Mt. Ranier
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
The Importance of a Home
I would like to note that our desire to live in Columbia is note purely a selfish one. Allison and I have talked at length this summer about how exhausting it has become to be without a home. For those of you who have ever had the experience of working seasonally and moving where the work is, though it is very exciting, it becomes less romantic the older one becomes. For one, the outdoor education industry is slightly "cultish" in that it requires one to move away from his family and friends and live in a communal environment where one has to share everything and has very little privacy. The work space, the living space, the eating space, and the social space are all the same and it is easy to become burnt out and annoyed with this lifestyle. What I have been recognizing this summer is the significance in having a place to call home. By this I mean the importance of having a community of people with whom you share a common sense of place, lifestyle, beliefs, etc. and who support you on your path to self-actualization.
I have fallen in with a large number of vagabonds over the last five years who are without home, without community and without a very strong sense of what is important in life. You have probably seen the cliche' Shakespeare bumpersticker quote, "Not all who wander are lost". While this is absolutely true, the implication behind "not ALL" is also very true. Many who are wandering ARE lost. They are direction-less, ritual-less and without a culture for which to compare and contrast the cultures of others. The relationships one develops from constantly moving from place to place are, at best, trite. There is simply no time to develop deep roots that allow a person to grow. Instead one ends up talking only of his travels and plans and experiences and taking little interest in other people's struggles and successes. There is no commitment to people, lifestyle, or ritual. One simply changes to survive in a new environment, and then changes again when it comes time to move on. I feel that traveling is extremely important for young people to do. It allows a person to explore different sides of himself, while seeing different cultures and broadening his horizons. However, I am beginning to see that all of this growth is for nothing if it cannot be brought back and applied to his own life and shared with society at large.
My hope is that Allison and I will be able to move in the direction of having a place to call home and creating a culture for ourselves that we can one day share with our children. I regret no part of my travels and hope that there will be more exploration to come, however at the end of my next adventure I want to return to my own home.
I have fallen in with a large number of vagabonds over the last five years who are without home, without community and without a very strong sense of what is important in life. You have probably seen the cliche' Shakespeare bumpersticker quote, "Not all who wander are lost". While this is absolutely true, the implication behind "not ALL" is also very true. Many who are wandering ARE lost. They are direction-less, ritual-less and without a culture for which to compare and contrast the cultures of others. The relationships one develops from constantly moving from place to place are, at best, trite. There is simply no time to develop deep roots that allow a person to grow. Instead one ends up talking only of his travels and plans and experiences and taking little interest in other people's struggles and successes. There is no commitment to people, lifestyle, or ritual. One simply changes to survive in a new environment, and then changes again when it comes time to move on. I feel that traveling is extremely important for young people to do. It allows a person to explore different sides of himself, while seeing different cultures and broadening his horizons. However, I am beginning to see that all of this growth is for nothing if it cannot be brought back and applied to his own life and shared with society at large.
My hope is that Allison and I will be able to move in the direction of having a place to call home and creating a culture for ourselves that we can one day share with our children. I regret no part of my travels and hope that there will be more exploration to come, however at the end of my next adventure I want to return to my own home.
New Plans
The summer is winding down in the wide world of outdoor ed. and Allison and I are making plans for the fall. First things first, the wedding! Our wedding will be October 2 in Columbia, MO. (Allison's home town) at a quaint winery on the Missouri river. After the wedding we are making plans to move to Columbia.
Earlier in the summer we had been propositioned with the idea of moving to Barcelona, Spain and teaching English. Originally, being the passionate travelers that we are, this sounded incredible and we started making plans almost immeadiately. However, in examining our needs and goals for later down the road, Spain, fun and educational as it would be, would get us no closer to our individual goals. Alternatively, the idea of moving to Columbia sounded more promising in meeting our needs. Allison has applied to two jobs at University of Missouri, both of which would allow us to save some money toward future endevors and give her professional experience toward her goal of getting into a graduate program in psychology. She has also generously offered to be the sole bread winner in our relationship for a period of time and allow me to pursue my dream of writing and publishing a first novel.
Earlier in the summer we had been propositioned with the idea of moving to Barcelona, Spain and teaching English. Originally, being the passionate travelers that we are, this sounded incredible and we started making plans almost immeadiately. However, in examining our needs and goals for later down the road, Spain, fun and educational as it would be, would get us no closer to our individual goals. Alternatively, the idea of moving to Columbia sounded more promising in meeting our needs. Allison has applied to two jobs at University of Missouri, both of which would allow us to save some money toward future endevors and give her professional experience toward her goal of getting into a graduate program in psychology. She has also generously offered to be the sole bread winner in our relationship for a period of time and allow me to pursue my dream of writing and publishing a first novel.
Friday, June 24, 2005
The Perfect High
There once was a boy named Gimmesome Roy. He was nothing like me or you.
'Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas -- which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca-Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate-chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn't quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn't remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.
Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
"But hell," says Roy, "I'm a healthy boy, and I'll crawl or climb or fly,
But I'll find that guru who'll give me the clue as to what's the perfect high."
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits -- and cries -- and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He's grinding his teeth, he's coughing blood, he's aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow-blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes -- sits the godlike Baba Fats.
"What's happening, Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I've come to state my biz.
I hear you're hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see," says Roy to he, "that I'm about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?"
"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "here's one more burnt-out soul,
Who's looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won't find it in no dealer's stash, or on no druggist's shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high -- find it in yourself."
"Why, you jive motherfucker!" screamed Gimmesome Roy, "I've climbed through rain and sleet,
I've lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I've braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot's kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears 'fore they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn't climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn't crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I'll kill your guru ass!"
"Ok, OK," says Baba Fats, "you're forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that's known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil's garden blooms the mystic Tzu-Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu-Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don't ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers-by.
And you must slay the red-eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There's a blood-drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu-Tzu tree."
"To hell with your witches and giants," laughs Roy. "To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu-Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his snow-blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it's always the same, old men or bright-eyed youth,
It's always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."
By:Shel Silverstein
'Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas -- which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca-Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate-chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn't quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn't remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.
Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
"But hell," says Roy, "I'm a healthy boy, and I'll crawl or climb or fly,
But I'll find that guru who'll give me the clue as to what's the perfect high."
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits -- and cries -- and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He's grinding his teeth, he's coughing blood, he's aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow-blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes -- sits the godlike Baba Fats.
"What's happening, Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I've come to state my biz.
I hear you're hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see," says Roy to he, "that I'm about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?"
"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "here's one more burnt-out soul,
Who's looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won't find it in no dealer's stash, or on no druggist's shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high -- find it in yourself."
"Why, you jive motherfucker!" screamed Gimmesome Roy, "I've climbed through rain and sleet,
I've lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I've braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot's kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears 'fore they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn't climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn't crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I'll kill your guru ass!"
"Ok, OK," says Baba Fats, "you're forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that's known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil's garden blooms the mystic Tzu-Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu-Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don't ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers-by.
And you must slay the red-eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There's a blood-drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu-Tzu tree."
"To hell with your witches and giants," laughs Roy. "To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu-Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his snow-blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it's always the same, old men or bright-eyed youth,
It's always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."
By:Shel Silverstein
Intolerance
I just returned from instructing my first Outward Bound course. Most of the kids on my trip were incredible, talented, intelligent and all-around beautiful people. However, I was very disturbed with a few of the boys that offended me nearly fifteen times a day with their sexual vulgarity, racial, gender, and sexual stereotypes and overall disrespect for the people around them.
Perhaps I've forgotten how close-minded and inexperienced I was at 17, but I don't think I ever had as much hate and disrespect for people as these boys did. I tried to teach a lesson about diversity and tolerance and the response from a few were, "I didn't pay $2000 for a liberal brainwashing" and "If gays want to burn in hell that's their business, but I don't have to participate in this conversation". I was not TELLING anyone what they had to think, merely exposing them to the language that many use on a day to day basis and how that language might offend people around them who are of a different culture, gender, religion or sexual orientation then they are.
The racial stereotypes were bad too. Things like, "Black people love fried chicken and watermelon, right? That's what they eat?" and "I love black people, I'm black on the inside. I got fourteen black friends". These aren't blatantly hurtful comments, but the fact that they can count the black people they know and have no idea about how rich the African-American culture is, is very telling of our society.
The objectification of women was just as bad, "Did you F--- Lucy last weekend? You should try putting it in her...or...and if she doesn't like it just smack the hell out of her". I recognize that these are young boys with insane amounts of testostrone pumping through them, but these were things they were saying out loud, even yelling to each other, in front of every adult present.
After only a few days it was obvious to me that these kids are growing up in absolute seclusion from people who vary from the straight white Christian American male prototype that seems to be the mold for what is "normal" and "right". They saw nothing wrong with talking about women as though they were nothing more than plastic blow-up dolls, talking about African-Americans as though they are some strange cult of people that exist in the corners of their communities, Latinos as though they were just the people who mopped the floors at their local Burger King and about gay people as though they were serial killers or child molestors. It is burning in me because I know these stereotypes are learned, which means they are being passed from the adults in their communities. I've decided it will be my mission on these trips to teach tolerance (even for the intolerant) to our youth. If anyone out there has suggestions or resource recommendations for reaching young people on these issues please respond. And if you are subject to these stereotypes yourself, please, please, please, go out and immerse yourself in a community of people unlike yourself. Take the time to learn about other people. It is disturbing to no end that such a diverse and great country like the U.S. is closing doors for people who just want to feel comfortable being themselves.
Perhaps I've forgotten how close-minded and inexperienced I was at 17, but I don't think I ever had as much hate and disrespect for people as these boys did. I tried to teach a lesson about diversity and tolerance and the response from a few were, "I didn't pay $2000 for a liberal brainwashing" and "If gays want to burn in hell that's their business, but I don't have to participate in this conversation". I was not TELLING anyone what they had to think, merely exposing them to the language that many use on a day to day basis and how that language might offend people around them who are of a different culture, gender, religion or sexual orientation then they are.
The racial stereotypes were bad too. Things like, "Black people love fried chicken and watermelon, right? That's what they eat?" and "I love black people, I'm black on the inside. I got fourteen black friends". These aren't blatantly hurtful comments, but the fact that they can count the black people they know and have no idea about how rich the African-American culture is, is very telling of our society.
The objectification of women was just as bad, "Did you F--- Lucy last weekend? You should try putting it in her...or...and if she doesn't like it just smack the hell out of her". I recognize that these are young boys with insane amounts of testostrone pumping through them, but these were things they were saying out loud, even yelling to each other, in front of every adult present.
After only a few days it was obvious to me that these kids are growing up in absolute seclusion from people who vary from the straight white Christian American male prototype that seems to be the mold for what is "normal" and "right". They saw nothing wrong with talking about women as though they were nothing more than plastic blow-up dolls, talking about African-Americans as though they are some strange cult of people that exist in the corners of their communities, Latinos as though they were just the people who mopped the floors at their local Burger King and about gay people as though they were serial killers or child molestors. It is burning in me because I know these stereotypes are learned, which means they are being passed from the adults in their communities. I've decided it will be my mission on these trips to teach tolerance (even for the intolerant) to our youth. If anyone out there has suggestions or resource recommendations for reaching young people on these issues please respond. And if you are subject to these stereotypes yourself, please, please, please, go out and immerse yourself in a community of people unlike yourself. Take the time to learn about other people. It is disturbing to no end that such a diverse and great country like the U.S. is closing doors for people who just want to feel comfortable being themselves.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Sunday, June 05, 2005
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