Humungus Denounces Pretentious Navel Gazing

Dear Seeing,

You are free to point and mock all you want.  And it DOES make you a total jerk.  But to what end?  Thanks to folks like you, these people of whom you speak are almost certainly already aware of whatever glaring defect you are so itchy to point out.  Except maybe the bad breath guy.  He never seems to have a clue.  The reason doctors get to speak frankly about these issues is that the people have come to them seeking counsel for complications associated with these issues.  It is part of what they do.  They spend years in school learning to make their insults sound like constructive criticism, as opposed to your unschooled, overt disgust.

But that is all beside the point.  What I don't understand here is, where is your head?  If you intend to survive the apocalypse, you need to start practicing apocalypse thinking right now.  You should be grateful that these people have been stamped with such glaring signs of inferiority.  Open your eyes, jackal.  They are bright, shining beacons of your first meal of Armageddon.  They may as well carry banners that say, "Not fit to survive the collapse of civilisation.  Help yourself to my coat when Nuclear Winter arrives."  I'm not saying you need to inspect the contents of their garages to see what kind of goods they have, but it might not be a bad idea to tail them home, just to get an idea of where to find the low-hanging fruit on your first foraging expeditions.

You may also want to look around and assess who you have surrounded yourself with for friends.  You will need to form alliances for protection and procurement of necessities.  Also remember to avoid friends who display signs of extreme vanity.  Highlights in the hair isn't an immediate cause for concern, but coupled with waxed eyebrows, pedicured toenails, and a pierced bellybutton, the alarm bells should be ringing.  Every hour spent gazing in the mirror is an hour not spent honing survival skills.  Their inability to cope without running water or shopping malls is generally equal to the inability of the physically deformed to cope without prescription medication and mayonnaise.  If you see that a high proportion of your friends are stamped with one or more of these inferiorities, it may be time for you to branch out.  Try the gym.  Or the firing range.  Anywhere where you will find people practicing skills useful when chaos reigns over law. 

Come to think of it, you may want to do a self-assessment while you're at it.  If you feel you may be among the stamped, who knows?  Maybe with some work, there may still be time for you to get the target off your back.  Just don't come around me.  I don't want your stench of weakness rubbing off on me.  Sit tight and I'll be by to pick up all of your canned food and/or camping gear soon enough.

Don't you wish your mom was bomb like mine?

My mom is quite possibly the bombest in all the land.  In the wake of my GMAT meltdown, the first person I texted was my mom.  And my distressed/enraged texts must have left a powerful impression.  Today as I approached my building after work, I saw a package on the stoop out front.  I bent to see who it was addressed to, never thinking it could be me.  Right there on the mailing label was a note for all the world to read, "Thinking of you in this hard time.  This too will pass.  I love you.  Mom."  I'm positive that every UPS man that handled that package and every person that walked past my building today saw that note and wished they had my mom.  Even as I write this, I am snacking on chocolate covered pretzels and carmel corn.  Someone's getting a Guns N' Roses box set for Christmas.  I love you back, mom.  You're the best.

I Hear Her Voice, In The Morning Hour She Calls Me

I've stated my affection for the city of DC before.  City life has a constant hustle to it.  There is always so much going on and something to do.  But I wasn't raised as a city boy, and often I get to itching for an escape to nature.  What this means is that around late April of every year, I spend the better part of my workday wishing I were anywhere but the city.  I daydream of floating down a lazy river or hiking a "mountain," as they like to call their hills here.  The last two years, I've taken a nice, long Saturday floating on an inner tube down the Shenandoah river in order to sate this need for escape.

But we had a particularly brutal legislative season at work, and we got runned over in a major way by the states.  My annual trip down the Shenandoah fell short of the needed release.  This year I made a more concerted effort to get away from the city to places where I could clear my head.  I went to Puerto Rico for Memorial Day, where I hiked the rain forest, climbed (and fell off of) many waterfalls, and swam in the bioluminescent bay.  That trip will warrant its own entry soon.  Below are some pictures of a weekend camping trip I took in July.  I went with some friends to hike the Blue Ridge "mountains" and take a ride on some natural water slides.

On the way up the trail, we passed a slide that looked way too steep and possibly dangerous, and decided that a person would have to be crazy to give it a try.  For anyone that's new to literary techniques, that last bit is what we call "foreshadowing."  Anyway, we continued up the trail until we came upon a group of people enjoying this much safer, more docile slide:

It was pretty fun, in a playground kind of way.  The water was about two degrees above freezing, so I got a good nipple workout while swimming.  So there's that.  But the whole time, I couldn't shake the thought of how much more fun it would be to ride Big Slick further down the trail.  I knew that if I left the hike without giving it a try, I'd regret it all the way home.  That's the way I am.

As could be expected, when I climbed out into the stream, it looked much steeper than it had from the rocks overlooking the landing pool.  I sat perched atop the slide for a few minutes, hovering over the water, contemplating the beneficiaries on my life insurance policies.  This is a little ritual I developed in the wake of my near-death Puerto Rican waterfall experience earlier this summer.  Having determined that everything was in order in case the ride ended poorly, I yelled "I'M RICK JAMES!" and dropped into the rushing current for an exhilarating 1.8 second plunge.  Yahoo! What a ride!  This will be an annual trip, I think.  The only thing that could make it better is warmer water.  I'm not asking for much; three or four degrees would do wonders.  But all in all, a great escape.  Thanks to V-Slice and Jeanette for the pics of the weekend.