Mmm...
The Cycle
Artist & Photo Info: quickrelease.tv/?p=1244
My professor, an urban planner, was passionate about people and life. He connected with his students because we could tell he cared about us. He took the time to sit down and look us in our eyes. He shared things with us that most professors were too frightened to speak up about but the things that mattered most: his ideas, his opinions, his outlook on life.
We respected him.
One morning he really worked himself up into a rage. He had our attention as he walked up and down the classroom aisles, arms gradually losing their tame demeanor, eyes piercing each of us as they washed over the room. As he delved into his diatribe we grew increasingly somber, the reality of what he was saying sinking into the depths of each of us. His message can't be justified without his passion to back it up, but I'll make an attempt at his words:
We wake up in a box. Once we feel sufficiently prepared to head out (or time dictates the need) we climb into a smaller box and sit. This smaller box takes us to yet another box where we'll sit away the majority of our day. After sitting the required 8-9 hours in this box, we return to the small box and sit there until it reaches our first box of the day, where we'll sit out the rest of the hours, addicted to an illuminated box, until we rest ourselves from the taxing sitting position. This cycle is on repeat for forty (plus) years of our lives, or until we die from it.
-adapted from Stephen A. Goldsmith, my professor, a brilliant man
At different points in my life I've been able to give up on one or two of the boxes. I lived in a tent for a few months (best home I've had yet). I worked where you could walk for miles and never hit anything resembling a wall, let alone a box. And now, since I am tied to two other boxes out of convenience's sake, I've dramatically lessened my dependence on the third: my car. My two feet and Sophie Deux helped me disrupt the cycle.
Summary: Live longer. Take a break from boxes.
Well, whaddya know...
Little G was published.
I'd like to thank my adoring fans (mom. dad. bro. sisters.)
And Nate.
And Marc.
And Maria for being patient in her climbing desires.
I accept congratulations in the form of mighty hugs, new skis, heartfelt high-fives and food.
Really, no preference.
This link here will take you to my words.
Update: Just hit the first rung with Google Ski News. I just... really, really like the look of that.
I talked about this thing in the article.
And Nate.
And Marc.
And Maria for being patient in her climbing desires.
I accept congratulations in the form of mighty hugs, new skis, heartfelt high-fives and food.
Really, no preference.
This link here will take you to my words.
Update: Just hit the first rung with Google Ski News. I just... really, really like the look of that.
The Tiny Teton Trip
This is a repost from my entry on Outdoor Women
There were just two of us heading into the frozen world of the Tetons late on a winter's eve. It was a spontaneous trip fueled by a desire to head north into the wild country of Wyoming, a little bit of cabin fever, and twenty-two gallons of 89 octane. Departure time: 10:45 p.m.
These kinds of trips generally have no rules other than to enjoy the moment. We took backroads and stopped at every state sign (three to be exact). We turned up the hip hop and pulled over to video the hilarity of the Mazda-turned-discoteque. We played songs on repeat. We took pictures on repeat. We took two hours over normal travel time to arrive. Eventually the dark silhouette of the jagged Tetons loomed before us and we entered—rather irreverently—while Outkast on full blast asked us to shake it like a polaroid picture.
It was hovering near 6 degrees at Jackson Lake when we exited the car. We set up to photograph the night sky which was reminiscent of an oreo milkshake in negative. Chips of stars were scattered in a curvature clearly visable to the casual viewer. But we were no casual viewers: we were drinking in the frozen air, visually consuming the glittery inkwell overhead and feeling so alive for 4:30 a.m. Our hands stiffening in the cold as we set up for long exposures, we grinned at how giddy we were.
While our cameras did their thing, we spoke in hushed tones about the magnitude of the sky and the meaning of it all. We took shot after shot, adjusting f-stops and shutter speeds, admiring and critiquing each other's work as deemed appropriate. We quickly found, however, that our photographic skills were dwarfed in comparison to the competition (read: reality). Not being sore losers, we gave the beauty overhead a proper high five before searching out a suitable spot to car camp.
Car camping- in the literal sense of the term. Catching three hours of sleep in seats that don't recline to a true horizontal does not lend itself to a full sleep-cycle. But the sun was relentless in rising and as the bone-chilling cold in the car heated with the force of solar rays, we groggily stripped off down sleeping bags and pulled on snow pants and fleece-lined beanies.
We were not alone. As we came to a realization of day, we glanced around our once-empty parking lot and found ourselves among dozens of similarly suited-up fellows, skis slung over shoulders, shovels strapped on packs, dogs prancing impatiently around owner's legs. Stepping from the relative comfort of our car cabin into the sparkling crispness of the morning air, I felt a smile rise from somewhere deep within. It landed full-force on my face. "This is... awesome." My first words of the day; never a bad sign.
Strapping on our hydration packs and snowshoes and donning eyewear to protect against the blazing sun, we crunched through the hardpack toward the lower hills southwest of our campspot. The destination was generally decided to be a lake somewhere at the end of some trail we might end up on. It being a Saturday, sunny, and living off the remnants of road-trip excitement, it mattered little if we made our destination. In fact, I think both of us would have been content to sit on the snow bank on the side of the parking lot with a couple of sandwiches; the views were mighty fine there, too (wink, wink)...
We crunched on, noticing tracks of various animals: dog, bird, chipmunk, humans on skis. We climbed up to admire views, snapped photos of broken-down fences, nodded at the occasional passerby. The peaks of the Tetons were almost unobstructed from our view- a rarity- and either our awe of being so close to them or the sleep deprivation we harbored seemed to keep our mouths quiet during our trek. Squirrel chatter punctuated the rhythm of the crampons perforating the snow- other than that, our world was silent. The discoteque of last night's trip was a forgotten memory...
A couple of hours brought us to the end of our trail and we looked around questioningly. The lake was frozen over and unspectacular; in fact, we weren't sure of it even being a lake until one of us tripped over a small wooden marker that hardly rose above the surface of the snow. Feeling only the slightest twinge of regret for the loss of a potential photographic opportunity, we dropped our packs on a bare-faced slope and settled in for a long lunch break. We tore into tangerines, peeled delicate layers of string cheese and dropped mouthfuls of home-made granola. Hunger satiated, we succumbed to the warmth of the sun radiating from above and reflecting from below, dropping back onto our hydration packs for a little more sleep.
At higher elevations the sun is surprisingly strong and the mounting heat across my nose and cheeks woke me from what felt like a very deep sleep. Surprisingly refreshed, I threw a snowball at the still-sleeping Maria who casually rose to her feet without protest. We turned our backs to the Tetons and looped towards the trailhead. The return trip was contemplative, quiet and, other than being stopped briefly by a mink who ran deftly across our path and a couple who wanted advice on snowshoes, quite uneventful. The sun was a little past its crest in the winter sky as we neared pavement and, the parking lot being less spectacularly populated by this time, there wasn't much reason to be leisurely about heading home. Stripping layers down once again until at a comfortable travel-level, we climbed back into the mini-club and headed home to the bustle of our little city. Arrival: 7:30 p.m., less than 24 hours of road-trip time.
Lesson: fit the adventure in.
 |
| Post-midnight arrival in the mountain town |
These kinds of trips generally have no rules other than to enjoy the moment. We took backroads and stopped at every state sign (three to be exact). We turned up the hip hop and pulled over to video the hilarity of the Mazda-turned-discoteque. We played songs on repeat. We took pictures on repeat. We took two hours over normal travel time to arrive. Eventually the dark silhouette of the jagged Tetons loomed before us and we entered—rather irreverently—while Outkast on full blast asked us to shake it like a polaroid picture.
It was hovering near 6 degrees at Jackson Lake when we exited the car. We set up to photograph the night sky which was reminiscent of an oreo milkshake in negative. Chips of stars were scattered in a curvature clearly visable to the casual viewer. But we were no casual viewers: we were drinking in the frozen air, visually consuming the glittery inkwell overhead and feeling so alive for 4:30 a.m. Our hands stiffening in the cold as we set up for long exposures, we grinned at how giddy we were.
 |
Every star is a shooting star when you bump a long-exposure...
|
 |
Oh, good morning, Tetons. Oh, good morning, "Sign We Didn't See Last Night."
|
We crunched on, noticing tracks of various animals: dog, bird, chipmunk, humans on skis. We climbed up to admire views, snapped photos of broken-down fences, nodded at the occasional passerby. The peaks of the Tetons were almost unobstructed from our view- a rarity- and either our awe of being so close to them or the sleep deprivation we harbored seemed to keep our mouths quiet during our trek. Squirrel chatter punctuated the rhythm of the crampons perforating the snow- other than that, our world was silent. The discoteque of last night's trip was a forgotten memory...
 |
Can you spot the mid-jump furry friend?
|
At higher elevations the sun is surprisingly strong and the mounting heat across my nose and cheeks woke me from what felt like a very deep sleep. Surprisingly refreshed, I threw a snowball at the still-sleeping Maria who casually rose to her feet without protest. We turned our backs to the Tetons and looped towards the trailhead. The return trip was contemplative, quiet and, other than being stopped briefly by a mink who ran deftly across our path and a couple who wanted advice on snowshoes, quite uneventful. The sun was a little past its crest in the winter sky as we neared pavement and, the parking lot being less spectacularly populated by this time, there wasn't much reason to be leisurely about heading home. Stripping layers down once again until at a comfortable travel-level, we climbed back into the mini-club and headed home to the bustle of our little city. Arrival: 7:30 p.m., less than 24 hours of road-trip time.
Lesson: fit the adventure in.
Substance > Style
The lyrics of this song give me an appreciation of women who are making things happen; it inspires me, keeps me going on the things I am passionate about. There are times when I feel like I'm out there on my own talking about the changes that need to be made, speaking to apathetic blank stares, writing letters to government offices that exist in thin air. It doesn't matter if I am. It doesn't matter if you are.
Keep fighting for it.
Also, Hi5 for this man praising strong women.
Keep fighting for it.
Life or Debt:
Woman you're my comrade, ride and die,
revolution-making mother earth standing with me in the grocery line
While I'm paying with a jar of pennies, nickels and dimes...
Moms tryin' to tell us not to protest instead pray for peace,
But that ain't the nature of the beast
So lady grab a bullhorn and take it to the streets
Yellin power to the people, el pueblo unido jamas sera vencido
Til the wealth is spread equal
You 21st century Gabriela Silang
Fierce like Lorena with a rifle in her arm
And I love how you don't like art without a message
I love it how you call some fellas on they fetish...
I love how you love the people as much as self
I love it how you want redistribution of the wealth
Third world sister, never sacrificing substance for style
But stylish with a golden type smile
I love it how you organize with other strong sisters
Love it how you talk about tearing down the system
Like a soldier, my dialectical reflection,
yes is the answer to your question.
Also, Hi5 for this man praising strong women.
If You've Got Ears, Listen.
And listen loud. Surround yourself with this; turn it up so the bass hits and that banjo duels. This is Mumford & Sons. I was introduced to these guys tonight by a friend who has been on a quest to provide me with a soundtrack for my bike rides. He hit the jackpot with this one. When they break into it, my foot tapping can not be constrained. Neither can my smile. If they came to the states again, I would go as far as my car could take me for a single song live. I'd give up half my belongings if it were this particular one. It's just that incredible. Cinematography, instrumentals, vocals, lyrics...er...
Here's the catch. They're from the UK, so their version of expletives doesn't correspond with ours and dropping this choice one is like a drop in the bucket where they're from. My mom wouldn't approve of this language (sorry, Mom). However, the other version is only available on Facebook who hasn't learned how to share and play nice, so sensitive ears, please check out this version instead. Those of you who want to watch it here, be warned: 1:05, 2:01, 2:14, 3:37, 3:51.
Here's the catch. They're from the UK, so their version of expletives doesn't correspond with ours and dropping this choice one is like a drop in the bucket where they're from. My mom wouldn't approve of this language (sorry, Mom). However, the other version is only available on Facebook who hasn't learned how to share and play nice, so sensitive ears, please check out this version instead. Those of you who want to watch it here, be warned: 1:05, 2:01, 2:14, 3:37, 3:51.
