Shit
Piss
Fuck
Cunt
Cocksucker
Motherfucker
Tits.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
One small step for civil rights
So California courts decided to give gay marriage an okay. Which isn't terribly surprising. I mean, we've been here before in California. Repeatedly.
Interestingly enough, the legislature in the state of California recently voted in favor of same-sex marriage. The governator decided to veto it; in spite of his campaign promise never to exercise such a veto.
So, as I understand it, the general rule of thumb in the states is as follows:
-the actions of the judicial branch are invalid, since they are not the "will of the people", however, in California, the actions of the courts are preferrable to the legislature, so the opposite rule applies.
-the actions of the representative legislative branch is invalid, as it doesn't represent the "will of the people", except in Massachusetts, where the judicial branch is the invalid actionary member and the legislature acting to overturn their constitutionally-based decision is the proper course of action.
-the actions of the executive branch, acting against the will of the courts and the legislature is a heinous abuse of power, if it is in San Francisco or New York and the action being taken is to bestow rights upon citizens. If it is the governator of California, acting against his own campaign promises and against the elected representatives of the people, then that's an okay thing.
-In other words, it would seem that the good ol' GOP intends to implement a full chaosocracy where the majority has absolute power over the minority and can abuse them and deny them any and all rights via the voting booth, thus overturning the constitutional, representative government which has served us up until today, using the "might makes right and makes your rights invalid" theory of government. The mob mentality right now makes this the most efficient path to achieve their desired results, much as has been done in many past governments, with limited, yet hideously disasterous results.
Summary: Tearing apart the very basis of government in this country and hurtling towards ruin is okay, as long as, in the process, they make sure them faggots don't get adequate health care, family, and estate options, since that'd be disastrous.
I can't wait to see how this plays out.
Interestingly enough, the legislature in the state of California recently voted in favor of same-sex marriage. The governator decided to veto it; in spite of his campaign promise never to exercise such a veto.
So, as I understand it, the general rule of thumb in the states is as follows:
-the actions of the judicial branch are invalid, since they are not the "will of the people", however, in California, the actions of the courts are preferrable to the legislature, so the opposite rule applies.
-the actions of the representative legislative branch is invalid, as it doesn't represent the "will of the people", except in Massachusetts, where the judicial branch is the invalid actionary member and the legislature acting to overturn their constitutionally-based decision is the proper course of action.
-the actions of the executive branch, acting against the will of the courts and the legislature is a heinous abuse of power, if it is in San Francisco or New York and the action being taken is to bestow rights upon citizens. If it is the governator of California, acting against his own campaign promises and against the elected representatives of the people, then that's an okay thing.
-In other words, it would seem that the good ol' GOP intends to implement a full chaosocracy where the majority has absolute power over the minority and can abuse them and deny them any and all rights via the voting booth, thus overturning the constitutional, representative government which has served us up until today, using the "might makes right and makes your rights invalid" theory of government. The mob mentality right now makes this the most efficient path to achieve their desired results, much as has been done in many past governments, with limited, yet hideously disasterous results.
Summary: Tearing apart the very basis of government in this country and hurtling towards ruin is okay, as long as, in the process, they make sure them faggots don't get adequate health care, family, and estate options, since that'd be disastrous.
I can't wait to see how this plays out.
Friday, May 02, 2008
"Acceptance of evolution is a sign of low self-esteem"
A creationist whackjob recently made the following, sweeping, ridiculous statement:
I responded as follows:
If evolution is correct, the number of individual beings which could be standing here in your place vastly outnumber all of the grains of sand, on all of the beaches, in all of the world. You're the inheritor of a genetic legacy which stretches back 3.8 billion years through the eons, and which has circled the center of our galaxy about 20 times. You're the endpoint of billions of generations of births, competitions, wars, and deaths; the only possible sequence of hereditary combinations that can possibly result in you. Your forbears have survived arguably the single greatest ecological catastrophe ever to hit the planet; when the earliest plants started poisoning the atmosphere with oxygen. Yet, your ancestors learned to use this poisonous gas to produce energy in a way that had never been attempted before; an evolutionary triumph which paved the way for the first multicellular life. Your genetic line has survived floods, freezes, and meteor impacts from the skies themselves, preserving this single genetic line through the eons to lead ultimately to you. This is a legacy you share with every living thing on earth, from the largest creature ever to have lived; the blue whale; to the lowliest prion. You share this legacy with the blades of grass between your toes and the trees that give you shade. You are a thread in a huge, amazing, incredibly diverse tapestry of living things; some of whom have clawed their way out of the seas to survive on land, some of whom remained in the ocean, and a few of whom stood on land for a few million years, ultimately said "well, screw this" and marched back into the sea. Once we add cosmology into the mix, not only does this legacy stretch to everything living, but to the non-living as well. You share your origins with the stars and planets. The asteroids which hang in space, all the way down to the loneliest hydrogen atom in deep space. All the parts that make you stretch back through the eons and have borne witness to the very birth of the universe. They have seen the birth and death of stars, supernovae, black holes and pulsars. They've seen planets torn to pieces and solar systems form. They've seen galaxies coalesce and skies darken.
The universe is much more grand, more amazing, more beautiful, more elegant and more subtle than has ever been written in any holy book, and you are here, against nigh-incalculable odds, to see it all. Just consider that for a moment.
If that's a sign of low self esteem, what the hell are your standards for a high one?
Most of you who believe the evolved story IMHO seem to have such a low opinion of mankind, it translates to low self esteem.
I responded as follows:
If evolution is correct, the number of individual beings which could be standing here in your place vastly outnumber all of the grains of sand, on all of the beaches, in all of the world. You're the inheritor of a genetic legacy which stretches back 3.8 billion years through the eons, and which has circled the center of our galaxy about 20 times. You're the endpoint of billions of generations of births, competitions, wars, and deaths; the only possible sequence of hereditary combinations that can possibly result in you. Your forbears have survived arguably the single greatest ecological catastrophe ever to hit the planet; when the earliest plants started poisoning the atmosphere with oxygen. Yet, your ancestors learned to use this poisonous gas to produce energy in a way that had never been attempted before; an evolutionary triumph which paved the way for the first multicellular life. Your genetic line has survived floods, freezes, and meteor impacts from the skies themselves, preserving this single genetic line through the eons to lead ultimately to you. This is a legacy you share with every living thing on earth, from the largest creature ever to have lived; the blue whale; to the lowliest prion. You share this legacy with the blades of grass between your toes and the trees that give you shade. You are a thread in a huge, amazing, incredibly diverse tapestry of living things; some of whom have clawed their way out of the seas to survive on land, some of whom remained in the ocean, and a few of whom stood on land for a few million years, ultimately said "well, screw this" and marched back into the sea. Once we add cosmology into the mix, not only does this legacy stretch to everything living, but to the non-living as well. You share your origins with the stars and planets. The asteroids which hang in space, all the way down to the loneliest hydrogen atom in deep space. All the parts that make you stretch back through the eons and have borne witness to the very birth of the universe. They have seen the birth and death of stars, supernovae, black holes and pulsars. They've seen planets torn to pieces and solar systems form. They've seen galaxies coalesce and skies darken.
The universe is much more grand, more amazing, more beautiful, more elegant and more subtle than has ever been written in any holy book, and you are here, against nigh-incalculable odds, to see it all. Just consider that for a moment.
If that's a sign of low self esteem, what the hell are your standards for a high one?
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Since when is being "elite" a bad thing?
Barack Hussein Obama, the current front-runner for the democratic nomination has been labeled left and right as an "elite."
What bothers me about this is they throw around that label as if it were a bad thing.
Seriously: when did it happen that being "elite" was something to draw condescension? There was once a time when being "elite" drew respect and admiration. I'm working my ass off for 60-80 hours a week in the hopes of someday becoming an "elite scientist." It's my goal to be the absolute best at what I do. I'll realistically never reach that goal, but shouldn't I shoot for it?
Why shouldn't we demand the same of our elected officials? Why should we not demand the best from the people who will lead our country for the next four to eight years? Shouldn't the person we elect as president represent the absolute best from among us. In other words, what the hell do you want from a president, if not the "elite?"
Scratch that, I don't want an "elite" president. I want one who's embarrassingly superior to me in every conceivable way. I want a repeatedly self-made trillionaire who, in his spare time after bringing about world peace, can solve the climate crisis, the oil crisis, develop stem cell therapy, teach grades K-12 in all subjects, and still find time to walk the dog every day.
We've already tried the president that you'd want to hang out and have a beer with. That didn't work too well for us. In fact, I think it's probably fair to say that it worked absurdly badly for us. Insanely badly, in fact. Our economy is circling the drain; we're stuck in an endless, pointless and quite likely illegal war; the rest of the world hates us; we're falling behind China in every conceivable manner; and scientific literacy among high school students is right now barely above Turkey.
Seriously. We could use an elite president right now.
What bothers me about this is they throw around that label as if it were a bad thing.
Seriously: when did it happen that being "elite" was something to draw condescension? There was once a time when being "elite" drew respect and admiration. I'm working my ass off for 60-80 hours a week in the hopes of someday becoming an "elite scientist." It's my goal to be the absolute best at what I do. I'll realistically never reach that goal, but shouldn't I shoot for it?
Why shouldn't we demand the same of our elected officials? Why should we not demand the best from the people who will lead our country for the next four to eight years? Shouldn't the person we elect as president represent the absolute best from among us. In other words, what the hell do you want from a president, if not the "elite?"
Scratch that, I don't want an "elite" president. I want one who's embarrassingly superior to me in every conceivable way. I want a repeatedly self-made trillionaire who, in his spare time after bringing about world peace, can solve the climate crisis, the oil crisis, develop stem cell therapy, teach grades K-12 in all subjects, and still find time to walk the dog every day.
We've already tried the president that you'd want to hang out and have a beer with. That didn't work too well for us. In fact, I think it's probably fair to say that it worked absurdly badly for us. Insanely badly, in fact. Our economy is circling the drain; we're stuck in an endless, pointless and quite likely illegal war; the rest of the world hates us; we're falling behind China in every conceivable manner; and scientific literacy among high school students is right now barely above Turkey.
Seriously. We could use an elite president right now.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Dear Moron,
I guess when you get to a major turning point, it's pretty natural to think about where you came from. Or maybe it's just that I'm in the process of packing up, and I found a few mementos from my high school days. Either way, it's related to the fact that I'm about to get married, move away, and start working for a living as opposed to doing mostly fun stuff for a living.
I was fifteen once, interestingly enough. Frankly, I was ill-prepared for being a fifteen-year-old male, which is probably why I did a pretty crappy job of it. The bottom line is that at fifteen, life, generally, sucks. There really isn't a claim you can make to the contrary. I know for a fact that every time my parents told me that "these are the best years of your life" (we've all heard it) my general reaction was "oh, shit."
So I've been realizing lately that the face looking back at me from the mirror is no longer fifteen years old. He's seen a not insubstantial amount of the world, and he's lived a rather interesting life.
Didn't seem like it was going to turn out that way at fifteen, but then it never does, does it?
At any rate, I was wondering recently what I would write if the laws of physics could be bent, slightly, for just a moment. What if I could write to the fifteen year old I used to be? What would I say?
I was fifteen once, interestingly enough. Frankly, I was ill-prepared for being a fifteen-year-old male, which is probably why I did a pretty crappy job of it. The bottom line is that at fifteen, life, generally, sucks. There really isn't a claim you can make to the contrary. I know for a fact that every time my parents told me that "these are the best years of your life" (we've all heard it) my general reaction was "oh, shit."
So I've been realizing lately that the face looking back at me from the mirror is no longer fifteen years old. He's seen a not insubstantial amount of the world, and he's lived a rather interesting life.
Didn't seem like it was going to turn out that way at fifteen, but then it never does, does it?
At any rate, I was wondering recently what I would write if the laws of physics could be bent, slightly, for just a moment. What if I could write to the fifteen year old I used to be? What would I say?
Dear moron,
I figured this greeting would be the best way to convince you that I'm you. I mean, who else would greet you that way? Of course, if you want more proof, look up on the very top shelf of your closet. You'll find a shoebox labeled "playboys" (brilliant hiding place, by the way). In that shoebox, you'll find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, a package of double-edged razor blades, anywhere between two and six sterile gauze pads, and a roll of surgical tape. Nobody but you knows about that, right?
While we're on the subject, cut back a little (no pun intended). I'm not going to tell you to quit just what say that instead of three or four times a week cut it down to, say, two or three? You're not going to quit any time soon. And you're going to try (and fail) to do so a number of times between now and the time that you're looking at my face in the mirror, and the truth is, those blades helped you through a lot of rough patches in your life. As coping mechanisms go, you could do worse, I guess.
Okay, depending on when you're getting this, you've either just flunked a math exam, or you're about to. That'll be a first for you, won't it? You'll deal, and you'll be stronger for it. Take my word for it, it's not the end of the world. About five years from now, nobody's going to give a rat's ass what grades you got in High School. Believe me, you have a lot more school to go through before you're done. High school is gonna get lost in the flurry long before you're done.
I know that right now you're thinking that you're going to be a doctor, and that's all there is to it. Well, you're not. And interestingly enough, that's a decision you'll make after being accepted to med school. I know, weird, huh? The point I'm trying to make is that life has a nasty habit of never working out quite the way you plan for it to work out. If I were to tell you now that your first three publications in a scientific journal would be in astrophysics, what would you say? What if I told you that the next three would be in the American Journal of Physiology and the Biophysical Journal (times two)? Exactly.
If you're fifteen, you also just got dumped for the first time, or you're just about to. Sorry for the spoiler. It hurts. A lot. But you'll survive that too. Maybe you need things like that to happen. Maybe it's things like that that make you stronger. All I'm going to say is just wait 'till you meet your future wife. You've read Romeo & Juliet as well as all of the classic romances who talk about that one instant when they find that one person and they just know that their life is never going to be the same again. You don't buy all that bullshit, do you? Trust me: you will.
Don't worry. Let things fall the way that they should. Let them fall the way that they will, and don't freak out when they don't quite fall where you want them to. The only constant in life is that it's never what you expect. It's always moving, always changing, always persevering.
Oh, and when dad tells you that these are the best years of your life, you can call bullshit on that one. You're nowhere near the best years of your life. Not yet.
Keep an eye out for me. I'll be the one looking back at you from the mirror in about fourteen years.
Sincerely,
Drew
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Evil Evolutionist conspiracy has issued a directive.
Some of you may have heard about Ben Stein's latest movie. Well, the google-bombing gauntlet has been thrown down. Expelled Exposed is a project by the National Center for Science Education exposing the fraud that is Ben Stein's movie "Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed" and never was there a more appropriate title. You literally have to leave your brain at the door in order to believe the bullshit spewed throughout the movie.
Fortunately, I don't have to spend my time chronicling the misrepresentations, ludicrous claims and outright falsehoods of the movie. You can find them here: Expelled
Fortunately, I don't have to spend my time chronicling the misrepresentations, ludicrous claims and outright falsehoods of the movie. You can find them here: Expelled
Monday, December 03, 2007
If you gotta move...
So I've finally found myself a post-doc position. I'm actually kinda thrilled at this one. It requires me to live in Honolulu Hawai'i for a few years, and may lead to a future faculty position at the U of H. I figure if you're going to move away from your friends and family, there are worse places to do it than Hawai'i. In honor of that, I've added two weather graphics to my blog. One showing the current weather in Calgary, one showing the current weather in Honolulu. I feel the need to remind you that that's the weather right now. Like, in December. Fun, huh?
Actually, I'm also excited about this for things that have absolutely nothing to do with invariably good weather,
beautiful sunsets,
beautiful women,
beautiful beaches,
the opportunity to go hiking twelve months of the year,
amazing sunsets (did I mention that already? Well, it bears repeating),
history,
wildlife,
and amazing photographic subjects.
Actually, I'm excited for a whole slew of reasons, but perhaps the most important one is that I'm simply excited by the work I'm going to be doing. The work will still be in the same general area I've been working in for the last five years, but it will be more on the molecular level. A little less cellular biology, a little more genetics, a little more biochemistry, and a little bit more gene-jockeying. I'm going to be doing both the insertion and deletion of genes in mice, working on developing a working hypoxia model in wild-type mice, and studying the expression of genes in the heart specifically, and what genes will show up in these systems. This is a kind of science I've never done before, and it excites me. It means that I get to spend more time in the lab and less time scribbling equations in a lab book. I'm going to improve on my recovery surgery (something I haven't done in a long time, and haven't done at all on something as small as a mouse), my RT- and QT-PCR, as well as running and analyzing microarrays. In addition, I'm going to be working with a mathematician who wrote a textbook that has effectively been my bible for the last five years. By fortuitous circumstances, I'm going to be working with a former classmate of my brother's, he's a nice guy, and I think I'm going to enjoy working for him. I think we have a lot to do and less time to do it in, but I think that this is going to be an amazing learning opportunity for me.
Oh, and the view out of my laboratory window is the Pacific ocean.
Can you tell I'm marginally excited by this?
Actually, I'm also excited about this for things that have absolutely nothing to do with invariably good weather,
beautiful sunsets,
beautiful women,
beautiful beaches,
the opportunity to go hiking twelve months of the year,
amazing sunsets (did I mention that already? Well, it bears repeating),
history,
wildlife,
and amazing photographic subjects.
Actually, I'm excited for a whole slew of reasons, but perhaps the most important one is that I'm simply excited by the work I'm going to be doing. The work will still be in the same general area I've been working in for the last five years, but it will be more on the molecular level. A little less cellular biology, a little more genetics, a little more biochemistry, and a little bit more gene-jockeying. I'm going to be doing both the insertion and deletion of genes in mice, working on developing a working hypoxia model in wild-type mice, and studying the expression of genes in the heart specifically, and what genes will show up in these systems. This is a kind of science I've never done before, and it excites me. It means that I get to spend more time in the lab and less time scribbling equations in a lab book. I'm going to improve on my recovery surgery (something I haven't done in a long time, and haven't done at all on something as small as a mouse), my RT- and QT-PCR, as well as running and analyzing microarrays. In addition, I'm going to be working with a mathematician who wrote a textbook that has effectively been my bible for the last five years. By fortuitous circumstances, I'm going to be working with a former classmate of my brother's, he's a nice guy, and I think I'm going to enjoy working for him. I think we have a lot to do and less time to do it in, but I think that this is going to be an amazing learning opportunity for me.
Oh, and the view out of my laboratory window is the Pacific ocean.
Can you tell I'm marginally excited by this?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
In Memoriam
So I lost a friend recently. And by "lost," I mean in the permanent sense. I'm okay. Really, I am. Don't get me wrong, I have my moments of not-so-goodness, but I'm actually dealing with it better than I thought I would.
There's a mountain near the Upper Kananaskis lake called Mount Indefatigable. It rises 3000 feet above the lake itself, and the only approach to the summit is a trail approximately three miles long. Doing the math, that's about a thousand feet per mile ascent; which doesn't sound that impressive, but believe me, that's pretty huge. Until this weekend, I'd never climbed it. It's one of those trails I'd hiked past a thousand times, but never quite completed. I'd come close, make no mistake. The first time I tried, I had to turn back within sight of the summit. The second time, I wasn't even able to make the attempt. And in a way, that's what this whole story is about.
Five of us arrived at the Kananaskis Interlakes at about 12:00 pm. The skies were blue and clear. A faint haze hung in the air. We later learned that there was a controlled burn taking place nearby. The smoke hung heavily in the valley, unable to escape completely. And we were about as well as we could expect. The mountain we planned to climb hung above us like a gigantic stone monolith practically daring us to try it. Strapped to my hip, I had a camera (which, it turns out, was set to the wrong ISO, and so for the first half of the trip, my pictures look bleached out and grainy) and a spare lens. My back held water bladder, lunch, a jacket, and everything I would need for the summit approach. My right thigh pocket held a rock.
The first mile or so wasn't terribly interesting. A lot of trees, a long climb. It wasn't until we broke free of the trees at the first lookout point that we really realized how high we were. We'd hiked just shy of a mile and a half, and we were at least a thousand feet up. The whole valley was spread out underneath us. It was gorgeous. The thin haze seemed to make waves around the mountains of the valley. Maybe it did. Whatever was happening was an interesting phenomenon, but beyond that, it was just plain beautiful. Already, our group of five didn't look like they were all going to make the summit. Dora's ankles were starting to bug her: her boots weren't properly worn in. Which meant that Rich probably wasn't going to make the entire trip up either. But we pushed on.
The second lookout point was equally beautiful. This was where the trail started getting hard, and this was where most people call it a day and turn back, and it's kinda hard to fault them for that. The view is probably the best effort:payoff ratio of the entire hike.
And then there were three. Two of our number decided to turn back. One had heels that were getting somewhat raw, and her boyfriend, I think, was starting to get tired himself, and the hike was only going to get more vertical. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't half-consider turning back as well, but I guess I'm just stubborn that way. I don't like to let myself give up; so I didn't. My recollection of the last time I'd attempted to climb this mountain was that it got steep and annoying at this point, and my recollection was not wrong. At the end of the day, it was sheer determination that got us up to "the bowl" where the three of us stopped for lunch. It was here that I realized that my camera was set to an absurdly high ISO, and my photos promptly got a lot less overexposed, and a lot less grainy.
We finished lunch and stopped for a moment to catch our breath. We could actually see the summit from where we were, but the last time I'd had to turn back, we'd seen it then too. We'd turned back within about 20 feet of the top because the scramble to the top was crumbling under our feet, and it was a looooong way down if we slipped.
And then there was one. Or so I thought at the time. As we climbed out of the bowl, I had two very tired companions. I was tired too, frankly, but I was making it to the top if I had to drag myself face first over sharp rocks. There was just no way I was going to stop this close to the summit again. They told me that they would wait here until I finished. I think they could see it in my eyes or something, but they knew it was important. I was making it to the top of this mountain.
Yes, I'm in this photograph. I'm the tiny little speck making its way up the winding trail towards the summit. I didn't know it at the time, but my two companions had also made the decision not to let the mountain beat them.
I made the summit, exhausted. The trip up the mountain had taken a simply huge amount out of me. The last 500 feet of elevation gain were the hardest, not just because they were insanely vertical (they were); but because the summit was so close you'd swear you could reach out and grab it, but every step you took didn't seem to bring it any closer to you. Sheer stupid stubbornness drove me the last fifty yards up the mountain.
I'm not an overly emotional guy by nature. But standing on that mountain was one of exactly three times in my adult life that I've actually been moved to tears. It was like the whole world was spread out like a giant tapestry. The valley we'd just climbed out of spread out as far as I could see. Lesser mountains almost seemed to bow down before the mighty Indefatigable.
I drew in a shaky breath, and dug into my pocket for the rock I'd lugged 3000 feet straight up. It had been marked and dated with a sharpie marker: "August 19, 1996: Mt. Indefatigable." It had been given to me eleven years ago by a friend who had taken it down from the summit, and had charged me with the task of putting it back. I'd always assumed that he would be there with me when I returned it to its original place, but I guess fate had other ideas. Three weeks before the hike, he'd died in a tragic accident. By pure coincidence, a hike to the top of the same mountain he'd charged me with returning the rock to was planned a few weeks later.
I'm not sure whether I believe in God, or theology or spirituality or any of that stuff, really. But for a brief moment, standing on the top of that mountain, holding a stone that I'd had in my possession for eleven years, I could almost bring myself to believe in fate.
I left the rock on top of a tiny inukshuk someone had constructed on the summit, a place I like to think he would have chosen if he were there with me. I didn't say anything, no prayers, no long eulogy. I don't think he would've wanted me to. But I did stand there on the mountain, and decided that just being here, doing something he wanted me to do, something he'd asked me to do, was the most fitting memorial I could give him.
I walked down off the mountain as if a weight had been lifted off of me. Yes, I was no longer carrying a rock around in my pocket, but I felt as if I'd done something I needed to do. Something that was waiting to be done. Something someone had asked me to do. I'd done my mourning, and I was ready to move on.
We all mourn in the way we see fit. Some of us stand solemnly around the deceased's grave, some of us sing hymns, some of us pray, some of us party.
And some of us climb mountains.
There's a mountain near the Upper Kananaskis lake called Mount Indefatigable. It rises 3000 feet above the lake itself, and the only approach to the summit is a trail approximately three miles long. Doing the math, that's about a thousand feet per mile ascent; which doesn't sound that impressive, but believe me, that's pretty huge. Until this weekend, I'd never climbed it. It's one of those trails I'd hiked past a thousand times, but never quite completed. I'd come close, make no mistake. The first time I tried, I had to turn back within sight of the summit. The second time, I wasn't even able to make the attempt. And in a way, that's what this whole story is about.
Five of us arrived at the Kananaskis Interlakes at about 12:00 pm. The skies were blue and clear. A faint haze hung in the air. We later learned that there was a controlled burn taking place nearby. The smoke hung heavily in the valley, unable to escape completely. And we were about as well as we could expect. The mountain we planned to climb hung above us like a gigantic stone monolith practically daring us to try it. Strapped to my hip, I had a camera (which, it turns out, was set to the wrong ISO, and so for the first half of the trip, my pictures look bleached out and grainy) and a spare lens. My back held water bladder, lunch, a jacket, and everything I would need for the summit approach. My right thigh pocket held a rock.
The first mile or so wasn't terribly interesting. A lot of trees, a long climb. It wasn't until we broke free of the trees at the first lookout point that we really realized how high we were. We'd hiked just shy of a mile and a half, and we were at least a thousand feet up. The whole valley was spread out underneath us. It was gorgeous. The thin haze seemed to make waves around the mountains of the valley. Maybe it did. Whatever was happening was an interesting phenomenon, but beyond that, it was just plain beautiful. Already, our group of five didn't look like they were all going to make the summit. Dora's ankles were starting to bug her: her boots weren't properly worn in. Which meant that Rich probably wasn't going to make the entire trip up either. But we pushed on.
The second lookout point was equally beautiful. This was where the trail started getting hard, and this was where most people call it a day and turn back, and it's kinda hard to fault them for that. The view is probably the best effort:payoff ratio of the entire hike.
And then there were three. Two of our number decided to turn back. One had heels that were getting somewhat raw, and her boyfriend, I think, was starting to get tired himself, and the hike was only going to get more vertical. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't half-consider turning back as well, but I guess I'm just stubborn that way. I don't like to let myself give up; so I didn't. My recollection of the last time I'd attempted to climb this mountain was that it got steep and annoying at this point, and my recollection was not wrong. At the end of the day, it was sheer determination that got us up to "the bowl" where the three of us stopped for lunch. It was here that I realized that my camera was set to an absurdly high ISO, and my photos promptly got a lot less overexposed, and a lot less grainy.
We finished lunch and stopped for a moment to catch our breath. We could actually see the summit from where we were, but the last time I'd had to turn back, we'd seen it then too. We'd turned back within about 20 feet of the top because the scramble to the top was crumbling under our feet, and it was a looooong way down if we slipped.
And then there was one. Or so I thought at the time. As we climbed out of the bowl, I had two very tired companions. I was tired too, frankly, but I was making it to the top if I had to drag myself face first over sharp rocks. There was just no way I was going to stop this close to the summit again. They told me that they would wait here until I finished. I think they could see it in my eyes or something, but they knew it was important. I was making it to the top of this mountain.
Yes, I'm in this photograph. I'm the tiny little speck making its way up the winding trail towards the summit. I didn't know it at the time, but my two companions had also made the decision not to let the mountain beat them.
I made the summit, exhausted. The trip up the mountain had taken a simply huge amount out of me. The last 500 feet of elevation gain were the hardest, not just because they were insanely vertical (they were); but because the summit was so close you'd swear you could reach out and grab it, but every step you took didn't seem to bring it any closer to you. Sheer stupid stubbornness drove me the last fifty yards up the mountain.
I'm not an overly emotional guy by nature. But standing on that mountain was one of exactly three times in my adult life that I've actually been moved to tears. It was like the whole world was spread out like a giant tapestry. The valley we'd just climbed out of spread out as far as I could see. Lesser mountains almost seemed to bow down before the mighty Indefatigable.
I drew in a shaky breath, and dug into my pocket for the rock I'd lugged 3000 feet straight up. It had been marked and dated with a sharpie marker: "August 19, 1996: Mt. Indefatigable." It had been given to me eleven years ago by a friend who had taken it down from the summit, and had charged me with the task of putting it back. I'd always assumed that he would be there with me when I returned it to its original place, but I guess fate had other ideas. Three weeks before the hike, he'd died in a tragic accident. By pure coincidence, a hike to the top of the same mountain he'd charged me with returning the rock to was planned a few weeks later.
I'm not sure whether I believe in God, or theology or spirituality or any of that stuff, really. But for a brief moment, standing on the top of that mountain, holding a stone that I'd had in my possession for eleven years, I could almost bring myself to believe in fate.
I left the rock on top of a tiny inukshuk someone had constructed on the summit, a place I like to think he would have chosen if he were there with me. I didn't say anything, no prayers, no long eulogy. I don't think he would've wanted me to. But I did stand there on the mountain, and decided that just being here, doing something he wanted me to do, something he'd asked me to do, was the most fitting memorial I could give him.
I walked down off the mountain as if a weight had been lifted off of me. Yes, I was no longer carrying a rock around in my pocket, but I felt as if I'd done something I needed to do. Something that was waiting to be done. Something someone had asked me to do. I'd done my mourning, and I was ready to move on.
We all mourn in the way we see fit. Some of us stand solemnly around the deceased's grave, some of us sing hymns, some of us pray, some of us party.
And some of us climb mountains.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Everybody needs a hobby
So it turns out that I haven't had a lot of time to pursue any real hobbies in the last five years or so. Funny that. So I figure that there are worse hobbies to have than photography. I saved up my last three paychecks as a grad student, and spent them on a new camera.
For the last ten years, I've been operating on two different cameras. First, a Nikon F60 (N60 in the states), and a Canon Powershot S60. My favorite of the two cameras being, by far, the former. That said, I tend to take a lot more pictures with my little Powershot.
The bottom line is that the writing's been on the wall for a long time: 35 mm film is slowly disappearing, and I admit that I've been in denial about it, largely because of my aforementioned love of my Nikon F60. For me, the real clincher was when I found out that Nikon had no plans to design another film camera after the F6. Point-and-shoot 35 mm cameras are all but extinct (seriously, try to find an amateur-level P&S film camera these days). The only film formats likely to survive the great Digital Revolution are the medium-format and large-format films, and even they will probably disappear eventually. Hasselblad now makes a full-frame medium-format CCD sensor.... The cheapest camera it's attached to costs $15,000.... so pretty much my current annual income. I didn't buy that.
So I got myself a digital SLR. I didn't go too crazy. I didn't buy myself a EOS-1Ds Nor did I dish out for a Nikon D3. Ultimately, I opted against both of those cameras for what I considered to be two very good reasons: 1) I'm not a professional and 2) I don't have $9,000. No, I went for the camera that professionals use as their back-up camera. The one that they use when their real camera breaks down, or doesn't have the right lens attached, or doesn't have its battery charged, or whatever (although, I once knew a sports photographer who went to every event armed with three identical EOS 1Ds SLR bodies, each mounted with a different lens; for those of you doing the math, that's almost $30,000, not counting the lenses mounted to them; and the one of the three lenses he was using that I could identify at the time was worth $10,000 on its own; he rationalized it by saying that he didn't want to waste time changing lenses). I wanted something I could play with, not something that'll empty my bank account. Although, in hindsight, it did end up emptying my bank account, but only by virtue of the fact that my bank account is practically empty to begin with.
So the first few shots I took in a word, sucked. But I'm starting to get the hang of taking pictures with this thing. You have to think about a lot more, because you don't necessarily have a computer doing the thinking for you. You have to think in terms of depth of field, and white balance, and F-stops and shutter speeds. You have to think about ISOs and how they affect your images. You have to think about metering and when to use a flash. You have to decide when you want to opt for a regular lens or a telephoto.
Yeah, fun stuff.
Expect photos to be posted here in the near future.
For the last ten years, I've been operating on two different cameras. First, a Nikon F60 (N60 in the states), and a Canon Powershot S60. My favorite of the two cameras being, by far, the former. That said, I tend to take a lot more pictures with my little Powershot.
The bottom line is that the writing's been on the wall for a long time: 35 mm film is slowly disappearing, and I admit that I've been in denial about it, largely because of my aforementioned love of my Nikon F60. For me, the real clincher was when I found out that Nikon had no plans to design another film camera after the F6. Point-and-shoot 35 mm cameras are all but extinct (seriously, try to find an amateur-level P&S film camera these days). The only film formats likely to survive the great Digital Revolution are the medium-format and large-format films, and even they will probably disappear eventually. Hasselblad now makes a full-frame medium-format CCD sensor.... The cheapest camera it's attached to costs $15,000.... so pretty much my current annual income. I didn't buy that.
So I got myself a digital SLR. I didn't go too crazy. I didn't buy myself a EOS-1Ds Nor did I dish out for a Nikon D3. Ultimately, I opted against both of those cameras for what I considered to be two very good reasons: 1) I'm not a professional and 2) I don't have $9,000. No, I went for the camera that professionals use as their back-up camera. The one that they use when their real camera breaks down, or doesn't have the right lens attached, or doesn't have its battery charged, or whatever (although, I once knew a sports photographer who went to every event armed with three identical EOS 1Ds SLR bodies, each mounted with a different lens; for those of you doing the math, that's almost $30,000, not counting the lenses mounted to them; and the one of the three lenses he was using that I could identify at the time was worth $10,000 on its own; he rationalized it by saying that he didn't want to waste time changing lenses). I wanted something I could play with, not something that'll empty my bank account. Although, in hindsight, it did end up emptying my bank account, but only by virtue of the fact that my bank account is practically empty to begin with.
So the first few shots I took in a word, sucked. But I'm starting to get the hang of taking pictures with this thing. You have to think about a lot more, because you don't necessarily have a computer doing the thinking for you. You have to think in terms of depth of field, and white balance, and F-stops and shutter speeds. You have to think about ISOs and how they affect your images. You have to think about metering and when to use a flash. You have to decide when you want to opt for a regular lens or a telephoto.
Yeah, fun stuff.
Expect photos to be posted here in the near future.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Biologists Helping Bookstores
To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this. On one hand, I'm all for accuracy in filing books in bookstores; and as a biologist it sorta goes without saying that I believe Intelligent Design and Creation Science to be crap, but it seems like this lady isn't making a statement so much as she's making a mess. All she's really accomplishing is giving the employees more work. Bookstores don't file for accuracy, they file books where they'll sell the best. If putting Darwin's Origin of Species along side Harlequin Romance novels would make it sell better, they'd do it.
That said, if you file something in the "Science" section, you expect that it contains factual information. Nobody thinks that you should put a book in the "Modern Medicine" section that advocates smoking ten packs a day and eating junk food. Filing these books in the science section offers pseudoscience books a credibility that they have not earned through the process of peer-review.
Like I said, I'm really not sure how I feel about this, so I offer the link here, and in my blog roll, so you can decide for yourself.
That said, if you file something in the "Science" section, you expect that it contains factual information. Nobody thinks that you should put a book in the "Modern Medicine" section that advocates smoking ten packs a day and eating junk food. Filing these books in the science section offers pseudoscience books a credibility that they have not earned through the process of peer-review.
Like I said, I'm really not sure how I feel about this, so I offer the link here, and in my blog roll, so you can decide for yourself.
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