Monthly Archives: January 2013

To Build a Fire, Part 1

January 25, 2013A Day in the Life, The Great Outdoorsadmin

The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances.

Jack London, To Build a Fire

This quote has nothing to do with this post. It’s just one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite stories. However, as we have spent the better part of January with temperatures never getting above freezing, it has felt a little bit like the Yukon. Since we’re all longing for warmer weather, I decided to do a post that I should have written last summer but never got around to it. It got pretty long, so I’ve decided to break it into two parts. Robert, I hope it’s manly enough for you.

Last June, when Tara was gone for the week on business, I headed up into the mountains not far from my office for a few days of solo camping. Granted, it was car camping, and that hardly counts when it comes to going solo, but I’d never done it before, and this was a good first step. The plan was to spend the nights up at camp and come down each day to go to work.

When I arrived at Hope Campground up on Squaw Peak Wednesday evening after work, the campground hosts, a cute elderly couple from Florida, informed me every single spot was available.

“Anybody with you?” the man asked, looking curiously past me at my car, full of stuff, but void of another human being.

“Just me,” I replied. Husband and wife gazed at me for a few seconds, their eyes slightly narrowed.

“Anybody meeting you?” He eventually asked, breaking the silence, and again I said no, feeling as though they suspected me of planning some sort of booty call up there.

The man abruptly stopped questioning me, put the friendly smile back on his face, and took my money and asked me if I needed firewood. When I hesitated, because I did not have enough cash on me, he quickly told me it was free, and I accepted. He retrieved a bundle of wood, tied with twine, which I took, thanked him and prepared to leave.

“Oh, you probably need some tinder!” He exclaimed suddenly and began rooting through the back of his pickup for bits of paper and other refuse that could be used as tinder. I began to suspect that they felt bad for me coming up all alone. The man, unable to find much in the way of paper grabbed a roll of paper towels. I tried to gently decline his generosity, and he looked up confused, his hands poised to tear a few sheets from the roll.

“I’m a bit of a purist when it comes to fires,” I tried to explain, unsure of how to get the good-natured Florida couple to understand that I have a weird obsession with starting fires using only natural fuel.

“Well, this will burn pretty clean,” he tried to assure me, assuming me to be some sort of eco-freak. I surrendered and took the paper towels, figuring I could always just use them for cleaning.

I did not have a fire that night. Instead, I set up camp, grilled a steak which I washed down with a micro-brew, and headed for bead early. I would be meeting up with the guys early the next morning for a mountain bike ride before work. The trail was only a stone’s throw from my camp.

I awoke with a start quickly realizing I’d missed my alarm. It had gotten down to around 40 during the night and my cell phone battery was completely exhausted. It was 6:45 and I was supposed to meet the others at 6:30. They may have already ridden by on the gravel road above the campground. I jumped out of my sleeping bag, threw on clothes, downed half a can of Starbucks Double Shot, jumped on my bike and pedaled hard up out of the campground. I had guessed right and managed to catch up with the others within a few minutes, my body still trying to figure out what the hell I was doing to it.

After a beautiful ride on Squaw Peak, I returned to camp for breakfast and a shower before heading down for work. I had a solar shower that had been quite hot the evening before, but now was ice cold. I had rigged up a crude structure with tarps to spare the host couple a view of my naked ass should they have happened by.

As I stood naked in my makeshift shower, shivering uncontrollably from the cold water, I was less than satisfied with its construction. The ground was just dirt, so it immediately turned to mud. It was also sloped, which proved to be nearly disastrous as I attempted to wash my hair and my feet slipped out from under me. Blind from the soap in my eyes, I grabbed for anything that would save me from going ass-first into the mud. I found the shower head, a small plastic sprayer attached to a tube that goes to the big black reservoir. This provided just enough resistance to arrest my fall before it popped free from the reservoir. I stood for a few moments afraid to move, the disembodied shower head in my hand, using my full lexicon of curse words two and a half times through while water from the bag sprayed everywhere. I resolved to use the shower at work for the remainder of my camping.

The Pilates Experiment

January 18, 2013A Day in the Lifeadmin

Last night at the gym, I tried Pilates for the first time. Tara and I have been talking about going to the class for a while now, but I kept chickening out. Not last night! I made it through the whole class.

It was not easy, however. On the way up the stairs to the classroom, it was all I could do to keep from turning and running back down the stairs, seeking refuge in the basement amongst the free weights and B.O. where I spend most of my time at the gym. But Tara was with me serving as my permission slip for going to girls-only places and doing girls-only things.

It had started with the women’s clothing section. I used to hate such shopping trips back when we were barely dating. Waiting outside the dressing rooms alone, standing awkwardly amongst the intimate apparel, not knowing what to do with my hands left me longing for an invisibility cloak and some better antiperspirant. But over time it got easier, and before I knew it, I was perfectly content in such circumstances. We graduated to Victoria’s Secret, which eventually lead to a solo VS run last year when I got Tara some flannel PJ’s for Christmas. Granted, it took me two laps around the mall to build up the kahunas to actually enter the store, but I eventually managed to slip in amongst a big group of teenage girls.

And so I decided I was finally ready for a Pilates class. After all, Pilates works the core which improves balance and stability, which in turn improves the only thing that matters in life: Snowboarding.

We entered the classroom. The estrogen count was through the roof. Girls everywhere. Some grabbing mats and baby-sized dumbbells from big totes, others already sitting cross-legged on their mats, shoes removed, still others using the restroom at the back of the classroom, the door inexplicably wide open.

At first, I only spotted one other man in the room–the ubiquitous fitness class creeper. He looked to be in his mid 60s, was there alone, and was sporting a rather impressive handlebar mustache. “Are you kidding me?”, I heard him mutter to himself as he came to stand behind me in line for a mat. Perhaps he was mad another dude was there.

Three other men had joined the class late. One seemed to be quite experienced and also seemed to have a thing for the instructor. The other two may have been gay.

With much guidance from Tara, I gathered my own compliment of Pilates gear and set up my space: Not-so-cushiony yoga mat goes on top of more-cushiony mat, exercise ball goes on top of ball holder (these are apparently for noobs only) . I sat on my mat to remove my shoes, hoping to sit meditative like some of the other participants before the class began, but had barely gotten my shoes off when the instructor came in and immediately turned on loud pop music and started calling out maneuvers in what I can only describe as Pilates jargon.

The commands were coming so fast and so Chinese to me that I could only look at the instructor’s motions to figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing. Often, my view of the instructor was obscured by dozens of elevated legs, arms, or pelvises, so I had to watch Tara and some of the other people in the class who looked to me like they knew what they were doing. This worked fairly well at first, but soon we were assuming positions and movements that typically require a browser history purge when viewed online. It was at some point during this that the instructor actually used the word “Cervix”, and I was wondering what the heck I’d gotten myself into.

Once I was able to figure out what “Point”, “Flex”, “Articulate”, and “Pulse” mean in Pilates, I began to feel much less awkward and was actually rather enjoying myself. I also realized the reason for the loud music, which I had found obnoxious at first, having expected Pilates to be a quiet, relaxing atmosphere. The music covers up the inevitable mid-plank fart. This phenomenon only happened to me once, but I caught whiff of another. Tara, for the record, swears it was not her.

After the class, I felt totally relaxed and slept amazing that night. Today I am friggin’ sore. Who knew? Pilates is actually a good workout. I’ll probably go again, if only to see if the instructor says “Fallopian Tubes”.

Edit:
After proofreading, Tara informed me the instructor said “Cervical” and was referring to the cervical spine, or the neck. Wow, I was totally flexing the wrong area on that one…

Kindness

January 11, 2013Here's What I Think of Thatadmin

In the fall of 2008, Tara moved out to Salt Lake City while I stayed behind to finish my bachelors and bolster my resume. The plan was for me to find a job and move out to Utah once I graduated. However, I quickly found that job searching in a location 800 miles from my own was incredibly overwhelming. I felt as though I was throwing resumes into an endless void never to be seen by a human being.

Around April, I was beginning to get pretty discouraged. My search had been relentless, but I hadn’t received a single callback. One day at work, I was sourcing a component that just happened to be manufacturing in Salt Lake City. I excitedly told the sales guy named Will on the phone of my plans. I also told him of my floundering job search. He immediately reached out to me, encouraging my decision and telling me how wonderful Utah is. He said that he did not have an extensive knowledge of engineering jobs, but his brother, Dave, who was just graduating from BYU in engineering did, and he would put him in contact with me.

I was very appreciative of Will’s kindness, but I was pretty skeptical that this Dave guy would give some complete stranger in Nebraska that his brother threw his way the time of day, especially while preparing to graduate. Therefore, I was completely floored when Dave started emailing me a lot. He contacted every engineer he knew, and before I knew it, I had connections in most of the big tech companies in the area. He also answered countless questions of mine, ranging from local industry to what it’s like living in Mormon Central. It is safe to say the Marriotts made my job search significantly easier.

I don’t really keep in touch with Dave or Will, but thanks to LinkedIn, I recently learned that the brothers have teamed up with a few others and started their own company around a mobile bluetooth speaker that claims to be the thinnest on the market. The company is called Coverplay Audio. I can’t personally vouch for the quality of the speaker as I don’t yet own one (expected release March 2013), but the technology behind it is totally cool, and I think this product will go far. Furthermore, if these guys approach business the same way they approach life, this company will be one to keep an eye on.

DIY Home Maintenance Pro

January 4, 2013Crooked Crowbaradmin

I’ve never been much for home maintenance. This is likely because I totally suck at it. I am also a proponent of outsourcing everything. With Tara and I both working full time, the last thing we want to do in the evenings is more work. But I’m trying to come around. Call it a New Year’s Resolution if you will. I understand that doing your own home maintenance can be rewarding. I also understand that I have a ridiculously hard time spelling “maintenance” properly.

I had my first opportunity to put my resolution to use when we returned from our holiday travels and Tara announced that both bathroom sinks were draining unacceptably slow. I did not call the plumber (although I really wanted to). Instead, I headed to the hardware store. Cleaning sink drains is one task in which I actually have a little experience, which means I both know somewhat how to do it as well as how much I dislike doing it. Hair likes to get caught on the plunger mechanism, which in turn collects gunk and more hair, surreptitiously growing into quite the little drain monster until the drain no longer works.

I spent a fair amount of time in the plumbing aisle at Home Depot surveying the arsenal of drain-cleaning apparatuses and scheming. Then I saw it. A snake-looking device about 3 ft. long with a spring-loaded claw on the end. This would be my Golden Gun. I grabbed some rubber gloves, goggles, and a thing of Draino and headed into battle.

The task proved to be surprisingly easy with my well-chosen tools and planning. Both drains were cleaned and working like new in under an hour. It was disgustingly satisfying. Kind of like popping a zit.

I feel like a friggin’ champion. Unfortunately, small bathroom fixes are not unlike seeing an old manly movie like The Godfather for the first time in 2013. Nobody wants to hear about it. I, however, have a solution to this quandary: a blog.

So thank you for reading. I’m definitely glad I didn’t call the plumber this time. Now to use the money I saved on lift tickets…