:: Death Day ::

:: another anniversary. another time to stop and take stock. this year more than ever before, it's been tough to step back and survey the course. as my folks would say, been "keepin' my nose to the grind-stone." but it's scary when you are laying your own path; and the further down the road you get, the wilder the emotional swing: from great success to crushing defeat, from wanting to do too much to wanting to do nothing at all. two extremes hanging delicately in a balance: finish with a more of a push, or throw it all in a dumpster and seek satisfication elsewhere. is it possible to find personal definition without professional esteem? certainly not at this stage of the game. not for a little longer anyway. ::

:: when you're dreaming with a broken heart,
the waking up is the hardest part. ::
~ john mayer

:: Italian (mis)Adventure, the Finale ::

:: finally, an hour and fifteen minutes late, the train arrives. i settle in on an 8” by 8” flip-out seat with a severe lean in the hallway huddled over my bags (i paid extra for this ‘first-class’ seat). 30 minutes later we enter a tunnel. the main lights go out and the train rolls to a stop. to my right is an italian gramma (who has not yet started chattering at me to my suprise), and look to her for support. in the dim light i can see she’s unaffected by the events, having long since grown accustomed to this sort of pandemonium. i work to convince myself that we are just paused while another train passes, but none come. eventually we’re moving again, and i chuckle at my near-panic. a short time later; another tunnel, another power failure, another near panic (which is repeated numerous time over the next two hours), but finally arriving to genoa. this time the delay is just over two hours, so i simply head to the ticket office and get in line to exchange my ticket: 25 minutes in line to find out that it’s the wrong one; the correct one being 30 minutes more. even getting a pack of my beloved ringos takes 15 minutes… i decide to make a pit-stop. not wanting to leave my bags unattended, they accompany me to the water-closet. with one hand holding my suit-case and the other holding garment bag above the flood, i am left unable to perform required duties typically associated with a trip to the wc. at last i am to the new track with the new train, number 666… figures. over the announcements i hear in Italian “something something something, train 666, something delayed 90 minutes, something something”. great. i can make out the youngsters on the platform giggling and saying “something something tren del diavolo,” loosely translating to ‘devil train’. fantastic. despite being late, my ride on the ‘devil train’ was unspectacular. i arrive to milano, take the aeroporto bus, and finally the shuttle to my hotel (still raining). at check-in i ask if there is anywhere close to get food at this hour (quarter past 11pm). ‘alore, sir, there is nothing open… un momento, let me phone a friend. ... yes sir, my friend will meet you outside in 10 minutes, take you to a pizzeria, and bring you back.’ ‘really?’ ‘yes sir, please check into your room to refresh and be back in 10 minutes.’ super! i hurry to my room, and open the door to a well-lit luxurous room. i wheel my bags inside and close the door. the lights go out. i open the door, lights on. close the door, lights off. (repeat several times before noticing the card reader on the wall inside the room). swipe hotel key card in reader, lights come on (with door closed) and ‘welcome shojo’ appears on the tv. wow! i head to the water-closet this time with hands free of luggage to finally perform the much required duties. lights off. ‘what the ___?!?’ ::

:: i mumble to myself, fumbling to maintain decency while opening the hallway door again to reactivate the lights, and reinsert the keycard into the slot this time leaving it there. lights on. at this point, i am convinced i have stored up enough good karma for the remainder of the trip, and thankfully i am correct. pizza driver shows up and i am wisked away to a lovely, and quite classy, pizzeria for a delicious calzone bigger than my head. pizza driver takes me back to the hotel, and i settle in for the night. the next morning i have breakfast, and head for the hotel shuttle i reserved the night before. 20 minutes after departure, a gaggle of female oriental travelers begin dragging hordes of luggage out of the hotel towards the still waiting shuttle. with a clearly annoyed groan, the driver gets out and begins loading. finally underway, the hotel driver passes the exit for the domestic flights and takes the international flight exit. the gaggle leader barks at the driver who does not respond. i understand her to say something about him being required to stop at the domestic flight first, and they are late for a flight, possibly to miss it. we arrive at the international flight terminal, and the gaggle leader is now furious at the driver, who stops the van and with very stern italian orders/cursing, instructs them to move so i can get out of the van. he then points out they were late, and i have priority since i was on time. at the back of the van, i thank the driver who winks and whispers ‘niente’ or no-problem. check in for the flight goes smoothly, and i pick up a few souvenirs (several italian silk ties for myself and some christmas presents for loved ones back home). when the plane doors close, there is no-one in front, behind, or beside me as i settle in for a much-needed relaxing flight home. apparently travel karma does exist… [fin] ::

:: Italian (mis)Adventure, Part 2 ::

:: after the long flight i was hungry; i noticed the vanilla ringos in the window of a snack shop. hooray! victory number 3 (these are perhaps my favorite italian cookie - and i scarfed down the 8" long pack). struggling up the steps to the train, i decide that all of europe is designed for someone one-third my size. despite leaving on time (an italian rarity) we arrived at the transfer station 16 minutes late just as feared. dashing off the train i located the yellow time table (silently patting myself on the back for remembering this tid-bit) . thankfully, the universal law of italian lateness held, and arriving at 1108 was ok since the track i needed was empty but still listed '1052 roma'. i chuckled to myself as i watched a couple of americans struggle. 'i'm going to la spezia, does this train go to la spezia?' they would ask the italians (in english, mind you). after watching this painful sherrade for a few minutes, i stepped up and told them about the yellow train schedule poster. but it wasn't just the americans i gave directions to... my assistance was also requested from the other italian certainty... italian gammas that chatter at you, and tell jokes only they understand and laugh at, making for a very akward train ride. on this occurrence after about five minutes i was able to respond, 'si, niete lontano. venti minute.' ::

:: arriving (relatively) unscathed at my destination, i found myself actually enjoying the week. getting to flaunt my mastery of 50 some italian words in front of my scientific peers. fast forward to the end of the week. for some reason, i figured if i made it this far, things would be smooth sailing. the plan is to head to milan for an overnight hotel stay, and be well rested for the early flight home. i ask the concierge to call for a taxi. taxi shows up, and begins a conversation with the concierge. i make out that the trains in all of italy are ‘broken’ and he will not take me to the station. the rental car depots are closed being saturday, and the only option presented is a 400 euro cab ride to milan. remembering some peers with rental cars at the hotel down the way, i thank them for their help and am bombarded with italian – apparently they assumed i was going to pay the 400 euros without a fight. i trudge down the hill with my belongings in tow; running to get out of the rain, but careful not to loose a suitcase wheel around the switchbacks. i arrive at the other hotel and find my peers have already checked out, or are off hiking (i can see the keys to one of the rental cars, and thoughts of ‘the italian job’ movie flash through my mind). i head further down the hill to canvas the piazza (or square, not food) for potential rides. i meet up with other attendees in a similar predicament, and we team up. an hour later we’ve found two cars and two drivers willing to take us – but there are no road maps in the entire town….. as we get ready to leave, i decide to check on the trains one last time. to my delight, i find out that what was a ‘broken’ train is actually a strike, and the strike is only in the region south of us, and i need to head north. my driver (a government lab employee nearing retirement) takes me (a graduate student) to the train station, and behold (!) the trains are running. we bid our goodbyes and i hustle for the train. 10, 20, 30 minues go by. an hour… ::

:: Italian (mis)Adventures ::

:: three years ago after my first italian adventure / fiasco, i promised myself i would never go back. well, life is ironic and i find myself presenting at a prestigious conference, a few kilometers down the road from where i spent three of the most maturing months of my life. but as they say, things are easier the second time around, right? well, my uncertainty of this claim started when i was in b&n looking over the language books (my previous set was on ebay within 24 hours of being back in the states). figuring since i lived in the country for a summer i could skip the introductory lessons, i picked up the intermediate italian lesson book. mamm mia! non capisco! replacing the book i resign myself to 'italian on the plane' and a long week ahead. alore... andiamo! ::

:: landing in milan, the aeroporto and stazione look different, but there was a strange familiarity. once i found the automatic train ticket machine, it all came rushing back. after about 15 minutes and several curse words, i had a ticket from milan to la spezia. the second success of the morning (finding the bus to the train station was the first - but the direct shuttle took most of the challenge out of this), but the first real set-back was just around the corner (literally and figuratively) when i ordered a cappuccino and promptly received an italian tongue lashing. alore, i had forgotten to obtain a biglietto before ordering. after the cappuccino, on to find the train. i had two options. one was on track 21 going to viareggio, the other on track 2: neither of which clearly stating genoa. of course, my ticket had the train number, but it wasn't listed anywhere else (like on the train itself for instance). thinking i was a smart traveler, i pulled out my bberry and googled both destinations figuring the one to the west of milan would take me through genoa where i was supposed to change trains. no luck, they were both in the west and both sounded familar. but seeing as i couldn't find track 21, i was fairly convinced given my usual luck, that would be my train and i should find it asap. as i fought my way through the crowd dragging my suitcase over countless number of italian toes on their way to work (mi dispiace!), i discovered track 21 completely disconnected from the rest of the terminal. as i walked down the track, i noticed the yellow time table just as i remembered that this was what i should have been looking for all along. sure enough, the train arrived in genoa at 1042. va bene. but... my ticket stated the train left genoa for la spezia at 1052... alore! 10 minutes to change trains. if there is one thing certain is that 'on time' in italian translates to '15-30 minutes late, if at all' in english. ::

:: God's Country ::

:: when i was a little plump chump, i'd often be riding quietly in the back seat on sunday drives when pop would remark 'ah, this is God's Country!'. just as youngsters dismiss the wisdom of their elders, i'd dismiss his remark feeling the present sights of trees and shrubs weren't nearly as majestic as other wonders of the world as i'd seen on tv or in picture books. when college time came, i found myself smack-dab in an urban setting - not once did i ever hear pop say 'ah, this is God's Country!', even though i thought things were pretty fantastic in the big city. a few years later i started making the trek back and forth from home to urbania by way of 'God's Country'. it took a few trips before i started to enjoy the sights, and it wasn't until i had the choice of where to relocate after college that it hit me how majestic tree-covered gently rolling hills can be. as another relocation looms, i'm facing these feelings again: am i willing to sacrifice the utopia i find cycling or running through a patch of woods for vocational reasons? ::

:: when i heard the 'God's Country' marathon mountain bike race had been revitalized, it naturally was something i had to try. although marathon xc isn't my forte, it would be good training for ridestrong regardless of the outcome. i mentioned it to pop on the phone, and he said 'it's going to be tough. you'll be riding in 'God's Country'!' well, long story short, he was right but much to my surprise i managed a top 10 placing in the open class, with a ride time of 5:18 for ~53 miles. perhaps the best part of the day though came from the critter sightings on the way up - 9 deer, 25 turkeys, 3 red squirrels, 2 chipmunks, and 1 baby black bear. equally impressive were a few vistas from the top of climbs. and at one point i even found myself muttering 'ah, this is God's Country.' thanks pop, for instilling wisdom and appreciation of something so beautiful::

:: Preparing to Honor ::

:: less than three weeks away is the '08 livestrong challenge, and i have promised myself i would ridestrong in memory of a recently unexpected departed. it's time to make sure i can uphold that promise. stirring at 8am on a rainy saturday morning slightly nervous about the physical exertion experiment i have planned for the day - to replicate the necessary climbing endurance that is required in a few weeks. last year at this point, i had been doing this for months and was confident the course, although challenging, would not best me. the proposed course this year is the same. but i am not. ~ time to place worries and apprehensions in the crucible - prove to myself and my cause this will not be a mockery ~ time flies by with nary a concern aside from fresh oil and chip on the descents of the first 3 climbs. stopping for refueling at the cyclist's oasis (uni-mart), i opt to include the tentatively scheduled climb 7 & 8 to push past my goal and reach 8900 ft of climbing and up the distance to 75 miles. at this point, i had neglected to notice the man with the hammer was sucking my wheel ready to pounce... 4 hours and 10 minutes in, as i start climb 8 i meet him head on. a section of road ridden almost weekly for five years is transformed to an insurmountable enigma. pushing on i eventually defeat the man with the hammer and arrive home at 5:06. the body is tired and broken, but the mind is ready for what is ahead - i can humbly proceed with some small amount confidence that the memory of departed will not be tarnished by ineptitude. ::

(you are wise, honest, loyal, humorous, respected and loved. may my 'missa defunctorum' be welcomed and reverent in your memory dear rolly.)

:: please consider donating to my livestrong challenge 08 philadelphia event in memory or support of a loved one battling cancer. thank you. ::

:: Requiem For A Friend ::

:: my heart is heavy today... for a fish...
for a fish that was a friend... ::

:: i've had little opportunity to have pets. a few crayfish pop and i collected in the stream at the end of the street growing up (that usually ended up as a snack for the local raccoon), a wild rabbit that would do tricks in the family room and beg for apple-peels. and a few fish in my aquarium. ::

:: i'd had a pufferfish in baltimore years ago that was a very finicky eater. most just sit on the bottom or stare at their reflection. two years ago the local shop had some puffers; when the clerk opened the top one jumped out into the neighboring tank and i told the clerk that was the one i wanted, thinking the little fellow had some spunk. jeff quickly became a good friend and companion, providing hours of entertainment: whether following me as i vacuumed the rug, watching me make dinner in the kitchen and giving hungry looks, or pouting in the corner when i added new fish which turned out to be bullies (i caught him hiding behind the giant algae-eater rufus easily twenty times his size, which he had befriended for protection). he'd be the one to welcome me home, and would rest close-by as i napped on the couch. everyone that met jeff was immediately captivated by his fluttering fins and his rule-the-roost attitude. if you met jeff, you had an immediate friend. ::

:: within a matter of hours last week, everyone looked suddenly ill. even with medication, the prognosis was not good. saturday i thought we were in the clear, but things took a turn for the worse. last night before bed i peered into the tank with the all the lights off. jeff was playing in the bubbles as if unaware he was sick and should be taking it easy, and swam over when he noticed me sitting there. the little fellow was covered in spots, and i knew the inevitable was near. this morning, just as i feared, he was wrong-side up. as i was saying a few last words, his fins fluttered back to life and he darted to play in the bubbles again one last time. ::

:: thank you for the memories my fishy friend.
and thanks for being a fighter to the end... ::

:: Infinite Regression ::

:: here is a painting of a landscape. now the artist who painted that picture says something is missing, what is it? "it is i myself who was part of the landscape i painted." so he mentally takes a step backwards, or regresses, and paints a picture of the artist painting a picture of the landscape. but still something is missing. that something is still his real self painting the second picture. so he regresses further, and paints a third. a picture, of the artist painting a picture, of the artist painting a picture of the landscape. and because something is still missing, he paints a fourth and a fifth, until he paints a picture of the artist painting a picture, of the artist painting a picture, of the artist painting a picture of the artist painting a landscape. it is the moment that our artist has regressed to point of infinite and himself becomes part of the landscape he painted; he is both the observer and the observed. ::

:: well now in that peculiar condition, what would he be observing, if he were observing, let's say, time? ::

:: he would perceive that time is like a freeway with an infinite number of lanes... all leading from the past to the future, however not into the same future. a driver in lane 'a' may crash while a driver in lane 'b' survives. it follows that a driver, by changing lanes, can change the future. ::

:: time can only be fully understood by an observer with a god-like gift of infinite regression. ::

:: Groundhog Day ::

:: the prognosticating whistle pig of gobbler's knob predicts a few more weeks on the trainer ::

:: False Alarm ::

:: scratch that. silly me thought a subaru dealer could put a subaru back together properly. after giving them close to $9000, i spent the last 24 hours chasing down a coolant and oil leak. good news is that i found it (it was a challenge, the underside looked like the exxon valdeze). bad news, a solid metal oil line is busted. rex goes back to the dealer. and as if that isn't frustrating enough, they're out of rental cars at the airport... ::