I'm back in SF. Don't really have much to say other than Happy New Year to everyone.

Be safe and stay off the road.

God Bless Mr. President. Rest in Peace.

Shaquillian Logic

This slayed me:

"How can Benedict Arnold be reliable in what he says?" the Big Aristotle was quoted as saying in Tuesday's edition of The Los Angeles Times.

Shaq, the self-proclaimed "Big Aristotle," was responding to a comment made by his former coach Phil Jackson:

"He's the one guy that didn't really like to work," said the coach who boasts nine NBA championship rings. "I know Pat [Riley] got him working here in Miami. We had a hard time getting him to work. All the other players -- Michael [Jordan], Scottie [Pippen], Dennis Rodman, all those guys that we had, Horace Grant, they're all hard-working practice and personal work players."

Let's break down the Big Aristotle's statement, shall we?

Since this bit of logic isn't very complex in its nature, there is no reason to apply one of the pillars of Aristotlean logic, modal logic--complex forms of syllogisms with modalities--to a statement which can be broken down and analyzed with simple deductive reasoning.

Benedict Arnold was a traitor who switched sides in the American Revolution.

Phil Jackson was the Lakers head coach.
Shaq played for the Lakers.
Shaq signed with the Heat, leaving the Lakers, after the culmination of many disputes between him and Kobe Bryant about who would be the rooster in the henhouse.
Phil Jackson is still the Lakers head coach.

So, Big Aristotle, that would actually make you Benedict Arnold, wouldn't it? Now, to be fair, I'm assuming that you were trying to make a broader point, since multi-million dollar individuals who make their living putting a round ball through a hoop have, in recent years, been extremely sensitive to being "dissed." It is well known to those who watch these athletic soap operas that Phil Jackson actually favored you over Kobe when you played on Lakers together. So, that would make Phil's comments more an act of betrayal, not of treason.

I this case, I think Phil makes a better Brutus, wouldn't you? Take back the powdered wig and give him an oak wreath.

Doin' Some Adventurin'!

I love going to Arizona instead of Philly for Christmas. I'm going to get up at O’Dark-Thirty to bag this bad boy.

What you are looking at is Rincon Peak. It is the 8,500 ft peak in the Rincon Mountain Range to the east of Tucson. Apparently there are only 10-15 people per week on this mountain during the fall and spring, and I'm sure that since it is a) winter and b) Christmas Eve, I might find myself alone out there. I haven't had a day to myself in months, so it should be a great trip.

16 miles round trip and 4,500 vertical feet. Bring it on!

UPDATE: My mom has been watching too much news. After seeing those climbers that were stuck on Mt Hood, she is having an complete meltdown about me doing this tomorrow.

Man, I hate the media. I should have told my mom I was going surfing instead. It's not like the media can make that look dangerous, can they?

Road Trip - December 2006

Much to my glee, I just received two pieces of reader email. One comes from "Tiffany" who asks me:

Where are you?

The second comes from "Tony" who says:

Where the f--k have you been?! Get your &^@#$ &@#$ &^@#$ and start blogging again!

In my newly found talents as a psychic, I guessed vibed that Tony was from Philadelphia. Tracing his IP address back confirmed my suspicion.

Well, dear readers, your concern is so deeply overwhelming, and has moved me so profoundly, that I can't help but come out of my self-imposed exile. Where have I been, exactly? I've been road-tripping.

My mom and dad moved from the lovely suburbs of Philadelphia to Tucson, Arizona in September. However, due to the extraordinary talent and prescient vision that management in corporate America continually displays, the company my father worked for realized somewhere in June that they'd be absolutely screwed if my dad left in September, so they offered him a corporate jet, nights at the Ritz, and dancing Latinas with fake breasts to stay until December 15th. Since my dad is a married man, doesn't speak Spanish and, as a ceramic engineer, detests silicone implanted in humans as cosmetics, he opted instead for weekly midget tossing.

This left my dad with a problem. He had his car in Philadelphia, and it needed to be in Tucson. Getting my mom back to Philadelphia from Tucson in December to drive across country again was about as likely as Donald Trump inviting Rosie O'Donnell to his private hot tub party. Conversely, driving during the winter, across the country alone was about as appealing to a future retiree as drinking water squeezed from elephant dung. Acting from my newly found, superhero virtues, I offered to lend my help to someone in desperate need. My skills as an avid road tripper, along with my recently discovered ability to shoot lasers out of my eyes, would be employed to drive with my pops from one side of the United States, to the other.

The Road Trip: a lost experience amongst our culture of "GET THERE NOW!" Or, better known to my Philadelphian contingent, "GET @#^$ING THERE *^@#ING NOW!" As I told friends and family what my holiday plans were, I was often confronted with the following reactions:

• Driving in a car for four days? On purpose?
• I hate being in the car longer than two hours, I can't imagine being in the car all day.
• What right thinking person would do such a thing?
• Please put your pants on when you speak to me.

In other words, not too many people think that what we were going to do was all that fun, interesting or even remotely appealing. But, what these people miss, is that the road trip is a kind of like a fast, which purges your impurity and gives you a sense of clarity that can only come from being forced to eat fast food while sitting in your own sweat and other body juices in a confined space that would have Amnesty International screaming war crimes if we forced al-Qaeda terrorists to live in the back-seat. The forced meditation of driving long distances offers the American the rare ability to clear not the body, but the mind.

So, I flew from my digs in San Francisco to Washington D.C. to meet the old man and a large portion of my family. Instead of the dreaded East Coast winter I'm normally greeted with at this time of year, it was a spectacularly amazing 65-degrees. The only sign of precipitation was the snot oozing out of the nose of my little cousins who were battling their latest winter afflictions. Since I'm a glass half-full kind of guy, I thought at the time that this global warming thing was kinda awesome.

Don't worry, this entry isn't going to be a detailed log of every moment on the road. Most of the details would put you to sleep, and I think this is why most folks are put off by the road trip. Very rarely does it produce those orgasmic moments that crescendo at specific points that one can point to and say, "Yes! That's it!" It is a process that develops a key human characteristic called endurance, which is evolving out of the human spirit by a massive attack of entertainment and media.

On a more personal level, the real importance of this trip was that it literally represented the closure of one aspect of life that my parents and I shared together. In 1992, we moved to Philadelphia from Tucson during the recession that put my dad in a position of mercy regarding employment. Looking back, it was the best thing that could have happened to us, but at the time, it wasn't easiest of times.

Granted, if you are reading this in Bogota or Bagdad, you'll laugh at the self-proclaimed travails of white kid from the suburbs, but nonetheless, it was something that pushed us all to become better people without our own initiative. We had to react, accept and forge our then new lives together in a place where none of us really felt very comfortable--the results were astonishing. It is futile to measure the true value of the treasure found in the relationships built with new friends there, and those strengthen with family close-by.

But, this chapter had to end. A return to the desert would be my parent’s ultimate destiny, and I was lucky to contribute to the process of getting them there. I think it was fitting that we hit a damn blizzard on day three, too.

Anyway, we arrived in Tucson yesterday afternoon safe and sound. There wouldn’t be any, um climbing in my future this weekend, will there? Muahahahahahahaa!

---------------------

Postscript: My agent tells me that if I am to be a superhero, I must not display attributes of bad guys. Apparently, “Muahahahahahaha,” would fall under this category.

Wanna see me shoot stuff with my eye-beam lasers?

I was actually looking forward to writing some good stuff this week, but then I hit between the eyes with stick by the people that write my paycheck. I'll try to check in later this week, but if I'm a little more incoherant than usual, you can blame the suits.

On a quick side note, a sincere "thank you" to all of you who wrote me an email or dropped me a comment (Rick, Ian and Lynn) about my change in direction here. It was very touching.

Ok, enough of this feelings crap, let's talk about football.