Awesome dog trick, wonderful aloha story, and some random "likes"

Nearly seven years ago I started this blog. I can't really remember why. Partly I wanted to write down my thoughts about menehune, amazing Portuguese triathletes, and neon namaste so I could recall them later. And aloha, which means "Together we breathe". That really said something to me. (See post of October 2005 if you need a refresher, but it wasn't that great-- I'm warning you) There are a bunch of posts about the Official Offspring of the blog. How time has flown. Eldest off to college and Younger soon to follow. The Official Pets of Your Humble Bloggist (YHB) have gotten some ink. When Rusty died and then Doug Stern (Official Swim Guru of the blog), I was grieving a little and wrote a piece about things that I didn't understand. And mostly didn't like. Like how someone dumped Rusty by the side of a busy road and how he probably would have been killt (as they say in these parts) if I hadn't taken him home. And apostrophe abuse. I wrote that I very much dislike apostrophe abuse.

Today YHB felt moved to celebrate some amazing things about being alive. You may find this vastly uninteresting. Actually if I were you, I would ignore this unpolished, cringeworthy prose. If ever there was an example that proves that an apt description of the internet is a "semiliterate writing club" here you go. There are much better things to do with your time. I hear that somewhere on the cable lineup, there is always an Andy Griffith marathon going on. Maybe you should go tune in to that.

1 Les Misérables

Embarrassing. I always ALWAYS bawl my eyes out in the penultimate scene when the ghosts of Fantine and Eponine start singing to JV. I'm tearing up right now thinking about it. I have seen this show maybe 10 times and it happens without fail. Below is the Forbidden Broadway take on LM which reduces YHB to tears of laughter every time.

LM has been a recurring theme throughout the marriage of YHB and the Official Awesome Breathing Partner (OABP). When we were on our London honeymoon, we emerged from the tube from Heathrow at Goodge Street, checked into the Ridgemount Hotel, and dashed to the Barbican, where we were standing in line for returned tickets to the show. There were these scalpers trying to get more money than we had. Finally one of them got desperate and sold two to us for 5 pounds sterling. Nice bargain in 1988. On Friday we are attending the community theatre of our small but worthy metropolis for opening night of the local iteration of LM. We thus add another Hugoean (?) entry to our timeline together. I hope OABP remembers the Kleenex.

2 Pringles

Not natural you say?? To that I retort that you must expand your definition of "natural". What could be more natural than a hyperbolic paraboloid? This potato chip has an associated parametric equation. This comes form the Virtual Math Museum website:

The parametric equations for the Hyperbolic Paraboloid are:
    
      x = aa * u
      y = bb *v
      z = cc * u *v

My Calc III student could tell you what that means to her, but to me it just says, "tasty side dish in a can". Couple weeks ago we visited the Emerald Isle and obtained some "Smokey Bacon Flavour" Pringles. Unable to eat all of them in Ireland, we transported them back to our small but humble metropolis. I ate the last one the other day. You can always count on a tasty hyperbolic paraboloid when you eat a Pringle.

3 The new drive-through ketchup packets. No more imprecise, foil-bagged mess delivered to you in sizes that are not large enough. The new design from Heinz allows for perfect placement and comes in just the right amount for medium fries. I am glad that the designers of the world are always trying to improve things we didn't even know could be made more sensibly!

4 Scout's new trick

Watch this very short video and I believe that you will smile. This may be the most praiseworthy thing to have ever appeared in these pages. Scout is the Official Tawny Beauty of the blog.

5 My Seinfeld cereal bowl

This is the last thing I ever saved up cereal box tops to send in for a prize (circa 1996). Larry David and Jerry clearly commissioned a quality product, because I still use it today, here with Weetabix from Ireland. If anyone in Bloglandia remembers what cereal you had to eat to get the box tops for this, please let me know. Do cereal companies still do this? I have not seen box top loyalty prizes in a long time.




6 People who have a way with birds

Some of you know that there lives a beautiful, egg-producing chicken at the Official Abode. Pippa the Americauna. She has a poolside coop. Recently the OABP and YHB were privileged to travel to beautiful Ireland. Our luxe hotel provided the opportunity to participate in falconry with Juergen the Falconer, who has trained an amazing variety of birds



















Raptors are awesome. OABP also has a way with the avian set.

7 Baby Galapagos sea lions

Nuff said!


8 My friends Colleen and Dave got hitched a couple weeks ago.

Here they are in our eighth grade yearbook, only one page apart! 1977, loyal readers! Colleen and Dave hooked up at our 30th class reunion. And then they got hitched. And if that doesn't fill your heart with gladness nothing will. Aloha, Colleen and Dave! May you breathe together eternally.

For the umpteenth time in the past 3 months, we of the Penn State diaspora have reason to grieve. What follows is all I personally know about Coach Paterno. Nobody except my Awesome Breathing Partner knows these stories. If you want to read the rest of this, I thank you. I'll read about your memories too, if you want to share somewhere.

Age 14:

A skinny 9th grader suffering from all of the insecurities that accompany adolescence, I entered (against my better judgement) the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts poetry contest with a ridiculous sonnet. Yes, iambic pentameter, 14 lines, rhyming couplet. The whole deal. Subject: fast food. Title: Ode to the Big Mac. Silly, silly juvenile stuff. Our amazing English teacher, Miss Riley, encouraged me to submit the dang thing in a contest. I don't know if there were only four entries or what, but for whatever reason I was awarded Honorable Mention. This is where the coach comes in. You know he was a man of letters, right? He was the presenter of writing awards at the Arts Festival in those days. The coach handed me a plaque and a framed copy of my incredible work of literature (Ha!), and said something to the effect of: "Never stop writing, kid. You'll be doing yourself a favor if you never stop writing." Joe Paterno himself peered at me through those famous lenses and tried to teach me a life lesson. Heady stuff for a kid who lived in an apartment (in a complex called Nittany Gardens, no less) with his mom and sister, that's for sure.

Age 17:

There I am with Judy Heicklen in the gym at State College Area High School. We're holding each other up. It's late at night. Why? Because it's the Dance Marathon, of course. One of Joepa's daughters was in our class. I should have known her well because our lockers were next to each other down by the chemistry lab. But I never summoned the courage to talk to her. I am so sorry for her loss today. Anyway, maybe because his daughter was participating, Coach stopped by and gave a little inspirational speech, the content of which I can't recall. Then he went around the room and said something to us individually. Something like "Keep going. We're proud of you." Joe Paterno himself told me he was proud of us! I think I know how one of his players must have felt when Joe gave him a pat on the back. Great coach.

Age 20:

If you went to Penn State, you probably had at least one random encounter with Joe. As I recall, I was walking along Shortlidge Road on my way to class. It was cold and people were walking around with their heads down. Most of you probably know that Joepa lived in a very modest house on the edge of campus. We passed as he was, I assume, walking to work. I caught his eye and said, "Stay warm, Coach". He gave me one of those Brooklyn-tinged chuckles in return. What I admired most about the man is that he never seemed to take himself too seriously.

Age 35:

The last time I spoke with Joe was at a party for a mutual friend (Miss Riley, English teacher nonpareil, coincidentally) at the Nittany Lion Inn. It was a lovely summer evening on the lawn and we were introduced. He asked me, "Do you still write poetry?" I was floored. Or grassed, as the case may be. In retrospect it was presumptuous of me to think that he remembered the skinny ninth-grader on the award stand so many years ago. I'm pretty sure now that Miss Riley said something to him. (But if so, come to think of it, how would SHE have remembered?) He had a nimble mind, I'm pretty sure. Maybe it was nimble enough to remember my name. Sounds good. I think I'll go with that. That's what the Awesome Breathing Partner thinks, and she is pretty much always right.

Coach Paterno always used to say, "You're never as good as you think you are when you're winning. But you're never as bad as you think you are when you're losing." I'm pretty sure he never got too caught up in all the icon and legend stuff. And I hope that he never thought any worse of himself over the past few months. If I could talk to him one more time, I'd say "Thanks for being someone who inspires a person to never forget four brief, memorable encounters with you, Coach."

Addendum 7.18.12

In light of the findings in the Freeh report, I have to say that there is some language in that last paragraph that I should qualify. If Joe did not do the things that are implied in the various cited emails, I hope he was able to go to his rest in peace. If he did indeed actively shelter a monster at the expense of vulnerable children, I hope he was tormented in his last days at the thought of the consequences of his actions for the victims, Joe's family, and the greater community of Penn Staters and State College natives.

WARM AND FUZZY RECOLLECTIONS OF ALCATRAZ

The 16th Alcatraz Invitational Swim, that is.

Alcatraz means "pelican" in archaic Spanish. Did you know that? 

 The Alcatraz swim is nearly impossible. Look at all that can go wrong. Maybe you would find it difficult jumping off the boat into the arctic water. Or perhaps the currents of certain death intimidate you. What about the sea monsters? Massive kraken, I tell you! Ghosts of incarcerated gangsters, too. Probably some ordnance out there. Underwater mines and the like. You're practically begging to be exploded! I do not know how we all survived. Ahem.






If you want to swim Alcatraz it helps to have a neoprene ensemble. It is also useful to have at your disposal a trusty Dingo to evaluate and critique.




















You might be lucky enough to have a pool to do an equipment check. OK, yes, that's ridiculous, and I do apologize that you had to see that.

















When you go to San Francisco one of the things you can do is consult some enthusiastic bicycle rental people for a ride over the GGB (Golden Gate Bridge, you know).

There are probably a lot of people who have these exact pictures (just with different riding companions, duh) on their memory cards. And why not? There are great scenes to be snapped.



























Sunny Sausalito.
















A stand of redwoods.


















In this picture, someone got to inspecting the camera and it kind of accidentally went off. Much like the Scout self-incrimination tale of yore! (Yore in this case being the last entry of this ridiculous bloggage. Why anyone would still be reading this is a mystery to me. But the Scout story is pretty funny. Your Humble Bloggist laughs every time he reads it. I find myself very amusing. The Official Offspring of the blog have had to live with two parents who like to chuckle and guffaw at their own material. Sorry, kids...)


















This is in the lobby of a swank hotel where you can have a post-ride taste of wine and catch up with old friends whom you have met on an island nation. Or you maybe knew this one guy because you were best friends with his cousin in childhood, which is kind of a weird coincidence.


Why not go for a small swim in the bay? Did I mention that the water is not warm? You just had a glass of wine for courage, though. There is the just-dive-in-and-get-it-over-with method.














Then there are other methods.















Waterproof cameras are fun!

Spectators, whatever you are thinking regarding the sanity of choosing this frigid post-wine-tasting activity, I'm sure you are right.













San Francisco at night? Pretty photogenic.










Next, there is the day when you get to jump off a boat into the bay right by the decrepit prison on the island. It is a fascinating eyesore, that prison.


















The swim booties club is a small but intelligent subset of Alcatraz swimmers. By the way, can JB rock a wetsuit or what?

Alcatraz swim team, all for one!

Some of you may not recognize the second swimmer from the left. She has a very well-repaired wetsuit and many tales of providing Ironman medical tent resuscitation. And a smidgen of disdain for those athletes who like to brag about how many liters of intravenous fluid were required for their post-race survival. (To which I say: "Word!!") There was unanimous agreement that we need to have more events including this person.








Goofing around on the boat. Pretty fun.






Neoprene swim caps, especially of the Orca variety, are awesome.








So, yes, about the ear plugs...keeps out the cold water AND prevents you from having the impacted whale cerumen (ear wax) problem. I'll explain that later if I ever decide to finish writing this post. You are probably asking yourself why anyone would bother to finish writing this post. I can't come up with a good justification, honestly.























Calm waters awaited us that day. Thus, good pictures of heads bobbing in the bay.









Hooray for the swimmers!

Hooray for Irish coffees!


























The Official New Camera of the Blog has a setting where the picture takes as soon as it detects someone smiling. So that explains the outbreak of people saying "cheese" on the streetcar.

Some people have incredible homes in the city. And incredible hearts to invite a motley crew of strangers to their incredible homes.


























We should all probably grow up a little. 





















































If you want to go whale watching the next day, you have to wake up early.


For me that was a bummer because I was enjoying the  bliss of a sleep-of-the-dead in a penthouse suite at the Travelodge, which has been called a Tenderloin flophouse by some. While I would not necessarily disagree with that assessment, the top floor is paradise compared to being housed under some drunk 3 AM people dropping their beer bottles on the floor. That is another story, though.

Nice day, nice whales. Humpbacks. Cute birds, too. I'm really glad I know someone with a huge lens.

Rocky, smelly islands. Bird stuff, you know.

The peaceful rocking of the boat putting shipmates gently to sleep.

So on the whale earwax, that is one way to tell how old a whale is. Of course you have to wait until it washes up dead. Which is a little sad, so I'll move on.

Here is the view from the Cliff House.

This gentleman knows how to choose attire. Many is the guy, I suspect, who has been poked in the ribs by his companion and urged to "take notes!" when this sharp-dressed man goes by.

These two are a DC power couple. I'm pretty sure I only know their code names. Clearly one of them has been building her cover for like 35 years. You get snippets of info, like they are the ones who have developed the (begin Dr. Evil Air Quotes) LASER (close DEAQ) . I think I got that right. Doomsday (DEAQ) LASER (/DEAQ) development.

So in closing, whale spouts, ear plugs, automatic smiley photos, well-executed wetsuit repair, incredible barbecue hosts, swim booties, Ironman IV fluid bravado, redwoods, Dr. Evil. Any more tags? Oh, yeah. Great friends. Yeah baby.

Thanks to Lisa and her enormous lens for the wildlife pictures, and to Åsa for the picture of Lisa and her medium-sized lens.