mike the mountain

What an awesome year.  Even though by some measures it wasn’t quite the year I had hoped for, there’s never a bad time in the world of Mike.

One unfortunate thing that I allowed to affect almost everything in ’08 was my shoulder injury.  In February I had what seemed like a very minor fall while snowboarding that ended up dislocating my shoulder and tearing my rotator cuff.  I have NEVER had any kind of injury take so long to fully heal!  I’m still not at 100%.  The toll this took on my usual fun and games was catastrophic: couldn’t go snowboarding for the rest of the winter, couldn’t golf at all during the summer, had to drop out of a marathon training program (still managed to run a 1/2 marathon), couldn’t wear a backpack with any weight so no overnight hiking, couldn’t do any of the normal physical activities that I usually enjoy (weightlifting, rollerblading, squash, swimming, etc.) and, as important, that keep me in any kind of healthy condition.  End result is me being in the absolute worst shape of my life: fat, weak, and pretty dang pathetic.

Enough!  That’s the other thing I let that injury do for me all year: gave me an excuse to be a whiny lazy bitch, eat badly, not do the exercise I could do, etc.  Starting TODAY, I’m back to eating well and working my a$$ off.

One goal I thoroughly enjoyed surpassing was writing at least one blog post a week.  I managed to put up 62 posts in 2008, some of which actually involved original thought!

The big highlight vacation was a roadtrip through BC.  Chrystal had never seen BC outside of Vancouver and our West Coast Trail hiking trip, so I resolved to show her as much of the rest of this incredible slice of paradise as I could.  We did a whirlwind tour of the southern interior, wine country, up the Sunshine Coast, across the island, a week (SUR-fing) in Tofino, then up through the central-BC backroads to Jasper. Tenting the whole way, enjoying some incredible local produce, grilling fresh fish over a campfire, drinking amazing wine every night… awesome.  A trip every Canadian needs to do at least once in their life.

I got all fired up about the proposed copyright legislation some twisted, ignorant, bought-and-paid-for, miserable excuse for a public servant tried to force down our throats and wallets.  Not that I have an opinion about it or anything…

In May I moved this humble little blog from Blogger to my own WordPress site.  Also started Twittering, because I really don’t have enough ways to waste time online.

Dreamgirl (who I think should start her own blog) had a huge year as well: running her first marathon in Edmonton at the end of the summer, on one of the hottest days of the year!  Also, to the joy of us both, she took a part time job at Mountain Equipment Co-Op.  Just for the extra money, of course.  Nothing to do with the staff discount, amazing trips, cool people, or any of that stuff.  Really.

A big personal achievement in the work world was finally building and launching our new website and blog.  I’m pretty dang proud of this, and I hope you will swing by every once in a while and let me know how I’m doing!

I love Halloween… love the TV, the movies, the music, the costumes, the parties… and of course the CANDY!!!!

Remember kids, rich neighbourhoods are a trap, too much time between houses.  Stick to old neighbourhoods with lots of grandparents first (before they go to bed), then work your way down to the new yuppies with no kids having house parties, they’ll have bought lots of candy to hand out because they have a “HOUSE” now and want to be part of the scene, but they’re still young enough to be up late watching movies and getting ready to party!  It’s all strategy.

The long arm of reality gave me five across the eyes yesterday.

A couple of weeks ago I was up at Sunshine, and the FIRST freakin’ run, the easiest wimpiest green run on the mountain, I catch an edge. A wee little tumble, hardly anything at all. Except for landing on my elbow at a funny angle. And hearing this odd “pop”. And feeling my whole arm go numb.

Well, the doc confirmed it. Minor dislocation, torn rotator cuff. Luckily, not a complete tear, so I don’t need surgery. But I do get the joy of physiotherapy for the next 6 months or so. Which means my snowboarding season is likely done. Which would be REALLY F’N ANNOYING!!!!

Bah, I’m a quick healer, and the season’s long. We’ll see how I feel after a month or two.

Stupid non-invincible muscle fibers. When the heck are my super-powers going to kick in anyway??

Summer’s a tough time to get some things done.

Work…

Work out…

Write on a blog…

Basically anything that involves being indoors when I’d rather be out.

Not that blogging is a chore, I not only enjoy

(I just violently broke wind and got smacked for it. Ain’t love grand?)

excuse me.

Not that blogging is a chore, I not only enjoy it thoroughly but I miss it on these nice long hot sunny days when I’m happy to be outside but feel like I’m neglecting a conversation with an old friend.

Back when I used to not give a crap about my job it was much easier to write for hours on end, surfing endlessly for inspiration and amusement. I’m actually working now, and evenings are filled with running, golfing, BBQing, hiking, and all sorts of things that I would be insane to give up so I could spend another hour in front of another computer.

Oops, I think I just lost 2 geek points.

Fun with webcams… other than that.

I noticed a couple interesting “How-To” type links today, one on starting a book club, something that Dreamgirl and I have been talking about (it’s tough coming back to the city you grew up in, suddenly all your friends that you assumed would be right there like old times are gone or married!). Figured it’d be a cool way to meet some halfway interesting people. Or a total PITA. Either way.

Along a similar mindset was a rough guide to self-publishing a magazine. Now I’ve toyed with the idea of writing a couple books, but doing a tiny zine could be another fun excuse to meet people, practise writing, maybe even make a few bucks. I’d love to use it as an excuse to get the girly to start taking more pictures too!

Winter is snowboarding, summer is mountain biking. Of course, my bike is currently in it’s “moving across the country” state, ie: no pedals, seat, or tires, covered in dust and tape. Time for a tune. I’ll get one of my buddies over at River Valley Cycle to give her a once-over before hitting the trails!

101 Greatest George Carlin Quotes

And, a little story for you flyboys:

The King of Speed

There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.

I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.

We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed.

Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “HoustonCenterVoice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the HoustonCenterControllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that… and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.

Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed.

“Ah, Twin Beach: I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.”

Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.

Then out of the blue, a Navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios.

“Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check.”

Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it — ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet.

And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion:

“Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done — in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now.

I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet.

Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke:

“Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?”

There was no hesitation, and the reply came as if was an everyday request:

“Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice:

“Ah, Center, much thanks. We’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.”

For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A. came back with,

“Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.”

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work.

We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

I posted a link to an incredible video of someone playing the original nintendo Super Mario Brothers on some insane advanced level that I didn’t even know existed. What really makes the vid worth watching is the commentary though… absolutely hilarious! I’ve since found out that it’s not the player on the voice over, just a guy that found the original video online and decided to have a little fun with it. Still dang funny.

Anyway, the only annoying part of the video is the fact that the level never gets finished! I was dying to find out how the heck someone could wrap that thing. Thankfully, someone has. It’s a “tool-assisted” speed run, which means he used various hacks and/or cheats to get it done, but hey, I’m just glad to see that little flag fall.

Halloween, baby. Definitely my favourite excuse to dress up funny and harass strangers into giving you candy.

Thought this year was going to be a bust… Dreamgirl and I were signed up for some all day fundraiser with my office on Saturday (aka: grownup Halloween party day), and we figured we’d be dead by the evening and not really in the mood to drive an hour into Toronto to hit the big club scene. So be it, we’ll still hand out candy on Tuesday, and maybe just find a local bar to pop into.

Then salvation!

On Friday I got the call that every other member of our team had dropped out due to various illnesses, prior commitments, [insert excuse here]‘s, so we were free! Gee, I bet it’ll be easy to find costumes Friday evening of Halloween party weekend…

No worries, after surfing a few options we hit Hollywood Costumes up in Thornhill. Packed, but still a decent selection left. Chrystal found an AMAZING ghostly-spirit costume, all flowing white lace and gossamer. And just to match, I grabbed a wicked looking LOTR Ringwraith costume, all black, ripped and shredded and making a perfect match to the angel beside me.

If only it was that easy.

We figure we’re set for Saturday, have to pick up a couple extra accessories during the day, and then head to town for the big club crawl. I snagged us the last couple tickets for a great sounding event through Party Crawls. Should be a blast. Of course as soon as we get home we rip open our costume bags to try them on… Chrystal looks awesome, just needs some white face paint, stockings, etc.. I, on the other hand, pull on a black stocking with couple strips of mesh. It looks like crap. We try to twist and adjust it, stare at the pic on the bag, eventually we had to accept it. Half the costume was missing. All I had was the plain black piece that is to be worn underneath the big scary gothic cloak and hood. Useless.

Now I’m mad. Not only do I not have a costume, but I’m going to have to try and return the one I did buy after the big party weekend… I’m sure no one has ever tried to run that scam before. “Uhh, yeah, I know it looks like I wore it, and it smells like beer, but seriously it didn’t, uh, fit. Yeah. Can I have my money back?”

Oh yeah, and I still need to find something to wear for Saturday night.

No problem. Hit teh interwebs, grab a list of every costume shop in 50K, and first thing Saturday morning (relative concept when you get up at 5:30am all week), we’re on the road. Not a ton left. Big surprise. Finally get to one of the coolest costume shops I’ve ever seen: Seams Like Magic, in Waterloo. And there it is. Sitting right at eye level (for me anyways), front of the rack. Calling to me. The perfect costume.

Two words.

Zombie.

Cowboy.

Hell yeah! Now I’m REALLY excited. Grabbed a few accessories (bandito ‘stache, grey hairspray, “Severe Wound” makeup, bullet belt), headed over to Winners to grab a suitably cowboyish shirt that I wouldn’t feel too bad about ruining, stopped by a mall to grab some white fishnets and white Crocs for Dreamgirl’s costume, and we are ready to rock.

The party started out really well, awesome first bar, great mix of crowd, some amazing costumes (we took 3rd place, behind two guys dressed as Duff Beer bottles and a very uncomfortable looking “Horse From Brokeback Mountain”!). Unfortunately, as the night went on it became very apparent that this was not our scene. Each bar we went to got younger and younger, and neither of us really enjoyed being stuffed into an overcrowded bar full of drunk 19 year olds. Been there, done that, we were hoping for something a little more mellow. After almost getting in fights at two different clubs (someone tried to get “physical” with my Dreamgirl, so I got “physical” with him), we called it a night.

Even though it didn’t end on the best note, overall I still had a fun time. If you are in the mood to really rip it up and go crazy, I definitely recommend Party Crawls. Great group of guys, well organized, obviously having a ton of fun. Thanks again Mike!

Now where’s my candy…

~~~~~