The Big Climb

Last Sunday I participated in the 20th anniversary Big Climb for Leukemia. The picture at the right is the Columbia Tower, the tallest building in Seattle and the site of the "Big Climb". Key stats:

• 69 flights of stairs
• 1,311 steps
• 19 steps per flight
• 788 feet of vertical elevation
• 1,389 people finished the race

I've contemplated participating in this race ever since I went to fat camp and lost 80 lbs by working out on the step mill. This piece of machinery will Kick Your Ass! I vividly remember the first time my personal trainer told me to get on and try it for "oh five minutes or so on level 3." After about 2 minutes I had created a step mill waterfall of sweat that would nourish a small African village. Over time, I eventually worked up to level 14 for 45 minutes. Other people in the club would always look over as I jacked up the speed and started to work out. -- Finally after 3 years I decided to try this race and see how close the step mill reflects climbing actual stairs.

I arrived at the Columbia Center (know locally as the death star) about an hour before my assigned race time, found a parking spot in the garage, rode the elevator to the first floor of the building, and witnessed my first jackass. As I left the elevator, I noticed a lean "Earth Runner" type warming up for the race by sprinting up the down escalator. This guy was taking this pretty seriously. Why would someone do this?
I checked in, and made my way over to the area I was told to wait in. All around me, a ton of people were stretching, tying and re-tying their shoe laces, running in place etc. I began to question my training regime. The previous afternoon I had participated in a Texas hold-em tourney followed by a large sushi dinner with plenty of beer and wine. I woke up race day and went out for a large breakfast which included a pretty stiff cocktail. Had all of this work prepared me for the race?

The group I was racing with consisted of all types; young, old, male, female etc. After our group's race time was announced, we all rode up a series of escalators which took us to the start line. The way these tower climbs work is, about every 5-10 seconds, a racer starts by swiping their timing chip as they run into the stairwell and begin their race. Being a rookie, I was a little nervous about the correct procedures / etiquette. Do you allow people to pass you or is it like roller derby where you elbow people trying to pass you? If you are passing do you yell "Left" like they did in Spanglish? I didn't have much time to dwell on this because pretty quickly I was at the front of the line and the line police guy yelled "Go!"

I went. Like the wind. I swiped my chip and headed for the door leading to the stairwell. I took the first 8-10 flights at two steps at a time, looked down at my heart rate monitor, and did a double take. My heart rate was already at 158 beats per minute. I quickly realized that I wasn't going to be able to do this thing at 2 steps at a time. I dropped downed to 1 step at a time and tried to find by rhythm.

Things are different in the well. At first you notice the silence. Waiting for the race to begin, there is the general buzz of tons of nervous competitors and their families. As soon as you go through the stairway door, the buzz quickly disappears. The silence is deceptive, and is quickly replaced by other sounds. The clop, clop, clop of rubber soles on cement steps. My loud breathing and the breathing of other competitors begins to overpower the silence.
It is also hot and humid in the well. The heat is comparable to a wrestling room. Hundreds of exerting bodies have run these stairs before I started. The humidity is from both the exercising humans and also from the spilled water from the watering stations scattered every ten floors or so. The race facilitators try to alleviate the heat and humidity by running large fans spaced every few floors.

I pass my first competitor around floor eight. He is a large muscular guy, and he looks like his heart is about to explode. I continue to pass people as I make my way up. The further up I go, the worse people look. I tried to pace myself with the goal of not getting passed by anyone. The over heard the gal that started right after I did telling her friend that this was the eighth race she had run, and she was on my heals through about floor 30.
The middle floors of the race are sort of a blur. I know at one point I grabbed a cup of water, and still had the same cup of water at the next water station ten floors up. The race was worth it for the middle section alone. The best part of tough exercise has always been getting into the “hypnotic” rhythm. When you get into this rhythm, it seems like you could go all day.

My rhythm was broken in the last 10-15 floors by a bunch of Muslim children. How do I know they were Muslim? The girls were wearing head scarves. My only complaint about the race was this aspect. These kids were blocking the stairway and wouldn’t move over. Some of them were sitting on the stairs stating that they were dying. I managed after some struggle, to get around this bunch of kids, and before I knew it, I was through the finish line door and on the observation deck of Seattle’s Tallest Building. The views kick ass! Final time: 11 minutes, 58 seconds.

After catching my breath, I rode down the elevators and grabbed my free t-shirt. I’m looking forward to a sub ten minute performance next year.

How to have a bad day

This isn't quite "Gramdma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" but it is pretty damn close. How much would that suck? Let's see, I'm leaving a basketball game, minding my own business, and Bam-0! freakin Bambi tramples me. Do you think she heard the clop clop clop of little deer hooves on the pavement right before she got trampled? How will this experience change her life? Will she starts shaking and blinking her left eye the next time she sees a deer on the side of the road? Will she no longer swerve when a deer runs out in front of her car? Will she take up hunting in much the same way Rambo went after Murdoc after Murdoc sold him down the river to the Soviets in Rambo 3? Maybe she will go the other way and become wacky deer lady, protector of all deer. She will really try to get into the head of deer. Become one with the deer. Something like this....

Mustache Contest Finale

I lost. I lost bad. I lost really really badly. Damn my hairless body! A curse to all of those ethnic types that need to shave 15 times a day and still look like sasquatch. My only solace is that the terrorists can grow bitchin' beards and I don't want to have anything in common with those Piglet hatin' head choppers. Here is the growth chart for the winner.

I have one word to describe this guy: Terrorist!

Here is a group shot of all of the participants. You can tell by our expressions, that January with facial hair was a cruel combination.

This is the trophy.

It is pretty sweet. A little too sweet if you know what I mean. This will definitely end up in the winner's metaphysical hall of shame. Wouldn't it be strange to come upon this little gem in an old trunk of your dead grandfather's house? What would you think? "Wow it looks like old Pappy won a "Stachey" back in aught 6. No wonder I have to shave my legs four times a day....

Here is my picture from the final day:

I think you will agree that Jason + Mustache does not equal mad love. Having a mustache is kooky. Complete strangers start calling you "Dude".

I leave you with possibly the most disturbing image of them all.

* Warning * * Warning * * Warning * * Warning * * Warning * * Warning *

He's single ladies!

Cox and Forum.

If you are not going here daily, you should be. Probably the best libertarian/conservative cartoonists out there.

Let Us Get Honest

Now that Hamas has won a huge victory in the "Palestinian" elections, can we finally stop saying that the so called "Palestinian" People want peace. Democracy is a great thing, primarily because it allows people to express their individual hopes and dreams through a political process. With the election of a terrorist group, no one can doubt that the "Palestinian" people hope and dream for the destruction of Israel.

I'm waiting for the United States, EU, and the rest of the West to stop sending foreign aid to these losers.

Also... Why are so many people shocked that Hamas won? The only reason I can think of is that they though Fawtwah would cheat.

An Ode to my Cat!

Pignose oh Pignose,
Why do you look so blue?
Pignose oh Pignose,
Your disdain for me is true.

Pignose oh Pignose,
Why do you feel so free?
Pignose oh Pignose,
Please don't squat on the carpet and pee!


I found an interesting post on the link between the parasite that lives in cats and schizophrenia. It seems that this parasite has been shown to infect rats brains and make these rats less afraid of cats. Rats not afraid of cats = rats in the bellies of cats. Rats treated with anti schizophenia drugs regain their fears of cats.

Note: this parasite can also affect humans.

Things are beginning to make sense. Due to my wife's recent pregnancy, I became the designated "litter box boy". I now suspect that I have become infected with this parasite. This infection explains much of my recent poor behavior. In addition, it seems that my cats have been controlling me.... causing me to purchase kitty treats and to feed them beef jerky. It is only a matter of time before Pignose rules the world. Say goodbye to clean carpets everywhere.

Mustache Contest Day 19.

So begins the dog days of the contest. The mid point week and the bloom is definitely off the rose. Scratchy, itchy, and definitely the ideal habitat for breeding lice. Enough of the benefits of the mustache, now on to the negatives of a mustache/facial hair. In researching the ideal style of mustache, it began to dawn on me that many mustaches (mustachi?) seem to have a high correlation to EVIL. Hitler, Stalin, Castro, pretty much all head choppers, and various male porn stars all sport a mustache. Which came first, the mustache or the megalomaniac behavior. I'll be closely monitoring myself for evil and or the impulse to audition for "low budget" film projects.

Those wacky Germans!

Mustache Contest Day 13:

Did you know that there is a "World Beard and Mustache Championship"?

In three short years it will be held in Anchorage Alaska. I have begun planning and construction of my own masterpiece. I'm leaning towards "The nuclear destruction of Iran" expressed in facial hair, but may yet change directions and construct the "Islamification of Europe" That last one may not work so well due to what appears to be a heavy European slant in the ranks of contestants.

Oh, check that, I'm not going to participate in this crap. I just read "This time, there was no overall winner, consistent with the regulations of the Association of German Beard Clubs." Only the Germans would institute a contest with no winner. Of course this may be a reflection that in a beard and mustache championship there really are no winners... just losers.

Anyway, day 13 not much different from day 12. Growth continues unabated. I've come to believe that if my beard was thicker, I would look like Grizzly Adams right now. No more withdrawals from the contest, and we have begun designing the trophy. I suggested a Mr. Potato Head with nothing but the Mustache attached. We are researching the costs of bronzing said Potato Head.

Office Mustache Growing Contest

My team at work decided to hold a little mustache growing contests for the month of January.

Day 12:
Growth continues unabated. Not yet Gabe Kaplan, but well on my way. Yesterday we had our first quitter. He only lasted eleven days. Due to the early withdrawl, I decided we needed to institute a buddy system. Much like an alcoholic has a sponsor they can call in their hour of need, we now have mustache buddies. People who have never attempted to cultivate the perfect mustache do not understand the dark recesses of the soul that a man explores peering at a half grown mustache at 5 AM.

Snared in an OFFICE TIGER TRAP!

Yesterday in a meeting with a few of my coworkers, one of them was snared in the dreaded OFFICE TIGER TRAP. The incident went down as follows:

The players:

Coworker A seated, Coworker B seated, Coworker C seated behind desk, and me, seated in front of desk.

The timeline:

8:05:03 – Meet to discuss typical office drudgery.
8:06:41 – Gaze out window.
8:07:21 – Coworker A rises from seated position. Initially ignored by all present.
8:07:32 – Coworker A begins to walk, destination unknown.
8:07:34 – Coworker A passes a seated Coworker B. I begin to speculate that Coworker A is heading towards Coworker C seated at desk looking at a Dell computer monitor. No way to speculate on the possible reasons why Coworker A would want to do this. Coworker A seems to have an almost hypnotic gaze. Something unworldly is pulling Coworker A toward the computer monitor.
8:07:35 – Coworker A steps in the loop on the pull rope of a set of window blinds. All present unaware of Coworker A’s precarious situation – including Coworker A.
8:07:36 – OFFICE TIGER TRAP is sprung.
8:07:37 – Coworker A is on the ground. Right leg elevated in OFFICE TIGER TRAP. Pain begins to Appear on Coworker A’s face.
8:08:01 – Coworker B and Coworker C begin to offer solace. I attempt to contain myself.
8:08:41 - Meeting continues.

One month old

I snapped this picture while genevieve was pretending to sleep. Right now she is laying on the couch beside me listing to 70's music. It really seems to have a calming effect on her.

Today is daddy/daughter day. Genevieve's mom is going out Christmas shopping today and that means Baby's first Seahawks game! The education begins in earnest today. First a little football, then a continuation on musical themes. I started her out on 70's music because it was the height of the signer/songwritter era and as such is pretty mellow. You can't force feed baby reggae at one month, although I will probably slip a little Bob Marley in, just to get her interest peaked.

The musical education became important once I found out that her mother had been playing total "crap music" when she was in the womb. Backstreet Boys, Modonna, etc. is not going to cut it for my daughter. Badfinger just came on, and Genevieve is grooving. Got to go, the Mom just woke up.

Workout Change Up

I changed up my daily workout this week, and boy am I sore. My entire lower body is wrecked. I'm limping around the office like I just spent a month on Brokeback Mountain. Ehhhwww!!!

Dirty diaper, dirty diaper, dirty diaper, dirty diaper, etc, etc, etc,.........................

3 week old daughter.... nothing but poop, puke, and crying...


the weird thing is I love it. I promise to blog more when I get some time. Work has been crazy, but good, I finally have something to do.

I will have much more on wine and wine reviews when I start posting regularly. Also, I turned 32 last week, and I didn't post my thoughts. - may be a good thing.

Consumed a great Spanish wine tonight, - I must warn, after I drank it, I ordered ABBA Gold, - it was that good! - anyway, I will post soon.

More Baby Pictures:

Just back from the hospital and here are a few more pictures.

The weigh in.


Also, the one-eye. Genevieve is from a long line of one-eye's dating back to her 16th century pirate ancestor. You can almost here her say Ahrrrrr

Introducing Genevieve Grace!

Here is my new daughter Genevieve. She was born on November 17th.
Vital Stats:
Weight: 7 lbs 11 oz
Length: 19 3/4 inches
Cuteness Factor: High
Body Part that most resembles mine: Toes.

I'm sure she will make numerous appearances on the pages of this blog. She sort of looks like she is raging inside - just like her mother.

Ugh... Wednesday Night. Worst Night of Television Ever!

Hump day should be renamed Lump day. Boring boring boring. I'm so bored I'm watching my cats sleep. Man they are lazy beasts. I think one of them wants me to carry him into the bathroom so he can drink some water out of the tap. Fat chance little bastard. Maybe if you weren't so lazy, you wouldn't have got so fat, wouldn't have developed diabetes, and now wouldn't experience the classic dry mouth associated with that feline scourge. Oh well... circle of life.

Ah... Friday night and good Spanish wine.

Friday night and all is quiet. The wife is sleeping on the the couch. Periodically she wakes up and says stuff like, "why are all the light on?" and "Turn down the T.V." I am watching VH1's I love the 80's 3D. Right now they are profiling Jimmy the Greek. Yawn. I highly recommend Solanes 2001 Priorat. Very very good. I'm not yet at the point where I will describe the wine in high falutin' flowery language. Get it and try it. I'm going to have to purchase a case, and throw it in the cellar. A+

If you have been reading the blog, you will know that we have coons. They live in the back forty and basically come around and bother the cats from time time. I now believe that they are up to no good. This morning as I was leaving for work, I noticed one raccoon slinking around the side of my house. A few minutes later, another raccoon appeared and looked a little guilty. They are planning something, and I have the sneaky suspicion that what ever it is, it is not benevolent.

2 weeks to go till the kid is scheduled to arrive. We'll see if she is on time. Knowing her mother, she will be late, but stylish.

For you viewing pleasure, I have include "Monkey Bass".

I think I found my cat a boyfriend!

Drudge links to this story about a cat named Five Toes (yes he has 5 toes on each paw) that has two tongues! The two tongues got me to thinking that Five Toes may be the perfect boyfriend for my cat Pig Nose (yes she has a nose like a pig). Pig Nose is a dirty cat, and I figure if she had a boyfriend with 2 tongues, she wouldn't smell like ass all the time.

Bad Karaoke Night (Is there any other kind?)

This story out of Butte Montana demonstrates why karaoke is evil, and should be banned. Monday night at the Party Palace, 1 West Park, transsexual Kyle “Tawnie” Riekena claims she/he was beaten down and had her/his wig stolen while attempting to use the woman’s bathroom. Party Palace owner Ted Deshner disagrees with parts of “Tawnie’s” story.

“Tawnie” entered the bar Monday night for a drink and some song stylizing with a male companion. Monday is the traditional karaoke night at thousands of bars and taverns across the country. I have a little pet theory that “hate crimes” increase on Mondays during football season by 300% and this is a direct result of mixing Monday Night Football and the kooky Japanese sport of karaoke. The demographic divide between MNF fans and karaoke fans will not be bridged until a world class Japanese quarterback emerges to lead these two groups to the promise land.

After finishing his/her drink with his/her male companion, “Tawney” made a request to sing the karaoke song, “Killing Me Softly” by Roberta Flack. The first thing I learned about karaoke, in my long descent into this gritty subculture is that karaoke is all about song selection. Now far be it from me to “blame the victim” but come on, a transsexual in a bar in the toughest town in America should stay far, far, far away from a song entitled “Killing Me Softly”. “Papa Don’t Preach”, “Groove Is in the Heart”, and pretty much anything from the “Yentl” or “Pricilla” sound track will work, but come on, he/she is lucky he/she only lost his/her wig.

Soon after requesting the song, “Tawnie” entered the woman’s bathroom and allegedly startled a woman who told Deshner a man was in the women’s bathroom. Deshner then interrupted the karaoke, got on the microphone to tell all men to stay out of the women’s bathroom. Again, drawing from my vast karaoke spectator experience, interrupting karaoke for any reason is a bad idea. Deshner is lucky the patrons didn’t riot and burn the place down.

Deshner is quoted as saying, “If you have a penis, you should not go into the women’s bathroom. I don’t care if you have a doctor’s excuse.” Apparently “Tawney” has a note from her doctor and her counselor that explains his/her “condition” and gives him/her the right to use the women’s bathroom. I also have a note from a counselor that says I’m sane. I can’t tell you how handy that is….

After Deshner made his announcement, the karaoke hooligans pushed “Tawney” out the door and onto the sidewalk. The karaokigans hit and kicked her. “Tawney” is quoted as saying, “Imagine being pushed out a door and to your car by a tidal wave of human beings.” Deshner claimed he did not go outside, so he doesn’t know what happened to “Tawney”. He does know that someone did take “Tawnie’s” wig.

Deshner claimed his actions where not motivated by prejudice. He said, “I don’t want to chase anybody out, I want to make money.” This statement rings a little untrue to these ears. If he really wants to make money and not chase anybody out, why does he offer karaoke every Monday night?

The final piece of this story is pure gold. “Tawney” plans to continue living in Butte, were she is seeking work. “Tawney” says, “I’m treated great. I’m told I look good. I’m compared to Victoria’s secret models a lot.” He/She is also determined to complete his/her sex change. “It will happen short of death,” Tawney said.

I sense a Lifetime movie deal in the works. Working title – Karaoke Caress – The Tawney Riekena Story.

Weird workout story:

I diligently workout six days a week to keep myself in fighting trim. I belong to a large exclusive high end club, the kind where people play squash, hit the spa, blow dry their genitals (a story for another time), then sip wine at one of the 2 restaurants in the club. This place has flat screen digital TV all over the place, all of the latest equipment impeccably maintained, the whole nine yards. The level of service and luxury at this club typically translates into the rudest membership roster possible.

This morning I am working out on the stepmill, doing a quick 35 minutes of cardio before lifting some weights, and a guy jumps up on the machine next to mine. I immediately look down the line of 30 open machines, and wondered why this guy would pick the machine next to mine. I am about 15 minutes into my workout when, the guy starts fumbling with the magazine he was reading and drops it off the front of his machine. I finish my workout, wipe down my machine, and was about to head down to the weight room when the guy next to me asks me to get his magazine for him. I was shocked. In order to get this guy's magazine, I would have to either walk about 20 yard down the row of machines, turn and walk back, or squeeze through a 7" gap between the machines. I choose to squeeze through the gap, grab the magazine and as I handed it to him with my sweaty hand I said, "Here's your magazine ya Jackass!".

The guy looked at me like I just punched his poodle. I guess he could not comprehend that I wouldn't want to be his man servant and clean up after him.