Fruit Loops Foliage

  The trees really do know how to go out with a bang up here.
Despite raining all last night and a persistent fog this morning, Nate and I managed to find some climbable rock today. I love the Hudson Valley this time of the year.

OptimisticWeather.com

This is the name of a fictitious web-site where my climbing buddy, Chris, would "get" his weather reports from. On OptimisticWeather.com (oWeather.com), it's 70 and sunny with no humidity every day. Except in winter when it's 35 with 10" of powder.

I recently became a subscriber to oWeather when it became clear to me that the downside of missing a day outdoors due to a pessimistic forecast was much greater than the downside of being outdoors in bad weather. And when a pessimistic forecast turns out wrong, I have the cliff to myself since all the Weather.com subscribers are moping at home. When the forecast turns out correct -- oh well, I'll throw on the jacket, hat, and go for a hike. A little adventure is a good thing every so often. The weekend is too short to be subjecting my plans to the fickleness of Mother Nature. If I wait for everything to align like I expect it, the only things that I'll get to experience are things that I expect. That's a bland existence - like someone who doesn't want to try a new food. It's nice to let a few things out my control once in a while. It teaches you to adapt. Bad weather is only bad if you let it be. Rain will make the flowers grow.

Thought of the Day - Indigenous Hippy Population

Postulate: "Third world countries do not breed, nor can they sustain, indigenous populations of hippies. They can, however, easily support hippies bearing currency from first world countries."

This came up in conversation because one of our co-workers, who they consider a hippy because he attends events such Burning Man and used to live in Maine, was having problems with a Philippine bond trade today. And at some point, they got to talking about whether hippies have a language of their own. So they put two and two together and called me up to ask whether the Philippines has hippies... to which I responded with the above.

On a related note, we got to talking about whether the progressive tax system was fair. On first blush (or 'first Bush', as Freud wanted me to slip), I considered it ok and decided to take the side of it being on the whole, a positive thing to have in place. My argument ended up being a bit contrived, in retrospect. I put forth that in the end, the wealthy person derives more benefit from the government than the less wealthy. For example, the well maintained road network or the peace created by the armed forces all nurture an economy that ultimately benefits the wealthier person more. Another way to look at it, if the poor person were to get a tax cut, the wealthy person which actually benefit because almost inevitably, that money would be chanelled back into the economy which means more profits for corporations which a wealthy person has a larger stake in, either through stocks or by being an executive. I don't think you could say the same thing if you flipped it around and gave the wealthy person the cut.

His argument, which I now think I buy, rested on the distinction between what is fair and what is good for society. It is certainly good for society if the rich's wealth was redistributed to clean up the inner cities, fund the arts, and finance hippy lifestyle. However, is that really fair? If I work harder or somehow created a situation that allowed me to be compensated more (how compensation is determined is a whole 'nother can of worms), is it fair for me to be penalized? Is it good? Maybe not. Or maybe it is good -- if that wealth was distributed more, maybe it would cause people to spend more which would drive the economy and make me richer in the end? But that was my argument against the system.

And so it turns out that my argument really was just an argument that the progressive tax system is "good". I couldn't really make a convincing case for how it was fair. Taxing more as you earn more is really a toned down form of socialism. Doing what's good for society as a whole, rather than the idea that what benefits the individual benefits society. Tony 1, Ed 0.

(Tony, by the way, deserves credit for coining the term 'indigenous hippy population').

Wind Rivers Vacation

September 17th to the 24th, Vibin and I managed to get out into the wilderness of western Wyoming's Wind Rivers Range. There are no roads in the park, so we carried everything in on our back. It's been four years since my NOLS semester in the Yukon, so it was refreshing to put together a miniature version of that sort of expedition: planning the food, coming up with a gear list, getting topo maps, and plotting adventures. Other than a general plan of the vicinity we wanted to setup camp in -- Titcomb Basin -- we left the plan fairly open. We did, however, bring the equipment of our respective hobbies: my climbing gear and Vibin's photography gear. I had two ropes, harnesses, helmets, and all the usual protective gear. For photography, we ended up bringing a tripod, large format camera and film, a digital SLR body, a film SLR, a wide angle and a zoom lense for the SLR's, and 50mm lense for the large format. Our packs were heavy indeed.

The trip was wonderful. We passed the occasional other traveller on the trail, but we always had the feeling that all we beheld around us was temporarily our playground and nobody else's. One morning, we climbed up into a saddle to scope out Ellingwood Peak which we were considering summitting. Tucked beyond our seeing from the campsite at the lake was a beautiful alpine meadow. The only vegetation that can survive the climate was a low lying shrub with deep yellow flowers. The scene was amazing. One thing that Vib and I realized was how clear and crisp the air was. We didn't realize is how much haze, mist, or dust there is at sea level in our metropolitan home. In the morning light, everything was lit up with a clarity that was almost surreal. We described it as almost 4D, like everything we saw around us was more than real.

We didn't end up summitting Ellingwood (the descent was rather technical, something I'd have been hesitant about even roped up), but I was not heart broken. As it turned out, when we came back from Ellingwood's base, the evening sunset was amazing. The view from the meadow of the basin was gorgeous. Vibin had the idea of doing some boulder hopping photos and hence the photo above. So plan B turned out quite well, possibly better than plan A.

The only expectations I had for the trip was to get to Titcomb Basin. I knew that Mother Nature would provide plenty of stimulation, whether it be beautiful light for photography, boulders to play upon, peaks to scramble up, or just the pure feeling of the elements on the sense with none of the trappings of cilization to turn them back. You can always count on the wilderness for a good trip.

All Dogs Go To Heaven

Well, I've finally had a chance to sit down and reflect on Pinkie's passing. I suppose there's lots to think about, but I'm stymied when I try to put it all down linearly. My mind keeps jumping from memory to memory. So I think that's how I'll attack this one.

I remember her, one day, in our old house chasing us around the family room in our old house. Back then, there was still plastic tile outside the kitchen. As she tried to round the corner into the kitchen, she peeled out. I remember her paws scratching at the plastic trying to gain purchase as inertia carried her into the TV stand which she crashed into a moment later. I remember the winters when she would disappear against the white of the snow. All you'd see were the three black dots of her eyes and nose and the pink of her collar. I remember how Pinkie liked to sleep on the bed and always like to sleep against my leg. This inevitably ended up with Pinkie in the middle of the bed and me falling off the one side or the other. I remember how Pinkie would wake up from a nap, face hair all disheveled. With her paws, she's rub the cobwebs from her eyes. And then she'd stretch her back by straightening her back legs and dragging the tops of those paws along the floor. I remember how every homecoming we were greeted with jumping yelps and tail wagging so hard that her body curved into a C. I remember how deftly Pinkie was able to dodge people's feet. I can hear her aghast cry when she wasn't able to avoid a shoe on one of her paws. I remember how if you gently moved one of the hairs of her floppy ear, she'd twitch it. If you kept pestering her, she'd sigh and move her head. I remember how in the quiet of the evening's she would look eagerly for a hand or foot to lick, most likely stationary in front of a TV. I remember how she would shake and whine when a thunderstorm boomed outside. I remember how she'd wait on top of the couch by the window sill, perched so that she could see the car drive into the garage when we returned home. I remember her eagerness to get our attention when she noticed us leaving the house and her elation at being picked up which would mean she was coming along. I remember how when you were picking her up, she would give a little jump to give you a hand. I remember how, when you were giving her a bath in the laundry sink, shivering in the water, she'd lean one side against the side of the sink in a vain attempt to keep at least one part of herself dry. I remember how much she loathed having the knots combed from her coat. I remember when we let her silky white coat grow till it nearly touched the floor. I remember how she lost her voice when we went to the Philippines for a month. How her coat would lose its shine when we were away for long. I especially remember how much she loved lying on your lap or between your shins. I remember how she would "dig" a bed for herself in the couch or carpet before circling and lying down. I remember how she'd give a half-bark in her sleep while dreaming. I remember playing with her in the pool in Puerto Rico. Her strategy for getting to the stair case was to swim to the nearest wall and swim in a counterclockwise direction. I remember taking her for walks and how, after she'd finish her business, she'd make a show out of kicking her hind paws, toes pointed, ostensibly to spread out her mess. Although the only thing it accomplished was kicking up a few blades of grass.

Pinkie was a great companion. She was always there for ya. You could never be sad for long when she was around. A creature of routine, you could always know what mood she was in based on the time of day. Although I've been away from home the last eight or so years, every time I came home, she greeted me the same as if I'd left to get groceries earlier that day. And vice-versa. I'll miss seeing her the next time I come home. She lived a great life and had her place in our family. May she rest in peace.

Getting Back Into It

A month-long or so hiatus from blogging. I managed to finally upload all of Mom's Alaskan Odyssey (wow -- that was long, Mom!) Lots of news that I'll try to get caught up on, thoughts to put down, and whatnot.