Which Way Did He Go?

Hope everyone had a great Memorial Weekend. Mine was a classic Bay Area weekend.

SAT: We biked from my house downtown, across the Golden Gate Bridge, then to Tiburon to drink margaritas and eat Dungeness crab sandwiches at Sam's. Took the ferry back to the city, then had a blow-out night.

SUN: Sea-kayaking around Sausalito. Choppy water, but the sun was out and so were all the sea-lions. Sometime afterward, we managed to sniff our a few more margaritas and Dungeness crab sandwiches.

MON: Sailing a 40-footer from the Bay Bridge, to Angel Island, under the Golden Gate Bridge, then back to the harbor at Pac Bell, SBC AT&T Park. The swells under the Golden Gate bridge were absolutely ferocious. Thinking about all the energy the sea produces is mindblowing when thinking that it was tossing a 33,000 lbs boat around like it was a floating pine-cone. On our way back, we were the only boat in the water as the sun came down over Mt. Tam.

Classic.

Anyway, things are going to be really busy for me at work this week. I've actually taken over my department as of last week and have been feelin' the hot seat warm my blood to a slow simmer.

So, just as last week, expect intermitten, sporadic posting. You'll be hearing from me, but it'll be all gloppy and lumpy like. Kinda like the Cheeze-wiz you left out on your desk after falling asleep to the Bay City Rollers again.

Memorial Day

To all who have passed to protect our freedoms, I can only offer a fraction in return:

Thank you.

Memorial Day Video

We Have Lift-Off

Ian Wood, in his Faustian journey to bureaucratic hell, somehow outsmarted Mephistopheles (rumor has it, he told him is shoes were untied, then socked the scaley freak between the eyes and tied his bi-furcated tail to the radiator) and took off on his journey from East to West.

Like all adventures, the best ones end when someone gives you beer.

On the Road: Week One.

Barry Bonds and Identity Politics

I spend a lot of time at Pac Bell, SBC, AT&T Park each summer and have witnessed quite a few historic Barry Bonds momments. I was there the night he hit 600, and the night be surpassed his Godfather, Willie Mays's all-time mark. I've seen more than my share of "splash hits."

Watching Bonds on the playing field during this time was pretty spectacular and, although steroid allegations were pretty rampant, it was as situation that clearly wasn't only affecting Barry Bonds. It just happened to be that steroids were combined with a guy who hit .300 and blasted 44 HRs (this was done in Candlestick Park mind you) the year before the alleged steroid use began. It was akin to enriching uranium--the result wbeing a power that the game has never seen before, and naturally, the baseball world focused in on him.

Barry was an easy target. For all of his amazing prowess on the field, he's a pretty lousy guy. It's not about sports reporters either (who are a pretty loathsome bunch in general), it's about how he's treated his teammates and those around him who, as a ball player, he is obligated to play nice with.

So, Tuesday night I went to the Giants/Cardinals game. It was a game where I could possibly witness him pass the lengendary Babe Ruth. They always refer to Yankee Stadium as "The House That Ruth Built," however I think it might be far to say that baseball itself is "The Game That Ruth Built." It is arguable, but not entirely farfetched to think that the reason this sport is where it is today has a lot to do with what Babe brought to the game 80-90 years ago.

Our tickets were 8 rows behind home plate. Clearly they were some tasty seats and usually a place where you see celebrities and other people of semi-royal dignity. This time was no exception. Sitting right down in front of us was none other than Jesse Jackson.

Why the hell was he at a Giants game? Ah, it was probably because there was an opportunity to do some race baiting:

During his quest to overtake Babe Ruth's home run total, Barry Bonds complained that racism was the reason so many fans were rooting against him. That may be so, but it doesn't explain how divided African Americans are about the validity of Bonds' claims of racial enmity or why some of them, too, might be unhappy to see Bonds surpass the Yankee slugger.

Not since the O.J. Simpson trial have blacks seemed so polarized about whether a well-known African American has been subjected to unfair treatment. On blogs, in conversations and in other public forums, black Americans are talking not about Bonds' homers but about whether he deserves empathy or contempt.

Bonds is now playing the victim. Here is how he feels about the reception that he is getting from fans during his chase to pass the Babe:

Bonds, however, has his own take on the subject. "If I was a long ways from Babe Ruth, this wouldn't be the same," he said in February 2005, according to two published accounts. "Because Babe Ruth is one of the greatest baseball players ever, and Babe Ruth ain't black. I'm black. Blacks, we go through a little more, and that's the truth. Unfortunately, I said it. And I'm not a racist, but I live in the real world."

Barry has it right. He is being "singled out" because he is about to surpass Babe Ruth. But like almost all pleas to identity politics, it isn't because of a white and black thing. Forget the fact that he cheated, and forget the fact that when Hank Aaron surpassed the Babe that he dealt with threats against his life specifically because he was black. He has to realize, that the first major victim of Ruth's shadow was white: Roger Maris.

Roger Maris was seeking to break Ruth's single season homerun record, and was repeatedly hammered on by his own fans because they didn't not want Ruth's record to be broken (unless it was fan favorite Mickey Mantle). Maris, in his quiet demenor, barely managed to pop-out of the dugout for a "curtain call" when he knocked number 61 out of the park.

Now, all the race baiting sociologist have an issue that they can use to pile on their theory that whitey is still out there tryin' to keep the black man down:

(Professory Leonard) Moore, who teaches courses on black nationalism and the civil rights movement at Louisiana State University, says anti-Bonds sentiment is not part of a conspiracy but reflects a widespread hope among "white America" that the slugger wouldn't surpass Ruth, who is one of baseball's most revered players. Moore says the feeling is both conscious and subconscious.

"When it comes to baseball ... there's a deification of Ruth, and they want to protect that image at all cost," Moore said in a phone interview. "White America has so much racial baggage that sometimes they don't even understand when they're being racially biased."

Moore, the former director of LSU's African American Studies Program, says, "The only black folk who really are accepted into society by and large are African American entertainers -- like musicians and athletes. Whenever an African American entertainer steps outside that box of entertainer and has the audacity to speak and have opinions, (they're punished). Barry Bonds doesn't want to give autographs. He could care less about the media. In many ways, the feeling (among Bonds' detractors) is, 'Look at this Negro. We've created this good life for him, where he can make all this money in the greatest country in the world -- how dare he not want to sit down and talk to us, how dare he not cater to us, how dare he criticize what we do.' When you look at the history of American sport, name one (other) athlete who's been vilified to this extent."

Ok, I can name another sports figure (not an athlete, but same deal) that treated people like shit, was villified, and paid for it: Bobby Knight. Bobby, just like Barry, thought that he was better than everyone else. He knew that he was a genius at what he did, and he constantly let people know it. Unfortunately, whether sports reporters are idiots or not, if you slap them around on a daily basis, they're going to get you. They finally got Bobby and he was pounded just as hard as Barry was, and he didn't inject steroids or cheat to win.

This is a perfect example of the fallacy of identiy politics. With Barry Bonds appeal to his identity group and his accusation of bad faith among his detrators, he has in turn attempted to remove any personal responsibility that he has over his own personal actions. As Jeff Goldstein would say, this is at it's root an illiberal view, and one that takes the focus off an individual's rights and liberties, and groups them together in classes of people who are deemed protected by those powerful enough to influence the narrative.

In the realworld that Barry Bonds claims to live in, he wasn't the only cheater, but it is really hard to get your dander up about a like Ken Caminiti, or Matt Lawton. I still enjoy watching Barry play even with the steroid accusaions, but I don't like watching someone who can't take personal responsibility for something that he has done wrong. Not only has he not taken responsibility, but he has shifted the blame onto to white people.

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One other comment about Professor Moore's statement when he claimed that white people only respect celebrities and atheletes. I'm not trying to gain credibility by identifying with a black man, but I think it is notable that one of my personal heros is family friend, Luther Smith. I guess you could say he's a celebrity, but clearly not in the condescending accusation that Moore meant. Luther was a Tuskegee Airman, who flew 133 combat missions over Europe before he was shot down and captured by the German Army. He shattered his leg in the incident, and then spent the next seven months in a POW camp until he was repatriated. This is a man who lived his entire life with the same resilience, tenacity, perseverance and intelligence that allowed him to survive this ordeal.

But Professor Moore shouldn't let little ,inconvient anamolies such as this to cloud his broad, brushed-stroked scholarship on the subject.

Demand Term Limits for Congress Now

More on this later, as I'm really busy today, but as an average citizen of this great country of ours, I am fairly convinced that Congress, as a collective, does not represent me, and I'm get the feeling, a lot of other Americans.

I'm absolutely furious over this unanimous, bi-partisan demand for the FBI to return the documents and evidence gathered in what seems to be a lawful search and seizure. Professory Glenn Reynolds explains:

I say, search 'em all. Now. They must have something to hide, right? They certainly don't mind much more intrusive paramilitary raids on the rest of us, even though the Fourth Amendment provides a lot more reason to doubt the validity of those than the Speech and Debate Clause provides where Congressional searches are concerned.

Read this post from Orin Kerr, too, on the weakness of the constitutional argument they're making. There may be a prudential argument that searches like this are a bad idea -- though, frankly, I don't think a very convincing one -- but to claim that the Constitution forbids the execution of a search warrant by law enforcement simply because the target is a Congressional office is weak and self-serving.

The leadership -- of both parties -- should be ashamed of this stunt. They should remember that the Constitution forbids titles of nobility, too, despite their effort to transform their positions into something very much like that.

This isn't about ideological differences, this is about corruption. I'm not calling for a "vote for the other guy" campaign, as that is just a call to jump onto the other pirate ship. What I am advocating is a mass movement by the people of this country to demand term limits for Congress. This is the ONLY way we are going to solve getting the career politicians out of Washington. This is the ONLY way we are going to get some control over spending.

Also, this is a potential political disaster. If they find Representative Jefferson guilty, Congress is going to look really stupid and, even worse, an apologist for dubious behavior. After all, Jefferson is being investigated for taking some enormous bribes.

Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.

What are you thoughts on term limits? If you are for them, how could it possibly be implemented when it is clear that Congress sure isn't going to pass it?

Launch Day

Welcome to TenFingers6Strings.com, the unofficial home of the West Coat Report for Astonished Head Does America!

We have foggy skies this morning, a cool breeze, and a lot of anticipation here in San Francisco. The secret, covert launch of Ian's adventure is anticipated at some point today, Wednesday, May 23rd. For those of you tuning in for the first time, Ian will be riding his trike from East to West, ala Lewis and Clark.

I'm sure Ian will be chiming in soon, so in the meantime, we all eagerly await the call.

How's the Buzz Cut?

My good friend Anthony Perez-Miller at Andunie is back, briefly, and describes his first few months of Advanced Individual Training in the Army.

A little background: Anthony, currently striving for his PhD in Philosophy of Science, joined the Army Reserves at the youthful age of almost two-score (39). Quite the contrast with those back in WWII, who lied about their age in order to sign up for the infantry at age 16. I loved getting phone calls from Anthony during his time at AIT telling me how he was beating the pants off of all those young punks in their PT exercises.

Anyway, I think this is fantastic story about a man who has made the decision to serve his country, and do it with the character and dignity that our country is the damn lucky beneficiary of. Go say hi and say "thank you" if you get the chance.

Open Letter to Bill Quick

The following is a letter to Mr. Bill Quick. This letter isn't very becoming of me, however I felt it was good manners not to continue this mudslinging (which I clearly started), at a friend's site.

I wrote the following on The Colossus's site in reference to this post from yesterday:

Ok, time to rant.

Bill Quick has descended into Andrew Sullivan territory. Here is another example with his fallacious appeals to authority. So, he says, all religion is delusional (fact), and implicit in his fallacy is that if you disagree, you are delusional. In the realm of logic, there is no way that you can debate him on this issue without having to prove how you aren't delusional.

Your retort above was absolutely perfect. George Washington, if you've actually read anything that he's written, stated many times that his belief in Providence was what kept him resolute as he held together a rag-tag bunch of misfits together to fight one of the best armies in the world. Well, Bill, even if it was a delusion, things sure as hell worked out for us.

I have no problem at all with atheists. Reading Steven Green and Steven den Beste, they are very firm in their beliefs and why the believe them, however they don't put broad sweeping, sophmoric thoughts on their posts hoping everyone high fives his "slam" on 'dem delusional religous folk. Conversely, I would never put a broad sweeping statement about my Christian faith on my site without backing it up with a proper argument.

Full disclosure--Bill Quick hits my nerve for personal reasons. He made a ridiculous quote like this about a year ago, I said in his comments that he was having a meltdown, and he threatened to ban me from his site. I haven't been back since, but I read, via links, stupid crap like this from him all the time. Why on God's green earth does Glenn link to this bonehead anymore?

Bill responded to my comment:

Why on God's green earth does Glenn link to this bonehead anymore?Well, we go back a long way together, and while he's tried (to no avail, I'm afraid) to get me to tone down my tendencies toward outrageousness, he still likes my stuff pretty well - well enough to link it pretty regularly, at least.

To be truthful, it's not the instalanches I appreciate as much as I do his respect and friendship.

What was your name again?

An open letter to Mr. Quick:

Dear Bill:

I hope you don't mind that I address your comment here, as I felt it wrong to continue slinging mud at you from the website of a friend (especially one who made a perfectly decent counter-argument against your original post), and I couldn't find your email address in the midst of all the ads on your site.

I cannot speak to the intracacies of your relationship with Instapundit (that would be fallacy), but if your writing is indicative of your nature, then I'm very confused. At some point in the game, you decided that you hated the way the country was being run, and anyone who argued against you became the center of heated, ad hominem attacks. If I recall, Steven den Beste, a man whom whether you agree with him or not, is completely reasonable, tried to calm you down.

However, with the manners of a Wolverine, you managed to chase him away by launching back at him like a little kid who dragged mud onto your white carpet. For no good reason, I stepped in, and you easily targeted me during your tantrum, since I'm a nobody, and threatened to ban me from your site.

Charming.

You see Bill, blogging is actually a hobby for me. That's the reason that you won't see any ads on this site (well, that and the fact that I get less traffic than a Chick fil-A on a Sunday). I've met some good friends on this site, and I usually don't go off on a bi-polar rage any time they say something I disagree with (However, there once was a time that I pissed off a whiskey distributor at a Whiskey tasting, but I don't feel too bad about that because the whiskey really was crap).

So, "what was my name, again," you ask?

Must be one of those pecking order things. I get to play the role of the waiter at a five-star restaurant who brought you, the rich and infamous, a dirty glass, and you can shit on me in front of your friends because it makes you feel big and strong. Bill, if you want to take your frustrations out on me, I'll gladly take them anytime you want to deliver.

Such a shame man. You've actually shown flashes of humanity here and there, and I'm sure this is why many have lingered at your site. Hell, that's why I started reading you (that and the fact that you live in the same city as me). But, now you are just a cranky, old bastard who thinks his traffic meter is an accurate measure of his genitalia.

I'm always going to be a misanthrope in this fun little place you fabulously, and with the phonetical ring of Shakespeare sonnet, dubbed the blogosphere. I'm very comfortable with that and hopefully we can run into each other in San Francisco some day, and we can have a Good Will Hunting moment. My shoulder is awaits you big guy.

As the World Turns

News coming from Iraq is quiet. Something good must have happened.

Sure enough, the Iraqis formed their own government. A fully representative government, elected by 12 million people, backed by their new constitution, and held together by lot of interests that all have one thing in common: to bring Iraq into the free world out of the most despotic region in the world.

Meanwhile, Montenegro has just voted for independence from Serbia. Events in former Yugoslavia have been dutifully allowed to play themselves out since unilateral intervention from US and NATO forces in 1999. There have been a lot of ups and downs in the preceeding years, but like most events in history, they didn't have cameras and reporters broadcasting to the world each growing pain as evidence of "disasterous pre-war planning," or "inept leadership."

What the Iraqis have managed to do in less than half the time is utterly mindblowing. It is our duty to keep a cautious, but also hopeful eye on our Iraqi friends. We cannot allow those that live under a death-cult to force our hands. While they have demonstrated that they are capable and willing to kill women and children, we have demonstrated that we will not abandon those who desire to be free. The American people have wavered and bent like a reed in the wind with their support, but our leadership, thankfully, has not. The Iraqi forces are growing stronger everyday, and while the country still has a very, very long way to go, they are steadily making progress.

If only we could get the Democrats on board.

Death Valley - Part III

After adventuring to the Keane Wonder Mine, we spent the afternoon driving around the northern part of the Valley, hitting one off type of things like the Ubehebe Crater and Scotty's Castle. These are all very cool in of themselves, but after going up to the Keane Wonder Mine, being in a place with tour buses, air-conditioning, kids and blue-haired women, I felt my genitalia shrinking. By this time, it was getting into the early evening, and we planned to go to the Dunes at Stovepipe Wells for sunset.

Back when I was a young lad, I served a stint in Tucson. After five years, my parents must have gotten tired of the 300-days of sun, healthy-living, no-grass cutting, and pool-lounging lifestyle, and picked up and moved to Philadelphia. After a short, but determined investigation by the FBI, I was reunited with them just in time to begin my sophmore year of high school. They said something about sorry about that, yadda yadda, didn't mean to, yadda yadda, wasn't intentional, yadda yadda, had merely forgotten to pack me, yadda yadda. Regardless, we were a family unit again, I would finish my remaining years with under the roof of my domestic overseers in the snow and ice just outside of Valley Forge, PA.

Now, being that I had bought into the perceived higher enlightenment of folks that lived on the East Coast, I thought I was entering a world where I was going to have to expand my mind to the vast experiences my peers had probably gained in their years living in a Blue State. I know it is shocking to think that I confused Philadelphia with enlightenment, however I was going to live the suburbs. I thought the sight at my first day of school, where I saw more BMWs, Mercedes, and Jeep Cherokees in the parking lot than in the entire state of Arizona, was indicative of kids whose parents who had gained much wealth by imploring their vast experiences to driving change in this world, and reaping their benefits to depths a simple Arizona family couldn't fathom. After all, my dad drove an Oldsmobile.

I was correct in that I was a naive 16 year-old that had yet to understand a thing about the real world. When telling them that I was from Arizona, my enlightened new friends astounded me by being amazed that anyone could live in the harsh desert containing nothing but sand-dunes. Some went as far as to believe and say, out-loud, that I must be some kind of desert-rat capable of living for long periods of time without water.

So, walking from the road to the sand-dunes in Death Valley, I realized that this is what my young friends must have pictured in their ginormous imaginations when they saw this new white-kid, with an abnormally golden tan, speak of living in the desert.

If I really was a desert-rat, I'd really have a hard time getting any water out of this:

As we were waiting for the sun to fall onto the other side of the mountains, I thought it would be great to do something silly. You know, something that would make people who read my website think that I have a "zany" streak, and that I know how to "be a little nutty," even in public. Maybe, I thought, people would think I got too much sun. So we contrived this shot:

Take-off and cruising altitude look good.

I held this handstand (in the sand mind you) for about 15-seconds 20-minutes.

Well, thank God for good friends being there to take pictures of you at your best:

Rough landing--forget to put the gear down.

After another hour of running, sliding, and falling down the sandhills, the sun went down, and we headed back to the campsite trying to remove sand out of our orphuses.

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Sleeping the desert is pretty magical. When we were there, the air was so still, you could hear the beetles, ants and scorpions running across the hardened desert floor. You could hear the snakes slithering, the coyotes and bobcates prowling and...

Ok, it's nothing like that. But there is a calm and stillness that embrace you as you stare through the mesh "skylight" in your tent towards to heavens. Before the full-moon popped up, you could see the dust-filled Milky Way sparkle the stars. I really felt as if I was in heaven. I thought about this being the last night under the stars, and how I really feel like I am at home when I'm outside. It was now Easter Sunday, and fitting that all seemed right with the world at that time.

I awoke at sunrise, but lingered in my bag for a few more hours for no reason. We eventually got up, packed-up and gassed the car, grabbed some hot joe and began the trip back to San Francisco. The cool thing about the drive home is that it is just as interesting as being at our destination. I've driven this route so many times, I could do it in reverse with my feet on the steering wheel.

Starting at sea-level, you begin the steady climb up to Owens Valley at 4,000 ft. Breaking through into the Valley, causes a moment of silence as the brooding Sierras stand over you.

Being the consumate tour guide, I surprised my traveling companion with a detour off of 395, up the Whitney Portal to about 6,000 feet to the base of the highest point in the continintal United States, 14,505 ft Mt. Whitney:

The snow on Mt. Whitney is like make-up masking her ferociousness. Facing east, the three distinctive spires that scrape sky stand proud and tall. However, if you ever see the other side, you'll se a gradual sloping grade with a trail that a semi could drive up. If someone has "claimed" to have climbed Mt. Whitney, I suggest you ask them if they took the tourist route up the back, or they went all Michel Diconnet (see DV Part II) and went up the Mountaineers route.

Although John Muir wasn't the first person to summit this monster back in 1873, he was the first to climb the storied Mountaineer's Route, a Class 3 chute that you can see in the pictures running up the right side of the main face. In the first picture, you can see the route he took to the summit.

After taking in the crisp mountain air, we got back into the car and descended to Owens Valley. We drove north heading towards Route 88, the 8,000 ft pass we need to cross to get West of the Sierras into the central valley. The first indication of a rough ride came when the radio DJ in Mammoth (about 2 hours north of our present location), said that it was snowing, and that they expected to get about 2 feet overnight. Looking up, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, but that's life during the early spring in the Sierras. By the time we reached Bishop (about an hour north of Whitney) the mountains were covered in clouds.

After passing the exit to Mammoth, the blue skies that absorbed at Whitney were replaced with this:

My experience of learning to drive in the snow and ice in Philadelphia has given me a lot of confidence in this weather. I actually think it is fun driving in the snow. However, CALTRANS does not, as they have to deal with the 25 million other Californians who don't. Once roads get too treacherous, they shut them down. Usually all it takes is some idiot from LA or Marin County driving an SUV at full speed down an icy slope (because, it has 4WD you know) to fly off the road, ending everyone's elses chances at getting home.

The only route we could take home was to go north to Reno, then go West on 80 across North Lake Tahoe, over Donner Pass and into the Central Valley. You can imagine the thrill that overcame me when I realized that our only route home was the same route millions of skiers would be taking to get back to the Bay Area. Millions of people whose ability to drive in the snow is rivaled only by their capacities of rational thought.

After driving on 80 for an hour, we passed the exit to 82-North at Truckee. Not 30 seconds later were we confronted with this:

A parking lot. One that we'd spend the next THREE-AND-A-HALF-FREAKING-HOURS sitting in. The traffic report on the radio said that some knuckleheads slid off the road and caused a multiple car collision somewhere on the other side of Donner Pass. I was elated. Mankind has figured out a way to tame Death Valley, but cannot solve the Bay Area motorist. I was also comforted by the fact that this way probably the last scene the Donner Party saw before they had to eat their own asses:

Finally we moved the 1/2 mile required to get off on 82-South, turned around and headed back to Reno. Two hours later, we'd be in a warm casino, enjoying our first showers in four days.

Our adventure would be over an uneventful half-a-day later. As always, California provides plenty surprises, breathtaking geography, large expanses and adventure at every turn.

I absolutely love this place.

Hey everyone. Work is pounding and I'm sweating. I won't be back until tomorrow.

Until then, send me checks with your favorite 6-digit number on them. The winner gets a ham-sandwich to throw at Moussaoui.

Pundit Fatigue

I spend a lot of time reading opinion articles ranging from editorials, journal pieces, symposiums, and blog posts. I fully admit to being an information junkie, and my tastes aren't necessarily quarantined to geopolitics, but if you judged by the content on this site, it is clearly my predominant inspiration.

I've steered away from posting a lot about geopolitics lately, because frankly, what is being written has been, for the most part, breaking down and coagulating into a single, gooey substance that has no value other than to consume, devour and transform those who step in it. I used to be able to pick up publications like the Economist, the New Republic, the NRO, and the Washington Post to find some well written pieces that really helped me to think through various issues of the day. Regardless of whether I agreed with their conclusions or not, it was written in a style that helped present facts in order to draw conclusions from them. Of course, it wasn't perfect, but overall it is what differentiated the upper echelon from say, TIME, Newsweek or the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Iraq changed everything. No longer is it deemed appropriate to adhere to traditional journalistic standards of reporting and avoiding fallacious arguments, it was completely acceptable to write the editorialized "news" piece. The opinion pieces became more emotive than substantive and the amount of respect I previously held for these stalwarts evaporated. The NRO for the most part stayed pretty well above the things until the Immigration issue (Jonah Goldberg and Jim Geraghty notwithstanding) sent them into convulsions.

This is nothing new to those who have spent any time reading my stuff. I've been an avid and fortuitous basher of the Mainstream Media for quite sometime. However, I had blogs to read. Initially bloggers were a cold cup of water to the MSM's relentless negativism and dour mood. But there has been a major shift in the last two years. Just as the MSM became unhinged, many high profile bloggers have had complete meltdowns. Everyone of these unhinged bloggers had their issue (Andrew Sullivan had gay marriage, Greg Djerjian had Donald Rumsfeld, Bill Quick had the Iraqi Constitution, Stephen Bainbridge has his LBJ-Bush fetish and now Michele Malkin has Illegal Immigration), but the common denominator is that none of these previously and otherwise rational people have been able to recover from the day they decided to throw themselves down the stairs in the middle of the cocktail party.

Before I go any further, I want to make sure that it is clear that I am not writing this post as a masked apologetic for the Bush Administration. My criticsms of their handling of the war, domestic spending, etc. are well documented and also completely irrelevant to what I am trying to say here. I am qualifying this only as a pre-emptive measure towards the outrage crowd who's only retort is to wax apopletic when you tell them to calm down. I have my criticsms, but I'm not ready to hand my country over to Nancy Pelosi to make a point about some important, but as The Colossus says, secondary issue.

I'm beginning to realize, that the outbreak of this recent viral outrage is less of a function of our President's leadership, than it is a function of Pundititis. Everyday pundits have to produce content to keep inbound traffic and regular readership steady. Outrage brings in links and angry commenters. ConverselyInstapundit is such an anamoly in that he has consistently remained not only one the most popular bloggers, but continually produces the most level-headed and well thought out content in doing so. Fair and balanced doesn't mean not having an opinion, in means putting things in perspective and articulating them through rational arguments. The reason I hit Glenn a few times a day is more a function of his professionalism and quality of thought than of volume of output. Same reason I read Jeff Goldstein, but their approaches and tone are wildly different.

Listen, this site is an ant-hill in the middle of a valley surrounded by looming and brooding mountains. In the year-and-a-half that I've had this site, I've yet to receive one Instalanche, and if all I have to offer are sporadic posts about Death Valley, it'll continue. I think the duration between initial launch and Instanlanche might be an internet record, since Glenn has easily posted 8 million posts since I started this site. Maybe I should get an anti-matter, McDonald's type sign (Instapundit--More Than 8 Million Posts w/o Serving TF6S).

I write on this blog as a way to express my thoughts on whatever I find important to me, and even though I spend a lot of time reading and digesting blogs, my desire to make this anything more than a personal hobby are nil. There are no ads on this site (there never will be) and my traffic is negligable. My ant-hill may be insignificant, but it is the ant-hill I where I live and am pround of. My perspective that comes from living in the real world, shapes opinions that allow for the leeway of inevitable human error.

I have met some great friends through this site who I regularly interact with, and make keeping this thing alive very important to me. You guys know who you are.

Now that I've established that I am waaaaaay better than everyone else, lets see who wants some more. You wanna little? Huuuuhhh?

Normally my advice to the lot of the outraged who are publically embarrassing themselves to their higher cause would be to have a Coke and a smile and shut the eff up chill out for a bit. Walk away from the keyboard.

* I'm afraid the only cure though, is for them to get a real job. One where they are required to work with people, compromise competing interests, make decisions based on inadequate information and to be held accountable for it. I guarantee that the same level of outrage that many of these folks continually put on the shoulders of those who are active decision makers in the real world would not be as willing to apply the same level of scrutiny to themselves.

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*Tongue in cheek warning - I'm not seriously suggesting that these people don't have real jobs. I was being mean because I like poking at people who are perpetually angry (I think it is a trait in my family). It would be nice, though, if some of these otherwise intelligent people were able to display a little more contextual acumen when opining on world/domestic events.

Now if you don't mind, I'm going to ride my high-horse back to work.

UPDATE: The Colossus comments:

And Pundititis? Spot on. I think all of us like to think the subjects that concern us are important. Where we get into trouble is when we develop a blind spot that makes us think that our secondary issues are the most important thing in the world. I think the most powerful bloggers have the ability to create their own "reality-distortion field", to borrow a term from the computer industry, which is really just a polite way of saying that we're beginning to believe our own bullshit, or have begun to drink our own Kool-aid. Is illegal immigration important? Yeah, maybe. Is it as big an issue as the number 2 blogger in the world is making it? Not even close.

Seriously.

Week

Posting is going to be spotty this week. Work demands are waxing insane. I'll still be putting stuff up, but I just can't predict frequency or timing. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact my lovely assistant Kyle over at From the Still.

Mr. Fastfingers

This is the best website ever created. If you are a guitar freak, you'll love this. If you aren't well, you'll still love controlling Mr. Fastfingers through some zenfully shred-a-licious licks that like to go all up high on the tiny string.

If you dare, you can challenge the Demon to a guitar/accordian duel while the dwarves watch and marvel. Their enternal worship is your reward.

The guitar playing is very Vai. There are a few elements of Van Halen, Paul Gilbert and others, but the tone, along with some of the broad pick-sweeps, tapping legato, and five position staccato runs, are quintessential Vai.

The lessons are really good, and should only be taken on after a swig of hootch and a lenghtly warm-up. You wouldn't think dwarves would worship a lap-player, would ya?

"I Kinda Like the Way That Line Runs Up the Back of the Stocking..."

Comedian Jonathan Katz has a wry style that is gold for those with hankering for the verbal play and the inappropriate. The guy is pure dead-pan, which becomes half the joke. Years ago, I flipped on the TV and saw a bald guy addressing an audience, and absolutely slayed me with the following story (my paraphrase):

True story. A polar bear cub asks his mother, "Am I illegitimate?"

The mother answers, "Absoultely not. You are my only son whom I love."

Cub asks again, "Are you sure I'm not illegitimate?"

Mother answers, "Yes I am."

Cub asks, "Is dad a polar bear?"

Mother answers, "Yes, he is."

Cub asks, "Are you sure he is a polar bear?"

Mother answers, "Yes I am. This really hurts me that you think this. Why are you questioning if we are polar bears?"

Cub answers, "Because I'm f---ing freezing!"

Be warned, in my history of plagerizing this joke, I've only seen two reactions: complete hysterics or steam coming out of their ears when they realized I've wasted one minute of their life with such banalities.

Anyway, with this in mind, I think Dr. Katz would find this funny:

Northern hunters, scientists and people with vivid imaginations have discussed the possibility for years.

But Roger Kuptana, an Inuvialuit guide from Sachs Harbour, Northwest Territories, was the first to suspect it had actually happened when he proposed that a strange-looking bear shot last month by an American sports hunter might be half polar bear, half grizzly.

Territorial officials seized the creature after noticing its white fur was scattered with brown patches and that it had the long claws and humped back of a grizzly. Now a DNA test has confirmed that it is indeed a hybrid - possibly the first documented in the wild.

"We've known it's possible, but actually most of us never thought it would happen," said Ian Stirling, a polar bear biologist with the Canadian Wildlife Service in Edmonton.

Polar bears and grizzlies have been successfully paired in zoos before - Stirling could not speculate why - and their offspring are fertile.

Breeding seasons for the two species overlap, though polar bear gets started slightly earlier.

How could the polar bear possibly resist the humped back of the grizzly? It may be the most provocative natural feature in the wild. You think Salmon jump into their laps because they like being turned into sushi?

Tell me a good bear joke if you have one.

Death Valley - Part II

The Keane Wonder Mine

Most gold mines in Death Valley were miserable failures. The Keane Wonder Mine stands in stark contrast as the extensive, complex structures that were built in the Funeral Mountains over a century ago provide evidence of its past riches. It produced a steady output of gold for five years and was the second largest gold producer by the time they closed up shop in 1942.

I couldn't help think about what a cruel lot it must have been for the miners of the Keane Wonder Mine. The work environment in a turn-of-the-20th Century mine wasn't exactly known for sophisticated safety measures, workman compensation plans, and a focus on the improvement of personal health for employees. Unfortunately, someone up in the Cosmos has a sick sense of humor and thought it would be amusing to add to their misery by making these poor saps climb 2,000 feet in 100-plus degree weather to sit in a stinky hole in the earth that could collapse on them at any time digging gold for someone else.

At least they had hell to look forward to.

So, driving across the desert in my AWD across the dirt road purposely fishtailing and skidding across, I was beeming from ear to ear. For some reason I knew this would be special. We begin the ascent up the the ridge to the mine. 2,000 feet later, we'd reach the main mining complex.

Here are some shots of the ruins from the "glory days" past:

Tramway in front of the mine.

Main entrance to the mine.

Plus, we found a couple of frightening beings lurking in the caves. Some people call them "people." I call them "people who need to learn to match their clothes." I tried to lure it out with some peanut M&Ms, but it just threw rocks and swore at me like a sailor.

Ok, so let me give you some insight on being an adventurous person (aka an a-hole). Hiking up the to the top of the mine would only be a 2-mile (although practically vertical) trip. Looking at the topo map and reading the guidebook, I knew that there was more adventure to be had up there. There was a place called the Chloride Cliffs, along with another mine (Bell Mine) another 1,500 feet above us. It looked super groovy, but logistically, it wasn't exactly a day hike.

Here is what the Michel Digonnet, in Hiking Death Valley: A Guide to Its Natural Wonders & Mining Past, says:

Route Description: Mine to Chloride Cliff

This segment of the hike ranks high on scenic appeal, and it will spike your curiosity with two interesting mine sites. The only difficulty is that hte two logical routes are both problematic.

The first route is up the canyon from the spur raod to the mine. Here the wash is gouged into a succession of shallow, narrow troughs in striking greenish or golad schists. Sprinkled with short falls and clogged with large boulders, this is the most chaotic and intriguing part of this canyon. The problem is the the impassable 80-120 ft fall about .04 mile from the spur. It can be bypassed up the very steep talus on the north side, but it is one long and strenuous climb, and the nearly vertical rocky ledge at the rim takes some doing...

The other logical route is the mining road. Past the tramway upper terminal it climbs as a foot trail to the main mining area, visible on the cliff up behind the terminal. It takes a little effort to find the trail, but the real problem is that little "No Trespassing" sign posted just past the terminal by the NPS. The reason for the restriction is that the trail soon goes right by a small open pit and partly caved-in mines that are threatening to collapse. You can try a cross-country route around the steep cliff, but in my opinion, this is much less safe. To be on the right side of the law, ask the NPS for permission to use the trail. (emphasis mine)

I'm not exactly keen on falling down a mine shaft in some remote area of Death Valley. There are worse ways to die (getting eaten by a shark would suck), but not many. Looks like option one wins by default.

Most general guidebooks are written for the masses, and tend to assume that everyone reading it is a complete wussy with the IQ of a demented jellyfish. I usually ignore "caution points" in these books because I know the author is just covering his ass in case Bubby-the-Numnuts decides he wants to cross an ankle-deep river and his beer gut causes him to lose balance, fall into the water with a broken ankle, and then suffocate on his own three-packs-a-day mucus.

This guidebook, however, is the best guidebook in the history of guidebooks. When this guy says that something "takes some doing" it means that if you are a class 5 climber, you need to freakin' be careful. The author definitely has a technical climbing background, and his book is full of off-trail routes that was written by a man who, like me, cannot get rid of his inner 8 year-old and feels that it isn't enough just to "hike" somewhere. It is way better to climb and scramble up something so that you can see and explore areas that no one else will. When he says "easy scramble" in other places he means, "you don't need climbing shoes." When he says "challenging," it would be advisable to lace 'em up.

So, how does this all make me an a-hole? Well, my traveling companion hasn't had much outdoor experience camping, let alone climbing anything. I've taken her to the climbing gym before, but when you aren't in a controlled environment, the fear factor tends to multiply. At this point, I hadn't learned that the author of the guidebook was a complete badass who threw caution to the wind, but just in case, I felt that we should give the scrambling around the 100-foot fall a try. Not wanting to "unnecessarily" scare her, I decided to keep the cautionary tales to myself in case "be careful" meant what it usually does in other guidebooks.

So, we found the fork where the trail continues, and the wash begins. We weaved in and out of the large boulders that sat at the bottom of the wash until we hit the massive 100-foot wall. Looking up to the left, there was a slope full of talus with some inviting rocks at the top that looked good for scrambling. We scraped our way to the top and started to scramble the sediment.

The impassable 80-120 falls.

The talused filled route to the left. Looks passable from here.

The rock quality was simply awful--it was like climbing an onion-skin. You had to check and double-check each hold you either grabbed or stepped on to make sure that it wasn't going to peel off the mountain. No big deal, as a fall wouldn't do anything more than give you a couple of scrapes. But, try and communicate that to someone who's never done it before while they are looking into the valley a thousand feet below them.

My friend did great. She had a great attitude and way too much trust placed in someone who had turned our tent into an accordian 14 hours earlier. For someone who had never done anything like this before, she was a champ. However, about 3/4 of the way up, it started to get incredibly sketchy and even I got a bit freaked out. It would be much smarter to turn around. I was super-bummed, as I had been thinking about hitting the Cloride Cliffs since I read about them the night before, and I absolutely loathe having to turn around. But, the most important thing is that you are able to comeback another day. As you can see from the pictures below, the route up to the ridge isn't exactly one for the weary.

This is the part that "takes some doing." We got about halfway up those cliffs before turning around.

But, regardless of goals left unacheived, how can one complain when looking at view like this:

A couple more shots of the view from various vantages points on the way back down:

I absolutely loved this place. I can't wait to go back and try the lip again. Interestingly, after this was all said and done, we still had 1/2 a day left to play.

Most importantly though, I experienced firsthand that author Michel Diconnet is a true adventurer, and not some nanny-like handholder that wants to sell guide books to those driving from park to park in an RV. Michel, you are pretty close to becoming my hero.

Anyway, the next installment will feature the second half of the day, and will fit in with the end of our trip (which was extended another day). The theme there being that California is a place of drastic contrasts, vast expanses and frighteningly beautiful geography. Clearly, even modern man can be put in his rightful place as an insignificant speck of dust in the universe.

Enjoy.

On Its Way

I have the second installment (looks like there will be three total) of my Death Valley trip on its way. I'm having problems uploading and tagging my second batch of pictures, so bare with me.

Send me hugs and kisses in the meantime.

Hey everyone. I had a lot going on last week at work, plus I stood up in a wedding this weekend. If you have commented or sent me an email in the past week, I apologize for not getting back to you. You'll hear from me this week. I just gave you two new posts to chew on, so I hope you enjoy for a while.

Anyway, thank you so much for continuing to stop by while I was being held hostage by the man.

I'll also be updating my blogroll by next week too. If you stop by and read the crap on this site and I haven't put you up, just drop me a line and I will do so.

History Proves Hoekstra and Chambliss Reactionary (and Potentially Foolish)

Before the outbreak of WWI, the British government led by Herbert Henry Asquith, were in need of a Secretary of War. Lord Horatio Kitchener was suggested for the post due to his successes abroad. He won great battles that preserved and established British rule in the Sudan, Egypt and Khartoum. He confronted and averted war with the French who attempted a land grab in the Scramble for Africa. Known as a man of vision who creatively found solutions to great problems, was called upon again to rescue Britian's misfortunes in the Boer War. After gaining peace after a brutal campaign, he was called upon to reorganize the massively disfunctional Indian Army.

Despite his long and extensive experience, Prime Minister Asquith was hesitant to promote him to Secretary of War. He was afraid of appointing a life long military commander to a post that should belong to a civilian. It had been over a century since a Secretary of War (the Duke of Wellington) had been a man of military background.

Asquith appointed him despite his hesitations, and the rest is history. Kitchener's experience led him to buck the common mindset that the war would be over quickly, when he knew that war in Europe would last at least three years. In anticipation of this event, instead of a large conscription to gain the million man army he needed, he launched one of the most impressive volunteer campaigns in the history of the world. American's are familiar with Uncle Sam demonstrative gesture expressing his desire that he "Wants You." Well, for Britons, the more famous idea orginated with Uncle Horatio in the below image:

Horatio Kitchner as Secretary of War brought a laundry list of successful campaigns that made him the most qualified person for the job. His role as Secretary of War prepared Britain to fight and win one of the most horrible wars the world had ever seen, and it is doubtful that any other appointment at the time would have produced the same results as Kitchener did.

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Civilian control over the government and its military is necessary for a thriving democratic government. But, it is also necessary that the person who holds their specific office be the most qualified person for the job. Being a civilian doesn't mean that your background is absent of military service. Being a civilian means that you are no longer under the military chain of command and your ideas and direction come from your own mind, and not an unbroken line to a General sitting behind the desk in the Pentagon.

Civilian control in the United States has been preserved, yet we've still had men of some very significant military backgrounds hold very prominant and influntial offices. Read no further than Generals' Dwight Eisenhower, George Marshall, Ulysses S. Grant, Colin Powell.

With the above thoughts in context, the concern around the appointment of General Michael Hayden as the next CIA director has confused me a bit:

President Bush's expected choice of Gen. Michael Hayden as the next CIA director drew bipartisan criticism Sunday, including that of the Republican head of the House Intelligence Committee, who said a military man should not run the intelligence agency.

Hayden, whose nomination Bush is expected to announce Monday, has served for more than 35 years in the Air Force, culminating his service as head of the National Security Agency and as top deputy to spymaster John Negroponte.

Rep. Peter Hoekstra (R-Mich.), who heads the House intelligence panel, said he was concerned that Hayden's military background would further diminish the CIA's post-Sept. 11 role and could enhance the Pentagon's influence over U.S. intelligence operations.

"This is one more step in the [Defense Department's] taking over the intelligence community," Hoekstra said.

Hoekstra acknowledged that entering into a "public spat" with the White House put him in "an unfortunate position." But, he said, "you kind of look at it and say, `I can't go with you on this one.' In my gut, it just feels wrong.

"I do believe he's the wrong person, the wrong place, at the wrong time," the congressman said. "We should not have a military person leading a civilian agency at this time."

Hoekstra's criticism was echoed by a fellow Republican, Sen. Saxby Chambliss of Georgia.

The media smells blood when they can back a bipartisan effort to stick it to George Bush, however, Senator Hoekstra's concerns completely ring hallow to me. From the background noise I've read on this, it seems like Hayden is going to officially retire from the Air Force to pursue this nomination. If so, how on earth is the Defense Department going to take over the CIA when Hayden is now a civilian? Senator Chambliss offers the most short-sighted of statements when he says:

Just resigning commission and moving on, putting on a striped suit, a pinstriped suit versus an Air Force uniform, I don't think that makes much difference.

Beyond the normal bounds of politics, why didn't these same Senators have concerns with the appointment of Retired General Colin Powell as Secretary of State? Democratic nations are rich with former military men successfully holding civilian offices without risking a military take-over.

Taking this even further, there is no doubt that the CIA is in major need of overhaul. With the successful role they played in Afghanistan acknowledged, this particular part of our intelligence network has mostly failed us for quite a long time now (and it could be said the the military was the one who lead and coordinated the efforts in Afghanistan anyway). The DIA, however, has been tremendously successful in reforming and adjusting to our 21st Century foes. Five years into this all out war with Islamic Fascism, our counterparts in the CIA have offered very little other than continual ass-covering as solutions in dealing with our mysterious and schrewd foe.

At this point, I know little about General Hayden other than his role as deputy NSA director and his support for wiretapping. However, my inclination is that he understands the role that intelligence plays in this war, and how to best structure our most broken agency to get optimal results from the briefs I've read. This is why I will watch the confimation process thoroughly. If he doesn't understand this role, then I'll be the first to join the "bipartisan condemnation" of this appointment.

But, the sad part of this just confirms my disdain for our current Congress. Even our Congressional moderates are unable to offer well thought out solutions to keeping our country safe. Are there any Senators out there capable of producing one non-politically motivated thought? Our bipartisan Congress has already failed us greatly with the UAE ports deal, and it looks like they are going to improperly stonewall another potential good idea due to typical pandering and posturing that comes with holding an office with no established term-limits.

Death Valley - Part I

In 1849, the throngs of bipeds swept across the West for the Sierras in search of riches. Some of these '49ers hoped for a better way of life, some desired the riches of kings, while others just sought adventure.

In typical American fashion, a number of these journeymen were determined to take a short-cut from the established paths, through a mountainous region with high peaks and extremely low valleys.

In that year, only a handful made it out alive. As one of these parties exited the valley, they exclaimed, "Good-bye Death Valley!"

The name stuck. Death has a way of making a lasting impression.

In 2006 I chuckled at the thought of the Big Chill while driving in a brand new AWD, air-conditioned car--on a paved road--into one of the most spectacular sites I've ever seen. Death Valley seemed to be more a place of ruggedly-handsome contrasts; a vast region of expanses that stimulated the senses to almost the same degree as an all-access pass to Jenna Jameson on my birthday. The replentishment of fluids would be paramount for survival--in Death Valley of course.

Here is Golden Canyon. A hostile canyon that, even on a mildly overcast day in April, produced temperatures over 90-degrees. It was eerily still, yet all the contrasting colors resulting from the oxidation of various minerals intertwined in the sediment. The trail began in the valley around sea-level, and wound around up and over a small pass to Zabriskie Point (2 mi.). If you aren't the hiking type, you can drive to each point from the front and back sides. But if you drive, you miss shots such as these.

From there we headed down the typical tourist route towards Badwater (the lowest point in North America). On the way is a short little loop drive called Artists Palette. The origin of its name is a complete mystery to me.

For you sciene geeks who simply MUST know why all of these mountains were painted with beautiful colors here you go:

Speaking of science, here is another specimen who, although a bionic wonder to the world, still can't match his clothes:

Could you see my lower abdominal region? Really? If you couldn't it is because I was wearing cammo to hide me from preditors or scary creatures like, um, bats.

On to the lowest point in North America!

Here I am embarking on a solo expedition to the middle of the salt-deposit-ridden valley, which spans about 25-30 miles. I only made it about quarter-of-a-mile.

Look for the speck in the middle of this picture. I was being blasted by a 25-mph, 90-degree wind. I was removing salt from orpheses I didn't know I had for many days after.

I mentioned earlier about Death Valley being a land of contrasts. Standing at -280 ft, we took these pictures of Telescope Peak (11,000 ft) right in front of us. I wanted to climb this bad boy, but maybe next year:

Then, about an hour later, we drove to the top of recently re-opened for the summer, Dantes View. The temperature dropped from 90-degrees in Badwater to 49-degrees at 5,000-plus ft. The light 25-mph breeze ramped up to 60-70 mph on the summit. My traveling companion and I tried to climb out onto the ridge only to get blown back. I think if we climbed on our hands and knees we could have made it, but as you can see here, jackets make nice parachutes:

In this picture, I am laughing and scoffing at the wind. Apparently the wind doesn't like it when you laugh at its expense. Later that night as I tried to set up the tent, I ended up with an ultra-light pole that permanently ended up in the shape of a fish hook. This way my first real trip with my new tent, so you can imagine the warm fuzzies I was enveloped with when that happened. Good thing we brought lots of beer and wine for the campsite.

So enough of this driving around and being a tourist nonsense. While we were hiking up Golden Canyon, we ran into a 50-year old lady that looked like she'd come right of the beach in Florida. Dyed red-hair, leather skin and chic bubble sunglasses, we stopped on the trail to chat. She comes to Death Valley every year and I got the opportunity to ask her what her favorite place in the valley was. I don't remember exactly what she said, but here is a loose adaptation:

Lady: Do you have 4WD?

Me: Uh, huh.

Lady: Then the best place is the Keane Wonder Mine. It is about 50 miles north of here and it has the best views in the valley.

Me: I don't know whether to shake your hand or kiss you.

Lady: Pucker-up sonny.

Trekking up a mountain, plus the chance to engage in some rental car abuse was just way too tempting. Tomorrow I'll finish what was the highlight of the trip for me in Part II.

I'm back and waaaaaaaaay behind on everything. I'll be working pretty hard the next few days to catch-up, so blogging will continue to be light.

Thanks everyone for stopping by while I was gone and if I can find a few moments, I will add to this digital pile of mulch (smelly, but rich in vitamins!) that I call, "my blog."

See you in a bit.