Theory of Relativity - Jennifer Trudeau

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 16:21:33 GMT

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 16:42:37 GMT

You are The High Priestess

Science, Wisdom, Knowledge, Education.

The High Priestess is the card of knowledge, instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. She holds scrolls of arcane information that she might, or might not reveal to you. The moon crown on her head as well as the crescent by her foot indicates her willingness to illuminate what you otherwise might not see, reveal the secrets you need to know. The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation, particularily when it comes to your moods.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Zion: 1 (Narrows), Trudeau: 1 (Subway) - Part 3 of 3

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 13:43:27 GMT

Our last two days of vacation were peaceful in a gorgeous setting.

At the Grand Canyon we checked out the campgrounds, but they were full. We headed for Nevada. There's a hotel in Mesquite, a quaint little spot about 90 minutes north of Vegas, where we stayed in 2003 & we wanted to find it again. Mesquite is close to The Valley of Fire. H made me an offer: If he should be permitted to gallivant one full day in the Valley of Fire to his photographing heart's content, we could spend the last two nights of our vacation at the hotel in Mesquite we'd been to before and I could indulge myself to my heart's content with whatever indulgences might be had. Done, said I. Bring on the luxury and pools and fountains.

We have a bit of a history with this place in Mesquite. In Vegas in 2003 we couldn't find a hotel room. Now, I still have to believe this was a case of gross human error or something more evil and manipulative. Come on. EVERY room in every hotel in the city limits booked solid? For real? It's LAS VEGAS. All sixty-eleven thousand hotel/theme parks have about a million rooms each. Are there even that many people in the world? I still take it personally.

So there was No Room at the Inn. Drive, drive, drive. We'd already driven down that day from Yellowstone, now we were heading back the way we'd come. We were nearly to the Utah border again and considering pulling over to sleep when we inadvertently made the bowel-wrenching discovery that the gas gauge was on "E". Not close to the "E", not hovering a scant hair above it, but poking it right in the eye.

After a distressing half hour or so we found a gas station, only there were no lights on. We'd just driven ten miles or so off the main highway because a sign had advertised "gas" at this exit. There was nothing direct or accessible about the station once we did find it, and more than once we'd thought we were lost. No other businesses were visible, but the area did seem residential. The gas station was kind of at the edge of town. Beyond it was open desert and tumbleweeds and a grinning steer skull poking out of the sand. Ok, I made the skull up but we really were driving on the very last swirling tail plume of the final fume in the gas tank and it honestly was as desolate as it sounds. Thank God the pump had a credit card reader on it or we'd still be there.

After that, nobody was really tired anymore. So this is the way we shortly thereafter stumbled upon Mesquite, Nevada, with its 24-hour Jack-in-the-Box and casinos and gas stations on every corner, all of them brightly illuminated and clearly open at almost 4 am.

The hotel stood right next to the highway. I went in expecting them to be full but there were plenty of rooms available. Did we prefer smoking or non-smoking? Would we like the bellhop to bring in our bags? This place had opened the previous week, we were informed, and we might be the inaugural guests to occupy our suite. Also, we should know that the full complimentary breakfast buffet would open its doors in a couple of hours, but the pool and spa are available 24 hours if we'd like to relax. We could see the pool through the windows behind the lobby, being sprayed by a fountain. The whole thing water was surrounded by palms and plants.

The place was nice, and it was comparatively small for Nevada. Not leetle... just small on the Vegas scale. A regular-sized hotel. The suite was lovely: Two rooms, windows in the interior walls; queen beds; balcony; two big TV's; couch; microwave; coffee pot; fridge; sink in the room as well as the bathroom; iron; blow dryer; spacious bathroom with quality toiletries. The towels were artfully folded, miniature fancy bottles and bar soaps tucked marsupially away.

I love such touches when I'm traveling. The best complimentary toiletries I think I've gotten were long skinny blue flip-top bottles of Crabtree & Evelyn products at the Hilton in St. Louis. We had just seen organic honey, olive oil & oatmeal "Desert Breeze" round soap bars & shampoo, conditioner, and lotion at the hotel in Springdale, just outside the south entrance at Zion the day I destroyed my knee. Last time we were in this hotel, they had tiny little fruit and nut shampoos and conditioners and tiny fat curvy soap bars with little specks in them like vanilla bean ice cream. Everything was in different flavors: I remember cucumber and aloe and cream and honey and some kind of berry. We asked for a bunch of spares & I took some home.

This time there were less-inspiring treats to be found in the loo but there was still a full complimentary hot breakfast buffet, and our in-room coffee was decent. Also we only had to pay half-price for the suite, which was like getting one night comped; after we'd already been checked in it was discovered that we wouldn't be able to keep our room for both nights. Rather than move us the next day, they moved us into the next day's only available room -- a king suite -- right then, and we'd keep it both nights at the price of the room we'd already registered for. Yay!

We unloaded the car and got things into the beginning of some sort of order for the flight. We had days to do it: no stress. We knew where we'd be for the rest of the trip: no planning remained undone. There was absolutely nothing to do but enjoy the place. Laundry was available. Cable was available. A gym. Hot tub. The pool with fountains. And then, as we were getting the car straightened up, we noticed an inordinate number of cops around. Soon after, we learned there was some sort of law enforcement officer's convention going on the days we were there. I believe that's called synchronicity.

The next day, H and I were up at 6 out of habit. We took our time but were out in the field by 8, I think. Temps got to 106 F in the Valley of Fire that afternoon, but Mojave dry heat is relatively easy to take; there's none of that fetid sticky Detroit-summer misery that makes me want to take my own life at least once a year.

We last visited the Valley of Fire the day we got married, and it was very nice and even nostalgic to see it again. When we got back to the hotel we went down to the outdoor pool; I lay in the sun & swam. H stood around for about ninety seconds before abandoning me there. I read a John Grisham book and thought about absolutely nothing.

The Mojave's mountains have an emaciated, cadaverous look I just love. The surface soils overlie their own forms so thinly they look fragile... tissue-skins across brittle bones. Southern Nevada is in a class by itself. Not even New Mexico's curved erosions and tricks of light have the same appeal as dusty, dun Nevada. New Mexico: lipstick and eyeliner. Nevada: hipbones and clavicles and ongoing limbs. Hands-down my favorite regional topography next to the west coast.

Zion Hands My Ass to Me, Part the 2nd

Sat, 03 Oct 2009 10:26:57 GMT

So there I was, a mere 24 hours after wheels down, already in bed in a (quite nice, actually) hotel with a bag of ice instead of resting my victorious hiking bones in our tent among the tarantulas.

Intrepid Husband fussed over me the first day or so, making & bringing me coffee in bed, replenishing our ice supply, repeatedly checking my knee, yelling abusively whenever I stood or tried to walk (necessary from time to time so I could pee). When I showered he practically supervised me. There was actually a folding bench in the shower, so if I had to I could have bathed sitting, but that wasn't necessary. If I start indulging & coddling my own weaknesses they hang around, validate themselves & metastasize & while I'm not above doing plenty of that sort of thing when it serves my purposes, I know better than to get into such a cycle with an injury*.

Next day, H did Angel's Landing. To give you a taste, here's an excerpt from a hiker's experience from Natural Born Hikers:

Gaining the summit of Angel’s Landing requires more than physical stamina, you must also be mentally prepared for how strenuous and exposed the last half-mile section truly is—if you have a fear of heights, balance issues, any degree of vertigo, or are physically out of shape then this hike is NOT for you.

It scared the hell out of me when I climbed Angel’s Landing for the first time, and it is not a fear to be taken lightly—several people have fallen to their deaths from this rock promontory. But, if you feel you are up to the challenge, just take it slow and know your own limits—don’t succumb to summit fever if you feel you have overestimated your ability—simply turn around and enjoy the views from Scouts Landing.

Ok, that's not going to help me next year. Nor is this, from the same site:

At the very beginning of the ridge, just past the unprotected walk, there is a spot that you have to pull yourself up, onto, and over, a rock with a foothold carved into it—the rock, sometimes referred to as the “step of faith” is a mere three feet wide and the drop-off is thousands of feet down to the canyon floor. Pick, my friend, climbed over this obstacle like it was a pebble on a playground—I was not so lucky. Fear literally paralyzed me right where I stood, I could not force myself to take another step. Pick tried to talk me through it, giving me words of advice and encouragement, but nothing seemed to be able to convince me that I was not going to fall. As I stood there frozen, all I could think about was what if I actually make it over this point and make it to the top but can’t get back down, or what if I freeze again even higher on the narrow trail, what would I do then? We stayed there at that point rationalizing and trying to muster my courage for about 15 minutes (thankfully, it was early and no one was behind us) before Pick came to the conclusion that it would probably be best if I turned around and waited for her in a safer spot. The decision to turn around was literally killing me—I hated to accept the fact that I might not succeed at this hike, a hike that I had looked forward to for so many months! In addition, the thought of watching Pick climb the dizzying ledge by herself was almost as excruciating as giving in to my fear! But the fear was just too much—I handed my camera to Pick, wished her good luck, and then turned around. Dejected, I walked back up to a flat section and sat in the sun near a tree and watched as Pick continued the hike without me.

See, that's me. That's my fear. And that's pretty much what happened to me at age 11 when, on a rock climbing wall for the first time, I made it to the top, then refused to come down. They had to pull me off the wall with my own harness & rope. That site has a bunch of public photos of the view H saw from the top, if you're interested. The elevation increase in that hike is 1,502 feet. From the pictures he took, it's like looking down from heaven. You can see absolutely everything for miles. I cannot imagine the actual experience.

After H finished Angel's landing without me, there was nothing to do but move on.
We camped a couple of nights in Bryce Canyon, which is every bit as incredible as you hear. The air is so clear you can see for literally 40 miles and on a clear night, there are so many stars the sky is dense with them. It's like looking out from the inside of the Milky Way (which, actually, I suppose, you are). I've never seen so many stars in my life, not even in the Tetons, where they're so close and so bright they're almost frightening.

By this time, the second day post-Narrows, I couldn't easily get out of the car. Standing was a problem, just changing my center of gravity. Once I was up, I did ok. I limped, but could walk alone without the staff by the second day. There was, however, no way I could handle inclines or corners, and every time I put my foot down on any uneven surface or turned my foot, my knee let me have it. I was in Ace bandages under the brace by this point, with really good results. This is probably one reason I was able to walk unassisted so quickly. Also, getting those wraps on tight right away, then spending three hours in 50-degree water, half of it over the knee, was probably pretty helpful. It could only have been better if I hadn't had to walk on it at all right after falling, but the pain was worse when I didn't walk. We learned after my first day on ice, forbidden any unnecessary movement, that immobilization was Bad. It even made the swelling worse.

I wasn't able to do any increased elevation hikes for a couple of days but I did walk as much as possible, and in that way kept myself from getting too stiff (until the plane ride home when I was forced to sit in one position for 4 hours).

A couple of days later, at the Grand Canyon, I had a completely unique experience.

We'd stopped just to see it, since we weren't doing the Grand Staircase-Escalante at all. Neither of us wanted to go to a place we'd never been and have H hike alone again. It just isn't the same; but you don't need to hike down at all to appreciate the Grand Canyon. I've been there a few times & it always blows my mind.

We were walking along this little trail on the north rim. Paved and real short, a hundred yards or so. It led to the head of another trail we assumed had to be short and effortless, since it started off also paved. There were no warnings or anything, just a little sign that said "Bright Angel Point". When a trail is exposed and dangerous, there are typically notices. There was no length announcement, so obviously it had to be about as short as the north rim trail we'd just been on. There was a bit of a descent, but the angle was really shallow.

H says, you want to try it? Just go slow?

I did. H walked in front of me, taking pictures. Because of the slope, gentle though it was, I was paying more attention to my feet than to what was around me, more excited about being able to manage the incline than the venture out through this little copse of trees, apparently toward a little spit of rock closer to the rim, and I was halfway across the first short exposed spine before I noticed that this seemingly innocuous little trail was actually kind of nasty.

I stopped. To my left and right the ground fell away immediately into the canyon. The trail itself, no longer paved, was about thirty inches wide. Only one person at a time could cross. There were no hand rails, no fencing of any sort. If I'd tripped, I could easily have gone over. The ground to either side of the trail immediately sloped away steeply out into thin air.

This is a nightmare situation for me. If I'd had any clue this walk would take me among the birdies I'd never have gone out there with bad blisters, let alone that unpredictable knee. I'd likely have just wanted to skip it altogether since I hadn't spend two months psyching myself up to make an effort for Bright Angel Point the way I'd been doing for Angel's Landing. Bright Angel Point presented unknown factors. How far was it? What was at the end? How high? I need to know these things before I gamble with my life.

Seeing the trail narrow down so much at such a precipitous spot, without handholds of any kind, without railings or any protection whatever, disappearing visibly into the canyon from both sides simultaneously -- well, such loathsome situations have frozen me in the past, at Morro Rock at Sequoia and Mt. Washburn and the Hoodoos trail at Yellowstone. I've actually gotten down on my butt on the ground and refused to move when extreme exposure, like this, came out of nowhere, surprising me. H has had to talk me through it or place himself between me and the drop-off (not as comforting as it sounds).

But there, though I was startled to see the narrowness of the trail and the immediacy of the double dropoffs, I felt first only amazed curiosity -- Look how high we are! and: How high are we? -- and then, promptly, puzzlement. Why wasn't it freaking me out?

I waited for the fear but kept moving as long as I was able. The fear did not visit me.

The length of the trail was perhaps an eighth of a mile, much of it beyond that point just as narrow and open to the sky. On and on I went, without fear. Astonishing. Also like missing a limb. The fear was just gone -- not a little bit gone, not easier to handle, but plain not there. What's scary about this? I remember thinking. Why did this bother me?

We got to the end of the trail. There were other people at a little encircled vantage point, maybe twenty feet across, with a chest-high fence. The view was incredible, like nothing I've ever experienced. The dropoff around Bright Angel Point is sheer, not sloping away, as even Morro Rock did at the top.

For the first time, I was able to really look around myself from high up and enjoy what I saw. I felt like I was flying. I even pulled myself up a little and leaned over the fence to see what was under us (a whole lot of nothing and a piece of rock, that's what).

I made it back down the trail the same way. Back in the car, I began to think I might be able to conquer Angel's Landing after all. We both expected I'd stop at the point where you hang onto the chains bolted to the spine of rock for the last half-mile... the part described above. But if this change is permanent -- please, Lord -- that won't stop me.

Tired now; more to follow. My favorite part of the vacation comes next.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* When I was a freshman in college, my Mom and I were in a head-on crash with a pickup in a fantastic blizzard. The road was icy & we slid across the center line, straight into the pickup going the other way. Because of the ice there was no way to slow down & no way for either vehicle to get out of the way. The guys in the truck were fine -- I think there was a bloody nose -- but both cars were totalled. We were in a VW Rabbit, a compact car about the size of a Ford Focus.

Mom had a fractured sternum & sprained ankle. My face was smashed to a pulp, I had a chipped front tooth, bruises & slices, my right thumb was all but removed & my shins, while not broken, were impressively banged up. The front end of our car was driven 18 inches into the interior on the passenger's side, where I was, so while I remained upright in my otherwise relatively undamaged seat, the door was wedged against my right arm & the shattered windshield was right at the end of my nose. The glove compartment is what dinged up my legs.

Mom got her door open ok, but I was stuck. There's a nerve & an artery in one's thumb, & these remained intact with less than 1/8 of an inch of the flesh holding my thumb to my hand. I lost a piece of bone & shattered the first joint. My mom's a paramedic as well as an experienced ER nurse, & when she saw my thumb she grabbed onto it & held it together. When the ambulancefinally arrived, she had them bring her a splint, some gauze and tape, and she dressed it herself. I didn't know I'd hurt it until she started messing with it, and I didn't know she was hurt at all until I heard her howling in the ER a few hours later, though I was a bit horrified when I saw the steering wheel, which was twisted beyond recognition, as if it had been held in a fire & melted. That was how she broke her sternum.

The first ambulance took her to the hospital right away, but I didn't get there for 3 hours because they had to cut me out with the jaws of life. Very cold & annoying, waiting to be cut out with the jaws of life in a snowstorm. The obvious horror of the ciscumstances notwithstanding, it also gets boring after about fifteen minutes. I wasn't even allowed to have a cigarette.

Anyway. The point of all that is that I was told I'd likely have facial scars and probably lingering numbness as well as lose most of the use of the right thumb. I'm left handed, so this didn't bother me too much. Also, I immediately disbelieved everything I was told. They tried to keep me away from mirrors, but I eventually inadvertantly saw myself. I was told I'd lose the thumbnail for good and that only because Mom had acted fast would I be able to keep the largely useless thumb attached at all.

I'd turned 18 a month before, so it could have been just your run-of-the-mill arrogance and immortality of youth that made me so self-assured, but something worked. I never did lose the nail. I didn't lose mobility in the hand or thumb. I have no facial scarring or numbness and after the surgery, held together by a long pin that stuck out of the end of my thumb for two months, the remaining bits of bone in the first joint fused. The only thing I notice is that the right thumb is weaker. I can't bowl well, for example (not that I've ever bowled much, but my backswing is dangerous to those behind me). There isn't even a scar on my thumb.

I absolutely credit attitude & mental perspective for much of this. Same with tendon injuries to my ankles (both), as well as the torn meniscus from 1994 (which, interestingly, I was told is not at all indicated in my MRI. There's no trace of a meniscal tear at all. They kind of didn't even believe me, which was pretty gratifying).

So. The knee will be whole and good as new. If the ligament were only stretched or partially torn, I'd likely just work out for strength & skip the surgery, but a total break in the ligament? Snapped clean through? No way to discipline your way out of that one.

O, F-word.

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 23:32:04 GMT

Fully severed, right knee. The photo below depicts an example of this type of injury. Here the yellow outline shows the ACL & area of separation:

Not photogenically impressive, you ask me.

So. If I want stability in that knee -- and I certainly do or how am I ever going to finish that hike and do Angel's Landing-- I'm going to have to have surgery. Gotta have full stability, strength & range of motion -- some hikes are dangerous even when you're in the best of shape, & I do not wish to mess around or be surprised.

Good thing my old alma mater right down the street is a Big Ten school. Rabid football madness & revenue translates to exceptional kinesiology & sports medicine resources for me. Who'd have thought I'd ever be grateful for Michigan football? Thanks, Big House! Sorry about all those things I said before.

Zion Kicks My Ass

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 10:45:21 GMT

Welcome to The Narrows at Zion National Park!

Can I get you an abrupt trip to your ass in the white-water current? Broken ankle? Torn ACL to the right knee? Hey, thanks! I'll take that last one!

Let me tell you something: the teeny little green algae monsters who make lovely colonies over the surfaces of rocks in the Virgin River laugh at the months of SWAT workouts and 10-mile-hike-training of arrogant bipeds.

We flew into Las Vegas September 16, picked up a rental car, and drove the 2 hours or so to Zion. We set up a homestead and settled in for the night around 7 pm to get some decent rest; our first hike would begin right after daybreak the next morning.

This was to be a brief vacation for us, a hiking trip. We had two big hikes planned in Zion, you might recall: The Narrows and Angel's Landing. After Zion, we'd head to Bryce Canyon, where we've never been, and do as many hikes as we could handle. The last two days or so we'd spend hiking around The Grand Staircase-Escalante. We figured 7 days would do it, since we'd likely be used up by that point and in need of the restorative properties of hot tubs, regular food, and real beds. Perhaps a shower.

In we hiked on our first full day. We had to take a shuttle through Zion to the Narrows trailhead. Shuttles departed beginning at 6:15 am & we were on one by 6:30. A mile-long riverwalk trail leads to the beginning of the Narrows hike, then we were in the water by 7:30 am.

The Narrows hike is probably 90% in the the Virgin River, which has a strong current. The photo above does a respectable job representing the conditions of approximately the first three miles heading upstream from the trailhead at the riverwalk; things become much narrower (down to 12 feet) in sections which follow, hence the name. You can hike the entire length of this section of river, about 16 miles, if you're ambitious and don't mind swimming part of it. Expect waist-high water in areas, & adjust your pack accordingly. Chest-high waters are not unheard of, depending on the time of year & the season's precipitation. Walking staffs are an absolute requirement.

We were prepared: both of us had awesome heavy-duty water-hiking shoes. I carried 6 liters of H2O in my CamelBak pack, having learned ever so many valuable lessons hiking The Subway last year. I also carried an entire ER's worth of first-aid-type supplies, including multiple Ace bandages, knee and ankle braces, lidocaine cream, and all kinds of painkillers. H was packing 3 liters of H2O of his own, and enough fruit & energy supplements to keep us alive for days if need be.

It was slow going; the rocks were large, round, and slippery. Leaving the water wasn't really an option. Normal pacing was impossible. But it was a stunning setting: little waterfalls down the canyon walls here & there, pristine scents of the air & the river, the morning quiet and the sounds of the water, the near-total lack of humanity. By 9 am, we'd only made it 2-3 miles in. There were two other people on "the trail" with us at that hour. H was a few yards in front of me. I'd found my Zone.

My zone is my hiking groove. It's different for every hike, dictated by the trail, the weight of my pack, the shoes I'm in, the distance of the hike, heat or rain, & psychological demands -- for me, things like knowing that the trail would be partly elevated/exposed, whether there's a need to watch for grizzlies or wolves, what-have-you.

My zone was a slow but steady pace with my 5-foot staff, re-balancing with every step. The rocks were slippery. The current was pretty strong in places, almost nonexistent in others. My pack was probably 20 pounds. My shoes were grippy and utterly inflexible, a very good thing over the rocky bottom; in the Subway, sharp rocks and my lamentable floppy watershoes were a good part of the reason it took me so long to heal up after & move normally.

In areas on this hike, where the current was strongest, it was necessary to place one's foot facing forward into the current (we were hiking upstream), and advance at roughly a 45-degree angle, moving forward as well as across the width of the river, zig-zagging along. I found it much easier to cover distance this way, rather than trying to hike straight up the center against the current.

It was in such an area of crossing, water about mid-calf, with a white-water current, tight-packed slimy rocks on the bottom, that my right foot got stuck. It wedged in tight and wouldn't lift out. Stopping in that current was not good. Balancing was very much not easy and I had lots of weight on my back. There was no stable, even surface upon which to position my only loose foot to get the leverage necessary to un-stuck myself.

I planted my hiking staff and tried to pull out. It loosened just a bit but suddenly, and my left foot, which was holding all my weight, slid on the algae. Instinctively I pulled again on my right, trying to get it under me and hold myself against the current at the same time. Unsuccessful. My left foot slid all the way off the rocks. I toppled backwards. If I hadn't had all that water in the pack, I might have been able to stop myself. Instead, I landed on my ass in the water. My right foot stayed wedged where it was. I went down at a 90 degree angle to it: It pointed facing west; I landed facing north. There was a loud POP and my knee bent the wrong way. I hollered.

H and another guy came running back. I took advantage of my stable position with my butt planted squarely on the bottom of the river to pull my right foot loose with both hands, but then couldn't get up under my own power. H helped me. Luckily there was a narrow riverbank there, at the inside of a wide curve. On dry land, we waited a few minutes to see if I'd be able to walk.

But I couldn't straighten my leg. Not because it hurt, though it did; more startling was the discovery that it wouldn't do anything I told it to. When I was able to get it under myself by artificial means -- manually, with my hands -- it would not support my weight. If I tried to stand on it, it collapsed.

At this point, real fear. The only way out was the same way we'd come in. We'd planned to cover at least another two or three miles before turning around. I wanted to go on; it's an awful feeling leaving a hike unfinished. Also, there were features of the landscape I really wanted to see. For about ten minutes I waited and hobbled and tried. I had to take my pack off.

After ten minutes, I was able to partially straighten my leg, though doing so hurt like unholiest hell and I yelled involuntarily every time. Eventually, I could take a step, but not complete one -- my leg gave out. I began to face reality: not only was it probably impossible, it would likely be supernally stupid to try to continue. Using the leg at all was clearly not to be advised. Whatever damage I'd already done could probably be worsened if I fell again.

It began to dawn on me that we might actually be in a sincere state of emergency. The canyon walls are so close together I don't think a helicopter could lower a basket or anything; there's just no space. Paramedics would be forced to hike in and hike me out. They'd have to put me on a stretcher. The thought of being carried aloft in my damaged state at the mercy of the current and mean algae and paramedics was ever so much worse than the prospect of hiking out myself.

Eventually, it didn't hurt unless I took a step or extended the leg too much. There was one position that was pain-free and as long as I kept my leg in it, I could stump along with assistance. The staff was largely sufficient, but to cross the water I needed real help. We wrapped it tight with Ace bandages. I cried and swore and put it off, but we eventually turned around. It took twice as long for us to hobble me out as it did to get in there.

In 1994, I tore a meniscus in this knee. I'd been advised at the time to have it surgically repaired but refused. That injury was (superficially, at least) much worse, though not as sexy -- the pain was so bad I almost passed out. My knee swelled three or four times its normal size right away, and the whole thing turned green and blue in about 24 hours. I'd torn it squatting in front of a bookcase. I still don't know how. I didn't lean or do anything at all unusual. I'm 5'8" and weighed about 118 pounds. I was 23 years old. I refused to believe I'd sustained a reading injury, particularly one serious enough to require surgery.

This time that knee didn't swell right away and didn't bruise at all. Of course, that meniscus was already in bad shape; that audible "pop" was a bad sign. By the next morning it had swollen, though nothing like last time. Of course, we still have no idea what I really did to it.

Needless to say, I did not even get to attempt Angel's Landing. H did it in 3.5 hours, and took spectacular photos. If he'll permit me, I'll upload some.

MRI tomorrow. I fear the worst; I'm thinking the best I can hope for at this point is to have my knee scoped. I'm wearing a brace. Have to go back to teaching today.

The rest of the trip To Be Continued.

The word you're looking for is 'idolatry'

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 16:49:49 GMT

"Everybody worships. The only choice we get is WHAT to worship...

If you worship money and things-- if they are where you tap real meaning in life-- then you will never have enough. Never feel you have enough. It's the truth.

Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you...

Worship power-- you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay.

Worship your intellect, being seen as smart-- you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on...

Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation...

The really important freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.

That is real freedom."

-- This is Water, David Forster Wallace

Amen to that.

I've been focusing intently recently, so I haven't been good about keeping you-all up on NASA. I hope you didn't miss Endeavor the other day.

There'll be a more substantial update shortly. I'm writing at the moment; just took a brief break.

Space Weather News for Aug. 16, 2009

Mon, 17 Aug 2009 00:03:42 GMT

http://spaceweather.com

MONDAY MORNING SKY SHOW: Set your alarm for dawn. On Monday morning, Aug. 17th, Venus and the crescent Moon will gather beautifully close together in the eastern sky. For many observers in North America, the International Space Station (ISS) will make an appearance, too. It's a fantastic way to begin the day.

Click here for a sky map and ISS flyby predictions.

Miseries in thermodynamics. Distraction. Comfort food.

Sun, 16 Aug 2009 15:34:54 GMT

It's been uncomfortably warm here. Not bad enough for the air conditioner, but too hot for decent sleep, & too hot for any actual productivity. I cannot cook or write or socialize. I do not care what NASA's doing. The periodicals sit unopened.

I find myself capable of interaction with kitties & fiction, though.

Someone make me potato salad. No onions. I'll pay you.

Don't look at me.

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 12:52:04 GMT

A week ago I read from Surface Properties of the Moon in Hamtramck, a little neighborhood buried within the city of Detroit proper like a tiny island. The reading included a number of other writers with work mentioned in Dzanc's Best of the Web 2009 anthology, local authors Peter Markus, Mike Czyzniejewski, Matthew Olzmann, and Matt Bell.

Yeah, I said nothing here. I said nothing about it in real life, either,beyond a very limited announcement to immediate family, because despite my difficulties I was proud and pleased about being asked to participate. I'd have liked the involvement of others to end there.

I've gotten some grief over this one, too, having pissed off friends and family again by doing something meaningful on the sly (previous offenses included graduating from USC and getting married in Vegas). My dad -- who missed both of these other events -- was there this time, for my first public reading since grad school, largely because I couldn't really stop him. My husband was there because without him I'd never have been able to do it.

Honest to God, people. Don't take my agoraphobia or anthrophobia personally. I PLAIN DO NOT LIKE THE ATTENTION. On the STORIES and WRITING, YES. On my stupid FACE and PERSON, NO NO NO and NO.

I am not trying to be coy or interesting. I am not being falsely modest. This sort of thing destroys my ability to sleep, sometimes for weeks. I get diarrhea. I spontaneously yak.

I've been told there's no evidence of this in my actual comportment or presentation of whatever it is I'm appearing in public to do. Trust me -- I am most fucking miserable. Why this type of self-presentation is different from teaching is inscrutable to me and everyone who knows me. It isn't just my own writing that brings it on -- my mother had to sedate me so I could make a toast at my brother's wedding, where I was Best Man, and doing faculty lectures at my university is just as heinous. However. Teaching, which entails demonstrations in front of all kinds of people, bothers me not a scrap. I suppose that's why phobias are IRRATIONAL. There is no RATIONAL behind them. Actually, it just means I'm neurotic. Judge me or sue me, just do it from a distance.

Some very kind people had very kind, flattering words about the reading. I was and am grateful, and glad they were able to experience at least part of the story (time constraints), so for that reason I'm glad to have done it.

Despite my many issues, the reading itself was interesting. It happened at Cafe 1923, a cool little place on Holbrook that has its own library. At this I marvel. It was perfect. There was a decent turnout, before which I did not find myself paralyzed. Some of the other stories & poetry were fantastic and fascinating. I may even have seen one or two shaking hands as other readers read their stuff, which actually helped my own nerves some.

I need a stunt reader.

Nope, but thanks for asking.

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 15:01:49 GMT

Recently I've been asked multiple times about Twitter & will I follow so-and-so.

Here's the thing. In 2006 I read an article in MIT's Technology Review on Twitter, then brand-spanking-new. I created a profile, explored the service, and abandoned the profile within 48 hours.

Today, Twitter is almost exactly the same. Like with Google and facebook, the greater public has been slow on the uptake. Now comes the lemming deluge.

Since 2006 I have not used Twitter. While there are multiple "Jennifer Trudeau" profiles there -- as there are Jennifer Trudeau facebook profiles & Google results representing Jennifer Trudeaus who are not this one -- on Twitter, they are NONE of them mine.

Nor will they be. And while there are a few notable authors whose work and online journals I enjoy who have embraced Twitter, I don't read any feeds.

It isn't reading. It isn't writing. What it IS is the lowest common denominator times three; I do not care about anything that can possibly be said in 140 characters or fewer. About the facebook status, which was created to mimic Twitter, I have always felt the same. I nearly never use that, either.

Sorry, but there it is. I mean no offense to those who use and love the service. Go, you. It isn't for me.

As you were.

South Manitou Island. Breaking 10 miles. Full gear in a downpour.

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 11:53:11 GMT

This is South Manitou Island. Looking west toward Lake Michigan.

Nice little beach going around it, yes? NO. Is hellbitch to hike (rocks/sand).

Just offshore from the Sleeping Bear Dunes, S. Manitou lies about 2 hours by ferry off the western coast of Michigan's lower peninsula. In this photo from NASA, it's the first island looking south-to-north along the left coast, close to the little 'pinky' peninsula of the mitten (the two islands close together here are South & North Manitou):

We camped here July 18-22. Certainly worth the trip, though the boat ride over was delayed five hours because of high winds & rough seas. We were told we wouldn't even be able to make it out of the harbor. Waves coming over the breakwall were monstrous. We were stranded most of the day, a hundred backpackers in 30 mph winds on the dock. Insane parasurfers were taking advantage of the winds, but one of them eventually drowned in front of an audience. More support for Darwin. A Coast Guard helicopter had to be called in to locate the body in the heaving waves, which about 3 hours later, when conditions had improved, would have calmed to mere 8-foot seas. Instead of hauling the corpse out of the Coast Guard boat that eventually brought it ashore -- in front of the crowd still waiting for the ferry -- local authorities hauled off the entire boat.

H and I have been on heaving, roiling seas before -- our whaling trips, in Monterey and to the Farrallon Islands 20 miles off the coast near San Francisco, took us far from land, but conditions for this ride, in July Lake Michigan, were worse than either of our four- and eight-hour ocean trips in sizable seacraft. Without a doubt a mortally terrifying experience: The water tossed the ferry near-airborn. Fortunately H had the foresight to pack ginger chews (nausea remedy for wusses with tummyaches).

Once we got to the island, we had a short, <2 mile hike inland to our campsite. This otherwise simple trek was made a bit miserable by the long delay waiting for the boat, the rough ride that took almost an hour longer than it should have, temps in the 50's with that bitch of a wind on the water, and the fact that I hadn't slept the night before. We'd planned to leave the house around 4 am. I was wide awake at 1:30, so I'd just given up.

By 5 pm when we got to the island, I was feeling it. We set up camp over a 100-foot bluff right over the beach on the island's south-west side. A stunning location we were fortunate to have recommended to us as we hiked in, when I accosted a young guy to ask about the sites. He recommended the location & when we saw it, we were grateful. It had a view of Sleeping Bear on the mainland 7 miles off; the 450+ foot golden dunes reflected the sunsets and turned vivid pink.

I re-read Wilson's Crooked Tree, my annual July tradition. We hiked 5.5-6 miles or so the first full day, checking out a grove of old-growth cedars, a shipwreck, and South Manitou's own 300-ft. Perched Dunes on the west side of the island. We were gone maybe 4 hours. Very leisurely, more of a walk, really, 90% of it along inland well-groomed trails.

The third day we hiked the perimeter of the island, 10 full miles. 10 miles, I say. That's breaking double digits for me, a personal hiking record. I was fooled into thinking this would be relatively untaxing work, endurance demands aside; we'd be keeping to the shoreline. It would certainly be level. That's simple, right? Wrong. Hiking in the sand is tricky and kills the calves; if you're not wearing water shoes (I wore my boots), you're either hiking in loose sand, over many many 2-inch rocks -- very Zion -- or in the surf in heavy wet hiking boots to keep to a packed-sand surface. H had no such difficulties; he wore the water shoes we got for this fall's upcoming Zion Narrows hike. So he did well, though he carried both our CamelBaks & food to fuel us; his daypack probably weighed 30 lbs. Good thing he's all manly.

We enjoyed it; headed out before 8:30 am and we were back at the camp by 2:30. Wore 30 SPF sunscreen and both of us still got decent tans. Saw a cormorant nesting site, though -- thousands of them in wind-bare trees at the top of a high dune. Loud, smelly and excellent.

Cormorants & gulls have also taken over the hull of the wreck of the Francisco Morazan, run aground in 1960 during a snowstorm, just offshore:

Morazan images © Bert Gildart, gildartphoto.com

Note the very excellent swimming beach bottom. Such swimming was to be had intermittently around the island, between rocky patches. We found an awesome spot just as we set out from our campsite for the shoreline hike and noted it. The next day, Tuesday, that's about all we did -- found that beach, lay in the sun, & swam. It was a perfect 83 degrees. The water is shallow and clear for a hundred feet; we sat on the bottom about 50 feet from shore for hours.

Yes yes. An altogether perfect summer escape, until the hike out Wednesday morning. It had started to rain the night before, right around dusk. Rained steadily all night. We stayed dry. It stopped around 6 am. We got up & packed up as quick as we could. Before we'd gotten the tent in the pack, though, there was a serious downpour. It rained like nobody's business. We were soaked to the skin in literally 60 seconds, and it just kept on raining the whole rest of our return hike. I could barely see, because I'd worn my glasses. First they were wet, then they were foggy. Finally I gave up & just followed the smudge of H's pack in front of me, hoping I wouldn't break a stupid ankle. As soon as we got to the docks, it stopped. I had to wring the water out of my shirt. It would have filled a wine glass.

Sgt. Badass is training me with SWAT workouts now as we prepare for Zion. I'm all het up for that one. Can't wait! Zion! Yes! I'm trying to convince H to drive the 2 hours to the Grand Canyon for a day hike as long as we're gonna be so close to it.

Will I have the stones, so to speak, to do Angel's Landing at Zion? It's soooo high up, and part of it is just along the spine of a rock like 3 feet wide with something like 1500 ft. drop on the left side, 2000 on the right. H would have no problem with this, but I may freeze.

Doing Angel's Landing would be conquering a big and old fear for me (heights). I've done some exposed hikes with H before, but only a few hundred feet, with the notable exception of Morro Rock, in Sequoia NP, California. That one was an ass-kicker:

It's open like that all the way up. I cried.

That's not me in the picture. Just a photo I Googled.

OH HELL YES

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 00:39:15 GMT

I just do not get tired of watching this; I've seen it at least ten times today. Received it last week.

Opportunity for self-enlightenment: Do I love this because A) I just love Marshall and have a crippling bias in his favor in all respects, or B) Because the remix simply fucking ROCKS -- which it does, to the point of extremesis -- or C) Because Travis ever so VERY clearly loves 3 AM?

Marshall emailed this to me. Chew dat.

& Speaking of Space

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 22:51:51 GMT

Space Weather News for July 15, 2009

http://spaceweather.com

NOCTILUCENT CLOUDS GO WILD: An intense display of noctilucent clouds (NLCs) lit up the skies of Europe and North America last night. Bright electric-blue tendrils were visible through fireworks during Bastille Day celebrations in France, while the clouds descended as far south as Nebraska in the USA. Sky watchers should be alert for a repeat performance tonight. Observing tips and photos of the July 14th-15th display may be found at these URLs:

Europe: http://spaceweather.com/nlcs/gallery2009_page12.htm

USA: http://spaceweather.com/nlcs/gallery2009_page13.htm

Please visit http://spaceweather.com for updates.

(from Space News.)

We have MECO

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 22:13:35 GMT

& they're in orbit!

SCORE!

Liftoff!

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 22:07:15 GMT

So far, so good...

Endeavour on the Launchpad: STS 127 @ T-9 Minutes and Holding! HUA!

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 21:39:57 GMT

YES! New Space Shuttle Mission Updates!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009 5:09 PM

At NASA's Kennedy Space Center in Florida, countdown clocks are holding at T-9 minutes. This is today's final built-in hold and is scheduled to last 45 minutes. Space shuttle Endeavour and a crew of seven astronauts are awaiting liftoff at 6:03 p.m. EDT.

There are no technical issues being reported by the launch team, and weather conditions continue to improve. Storms to the northwest have dissipated, while a system to the northeast is not interfering with the countdown at this point. At this point, weather is "go" on all constraints.

The astronauts are strapped into Endeavour's crew module. Once the launch pad closeout crew closed and latched Endeavour's side hatch for flight, they finished up their work in the pad's environmentally controlled White Room before departing to a roadblock a safe distance away.

from NASA RSS, as usual. Watch NASA TV for the live launch!

You're welcome!

Space Station Marathon

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 18:42:26 GMT

Reproduced from NASA Science News:

July 3, 2009: If you've never seen a spaceship with your own eyes, now's your chance.

The International Space Station (ISS) is about to make a remarkable series of flybys over the United States. Beginning this 4th of July weekend, the station will appear once, twice, and sometimes three times a day for many days in a row. No matter where you live, you should have at least a few opportunities to see the biggest spaceship ever built.

Check NASA's ISS Tracker for flyby times. Click the right-pointing arrow to go to the details of each entry.

Above: In bright evening twilight, the International Space Station soars over Hawaii's Kilauea Volcano on June 3, 2009. Image credit and copyright: Stephen O'Meara. Used with permission.

The ISS has been under construction for nearly 11 years, and it has grown very large and very bright. The station is now more than 350 ft wide (wider than a football field), has 12,600 cubic feet of labs and living quarters, and on Earth would weigh about 670,000 lb. Sunlight illuminating the massive outpost makes it shine fifteen times brighter than Sirius, the brightest star in the sky.

Sometimes it is even brighter than that. Sunlight glinting from the station's flat surfaces (mainly solar arrays) produce dazzling flares as much as six hundred times brighter than Sirius. For astronomers: On the scale of visual magnitudes, space station flares register -8.

"The station flared spectacularly on May 22nd when it passed over my backyard observatory in the Netherlands," reports amateur astronomer Quintus Oostendorp. "I knew the ISS was coming, so I had my telescope ready and I was able see exactly what happened."

Above: Sunlight glints from the space station's solar arrays on May 22, 2009. Photo credit: Quintus Oostendorp of Vaassen, the Netherlands.

At present, the flares are unpredictable. No one knows when they will happen or exactly how bright they will be. Any given flyby could be interrupted by one—and that's what makes the watch so much fun.

The marathon of space station flybys won't stop until mid-to-late July (depending on your location). That gives space shuttle Endeavour, currently scheduled to launch on July 11th, time to reach the space station and join the show. As the shuttle approaches station for docking, many observers will witness a memorable double flyby—Endeavour and the ISS sailing side by side across the starry night sky.

Endeavour is on yet another space station construction mission. This time it will deliver a "space porch" to be added to Japan's Kibo science laboratory module. The porch is not a place where astronauts can sit, relax and watch the stars drift by (although that is not a bad idea); it is a science platform. When an experiment needs to be exposed to the hard vacuum or energetic radiation of space, it can placed outside on the porch to take advantage of the space station's unique research environment. The official name of the porch is the Kibo Japanese Experiment Module Exposed Facility and it will add its own small contribution to the station's reflected luminosity in the night sky.

What now? Check for flyby times, ready your telescope (optional), and let the sightings begin.

----

Awesome.

4 am EST/x2. 90F+ (Tornado Weather). 3 cr.

Wed, 24 Jun 2009 16:51:52 GMT

Sultry 'round town. Sleeping later & up earlier because of it. Two days in a row I've come fully awake at 4:00 am. Ok, I don't mind getting up early. I like getting up when it's still dark out, but that's. Just. Stupid. I barely went to bed. Two days in a row? I never sleep before 1 or 2, and it's been closer to 3 before I feel tired enough to even try to sleep.

Got up anyway. Coffee heals all wounds.

We seem inadvertantly to've made the jump from our lovely, lengthy chillish spring directly into the 90's -- or close to it -- about a week ago. Here in this hellish humid hole of heat I fester, bedays. Because running the air conditioner for days at a time does things obscene to the electric bill, we tend to rely on fans and cold showers as long as it's tolerable... once that air goes on, getting me to turn it off at all for the rest of the summer is harder than getting me to go to work.

Fans oscillate. The ceiling fan in the kitchen improves things.

The cats unscroll themselves on the hardwood floors & the bathroom tile, up against the porcelain tub, glaring when I go by. Iris wouldn't eat two days ago, which was the warmest, most humid day we've had so far. When I walked into the kitchen that morning she rolled onto her back and held her paws under her chin, like a bunny, looking sad. She's taking the heat like a personal betrayal. Her eyes don't fully open. A few minutes ago I snatched her up & took her down to the basement, where it's cooler. We played a little; she doesn't look as though she feels punished anymore.

Now she & the rest of them are just unconscious. Wish I were. I should just turn the air on but I'd have to #1) Admit defeat, and #2) Admit it's summer & we all know you don't come back from that. Let me put it off as long as possible.

I found an apple-scented candle the other day that made me nostalgic for fall; I even pulled out a pumpkin spice handsoap dispenser. New school year! That means new books! Falling leaves! Halloween plans! Pumpkins! Can'twaitcan'twaitcan'twait. Bring on the autumnal equinox.

I just accepted my first fall class.

Curtains Up

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 13:31:07 GMT

In the wake of the recent appearance on this journal of my review of Eminem's new double album Relapse, there have been a notable number of new & returning readers, more than a few Detroit-based (!), to the journal. Was that review linked somewhere?

Welcome, guys. Thanks for coming back. For those of you who may not have seen it, there's a profile here with more information about me. Links to a few stories & interviews available online appear in the profile, if that sort of thing appeals to you. You're welcome.

Also, for your edification, below I've pasted a facebook thing I participated in months ago. It seems appropriate to reproduce now. The idea was to post 25 things about yourself.

I've been on facebook for years, but it's NOT a public profile. I created a profile there only because my cousins (particularly my cousin Janna, a tribal police officer -- very intimidating) from my reservation made me. There are so many of them; they're very hard to fend off en masse. Also Mohawks are notoriously fierce, you will recall. It's hard to keep track of everyone otherwise, & facebook does make it ever so very easy.

Please, please don't send me facebook friend requests. I hate doing it, but I reject them all from people I don't know in real life. I'm an extremely private person. I'd say it's not personal, but if I don't know you, it sort of is. Sorry. (Unless you're Marshall Mathers. Then I'll be your facebook friend.)

Anyway. In case you're curious, here's a glimpse of me.

1. I have 4 cats. In order of eminence, they are: Cain (15), Pea (12), Octavia (after Octavia Butler; 1.5), and Iris, 8 months. Octavia and Iris arrived here within 6 weeks of each other last spring.

2. I have nearly no sense of smell; however, I have a big nose. This is how God kicks me.

3. I'm either late for everything, or half an hour early because I thought I was supposed to be there an hour earlier than I was in fact expected. [Note that if I'd gotten the time right, I'd have been half an hour late.]

4. I am getting a skunk's stripe of silver hair right at the crown of my head. Do I smell like one, too? Cause, you know, I wouldn't notice (see #2).

5, 6, 7: I write full time and teach part-time, so (5) my days involve a lot of reading for work. It's not unusual for me to read 8-10 hours some days. Sometimes I forget what a luxury this is.

A Typical Day: (6) I get up between 5:30 - 6 am. I drink coffee strong enough to fuel military aircraft and read and write until noon. After Rich goes to work, if I don't have classes that day I'll do housework, go to the gym, then read again from about 8-11 pm. I do a second writing shift instead of reading when I'm really interested in something I'm working on.

Sometimes I work straight through the day if it's going well. This may or may not be intentional. (7) I have missed classes this way, both as a student and an instructor.

8. You'd think I'd get in trouble for such professional malfeasance, as I should. Happily, I'm well-loved at work and frequently get away with murder. It helps that I love what I do. I can't believe I get paid for it.

9. I save cat whiskers in a tiny, 1" tall carved stone vase. I can usually tell whose they are when I find them.)

10. On February 1 this year, Rich and I celebrated the 20th anniversary of being a couple. We got married in Vegas on his birthday in 2003, our 14th year together (we sort of eloped, to nobody's surprise).

11. I have an extensive, perhaps valuable, Doors collection. Vinyl music prints, some first editions, 45's, rare books, publications from the 60's. I have both box sets & rare stuff & some bootlegs.

12. I read a lot of science literature. I have something like 12 subscriptions. It can be prohibitively expensive but I'm on some kind of awesome mailing list and I keep getting new offers (!).

13. I also keep Scientific American's book club in business. Don't tell my husband.

14. I intend to go back to school for my doctorate in the next few years. I need some prerequisites before I can do it, but I'm looking into biochemistry & molecular biology, or molecular biology and genetics. I start a chemistry course this week.

15. I do not like most people. I'm sort of a bitch. Ok, I'm definitely a bitch. Get away from me.

16. I have a horrible potty mouth and rarely edit myself. I'm sort of socially inept, come to think of it... all of this gets worse as I get older.

17. I hate to bathe. I DO it, I just despise it.

18. I speak to every animal I encounter. I do not think about this before I do it. Animals like me. Once a squirrel I passed followed me, pied-piper-like, down the middle of the sidewalk for almost two blocks. A guy who saw me talk to the squirrel stood in front of his house and watched us the whole way.

19. Last September my husband and I did a 9-mile hike in Zion National Park in Utah through a slot canyon to see a formation called "The Subway". There were signs posted along the trail which read: "Warning! Falls from cliffs on this trail have resulted in death!" We had to sign waivers agreeing that we wouldn't hold the NPS liable should we, you know, die on our hike. The waiver read, in part, "YOUR SAFETY AND/OR RESCUE ARE NEITHER IMPLIED NOR GUARANTEED."

The whole hike was over rocks upon rocks upon boulders of all sizes, from pebble-scale to semi-trailer (not kidding). Occasionally Rich had to climb down first and stand in front of me, four or five feet below the bottoms of my feet, as I sat on top of one of the monsters, and sort of catch me as I slid to my demise. It was 95 degrees that day. I used every muscle in my body. In 9 hours, we'd done it. I thought I would die. I could not walk normally for 7 days. Teri and Robert can attest to this, because they saw me stumping around about 5-6 days afterward.

Climbing out of the canyon at the end of the hike, 400 feet up the side of a cliff, just as twilight was coming on, we saw a male tarantula.

When I feel oppressed by writing or public speaking or right-wing conservatives or whatever, I remember Zion. That hike was the sort of life-defining achievement you cling to, right up there with marriage and college degrees.

We plan to go back to do Angel's Landing and the Narrows later this year.

20. I sleep about 4 hours a night these days, unless I'm at my mom's. There I can easily sleep 10 hours.

21. I'm left-handed to eat, write, and play guitar but I bat, pitch, and bowl right-handed.

22. I do not answer my phone when it rings. I didn't have a cell phone until 2005. I hate being summoned.

23. I constantly talk to God.

24. I have an evil temper.

25. I hate being the center of attention and avoid it wherever possible. This is why there was no audience at my wedding.

Thank you and good night.

Gakked from docbrite

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 16:21:05 GMT

Is Your Character a 'Mary Sue'?

My novel's protagonist's score:

0-10 points: The Anti-Sue. Your character is the very antithesis of a Mary-Sue. Why are you even taking this test?

Thanks, Holmes.

Truism. Idolatry. Embarrassed on the behalf of an imbecile.

Thu, 18 Jun 2009 03:12:07 GMT

They who understand the least make the most (incoherent) noise.

Imitation is derivative. It is the opposite of creative. It is something I penalize my students for resorting to.

Yes, that's a preposition at the end of the previous sentence; there is no great big stick up my butt.

As you were.

Ψο θυιερο Ταξο Βελλ.

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 22:26:01 GMT

Thank you, Lord, for such fantastic weather.

Surface Properties of the Moon a "Best of the Web Notable Work"

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 02:51:21 GMT

This just in, from Dan at Dzanc Books:

I'm writing with what I hope is to be considered some good news - your story Surface Properties of the Moon is listed as a Notable Work in the very soon to be published Best of the Web 2009 (Dzanc Books, July 2009). The anthology is an annual collection of the best fiction (both short stories and flash fiction), poetry and essays to be found published from the previous year (actually November 1 through October 31). This year there are 60 pieces collected in the anthology, and then another 62 listed as Notable Works - where we list the journal, author name and work title. These we consider to be comparable to the 100 Distinguished Stories you'll find listed in the back of the Best American anthology series'.

Woot! I'm Notable. Pretty soon Marshall will be writing songs about me.

Relapse: Eminem, 2009

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 16:25:22 GMT

Bloody fantastic stuff here, & I predict that most people will despise this album and miss the potent subtext. Will they recognize Dr. West? Will they get "My Darling"? "Tonya"? "Insane"? Not likely.

Relapse will probably cost Eminem more than a few long-term fans and I suspect only professional-level drug addicts will actually be able to appreciate the seriousness & pathos of the struggle depicted -- & the victory achieved -- particularly in the allusions to multiple murders committed during blackouts. Just wait for the outrage of those who think he's talking about killing people. Without a certain ironic insight into addiction, the danger of literalism interpreting the epic narrative behind Relapse is sure to horrify the ignorant & unimaginative interpretation. I expect many folks will miss the lyrics that practically spoon-feed the metaphor (can you say self-destruction?).

There are a thousand redundant reviews of Relapse out there taking the album to task for self-reverence & cliche & (subjectively assigned) substandard tracks. If you want negative criticism of this album, go find one of those. The sort of shit being turned out by authors of such reviews is guilty of its own redundancies & cliches. You all sound like each other. This doesn't imply I've just swallowed whole everything Relapse brings to the table, but dissing it isn't my objective here.

I love that Em lives barely half an hour north of Detroit even though he's got so much money he could build his own island in the south Pacific & buy Hawaii so he wouldn't have to have any neighbors. I love his contempt for the mindless adulation he suffers everywhere he goes, particularly when it comes from shallow women (which isn't to say he won't exploit them when it serves his purposes, libidal or lyrical). I love his scorn for fame. In defiance of all judgment, he lays the innermost layers of his heart out as if in autopsy, giving it all up: the tough & the tender & the insecurity, as well as the judgment he knows full-well is coming back to bite him in the ass. This he does not fear. Hyperbole, always there in his writing, is handled with humor & sarcasm; half the people on the receiving end of it won't recognize they've just been insulted. Always, always with a sense of humor... which is not to say he didn't mean it. I'm always surprised by how few people -- even some serious fans -- don't see Marshall's rampant sense of humor in almost every single song. I could be reading it in, I suppose. I'd hate to think so, since that wry, dry black humor is one of Em's greatest qualities. He almost always makes me laugh, however awful the images in the songs may be. How can you listen to his stuff and not see the humor? He's so self-deprecating. It's really priceless.

All of this elevates the real Slim Shady above the abilities of his, er, colleagues in craftsmanship & inherent literary quality. Yes, I said literary; the medium is unorthodox for the term, perhaps, but within its own parameters, Marshall brings hallmarks of literary excellence into play: thematic development, tension, style, mastery of the language, form and meter when he feels like it -- to say nothing of metaphor, simile, et al -- without pretension or affectation. On the whole I'd much rather hang out with him than most of the department at the university where I teach.

Shady's definitely a raging misogynist & homophobe. Well, nobody's perfect. The life experiences so far publicly related support a certain logic behind development of these characteristics; whether they're accurate or not only Marshall and possibly his mother, brother, & Kim know. If you're at all familiar with the content of his ouvre, nothing in this new installment will surprise you. Shock is part of the territory of rap. Do most people believe that the screenwriters & actors in the innumerable Saw movies are actually killers in everyday life?

In Relapse, Em's trademark metrical near-perfection & alliterative felicity (which initially hooked & made me an admirer) are back, big & bad as ever, on especially powerful display in "3 AM" and "Beautiful". "Beautiful" may be my new favorite piece; at the very least it's close behind my all-time favorite, "White America" from The Eminem Show (poignant since people always mistake Mohawk me for Erica Whitey).

The monotonous tone of the vocals in "Beautiful" underscores its subjects: depression & profound despair at the demands of maintaining responsibility to one's own heart despite certain fallout. Just like the end of the love affair with his drug(s) of choice, here's the first indication in song that Eminem's love affair with rap might be likewise wrapping up. As it were. But more on this below. The toneless voice in "Beautiful" might carry the whole song on its own if the writing packed less of a punch. Consider:

... just can't admit
or come to grips
with the fact that
I may be done with rap
I need a new outlet
I know some shit's so hard to swallow
but I just can't sit back and wallow
in my own sorrow
but I know one fact
I'll be one tough act to follow
one tough act to follow
one tough act to follow
here today, gone tomorrow
but you have to walk a thousand miles

[chorus]
in my shoes
just to see
what it's like
to be me
I'll be you
let's trade shoes
just to see what It'd be like to
feel your pain
you feel mine
go inside each other's minds
just to see
what we find
look at shit through each other's eyes

And:

... starting to lose my sense of humor
everything is so tense and gloom, I
almost feel like I gotta check
the temperature in the room
just as soon as I walk in it's like
all eyes on me so I try to avoid any eye contact
cause if I do that then it opens a door to conversation,
like I want that

I'm not looking for extra attention
I just wanna be just like you
blend in with the rest of the room
maybe just point me to the closest restroom

I don't need no fuckin manservant
tryin to follow me around and wipe my ass
laugh at every single joke I crack
and half of them ain't even funny, like
Waah! Marshallyou'resofunnyman
youshouldbeacomedian,Goddamn!

Unfortunately, I am...

But you've got to hear that monotone, that vocal colorlessness. It's the sonic manifestation of depression. Caveat: people who don't know Eminem's other albums won't get anywhere near the full impact the flatness in this song carries. Its force is powerful beyond his typical rage precisely because this lack of inflection is such a divergence from his top-volume range ("White America" from The Eminem Show), or his fantastic sense of sarcasm ("Kim" from The Marshall Mathers LP, "Business" and "Superman", The Eminem Show). Those who know the Marshall Mathers of the last 10 years will witness first-hand the results of the serious damage he's seen recently in "Beautiful". It brought me to tears. No lie.

Further laudable: "Same Song & Dance", "We Made You", "3 AM", the "Mr. Mathers" skit, which grabbed me by the heart. & "Deja Vu". Lord. I'm right there. "Careful What You Wish For" is the perfect exit line, also rending the heart. God. How do you survive this? I ask you.

I once considered a tramp-stamp of "EM2" in the font of the Detroit Tigers "D":

After Relapse, this might actually happen.

Listen. By knowing what we know about Em, what he's given us to know him by, however limited, fictionalized though it may be, we can tell that there are so many of his own handprints in his own blood all over these albums, enough of his raw gut & full-throttle heart torn & woven throughout 90% of his songs to see that the man has shredded himself for the sake of words. If these words are that important, then I take what they have to say seriously.

Now, about the toll his career has taken on him. On his marriage. On his family. On his relationships. On his sense of identity and his peace of mind and his very fucking survival, which is now in question. This is what most of his songs are about. If you look at this guy's work with any kind of eye toward understanding why he says these things, you come out the far side of Relapse wondering if Relapse itself isn't the actual relapse, the comeback album where none should have been for the sake of the sanity of the man. The size of the album even reflects the nature of a real relapse, that breaking under the pressure back into indulgence after a period of self-denial. A real bender, as long as you're blowing it anyway. & should that be the case, what, then, was the primary addiction?

Seeing Relapse in this light would mean you'd have to take at face value everything he's been saying about fame and his sense of his own identity, the meaning of what fame has actually done to him, & to the people who are most important to him. Relationships are a huge part of Eminem's subject matter. He never married a Mariah Carey or a Brittney Spears or a Lindsay Lohan. He easily could have. Instead, twice, he's married the girl who's the mother to his kids and loved him before the world knew who he was. What does that say?

There was extensive speculation about whether Eminem was actually taking a break or retiring during the 4-year hiatus between Encore and Relapse. Having been through this album backwards and forwards going into the double-digits now, I'm leaning toward the possibility that this one could be the real goodbye.

My approval is limited, though. I draw the line at the commemorative pill bottle available with the deluxe set. SHAME on you, Marshall Mathers. It's obvious from Relapse you've seen the damage and utter destruction of hardcore addiction in the experiences you've captured so powerfully. ROMANTICIZING that? Like I could carry my own Vicodin problem around in your little Relapse bottle and feel like we bonded over it or something cause it came with your album? Because that sort of was my first thoughtless thought. Close on its heels was the realization that that cute little bottle wouldn't even hold a full day's Vicodin addiction, and that thought sort of disappointed me. You plan to use these bottles for your pills if YOU re-relapse? Why not just include a big old fat prescription pad with every sheet pre-signed by Dr. Dre? After living through the material for this spectacular, massive album, you should know better. Since you don't, I should kick you in the junk. Fuck you for that. It almost made me pass up the album. Instead of pre-ordering it before 5/19 as intended, which was the reason I was on your site & saw the "deluxe package", it took me 2 weeks to get over it & finally get Relapse.

Overall, well done, Marshall, but now I'm never going out with you.