Our Thursday » Luke

Twas a Good Passport Part 1

luke — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 01:47:53 +0000

In August of 2000, I obtained my last USA passport under auspicious circumstances. I had a trip

I will never forget

planned to England and with only a few weeks to go I noticed that my previous passport had expired. At that time, there was no expedited passport process so we immediately did the next best thing and lied. We had my Grandfather write a very formal letter saying that his wife, my Grandmother, was doing very poorly and it was imperative that I was present at her side during her final days. It worked. There after this passport served me extremely well and saw many an airport. I even had to have 25 pages added to it to accomodate more stamps. Well in August of 2010, it expires so I thought I would give my passport Justice and try and recount some of the memories that spring to mind while gazing through some of the stamps and visas.

England

I am birthed from two British parents. My immediate family is the only part of my family, that I am aware of, that is not in Europe. My grandfather was a pilot for British Airways. Put all this together and you get a whole shit load of stamps from Heathrow, Gatwick, Stansted, and Luton. I like England. I found my cycling skills there. I enjoy a snowy Christmas. I absolutely love round-a-bouts and think the whole world should adopt them everywhere. I like the idea that there are only four channels but the programming is generally really good and there is a good chance that you can talk about a TV show the next day since the whole country is watching it. I find it mesmerizing how the country can fanatacize. Music group, sports celebrity, TV show, not important, they will be head over heels for whatever, especially if you are a young teenage girl. I enjoy discussing the weather in depth as if I have a degree in meteorology with an old lady at the bus stop who got a degree at the same meteorological school. I generally agree with the lack of police since the whole country is littered with speed cameras and closed circuit television. I find it quite hilarious the lack of skin color. England is worth a visit, maybe for many years, but not to live in my opinion. I recommend you to read the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy books by Douglas Adams to really appreciate what I mean.

So for the countless stamps I have from England, I would like to say that Stansted is my favorite. It is in the middle of no where, relative to my family that is there, but you get to walk on the tarmac to get to the airplane and with my new computer chip passports, I can just walk right through customs laughing and giggling all the while as there is an enormous line of people wondering why that greasy looking gringo is so special. Heathrow recently built their latest and greatest Terminal 5 which is pretty cool except they forgot to think of one thing, you fly half way around the world to get to London, then land at this fantastic new terminal, and then you have to take a 2 hour bus ride from the new terminal to the rest of the world since they built it as far way as possible form everything.

Skavsta Sweden – 9th of August, unknown year

A trip my dad will never let me forget. My cousin Rikard, who lives in Stockholm, invited me to join him for his friends Bachelor party he was hosting. A swedish bachelor party begins at 6am and goes all day. We wake the bachelor up at this ungrateful hour and dress him up in some very tight and feminine clothes and got him drinking early. We headed off to an island that was maybe 100 meters square and the only thing on it was this giant fortress. Inside the fortress we were split into two teams and we started the game. The game was to go to different rooms in the fortress and do challenges. The challenges ranged from brain challenges like doing some math or mixing words, to dexterity challenges like moving a ring down a pole to release a key to open a door that let a chicken out who then gave you a crystal that gave us five points, to physical challenges like shooting a water cannon into a hole while balancing on a pyramid that is spinning and trying to not laugh at the dude with his left testicle hanging out. Good times although we lost, mainly due to the fact that no one would explain the rules to me for each room so I had to just figure things out for myself. We then ate some really awful seafood mushed onto crackers. Our group of about 15 went back to the main land to find a park and we all drank heavily and played some cone football. This is maybe the funniest game I have ever played and I hope someone reading this blog tries this out. This is a regular game of soccer, but every one has one of those paper cone hats you use at a child’s birthday party. You cut off the top two inches of the cone so there is a small hole, then put the cone over your face so you can only see out of the small hole, then play. Now, it is pretty funny to watch two dudes side by side kicking at air when the ball is not even near them, its even more funny to see a guy on his hands and knees putting his head right to the ground so he can spin 360 to see where the action is at, but it is absolutely hilarious to see two grown men collide without any warning and fall. This makes me want to do many things with cone hats on my face. We then took all our clothes off, jumped into the water and swam and bathed with some giant swans. At this point, I do not really remember how it happened, but I got lost, as I do, and found myself surrounded by about 12 fourteen year old girls who I had befriended because I was using their cell phone to try and figure out what happened. I had missed dinner and when I finally found Rikard at the club that night, I gestured to him to meet my new friends, but they were not there as they could not enter the club since they were not over 18. I waved “thank you” and that was that. So the point of this story is that Skavsta is the airport that RyanAir says is in Stockholm but really is about 130km away and of course RyanAir flights are at 7am. So the following morning I had to catch a 5am bus to make it to the airport. I slept through the bus and woke up to Rikard kicking me, the force of his kicks made it clear that I had overstayed my welcome, so I rushed outside and got a taxi which cost my dad about $120. He will never let me forget this trip.

Eindhoven Holland – July 24th, 2003

I was visiting a family friend in Den Hague, Christine, with her two lovely children. I learned a lot about the Anarchists Cookbook that trip as her son was quite well read and had constructed a fanasticly loud potato gun launcher. I decided to return to England through Eindhoven but on the day of my flight, I would take a few hour train to Amsterdam to take in the sites and activities, then get on another train to go down to Eindhoven. I invite you to look at a map of Holland to understand how ridiculous of a trip that is to do in a day, but no matter, I had it all planned. The problem was that the train south to Eindhoven from Amsterdam was delayed and when I arrived at the Eindhoven airport I was greeted by the RyanAir douchbags that said I could not go to my flight even though I could see the people, the plane, and pilots having a smoke, about 80 meters away from me on the other side of a pane of glass. So I had the lovely opportunity to stay in Eindhoven for the night and call my family and say I had missed my flight out of Holland due to a late train, their reply of course was “Yeah, right.” Eindhoven sucked and I stayed in a closet for the night that had very manky smelling, feeling, and looking sheets.

Malaga Spain – January 25th, 2006

Pat, Kourosh, and I are sitting in my hotel room in Ireland skipping out on a mandatory IBM/Telelogic training session trying to light our farts. Pat was the best and had obviously done it before. We determined he has a large ass hole that lets the air out slower for increased efficiency. Kourosh and I have way to many hotel points and air miles racked up and we decide to take a week ff after the week in Ireland. We decide on the Spanish Riviera, “oooo aaaaa” we said. Kourosh got us the best thing that Marriot had to offer in Malaga. My girlfriend at the time decided to join us so we were three. We arrive in Malaga and the weather is piss poor and raining. No one goes to Malaga in January. The Spanish Riviera in winter might as well be called the Spanish pffffff. But the apartment we got was baller so we made the most of it. We watched every season of Nip Tuck which I think inspired my girlfriend at the time to be a nurse. Kourosh and I got drunk and I taught him to drive a manual transmission. We drove to the rock of Gibraltar, only to arrive, and Kourosh did not have his passport so we could not enter the famous British rock. Most everything was closed and we never went in the ocean. Good times though.

Thailand – July 8th, 2005

I was about to graduate from UCI and I thought I would ask my aunt if she would help me get a car. Her response was to offer me a trip to Thailand. It was the best graduation gift I had never thought of. I arrived in Thailand with the least amount of preparation I had ever done for any trip. I had the smallest backpack I had ever brought on any trip. I did not even know what the currency was there. I arrived without a reservation and while waiting in the customs line, I befriended an English guy who I followed to his Australian hostel. He ended up being a good travelling partner and told me of his stories of amputating legs in Africa. The two months in Thailand were supposed to be two months in South East Asia so I had purchased the lonely planet on a shoe string book which had only a small portion dedicated to Thailand. What a waste of energy to carry that book. A must read for anyone is my blog on the Bangkok Ping Pong Show. I learned to dive in Thailand and am now an “advanced diver”. Soon to come will be the transcribed travel blog from this trip. One of the better travels of my life thus far.

To Be Continued…

How to Stop Your Receding Hair Line

luke — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 20:53:07 +0000

The hair gene in males comes from your mother’s father. This means that I am going to have

My eyebrows in about 27 months. Hopefully not my demeanor.

enormous eyebrows that will shade me and my family from the sun and I will have one of those heads that has the semi circle around the back from ear to ear. If I were a weaker person, I would grow one side extremely long and try to hide the top of my abnormally shiny head and then say “What?” when people asked me about it. However, there are alternatives.

Possible route for the future.

I have a very wise friend affectionately named Agincourt who has hit that point in his life where you can see your forehead growing abnormally fast. “Are you serious?” is what you say to yourself when looking in the mirror sometimes. Agincourt is well read on this subject and sent me a short and succinct message explaining to me exactly what I need to do if I want to try and salvage my hair.

Yo,

Here is a decent read from one of the more unbiased websites since a lot of them have vested interests.

http://www.hairlosstalk.com/hair-loss-men/evaluate-hair-loss-treatments.php

Basically, the only treatments FDA approved for hair loss are finasteride (brand name propecia) and minoxidil (brand name rogaine).

Here is good summary of the scientific study for propecia: http://www.propecia.com/finasteride/propecia/consumer/see-the-proof/results.jsp

Possible Side Effects: http://www.propecia.com/finasteride/propecia/consumer/possible-side-effects/

Keep in mind most of the studies end up looking at the crown only so that’s what they will end up claiming its good for. The general consensus is that reducing DHT w/ finasteride will halt the process in general no matter where it is.

Cipla, http://www.cipla.com/, is an Indian drug manufacturer which sells some versions of generics to Canada and I believe the US also. They sell a generic version of Propecia 1mg (Finpecia) and Proscar 5mg (Fincar). People will go the 5mg route to save money and cut the pills in 4ths or 5ths.

These are the two most commonly used online pharmacies from what I gather.

Fincar: http://www.inhousepharmacy.com/hair-loss/fincar.html

Finpecia: http://www.inhousepharmacy.com/hair-loss/finpecia.html

Fincar: http://www.unitedpharmacies.com/Fincar_Generic_Proscar__5mg_10_Tablets_p_346.html

Finpecia: http://www.unitedpharmacies.com/Finpecia_Generic_Propecia__1mg_10_Tablets_p_343.html

I would suggest the nizoral shampoo as its been shown to be as effective as the lower strength rogaine. its an antifungal you can use a few times a week and keeps the scalp healthy.

Overall, these are not very good solutions (not 100 percent effective and it is an indefinite treatment).

Hope this helps,

Agincourt

Ultimately I decided to not try this, mainly due to the cost and time commitment. You will end up spending over a thousand dollars a year and need to be very diligent with the application and use of these products. Two things that I am not very good at, having money and doing things regularly. Maybe Agincourt could leave a comment below with his experience up until now?

Catalina is Not California

luke — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 23:33:37 +0000

About 26 miles off the coast of Southern California, you can feel as if you are a thousand miles away from the United States, and you do not need a passport. (In fact, this island is still part of Los Angeles County and has a 323 area code or is it 213?). As I write this, there is a large horde of young men that have descended upon this magical mystery tour of an island for an annual trip we affectionately call, Catalina.

(Authors Note: Catalina makes you do funny things. Things you would never do elsewhere. To that end, I will be using fake names to protect the alternate identities that may be featured in this tale.)

The founding father of this annual trip is named Naveen. I am pretty sure he lives and dies for this trip and although on the island right now, is probably thinking about next years trip. He has chosen a profession that ensures he has the time of late June to mid July available so he can be on this trip. His tales on the island are numerous and infamous at the same time. I recently received a letter from the Catalina island tribunal asking for my vote to have his image plastered to the side of the bar wall. I diligently put my vote of “That crazy son of a bitch deserves his own campsite.” in a bottle, corked it, and set it off in the Chilean Pacific. This blog is dedicated to Naveen who has given so many of our friends and myself, an island in their hectic lives.

The Island

Catalina is shaped like a kidney bean and has the color of a kidney bean. There are only a few significant points of interest on this relatively small island.

First and foremost, there is Two Harbors. Situated in the middle of the kidney where the two sides are closest together. Although the name implies there are two harbors, which there technically are, only one is really utilized, the side protected from the fierce pacific ocean. The town of two harbors has only the essentials. A mini market to buy really expensive beer or two bits of charcoal or already melted ice cream. A restaurant which is always being worked by the same people you harassed the night before so it feels kind of good to have the final say. A bar with inside and outside drinking and dancing. Two houses and maybe 20 cabins used by the rotating workforce that keeps the island running. A palladium to hand out regatta prizes to your boat club. A volleyball court and a rocky and quickly slanting beach that always makes your volleyball wet and sandy so as to hurt your wrists. Finally, the campgrounds, which they have smartly placed about a kilometer away from town.
Second is Avalon. Avalon is where most people go to spend just a day or spend a night with your girlfriend making sure to spend all your money and making sure to feel like you are just a few blocks away from your favorite bar in Newport Beach. I vehemently disagree with anyone who wants to go there, unless they have a bicycle with them, and plan on riding the 20 miles to two harbors.
An airport, that has expensive food, and maybe one flight a month.

And thats it. So why do we keep going back?

The Preparation

We always reserve anywhere from one to three campsites. You are supposed to have no more than four people

Arriving into Town

per campsite. We arrive with 30 or more people always. This makes for an interesting arrival on the island when you are talking to the ranger who remembers you from last year. The trip is always supposed to cost less than $100 and that includes the boat ride there and back. This $100 gets you a campsite, boat, food, drink, and random supplies. It is never enough for four days. I like to pack light and here is what I (or someone) will bring:

A sleeping bag. Preferably one that can cover my head since I will have bread placed on top of me while sleeping which encourages a swath of seagulls to peck at me.
A knife. Rarely used and mostly just to wittle on a piece of wood while I zone out trying to figure out how the fuck I got back to the campsite last night.
One pair of “going out” jeans to be used in the evening.
A hooded sweater that will permanently smell like campfire and vomit and hot dogs.
Rainbow sandals. Probably the worst sandal for Catalina since they will collect water and dirt, making them treacherously slippery which is not what you want when you are trying to demonstrate your balance on a cliff edge.
A very very large kite. Mainly sail boats arrive here for a reason, its windy. A large traction kite that pulls you 50 meters with your feet firmly dug into the ground is a really cool thing.
Three pairs of underwear, but you will only use one pair.
One bottle of heavy booze. Yea Naveen buys booze, but you want to make sure you are prepared.
Snorkel gear. Can also be stolen from the rental shack, but you must return them.
A diving spear. Not to be used to capture Garabaldi, the state fish, and then lift it out of the water to show your buddy Creddo for all to see and reeve your $10,000 fine. Better to be used to launch into a wooden post in your campsite from about 10 centimeters. This will make your day a fantastic one as you dig it out with before mentioned knife while Creddo is freaking out.
A towel. Often forgotten by the novice Catalina-er. I recommend reading A Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.
Bocce balls. Heavy, but worth it. This game will waste many an hour and encourage many a sun burn on the beach.
Toiletries which are also rarely used.
The last few drops of underpowered sunscreen.

Notice I did not mention a tent, a must for any camping trip. No, I do not use a tent, and never will in Catalina. When there are 40 guys scattered around a 100 meter square area in sleeping bags, it can be quite comical. It is also an effective way to NOT appear like you are 40 guys squatting on two campsites for eight people. It has never rained in Catalina, never. It has a forcefield of magnetism that turns off cell phones, repels woman between the ages of 17 – 30, and stops rain.

The Arrival

The boat ride is usually really rough. There is not much to look at except the smog dome of Los Angeles slowly fading away in the distance and the occasional whale or dolphin siting. Drinks are unusually expensive and I enjoy this time to prepare mentally for the weekend to come with deep breathing and deep meditation. When you hear the motors drop in tempo, you know you have arrived. You can run to the front of the boat and see a

That peak was the start of extreme cacti jumping

magnificent white cliff. In reality, it is not magnificent because it is a giant rock that has been covered in bird shit. There has always been talk to swim to the rock, and know its majestic properties, but no one has ever done it. We have been told if you jump off the boat, you will be arrested. By who? No one really knows what jurisdiction Catalina falls under. The boat arrives and the people disembark. Our pile of things will be about four meters high and 10 meters wide and require five sherpas to help us load the truck. When a boat arrives in Catalina, it is greeted by the analyzing stares of the people who have already arrived. Catalina is very contained and isolated, like a Bio Dome. You know what comes in, and you know what goes out. Although we would like to think so, we do not go unnoticed. The casual traveller to Catalina can sit down at the bar and easily converse with the locals. It wont be too long before they start hearing stories of us. I have heard these stories first hand when I was detached from the group. Stories of a whirlwind landing in Catalina, consuming everything, taking over benches, terrorizing the small boat dogs, harassing every female that doesn’t have huggies, infiltrating the camp fire chats, challenging everyone to a tug-of-war, sinking ships, burning the landscape, etc, etc. Like any myth, there is some foundation to be found in these tales, but rest assured that we all care deeply about this island and would never do anything to hurt her.

Alternatively you can arrive through Avalon and ride a bicycle across the island. I have been doing this for the last few years I have gone and it adds a whole new element to the trip. You need to wake up real early to get to the Newport Harbor to catch your boat to Avalon. The ride itself begins with a 10 kilometer climb. The day is always hot and the sun is brutal and the road is rough. I have almost watched my friend Hen, get off his bike, sit down, and start to whimper for fear he would never make it to civilization. But the effort is worth it and seeing some of the last remaining Bison in North America while you scream down a mountain is pretty cool. Arriving into an already prepared campsite with your stuff already laid out since someone brought your backpack, is also a great experience.

The Campgrounds

The campgrounds are connected to Two Harbors by a long and perilous dirt path that goes up and down and winds around. I always feel like I am putting in the code to Contra. There are no lights on this trail and it is rumored to have claimed the lives of three boy scouts. It has also been used as an inspirational masturbating

Just asking for the sea gulls to attack

point for a few of my friends. Although I have not partaken in the inspiration that Catalina provides for this activity, I do sympathize. Please read Laughter Across the Lake. Personally I like walking real fast to the point that the people I am with cannot keep up, then I hide in a bush, and I leap out at them as they walk by. My inspirational moment came one year after a frustrating night with a girl named Jessica. After she returned to her boat, I walked back to the campgrounds but on my way I stopped at the highest point overlooking all of the harbor. From here I bellowed at the top of my lungs “JESSICA!! JESSICAAA!!” and then continued back to camp. What she or her parents were thinking I do not know.

Each campsite is no more than a flat piece of dirt with a bench, fire pit, stove, and a plastic canopy. Each campsite amongst the 50 or so has its benefits and drawbacks. Naveen has an ordered list of the top 15 sites with a break down of their pros and cons. (Maybe he could provide this list?) Personally, I never gave a shit,

Right before we descended the mountain for extreme cacti jumping

and was happy as long as we did not have young children within visible range of our debauchery. The campsites were arranged on the side of a hill and at the bottom was the communal beach. To walk to the beach meant walking in the middle of other campsites. It was usually really easy to know if you were welcome in a campsite or not. Apparently if you scream and cuss bad words all night, sometimes you are not well received the next day by random families trying to enjoy their vacation.

The Snorkeling

The water, all be it cold, is very clear and great for snooping around. Catalina is famous for its underwater shark habitat used by the University of Southern California. These sharks can regularly be seen to make sure you are pumped to the gills with adrenaline. Its quite an awesome thing to be clambering around in the water and then see this two meter long creature stealthily and easily maneuvering itself in the water. The water is rife with kelp that towers from the bottom to the surface. Once you forget about the fact that they feel like hands grabbing you and trying to pull you down, they are quite fun to investigate.

I always make sure to do one long excursion of snorkeling when I go to Catalina. Mostly for exercise and dropping my blood alcohol. I have had two experiences that I will never forget. One was to encounter what appeared to be a two meter crab. Telephone and I began diving down to see it up close but it was very deep so we had to constantly be coming to the surface. We purchased a net which was much to small to capture this beast. When we tried to capture it, we could only snare a few of its legs which was enough to start bringing it to the surface. At about three meters depth the crab exploded into two crabs which were obviously mating and not approving of me nor Telephone interrupting their experience. They started to slowly fall through the water and we both were frantically trying to recompose ourselves to capture at least one of them. The whole time I was laughing out of control and so was Telephone who was making me laugh more out of control. Ultimately we lost both of them as they scampered into the deep. I only just made it to the surface never feeling more exhausted. What a sound to be on the surface and hear someone below you laughing all the air out of their lungs.

The other experience came after a long and slow meandering snorkel. I was floating on the top of the water staring down, as you do while snorkeling, and approached the shallows to sit down and take a break. I swam right up to a large flat rock, still looking down in the water the whole time. I raised myself up on the rock and laid down basking in the sun taking in a deep breath. I sat up, and took in my surroundings. When I looked to my right, there was a giant sea lion sitting right next to me. I could have put my arm around it. It too was laying down and basking in the sun. And when I sat up, he sat up. We looked at each other for a good five seconds, no reactions, just looking. He really looked like a dog and had the facial features and movements of a labrador. He eventually concluded that I was simply enjoying life as much as he was and put his head back down. I thought to touch his silky smooth looking fur but I decided I should maintain the status quo. I stayed for a few minutes, said my goodbye, and then paddled back to the beach to try and tell my story which was not appreciated by anyone. I found it quite spectacular and a moment of connection for me and the island and it’s inhabitants.

Extreme Downhill Cacti Jumping

There are some fantastic hiking trails around Catalina and the mountains ascend rather high giving you a great opportunity to catch some magical sunsets/sunrises or sit on top of a cloud. One memorable hike, a small group of us walked for a very long time. We finally made it to the point that we supposed was where we were trying to go.When we wanted to go back, the idea of taking the same trail back seemed very laborious and unexciting. Fortunately there was, what appeared to be, a trail down the rather steep mountain side descending directly into the town. So we all began to go down but our judgement and selection of trail was poor and we all found ourselves in the middle of a too steep to stop yourself, hill side completely covered in cactus. Without words, we all decided the best option was to simply go as fast as you can and jump as much as you can. I employed a downhill ski style that lurched me from side to side. I remember thinking about halfway down, “this is incredibly stupid, why am I doing this.” and I was later told by my fellow cacti athletes they were thinking the same thing. We got to the bottom, and only one of us had received significant injuries. We called him a pussy. That small group of people will forever be linked in a way that can only be created when you do something as a group, that should have never been done, and will likely never be done again. And isn’t gay.

The Benches and Town

It is customary to make plans to meet at the benches early in the evening. Naveen will scream out times to meet there, but there is never really a set time. The point is to get into town early, claim one of the benches in the main square, and begin terrorizing. The benches are a perfect place to play beer die which is an amazing game that has the innate ability to make people throw up. Me, no. In fact I am tied for the island record.

The benches are placed on the beach, but we drag them onto the main walking area to ensure that we are in

When I had muscles and no hair

the middle of everyones way. For those too young to drink at the bar, it is a place to sit, pound a very expensive can of bad tasting beer, and people watch, people heckle, or cry, or be angry. For those people who can enter the bar, it is a resting point to evacuate to when the bar situation is getting too out of control because Bald Doctor is sleeping at someones table with his arms and legs in his shirt, Axe is hitting on the wife of a fat sailor, Naveen is trying to dance with moonshoes, and Roaring is making out with the help.

Eventually the night will wind down and each individual will have their own way back to camp. I can remember one evening walking back to camp and encountering Carmat, the best saxophonist in the world. He was unusually sober, and I chided him for being so. I decided I would make him feel stupid by challenging him to a game of chess and making sure we put money on the game. I was a mess and could barely stand up. He beat me senseless in the game and took my money. I am pretty sure I wasn’t even moving the pieces in the correct places. None the less he took my money. I was infuriated and demanded he honorably give me my money back since the game was not held under sanctioned conditions. He refused. The following night, I walked back to camp to find Carmat once again. Only this time, the tables were turned and I was the unusually sober one and he was stumbling drunk. He decided his best option was to pass out on the bench in a most undesirable way. He had his stomach on the seat with his forehead resting face down. His arms and legs were hanging over the sides very limply. He was not a well shaped human being and was rather hairy. His ass crack was a disgusting site to say the least. Time to get even. We had purchased a 10 liter jug of peanut butter to be used by the group which was hardly used. I decided to use the entire jug to cover every inch of Carmat. Using sticks and other objects, he was completely covered. His face was absolutely featureless except for three straws I had placed in his mouth and nostrils. His ears did not exist. His hair was missing, it was like a blueman group guy but with peanut butter. Down his ass crack, his arms, his legs, his shoes, his socks, anywhere and everywhere. I left him that way and went to bed. The next morning I encountered Carmat completely cleaned up. The effort involved in that cleaning process I cannot imagine. We looked at each other and we had nothing to say. I felt I had gotten

beer die

even and he knew exactly why he got what he got. You don’t FUCK with me when it comes to chess. I am 1500+ on Yahoo if you want to challenge me.

My Attempt at Organizing Catalina

One year Naveen gave me the responsibility to make sure Catalina continued on in it’s proud tradition. I decided to charge a little more for the trip to ensure that we had sufficient supplies. Every trip was notorious for running out of all beer by the second day and all of the food was half eaten or lounging in coolers of melted ice without their packaging. Do you know what a four kilo block of cheese slices looks like after sitting in water for a day? I purchased 18 thirty packs of beer and way too much food. We ate and drank like kings and even had enough to waste and even still, had booze to bring home with us. Too much really. I developed a strong adoration for this trip after being the organizer and consider myself one of its founding fathers as well.

But Alas…

The last two years I have missed Catalina due to being in South America and Europe. Each time I looked up flights and ultimately couldn’t convince myself that spending more than $1000 for a $100 trip was worth it even though there is no way to put a price tag on this trip. The stories mentioned here are brief and touch maybe half a percentage of the experiences I have claimed from this place and it would not be fair to my fellow Catalina goers to share them without them at my side, a beer in my hand, a missing sandal, someone screaming for help somewhere in the distance as we laugh at them, and a feeling of “we own this place.” To Catalina and everyone on it right now, I miss you and I WILL see you again. Catalina is my tradition and I am honoring you this weekend and plan to honor you for the rest of my years.

Rome and Cinque Terra

luke — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 05:30:30 +0000

Rome is a remarkable city and if you want to blow your mind to the maximum, go to Cinque Terra on the mediterranean coast. Below is an excerpt from a journal I kept during a a two month trip through Europe.

August 12^th 12 something. Sitting in the hallway of a train surrounded by greasy Italians and listening to godspeed and my feet undoubtedly have some sort of fungus or worm or something. I have never seen them dirtier.

Cleanliness has taken a backseat to booze and money. The smell test used for my cloths has succumbed to the inundated stick that is my wardrobe I am carrying around.

Found a great hostel in Rome filled with people from Orange County, Finland, Canada, and god knows where else. Meet Andrea, the guy in charge of this shindig who basically tells us what to do and how to do it when it come to Rome. We choose a pub crawl for the first night which 15 euro for an hour of unlimited drinking, a shirt, a shot at each bar which numbered 4. The group was basically a bunch of Aussies that were not too much fun or much to look at either. They did embarrass Phil at drinking though.

The Mediterranean looks gorgeous from here.

Bar crawl was good but you end up in a cramped dance club that induced epileptic ceisures. Nick and I instead played some Italians some soccer in the square on cobblestone, barefoot. My foot is still sore. We ties 1-1, bullshit result. Met an Italian girl who, all be it gorgeous, would fuck anybody up in a fight thorugh some sort of Kung Fu.

Next we saw the sights and walked miles upon miles. That night we collected everybody in the hostel and went to the bars. Met a girl with a shaved head, odd.

We have lost Phil. Never came home last night. Probably in some overly determined attempt to get laid. Left Rome without him. He reminds me of Mike sometimes. Ironic since they are swarn enemies, maybe even arch nemesii.

The best sight for me had to have been the Pantheon with light shining through the top and beeming down.

Last night went to the Spanish steps after finishing off one of Justins absynth bottles. Left an incredibly sour feeling in my stomach. The kind where you puke, even though your not drunk. Still haven’t puked on this trip.

Cinque Terra is an absolutely jaw droppingly beautiful place. It truly deserves it’s world heritage site title. It is five towns spread out over some incredibly rough terrain. Each town is very unique and has no resemblance to any of the other towns. The towns are connected by a walking path which consists of huge steps about three feet high. After 200 of these steps, even the most fit individual will be feeling the pain. We arrived in Cinque Terra and planned to stay two nights but ended up staying five. Now in an attempt to practice a new technique, here is what happened in a single sentence…

We arrived in Cinque Terra and decided to camp on a secluded island, which happened to be owned by a night prowling Italian who thought it would be funny to wake us up in the middle of the night and force us to relocate to a perilous cliff edge, which was never found by Justin who woke up in the dirt face down after a crazy night of watching a man fall 200 feet into the ocean swell only to have his body pinpointed by a spot light for the whole town to see which was not what anyone should see before hiking four kilometers to a town made famous for having a slanted rock that receives a focused surge of water so we jumped in and learned that the point of this game was to wait underneath the concrete platform until a wave slammed you against the sharp crustacion covered wall and you bit scratched and crawled your way onto dry land, which Chris could never figure out although he was redeemed when he took us to this abandoned church to camp under the stars with very stimulating conversation.

And breath.

Ramblings From a Very Long and Very Thin Country

luke — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 00:17:30 +0000

In the ongoing quest to better myself, experience culture, and pursue mind boggling love, I moved myself to Santiago Chile back in February. I intended to do another “Random First Impressions…” blog but that time has passed so follow along as I ramble through my slightly more refined and matured impressions of Chile.

The Climate

When I arrived in February, it was hot. Real hot. A muggy hot which can only be produced by in a valley with enormous 3000 meter mountains completely covered in a 800 meter thick canopy of smog.

Now, in July, it is cold, real cold. The sort of cold that can only be created in a place that does not believe in insulation. I do not mind cold, I just do not like to live in the cold. I now wear my clothes into the bathroom to take a shower instead of just using a towel. I get completely dressed to go from the bathroom back to my room. (I hate this part because my life long selection of

Old Spice white stick deodorant gets on my shirt as I try to apply it without removing my shirt.) Socks are mandatory in the bed. My bed has six layers of blankets. I am currently writing this blog with an electric heater about 10 centimeters from my arm.

But after a cleansing rain and a light breeze in the early morning hours, the snow capped Andes are a captivating view that will never leave my brain.

The Level of Civilization

Many a philosopher has attempted to define and analyze civilization but in all my reading, I never encountered a very fundamental marker of society that I see almost everyday here in Chile. So here is my very refined and soon to be published genreal theory of “How to Measure South American Societal Development”:

The paramount marker to indicate the level of a society is to take notice if the wild dogs in the city are wearing clothes.

Chile is Developed

Almost all dogs, both with and without owners, are properly dressed to survive a cold Chilean winter. I have even seen a dog with shoes.

Having said that, I have also seen three separate instances of a homeless guy taking a dump on the sidewalk. So there are some holes in my theory.

Class War

In Chile, you have the Cuicos, the rich people, and the Fleites, the poor people. The fleite are a dangerous breed who will rob you of your pants and underwear in an instant. They will frequently ask you what time it is just to see what kind of watch you have. They like their reggae-tone loud and if a song sounds exactly like the song before it, the crazier they get. There language is fast and slurred and depends on phrases and sayings that would offend a sailor. They will burn a bus down to celebrate the victory of the Colo Colo football team. A Cuico is hard to find because no one will ever admit they are a Cuico for fear of being robbed by the Fleite. Cuicos like their American music and brag about the large selection of khakis they have in their new apartment. Their language is clear and precise and littered with English. If the University of Chile football team wins, they might read about it the next day.

Now, I am generalizing a little here and my sincerest apologies to both classes if I have offended you, but the point is that at the drop of a hat, a Cuico would bite the ear off a Fleite if given the chance and a Fleite would kick a Cuico in the shins if they got close enough to one. The hatred and fear of one another reminds me of 1840′s South Carolina.

The Cycling

The fastest way around the city, of course, is by bicycle. You can ride from one edge of the valley to the other in about an hour. You can ride on the highways even though there are numerous signs saying that you should not ride on the highways. There are cycle paths on the large streets and they have a monthly Critical Mass they call Ciclistas Furiosas. Sounds like a cyclists haven huh? On the contrary, Santiago is maybe the worst city I have had the pleasure of riding in. (Strictly riding for transportation, not training.)

The Ciclistas Furiosas is the most police orientated critical mass I have been a part of. They directed our group of 200 down a very quiet and out of the way path. The total length was about 38 minutes going six kilometers. We frequently stopped at red lights. The cycle paths are way too thin and are lined with big 15 centimeter concrete blocks ensuring you destroy a wheel if you think you can squeeze past the baby stroller using the cycle path. The roads are resurfaced cobblestone if you are not on a major road and many times, are cobblestone. Cars hate you. Taxis want to hit you. Busses want to murder you. The busses are the very long articulated kind which sound like a star wars jet fighter as they storm pass you glancing you with their mirror. They will gas it to make sure they are in front of you before the next stop even though that means everyone in the bus is slammed to the front after he applies his brakes heavily, just to piss me off. They will always look at you in disgust as they pass. A shoulder does not exist on the roads here and the side of the roads are generally in worse shape than the inside.

Having said all that, I enjoy dangerous cycling and squeezing myself between two wavering articulated busses at 50km/h, hanging on to the back of large lorrie trucks to take a breather, boring down on an intersection full of people trying to sneak across only to be missed by me and my Fuji by fractions of a second, sprinting down a two kilometer tunnel with the police behind me telling me that I cannot be in the tunnel, acting like I dont understand Spanish after two motorcycle cops pulled me over for riding too aggressively, racing a single bus across town to finally receive some sort of respect form the driver after I won… are good times and I am glad to be a cyclist.

The Night Life

The nights can be long and it is very possible to party your nights away until 6am. A good place will ahve multiple dance areas. One area for the mandatory reggae-tone and cumbia, and another for more of the type of music you would get back in the United States. There is one library of music that is shared by every location in Chile so get used to hearing the same thing a lot. It is acceptable to play the same song three times in an evening. Drinks are made strong and should cost you around four dollars. Taxis are relatively cheap although drunk driving has the consequences equivalent to jay walking so many people drive intoxicated. There seems to be a lot of options … everywhere. You are never far from a place to inbibe or sing karaoke. But many of these places are empty. You must dance, no more hanging out on the side sipping a drink. You arrive, and you dance, then drink a little, then sweat a lot, then dance. It seems my dancing style is acceptable here althoguh very gringo-ish.

The World Cup

Unfortunately Chile has been knocked out of the world cup. However, to live and feel the energy of a latin country engrossed by the fever of football is a magical experience. Win, lose, or draw, the people would gather in Plaza Italia to loiter, throw large bottles, jump and sing, and be generally violent. The police presence was imposing and very noticeable although they seemed to just let things go. The reason for that is they have this sneaky little inconspicuous truck everyone calls the skunk. When the party needs to be over, this truck sneaks up to groups of people, rolls down its windows as the people gaze at this weird looking truck, then gasses them with a high pressure gassing gun that can gas the hell out of a toddler from about 20 paces. The skunk is effective, albeit indiscriminate, and you can tell the police enjoy their job.

The People

Chilenos look like a mix of Native Indian and Oriental. Generally round faces with big dark eyes. At almost six feet, I am one of the tallest persons in the metro. Obesity does not exist but the men seem to develop a slightly pudgy build as they grow older. One of the first Chileans I spoke with was absolutely horrible to me and disrespected me badly due to my budding language. But since then, I have been fortunate and the people that I have come to know are all very beautiful people and day to day interactions are a joy.

The Language

Very fast and with a lot of slang. They regularly add “-po” to the end of sentences which can be distracting at first to a novice ear. Their “dude” is “weon(a)” but the problem is that if used incorrectly, you can sound extremely rude and risk a face slap or worse. The intonation of their voice will range from a subtle mumble to a “daaaammmmnnn” in almost every sentence. They love to inject sexual connotation into many phrases. Spanish is a lovely language and much more effective and eloquent than English. Thank you to everyone who has been patient with me and helped me along my way to conquer this new language.

The Money

In general, it is not cheap here. Most goods cost about the same and a trip to the supermarket seems to actually cost more than back in the US. But labor is really cheap. I can get my bike tuned up, cleaned, with wheel truing, for $10 bucks. I can get a four course meal for five bucks. You can buy very elaborate looking pottery for a dolalr making me think I want to have a party where everyone gets to break clay piggy banks that have prizes inside. As with every other country in the world, except the US, I regularly find a lot of coins in my pocket. ATMs need not to be trusted and if their is a sign that says it is not working, try anyways.

The Cajon del Maipo

About 50km outside of Santiago, you have a place that has stolen a part of my heart. Cajon del Maipo. It is a long slithering valley that pierces into the Andes. It is above the smog line and is accompanied with a fast moving river. I do most of my training here on the bicycle for visual inspiration. I hope one day to have a house here, I will make my front lawn a parking lot, and charge six dollars for people to use it.

The Viña and The Valpariso

The port of Santiago is about 120km due West. The port can be split into two main cities. Viña del Mar would be the equivalent of Newport Beach while Valpariso would be the equivalent of San Francisco. The beach is not for swimming, only for looking. The air is clear and breathable and the people are warm and inviting. I was literally booed off the stage singing “I Will Survive” in a karaoke bar where the DJ actually made the record screetch to a halt to emphasize the crowds point.

Style and Fashion

A chileno must have a jacket that has fur around the lining of the hood. Girls will always have black tights on. If you are Fleite your shirt has intentional splotches of paint strewn across it and your sweater has horizontal stripes with a dash of purple. If you are a girl and a frisky Fleite, you have painted your hair blonde to invite every cat call from every guy in the city. If you are Cuico, you have a wool pullover covering a single color collared shirt. Your shoes are black or dark blue and your big jacket is the shiny poofy kind or a long trench coat. Girls love their boots here and are very good at walking and dancing in heels. In general, not very colorful, except for my girlfriend who has red, yellow, and green jeans.

The Culture Differences

It is not correct to call someone a friend if you just met them. It can be rude even to say someone is a friend if you just met them.

EVERYone knows every song and EVERYone knows special dances. It is in your blood.

Nothing can be purchased online and you must wait in long lines or go through very arduous processes to get anything done.

Like all latinos I assume, very family orientated. Although I do see a lot of “man does man things, the woman does woman things” which I do not really like. It was a big deal one time when I said I needed to clean the dishes because the ladies were doing way too much work.

A common vocation is to claim a road, and be its permanent parking escorter. If you park, someone WILL usher you out on to the street, even if there is no reason for it. And you WILL give that person a coin.

The Conclusion

I am really happy to be here and a giant Thank You to my girlfriend who has made this the best trip and best decision of my life.

Listen to www.roachclipradio.com!

luke — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 02:11:10 +0000

The computer science lab at the University of California, Irvine was a clinical and unpleasant place. This lab was an extremely long room filled with rows and rows of computers as far as the eye could see. The floor was raised to accommodate for the 4286 miles of cables that were underneath it and there was a perpetual droning sound that I believe to still be making a ruckus in my head. The people that spent their time here were, in general, a bunch of douchebags. They would put blinders over their screens to make sure no one was copying their code. They would make snorting sounds and slosh around in their troughs while they grunted at somewhat hilarious images of sesame street or Rogan’s Heros. I hated going to this place but it forced you to work and even with blinders on, you could still maneuver your set of mirrors in such a way to read the screens of those bastard rapscallions. One long night, frustrated over the fact I could not find a freaking semi colon somewhere in my code, I paced the hallways. I happened to notice a guy who was slouched all the way in his chair, only his back was on the seat while his hands were on the mouse and keyboard, obviously not hiding his screen. And he had no reason to, he was bouncing his head and tapping his fingers as he was scanning some website trying to find music. It just seemed odd so I had to enquire.

Turns out he was trying to find music for his online radio station that he was running. His name was and is Kourosh and he called his station Roach Clip Radio, you know, a play on words. As he told me about his radio adventure, I was extremely intrigued as well as impressed with his uncanny selection of down right awesome music. My music indulgence is weak to say the least and relies on me being in other countries to find new music. We jabbered away and we realized that we could join forces since I had a proper server with proper bandwidth that was jolly well better than his broken laptop he was serving it from at the time. Thus my injection into the world of www.roachclipradio.com was completed.

My friendship with Kourosh continues to this day. He got me my job at IBM and of all my friends (minus the Europe crew), he has done the most international traveling with me including Ireland, Spain, France, Chile, Argentina, and England. Interestingly, I think we have only spent one night hanging out back in California.

But I digress, the point of this blog is to promote our radio station Roach Clip Radio which has had a new breath of life surged underneath it’s very bland skin. Our philosophy is wide and diverse, much like the music we like to play. But in general, we seek to provide you with a constant flow of uninterrupted music that does not require your attention to change to the next song nor does it distract you from the work/party/meeting/life that you are participating in.

“We strive to provide a stream of music directly into your dome which will release your innermost emotions and feelings that can only be revealed with a choice selection of quality music.”

I will end this advertisement with a plea for help and support. If you find yourself enjoying our station and pulling great pleasure from its rhythmic vibrations and meditations, please show your support with donations and participation on our roach clip board. $3/month would allow us to keep this station up permanently without fear of “the man” taking it down. A one time $5 would pay for the retarded mp3 streaming fee we have to pay. $10 would help us cover a year of domain registration. I wont even start on the bandwidth and storage costs. Regardless, the station is at your disposal with or without your support and we hope you get as much enjoyment out of it as we do.

My First Bike Race in Santiago Chile

luke — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 00:41:50 +0000

As I prepared to move myself to Santiago Chile, I frequently told people that I planned to “inject myself” into the cycling scene and eventually “dominate.” Well after almost two months, six trips to various bike shops, and countless kilometers, I finally injected the scene. However, I think in the end, the scene did not like me sticking it with sharp objects and turned around and bitch slapped me to the other side of the road. Here’s how it went down.

“Santiago is surrounded in huge mountains. It’s in the freakin’ Andes!” I knew I was going to find the best cycling of my life. I anticipated people giving me a hard time since it would appear I was sitting on top of two adolescent children, which were really my new enormous legs. My lungs would frequently pull in birds flying at 1000 feet. However, with great sadness, this did not come to pass. Santiago truly is surrounded by the Andes, however these very gnarly agro-crags are not for riding and in fact the very intelligent Chilenos decided they would only construct a few carefully selected routes out of the valley that is Santiago. The air quality is atrocious and you are lucky to see the stars, let alone the person you are walking next to.

Not to be discouraged, I persisted and took the bike outside, picked a direction that appeared not to have a giant mountain too close to me, and rode. On that first ride, my bike went from tolerably useable to unpleasantly annoying and crippled. If you need to get your bike repaired in Santiago, you will be told to go to San Diego, a street absolutely filled with bike shops, one after another. For the most part you will be screwed if you are a gringo like me. You will get the usual “used car sales man” treatment where one thing that they fix will lead to another thing that they will need to fix to another and another. I can tell you, do not go to Esper Bicycles. Rip off. I hope this blog puts them out of business. For all your bike solutions, you need to use a combination of three places. For standard tweaks and fixes, go talk to Lopez in front of Cerro San Cristobal at the end of Bellavista. For much more complicated and tricky fixes, go to Dr. Bike, real name is Luis, on the 900 block of San Diego. For your bike parts, go to Rafael Vargas across the street from Dr. Bike. No need to experiment, believe me, they will get you sorted.

So after a new headset, a new big chain ring, trued wheels, welded bottom bracket, greased up wheels to avoid the absolutely atrocious noise these horrible wheels make, and many hours wasted, my bike was back in action ready to be tormented.

My search for the races prior to this adventure of bike fixing proved futile but after befriending the gentleman in these bike shops I can help you cut to the chase. You can view www.ciclismo.cl to see some options with a calendar of events coming up through the year. They have all your varieties of racing although the page functions poorly and everything but the road race (ruta) section is out of date. But if you are looking for “the dogs balls” (english saying) of races you need to go to http://ciclismolaboral.cl and you will not be disappointed. This year long racing “group” is as serious as it gets as I will get to in a moment.

So lets get to the point. My training was sparse. Maybe 4 days a week and no more than two hours at a time and mostly going up and down San Cristobal, a 6km climb in the middle of Santiago. Finally Lopez told me about a ride that starts on Saturday’s at 9am on Ruta San Martin right before the first peaje in the McDonald’s parking lot. I ride the 20km to get there and find about 60 older looking men and a few woman. Ultimately the ride was fantastic and we rode 100km through the foothills of the Andes at a very fast pace and averaged a solid 35km/h over four hours. I then rode back to my house to make the days total around 140km. The most I had ridden since my time in England riding with Johnny in Manchester several months earlier. All that knowing that I had a race the next day.

I woke at 7:45 am on race day for the 10am race start time. I knew I had to ride to the race start. All I knew was that it was in San Bernardo and Los Morros and I should ask the people when I get close. I looked up a place that seemed to be San Bernardo on Google maps and was ready for what appeared to be the 20km ride to the race. I figured that as I got close, I would see other bikes and cars with bikes so I was not worried that I did not have the exact location. I set off in the morning, and encountered two guys who were going to the race. After 15 minutes they pulled over and said they were meeting a friend with a car at that spot but told me to just continue down the road for a little bit and I would be at the race. Ya right. From my house the race was a little more than 30km in the end. Thanks chicos. And I rode that 30km with pace once I realized I had a long way to go and I did not want to miss the race start.

Now, on the ride with the old men on Saturday, they made me feel that the race I was going to on Sunday was not very serious and was more of a galavant and everyone was there to have fun. They could not have been further from the truth. I arrived into the cycling world I had dreamed about and immediately I wished I was more prepared and had not ridden 140km the day before and 30km to the race. I was surrounded by hard core looking and very fit looking cyclists with the legs I had thought about before my arrival in South America. I signed up and was told I must race in Category A which is the top category. Not sure if this is because I am only 26 or look strong or what, but I begged to be put in B and they were not having it. The Masters groups went, the youths went, and finally our group of roughly 50 went last.

The race was 80km and all I was able to gather from others was that it was rolling ups and downs. One kilometer in to the race my bike computer ran out of battery so distance was only ascertained by using my mysterious sounding Spanish while we charged on at 40km+. Despite my large amount of recent kilometers, I was feeling good and stayed active in the front of the pack taking my turn to pull us along at unhealthy speeds over the rolling hills of the Andes approaching a majestic area of the world called Cajon del Maipo. After 50km and a few brutal short inclines, I found myself in the lead group with about 15 riders including one girl. The pace was break neck the entire time and as we peaked each crest, it was a sprint to try and smear mud in the eyes of the weakening riders. 65km and I was starting to think that I had a chance. I was doing my fair share of the work in our group and was feeling good, all though I struggled to say anything in Spanish at this point. Then at 70km, only 10 more to go and without warning, it happened, I hit the wall.

I played soccer my whole life. I trained often and with vigor. In university we would train five hours a day, every day, and with more vigor than I knew I had in me. But only in an individual sport like cycling or swimming or running do you have the concept of hitting the wall. I did not literally hit a wall in this race, but all the physiological workings in my body basically said to each other “Fuck this. He thinks he can work us this hard? I am going for a break, see you in an hour.” We were scaling a very slight incline and despite my mental capacity to keep going, the body just would or could not keep going. I looked down and saw my legs literally melting off the bone as if I was on some mushroom trip in a Hunter S. Thompson book. Each push of the pedals would emit a splash of lactic acid that would burn away the surrounding foliage. My arms struggled to support my weight on the handle bars and my vision would blur and then focus and then blur again. I watched with desperation as I saw the lead group cycle away and what is worse is that they were leaving me in a place you never want to be. No mans land.

The loneliness in no mans land cannot be found in many places on earth. Maybe on the antarctic plains or at the high school prom during the slow dance when you do not have a girl on your arm. No mans land, in cycling, is the space between the various groups of cyclists that form during a race. You, the road, the wind, and no one to help you or give you a break. I worked my ass off for that lead group and their pay back was to kick me in the balls, spit in my face, and push me in to no mans land. As the chase vehicles passed me with shaking heads inside, I gazed around the fabulous landscape I was riding in with the towering Andes and lush rivers and greenery, and realized I was fucked. I had 10km to go and I might as well have gotten off and ran with my bicycle at the pace I was riding.

Ultimately I finished ahead of the main pack but by only seconds. I immediately ate three bananas, a pack of cookies, a coffee, a coca cola, and a chocolate bar. I was chatting with my new friends who seemed impressed with by abilities up until the point of my spectacular body explosion. I was told that the girl we were riding with was 5th in the nation. Also that we were missing five guys who were racing in Europe in some epic races. We had a former national champion in our group. The guy I was talking to and pulling along for a bit was currently some sort of Spanish junior champion. I had no idea that I was surrounded by bullies and pros of the road. This made me feel slightly better about getting dropped.

Then I was informed that where we finished was now 50km from Santiago and at that point I think my heart bounced off the shoes of my new cycling friend Jaime who told me this. I ate two more bananas, put my jacket on as we had climbed to a cold altitude and set off to complete my weekend of riding with a final 50km. Jaime and I took turns battling the constant head wind that funneled up the Cajon del Maipo valley. Brutal.

Eventually I arrived at my house to the open and very inviting arms of my girlfriend who seemed to have no problem embracing me when I was covered in salt crystals and wearing my cycling outfit that smelled like it had just received 300km of sweat in two days. She also seemed to recognize that I needed an extra large lunch and a fresh fruit shake with yoghurt and oatmeal. Gracias mi amor. You have no idea how much better I felt after that.

Next Sunday is race day, in fact every Sunday is race day from now on. I have new training partners now and I will be sure not to ride 140km the day before and make sure my new cycling friends drive us to the race and back home from the race. Medals coming soon!

Help Beautify Stokes Croft in Bristol, England

luke — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 17:16:04 +0000

When my dad married his brother’s ex-wife, my cousins become my brothers in law. Co-bros or brosins, whatever tickles your fancy more. My entire life I have been a distant relative to my European family as I was living in southern California. But my brosins hold a special spot in my heart and they need help. Please read on to learn more.

Eudaimon Stokes Croft

My brosins are in the middle of a design competition in Bristol, England, where they both live. There is a corner in their neighborhood that is currently a big wasted space. The local government has asked for design submissions proposing the renewal of this space. Above you can see a brief outline of the proposal that my brosins have created.

This design competition already went to vote and Eudaimon, my brosins company, flattened the competition with an overwhelming turn out at the polls. However, after the vote, it seemed there was some foul play and through the miracles of bureaucracy, there has been another call for a vote/opinion from the community. The first vote was the voice of the community that lives in the area that this corner resides. The voice that matters. Now the vote can be done electronically which is where I hope you, the reader, can participate. Please visit the opinion survey link here and review the projects and then vote at the end.

The survey process is a bunch of rubbish in my opinion and forces you down this tedious path to finally vote. Do not let this deter you. You will get a chance to view all three of the projects that are currently on the voting block. Afterwards you will be asked to put in your contact information. The fields will be England specific but PLEASE put in your address wherever in the world you may reside. The text at the top of the page says they will use this information to verify that the votes are sincere so I hope these politicians do not use American addresses as an excuse to throw out votes. Ultimately, the design proposals that they have you view should be sufficient to make an opinion. Here is my opinion of the three projects:

Dallas Pierce Quintero. This group wants to create what they are calling a shadow house. A structure that will be above the corner that looks to be covered in plant life on the outside. It is constructed of a metal frame and seems to not provide much more than shade and light at night. In my opinion this will be an eye sore from a distance and worse up close. The open space of that corner will be taken away and replaced with a building like structure, which there are plenty of in that zone, made of plants. What you do when you are walking underneath? I do not know.
Eudaimon. The design is elegant and utilizes soft natural curves to reduce the impact that a new structure will have in the area. There seems to be a lot of imagination and utilization of the space that this corner offers. Although not much, Eudaimon are packing a lot of useful features. Furthermore they are encouraging the participation of the cultural community that surrounds this part of the world. Giving the people pride in their community will help protect and embrace this design and concept. The submitted designs for this project are phenomenal and obviously a lot of work was put in especially when you make the comparison to the other two projects.
Gitta Gschwendtner. Gitta has proposed a terraced garden and not much more. To be honest this design seems very weak and it makes me wonder what the other submissions to this contest were to allow this one to make the top three. What happens if the plant life should die or is damaged? Their proposal will not look much different than the space that is there currently.

So please, spend the five minutes and please vote! The voting link can be found here. Also, please spread the word to your friends and family and repost this on Twitter and facebook and all your other social media sites. Even if you do not vote, at least reshare this post for the rest of the world to make their decision. Even if I did not tell you which project was the one of my brosins, I think the best design will still emerge as theirs in the end.

Dallas Pierce Quintero

Why I Should Not Own A Camera

luke — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 03:12:20 +0000

I like to think that I am a good traveler. Like the chameleon, I can blend into almost all situations. People always struggle to guess my origins and I frequently get told “You look French. Wait! Maybe Brasilian. If not Brasilian, probably Swedish.” From doctors to marketeers to writers to wrestlers to strippers to evangelicals to politicians, we always have something to talk about. In 26 years of moving around on this earth, I do not have too many truly negative stories from my travels. A few forgotten passports or missed buses which incurred severe charges on various credit cards or the occasional over priced excursion. But never anything to write home about. However, a recurring negative theme in my travels is the fact that I lose my camera.

Camera One: Bangkok, Thailand

If there is one thing I learned in my two month journey through Europe, it was to pack a lot less. I still regret bringing a -10 degree Celsius sleeping bag to Europe in the middle of summer which was the size of three new born babies and probably weighed as much. So when I left for Thailand on another two month trip, I brought a backpack the size of a Teddy Ruxpin backpack. How is this possible? The secret is to wear the same thing everyday for two months and be sure to move quick enough so as to not be noticed by your fellow travelers who are slower than you since they packed to much. How do you do this without having stink lines all around you like the kid from the Charlie Brown comics? Have the “goto shorts.” I loved these shorts, and they walked me through four continents before they disintegrated in the middle of a heavily congested intersection while I was giving directions to a place I did not know in South America. Before that, I was sitting in a hostel in Bangkok, discussing how it would be very easy to distract a tuk-tuk driver and borrow his tuk-tuk for a joy ride around the dirtiest city I have ever known. Whilst sitting and talking, I did not feel my camera slip out of my pocket and as I departed the scene after convincing everyone to give it a go, the camera remained on that red vinyl seat for me to never see again. Of course the camera is not the important part, it is the photos and videos inside. What I lost with this camera?

Photo sequence of me teaching homeless youth how to thumb wrestle. Then betting him bubble gum. Winning many times in a row although the look on my face is of severe concentration as the kid was getting better and better with each game. My mouth had more and more bubble gum in it. Finally he wins, and I then ignore him so as to not pay him the bubble gum. My argument is that he cheated.
Stolen photos of the bangkok ping pong show.
Video of me convincing a tuk-tuk driver to let me drive his tuk-tuk. Tuk-tuks are motorized versions of the carts that you might have seen people pulling to move people around. I convinced the driver to give up his means of earning a living by showing him pictures of my brand new Suzuki GSXR 600. I was very likely intoxicated. I immediately peeled out and slammed him and my buddy to the back of their seats unable to lean forward to try and control my movements. I gunned it for the sea of tuk-tuks and joined their terrifying dance of locomotion. At 60mph the speed wobbles were tremendous and the steering wheel was almost impossible to hang on to. For that reason, I decided I had to video the situation and with one hand, reached for my camera and video taped the steering wheel shaking so violently it was impossible to put my hand back on to it and I found it hilarious to video my other arm, which was still holding on, shaking so fast it was only a blur. Additional video of two faces behind me, one from England and the other from Thailand, with a universal look of fear and discomfort, all the while with this high pitched screaching laughter that sounded like the cackle from the wicked witch of the west from the Wizard of Oz.

Camera Two: Las Vegas, Nevada USA

You know when you have an idea in your head that looks so perfect, you cannot help but follow through with that idea. And the whole time you are blinded to the fact that this really is not a good idea despite what everyone else is saying or screaming in your direction. Well as I jumped into the luxury looking bath tub in the luxury hotel room with all my clothes on including my camera in my pocket, I was temporarily blinded from any sort of logic.

And the amazing logic does not end there. After desperately trying to repair the camera by keeping it in a bucket of rice for two weeks, I decided to purchase the exact same camera with a warranty. I then replaced the case and anything else I could think of that would distinguish the bad from the good camera and intended on returning it using the warranty. Ultimately I never followed through with this plan due to my fear of being apprehended for fraud. Pictures I wish I had from this camera:

No idea. I would love to have a video of me, extremely inebriated, trying to get into the very posh club at the top of some hotel in Vegas. The bouncers wouldn’t let me in because apparently I looked “too” drunk. I requested that they quiz me and test my wits as I felt entirely in the moment and could not understand why they would not let me in. Their question to me was “What club are you at?” and as fast as lightning with an extremely smug look on my face, I replied with “Easy, this one of course.”

Camera Three: Cuzco, Peru

Let me tell you what not to do in Peru. Do not go to the main market in Cuzco, eat a fantastic and cheap lunch, purchase some very cheap clothes, drink a splendid fresh fruit shake, walk outside with your girl on your arm thinking that the world is your oyster, and think that a bird just shat in your eye. At that moment in time, you are being robbed. It was an amazingly accurate shot. They spit in your eye from behind or the side. As you attempt to recover, a lady conveniently hands you a napkin, which at the time seems incredibly lucky and fortunate. All the while, little midget Peruvians are rummaging through your pockets and sprinting away as fast as they arrived. By the end of the three seconds, I had no clue what the hell just happened. I was still looking in the sky for that damn bird. I have had bad luck in my life with birds shitting on me. I will never forget the seagulls that invaded the quad in high school with minutes to go before class. It was like the administration paid the birds to swarm the students to get them to go to class. I was in mid sprint and as I leaped for shelter a seagull received radio confirmation to dive bomb me and nailed me in my ear and shoulder. So to receive a shitting in my eye was not out of the question for me in this moment in Peru. Katherine, the girl on the arm, remained unscathed and seemed to realize before the fact that something was going on. I lost my camera and more importantly the memories on the four gig memory card which included:

A video of “Rosita” and Katherine getting acquainted. Rosita was a pink dune buggy that we rented that was incredibly temperamental and ultimately she blew all her fluids all over us, and not in a pleasant way. The video was priceless and rare footage of Katherine trying to drive.
Me and Katherine in g-strings posing our hot bodies on the beach.
A sequence of hilarious and very telling faces made on a 8 hour bus in between La Paz and Copacabana on lake Titicaca. A true series of faces that could maybe never be repeated that I would love to prin and put on my wall.
Scenic pictures of Copacabana on top of this mountain after some grueling hiking.
Buzios Brazil where life was grand and we were larger than life.

Conclusion

Tomorrow I will attempt to have camera number two repaired here in Santiago Chile. Should this fail, I will purchase another and make sure that it is of inferior quality and has the ability to be chained to my leg. Additionally I will be sure to download the pictures frequently and not rely on the memory card to store everything. Stuuuuupid.

My First Days at University of California, Irvine

luke — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 23:39:10 +0000

I do not like to suggest to people how they should live their life nor do I go out of my way to tell others that they are doing things wrong or they could be done better. Listen to this if you want some suggestions. One thing I do press on many people, however, is to be educated and this cannot be accomplished any easier than by going to university after high school. It doesn’t matter what your chosen field of study is, just go. Whilst rummaging through my Grandfather’s house in England, I encountered an email I had written to my family in England shortly after I had begun my days at University. Below is the word for word transcription of what I was learning…

Sent: 22 October 2001 21:06

Subject: And then Luke returned to reality

Luke is alive and well, extremely well in fact. College is turning out to be an awesomely awesome experience. The girls, the boos, the fun, the school, the everything all rolled up into one. Although my school is mainly Asian, actually whites and Asian I think share the percentages. But the girls are still good. A great thing to have for going into college and living in the dorms is to have a cast on your arm. It’s an instant chick magnet if you will. Plus they can sign it and leave their numbers on it and other such things. So let me give you the run through kind of…

Lady situation is awesome, many a good story, but Id have to tell you all in person, maybe dave and the guys, and not the girls actually. Very good stories actually.

My cell phone is xxxxxxxxx and it’s the only way to get a hold of me now, I do not have a dorm phone. But its free long distance I think, so Ill try and get your guys numbers and give you a ring on the tele.

Classes are great. Each class has two lectures a week and one or two discussions a week. Mondays and Wednesdays are very lax and I only have my Information Computer Science class. Great teacher and great class. Only problem is we have these projects due every Friday and the last two took me 8 hours each to code. No wonder everybody gasps when I tell them Im an ICS major. Oh well, I enjoy it and it’s fun. My math is called discreet math, it is pretty much math wihtout numbers, all logic and what not kinda related to computer logic. My professor cannot speak English for the life of her let alone teach a class full of students. Normally I end up leaving and go get something to eat. And the discussion for that class, which is a smaller group where you can normally ask questions and get a more personal response, well that guy does not speak English that well either. So I don’t often goto that either. I just teach myself out of the book, cuz Im just that crazy, although it pisses me off they give us a teacher who cannot speak English, it should be a reuirement at least. Then I have a philosophy class which is super awesome cuz the books we read are actually interesting, Sartre and Descartes and Searle and Niche and what not. All an all enjoying school life.

I joined a fraternity. A fraternity in my prior experiences was a bunch of guys who drink and scream and act just really dumb. Back in the day like early America where these fraternities started it was just a bunch of guys who wanted to start drinking clubs and that’s what most of these fraternities are. The one I joined is far from that. it is very goal oriented. Every week we have a mandatory 10 hours of study time which is very helpful cuz Im sure if I didn’t have that I would just bum it or something. A lot of the alumni, guys who have gone through the fraternity in the past are filthy rich and deep in the computer industry, good connections, that was a large motivation of me joining. The brothers, or the current active members are also awesome and very diverse. So right now Im a pledge where you are the bitch for 10 weeks although its very calm and relaxed and not difficult at all. Ive heard stories of other fraternities really messing with the pledges but these guys are too cool and lazy I think to get up early or late to mess with us. Awesome parties too, last Friday we had a pimp and ho party, jolly good fun.

I just got the cast off two days ago, oh man it feels weird but oh so good. You take for granted showering with two hands until it gets taken away form you. And now I can goto the gym and work out and all that jolly stuff.

[missing page]

OK. well after typing that out, I suppose I should give a brief response form a slightly more mature Luke. First… I want to punch myself for the rubbish writing I was sending back to my very posh family in England. Horrible diction, grammar, etc. Use a freakin thesaurus Luke of the past!

The girls were “jolly good fun” but they could not have been that much fun. I did not have sex for the first time at that point. To anyone I have told in the past that it was earlier than 18, you were lied to as to not lose your respect. LUKE OF THE PAST!! It doesn’t matter what other people think!

The cast was really fun. During one math class, I drilled a hole into the side of it with my pen so I could itch a particular point. It was one of those casts that wrapped around the thumb and across the palm. Well I felt I still needed to run and work out so my cast developed a significantly strong odor. Combine that with some sloppy wrap jobs prior to showering and the thing was often times wet. Well in another boring class, I managed to tear off the cast from the wrist up through the hand. This was probably the most important part of the cast and frequently I would give myself some very very sharp pains. Eventually I went to the doctor to get it redone and I will never forget his face as I walked in to his office holding my cast up and away form my face due to the odor and saying, “I think the cast is broken.” Luke of the past, respect your body more, you are paying for it now.

The whole part about the fraternity was very watered down. Ultimately, the reason you are in a fraternity is to establish life long connections with a diverse group of individuals from all walks of life. I will never regret that decision. Luke of the past, way to let Maui Mike convince you to join, even though he ended up round house kicking you in the chest for no good reason at all.

What was on the second page, I cannot say. Likely had to do with the off-roading through the school park, sliding down the hills in front of the dorms, eating copious amounts of food in the dorms and having horrible shits all the times, and more parties. Followed by a few cordial questions to the relatives about their goings-ons.

Of course we learn with time, but please, send your kids to school. It is the one thing I am saving for right now, to pay for my kids education. That and a wheelchair I will likely need in eight years.