The Essence of Style

"I like my coffee the way I like my women— sweet and complicated."
- Me, inadvertently christening my new specialty drink, the Sweet and Complicated. A triple-shot soy mochachino with a shot of hazelnut and whipped cream suspended in the foam and dusted with cinnamon.

Chains (and bottom brackets) are for wussies.

I've been keeping track of this blog's traffic and it seems that people aren't clicking on the links I sprinkle around. Some of them are just for reference, but some of them are there to make you chuckle. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do: I'll just underline the referential links, but I'll leave the entertaining links highlighted turquoise (which I encourage you to click on because you never know what you might find).


Last weekend I participated in a fundraising event for Adaptive Sports, a local guide company for the handicapped. Bridges of the Butte is a 24-hour bike marathon where teams sponsored by local businesses make as many 2.4-mile laps around town as they can from 3pm Saturday to 3pm Sunday. Through my connections at the bike co-op, I was invited to join Team Space Camp. This Burning Man-style crew of hippies has historically completed the most laps of any team between 10pm and 6am. Despite being in the middle of four days of Zip Line Guide training, I rose to the occasion and got swept up in the team spirit. Using tinfoil and cardboard, I built Arvin's cruiser into a spaceship complete with rockets— tragically simplistic compared to the flagship recumbent light-bike that flickered like a neon cocoon when its bell rang. The event proved to be the psychedelic, nocturnal cousin of the Tour de Davis.


My favorite punctuation mark is the em dash: "—". It turns out— when using the em dash as I do— it can be called a super comma. Super Comma is totally the name of my nu-metal indietronica jam band.

What a Wonderful Phrase

"Women in Crested Butte are like parking spaces; they're either taken, handicapped, or way-the-fuck out there."
- on the bathroom wall of the Eldo bar

Something for everyone... except illiterate rednecks.

I really like the movie The Rocketeer. It's one of those movies I saw as a kid back when watching a movie and all of its sequels overandover again endlessly all weekend was deeply comforting (there was always that hope that the 100th playthrough would reveal some new scene or missed joke). This repetition, at such an early age, meant that any lines of dialogue that were beyond my understanding were nevertheless memorized permanently, if only phonetically. So it was with the original Star Wars trilogy, which means that phrases like "hive of scum and villainy" and "Chespo kutata kreesta krenko, nyakoska!" are in my head at the same depth as "hakuna matata" might be for someone else. Ultimately, this leaves me with the ability to quote the gibberish on screen, which some people* mistake for actually speaking a fake language. Anyway, the Rocketeer and Star Wars. Great movies, great characters, great crossover:

This is the beat poetry of my generation. I'm sure you've seen this, but take a moment and consider this medium as art— poignant snapshots of a culture. Breathtaking.

So I have this game that I play that I thought everybody played, but I guess not. It goes like this: somebody speaks a phrase in the course of a conversation that, in context, is unremarkable, but taken on its own has an enigmatic poetry to it. The challenge is to notice these phrases, determine if the phrase is the name of a band, a song title, or an album title, and then assign to it the appropriate genre of music. For example, I was joking with a friend about being fated to work in a cubicle and she said something about having a cube-shaped soul. I then stopped the conversation to announce that "Cube-Shaped Soul" is totally the name of the debut album of my neo-new wave folk shoegaze band. "Thunder and Lightning and Jazz" is totally the name of my post-mariachi prog rock band. And so on. Can you guess my all-time favorite phrase to have been plucked from a conversation?

*I was kind of seeing this girl. We watched Jedi with some friends and I knew Jabba's lines. She thought I could speak Jabbanese or whatever and gave me shit for it for days. E chu ta, what a stoopa!

Missed Connection

You: Gorgeous, dramatic features. Lush, grand curves with steep, fun lines.
Me: Just a stranger passing through.
We crossed paths this past winter and I find myself in your area again. I've tried to make myself approachable, hoping you would notice me, but I guess I can't keep up. I just want to share an adventure or two and I thought you would be more inviting now that you're dressed for summer, all flirty and flowery. It's clear now that I'm not going to catch your attention unless I get more aggressive. I know I'm just one of a hundred dudes trying to have a little fun, but could you give me a sign before it's too late?

There are a lot of Christian summer camps in this part of the Rockies and, on the days between camps, the guides all come into the coffee shop to get their Facebook fix and load up on mochas and pastries. I've asked these kids about their programs and they keep it pretty vague (lots of knowing looks and pregnant pauses). There seems to be this expectation that I know what goes on out there ...and maybe nothing really goes on. Maybe they hike and camp and climb and pray and that's the end of it. I wonder if people react the same way when I say I've lived in a co-op. I know what that entails, but I guess I've never had anyone really ask me for details. Have you heard the word of Kord?

So it turns out that shopping on Zappos.com has given me key work experience for my shipping and receiving job. I can pack up and tape boxes, and print and attach UPS labels like a pro. Scott Frye would be proud.

Theme song for the summer:

Hyperlinks!!1!

"You've got a funny look on your face, but your face is funny looking, so..."

- Arvin to me while I was staring into space

View of CB from the Upper Loop Trail

I've been trail running above town a few times a week. Today I had to run down the block in flip-flops— usually awkward— and automatically fell into a perfect stride. My midfoot strike is coming along nicely.

Pop quiz, Hotshot: Why would you want to drive a bougie, Eurotrash Saab around Colorado more than your dad's all-American F150? Answer: the Elk Test. Elk and Moose collisions make up such a staggeringly* large percentage of car accidents in Sweden that all Saab vehicles are engineered to scoop the elk off its legs and pass its body over the roof without damaging the car or passengers. The valley here is lousy with 'em. Around here, elk are like bison in Oregon Trail. Ski bums can't afford a gallon of milk, but their freezers are chock full of elk meat. So, elk collisions are a problem here, too. Trucks and SUVs smash and roll. Hatchbacks get totalled. Throw some mud tires and a gun rack on a Saab and you're good to go.

(The following paragraph is a tribute to Dr. Patrick Dragon)

They said it was impossible at the academy—they called me mAd— said it couldn't be done. But they were WRONG. I can segway into this last, hideously extraneous link. Because while we're on the subject of large, unexpected animals, check out this comic.

*Ha!

Overemployment

 I want to set the record straight: I do not have hoes in multiple area codes.

I guess I have a thing for macro.

So I kind of have four jobs. I work for my housemates, Danica and Arvin, as a barista at their coffee shop and a clerk in their bookstore. I also work for the Resort as a minigolf and climbing wall attendant, and as a zip-line tour guide. My superviser, Zack, who is in the middle of making the schedule for the summer (and so must fit my two sets of resort shifts around my other shifts), passed by the coffee shop while I was out front, sprawled across a bench and talking on my phone. I waved as he passed, but he only smirked and shook his head: "Get a job!"

I had an idea for a tattoo last night (deep breath, Mom and Dad, I said "idea"; just an idea). A bike chainwheel with a crank pointed straight down with a lotus flower in the middle of the chainwheel. The Pali word for "impermanence" in Burmese script (no Pali script exists) inscribed on the crank, "suffering" along the teeth, and "non-self" in the lotus. Those 3 ideas go together and are represented by the leverage of the crank and the contrast between the abrasive metal teeth and the soft, colorful petals. The bicycle parts symbolize my connection to cycling as part of a pure and mindful lifestyle. The lotus is an ancient Buddhist symbol representing peace and enlightenment... so, you know, it's, like, cool...
Whatever. Chicks dig tattoos.

Pontification

"btw your blog is fucking tits."

- to me, via email

Halfway between CB and Denver

Ohmygod I want one! This thing can tear it up around Berkeley, cruise across Davis, or haul straight up the Rockies. Gimme.

Met an established CB resident named David today. He ordered a book that's just come out about the historical evidence around the actual person who is now remembered as Jesus (yes, that Jesus). David has some stories. Check it:

He met General Dwight D. Eisenhower at the Hoover Dam when he was 7. His grandfather was the first Rabbi in L.A. He had an uncle take a young Richard Nixon to court and win for failing to pay for a window installation. He had another uncle who worked for 20th Century Fox, won two Oscars for cinematography, and introduced him to John Wayne and Marilyn Monroe (this was back when it still said Hollywoodland). David himself went to UC Davis in 1955 (where he lived in a barn) and worked for UC Berkeley in the 60's as a statistician of student affairs. As the first and last federal park ranger at Pointe Reyes, he made national news by busting a congressman for poaching deer and refusing to drop the charges. He busted so many illegal campers in 1969 that he was known as the Ranger Who Never Sleeps by the local papers. He was so hard-nosed that his superior officers repeatedly relocated him until he was left to patrol a 7,000 acre stretch of park south of Lake Mead (waythefuckout in the Nevada desert) by himself. He has four degrees and seems to know everything about everything.

That's the heavily abridged version of what I can remember from a 90 minute monologue. I hope it was good for you.

I took second place in the first official round of on-the-clock-mini-golf with my co-workers and our awesome boss, Phil. When Phil put the scorecard in his pocket at the end of the game, I asked if he was going to keep it. "No. I'm gonna burn it."

Insta-Roadtrip

"Anicca, baby!" (BTdubs, it's pronounced a-neech-a)

- Tempel Smith

Sense of scale

I bent down to pick up a wrench at the base of a bike stand, stood up too quickly and managed to bang my head on the clamp. It hurt more than it seemed like it should have. That night, I found a clump of dried blood in my hair. Gross.

I was supposed to help build bikes today and instead drove to Denver to help get an order of books for the store. Arvin asked if I would come with him as I was leaving the house. I took a moment to consider that I had no real obligations and that I could help Jonathan at the co-op some other day.
That's it. That's all it took for me to commit to a 12-hour favor with 10 minutes notice. I realized at about Hour 8 that I hadn't taken into account what the chore would really entail or what sort of favor Arvin would owe me. It had at no point occurred to me calculate the "generosity cost-benefit". Arvin wanted help (it was the book distributer's fault that the books would not arrive on time) and I was available. End of story.
So what's my point?
I've spent years trying to cultivate and internalize certain values and develop positive emotional habits. I'm constantly putting energy into improving my relationship to things that cause aversion*. In the past, I would have gnashed my teeth over being self guilt-tripped into such an inconvenient favor— knowing what was the right thing to do, but begrudgingly agreeing only after negotiating the terms of my compensation. Today, it took the same amount of effort to agree to help Arvin as it does to brush my teeth before bed. I've always wanted to be the sort of person who would, with genuine compassion and humility**, give their time and energy to someone else's problem. I can now honestly say that I am that sort of person. Go me!

* Buddhist concept of Aversion: Aversion arises reflexively as an emotional defense against unpleasant sensations. For me, spending money, even on important things, triggers anxiety. I have an aversion to the anxiety so instead of facing reality, I avoid spending spending money and suffer the lack of food or other resources. It's emotionally easier to feel hunger than anxiety. Obviously it's not healthier. If I improve my relationship to the sensation of anxiety, the Aversion will dissipate over time.
**While I was indeed humble in the actual moment, the irony of me blogging about my humility has not escaped me.

Dudes and Bikes

" Studying (western) philosophy taught me how to think. Buddhism taught me how to feel."
- customer on academic vs. experiential education

Variety is our special-tea (get it?)

Sitting in my living room with a bunch of guys watching How I Met Your Mother. An ad for a female contraceptive came on which was so choked with side effect warnings that it wasn't clear what they were selling. We were left to speculate on how exactly the thing worked. Michael suggested that it was a miniature paperclip that clips the cervix closed. I submitted an IUD made of enriched uranium. Arvin, however, took the cake with a vision of truly futuristic contraception. 

I went to the bike co-op in town to rehabilitate an old road bike that's been sitting in the driveway for six months. Jonathan, the guy who's trying to keep the place running, wants to build up the donated frames and parts into a rental fleet to generate income. When I offered to help him with the project in exchange for using the space, he cleared his throat the way someone might choke back a spit take. Apparently the shop guys around town are pretty tribal when it comes to sharing resources, leaving poor Jonathan in need of all the help he can get.

Tried to play Fidelity on the guitar. I see potential for a truly hilarious talent show submission.

Coffee Shop Philosophy

I had a good chat with Arvin today about privilege. We got on the subject after hearing a friend of mine worrying about Meaning. As in, a summer waiting tables in Crested Butte is Meaningless— a waypoint on the way to a significant, Meaningful life. I didn't bring up my whole Buddhistish life-is-meaningless-so-chill-the-fuck-out-and-enjoy-yourself thing because the conversation usually ends pretty quickly at the impasse of "Well, if you think everything is meaningless, then why even bother doing anything that you don't absolutely have to?"

This got me thinking about privilege. 

Not just my specific middle class American white male privilege, but privilege as a condition, as a state of being. I've been told to "check my privilege"*, mostly by equally privileged people trying to live more righteously. For the most part the idea hadn't really nestled into my consciousness. Today, however, I had an interesting thought while trying to explain this sentiment to Arvin (who's parents are Indian, was born in Trinidad & Tobago, and grew up in Miami).

If I think of my privilege as a negative condition— as a benign illness— then I can either ignore it and let the symptoms get worse, or acknowledge it and treat it. I used the word "commit" while talking to Arvin, when I really meant "embrace". If I embrace something, I'm accepting it fully for good or ill and taking responsibility for my relationship to it.** It's one thing to be privileged, it's another to deny it. A personal (and weird, I know) example that came to mind earlier: I have a favorite brand of condom that I buy on the internet because they're hard to find in stores. I am privileged to be culturally educated about safe sex, have access to any contraceptives at all, and have the internet as a resource. How much of a dick would I be if I felt inconvenienced by the "inaccessibility" of a specific brand in the face of past and present STI epidemics and population control problems. 

So. I embrace my privilege not to be a pretentious asshole, but to avoid the trap of pretending like it isn't there and becoming an even bigger asshole. I am blessed to be able to "waist" a summer in Crested Butte. I'm not going to drop this to go join the Peace Corp and neither are you, but the worst thing I can do is act like I deserve better.

*The phrase "check your privilege" turns out 150,000 results on Google. "Don't do drugs" turns out 3 million, "live the American dream" 4.3 million.

**Buddhist idea of acceptance: I embrace my distaste for spicy food. I cannot blame green chiles for being spicy and thus offensive. I am offended by the taste of chiles. They do not offend me. If I take responsibility for my relationship to spicy food, I no longer need to view the chiles themselves as "bad". One less thing to hate. Try it on something that pissed you off today. Was it the thing, or how you felt about the thing that pissed you off?

Highlights

Arvin to me as I'm leaving the house for a run, wearing only running shorts:
"You better not get any ladies pregnant on that run!"

Danica and gay friend Michael went to a play about "the lives of women", while Arvin and I stayed home and marveled at the high-resolution performance of my new Xbox hooked up to the HDTV. When Michael asked about my evening and I related our excitement, he replied "That sounds about right; we went to see a play about bras and you boys played video games."

I'm mixing an acoustic cover of Praise You with GarageBand.