The Weekly Plunder: Week 11 - Off Road

The beauty of the gravel bike is in its lack of limitations. While a road bike has the advantage of speed, it’s also bound to pavement, and therefore subjected to most of the rules of the road.

A gravel bike can handle roads and much more. You can ride through forest, desert, and mountains. You can venture where most dare not walk. You set your own rules when you leave pavement. This gives gravel bike riders a true sense that the world is at their fingertips. Cycling across a country suddenly becomes possible.

Needless to say I’m really enjoying my gravel bike.

What I’m reading: Crossroads by Jonathan Franzen. As far as I can tell it’s a book about shame. There’s a passage in the beginning that I found particularly interesting, about a widow whose husband recently died. A pastor who has romantic interest in her suspects that she will only stay alone for a short period of time out of emotional loyalty, but that what she primarily misses is simply the feeling of companionship. After all, the pastor reasons, we tell ourselves that we will never replace our dead pets, but in due time we find justification for a new cat or dog.

This brought to mind a story I heard of a man whose wife died of cancer. He was back in the dating scene within a short period of time. What a dark epiphany about human nature.

What I’m watching: The Circle on Netflix, season 3. It’s just trashy reality television that kills time. I shouldn’t watch it… but then we shouldn’t do a lot of things that we do anyways.

What I’m listening to: “The Scarecrow” by Avantasia. What a dark, nostalgic, and poignant song. Jorn’s vocals are among his best on this one. As far as I can tell it’s a song about a lonely person who sets out on his or her own strange and twisted journey. Along this person’s journey, there is someone else trying to destroy the person’s belief system. I find it interesting; it brings to mind the transition out of school.

What I’m doing: I’m planning some pretty epic bike rides. I’ve also been searching for a physical therapist for my ankle in hopes of getting it healthy enough to run again. I’d like to run before 2021 ends and am faintly optimistic that I can get there. You don’t expect an injury to take you out of the game for so long, but you have to play the cards you’re dealt.

I also finally bought a skateboard. Why? Because I believe there is incredible value in constantly leaving my comfort zone, in seeing new places, in learning new skills, and in trying new things. I’d rather embrace being a beginner and enjoy being awkward while braving the unknown than remain in predictable territory.

I aim to disrupt my own routines when I can. It’s not about “cycling really far every day” or “running really far”. It’s about moving with a smile. That’s why I got the skateboard.

Where is the Awe

I close my eyes

A long inhale

New Mexico, I must be 10

Running along the edge of Echo Canyon Road

One foot hitting tarmac, the other hitting sand

My best friend beside me

We’ll be friends forever, we say

Show the adults what loyalty means

What everlasting looks like

And we’ll be superheroes one day

Crayon colors streak the sky as sunlight fades

The horizon soon just an ember glow

Ladybugs hover in the crisp air,

Their shells a rainbow spectrum of color

A family of quail wanders near an adobe house

Cacti and sage guard the suburban lawns

Tumbleweeds race down the road ahead

Spindly dead things pushed by ghosts

Let’s build a fort and live there, deep in the desert

Where the teachers and dull ones can’t find us

Live off the land

Eat tarantulas and scorpions

Catch them with bows and arrows

Gather water from the Rio Grande

Hope and prey magic is real

The Lost Boys in Neverland

Fend off civilized reality

It would strangle us with its tentacles

A siren outside wakes me

Present day, everlasting long-ended

I haven’t seen you in 25 years

A feeling of longing for White Sands Missile Range

Where the desert becomes the Alps

Our sleighs ready at slope’s peak, standing side-by-side

Hoping to race down one more time

One more chance before sunset

But we never will again

The Weekly Plunder: Week 10 - Tiny Moments

Late on Friday I ventured to a small bicycle shop in Central West End in search of a solid gravel bike (I’m glad to say I found what I was looking for). The shop was small and the staff’s vibe was laid back and personable. In other words, it was my kind of shop.

As the sun set and the outside winds howled, I found myself talking for awhile with one of the employees, a 48-year-old former bike messenger, about life in general, about our injuries, our triumphs, and our failures. We shared a beer as the store neared closing. It was a moment I greatly appreciated.

“One thing I love about cycling is that you see the world differently,” he said at one point. I was about 3/4 through my Urban Chestnut brew.

“Yeah, you see the worst of humanity.”

”People, yes. You see the ugliness in people. But also, beauty. Not always beauty in people, but beauty in nature. You see nature.”

I thought about bikepacking on Skyline Drive, thousands of feet up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I remembered the sun cresting along the horizon to my left and a view of the country, vast and green and endless, thousands of feet below. Deer grazing in a patch of grass to my right. An owl swooping overhead as the trees cast their long shadows over me and my friend pedaled ahead. Time slowing down, every mile feeling like a year. In that moment of utter exhaustion, I was truly free.

In that moment I understood time and my relationship to it.

And I thought of the cars that whirred by, and of the drivers that only saw a tiny fraction of this at most, trapped within a steel cage and likely distracted. They were there, but they were not truly there.

”Yeah,” I said. “You see the beauty of it all. And once you realize you can see beauty anywhere, just by hopping on a bike, it’s tough to get in a car.”

“And then you really get it, that it’s not about getting a really expensive bike. It’s about being part of everything.”

What I’m reading: The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. I’m reading this because I know of one concept in the book: the idea of focusing on one’s immediate circle of control. The basic argument is that one should focus almost fully on the things that one can immediately influence: loved ones, peers, and one’s immediate environment. The further removed from this immediate circle something is, the less likely it is to be worth thinking about (the news and federal politics). The more you think about things outside of your immediate circle, the more stressed you become.

What I’m watching: Squid Game. Might be the most powerful show I’ve ever watched. The final two episodes are haunting. I’m still thinking about the old man’s quote near the end: “What do people who don’t have enough money and people who have too much money have in common? Misery.” Followed by another, on his deathbed, when asked why he played such a despicable game with the show’s protagonist. “I think about when I was a kid, playing outside with friends, and how we lost track of time. I wanted to get that feeling back.” Wow, what a show.

What I’m listening to: “Shadowminds” by The Halo Effect. It’s what I expect from catchy melodic death metal.

What I’m doing: I’m breathing. I’m pausing and appreciating that I’m here, that I’m writing passages that you may or may not relate to (though if you’ve made it to this sentence, maybe something has struck a chord).

My foot is healing. I’m planning the next adventure… off-road cycling awaits. Let’s see where tomorrow takes me.

Fall Cycling : Vest Test Run

On Sunday morning I cycled along a section of the Riverfront Trail, which runs alongside the Mississippi River. I started at the south entrance, which I entered by maneuvering through downtown and crossing Broadway Street (a slightly dangerous lane due to its traffic… currently searching for alternative routes).

I started the ride wearing some thermal base layers, a fleece, a cycling vest, and some liner gloves (approximately 48 degrees F/ 8.9 degrees C). Due to the high intensity and the lack of stops my body heated quickly. The fleece’s hood had to be pulled off and the vest unzipped. It was a fun and sweaty ride.

I took the ride to test a new cycling vest from Mission Workshop. Lightweight but insulated, it was excellent for maintaining warmth without overheating. It also looks nice.

It was also a relatively brief ride; I went about 12 miles (19 km) north before circling back around (24 miles total). My primary thought was that it’s amazing how beautiful something organic can be shortly before its death (note the assemblage of fall leaf colors that dot the landscape, cling to the trees, and dance in the wind.

Some photos from the apex of the ride, at North Riverfront Park:

A rare warm front hit Sunday afternoon. It was likely the last day “tee shirt day” of the year. I spent the afternoon outside at several Augusta wineries (Montelle and Blumenhoff). The mood was festive, yet serene:

I slept better (in spite of a day spent guzzling wine and coffee) than I had in weeks. To me it underscored the importance of sunlight, of movement, and of joy.

Regarding minimalism, it was also a reminder that “possessions” are not my enemy: mindless consumerism is. My bicycle allowed me to race for miles along the Mississippi River. My vest and fleece kept me warm for the journey. It’s therefore my “stuff” that allows me to enjoy my hobby outside in conditions that I’d otherwise freeze in.

Patches of the Riverfront Trail involved a gravel road (my road bike was barely equipped for it). This has me on the hunt for a solid gravel bike. Not because I “want to buy more stuff”, but because I want a solid bicycle that can handle gravel.

Cycling is a hobby, and hobbies often involve ownership of material things (but they don’t have to be expensive material things). I don’t believe in “purchasing nothing” so much as I believe in “purchasing wisely”.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 9 - Pain with an Anchor

Winter first sinks its talons into you in the early morning and evening hours. Outside my window I can see a thin coating of frost on the neighboring library’s lawn grass; it glistens under the early morning moonlight and the city street lamps.

We (I) have to accept our (my) present situation. It can be easy to dwell on the bad and forsake the good. I attempted a run on Wednesday and quickly felt a damaged ligament tear open again; I guess it wasn’t fully healed and couldn’t take the impact that running requires. Running was a horrible mistake. I’ve felt severe pain in my walk since. If it doesn’t abate in the next few days I’ll visit a doctor. It seems that I can’t put a timetable on a return to running. It won’t be soon, I do know that, and that sucks. That’s just reality.

I can still ride a bicycle, so there’s that. Last week I managed a hike, and I should regain that ability quickly. I just have to accept a long waiting period before running is possible. Until then, I’m sure I’ll dream about it. I’ve been dreaming a lot lately.

That’s okay. There’s too much good in life to dwell. I’m trying to reign my thoughts in to focus on what good I can do today.

What I’m watching: Willy’s Wonderland starring Nicolas Cage. This is a terrible film. Even as a Cage apologist I regret paying for this one. Let the man speak, that’s what we pay for!

What I’m reading: My Brain Has Too Many Tabs Open by Tanya Goodin. It’s amazing how much social pressure there is to have an “online identity,” and how much of ourselves is stolen by giving this identity to social media companies.

What I’m listening to: “Pain as an Anchor” by Mastodon. The opening song on their new album. Title seems relevant to my foot. It’s an eerie and somewhat melancholic rocker. I actually like it, and usually I’m not a fan of the band.

What I’m doing: The weather will warm up by noon today. I’ll do a group bike ride with some friends, then visit my favorite winery tomorrow. Wearing the foot brace again. I didn’t expect to be physically limited for this long. But it’s important to not have expectations.

What I’m thinking: Thinking about a classic film called The Crazies. In the movie there’s an unknown virus that turns people more belligerent and violent. It hits a small town and a mass paranoia sets in as people wonder who is infected and who isn’t. How can you tell when the only symptom is aggressive behavior?

When I walk the downtown streets I see more belligerent behavior than usual. Maybe it’s because people were cooped inside for so long, many not working, many isolated, many stress-watching television or stress-reading news on phone screens. People do generally seem angrier and more anxious in urban areas. They drive more aggressively and indeed, by virtually all metrics, crime and obesity are rising.

Finally I’m thinking that there is too much beauty in the world to dwell on the negatives for long. Our days are finite. There’s always a pleasant surprise around the corner, regardless of what’s behind us… we just need to let ourselves look ahead. Always thinking about what my Chinese student Tony told me, back in 2018: “Be happy every day.”

Beauty is Natural

Modern industry’s job is often to make you feel inadequate, to make you strive for something that seems out of your grasp, to belittle you, and to push your mouth an inch below sea level. These are the feelings that cause a person to open up a wallet. Products, they tell you, will solve issues of appearance.

You are beautiful just the way you are. In fact, you are more than beautiful. You are a masterpiece of evolution, a modern miracle. Your cells are among the fiercest survivors for having made it out of the womb. Your DNA is the product of hundreds of thousands of years of adaptation and survival. Your ancestors were a combination of the fastest, strongest, and smartest humans.

Your ancestors evolved to survive the harshest environmental conditions. In Africa this may have included a brutal sun and the fiercest predators. In the Nordic regions it involved a frostbite-inducing cold and long periods without any sun at all.

You skin is perfect. It has beauty in both form and function. It adapted to allow your ancestors to receive an adequate vitamin D intake regardless of whether you lived under a constant brutal African sun, or a humid and muggy Southeast Asian air, or a Nordic region with longer winter nights than days.

Your hair is perfect. Billboard images are carefully curated to make you feel as though something critical is lacking; your hair must fit the image of someone else’s version of beauty, some sort of “silky and smooth” westernized version. Beauty in a bottle. But anyone who expects something different from what you already are is not your friend.

We are too wonderfully diverse now to live with one version of beauty. Your hair adapted to help you thermoregulate… to retain warmth in the cold and to keep cool in the heat. Human hair beautiful in all of its varieties, from smooth to coarse, from straight to curly to frizzy, regardless of recent societal standards. Your hair exists because at some time, long ago, someone else with similar hair was deemed the perfect specimen. That person thrived while competitors languished.

Your body, too, is perfect. It has evolved over hundreds of thousands of years of withstanding changing climates and wars and various predators that are long since extinct. Attached to you are two incredible feet, each with 26 bones and thousands of neurons that fire with each step, that help you feel the earth. Your feet have something other primate feet don’t: the ability to outrun a deer if necessary. Think about the stamina that requires. It’s built in you; it doesn’t come courtesy of a shoe purchase. Your natural feet kept your lineage alive while other primates died out.

Your face is perfect. It is not too big, too thin, too round, or too long. You speak perfectly, with a perfect mouth and perfect lips. You evolved to perfectly articulate the language of your ancestors and speak precisely, to taste your food, to detect potential poisons, and to find mates.

You are a modern miracle, a self-conscious being, one of the few that is aware of being alive. A shampoo or cosmetic will not augment your true beauty because it’s already there, outside of you and within you, whole as you are right now. Your beauty is tethered to your skeleton.

Your beauty is in your mind as well. You can think, laugh, plan, love, hate, and forgive. You are aware there was a past and that there will be a future. You are aware of your mortality (most likely). No other creature that we know of possesses all of these abilities.

You don’t need better shampoo, or better lotion, or a different skin tone, or a different accent, or a different personality. You are a miracle. Love your reflection: your image is worthy.

You as you is utterly amazing.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 8 - Beginner Mode

A few days ago I found myself thinking about how we adults are often scared of new things. We cling to what we know out of fear of what we don’t. Experience and wisdom are supposed to flourish with age, so we cringe at the thought of being old newbies. We want to, metaphorically speaking, play all of our games at “advanced mode.” And so, as we get older our list of fears grows, while our willingness to try new things diminishes. We increasingly hate being beginners.

If there is a competition I want to engage in, it’s this: I want to be a beginner at more things than anyone else, and continue to be a beginner at more things as I age. If I suck at something, it at least means I’m willing to venture into the unknown. There is more adventure in being unfamiliar with the outcome. If I’m learning something new, it means I’m learning, and that’s certainly worth experiencing.

What are you willing to be a beginner at? My list of “beginner mode” things: skateboarding, chess, and camping.

What I’m reading: The Running Revolution by Nicholas Romanov. Though I am still unable to run, I’m very close, and I have my sights set on running at much longer distances than I ever had before.

What I’m watching: Dune (review posted). Finished season 3 of What We Do in the Shadows (really funny show, watch the movie too if you haven’t).

What I’m listening to: “Message in a Bottle” by The Police. My tribute to Sting since he played a pivotal role in the 1980’s Dune film (I am one of the few who enjoyed it). Also the new album “Dark Connection” by Beast in Black. It’s some solid 80s style metal. Pure, simple, and catchy high-octane fun.

What I’m doing: Took a long hike with my girlfriend at Turkey Run in Indiana. It involved climbing down a pretty steep waterfall and maneuvering my feet at angles I hadn’t in months (been recovering from an ankle injury). I was glad that the ankle held and I made it. It’s refreshing to breathe in some fresh fall air while walking through the assemblage of ochre, yellow, orange, and red leaves that both sheet the earth and decorate the trees (but not for long). The ankle is healing pretty well. I’m also cycling further each day.

Also shopping around for a skateboard. Because why not? I don’t want to be bogged down by routine. Regimented exercise is not my thing. I’d rather learn something fun. Yes, I intend to run, but not in the predictable linear paths of adults who tend to tether themselves to machines. And I have no qualms in breaking up an exercise with excitement. I’d rather be “skateboard zen” than “really good at running.”

The Weekly Plunder: Week 7 - The Thin Line Between Love and Hate

Hate and love stem from the same part of the brain; similar neurons fire for each. You can’t have one without the other. Completely removing hate is therefore a self-neutering of sorts. Look at young lovers unbridled by their emotions: they have both love and hate in equally apocalyptic amounts. Compared to the young, older lovers are more restrained, more judgmental, more tentative, and therefore less alive in their feelings. If the hate and love neurons once fired with fresh pistons, the gun gets rusted and the bullets barely escape the barrel. What was once a blaze becomes the faintly glowing ember of a dying fire.

As much suffering as they can cause, love and hate are both worth keeping, so long as these emotions aren’t taken too far.

I think it’s necessary to feel love and hate, so long as we love and hate the right things. “Love people, use things” is what “The Minimalists” say. If I could add a saying for hate right now it would be something along the lines of, “Hate injustice, use love.”

What I’m thinking: I’m thinking about my dreams this week. Many draw into the distant past and portray people I had long forgotten. In each dream I’m striving to be in a different state: either a state I was in previously or one that I haven’t yet achieved. I’m a swimmer trying to backtrack my technique to an old one that I once possessed, a better one, a more natural one. Or I’m an athlete who isn’t quite strong and fast enough. I think the message is to accept today, and who I am right now.

What I’m listening to: “A World Away” by Tremonti. I find Tremonti’s solo work to be painfully overlooked (the former lead guitarist of Creed). His new album rocks in my opinion.

What I’m watching: About to watch the new Dune film. Heard good things. We will see.

What I’m reading: The final story in Full Throttle by Joe Hill. It seems to be about a fictional war between America and North Korea. I think Hill is excellent at painting a vivid picture with words.

What I’m doing: Drinking wine. Got an electric wine opener because I’m tired of clumsily butchering the cork with my inept wine opening skills. I’m also healing. The ankle feels better each day. Walking feels 90% better. I’ve never been so grateful to walk normally.

Minimalist Chronicles: Part 1 - Detaching from Things

I began my massive declutter in August, shortly before my 36th birthday. There was no single particular impetus for change. I just looked around my residence and perused my belongings and concluded that almost none of them were purchased out of necessity. Practically all of them were purchased from a variety of external factors:

• The fear of missing out (“athleisure” is the newest trend, don’t mind out on what everyone else is wearing!)

• Vanity/the need to impress (buy a car and show the world you’re worth something)

• The fear of being incomplete (marketing tools used to tell you that your life will be worse without it and you’re just one purchase away from being complete)

Shortly before I began my declutter, I imagined my death. That’s a dark thing to imagine. I imagined it nonetheless and thought of what I was leaving behind. What did I see in this vision? Material things, acquisitions, and a mess of stuff for friends and family and loved ones to sort through. But what are the things, compared to the person? What is stuff compared to memory? I had read Everything That Remains by the Minimalists before, but the book’s message was just now being absorbed into my skin. Maybe it’s a lesson I needed to experience to learn.

What do I really want to leave behind? Hopefully a lot of nice memories (and some memories that are just “memorable”) and some undiscovered stories. Said stories would be well-hidden, but some soul may find them, hand-written and locked in a cellar, or drifting in a bottle somewhere out at sea, or by accident by finding this blog, written by some anonymous person, somewhere out there in the universe.

Clothes I have sold in the last two months:

• 13 pairs of pants

• 12 tee shirts

• 4 button-up shirts

• 3 jackets

• 8 pairs of shorts

I do not miss any of them, nor do I feel guilt or shame for having bought them in the first place. At some point in time I made a purchase because I felt a certain fear-based way. I later realized that I made a mistake. You live and you learn. Onward march. Life’s too short to dwell. Cells are constantly dying and being born. People can change at any time of any day of any year.

The closet is much lighter, and I have no intention of replacing the things I sold.

What do I want to get out of this?

I want to re-shift the focus of my thoughts. We only have so much time to think. I want my thoughts to be maneuvered away from buying and towards experiences and connections. There is a lot of world to explore and a lot of things to do. A lot of risks to take. Connection and experience deserve much more time than consumption.

Things are just things. They do not think, feel, or validate. There is never enough of them, and there is rarely a deficiency of them. We don’t need to buy much. Go down the rabbit hole, and you’ll realize that you don’t need to buy anything.

The closet is lighter. Let’s see what’s next.

All Life is Electric

We are all essentially masses of electromagnetic energy. It has been proven that all life is essentially electric, and death is a short circuit to our operating systems. This is often overlooked, but the idea was posed long ago (the great Nikola Tesla and the fraud on the other side of the Atlantic, Edison, among others).

Devices we hold in our pockets, on our wrists, and in our ears (Bluetooth) are radioactive. They essentially act to decelerate and weaken our electric currents. They debilitate us over time. They decay us and aid in our diseases. They erode our minds and hearts. Yet we carry them for the sake of convenience and social acceptance.

What am I getting at? If all life is electric, that electricity must go somewhere when we die. It is entirely plausible, therefore, that many ghost stories have some validity. A strong enough electromagnetic power must have a transference of some sort if the organism’s death is sudden and brutal.

Yet if ghosts exist, the invisible frequencies they ride would inevitably be muted by the very radioactive devices and 5G signals that permeate the air and kill everything else.

So, ghostly occurrences in the modern civilized world, I would think, would be more rare.

There you have it, some food for thought on Halloween.

Today I had coffee at Sump (one cup of an Ethiopian blend and another Peruvian). The Sump black coffee tends to be light and tinged with fruity flavor. No milk or cream crap needed. Black coffee is plenty fulfilling. I like it.

After coffee I rode my bike approximately twenty miles (32 km) on a route through Carondelet Park, across the River Des Peres greenway to Jefferson Barracks Park, and back downtown via Broadway street. My foot felt nearly painless. It was the first day since just before my 36th birthday that riding my bicycle felt like it did before the car crash. That, plus a few hours of sunshine, improved my mood considerably.

The fall sun is relatively pale and tolerable, and today’s chilly weather required a jacket. My chest was warm while the wind lashed an icy air at my hands and ears. I loved it. I felt like my old self. The journeyman is returning. He is not dead yet.

Adventure will resume soon…

The Weekly Plunder: Week 6 - Divine Intervention

Gray hues streak the sky and a dense fog hangs over the tops of the downtown Saint Louis buildings as I write this. The lack of sun renders everything pallid and gaunt.

I attempted a bicycle ride this morning. A mile uphill started the ride and it was particularly grueling for the foot. Pain shot through the upper left part of the sole, the same spot where the most severe sprains occurred from the injury. It’s the spot I have felt with every step, with every movement, over the last few months. I guess it’s my “Achilles Heel”.

The thought that the pain could carry for much longer gave me a feeling of despair (I know, logically, that the foot will heal eventually). I wondered, though, if this was my purgatory, to be constantly yearning for a healthier tomorrow that doesn’t seem to arrive (this must be the inevitable conclusion to aging). It’s strange to me that in extreme moments we seek out biblical metaphors for our problems. Everything is rendered hellish or heavenly or purgatorial.

I kept pedaling, thinking that it was unfair that I should be beaten by my own damned foot.

And as I thought this, I just kept pedaling. And slowly the pain in my foot subsided, for reasons I don’t understand. Hours later, the foot felt better still. Miraculously better. Suddenly I was walking reasonably well. I hadn’t done that since I was 35. I don’t know if the feeling will hold, but some things make no sense.

What I’m doing: I am thinking about stories, in general, and where they come from. I’m also thinking about fall and the beauty in a ground strewn with puddles, fallen acorns, and brittle yellow leaves. I’m thinking about walking, running, and swimming. I’m thinking of the past and present and the wonderful lives that have crossed paths with mine.

What I’m listening to: 1. “A Crisis of Revelation” by Trivium. I’m a sucker for a fast metal song with a solid chorus. 2. “Hunter’s Moon” by Ghost. An odd song dedicated to Michael Myers about sibling love, devotion, and obsession. 3. “AEnima” by Tool. 4. “Goodbye Blue Skies” by Pink Floyd

What I’m watching: Midnight Mass. Wow, what an excellent show. It’s much more than a horror show: it’s a show about family, community, faith, and forgiveness.

What I’m reading: Trying to finish up Full Throttle by Joe Hill. I’ve been slacking with my reading and intend to pick up the pace.

Bitter Nostalgia

I’ve spent a good portion of the last month feeling nostalgic. I’m nostalgic more for a feeling than for a period of time. Specifically, I find myself pining for the awe and wonder that youths feel when gazing at everyday things that we adults glance over. Awe for nature stales with time, and in its place stands our endless agendas. The act of stepping on an acorn, once an incredible feet, is just a smudge on the shoe. To go back…

I went to an amusement park last weekend. Six Flags Saint Louis. I’ve always liked rollercoasters. This may seem strange to those who know me because I am prone to get intense motion sickness. I’ve puked on a lot of rides over the years. I’ve vomited on my brother enough times that he won’t ride with me anymore. Those who join me at amusement parks either find this to be hilarious or disgusting, or both. If you’ve ridden a rollercoaster with me and I haven’t puked on you, I was probably close. You probably either loved it or hated it, or both.

I don’t know why I keep getting on rollercoasters. I guess I just like being upside down that much. They always throw my insides into disarray, and I keep returning to them regardless.

It was the same last weekend. I arrived at the park and quickly chowed down a funnel cake, then rushed to “The Batman”, a feature rollercoaster at the park. I would describe it as one minute of organ discombobulation. I was already sick halfway through the ride, and was unable to do much for an hour afterward. Damn, it was fast though.

Then my stomach got a little better, and I rushed to another ride, and then another. And finally my stomach had had enough. It had capitulated. “Ride one more damn rollercoaster and I will puke everywhere,” it told me. So that was enough for the day.

Yes, it’s cool being upside down. But the amusement park also taught me that not all nostalgia is good nostalgia. A lot of the magic I experienced as a kid at the park was gone. In its place I saw reality. Overpriced food that makes you feel like crap, hours of waiting in line while amassed by a putrid human stench, games designed to steal your money for prizes that will get thrown away at some point anyways. I guess amusement parks aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

Not all nostalgia is good. Sometimes it’s okay to grow up and see the truth. I still long for the eyes I once had that could stare enraptured at a simple flower or cloud for hours. But I don’t long for the feeling of being captivated by an amusement park.

Halloween month at Six Flags

The Weekly Plunder: Week 5 - Joyless Coffee

“We have been invaded and polluted by joyless coffee.” - Tom Hodgkinson

What is a K-cup coffee maker? It’s just a tool to deliver the industrious masses their bitter and tasteless coffee courtesy of a plastic cup. The plastic smothers the coffee in chemicals, which the user then gulps in haste. Meanwhile, the coffeemaker accrues bacteria that would otherwise have been avoided with better methods such as pour-over and French press.

Filth and low quality in favor of a moment’s time. The essence of the modern work era.

What is a Starbucks, but a means to hasten industry. It can’t be good coffee because nothing about it is slow. And of course, the bitter and tasteless coffee is well-hidden under heaps of creams and artificial flavors.

It’s sad to me that most people can’t take the time to just enjoy a solid cup of coffee. Maybe we should’ve been a tea culture. Sit down! Listen to some music. Read. And slowly, over the course of many hours, sip a good pourover or French press.

What I’m reading: “All I Care About is You”, a short story by Joe Hill. It’s interesting in that it’s really a parable of what it means to be human, and the value of having desire. Set in the future, a robot devotes itself to a teenage girl, but only out of its programmed necessity. The girl argues that desire renders one insane, telling the robot that it’s lucky to feel nothing (all of her friends are having plastic surgeries and constantly upgrading their tech). The robot argues that without desire, we are nothing but a circuitry board. Is being alive worth it? Of course, but, “the price of being alive is that someday you aren’t.”

What I’m listening to: “Circle” by Slipknot. I think this one has quite a few interpretations. Lately I take it as the feeling of knowing we are doomed to repeat ourselves and the fates of our fathers. “All of my endings are waiting to begin.”

What I’m watching: Midnight Mass. This has a lot of critical acclaim. We’ll see…

What I’m doing: I decided to see a foot doctor (also known as a podiatrist). When you’ve struggled to walk for a month, it seems like a natural course of action. The doctor’s assistant claimed my injury was the worst she’d ever seen. I am still setting records obvi. Really though, you never want to hear that. I was then taken for X-Rays and scans. Somehow, miraculously, nothing is broken or ruptured. But it’s a very severe sprain. It’s looking like it’ll be four months to recovery. That’s a bummer.

I am riding a bicycle anyways. I probably shouldn’t. I don’t really give a damn because it’s fun. Fun requires risk. And without risk in life, there is no reward.

Take a risk today. Here’s to hoping you reap a reward.

Lord of the Strings: Return of the King

The last time I stood within 20 meters of Megadeth frontman Dave Mustaine was in Corpus Christi, Texas, in the year 2008. That was my senior year of college. Chris Broderick was his lead guitarist back then. United Abominations was the band’s most recent album, and “Sleepwalker” was my favorite of the new songs. The next album, Endgame, was on the horizon.

I’d seen Megadeth play with Iron Maiden back in 2013 as well. That was in Raleigh, NC, at the same venue where I saw my first metal show, Ozzfest, back in 2006.

It’s strange that I remember these shows so vividly. I remember the songs, the stage lighting schemes, and the crowds. I’m grateful to my mind for grasping a lot of these moments.

This show had a special meaning for me. Mustaine had just overcome throat cancer and live music had largely been canceled for the previous 18 months due to the pandemic.

I was in need of a catharsis because year 36 has been particularly difficult for me. Due to a foot injury I’ve spent it largely motionless. Virtual meetings had slowly devoured my spirit over the previous year and I was, honestly, not feeling like my old optimistic self.

Something about a rock show is cathartic. People stop stressing and start experiencing. For a few hours all problems subside and all that matters is the music. To hell with the rest. Let’s just mosh.

I felt my personal issues evaporate quickly. It’s a similar feeling, oddly, one gets from being out of the city and staring at a clear night sky. I think it’s because both instances halt thoughts of the past and future.

It’s easy to forget just how incredible Mustaine is as a guitarist. He’s brilliant and he knows it. There are a lot of guitarists with deft technical ability, the types who can blast thousand-mile-an-hour solos as their strumming hand whirs up and down the fretboard. But every note from every solo on Mustaine’s guitar is downright mellifluous. His melodies can be menacing and sensuous, and often they’re both at once. He’s better than the rest. His albums can only capture a fraction of his magic, and make no mistake, he is a true magician. The musician Dave Mustaine stays with you.

I was so caught up in the song “She-Wolf” that I attempted to jump. I forgot that I couldn’t jump, and my right leg surged with pain from the ankle to knee. I didn’t give a damn. I was at a rock show (and I’d also had a few cocktails to numb the pain).

You never know how many times you’ll get to see Dave Mustaine. Just seeing him perform once is a blessing. Here’s to hoping for more opportunities.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 4 - Message in a Bottle

A blog is not a diary. It’s more like a message in a bottle that you send out to sea. You don’t know who will read it or if anyone ever will. Someone may find it in a day, in a year, or never. And what they think of your thoughts… is anyone’s guess. But they read your thoughts and perhaps they connect on a little of it and think, “Whoa. There’s another person someone out there in the world who’s kinda twisted, like me.”

What I’m doing: I’m selling a lot of my belongings. On reflection I’ve realized that many of them were purchased out of vanity. It’s easy to intellectualize and justify traits such as vanity and narcissism. “I bought the product because it’s sustainable,” we may tell ourselves upon purchasing overpriced pants. But the most sustainable place is a thrift shop. One day I’d like to rid myself of my vanity.

What I’m watching: Dawn of the Dead. It’s a zombie film that’s not actually about zombies. It’s about human nature. Both humans and zombies unconsciously flock to the shopping mall.

What I’m listening to: “One Night in Tokyo” by Beast in Black. It’s just stupid fun.

What I’m reading: Patagonia magazine. My favorite story is about a woman who loses the love of her life from a snow avalanche. She had planned to have kids with him. After his death she manages to freeze his seed and have it transported to a medical facility. After getting permission from her dead lover’s parents she proceeds with in vitro fertilization on herself. The first two attempts fail, but the third attempt is a success. She has her lover’s child 15 months after his death. Now that is a ghost story.

What I’m thinking: Write yourself a message in a bottle and send it out to sea. Maybe a shark will devour it or an otter will use it to club its prey. Or maybe it’ll land on a desert island and someone will read it and think, “Whoa. What a story there is in the life of this person!”

Making Friends With Pain

I declared upon getting hit by a car that I would be running again by October. There has been progress in my ankle’s healing, but unfortunately any significant step forward has been followed by another step backward. I will not be running today, which means that I will not be running before October hits, and even November is looking less feasible.

I think of a quote I read recently, which can be paraphrased as “Make friends with pain and you will never be lonely” (a quote by one of the Leadville 100 Ultramarathon creators I believe). My time as a 36-year-old has been unique, as every step taken has involved pain. Pain and I have acquired something of a loyal relationship—pain just can’t leave me alone, the needy bastard—though I can’t say we mutually appreciate each other. The injury reminds me of an annoying yap dog that follows you everywhere and constantly shits on your favorite rug.

It is easy for me to think to myself, “How the mighty have fallen.” Three years ago I was climbing Eagle’s Nest hill in Vladivostok, Russia, and absorbing the breathtaking coastal panorama and the old naval bases spread over it. A year ago I was swimming with sharks in the Bahamas. Now I am staggering around my apartment building (albeit there have been good and bad hours) before an early morning virtual meeting. I have appreciation for the athletes with ACL tears who must inevitably wonder whether they will ever be the same again.

At the same time, I feel the need to make changes. I know that deep down I have the power to make them, but it will require me to leave my comfort zone, which I am now deeply entrenched in. I wonder, if I can re-learn to walk and run, can I also re-learn to think?

I look around my home and aside from my possessions that assist my hobbies of cycling and running, I see no meaning in any of them. I look outside at the brick walls of an abandoned downtown building and think that, to quote Pink Floyd, I am just another brick in the wall.

When I glance at my plush memory foam mattress, which was bought to provide the best possible sleep comfort, I now only see a heap of polyurethane, a carcinogenic substance used in all memory foam. We breathe in its toxin in our cushion-covered slumber each night. We literally kill ourselves with comfort. And I suddenly despise it.

In the rug beneath my sofa I see a heap of toxic dyes and synthetic materials with chemical adhesives. We put our feet on these plastic rugs... and whatever we touch, we inevitably absorb.

In my attempt to present grandeur to the world, I have poisoned myself.

To end on an optimistic note, it is not too late to change. The ankle injury can be leverage for a sort of rediscovery of myself.

But I have to put aside the need to impress others, as that is the core of my lie.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 3 - Walk

I think one often needs an ink-jet black night sky to gain a sense of truth in a world obsessed with manipulation and distraction. It is that dark and infinite expanse’s clusters of stars, nebulae, and galaxies that help us realize the insignificance of our problems. Our gadgets and occupations deceive us into thinking that we are the centrifugal force of existence, when we are just dust in the wind.

In our purest form, perhaps we are one with the earth. The New Mexico Pueblo natives build their Adobe homes from clay, from layers residing beneath the visible crust. Clay for a roof and clay for a floor. As above, so below. And they believe that’s where we came from, and what we’re made of: the same place we return when we die. Similarly, the early Northern explorers noted when crossing Alaska that the Yup’ik natives seemingly emerged from the terrain, a part of it. Surprised that any life could exist in such a frigid landscape, nonetheless human life, they were in awe.

What I’m doing: For the first time in over a month I am walking without much pain. It is the first time since those toddler years that I have essentially re-learned walking from scratch, bit by bit, as muscles and ligaments repair themselves. Every day I am able to use more portions of the foot with my steps, and every day I adapt to a more efficient form of movement. I am walking again. Running is around the corner.

What I’m watching: Creepshow, Seasons 1-2. A throwback to the classic comic series. The first episode is based on one of my favorite, and most disturbing, Stephen King stories. By the way, happy belated bday Stephen!

What I’m listening to: Megadeth. I’m seeing them live tomorrow. First show I’ve been to in years. Glad Dave Mustaine is still around. Here’s an old one I dig: Addicted to Chaos

What I’m reading: Patagonia magazine, stories of nature and survival. Incredible where some people have been, what they’ve seen, and what they’ve survived. Show me a fisherman and I see a conqueror. Show me a businessman or a corporate VP and I see a fraud! Sad what convenience and consumerism have turned us into. I feel that my swim with sharks in 2020 was only my beginning.

What I’m thinking: Do not fear age, anonymous reader, any more than the fall and winter seasons. There is beauty in decay; blueberry bushes drop their fruit in fall for us to eat their fruit, while their leaves turn from green to a beautifully stark crimson. There is beauty in age, and there is beauty in decay. Conversely, there is often ugliness in the fight against time: if you don’t believe me, look at the odd surgically pulled faces of the robots formerly known as (insert Hollywood celeb).

Speaking with Ghosts

This morning I stepped outside my apartment building for my morning walk and noted there was a light drizzle. It was the type that you can’t see; you can only feel the tiny beads of water by walking into them. I had my umbrella but decided it wasn’t worth the effort to unfurl it.

A heavy mist hung in the air and shrouded the downtown building tops. Sudden and intermittent gusts of wind blew the drizzly precipitation into me. It was bracing.

I thought about the looming work emails and virtual meetings and time spent inert, starting at a screen, and suddenly I’d had enough. There had to be a Neverland somewhere.

I decided to speak with a ghost, so I closed my eyes as I approached the downtown library.

When my eyes opened I noted the sky was streaked with reds, oranges, and violets, and the sun hung low on the horizon. I looked around and noted that I was in Las Cruces, New Mexico. The Organ Mountains jutted up and stabbed the sky in the east with their rocky dagger-like tops.

I was near Echo Canyon Road, looking down at a dried-up tributary, an offshoot of the Rio Grande River. The sandy bottom was surrounded with two steep and rocky slopes that led up to the neighborhood street. Everything down there at the bottom was dust and sand, dead.

8-year-old me was at the bottom, running around in random zigzags and talking to himself, throwing rocks into the air and watching them fall. He was dead too. A ghost.

In spite of my ankle I maneuvered down the vertiginous slope to the bottom. Scree slid beneath my feet a few times. The granite rocks here are sharp, I thought, sharper than I remembered from my childhood. Better be careful.

The ghost eyed me with a skeptical glance and kept his distance. I kept my distance too.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I’m you.”

”That’s impossible. I’ll never grow up.”

“You do,” I replied. “In fact you already have. You’re a ghost now. History.”

The ghost’s eyes widened.

“If I grow up, do I still read comic books when I’m a grown up?”

“No,” I said. “For a long time you don’t read anything. You lose the ability like everyone else. Instead of reading you worry about looking young and buying shit. You will read again eventually, but not comics.”

“I don’t want to read anymore?”

“Instead you stare at computer screens. You check emails. You compare yourself to other people. You worry about money and do chores you don’t want to because you’re told it’s the way to be successful.”

“Maybe I’ll get bitten by a vampire soon so that won’t happen. I’ll be forever and you’ll be the ghost!”

“You won’t. You’re a ghost because our history is written.”

“Let’s change it.”

“I haven’t figured out how. I’ll let you know if I do.”

“That sucks.” The ghost threw a rock with all his might at the horizon. “Maybe I’ll walk to the horizon then. See if there are any creatures there.”

“There aren’t,” I said. “You’ll wander another ten minutes, then get tired and turn back home. I remember this day too.”

”Then maybe I’ll catch some scorpions and tarantulas!”

I smiled. “Yeah,” I said. “You’ll catch a lot of those.”

I checked my phone. It had no signal.

“What’s that?” The ghost asked.

“It’s one of the many deaths of us,” I said.

“So when do I die?”

“August 25, 1994. 1 pm.”

“Pacific Standard Time?”

“No, Eastern. You were born in Florida.”

“That’s right,” the ghost said. “We should hurry to the horizon. La Llorona haunts the river at night. She likes to drag little boys and girls into the water.”

“Yeah”, I said. “I forgot about her.” I cracked a smile.

“Is she the one that kills me?”

“No. She’s one of the things that keeps you alive.”

“Do I end up being an astronaut?”

“No.”

“A professional athlete?”

“Sort of. But for many years you become another one of those soulless adults who whines about their hair and clothes and worries about being late and paying bills and looking good for couples photos.”

The ghost laughed.

“Screw that,” he said.

“Yeah, screw that,” I said.

“Let’s get going,” the ghost said. “I want to see if there’s gold at the horizon. Maybe there’s a leprechaun too.”

“My ankle isn’t so good and I’ve been that way before,” I said. “I’m gonna head up this hill before it gets dark. But enjoy.”

And suddenly the ghost darted toward the horizon, staying within the depths of that dried up river valley, deftly maneuvering the rocks and underbrush to avoid scrapes.

I clambered back up the slope and to the city street. I took a deep breath. The sun would set soon, and La Llorona would emerge from the Rio Grande to drag another child into its icy night waters.

Tumbleweed bounced and rolled down the road, pushed by a steady eastern wind. Pushed from the Organ Mountains, that strange rocky terrain where trolls lived and clubbed human trespassers to death.

How do I get back to the adult world? I wondered. Then it hit me: I didn’t want to.

I looked at the horizon ahead, the path that the ghost took to get to it. At that point where the sky met the earth, something glinted.

Maybe it was gold after all.

I started walking that direction, though I kept to the pavement.

Setbacks

Yesterday I found myself feeling mentally and physically defeated. It was a somewhat crippling feeling.

I had attempted two bike rides and each was followed by a full day in immense pain. Yesterday, in particular, I struggled to walk. In my growing impatience I want to fight my way to health but must realize that it’s more of a waiting game.

While on the bike I was again hit with sheer terror each time a car passed me. My body cringed and my breathing often halted, as if waiting for the next collision.

I think because I appeared weak, what with my newfound cycling insecurity and the ankle brace, I invited more harassment while on the bicycle than usual. There is a bit of sadism in a lot of people. This is a difficult revelation that growing up provides. A car drove by with its window down and the driver shouted, “Get off the road!” A few moments later an old pickup truck with two men inside revved its engine. “You wanna race?” The driver asked tauntingly.

I focused on the road ahead, but psychologically I knew that I was beaten. People don’t try to diminish you like this when you’re strong, or at least not as often. I wondered what it would take to regain my bravado.

The next morning, to heighten my frustration, my ankle was shot with pain. I attempted a walk to the grocery store in order to buy some wine, but I failed to make it across the street. The ankle quickly gave way. At the street median, I realized that the pain was telling me to stop, that I wasn’t going to make it. I halted at that center concrete island as cars whizzed by in both directions.

“Hell,” I thought. “This is what it’s like to lose.” Simple thoughts, really. I think that physically I could have made it across, but doing so would have cost me more healing time. So I limped back home.

Every day is a new day. The ankle is better today, and I’m glad that I didn’t write this blog yesterday, as it would have been much more nihilistic. I will have to accept inertia for awhile.

I still believe that I’ll be back soon. But I’ll have to accept the waiting game.

It is a tough balance. Time heals all wounds. But we are only allotted so much time.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 2

Funny how our judgment of colors, particularly the judgment of their beauty, can change with the seasons. Orange and yellow are suddenly more alluring, whereas spring violets and sapphires are more jarring and out of place. It’s the season of pumpkin carving and corn harvesting. Leaves are more beautiful when they decay.

What I’m watching: Season 3 of What We Do in the Shadows. Hilarious!

What I’m reading: Full Throttle by Joe Hill. Dark Carousel is a personal favorite from the collection. It gave me Something Wicked This Way Comes vibes (the dark carnival with the haunted carousel that turns kids into the elderly as they spin around).

What I’m listening to: “Trains” by Porcupine Tree

What I’m doing: rehabilitating my ankle. Every attempt forward is followed by another setback. I’m a long way from healing, unfortunately. But with my inertia I’ve found more room to think.