. The kid, returns again to his home and man­ages to destroy the aliens, which I think resolves the mat­ter but might not. I admit that I remem­ber very lit­tle of the movie but I know that, if I were to see it again, I would instantly rec­og­nize it. So, if any of you have any idea what I might be talk­ing about, please let me know and I will inves­ti­gate the leads.

Really, the key bits are the kid wak­ing up from sleep­ing to see some weird glow­ing behind the hill in his back yard, going to inves­ti­gate, find­ing aliens try­ing to eat him, escap­ing, return­ing home, find­ing his par­ents are aliens in dis­guise, repeat­ing the whole escap­ing part and then being left unsure as to whether his par­ents are real or not. Seriously, this movie is some­thing that I remem­ber with a com­bi­na­tion of intense curios­ity and trau­matic pecu­liar­ity, which I would like to track down for my per­sonal edi­fi­ca­tion. I think the title was some­thing like Martians ate my Parents or Martians ate my Family but I am not certain.

Please, track­ing down this movie will either serve to resolve some weird issues that I have holed up in my psy­che or, at the least, it will enable me to source some weird mem­o­ries that I can’t seem to rid myself of.

Moosilauke: 1, George: about 1.6

Monday, August 13th, 2007

if you recall the last time that I tried to climb Moosilauke, you’ll note that I failed. Yesterday, how­ever, I set out for attempt two and succeeded.

I drove up to Concord on Saturday and then, bright and 6:30am early Sunday, I drove to Cambridge, grabbed Max and drove up to Lincoln, NH. In Lincoln, we grabbed break­fast and some snacks before dri­ving out the the trail­head. Our hike finally set off at 11am.

Moosilauke starts our rea­son­ably flat, with a slight rise over easy ground for a small frac­tion of a mile. After the very brief illu­sion of ease, comes the Hell that is going up approx­i­mately 2000 feet in about a mile, which for the math­e­mat­i­cally inclined is about 22° aver­age incli­na­tion. This rise is flanked, most of the way, by a series of very beau­ti­ful water­falls and con­sists pri­mar­ily of rocks. It should be noted that the steep part of the path begins and ends with signs warn­ing that it is very treach­er­ous and should be avoided when wet or icy. After using most of our ini­tial energy on the steep por­tion, we were happy to find that it became grad­ual and had a bit of soft dirt for a while, pro­vid­ing a very wel­come respite. After the grad­ual por­tion, we hit a num­ber of up and down por­tions, nowhere near as severe as the ini­tial por­tion of the trail, before begin­ning the final ascent to the sum­mit. We reached the sum­mit at about 2pm.

The sum­mit of Moosilauke is essen­tially a very large grass hill, with a great many blue­berry bushes and some rock shel­ters, reach­ing a max­i­mum ele­va­tion of 4802 feet (trail­head is at 1800 feet). The sum­mit pro­vides fan­tas­tic views in all direc­tions, unob­scured by trees or any of the smaller sur­round­ing moun­tains. The sum­mit pro­vided a nice cool­ing breeze, a good place to have lunch and a whole bunch of gnats. So far as I can tell, I prob­a­bly ate about a dozen of those gnats as they landed on my fin­gers and food. All in all, Moosilauke has a beau­ti­ful sum­mit that is rather pleas­ant to hang out on. We left the sum­mit at about 2:30p for home.

The upper por­tions of the trail were just about as easy to go down as they were to come up. The steep por­tion, how­ever, was not so pleas­ant or easy. Initially, the only prob­lem get­ting down the steep por­tion was that we were quite exhausted by that point and steep rocks are not easy to descend. Shortly after the steep por­tion began, our real trou­bles began, rain. At first it rained lightly, just enough to make all the rocks slip­pery and treach­er­ous, which makes for a won­der­ful addi­tion to a trail listed as to be avoided when wet or icy. The light rain was rather annoy­ing but then when it was fol­lowed by a rain heavy enough to drench us to the bone, it felt as though the moun­tain were spit­ing us and try­ing to make me fail once more. Eventually, we made it through all the slip­pery rocks and mud to the bot­tom, reach­ing trail­head at 5:30pm. From the bot­tom, we drove to the Ashland Burger King, The Burger King of New Hampshire moun­tain climb­ing, had some din­ner and pro­ceeded home. By the time I arrived back in Woods Hole, at 10pm, I felt as though I was going to col­lapse. Shortly there­after, I did col­lapse, thank­fully in my bed. Today, I still feel as though I am going to col­lapse, but I can prob­a­bly hold myself together until the afternoon.

A Discontinuous Fear

Thursday, August 9th, 2007

As I have pro­gressed through my life I have become aware of var­i­ous pho­bias that exist in my psy­che. Most of my pho­bias are per­fectly rea­son­able and I’ve man­aged to trace some of them back to child­hood trau­mas that likely seeded them. However, some of my pho­bias are unrea­son­able and totally insane; for exam­ple, I have come to notice that I have a fairly strong fear of tem­po­ral dis­con­ti­nu­ities. What I mean by tem­po­ral dis­con­ti­nu­ities is unno­ticed jumps far for­ward in time, kind of like in the movie Flight of the Navigator. I don’t know where the fear derives from and it’s so thor­oughly implau­si­ble an occur­rence that giv­ing it even a hint of cre­dence is silly but it’s still some­thing that I fear.

Seriously though, I really hope that I never come back from a walk, drive or sail to find my friends and fam­ily had long since given me up for lost and that I must adjust to a world that has changed greatly dur­ing my lost time.

The not so Wild West

Tuesday, August 7th, 2007

Bison Skull Pile I’m mov­ing out to the not-so-wild-anymore American West. In a plan that’s gone from non-existent to fairly well devel­oped in the past cou­ple months, I’ll be leav­ing Massachusetts in early September to drive west. I’ll be shar­ing the road trip with my good friend Max and we’re plan­ning to head across the north­ern part of the US. We’ll be pass­ing through Minneapolis, Yellowstone, Glacier, Seattle, and some other spots, hope­fully vis­it­ing folks along the way. Ultimately, I’ll be end­ing up in the Bay Area some­time in mid to late September where I plan to stay for the indef­i­nite future.

To all of you already out there, I’ll see you soon and look for­ward to hang­ing out again. to those of you still here in the East, I’m sorry to be leav­ing again and I’ll miss you. To those of you along the way, get ready for George to come through town.

I-35W sadness

Thursday, August 2nd, 2007

The I-35W bridge across the Mississippi River in Minneapolis, MN col­lapsed this morn­ing. I find myself more than a bit per­turbed and irked by this tragedy; I’ve dri­ven across that bridge dozens of times and walked the Cedar Ave Bridge (fifty feet to the East) hun­dreds of times. With all the friends and fam­ily that I have in the Minneapolis area, I find myself hop­ing that nobody I know was hurt. I am also ter­ri­bly sorry for those that have suf­fered losses as a result of this tragedy, either per­son­ally or through friends and family.