Kenny Powers ...

... is the man!

Haunted By Black & Gold

What is is about the Black & Gold color scheme that tugs at me so strongly? To me it represents, fun in the sun, durability, & water resistance. Here are my Black and Gold belongings:

Nissan xTerra:


Jose Quervo Net:


Northface Ski Coat:


Samsung Rugby Phone:


Rio Cali MP3 Player:


Connair Chopper Clippers:


Head Blade Razor:

Happy Fathers Day

I love you dad.



He leans back from his desk,
rubs the back of his neck,
the stress takes effect.
Grips the bridge of his nose,
squints while he's showin' emotion he normally won't.
At fifty six, he re-evaluates,
possibly regrettin' some decisions that he's made.

Black is turnin' gray,
patches of his age,
reflectin' from the glasses,
a pass of every page.
Passionately day reads, readin' on occasion
Dreamin' of the day when he could do the same thing

He's always wanted to write,
that's all he's wanted in life.
With two daughters, a son, and a remarkable wife.
He's in a bind,
he has to provide.
A family is relyin' on him merely to survive.

His father died at fifty six,
so he's well aware how vital a father figure is.
How big of a responsibility it is,
to be a good husband and care for your kids
Never miss an event, helpin' them with homework.
Discipline to prevent things when they're older.

His only son is only twenty one,
and focus as a poet has only just begun.
Papa isn't dumb, he understands what this means.
His dream is my dream, my dream is his dream.

I close my eyes and I can see
The sacrifices he made for me.
Put it aside for his family
So I'ma keep it alive.

And so he targeted to be the dream guardian.
Guarding it from anything and anyone who's harming it.
But in his heart he knows the hardest thing about it is
givin' up on his dream to be all about his kids.

As he kisses the lips of the Mrs.
for twenty four years, goin' on the twenty fifth.
He thinks to himself, this alone is the wealth
That's greater then what's bought and what's sold on the shelf.

Sometimes a dream is all that we have
we have to continue to dream.
'Cause once it is lost amongst other thoughts
Then what really are we? What are we?

I close my eyes and I can see his dream
The sacrifices he made for me.
Put it aside for his family.
So I'ma keep it alive.

So he sits back at his desk
Crackin' his knuckles and back of his neck
Faxin' a paper displaying his name
On another application explainin' the main
things they should know but the things that they don't
are the things that distinguish him as an adult
and over the phone he can never expose
the roll that he chose, the roll in his home.

And at home he's a leader, a father.
He'll prove it by usin' his son and his daughters.
In their life he'll be playin' the part of
the one who inspires, the one we admire.

His only son is only twenty one
and focus as a poet has only just begun.
Papa isn't dumb, he understands what this means.
His dream is my dream, my dream is his dream.

I close my eyes and I can see
the sacrifices he made for me.
Put it aside for his family.
So I'ma keep it alive.

- Asher Roth

Halo's Render to Film Beta

Bungie has added a new render to film feature to their existing online fileshare system. It's amazing technology. Here are a few clips from some recent games I was in.

OK Coral
Go into room. Kill everyone. Exit Room. Simple Right?



Extermination
They say it's good strategy to stay close to your teammates. Oh Really?



Acrobatic Lazer
So what's a fella supposed to do when strolling in the desert and a warhog tries to run you over?



Kamikaze
We needed 2 kills to win so I turn Keith into a Kamikaze walking bomb as he charges 2 enemies in a bubble shield.



Jack Move
Sometimes the easiest way to get rid of those pesky warthog drivers is to get in the passenger seat and beat them down.

There's a new Sherriff in town

So I'm icing my back on the couch and Max comes up and punches me so hard in the stomach that he knocks the wind out of me. I fall on the floor and after I catch my breath I lay back down on the couch but I'm a little more weary of him. The next time he attacks I'm ready and I instinctively flex my abs, pulling something in the process. I wake up the next day and it's still sore.

I knew he'd kick my ass some day but I figured it would be around 14, not 4 !

I'm in trouble

So I'm driving home from the beach and as I pull into the driveway I see Riley sitting in her little lawn chair and enjoying a solitary snack as she's prone to do sometimes.

She's wearing a summer dress with knee high black boots and has her hair & makeup done from an earlier photo shoot at her dance studio. I could see all the dirty little teenage versions of myself that will be knocking on my door soon and all I had was this simple singular thought as I hit the garage door opener:

I'm going to jail.

Wine Glass Holder for Special Ed Students

Absentminded lushes rejoice: Never again will you have to wander around a dinner party wondering, "Where did I set down my wineglass?" With the handy Wine Glass Holder Necklace, your glass will always be right where you can find it -- suspended in front of your chest.

Just clip the glass's stem to the plastic holder and you'll have both hands free to raid passing hors d'oeuvres trays with a vengeance. But be wary of sudden, erratic movements, as the holder puts your glass in dangerous proximity to your shirt, making dry-cleaning bills a common hazard. To avoid fashion faux pas, you should probably wear this accessory only with ensembles that include a fast-drying burgundy shirt and black pants. The Wine Glass Holder Necklace consists of a piece of plastic that fits around the stem of a wine glass, and a nylon lanyard that goes around your neck.

Hate You Guys

So I decided to go on a hike with some friends this Saturday. Riley's softball game got cancelled and I knew the weather would be too crappy for v-ball so I got up early Saturday morning and headed to the usual meeting spot for all EWA trips ... the Factoria QFC.

I was starting to feel good about myself. Having the discipline to stay off the beach and give my back a break was a good idea. Then I get greeted with the following voice mail from Colin.

Hey Ardi it's Colin. I got your voice mail. Hey man, I'm really glad you're coming but I just wanted you to know that this isn't some fun hike like we normally do. This is a training hike for Rainier. It's pretty gnarly. Just wanted you know that. See you at QFC. Peace.

I called Adam.

Hey dude. I this hike pretty tough? Colin actually went out of his way to call me and warm me about it..

He laughs.

It's not any harder that the hike we did from Kelly's Cabin. Just a lot longer..

We all meet up at QFC and head out. B-Sack decides to cary a 35 Lb pack for better training. I guess they'll be haulin' 60 up Rainier. I don't know how B-Sack made it up there since I was struggling with just a camel back and couple of sandwiches in my pack. After the 1st mile we get our second wind and talk about Halo the rest of the way. The conversation makes it easier.

Anyway, Colin blasts his way to the top in no time with his giant stride and top notch cardio. When I finally make it to the top he asks me how I liked the hike.

Hate you guys.

Everybody laughs.

We eat for 30 minutes and head down since it's getting very cold and wet. Going down was even more work. I was using my legs and making sure no jarring or compression made its way to my spine. It seemed easier than going up but every time we stopped my shaking legs assured me otherwise. Adam and I talk about V-Ball on the way down and once again, the conversation makes things easier.

In the end I'm glad I did it and didn't hurt myself. B said if you tell anyone you did mailbox under 5 hours you deserve some props.

Payin' Dues

I wish injuries were like financial loans and you could pick & choose when you paid them off.


I'd like to put this injury on hold and pay if off in the fall please.

Certainly Sir. Would you be interested in 5 cc's of Cortisone.

I'm not sure. What's the interest rate on that?

High Sir. Very High.

Motivational Poster

Funny Pic I converted into a poster from Memorial Day in San Diego. Starring Matt, Steve, & Ben. Glad I'm not in it.

Click on Photo for full size view.

Another one bites the dust

Colin d'Hondt & Gayle Chonzena are getting married.

Yup, the pretty girl in the Salmon dress and the Viking with the 8 pack are tying the knott. Two of my best friends and closest confidants are getting hitched.

I hope they get married somewhere exotic so me and the crew will have another excuse to travel together.

P.S. Sorry fellas. The hottie in the middle is mine.

My Life Be Like Oooh Aaah

My buddy Chad Lyons, the tallented photographer and proprietor of SnapJacker.com was cruising Alki when he came across Toombstone and I lowering the boom on some poor victims. It was a good day. Biggest tournament ever at Alki. Teams came from Oregon, Washington, and BC. We won a few and lost a few. We played good but good's not good enough aginst the best from the NW if you wanna make the finals.

For the full gallery check out: www.SnapJacker.com

My Best Friend Chief

By Kelly Kortman

It was May of 2001, I was engaged to a nice wholesome PLU grad named Suzanne and living in my condo in Newcastle with a roomate Joey Rodriguez. We were all very good friends, we were all young (or younger) and broke and we one hot summer Sunday in May came to the conclusion that we needed a dog in our lives. We picked up a newspaper and looked through it for lab puppies. It was never our true intention that day to buy a dog, we just wanted to go and look at some labs and maybe play with them and pretend we were interested and then go back to doing what we did best at the time which was to have barbeques and drink..... a lot. We found an ad for lab/golden retriever mix puppies for $125 dollars. It was in Kirkland so we headed out. We arrived at the door and the guy opened the garage and there they were, 8 adorable 6 week old pups in a mix of black, tan and chocolate.

He wasn't a breeder, it just turned out that his female golden retriever got knocked up by the black lab male a few doors down. His goal was simply to find a good home for the puppies, he wasn't in it to make a profit, just wanted to get back the money he spent on shots, dewclaws and puppy chow that he had been shilling out for 6 weeks. We put all the puppies out in the yard and said, "Well if we are going to get a puppy let's get the one that comes to us first." One of the black puppies came darting right for us all giant paws and happiness and excitement. It was love at first sight for all of us. We could not drive down that driveway without leaving with that little guy. As it turned out he was our destiny and as it turned out I was his. We were all so broke at the time that we literally all pitched in for him (at least as it pertained to the purchase price, the rest going forward would of course fall on me.) $41 dollars a piece, that was the deal. We brought him home and I swear to God he was the smartest most intuitive dog that any of us have ever seen. He was housetrained in a week, could sit and stay and give paw in a month, initially learned how to roll over and then forgot, learned how to speak in about 5 minutes. I said, "you want a treat, go woof" And he literally went, "woof". And from then on he could "speak" on command.

Chief travelled everywhere with me, he was my nonstop companion from day 1. Immediately we had a bond that I'm not really sure I've ever had in my entire life. The weeks turned into months, Joey moved back to where he was from down in Santa Cruz, he bought all my furniture off of me with a promise to send payment for it when he got settled. He never did, fine with me, he had no intention of taking Chief, that was all I cared about. I maybe talked to him one more time, I have no idea where he is now, my guess is up to no good. I was a trainee at Morgan Stanley at the time that I got Chief and money was tight to say the least, they pay you just enough that you don't starve to death. Things were going OK with my girlfriend Suzanne, not great and I think we both knew that we were headed towards a break up. She had a Golden Retriever of her own named Eugene who peed all over himself whenever people would come over. He would roll over on his back and piss himself silly. If you were unlucky you would lean over to pet him and he would pee on you also. So that said when we broke up she had no intention of taking Chief with her either. So as we parted ways Chief was left in my sole custody. There were no battles in that regard. I would find out later that Eugene would die of cancer, it was sad to hear that. They spent thousands themselves trying to save him to no avail. It's amazing the things that we will do for our dogs.

August came and I was at my wits end with Morgan Stanley. I hated working there, it was the end of the summer in 2001, I knew that I needed to move on, I knew that I was going off of salary and I knew that I was going to go from starving to death to literally having to shoplift at costco or something. So I up and quit. It wasn't but two weeks later that September 11th occured. Morgan Stanley had their major operations at the World Trade Center. They were toast in more ways then one, the market was closed, their back office operations were destroyed, thousands of financial advisors flooded the street looking for work and I just so happened to, preemptively, land safely into a cushy little job as a financial advisor working in a bank for WaMu Investments. Higher payout, clients walk right in the door with $400k and a dumbfounded look on their face as if to say, "Please invest this for me." My life was changing. Had I waited but two more weeks Lord knows where I would be today, the world works in mysterious ways.

Meanwhile as the towers burned and collapsed I called Suzanne and we commiserated. We decided to spend the day together with Chief. I know that it's hard to remember now but I think that we all had a feeling that day that it was the end, or the beginning of the end or the beginning of something terrifying. F-15's cruised through the Seattle sky looking for rogue airplanes that needed to be shot down, every television everywhere played the collapse of towers one and two over and over and over again. We walked to a beautiful park in Greenlake, it was the most beautiful day that I may ever have seen. For those of us who lived in Seattle on that day and remember that afternoon we know that it was spectacular from a weather standpoint, not a cloud in the sky. Just jets.....patrolling.

Chief ran around the park in all his puppyish glory. Running up to strangers, kissing them, panting, excited and happy and stopping more than one person on that day from crying, if only for a moment. It was on this day that I learned the true meaning of ignorance being bliss. The grass was green, the trees were just ever so slightly turning color, the water echoing the color of the sky was as blue as blue can be. Chief in his prime soaked up the glory of the day, 10,000 years of dog and man commingling has not led us to a point where they have grasped the concept of human tragedy and yet they can lift us up in an instant like nothing else except perhaps God or a best friend or a parent.

Suzanne and I reconciled on September 11th as many of us did with somebody, anybody. Who wanted to be alone after that or who wanted to hold a grudge after that, thousands died that day unexpectedly and I don't think that anybody wanted to continue to dislike anybody needlessly.

My job took me to Bainbridge Island and Poulsbo. Places that I had driven through on my way to the coast or where I would take dates if I wanted to do something really different. Shortly thereafter I simply moved over there, the commute from Newcastle to Bainbridge was ridiculous. I moved out of my condo, rented it out and found a small cabin for rent on 5 acres for 800 bucks a month. It was about 700 square feet but it had everything that I needed. I was about 80k in debt at the time with my credit cards and it was, for me, the perfect price in light of all the uncertainty that swirled around my new job and the post 9-11 stock market.

Everyday that I came home Chief seemed to grow just a little bit more. He grew into a massive and yet slightly holy terror. He ate every tree and plant in the yard of the cabin I rented sending my landlord into an unstoppable piss-fest. Every time that she came to pick up the rent check she would mention that my security deposit was a mere forgone conclusion. I came home one day to find that he had eaten my mountain bike helmet. There was little this dog would not chew on. Suzanne tried her hardest to make this Bainbridge Island, South Seattle thing work out but slowly and surely it began to fail again. She left my life as a leaf leaves a tree in the fall, hardly noticeable, scattered among the debris. I don't question her love for Chief but she had bigger fish to fry. So did I. She moved on, when she left, she left us both, didn't even bother to ask for her $41 dollars back. I always respected her for that.

It was March of 2002. Things were normalizing and I was finally hitting my stride. I was doing huge numbers at work and making the big bucks for the first time in my life. It was very exciting, I was putting in long hours at work and Chief spent a lot of that time neglected sadly but he was the perfect dog. Never peed in the house, rarely ate anything larger than a couch and just the best thing in the world to come home to at the end of a 12 or 14 hour day. How a mangy wolf evolved into a siken haired black lab with a never ending array of love in his heart I have no idea. There is a saying about how a dog is lucky to know it's God while it is still alive. I think there is something to be said for that. If I loved God the way that Chief loved me I would venture to guess that my life might be just about as untroubled as his, tragedy aside.

It was a Saturday afternoon right around both of our birthday's his first and my 34th. I woke up that day, strode to the kitchen to make coffee and he, for some reason, jumped up and put his paws on my shoulder. I remember saying to myself, "You are the most perfect and beautiful dog that I have ever seen in my life." He was 100 pounds, pure black, hair longer than a lab but shorter than a retreiver, intelligent eyes, big head, perfectly amazing in every way. A supermodel of a dog. I loved him more than life itself. As a birthday treat I decided to take him for a jog. We headed down a usually desolate dirt road that leads to a lake (Lake Gazzam). He was on the left side of the road I was on the right, he stopped to take a leak, I continued forth, I saw a car emerge from a driveway, picking up steam, Chief finished his business and ran across the road, I saw it happen before it tragically did and then it, well, happened. The car hit Chief going about 40 miles per hour. Chief flew about 40 feet, the front bumper flew about twenty, I couldn't bear to look. I knelt to the ground and covered my eyes with my forearm and I just stayed there unable to move. I knew he was dead, I was devastated in the way that a parent is devastated at the loss of a child. I sat there silently picturing in my mind what I would find some 13 yards away and then I felt this wet nose on my neck. I looked up and there was Chief. He had ambled back over to me but something wasn't right. He was dragging his front left leg. It was limp and lifeless. I prayed it was merely broken. I made the guy who hit him give me a drive to my house probably about two miles away. He obliged. I transferred Chief from his car to mine, ran into the house to get my keys and told him to hang out so that I could get his information. I ran back out and he was gone. I could have found the driver again cause I knew what driveway that he had come out of but I never bothered, there wasn't much that could be done, it was just as much my fault as his for not having Chief on a leash and I heard that I could have maybe been just as liable to the damage that had been done to his car.

I raced Chief to the Vet. I panicked at every stoplight, I had no idea what the extent of his injuries were, he could have been bleeding internally for all I knew. I arrived at the clinic, parked poorly and gently speed walked him into the front door. They took him immediately and ran a bunch of tests and x-rays. He was perfectly fine, he just wasn't moving his front leg. It wasn't broken at all, the Dr. said that he would, over time, probably be fine, that perhaps his leg just hurt to the point that he was trying not to move it at all. I had high hopes in that moment, I was still in the denial phase of the mourning process. Just as we were getting ready to head home the Dr. said, hey, wait a minute, I want to try one last thing. I literally already had Chief in the back of the truck when he came out with a simple baby pin in his hand. He began to poke Chief's leg up and down with the pin......nothing. No reaction. He then poked him in his good front leg, he flinched, gave a small yelp. He pricked the other leg, continued lack of reaction. He poked all the way up to the shoulder and finally got a reaction but the leg didn't move. He told me the news I didn't want to hear. The leg was paralyzed, dogs legs go back and forward, they do not go side to side, when he got hit his leg got whipsawed in the wrong direction and snapped his nerve in half. He did give me that 1% chance that it was merely temporarily paralyzed due to trauma and could return. But it was a long shot. I asked about quality of life and he assured me that three legged dogs do great. I didn't want to have a dog that couldn't do the things that a dog needs to do, to well...... be a dog. But he continued to insist that despite the possiblity of a shorter life-span that he would be just fine.

I took Chief home and babied him like crazy. Gave him leg massages to try to restimulate the nerves if they were still lying dormant. Gave him treats and table food and baths and whatever else I thought that I could to make him better. Whereever he went though he continued to drag that leg around. Time marched on and lo and behold in a couple of weeks he was feeling really quite well. He was even running around a bit but of course the leg just flopping around. I bought him a special shoe I found online for sled dogs so that he wouldn't continue to abrade his paw as it dragged along the ground. It kinda worked although the shoe fell off a lot. A month went by and still no feeling and no movement. I knew that sooner or later the sore that was developing on his paw would get worse and worse until it became infected and probably killed him so it was, sadly, time for the leg to go.

I consulted with the Dr. and he agreed to do the surgery even though he had only done one before while in medical school. He said that as part of his recurrent training he would discount the surgery down to about $1500 dollars. Normally it was well over $2000. Of course having a novice, dog leg remover kinda made me nervous, I needed all the cost savings I could get as I was still digging out from quite a bit of debt, etc. I brought him in for the surgery. I prayed on the way there that all would go well. I had to go to work that day but went to go and see him afterwards. I walked through the door, through the waiting area and down a hall to a set of "recovery cages" It was one of the saddest things I had ever seen. My once perfectly glorious dog from just a month earlier was reduced to a kind of Franken-dog. He was shaved over a wide area of his body. He was missing an appendage and had what seemed like a thousand stiches and staples. The way that he was sewed back together gave him a little man boob where all of the areas of stiches came together, he was restrained and attached to tubes. He did not look happy but he recognized me immediately and tried to get up as if to say, "Hello, get me the hell out of here, what have they done to me and where is my frickin' hair and um my frickin 'leg." I wanted to cry. But being the strong, silent type in the most serious of situations I kept a level head. I opened the cage door where he was being kept and scratched his ears. He just lay there and looked at me with those big, brown, sad eyes. After about 10 minutes the Dr. came around and told me how the surgery went, that Chief would be staying with them for a couple of days, that I could come around and see him if I wanted to but that he was being taken good care of. All the girls in the clinic had of course fallen in love with him and his personality and disposition. I knew he was in good hands. I walked out of the clinic feeling just about every emotion that you could imagine, sad, despondent, responsible, callous for not getting a sleeping bag out of the car and staying with him. One day I imagine I might have to leave a child in the hospital overnight, I can't imagine the feeling might be much worse.

Alas, the day finally came to take him home. I packed him into the car with all of his bandages and medications, painkillers, antibiotics, etc. We made it back to the house. I layed him on the couch and he slept for what seemed like an eternity. Dogs in kennels bark all night long for whatever reason, probably didn't give him a lot of time to rest. Watching him lying there on the couch all bandaged up was difficult but at least he was home where he belonged.

It was tough for a while there, I was working a ton and would hire kids from the neighborhood to come and keep an eye on him from time to time. The days slowly turned into weeks, the staples came out, the hair slowly began to grow back in, the man boob slowly disappeared into his fur and he learned how to get along on just three legs just fine. Pretty soon he was back to being my full on running partner and whereever he went he was the talk of the town. If I had a nickel for every time I heard the phrase, "Mommy, that dog only has three legs!".

Weeks turned into months, things were getting better and better for me financially. I finally bought my first house. Chief and I moved into it and continued to live life. Chief by this point was just as fast as any other dog, almost to the point where I would say, "Man that fourth leg served to do nothing but slow him down!" Despite the series of fences that I had built to keep Chief from running away he would still find a loophole from time to time to sneak out and roam around the neighborhood. He slowly over time became part of the scenery and had any number of people giving him treats and letting him hang out at their house. There was one family in particular where he would go because there were always a ton of kids playing there and they had a couple of dogs that somehow Chief must have recognized as his "pack". So whenever he would escape my Byzantine array of fences I would find him there, chilling, playing with the kids or the dogs. It did make my job easier when he ran away to know where he would be. I can't recount how many times I recall picking him up to put him in the car, his belly wet from the quick ocean dip he would take on his way over there and of course I was usually wearing a suit and a tie and was either on my way home from work or on my way to work and of course I would get soaked. I always wondered too if he really couldn't jump into the back of the car or if he just knew I would do it so he stopped trying.

I started to take Chief everywhere with me again. Hiking, camping, to the beach where he of course became a phenomenal three legged swimmer. He remained a very powerful dog with super powerful hind legs that perhaps got that way because of the extra work that they were doing. He loved everybody and everybody loved him. He learned to do this thing where he would lay down on that missing shoulder with his butt in the air and his head looking up at you as if to say, "Pet my belly but I'm not really interested in going all the way onto my back for you, it's too hard to get back up." He served as an inspiration not only to me but to many people that he would come into contact with. He was an inspiration to me because he taught me that you should never be held back by whatever handicap it is that you might have. Whether it's a missing leg or what have you you just have to keep moving forward because what other choice do you have? One girl that I would hire to "babysit" him from time to time actually wrote a poem about him for a school project. Later I would hear from her as she entered her twenties that he had the same effect on her as well. It's so easy to feel sorry for ourselves until we find someone or something that has it worse than us while at the same time having a better attitude, better disposition or a better life.

People would marvel at his speed and endurance and disposition. I would marvel at his ability to overcome and the fact that he never took the time to feel sorry for himself. If there is one human trait that I wish didn't exist it's that. Whenever I was having a bad day or wasn't able to close the big deal or whatever the case might be I came home to the most loving animal on the planet who didn't care what my accomplishments were, so long as I loved him back and gave to him what he gave to me, everpresent friendship and companionship and love. He was there for all of the ups and downs of my life. The newfound love that had just walked into my world or yet another relationship coming to an end. He gave them all a chance, he never judged them and where he had taught me so much about so many other things I guess the one thing that I never did learn from him is patience and forgiveness and a better sense of understanding. And yet he was and has been the one constant in my life throughout this last fourth of my life.

More time went by, we moved into an even bigger house. The stock market roiled upwards, everything was going very well. I was taking flying lessons and doing all the things in life I had always dreamed of doing. At the top of the stock market I bought a cabin out in Leavenworth. By this time also, Chief had a little brother come along, Samson. Samson was a white male Lab and the worst trainwreck of a dog that you could ever imagine but of course that is a story for another day. But it would be Chief and Sam and I heading out to the mountains every weekend to go and work on the cabin. It was that fall of 2007 when I was constantly taking Chief in and out of the Defender that I noticed that he was starting to get very apprehensive about jumping out of the truck. I had always put him into the truck but he was always eager to jump out and do whatever it is that dogs do once they are freed from the confines of the back of a vehicle. I of course was clueless at first as to what was going on because of course not only do I see myself as resilient and indestructable but I thought Chief was as well. I guess that I just assumed that he would pass away silently in his sleep at age 15 after having spent the day chasing rabbits around a golden field in an act of futility. But what I didn't realize is that all those years of overusing his back legs that he was slowly wearing down his hip joints or perhaps dealing with the age old Labrador issue of hip displasia. In fact there was one weekend where he couldn't even really move or get up and would cry every time that he tried. That was a very sad weekend. By Sunday I would take him to the emergency vet clinic and of course the minute I got him there he was moving around again just fine. The least expensive thing you will ever do is pay for the dog; the vet bills.... totally another story. I paid 1/1000 for Chief what I've spent over time in vet costs and medications. It's pretty amazing to think about. And I know, being a pretty healthy guy with good insurance that his medical costs have outweighed mine by a mile.

So now we are giving him tramadol for pain, novox for the reduction of joint swelling and I just ordered from Amazon.com some omega three and glucosamine infused dog treats. We'll give this a shot. The thing I notice lately is that his front leg is getting a little shaky. He spends more and more time simply lying around. He doesn't want to get up in the morning, I have to drag him out from under the bed and down the stairs to put him outside so that he can go do his thing. I take him for a walk and he has to rest after a block. I from time to time have to leave him up the street after a brief walk, go and get the car and drive him back to the house because he still weighs 90 or so pounds and I can't really carry him. What makes this really sad is that his mind is still the same, I see the light that is on inside, he is the same dog but with none of his former capabilities. His internal organs are without flaw, he still has great muscle tone, his teeth are gleamingly white, his eyes are bright and alert, everything about him is flawless. He just doesn't have much left in the way of mobility.

I pray that this new round of joint supplements does the trick. I would love to keep him around for a long time to come. I always thought that he would be the ring bearer at my low key beach wedding which is pretty much what I'm down to having at this point in my life. I hope he makes it. There is a fine line between keeping a dog alive for the dogs sake and keeping a dog around for your sake. I'm trying to find balance with that line. My friends say that once the front leg goes that I should have him fitted for some kind of dog dolly or something like that. That to me seems almost more cruel than the alternative. Dogs are not meant to scoot around on dolly's. Ok so maybe the puppy born without back legs or what have you but not a 10 year old Lab with three legs, two bad hips and an arthritic, shaky front leg.

When the day comes and that day will come it's going to be one of the most difficult days of my life. I had a pretty difficult childhood, I lost my father at a young age, I had a mom who kind of struggled with that and went off to find herself leaving me to find a way in this world pretty much on my own. My sister moved down to Florida, I went off to the Army in Hawaii, I came back, my sister was married and off raising a family of her own, I had high school friends, then I had Army friends, then I had airline friends and then I fell into a group of buddies up here in Seattle. I guess my point is that although having been blessed to always have people in my life they have not always been the same people. Chief, crazy as it may sound, has been one of the most consistent things in my world all these years.

Raising a dog is like raising a child. You feed them when they are hungry, you bath them when they are dirty, you love them with all your heart and they love you back. You scold them when they are bad, you forgive them and move on. They love you back with all their heart, they are excited to see you every single day as you return home. They follow you around from room to room as you go about your day, they look at you quizically as you do the crazy things that you, as a human, do. Despite their fear of vacuum cleaners, dogs and kids, I would assume, have a lot in common. They are kids that you raise from babies who pass away at the age of 10 or 15 if you are lucky. It makes you wonder why they have such a short life span. Is it to teach us about mortality and loss? I don't know. If God ordained the Universe and created all the laws that make this world work there has to be a reason for this phenomenon.

"I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?"

-Sir Walter Scott


I will never forget Chief, I will always love him and I will forever be changed for having had him in my life. I feel that he was my destiny and that all of the things we went through - we went through for a reason. I'm a perfectionist and he taught me how to deal with imperfection. He taught me to find beauty in the simple things. He gave me a reason to come home at night when I would have turned my 12 hour day into a 16 hour day otherwise when I was coming up in my new career. He taught me about the true meaning of unconditional love. He led me to many places that I would have never gone had I never bought him. The guilt of ownership took me on many a hike that I wouldn't have taken otherwise. By simply being there he created a situation that no matter how much I tried to isolate myself at times from the world, I was never truly alone. As I type this right now he is laying at my feet, seemingly content with the world. I wonder what he thinks about. Does he know the end is coming? Does he feel sad about it? Is there something instinctually inside of him that tells him that his hips will most likely continue to worsen and not get better. Is he my guardian angel who had come to earth to keep a closer eye on me, is his job almost done for some reason? I don't know. I do have this feeling though that I will hang on till the bitter end and I believe that he will as well. I just don't want to hang on too long and I don't want him to either. For as long as I live though he will never be forgotten and I do not think that he will ever forget me either and if there is a heaven for dogs I know that he will be up there keeping an eye out for me. If there is a singular heaven for man and dogs alike I know that whomever is waiting for me at the end of my life that he will be amongst them and the first to run towards me, fur flying, tongue wagging, eyes filled with happiness and joy as he leaps into my arms knowing that we will be able to spend eternity fetching sticks from a crystal blue river and of course this time he will be swimming out to get them all four legs moving perfectly in time against the water in an effortless motion.

"My goal in life is to be as good of a person my dog already thinks I am."

-Author Unknown



Editors Note:
My greatest memories of Chief are:

1) When he was a tiny puppy and I took him for an early morning swim in Chelan. Once we were about 40 yards offshore he panicked and tried to use me as a life preserver, scratching the fuck out of my back and arms in the process. Luckily Jen was along on that trip. Othewise, explaining all that damage would have been awkward to say the least.

2) When recently and not in the greatest health, he followed the boys, Kelly, and I along with Sampson up a steep mountain behind Kelly's cabin and then, more impressively, somehow slid and banged his way down. I learned a lot about love and perseverance on that climb.

3) When he followed me into a raging Skykomish River and I barely managed to save him & myself with one hand on a slippery rock and the other around his collar.

This part sounds like someone I know:
What makes this really sad is that his mind is still the same, I see the light that is on inside, he is the same dog but with none of his former capabilities. His internal organs are without flaw, he still has great muscle tone, his teeth are gleamingly white, his eyes are bright and alert, everything about him is flawless. He just doesn't have much left in the way of mobility.

Tweet Your Twitter

Ha ha! Something eerily familiar here.

Skill

Skill - noun
1. Adeptness
2. Ability to recreate a scenario consistently

Not what you expected

Might seem like another machinema but there's a nice surprise at the end. Plus it's for a good cause.

Happy Mothers Day

Brave Heart

ONE

MORE

WEEK

The Alpha Male's Burden

Quotes from one of my new favorite authors, PhilaLawer:

...........................................................................................................

Twenty six is a rotten year. You're not an adult by any stretch, but you're way past college jackass. None of the things you really want to say, think or do are acceptable. Every day's another exercise in suffocating what you'd been for the last decade. For some it works; for others it's futile - the live wire of adrenaline you lived on since Junior High can't be unplugged, boxed and stuffed on a shelf. The current in your head builds, relentless, voracious, demanding to be fed. It pitches tantrums while you sit silent, staring at off-white walls and monitors, the low hum of florescent bulbs hissing through your ears. Adjusting's futile; it's too clinical, antiseptic, mechanized - the photographic negative of everything your body's craving. The mind rolls to where you ought to be... On a speedboat rolling through a jungle river, taking notes for a National Geographic article on Nigerian warlords... Driving cross-country in a beaten up Volvo, warm air in your face, stealing a drag from the cigarette of an impossibly built brunette in the passenger seat... Sipping a Heineken and eating crackers, watching the buildings disappear under the wing of a plane to Anywhere But Here. That Ben Harper tune's on repeat in your head... "I believe there's a better way..." Flight, movement, some sort of juice - blessed stimulation of any kind. Is that too much to ask?


Millions of people everywhere sit in cubicles all day, demons clawing up and sliding down and down the half-pipe walls of their skulls, tortured adrenaline junkies trapped by the same thing that had Harris, Martin and me by the balls - short term cash flow. For most of us, the money comes when you're least able to use it the way it ought to be... Twenty years of cash when the old lady's tits are at her knees and you're too tired to fuck anyway. Florida. Golf. A car with heated seats. Then the Big Sleep. The only cure for the pain of twenty six is pussy. A woman's as necessary as water. You don't have to love her. You don't even have to like her. But you need her there, under you, above you, in front of you, grounding the live wire of adrenaline and testosterone. When you're young, losing your mind in an office and not getting any action, you're an unpinned grenade. There's really no reason to live and you don't give a shit about anything. People say college is the chapter in your life where you build the stories you cringe recalling 20 years later. Twenty six and involuntarily celibate kills college... and nearly kills you.


The male doesn't age as we think. In fact, he doesn't age at all. He assimilates, placates and slows, accepts the reality around him and plays what he's told to play. But just a little bit deeper, a scratch below the mask, he's eighteen-to-thirty forever, and every now and again, in the right combination of circumstances, with the right mix of triggers or enticements, that selfish, single minded monkey will break out and escape the cage. And flowing from his greed, gluttony or vice, or a combination of the three at once, a trail of damage will follow. But he'll never be directly blamed. It'll all be collateral damage, the sort of thing that happens when you lock the animal down too tightly, rob him of natural releases.

- PhilaLawer

American Heroes

I saw a back doctor today. I'm taking 3 weeks off from the beach to rehab my back and I was looking for someone to give me a cortisone injection to expedite the healing process. In the waiting room I find myself talking to a fella about my age. He was clearly in extreme agony. Walking and talking was very hard for him.

Turns out he was a commercial diver. His coworker got caught under a mudslide at 200 feet below surface. With a 3000 psi steel tube jet on one shoulder and his partners hand in the other he struggled for 40 minutes under water. Eventually he saved him. However, his back was screwed. He had twisted vertebrae and muscle tear / separation along his back.

The surprise was that this had happened in the Gulf of Mexico about 6 weeks ago and his first Dr. visit was last Friday here in Washington. He had spent the last 6 weeks in complete agony getting bounced around and dicked every which way by the insurance companies.

It's really sad. In the movies when the hero does something like this we just assume that once the ordeal is over he will get the best care possible from the rest of humanity. It's just a given. He risked life and limb to save another human. Can't you hear the emotional background music? ... But not here in good old US of A.

I spent more time today discussing insurance information and payment details than talking about my back. I easily filled out over 20 forms. Why? Just to have a few milliliters of liquid injected into my back. The whole thing could have took 20 minutes. But it took a hour on the phone and 3 in the Dr. office to make it happen.

Dave, my fellow patient. You're a good man. I hope you get the care you deserve and recover soon.

P.S. The Dr. I saw today DID turn out to be excellent and far more thorough and concerned than just about any I have seen so far.

P.P.S. One bright side note to all this injury drama ... They attached a heart monitor to my hand for the injection. They basically treated it like surgery. Anyway, the machine kept freaking out and sounding this annoying alarm. The nurse said it's because my heart rate is so low the machine thinks I'm dying. I'd even had a cup of coffee at work before I went in. She said that most patients are between 70 and 90. A few drop below 60 and NEVER below 50. I craned my neck around and checked out the machine. 45 bpm. I guess all that cardio at the gym in lieu of the beach is paying off. I'll be slow when I get back and I probably won't be able to jump very high. But it's good to know I can run slowly and not jump high all day long thanks to my conditioning.

Troy Duncan

"Anyone feel like rolling with my boy Troy? He's driving solo."

Garrett was leaning his spiky blond head in through Marty's passenger window. I could smell the gum on his breath and cologne on his collar.

Like most 20 somethings in the early 90's we were all a little baked and self-conscious; easily comforted by being around those we knew were as screwed up and neurotic as ourselves. The thought of leaving the friendly confines of Marty's Mustang and jumping in a car with a stranger put an abrupt end to our laughter, all of us considering if we really felt like taking a chance on a new character in our current state.

"Sure, I'll go." I said.

"I may not have your movie-star good looks but damnit I'm confident and charismatic." was probably what I was thinking sub-consciously. I figured I could leave Marty and the boys in his ride and meet this new "Troy" character. After all, he can't be too bad if he's meeting up with us to go to a rave.

I hop in the convertible VW and instantly feel the warm glow of one the oldest souls I've ever come across. Troy's inner peace was palpable and I knew we were already friends before I even had a chance to shake his hand or return his smile.

"We're stopping off at DJ's." Garrett said as he smiled and rubbed Troy's brillo head. "Keep an eye on this guy. Make sure he doesn't get lost."

"OK Snoop" I tease him back for needlessly carrying a gun to a rave.

We start chatting on the drive down, mostly covering topics only boys in their early 20's talk about as well as subjects of a more spiritual nature. Like my father, I can read people in seconds. I knew right away that we were cut from the same cloth. We'd be friends forever.

"Have you ever been truly euphoric?"

"I think so."

"I'm truly euphoric right now."

The evening was epic as all raves were in those days as we danced, explored people, and travelled the cosmos. Man could he dance.

This was my introduction to Troy Duncan. One of the most unique and coolest cats I've ever had the pleasure to call my friend. To say that Troy was "Cool" would be a tragically generic understatement. He had deep, true blue, jazz musician confidence as if he was surfing the wave of life - effortlessly carving turns and limping along to the beat of his own built-in I-Pod.

No matter where he was living, I always felt welcome to crash at his pad. I once even brought along 8 other rowdy boys when he and Luke were living in Chelan and they graciously housed us all with no complaints. Another time Matt and I brought the Jens over and crashed at the Duncan mobile home with Kelly and Dave Bartosh.

I remember sitting at Chelan park, basking in the warm summer sun, watching Troy and Luke run their jetski business, and feeling envious of the joy-filled peaceful life he was living.

I remember sitting in the King County Prison visitors room and watching Troy's mother cry as she pressed her palm against the glass, against his palm on the other side, feeling helpless as I held the food and books the guards would not let me give him.

I remember opening night at his club, SuperHighway, fully decorated with his own paintings and artwork. The proud smile on his face. The paintings looked different in a public venue. No longer the pencil sketches I used to flip through in his loft; They were real.

I remember skiing at Chrystal Mountain, catching flicks at the Egyptian, dancing at the Naft, driving to Chelan, Marty's bachelor party, endless nights lost in infinity. It is in these adventures and roller-coaster rides, as you peel away the husks of life, that a man's true character is revealed. You get to size him up and find out if he's truly the warrior he projects. You find out if he's someone you'd want in the foxhole with you. In the jungle. Across the ring.

Know this: He was made of granite.

He had his dark days. Sometimes we'd spend an entire day together and he'd only say a few words. On days like this I could really see the tortured artist living in his soul. Living, struggling, creating, destroying. I didn't care. Comfortable silence is something only true friends can enjoy.

I ran into him at Mo's a few months before Riley was born. I unloaded about how hard it's been living with a pregnant woman. A recent father himself, he expertly broke down how women's minds work when they're pregnant and offered advice on how to deal with them. Man was he good with the ladies.

"A pregnant woman is liquid because she flows. She carves arcs and curves in the vessel she forms. She is moved by the moon."

Later on, after Max was born, we compared notes on fatherhood over a beer at Mr. Lucky's.

"I’m not going to give you any advice."

"What? I just had my 2nd kid and things are getting crazy around the house. I look to you for some Troyism, and you tell me you got nothin'?"

"You are going to get advice from so many people, so take the advice they give you, nod politely, thank them, think about it, and then make your own decision."

The frequency of my interactions with friends has gone down as fatherhood has claimed larger portions of my time and my friendship with Troy was just another casualty as I went from seeing him every week, to every month, to maybe once every few months, and perhaps only a couple of times a year since 2006.

Troy had a good life. He had his ups and downs like the rest of us. At times he had this Andy Warholesque syndrome which made him brilliant and erratic at the same time. Great art comes from great suffering. Through it all, he managed to touch many lives and make the world a happier place floating on his art and his music.

I remember his words ... "It is what it is" ... "Let it go" ... "Pay attention" ... "be true" ... "Be True" ... "BE TRUE"

...

Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.

And I never see my old friends face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell.

And he rang mine but we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game.
Tired of trying to make a name.

"Tomorrow" I say "I will call on Troy
and let him know that he's still my boy".
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.

Around the corner, yet miles away,
a call from Luke, "Troy died today."
And that's what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.

- C Towne

Randomize

Maxo Radio and Maxo Life Project now have the ability to play music randomly instead of in the same order. It took me a while to dig into it but a good night sleep and strong cup of coffee finally prevailed.

Viva La Musica !!!

Stickin' It To The Man

I had back to back traffic hearings yesterday and today. Both tickets were issued at the same exact stop sign in my sleepy neighborhood. Both cases were dismissed but for different reasons. I actually had to duke it out with a real prosecutor (first time in over 30 hearings) in the 2nd one. My friends think I should get legal insurance for $17 a month and not worry about traffic tickets. Maybe some day I will but right now beating these chicken-shit bastards at their own game feels better than sex.

I had the first case dismissed due to untimely discovery (IRLJ 3.1). For the 2nd one the discovery motion was denied due to slightly varying circumstances and I didn't even bother with plan B because it wouldn't have worked with a real prosecutor present. So I fell back on plan C and actually showed them photos of the intersection, the curved cross-street, the big bush in the corner, and the stop sign and stop line that are yards apart. All of which combined into a BS story that even Max would not have believed but somehow it worked and I got the case dropped.

Although I probably fight and beat anywhere from 2 or 3 tickets a year for the past 15 years I have not actually had to testify and convince the judge I was innocent since college. I usually just make a motion for dismissal and get the case dropped due to some technicality which is only slightly lamer than the technicality that landed me in court in the first place.

It all feels like a cowardly game of chess for idiots. I get a ticket for something ridiculous like rolling through a stop sign at 5 miles per hour and then go to court and get the case dropped because some piece of paper was filed or sent out 2 days late. In the meantime, the cops time, my time, and the tax payers money goes down the poop chute.

Anyhick, the intense level of police activity around this tired, low-traffic intersection is only due to the fact the sheriff lives down the street. I hate cops. A good friend of mine, real sweet kid from college, became a cop and had a nervous breakdown after 6 months. He was just too nice. I don't know how I'd ever reconcile getting close to one in real life. I usually ignore or minimize the conversation with the 1/2 dozen cops in my gym. The news is rampant with stories of police abuse on a daily basis and that's only the 0.01% of the incidents that are lucky enough to get captured on camera and reported by the media.

Anyway, I'm rambling. In summary, cops suck, traffic law is for morons, and I rock. ArdAtak OUT !

The Gay Tea Maker

Deezel pulls off some mind shattering moves in order to work off a severe case of beaver fever in Thailand.

Goodbye Cruel World

Just HAD TO cool off after a long day of miniature golf in EWA (Chelan). It's really hard to even see me in relation the bridge and get a grasp of how high it is. I'm just a spec.

Matty Gets Shizzy With It

Clip from Winter of 2006 (ish). We had pretty much stopped jumping for a few years at this point. Old age, bad knees, and all. However, since we were skiing on Easter Matty decided pull some old moves out for old times sake.

Halo - As I Teabag you slow

Not an impressive performance. From the early Halo3 days quite a while back. The GameVee watermark in the bottom right should tell you how old this clip is. I like this clip cuz it's one of the last times me and the fellas played all together at the same time before everyone scattered their own way.

In retrospect I was very slow on weapon switches, lacked awareness, and had no practical concept of the BR's effective range. I did, however, have more patience and caution than I do now. It was still fun.

The kickass song is by Palette Swap Ninja. I didn't ask their permission to use this song but they're cool guys and I'm fairly certain they're ok with it.

Quickie

I was a funny little man ...
needed the fans help every morning just to get out of bed.
Luckily, I had the best fans in the league.

For the rest of the day, I needed God's help.
Luckily, I had the best God In the league too.
And boy did he come to play.
That crazy god, always comes to play

- Eric Schaeffer

To Sleep , Perchance to Dream

A Story By Kelly Kortman

---

I awake from day two of my cold and fever in a soaken sweat. I haven’t really eaten in a couple days, maybe a few grapes, a bite of watermelon, water, juice. I walk to the mirror, the abdominal muscles that I was working hard on the last several months but which never showed because I never dieted in conjunction are in their full glory, I literally must have lost 10 pounds as I sweated through two nights of agony and fever, I guess that‘s one way to do it. I’m now ripped like enlightenment era paintings of Jesus on the cross. My sunburn has faded into a golden glowy tan. My hair, falling out one follicle at a time since the middle of my Senior year of high school even seems fuller. I shower and wash away any remaining remnants of my illness. It’s noon, my friends have abandoned me it seems. I can’t blame them, the night before I was the picture of death. I seriously contemplated going to the hospital and getting an IV. Having no idea what that might cost and not knowing whether they have socialized medicine or whether I would end up spending more on that than say a years worth of car payments I decided to tough it out here at home.

I put on my swim trunks and walk down to the beach. Lay my towel down, load up on sunscreen cause I’m not going through the hell of sunburn again. I hear two guys and two girls sitting nearby speaking English. I almost have this feeling of Eureka! Or Thank you Jesus. It’s the first English I’ve heard in days outside of my circle of friends that I’m out here with. We exchange the usual pleasantries, where you from, how did you decide on this place, etc. etc. Two guys from Dallas, James who runs his fathers auto dealership and Tim who is a marketing director for Myspace, Sarah and Michelle are both from Sydney Austrailia have just graduated from college and are traveling for a year on a $5000 unlimited flying pass. Time passes on, we have a few beers, we throw the football around, I tell them how my friends have taken off and I don’t know when I might see them again. I tell them my deathbed story. The sun makes it’s ascent and descent in the sky, it’s four o’clock. They invite me out with them. There is a party tonight and there is a name for it in Portuguese that I quickly forget but loosely translated it means “Anything goes party.” It’s yet another in an endless stream of pre Carnival excuses to drink and have fun. For those who don’t know and I’m sure that most of you do Carnival the same as Mardi Gras perhaps without the beads or maybe there are beads I‘m not sure I‘ve never been. As the Catholics head into their period of lent and to the best of my remembrance from Catholic High School, it’s a one to two month period prior to the day of Jesus death. During this time you give up things, meat, candy, sex, in Italy probably your mistress. Things like that. Carnival is the time leading into that and everybody seemingly tries to commit as many sins as possible so that they can get them out of their system. I go home and shower, I put on my lucky shirt and shorts. We all get ready and we all have days where we come out looking like a 3 a 5 a 9 as it pertains to the best that we can look to ourselves. I’m rocking a solid 9.5, again for me. My 10 is Brad Pitts 3, let’s not kid ourselves. But there is something to be said for feeling good about ourselves that exudes through you and is picked up by the intuition of others. It goes the other way too as we all know. Not feeling good about yourself, that will exude too. Maybe this is God’s gift to me after giving me the plague for two days on my frickin’ vacation.

I meet up with my new amigos for drinks at a pre funk joint. We shoot a game of pool. We are all in a good mood. We grab a cab to this party that is in an outdoor venue. Oh by the way, still cannot find my friends, they are probably hiking through several mountains on their way to an undisclosed dinosaur dig. Did I mention their adventurousness? We see the lights and hear the music in the distance. Flashes of red and blue and yellow and green, strobes lights and fireworks. It’s amazing. We pay the cabbie and exit the vehicle, pay our cover and walk through the door to a throng of people, some in costume, some shirtless, girls included. Many people seem to be on ecstasy. There is a 5 girl to one guy ratio, I’ve never seen anything like this, girls sipping drinks on the sidelines waiting for somebody, anybody to come up and ask them to dance. My four friends have coupled up and have determined that they are going to make an attempt at faithfulness towards each other, I assume that they have not consummated their relationship yet, thusly. I am but one man in a swirling sea of music, woman, beauty and partial nakedness. I get that, “I have finally arrived and my vacation is beginning”, kind of feeling and yet I have a tiny feeling of remorse that my best friends are not here to share this with me. I buy a drink. I’m told to ensure that I open all my own drinks down here because some of the nare do wells down here for some reason like to slip roofies in your drinks and find you later and either take all your money or worse. I buy a beer and say, “Don’t worry I can open it myself.” The bartender looks at me funny but I’m not concerned. I tip him well even though tipping isn’t a thing down here.

I see my friends dancing in one little area, the girls to my surprise have already removed their tops. “When in Rome they say.” I’m smiling, surprised, laughing on the inside, mildly turned on, who wouldn’t be. I dance near them but don’t want to give the impression that I’m trying to weasel my way into their little semi circle of impending vacation one night stand, or romance or whatever it turns out to be for them. I have my back to them. I take my shirt off as well, why not right? I have Jesus abs again. I’m pulling out my best moves from the eighties, the snap and slide, the hands above the head but not too far above the head if you know what I mean, the shoulder shrug, I walk like an Egyptian which leads to a millisecond of vogue-ing with immediate regrets for having just pulled that one out of the dance move vault and then just sort of fall into the old “Footloose” side to side fingersnap. To my immediate left a group of demi-topless early twentysomethings make their appearance. Two topless, two covered in body paints, all beautiful and in perfect shape because that’s just how it is down here. [(aside) This island was founded by Germans who mixed with the Portuguese, Spanish and locals. For many years the Germans outnumbered everybody in the same way that the English came to outnumber the American Indians in Jamestown and other places in newly discovered America due to having wiped out their populations with smallpox. Over time races mixed on this island. Genetically speaking what the Germans brought to the table was blonde hair, blue or green eyes and um how do I say this delicately, topheavyness, the Portuguese and locals brought, genetically, dark skin, long skinny legs, nice posteriors. You put it all together and what you have is Giselle Bundchen. Anybody ever notice that Giselle has a German last name. Yep, she’s from around here and her cousins- tall and medium are everywhere.] I make eye contact with one of the girls in the group. I look into her big, blue eyes, She looks into my eyes we have a connection. She seems as though she is on some mind altering substance but I can’t tell what. She might just have been drinking a lot but I doubt it. I say “se voce falla englais” through the din of the music, which means “do you speak English in Portuguese“. She waves her hand as to say so/so. Now I’m making sporadic eye contact with all of her friends. They are looking at me like a Turkey as it comes out of the oven on Thanksgiving day by those who have been fasting since Tuesday so that they can binge eat come this moment. I electric slide over to them. I wink at my friends who are now intermittently making out and playing slap and tickle more than they are dancing. They wink back as if to say, “It’s on like Donkey Kong my brother.” The girls seem as genuinely excited for me as the guys. It’s a brave new world that we all exist in. Before I know it I move from outside the circle of dancing mini Giselles to being on the inside. They surround me and swarm me like bees in a hive. I wonder if I am part of a ritual where at the end of it all I will be put in a pot with some carrots and eaten or taken to the top of a mountain and sacrificed to the angry God’s who created this whole lent thing in the first place. Of course this is too good to be true. I’m 41 for the love of all things holy. These girls are in their early twenties, flawless and fighting for my eye contact and attention. I begin to get “bajoes” which is Portuguese for kisses. When I turn to one another slaps me on the ass, seemingly checking for firmness, when I turn to another I get rewarded with a kiss from her and a flirtatious bite on the back of my arm or neck from another. This goes on for two songs. I see other guys dealing with this same issue from other mini brazilian model wanna be/ could bes. Of course this is anything but an issue. It’s every mans fantasy and I’m seemingly living it in the moment. In life you hear many times that you should live in the moment and few of us rarely do but I’m truly living in this moment. I’m not thinking about work, the stock market, my advancing years, my 401k or my mortgage payments. The thump, thump of the techno music comes to a 1 second halt and a slow song comes on. Very strange for this atmosphere, it’s Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature.” I remember how big that MJ still is around the world despite his freakishness and retirement from music, oh, some 25 years ago in reality. I now suddenly have a choice to make because I cannot slow dance with four girls at the same time. To be fair I pick the one that I first made eye contact with. I do not make eye contact with the others because I know that there may be bruised feelings because at the end of the day nobody likes to be rejected especially by a 41 year old with thinning hair and a tinge of the crows feet. I pull her close to me, music is wafting through my ears, Michaels smooth vocals surround us……“and they say why, why, they tell me that it’s human nature, why, why does it do me that way.” We kiss, I now know fully what they have meant all those years by the saying, “the international language of love”. I can feel the top half of her body touching mine, the softness and the commingled sweat of our earlier dancing efforts We kiss for the entire song. The song ends, I look in her eyes, the full moon is, at this moment, being reflected back towards me from them. It’s 75 degrees out, a wind whips in off the ocean, for a split second you can hear the crashing of surf. Another thumping beat replaces the beauty of the previous slow song, a song that I very well may never now forget. There is no need to go back to dancing to the techno music. There is only one thing for us to do and that is to go for a walk down the beach together as anything else would be seemingly redundant. After a four minute stroll we find a closed down beach bar that has big chaise chairs locked up to their nearest post, the post which holds up the tiki style roof. For whatever reason they have left the cushions on. We fall into the couch like chair still able to hear the music in the background. “dinz, dinz, dinz, dinz” with the coordinating stream of lights glowing off in the distance. We talk a little for the first time, where are you from, what do you do, how is it that you are single. Her English is fair and my Portuguese is awful. I often have wondered why you will ask someone here a question and they will just start going off in Portuguese to my astonishment. Then I remember that I of course do the same thing. I get asked question in Portuguese and start going off in English because, well, that’s my only choice. We slowly realize that beyond the basics we have everything to say and nothing at all to say. So we stop wasting our time with small talk and begin kissing again. Girls down here, and I’ve heard this from many others, love to kiss and maybe fool around a little bit and have no problem with nudity, especially toplessness but beyond that they are pretty good girls. When things begin to get heated she pulls away, smiles, looks at me and with the wag of a finger says, “No, no, no mister.” She takes my hands in hers and starts kissing me again, I safely put my hands on her back, I figure I can’t get in trouble for this. We kiss for what seems to be hours. I feel like I’m at a high school party that I remember going to in my Junior year in Schaumburg Illinois where I kissed a girl all night in some parents who were away on vacation’s bedroom who was so turned on by this that she put scratch marks all over my back to the point that it looked like I had just made love to a Puma. I’m getting the same vibe here but thankfully without the clawing away of the shoulder blades and spinal cord region. I look up into the nighttime sky and see that the moon is in a different spot altogether from where it was when we first layed down. I look at my watch, it’s 3 am. I’m exhausted, thirsty, my mouth, lips and jaw ache from this marathon make out session. Don’t get me wrong I have no regrets and this girl may seemingly be the sweetest girl on the planet but having just come off a cold I feel that I should probably zip back to the crib and get some shuteye. I get up from the couch and extend my hand. She gives me the somewhat frowny, “I’m not happy to see this end” kind of look, but in that cute way that cute girls do it when they want to be…..cute. She reaches in her purse and finds her tube top like covering. She slides it over her head. This is the first time I’ve seen her with all of her clothes on, usually it’s the other way around, ya know? We make our way back down the beach, holding hands like two young lovers who’ve been at this forever. We speak minimally. I ask her for her phone number. She gives it to me in her best English. I have no pen or paper so I try to think of ways to remember it. I know that somehow by birthday is involved with the first part and two of my favorite football players jersey numbers are involved in the last part. I of course cannot remember her name for the life of me, I want to say it’s Giselle but I know it’s not. I last heard it hours ago and I was so taken by her raw beauty that it went in one ear and out the other, my brain apparently was processing too many other caveman style thoughts at the time. I ask her how she spells her name so that I can commit that to memory as well. It’s Patricia, but her friends call her what sounds like Patchi. The music gets louder, the lights get brighter the population of beach lovers gets denser and we know that we are getting close. She says, “Although my friends are going to kill me my brother is the one that is really going to be pissed.” But again half in English and half in her language but I get it. I say, “brother.” She say’s, “Yes, we came with him, he drove.”

We make our way through the crowd of yet reveling dancers. We go back to the spot where we first met. Her friends are gone, my friends are gone. We begin a search for them, we hold each others hands not necessarily to be romantic but to not lose each other because the crowd has actually become larger since we last left. We make our rounds to all the various bars that have been set up around the outside dance floor. The DJ is working up a furious blend of house and techno. We finally come across her friends sitting at a table, they now all have their tops on as well. Apparently toplessness is mainly for the dance floor whereas sitting at a table drinking a mojito is more of a “top on” kind of thing. They look at her with darting eyes. They are purely speaking in Portuguese for my non Portuguese speaking pleasure. I don’t understand a thing but I understand everything. “Where have you been, what have you been up to, God knows, I think I hear one ask are you still a virgin?” I don’t have a clue but this is what I’m guessing. She explains herself to them to the point that they aren’t satisfied with her answers but the thought of throwing her into the ocean for making them worry so much fades from their demeanor. She turns to me and says that her brother has been frantically looking for her since two and is pissed. She goes on to say that I might wish to make my exit now since he is a big fella who has been practicing the beautiful art of Brazilian judo called kapamaria (or whatever it’s called) since he was a young child and is not afraid to use it. I haven’t been in a fight in a long time but decide that it would be embarrassing to get my ass kicked by some dude that looks like he’s doing have yoga and half tai chi. I agree with her on many fronts that it’s time for me to go, her friends aren’t happy, I’m tired and I don’t need a fat lip for the rest of my trip considering that I just overcame a blocked ear, a sunburn and the 48 hour flu. I kiss her gently goodbye and just as I turn I hear in the distance in a booming bass voice, “Patchi, no!” He weaves his way frenetically towards us and I say, “I’ll call you, buh bye!” I begin my very own weave through the crowd. He commences chase. I run through the bronzed, green eyed beauties breaking off moves like Reggie Bush running through the Chicago Bears secondary. There is a gate and a line to get out of it. It’s one of those temporary gates that they put up for parties like this where a cover is charged although they are relatively futile since you could just simply Navy Seal it in from the beach if you really wanted to avoid paying cover, or simply slide throughat one of the fence connections. I weasel my way through a particular set of these gates and wonder if I could have done the same thing a few days ago before I lost ten pounds from lying in bed during all that time with no food. The brother is now at the gate trying to do the same thing but he’s too big, he can’t fit and just as he’s about a quarter of the way through he is grabbed by off duty police officers getting paid overtime I would assume to work security at this particular function. I hear him saying unpleasant things to them and intermittently yelling at me. It seems that his English is not as good as his sisters but he’s apparently learned the words, “I’ll kill you!“ So he has that going for him, which is nice. I cut in line, jump in a cab, the cabbie says, “Where to?” in his best English. I say, “Any the F where but here just drive man, just drive!” He speeds off. I collect my thoughts, catch my breath and for the first time in a long time breath a huge sigh of relief and begin to laugh. Once we get our bearings straight I tell him to take me back to my condo at Praia Mole. I’m tired, I drift off to sleep in the cab. This is the last thing I recall.

I wake up the next day in my bed in a puddle of sweat. I recall the events of the night before and realize that there were no events from the night before. It was nothing more than the most vivid dream that I’ve ever had. A feverish delirious dream but a dream nonetheless. My clothes are still folded neatly in a pile where they’ve been since I came down with this god-forsaken cold. The morning sun is gleaming through the window. I’m soaked wet through and through probably to the mattress but I feel amazingly better although nasty because there is nothing worse than waking up in a puddle of cold, wet sheets and blankets. I spin up, put my feet on the floor and walk to the bathroom, my sunburn has turned into a golden brown and reflected back at me in the mirror is a beautiful set of Jesus abs. My friends are gone and I suggest to myself that it would be a good idea to walk down to the local beach. As I walk out of the house and lock the door behind me a smile comes to my face as I think to myself, “This day has an endless array of possibilities.”


Kelly Kortman

---

The previous story is purely fiction. Any similarity to real names places or situations is totally coincidental.

So it’s Saturday. Day 7 of the vacation. I’ve just awoken from my two day sick bed. Not fun on vacation, thank god we decided to do a longer length of time. We are heading back up to the north end of the island, the place I described earlier that my friends made it too but I hadn’t, Jurere. It’s where there is a Nikki beach style club that apparently we are VIP too, my airline pilot buddy Paul has a buddy who has a house up North in Jurere and has taken the time to get to know many people very well. I spend the day yesterday writing the above, sleeping intermittently, showering as I kept waking up in a series of cold sweats. I watched a few south park episodes on my computer. My buddies come home late, they read my above story and feel sorry for me because of the pure irony of the story considering that my fiction writing the polar opposite of the experience that I was actually having. Like my buddy Ardi said, great art comes through great suffering. I’m not suggesting that that is great art, but it’s better than other stabs I’ve made at writing fiction. Life goes on. We are out the door and on our way to this beach party. I just want to feel better and home that at some point today this becomes a reality. I’m still feeling a little off but this time it seems from the medication that I’m taking. I cannot tay here another day so I’m heading up with them.

Brazilian Media

We feel that to reveal embarrassing or private things, we have given someone something, that, like a primitive person fearing that a photographer will steal his soul, we identify our secrets, our past and their blotches, with our identity, that revealing our habits or losses or deeds somehow makes one less of oneself ...

... I had forgotten that, and so many things. How could I put everything down on paper? It seemed impossible. No matter what, the majority of life would be left out of this story, this sliver of a version of the life I'd known. But I tried anyway.

— Dave Eggers

Well boys and girls. Looks like I'm pretty much done compiling photos and whatnot.

Here is some media from Brazil:

Musical Slideshow (the first few songs are major anthems from the trip)

Static Photo Gallery

This is a little video of the 2nd secret beach we hit on our last Saturday (the one Paul skipped on). It's called Lagoa Naufragados. We took a boat there but we hiked back through the jungle.



Here's a clip from our one night at Pacha. Lighting is bad and doesn't really convey the magnitude and scale of this place but I think you get the vibe.



We went to the dunes of Joaquina to sand surf but it was raining and the sand was sticky. So we just drove another 1/2 mile and did the real kind of surfing. I guess if it was sunny and dry we would have looked something like this.



This is a clip from the secret beach we found on the SE corner of the island early on. We took a car and 2 motorcycles to the trailhead. It rained the whole hike. Paul made it back barefoot. It's called Lagoinha do Leste which I think translates to hidden beach or something.



I tried to find some clips of the other spots we spent time at. Unfortunately the only clips I found seemed to revlove around a lot of T&A without really showing the other merits and natural beauty.

Here's a clip of P12 in the winter. We were there in the summer. Lots of photos in the gallery. The video makes it look like a bit of a poser-fest. An S&M (Stand and Model) joint perhaps. It's a lot more laid back and wholesome in the summers.



Here is a clip of Praia Mole where we lived. Again, it's too bad the clip's all about T&A because it's actually a beautiful beach with good waves, cold water, and lots of good food, drinks, and music.

Brazil - Part IV: Beginning of the End

So much has happened in the past few days. I'm not sure where to begin. I've been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster ride but I think I can probably settle down long enough to wrap up this trip report.

After my last post we headed down to a club called "Conferia" which had advertized house music on one of the flyers the fellas got handed. The guys caught a nice buzz over dinner at DNA while I stayed sober so I can drive them around. We roll down to the joint and it's a pretty cool looking spot. Designed sort of in the tradition of the old Jamaican dance halls. A big dinner area, comfy lounge / lobby, and a nice dance room with a big bar. Only problem is, it's Samba night. Matt is very irritated by this apparent "Switch and Bait". I don't mind it so much. I spend some time with a chef/jiu jitsu fighter and a Hotel Hostess from Puerto Alegre. They're cool people and we have fun chatting and dancing. I'm not sure where it happened but Paul and Kelly are gone. Matt's slurring as he comes to the lobby where I was kicking back with my new friends and he's very irate at the music and our missing friends. It's getting late and Matt looks on the verge of commiting a crime so I say goodbye to my friends and we take off.

We're both starving so we stop off at a late night joint. We order salads, get hot dogs (with no meat), send it back, and then take off because we think they're going to spit in our food. We find another food shack closer to home. As we sit down a group of vampires (I don't know what else to call them) sit down at our table uninvited. I don't know what it is about these girls but they creep the fuck out of me. They have nice bodies but I suddenly feel like I'm in a scene from interview with a vampire. I go inside and pay Matt and my bill in advance. Then I come back out and a new vampire is sitting in my seat. I tell Matt to eat as fast as he can and although he's drunk, having fun, and oblivious to my freaking out he follows my lead and we jet out pronto. I think maybe more than anything I was scared of seeing the sun and hearing the morning birds chirp before I went to bed. Bad flashbacks I guess. Maybe I was the vampire after all.

The next day, the guys go to the mall. There's no way I'm taking part in any of that. I chill at home, read on the beach, and return our rental car for a new one (long boring story). I also sit down with Kelly and fully listen to his baby mama drama and offer him some serious advice for the first time on this trip.

That night we roll around the streets of Lagoa, drink Absinthe, and enjoy the free outdoor public samba concert. Matt's having bad flashbacks of Conferia but I got a nice buzz and I'm lovin' the Absinthe. It's like the Smirnoff Ice version Absinthe and it's sold in every gas station and market in green bottles. Yummy. Kelly is mesmerized by the tall tranny's and Paul is in love with the mirrored storefronts. I'm still the DD and I drive home with a huge smile on my face and sleep like a champ.

The next day, we decide to explore the South West corner of the Island which we have not been to. Paul is anticipating a lot of traffic on the way home since we're officially in Carnaval Weekend. When we hit a particular intersection to get out of Lagoa and he sees the oncoming traffic he jumps out of the car. We continue on our journey and see a the most authentic, non-commercialized part of the Island. We take a boat to another hidden beach which is not accessible by road. It's wide and beautiful. Bushy green hills surround the expansive beach. Horses roam the finges and a few shacks nestled in the greenery sell food and drinks. You can see the mainland across the water. We play football and pepper, chat, swim, and have a good time keeping to ourselves. When it's time to go we decide to hike back instead of taking a boat. We have some trouble finding the trail back among all the green foliage and the locals who claim to know the way get us lost for a while but we all laugh it off and eventually find the trail. I love sweating and getting the toxins out. He hit a bit of traffic around Campeche but pull some jedi moves and use our detailed map to hit a shortcut around all the traffic. The sound of drums, signifying the local parades, is like a death sentence and we strive to avoid it. We arrive at the intersection that caused Paul to jump out. 9 cars and 3 minutes later (we timed it exactly) we're through it. I look forward to rubbing Paul's face in his own feces. I know he was bored all day because he kept texting us on the cheap little cheapy cell phones we had that only worked on the Island.

P: What are you guys doing?
A: We're on a boat?
P: Where are you going?
A: Hidden beach. You should see this place it's amazing. Have fun at the mall.
P: I'm glad you found something fun to do. Maybe now someone can remove the tampon from your hole.
A: Sorry. All out of Tampons. Can you pick some up at the mall?

By the time we get home it's dark and late. The the beachfront joints by our home are closed and we're scared to brave the reverse carnival traffic back into town for food. As luck would have it there is a huge gay hotel about 200 meters south of us. We go in. It's dark. Not a sound. We soldier on into the depths of this seemingly dead resort which hours ago was covered with brown gay bodies and speedos from wall to wall (according to Paul). We go the restaurant and it's open. I'm already drunk and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. No shoes. No shirt. No problem. The host offers the fellas 50% discount if their cute little friend keeps his shirt off. Sold. We eat at the buffet and it was hands down the best meal of the trip. No question about it. We're thinking about winding down after a long day, nice buzz, and full belly but we get a call from friends on our cheapy local phones and they tell us that we should not miss Pacha tonight. David Guetta' from Paris is spinning. Pacha is all the way on the North side of the Island. We debate it for a while. We already have a full day planned tomorrow. Is it really worth it? Does a bear shit in the woods? Does Paul flex is every photo? Does Kelly shower with CB SPF 1000? Hell yeah ... we're going.

It's pissing rain out. Our crappy ride is fogging up and the fellas are drinking. Matt's my navigator but he decides to call George for some idle chit chat in the hairiest part of the trip and I'm trying to drive and read signs through my foggy rainsoaked window all at the same time. Paul won't shut up and I snap at him. It was a moment of weakness which I regret. It's cool and forgotten once we get there. We're in awe of the size of this place in the middle of nowhere. The guys were short on cash but we assumed we could use our credit cards. No such luck. You gotta pay cash for the cover. Paul and I are the only ones with any substantial cash at this point. All our $ together still won't get the 4 of us in but we're in luck. Scalpers are selling tiks for 20 rials less outside. We can get in at that rate. We buy the tickets outside the lot and roll back in. This place is like a mall. Imagine a food court at a mall. That's how all the multiple bars in this place were set up. It also had an outdoor dancefloor the size of 3 football fields with the hugest DJ stand ever. The DJ stand and couches / dance floor around it alone was big enough to be it's own establishment. The headliner doesn't start until 3 a.m. and seems to alternate between really epic house and tweaky techno. Probably for the contrast I suppose. All melodic house sounds better if it comes after harsh, soulless techno. It was a very epic night. On the drive home I get to see the sun rise over Lagoa. I decide to treat the moment like a blessing, a beautiful moment, a gift from god instead of the dirty moment when you realize you've been up partying all night and sun is here to remind you what a loser you are. Not everyone shares my prespective and I have to listen to more whining but my spirit perseveres I go to bed happy.

Side Note: I've been conditioned to be ashamed of my "Americanness" when I travel. Thanks Dubyah. Sometimes I'm even embarassed to throw the ball around on the beach because I know it's an instant give away. But that night David played a remix of "American Boy" and all the girls in the joint lost their minds. They were dancing and singing the lyrics out loud. Maybe they just like the melody. Maybe they didn't even know what they were singing. I'd like to think they did. It made me feel fuzzy inside.

I get up after 4 hours of sleep and feel surprisingly good (probably because I drank nothing but water, and lots of it, the night before). We're headed to P12 because we love it. Once again, George and Benia have some of their promoter friends get us some passes up front and Anna is there to greet us. For the first time ever she seems a little tired but still in a good mood and very kind. The lack of sleep in definitely catching up with Paul and he hits the "Miami Zone". Last time I saw him like this was when he stayed up for 72 hours straight in Miami. He's hyper but sloppy at the same time. Strangely, he's flexible and non-judgemental and I like this version more than the others for some reason. We run into a lot of friends and it's a bit sad since we also know we're close to leaving. It was a nice chance to spend one of the last days of the trip with most of the people we've met. Sun goes down, beats of are absolutely epic, and I never want to leave. But we eventually do.

Matt and Kelly crash hard. Paul and I stay up and decide to head into town for quick internet and food. I haven't emailed Jen for days and feel bad. Plus we're both starving. Unfortunately, because we're right across from the most popular beach on the Island, this means that end of day traffic by our house during Carnival is insane. We sit in the car for 15 minutes and can still see our driveway. We turn around. Paul calls some ladies who are in Lagoa and basically puts in an order of food for us. God bless the kid. He might not have a soul but he's got game. His mackalicious skills save us from starving.

Our last day is spent at Praia Mole across from the crib. The day is cut short as a rain storm hits the beach and we go home clean up and head out for one last dinner with friends. There are some painful goodbyes and I retire to pack and prepare for departure. I'm excited to see Jen and kids. I have a picture of Max and Riley taped to the inside lid of my first aid kit. I don't know why it's there. I think it's because I figured that is the spot I'll be looking at if shit goes wrong and that's the moment I'll need the most strength. I leave the kit open on my nightstand and drift to sleep.

Officially, this is more or less the end of the "trip". We return the car at the airport, fly to Sao Paulo, and after a 10 hour layover fly first class (thanks to Paul) to DC. Unfortunately I hardly get to enjoy it as I force down the cardboard tasting gourmet dinner, slam a drooler, and pass out. Matt flies to Cali and the rest of us to Seattle. However, these 36 hours had their own share of drama and heartache.

I've always lived by the Philosophy of "Do the right thing and tell the truth." I try not to do anything I'm ashamed of and in turn take pride in always being in a position to tell the truth. I've tried to be honest and forthright in all these travel stories. However, I now find myself being asked by others to leave out crucial details and since love prevails I will abide by their wishes.

I am home now. I slept for 12 hours last night. I kept waking up not knowing who I was, where I was, or where I was going. Where am I? Who am I? Am I in Seattle? Is Seattle my home? Do they speak Persian here? How long am I staying?

I spent the day with the kids and Jen and I are trying reconnect at a stronger level. I didn't think it was possible but I've grown from this trip and have realized that I need to remap some things in my life that had become a bit unhealthy.

My final thoughts are odes to my travel partners.

Kelly you are a kind soul and a misunderstood gentleman. I think you're too good for the crowd you hang out with.

Paul I hope you stay forever young and never lose your spirit or enthusiasm. I envy you.

Matty supported me during my down times. Weather I was injured, sick, or emotionally distraught he had my back and I took immense pride in doing the same for him. He also covered for me financially in many situations. Like my mom once said when we quarrelled over who gets to pay the bill, "Whoever has more pays." Although I was the more financially successful of the two of us for the majority of our friendship, Matty's been killing it lately and gladly covered for me in all of our more "frivolous" expenditures. You are a rare friend. I love you brother. I'll never forget the chicken meal in the bus stop.

Jen's calling me up for dinner. It smells good. Like home.

Brazil - Part III: Deep Cool

I’m not sure when it happened. I stopped taking notes. My writer’s eye, the one that tries to remember everything for future retelling closed up. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve been flowing through life enjoying myself and not caring about much. I am no longer tired. But my heart is still true. It always will be.

I will try to remember everything to the best of my ability but forgive me if this ends up sounding like an uninspired middle school essay on “What did you do this summer?”

When I finished the last blog, the fellas were coming to pick me up so we can go out at night for the first time since we got to Flo. We weren’t really in the mood for turbo club action so we just hit the center of the local beach town and hung at the main intersection drinking beers and chatting with the locals. I ran into some guys that we had met on the south side of the Island. They had both lived and worked in the US before. One as a student in SanFran. The other as a ski lift operator in Utah. They were very cool. We discussed some cultural nuances of Brazil and America and they taught me some Portuguese. Most importantly “Grilled Chicken with Veggies” the most important survival phrase for me when I travel.

Funny incident from that night … while I was talking to my new friends in the street, the fellas went to a bar to get some drinks. I guess Paul asked a girl in Portuguese if she spoke English to which she replied in a very loud and annoyed fashion: “NO !!!”.

They told me the story later. A few hours later as we walk by with our new friends laughing and having a great time I see them sitting at the same exact table. Still alone. Still with no one to talk to. Poetic justice. I’ve tried to be as open as I can this trip and savor every new person I meet.

The next day we drive to the north coast. Jurrere. There is a day club there, P12, which is more amazing than anything in Vegas or even Ibiza when I was there 10 years ago. Paul’s local friend Benia works in an advertising agency that handles all the print and media for the major clubs around here and she had hooked us up with free passes. We also make friends with the manager Anna who is extremely classy and cool. Benia and her friend George meet us there. We also meet a few other promoters. It’s an off day at P12 since it really only pops on weekends but it’s a good opportunity to make friends and contacts. We have a fun, laid-back time and later Benia and George show us Mark’s house and take us to the Pharmacy for some ass medicine for Matt

By the way, on our way out of P12 Paul, who had pounded a few drinks leans into Anna’s ear and whispers one word. “Sexy”. It made me cringe. She had been so kind and classy. I really hoped that Paul had not offended her. Future visits to P12 proved me wrong. I guess a brother can go far with movie star good looks, a #5 smile, and little bit of confidence. Anna continued to treat us 1st class.

We drive home after dark and have to hurry since we’re going out with Reno to El Divino. It’s an amazing club. I get sweated at the door for having on a sleeveless shirt so I have to find our vale’d car a few blocks away and get another shirt out of it. It was a huge hassle but Matt and Benia who had met us there helped out. Once again, Benia came through and not only helped with the valet situation but also got us in. Reno had a nice VIP section reserved. I’ve always been fundamentally against the VIP concept at clubs. What’s the point of going out to a social function only to then isolate yourself from the crowd. I like to talk, dance, mingle, and just roam. I also can’t stand people who get their sense of worth or a good time from a velvet rope. Nonetheless, it’s a great time all around and we go home late but happy. Sadly, Kelly stayed home sick. We told him he didn’t miss much. We lied.

The next day was a fog. I can’t recall much. I get on the bikes with Matty and we go get some food and try to sleep a bit on the beach. Later he run errands while I read and then we get some health food at DNA in Lagoa. We try to watch “No Country for Old Men” on his laptop and fall asleep after the first 10 minutes.

Saturday we go back to P12 and enjoy the fact that Kelly is finally well enough to go out with us. We get him wasted which probably wasn’t a good idea. I stay dead sober and enjoy the antics of my loaded friends as I drive them home after dark. Life’s good. We meet some friends for Tai food and go to bed early.

Sunday is the big house music day at P12 and it’s OFF THE CHAIN. World class DJ’s. Best day of the trip by far. We meet Australians, Argentineans, Brits, and people from every corner of the globe. We also run into our American friend Mike who’s like a mini-Colin and stands out a bit due to his height and decent fitness. At this point Kelly is dominating the party much like Mack dominated the dive in Koh Tao (if you don’t know about that … sorry). Paul is kind of a big deal and Matt is on cloud 99. Paul has strangers coming up to him and wanting to take pictures with him. Matt’s beating his chest like a silver back in heat and the fans love it. I walk around with no ego for I am one with the people. I have a lot of fun talking to different folks and dancing. As the great philosopher Jeff Larson once said: “I’m the shit.”

The next day Matt and I go to Barra De Lagoa for some competitive volleyball. We’re disappointed with the quality of the competition but since Matt can’t jump due to his knee the games remain close. My competitive side comes out and Matt tells me I’m being a dick and he’s probably right. We go to bed early.

The next day turns out to be pretty epic. We go to the sand dunes of Joaquina for some sand surfing but it’s raining and you can’t really slide on wet sand. We’re not too disappointed since it would have just amounted to snow boarding down bunny slopes but still worth the experience. So Matt and I surf instead while Paul and Kelly eat and check the internet. Next, we hit Campeche beach and realize it’s time to finalize our tickets home.

There’s one thing that had been a source of uneasiness for me this entire trip. I could stay ‘til the 27th but my friends had to leave around a week sooner. I kept trying to convince them to stay longer but it seemed in vain. I considered staying alone or with the many friends we’ve made but I got really depressed when I did that in Thailand and didn’t want to feel that way again. That evening when Paul checks the loads for standby flights he discovers that no one can leave until the 24th. I’m ecstatic. Paul copes with the news. Matt’s non-pulsed. Kelly is devastated. But I know what’s best for him and assure him he’ll be glad this happened by the time he’s on his deathbed. (Which may very well have been the bed he was laying in as we spoke.) That’s just kind of bastard I am. Turns out I was right.

The next day we’re back at Barra De Lagoa. The competition is better and Matt and I play late. We tell the fellas to take the car home. We’ll figure out our ride. By the time we’re done my back’s hurting. We eat a whole chicken with our bare hands out of a paper bag in a dark desolate bus stop. Matt buys me Smirnoff and carry’s my bag again since my back’s wrecked. I cherished the decrepit meal in the jacked bus stop for, once again, it’s something only the closest of brothers can share with no pretension.

The next day is a lazy day at our local beach, Praia Mole. Matt, Kelly, and I decide to walk to the rock formations at the end of the beach and take pictures. It requires us to walk through a strongly gay area of the beach. Amusing but no big deal. When we get there, we find out that Kelly’s camera is out of batteries, again, and we have to hike back through gayland, again. When we get back to our bags which were being watched by some friends we run into Paul. Now he have to hump back through homoville again, this time with our trophy new boyfriend. We take some amazing pics. Kelly and I continue hiking over the hill to the next beach and it’s wondrous. Pictures from our crappy cameras will not do it justice. It’s also a nude beach which causes Kelly to sprint out of this killer frame I had set up because some naked guy came to within 15 yards of him. Lost a bit of respect for him on that move. On the way back we meet the first and only cool Americans we’ve met the whole trip (the only other one was a fat, drunk, obnoxious girl from Atlanta at P12). We eat at a cool beach bar with nice beats and watch the sun go down. I had met the DJ earlier that day through a friend and he wanted to give me a CD.

We got home and I took a shower earlier than the rest of the crew so I though I’d write this while they got ready. We’re going to Conferia for some house music tonight. Be safe and keep it sexy.

Brazil - Part II: Tears in the Sand

I am tired.

My heart is true.

- Dave Eggers

Third world travel can be strange. There is almost no other time in life with manic ups and downs, euphoric highs, and heartbreaking lows so closely squeezed in together. Like sardines in a can the good times and the bad seem to line up right next to each other with very little room for neutral emotions or insignificant downtime.

Injuries, food poisoning, accidents, and heartache go hand in hand with the joy of discovering new things, places, people, & music. Sadness and joy, like fraternal twins, wear different faces but are never too far from each other and are born from the same parents, hope & expectation. (My brother once said "When you travel, expectation is a bitch.")

But what’s felt often fades with time while what’s done (what happens) lasts forever. One of the greatest quotes I’ve heard is from my friend Marty. We were looking over some pictures from a Vegas trip and he said: “You know that was a great trip … even when we thought we weren’t having fun we really were.” And that is so true. I just spent 24 hours with food poisoning (more on that shortly) fading in and out of delirium, puking, and painting the bowl. But I’m pretty sure in 6 months I’d give my left nut to be back in Florianopolis taking turns puking and laughing with Matt. Any time one of us is playing poorly we just remind each other, “Hey, your worst day at the beach is better than your best day at the office.”

And so it is, fair reader, that the last few days have been a whirlwind of ups and downs. It took me 3 attempts in 2 days just to type these first few paragraphs. If I was to heavily plagiarize “Gym Class Heroes” and write a poem about what my life’s been like lately (or … let’s be honest … what I WISH my life was like) it would be something like this:

Cheezy Poem

P.S. That’s just a hacked poem so please don’t take every verse literally. I think you all know the portions that do and don’t apply

OK enough with reflection. Let’s get back to facts and events. I would also like to make 2 things perfectly clear before I go on:

1) I will roast and make a lot of jokes at my friends’ expense but It’s all in good fun and ball busting. I wouldn’t travel across the world with ANYONE who I didn’t have 100% faith, respect, and love for. I was told that some of the stuff I wrote in the last blog was offensive to some so I want to publicly apologize right now.

2) Despite what you are about to read, we are all 4, at this moment, in perfect health and spirits so please don’t be concerned.

Moving on …. When we last left our heroes, they were sitting in a hotel room in Rio doing shots while the sexy one was wrapping up his blog. Once the fellas were ready we took a cab to Lapa, the historical district in Rio. This area was very poor and extra sketchy late at night. There was one lively alley where some folks were selling their art and booze. We hung out there for a while, checking out art and chatting with the locals. Matt seems to be a magnet for drunk people with bad breath who think he understands what they’re saying. Paul and Matt got their portrait done together, eternally linking their souls in a bad replica of two guys looking like a young Kirk Russell and that cheese dick from “The fast and the furious”.

Afterwards we accidentally ended up at a gay bar where Kelly seemed to finally smile for the first time and Matt showed everyone what a skilled meat gazer he truly is. Totally kidding. But Paul really did have his picture taken with a tranny. It was worth the laughs.

Random Side Note: Paul's facebook status the next day read as follows … “Paul is putting on some CockBlock SPF 45 for extra protection.” He claims he didn’t do it. The culprit remains at large.

Anyhomo, the next day was very laid back. We spent the whole day lounging at the beach. Matt and I found a huge sand dune created by the digging of a waterway between Ipanema beach and the lagoon behind it. We did some sprint drills up the dune. It was awesome. Then some local kids tried to race us and of course we all know who won. To make up for coming in 2nd, Matt did a front flip off the top of the dunes and kids got a kick out of it. (FYI, Matt’s knee has been jacked this whole trip). We also did some peppering and drills and threw the football around with Kelly. Paul was photographed passed out next to Eric Schaeffer’s book “I can’t believe I’m still single”. It’s a hilarious photo. (Editors Note: Paul claims that he can “totally” believe why he’s single”)

Anyhorny, as the sun was setting we figured it was time to GTF outa dodge. We went back to the hotel, called GOL airlines and booked some tickets to Flo for 10:40 a.m. the next day. The plan was to figure out where we’re staying once we got there. Paul suggested trying to find a house so I emailed a guy I had corresponded with a few weeks earlier. Luckily he replied back that the had a condo available for us. VERY lucky. Paul also suggested that we reserve a car so we hooked that up as well. Once it looked like everything was settled we decided to take a brief stroll to Copa Cabana beach (home to one of my heroes, Jose Loyola) and go to bed early since we had the morning flight. Big mistake. We stopped to eat at a place that looked fairly respectable but the food was atrocious. It’s been almost 48 hours since that moment and I’m gagging recalling the event. Kelly was on 2 painkillers and very funny. Also, Matt attracted more drunk people with bad breath who thought he understood them. The boy’s a hobo magnet. Kinda like how Kelly is a chick magnet. Or how Paul’s a tranny magnet.

That night was hell. I had to stay up late to finalize all the details for our house and car. Meanwhile, Matt was so sick that he turned off the AC and put on his fleece while he prayed to the porcelain gods every few minutes and I was sweating my ass off. Trying to coordinate everything at 3:00 am with food poisoning and having to get up at 7:00 am was not fun. I never really told the guys how much that sucked but it did. The only upside was that they were all very appreciative and thankful when we arrived and that made it all worthwhile.

We somehow manage to get our act together in the morning and pack, check out, jump in a cab, and go to the airport. Matt was VERY VERY sick. I was not as bad but also felt pretty shitty. Paul and Kelly seemed OK. We still kept our gallows humor about us and made it through the place although Matt would just fall asleep everywhere we stopped and he constantly needed a plastic bag nearby to vomit in. I carried his stuff and woke him up every time we needed to move.

Important Side Note: Despite how well and how long I’ve known Matt, I am absolutely blown away but the way he can quietly take his pain, suffer through his daemons, and not utter the slightest complain. If I was a girl, I think I’d find this one of the most attractive qualities in a man.

Kelly has got to be the most flexible and non-judgemental guy I’ve been around. He is low maintenance and has a great sense of humor. I can definitely get deep with him and his concise insights always impress and entertain me. Sometimes I feel like I’m harsh with him but it’s the brotherly crassness that’s bread from comfort, trust, and familiarity.

Also, as much as I like to bust his balls, Paul’s a great road dog. He is the eternal optimist and enthusiastic traveler. He’s very good at thinking things through 3 or 4 steps ahead and predicting consequences other wouldn’t think of until it’s too late. I’ve been to more places with him than anyone else and there’s a good reason for that. I’m not sure what that reason is but I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

Once we land in Flo we meet our car guy at the airport and take off in our Volkswagen GOL. We meet Reno who is sort of a semi-concierge. He’s a former pro surfer who lives in one of the condos here and helps the visitors with everything from car & motorcycle rentals, to cell phones, guides, translators, reservations, and everything else. We quickly bond since he’s about our age and temperament and even make plans to go out in a couple of nights. He’s a first class dude and we’re lucky to have him on our side.

Our day of arrival is a long and painful blur. Once we check in we take turns sleeping, puking, shitting, etc. I faded in and out of sleep and slept for over 12 hours. Paul said it was 16 but I have no idea when I fell asleep or when I woke up.

Funny Dialogue

ARDI: I feel bad. I had to take a Valium last night to fall asleep. I don’t like taking stuff like that.”

PAUL: I know. I wanted to take a drooler (sleeping pill) but I kept falling asleep before I could take it.

At this point (before the long sleep) my mind is cannibalizing itself. On top of the illness and sleep deprivation I’m also spinning into a surreal depression since I can see my long awaited vacation wasting away and going nowhere. I’m wondering if it’s all happening because of bad luck or have I done something, or worse, become someone, to deserve this. (All that went away the next morning).

I’m dreaming. Walking through a never ending airport terminal. It's the outdoor kind in the tradition of Thai Islands. No matter how fast I walk everyone is passing me and I know I'm going to miss my flight. Where are my bags? I see Paul and Kelly carrying a suitcase with Matt in it. When I open the suitcase all the way I see that it’s only the top of Matt’s head (scalp) and the rest of him is not there. I dig through the bag frantically trying to find the rest of him and piece him together. Kelly cries. Paul laughs. I wake up.

It’s 8:00 am. Everyone’s asleep. Even though I feel groggy and weak from having little more than a bowl of fruit for the past 24 hours I decide to go for a run on the beach in hopes of jumpstarting myself. The beach is empty. I run to the end but gas out quickly and walk back physically and emotionally drained. On the way back I see a yellow flag on a pole high above the beach. It instantly reminds me of my childhood on the beaches of the Caspian Sea where I spent the summers at my grandparents villa. They had Green, Red, and Black flags to indicate the danger levels at the beach for swimmers. I suddenly flash back to a picture of a 5 year old me on a horse with my grandfather holding the harness. The last time I saw him was when he came to Houston my senior year in High School. He got to watch me play a hell of a football game against our rival high school and although he didn’t understand the game much he loved to see me run and hear my name called on the PA each time the crowd roared. I am eternally grateful to god for giving him that experience. A few weeks later when I was leaving on a ski trip to New Mexico he cried when we said goodbye. I had never seen this mountain of a man, this rock of integrity shed a tear but he did that day. Later, my mom told me it was because he knew he would never see me again. He was right.

Even though the beach is empty I hide behind an old lifeguard shack so no one can see me cry. I’m there for a while.

When I get back I fix myself a protein shake, take a shower, and fall back asleep. I wake up to the sound of Matt washing dishes. We decide to rent some motorcycles and visit the south side of the island where there is a secret beach only accessible via a 1 hour hike. Kelly drives Matt and I to the bike rental place.

I have an embarrassing confession to make. I never learned how to ride a manual transmission motorcycle. I mean I’ve rode mopeds and scooters before and even a manual moped but never a full on true blue motorcycle. The one time I tried to learn was in the back of Ehben’s mom’s property where I flew into his mom’s flowerpots and damaged the bike and myself. I figured I’d need to learn on a beach or something so I can’t mess anything up. No such luck today. Matt teaches me the fundamentals verbally and I listen intently. The rental place is on a busy street and I feel like I need to look like I know what I’m doing. Basically need to pull away from this place nice and smooth and blend right into the traffic. I trust Matt with my life so I listen to him and it all goes smoothly. They did however, give us the bikes with no gas so we run out of gas 40 yards from the place and Matt has to push his bike back to get a little bit gas so he can make it to the gas station. One of the bikes has a flawed starter but it works so we’re off.

Paul and Kelly drive to the beach while Matt and I follow/lead in our bikes. I quickly get a hang of things just like Matt promised. I finally feel like vacation has begun. Usually, it’s being submerged in the ocean that let’s me know I’m finally “there” but this time, for some reason, it's riding the bikes with Matt and following the boys in the GOL.

We stop for some photos and pick up a hitchhiker with his little daughter. He happens to be going to the same little fishing village where the trailhead to the secret beach starts and he shows us the way.

It was a great hike. In the tradition of all great tropical hikes. You get coated in a nice warm layer of sweat and your joints don’t hurt at all. It rained on us but it was like a warm shower. I liked it. Matt carried my back pack with everyone’s gear to spare my fucked up spine even though he has a fucked up knee himself. How can you not love a guy like that? Once we get to the beach we realize it’s getting dark. Also, Paul has flip-flops on and he’s concerned about trying to make it back in the dark. We try to get a boat to take us back but the last boat is leaving and it’s full. Soooooo we tough it out back to our cars and head home. Kelly rides Matt’s bike back. We all get separated and pretty much get home on our own but within a few minutes of each other.

I take a nice shower and chat with Reno about tonight and tomorrow night. The boys are now at the internet café. I’m home alone typing this since the Portuguese key boards are impossible to use. It would probably take me 3 days to type this. I’m going to save it and upload it later since there’s no internet connectivity here.

We’re finally going to go out tonight to celebrate our health and maybe throw it all away, again. I hear the VW GOL pulling in the driveway. Chao.

Brazil - Part I: Here we go again

Some trips ... you just know shits gonna hit the fan. Your spidey senses tingle with permonitions of unforeseen hardship and you just brace yourself and prepare for the worst. I'd been carrying around this sense of impending doom for our upcoming trip to Brazil since Paul convinced us to fly standby on his buddy passes. The upside is you pay half price and get to fly 1st or biz class. Downside is you can get bumped or rerouted. This also means you have to carry your luggage on which in turn affects how / what you can bring.

I tired to fight this for a while. Rationalizing that I'd rather pay full price and fly on my own terms with confidence than to risk letting my vacation get ruined by spending 3 days in the DC airport or some shit like that. In the end, Matt's cheapness and Paul's insistence won over and I gave in. But in a way I also gave up. Not on travelling or having fun. But on making plans. What's the point of having hotel reservations if you don't know when you're getting in? What's the point of researching Rio if you might end up in Sao Pauolo. It was a painful departure from my usual methods but after a while I came to enjoy the IDGAF approach.

Anyhoo, the departure day started nicely enough. I had a good night sleep and was spending my last few moments playing with the kids. Kelly come's over and in true Kelly fasion announces that he'd like to do some laundry before we pick Paul up from the airport. If nothing else, Kelly is very creative and resouceful when it comes to finding new and innovative ways of fucking up. But we love him for that. Much more Kelly moments coming soon. After his laundry load we jump in the xTerra and head downtown to pick Paul up from a BMW body shop. Kelly spends the entire ride down arguing on the phone with his girlfriend and I must admit I was entertained. It was very theatrical and made me feel like I was in the middle of one of those semi-serious Seinfeld episodes.

We pick up P-Styles who immediately begins telling us about his most recent female aquaintances and that keeps me nice and bored 'til we get to the airport (just kidding Paul).

I drop us off at the deaprture terminal and Paul takes my car to the employee parking for pilots and tells us to meet him at the gate. I get busted for having a knife in my first aid kit. As I'm repacking my pack I'm thinking to myself "fuck it. It's a piece of shit knife anyway. I'll just tell them they can keep it and stick in their ass. Plus I still have the kick-ass leatherman's tool Jen's dad got me so I'm fine."

Then, the chubby, droopy-jowled midget who searched my bag sais. "OK. Thanks. I'll just run you back through again and you can be on your way."

Again? Are you fuckin' kidding me?" They go through again and and guess what "Sir, do you aome have type of leatherman's tool or something in there?"

"Oh yeah" I say with surprised innocence." "It's right here."

"Well, you can't take this on either."

At this point. As I'm repacking my bag and talking to the lady and deciding what to do about the knives when I notice that my boarding pass is no where to be found. After a few more agonizing moments Kelly hands it to me. Turns out he had grabbed it and put it in his pockets. I told you the little fella never runs out of creative ways to fuck up. Anyway, I run back out of security and mail my knives back home since I wasn't gonna toss the tool Tom got me. It had been everywhere with me. Kelly spends this entire time talking to his shrink and baby mama mama.

I get back through security and being that we're both so distracted we go to the wrong gate. After 30 minutes we realize this and jet to the correct gate in time to meet paul. We get in 1st class which on this flight is like coach with wider seats. But whatever, we're on our way to DC and Kelly and I exchange a terrorist fist bump and the plane gets airborne. We talk about our friends and recent developments in our social circle for a while. Then he sleeps and I begin reading "Average American Male". It's a fierce read. I highly recommend it if you have a penis.

Now before we took off and lost cell phone coverage Paul gets a vague text from Matt that he's not being let back into the gate area. We concoct all the reasons this might be happening (travel embargo, airline rules for companion tickets, etc.) and all the ways we can fix the issue. In the end, it was all for naught and Matt had used his long layover to find a way to get through. We connect to our flight to Rio and as luck would have it, Kelly and Paul get bumped to first class but Mattt and I are stuck in coach. They both promise to come back and switch with us after their naps so we can sleep too. They both lied.

10:15
Matt takes a white sleeping pill Paul gave us with the promise that "it will make you drool". Ardi doesn't.

10:25
Matt's passed out. Ardi's reading.

12:15
The passangers in front of us complain because Ardi's toe is on their armrest. Dont' these fuckers know I have a bad back and need my feet elevated?

1:30
Ardi is hoping all those straight A's in geometry class can now show him how to fit a grown man in a 2 foot by 2 foot box horizontally so he can sleep. Mrs. Delaney would be ashamed & disappointed.

3:19
Ardi is watching the interactive map of our flight pattern and trying to see if he can actually observe the movement of the airplane. He is convinced he can even though the displays are snapshots.

5:45
Ardi is watching Max Payne in Portuguese. Doesn't think the voice acting is very well done based on his almost non-existnet knowledge of the language.

7:28
Ardi fantasizes about following someone who has an empty seat next to them to the bathroom so he can suffocate them and sleep in their double seat. Kelly is dreaming about tanning cream. Paul's dreaming about poon. Matt's dreaming about Brownies.

10:30
Paul comes over with a big smile and tells us about what a great night sleep he had. Ardi feels a distinct burning sensation in his butt overall ass zone. He didn't have chilli last night so he concludes it's probably just rage.

We land around 11 ish and per Paul's advice we rush out to security so we can catch the airline crew bus to the vicinity of Ipanema beach. Ofcourse, CKK, Creative Kelly Kortman, realized that he left his camera on the plane and we go from being the 1st people through customs to the last. We wonder why the heck he even had his camera out on a red-eye flight. WTF was he taking pictures of. His feet? We still manage to catch the crew bus. We get accosted by a few gay attendants but it seems worth the free ride. I meet the captain and he's very cool and has good advice.

We catch a cab to a couple of non-ideal locations. The traffic in Ipanema is slow and we already know where we want to stay to we finally pay the cabbie and hoof it. We find a big double room. with 4 beds, nice bathroom, AC, fridge, and low price. We're stoked for the prime find and hit the beach.

We explore for a while. Ipanema beach is insanely crowded. Not uncomfortably ... there's plenty of space. But it just goes forever for miles and miles and it's densely packed all the way along. The best part ... infinite volleyball nets. We search post 8 for my friend Mel but can't find her on the busy beach. We finally settle down, sans Kelly (Portuguese name "Purple Chest"), and Matt and I do what we do. We beat some local kids 2 out of 3 matches. Matt is completely immobile due to his bad knee. But he plays anyway and we do OK. If he was healthy, the games would have been a joke but his injury makes them close to even. Matty, I don't know if you were having any fun but if you took all that pain for me ... thank you.

After beating the locals we play with a couple of kids (10 or 11 maybe) and these kids were absolutely phenomenal. You may think I'm exagerating but the ability and ball control that these tiny little kids displayed absolutely blew my mind. They were quick and they could actually pass set and even hit despite not being able to rise above the net. I got a picture with one who was very polite and charming and spoke some english.

We played until after sunset. The beach has stadium lighting so you can play as late as you like. And it's hot and humid so temperature is not an issue. We've only been here for 2 days so far but the best part of the trip for me so far has been the walk back from the beach to the hotel. We were a couple of miles away since we'd cruised down to try to find Mel (and failed). Tired but clean from the ocean water with drinks in our hands we strode the long walk and took in the scenery. Just me and my best friend feeling good about the fact that we're finally really in Rio. The moment is not about our other companions one track quest for poon.

That night we went out to dinner at some all you can eat place which was nice. Downside was all they had was meat. Hard to find fruits or veggies here so a good diet will probably take extra work. Afterwards we stopped at a fruit juice stand and I (as is my single greatest god given tallent) made friends with a couple of local gays which is always a great resouce for info and connections. Later, when I asked them where a cool local club was they inquired further about what exactly we were after. The disappointed looks on their faces were obvious when I told them my friends liked music and a couple of them wanted straight (non-prostitute) girls. I think they still hoped that the fact that I didn't say anything about myself looking for girls might have let their imagination roam.

After that we went to the silliest most clownish club I've ever been to. It's a tiny matchbox but they got all this security and managers running around with headsets and clip boards acting like they're protecting the president or coordinating backstage entertainment for the emmies. Here's the crazy part. They give you a card when you get in and you're required to purchase X reails in alcohol before you can leave, otherwise you just have to pay the difference before you can go. You're literally in prison and now have to buy your way out. The process of going home was comical. I wasn't drinking much so I guess I still owed a bundle. Meanwhile, Matt wanted my balance transerred to his card since he was getting after it. It took 3 guys in ties using 3 computers to handle this process. How the fuck can anyone have fun in a place like this? It was like buying a goddamn car. As Paul read in an online review, this was a "slick, soulless place which desperately tried to convey sophistication and international appeal but in the end leaves the visitors with a nagging feeling that the real fun Rio resides elswhere."

Anyway, Matt finally buys my way out of that hellhole and I go home. I take the pill that Paul gave me, and I didn't take, on the airplane. I haven't slept in 36 hours and I need to pass out ASAP. Next thing I know Kelly is bouncing on my bed and it's 3 PM.

We jet to the beach and I play ball with some locals while Matt and the boys screw around. I played with a 6'7 guy who is on some all-Rio indoor v-ball team. Then I drink and eat a coconut with my bare hands and go home alone. Now I'm here typing this blog while the guys are drinking and getting ready to go out. I fear that we'll never get adjusted to the time zone if we keep staying out late and I don't want to miss any more daytime. I think I'll roll out with them but be more ruthless when it comes to cutting out and going home. I won't let them guilt me into staying out late in any more money sucking tourist traps.

Tomorrow we'll probably visit the Jesus statue and buy our tickets for Florianapolis. Paul wants to stay in the Northern side of the Island so you can go to more clubs like the one from last night. I'm in more of a Koh Tao state of mind. I have to find a way to shed my big city skin that has calcified over my soul and won't let me enjoy myself. We'll see how that goes.

Mighty Wingman

What is it about the Wingman that appeals to me so much? I've always admired the steady sidekick more than the star. I also find myself playing that role in life and in games. I don't know why but being the selfless best friend always seemed more romantic to me than being the glamorous star.

Always the designated driver. The Best Man. The one to come through in the clutch. Play weak side so my partner can play the power side. Play fullback so the tailback can score. Distract the ugly girl so my bro can work the hottie. Drive the warthog so B-Sack can get a frenzy. Cherishing every wheelman medal as I whip 180s with the e-brake.

Last night I was playing some casual Gears with the kids (don't judge) and Riley asked me, "Daddy, why do you always play as Dom?".

I smiled. "Because I like Dom."

"But Why?"

"Well ... he's a good soldier. He always takes care of Marcus and his friends. He's loyal and he's brave."

"But Isn't Marcus the best soldier?"

"Yeah ... Marcus is the Star. But Dom's the Wingman."

"The Wingman?"

"Yeah, The Wingman."

I traded my favorite shirt with this guy for his Wingman shirt. I seemed so cool to me.

I've spent hours bored & sober in dive bars and cheezy clubs just make sure nothing bad happened to my friends (or to make sure something good happened).

How did I get here?

The last couple of months have a been dizzying whirlwind of multiple projects with multiple deadlines, multiple injuries with multiple rehab plans, and mulitiple travel plans with multiple people to Brazil.

As of Right now, Paul, Kelly, Matt, & I are flying to Brazil on Feb 6th. Planning and preparation has been torturous. We also lost a key player along the way, the depth and devastion of which remains to be seen. I don't even know where to begin. Let me start by giving you this little transcript from a few weeks ago.

---

From: Ardi
Sent: Wednesday, November 19, 2008 1:14 PM
To: Matt; Paul; Kelly; Mack
Subject: BRAZIL - What a mess


Hey guys,

Well, I've spoke to each of you a couple of times in the past 10 days, trying to get things organized and stable for Brazil so we can book our tickets and get organized.

A lot of thoughts and concerns were brought up and it's becoming pretty difficult to plan something solid while trying to account for a dozen variables at the same time. I'm gonna just brain dump all the issue here in a list so you can all see what we're dealing with and hopefully offer some intput.

- Paul Has to Be at a wedding in Miami in late February
- Paul can get us cheap ($400) tickets (possibly 1st class) but can't give us an exact date until roughly 2 weeks before travel time. I'm assuming the same uncertainty applies to the return date as well.
- Paul will find out in 2 weeks if he's getting laid off from United Airlines which, if true, will also affect things
- Paul does not want to be in Rio during carnival ("like Vegas on NYE").
- Paul won't know his schedule until mid - December

- Matt is neutral about Carnival
- Matt feels guilty about Diane's friend backing out of their trip to Mach Pichu.
- Out of the infinite sea of possibilities for how to alleviate his guilt, Matt thinks that cutting his once in a lifetime (& Ardi's last) trip to Brazil short would be the best option. Apparently there is NOTHING in North America outside the Jan/Feb time-frame that can compensate for this.
- Diane's birthday is in Late Feb/Early March and it's usually a Mamoth trip trip for the Sherrills

- Mack is almost done with the house
- Mack contends that the house does not need to sell but merely finish and go on the Market so he can start working for $ and then he can go.
- Mack treats Ardi like a bill collector every time he gets called to discuss the trip
- Mack suggests that we should go ahead and plan the dates / book tickets without him and he'll "catch up" when he's ready.

- Ardi would like to finalize the flight dates as early as possible so all the other little details can get planned and streamlined.
- Ardi does not mind buying a full price ticket in advance in return for solid flight dates so everything at home and work can be planned and scheduled. The 2 week notice is almost impossible for him to deal with.
- Ardi is sad. All this nonsense has confirmed to him that he and his friends are permanent prisoners in cell-block "AD" (American Dream).

So that's about the jist of it. Although the possibility of cheap firstclass tickets is tantalizing having the 2 day window before and/or after each departure date wasted due to uncertainty combined with the problems presented at work is not worth it. I can make up the $ saved with one or 2 days worth of work.

The advantage of pushing the flight dates back is that it gives us a chance to see carnival (& cut out if we don't like it) and also give Mack more time to get his act together. The disadvantage is that it overlaps Pauls friends wedding and Diane's birthday. I really want to solidify things ASAP so let me know what your thoughts are and how you suggest dealing with ALL the issues listed above while keeping everyone happy and on-track?

Is it even worth it? Are we paying $20 for a candy bar? (metaphorically)

---

So ... this is more or less the kind of nonsense I've had to deal with lately. Add in the fact that now we're flying on Paul's buddy passes which means we can get bumped at the drop of a hat and also have to carry our stuff on the plane (so you don't, for example, end up in Rio with your bags in Sao Paulo) and you've got about 1/4 of my problems figured out.

But alas, dear reader, like Depeche Mode said, God's got a sick sense of humor. I've been dealing with some strange convoluted compound back/abdominal/groin injury. This is at least partially due to the BUTTLOAD of snow that we got over christmas that Matt and Leif helped me shovel but the lower back damage it dished out did a number on me. Although I managed to play 6 games last night and although I had some pain it wasn't getting any worse and felt more theraputic than aggravating. Guys who get beat up for a living know what I'm talking about.

So the fear of flooding was another nice christmas bonus. I even dreamed about floods as recently as last night. I'm having Mack & Joe put in a French drain this summer when they tear down the deck (before they build it back with Synthetic material). Also, as much as it sucked, I kinda enjoyed shoveling all that snow with Matt and Leif. Not only was it nice to see how much they cared but it also felt like TRUE QUALITY time. Can't explain it.

Now, just for a shits and giggles, let's introduce this next scenario. The elementary school down the street got broken into. Probably some angry punk kids but who knows. They broke some computers and shit. Shameful. Also, an aqaintance told Jen that her neighbor heard someone banging on their door. They grabbed their gun and looked outside but the punk kids had knocked and ran. This story turned into the "they-tried-to-kick-down-our-door-and-ran-away-when-we-grabbed-our-gun" story which now has Jen believing that our neighborhood is a crime zone and we need extra door locks, motion sensors, alarms, etc.

Also, since I'm such a crazy daredevil I've been asked to up my life insurance from 1/2 a Mil to a Mil in case I die in Brazil. I guess 1/2 a mil was OK for Peru and Equador but you're more likely to die in Brazil. Did you know that they said I was overweight when I got tested before going to Peru? I was 5'9, 190 Lbs, 11% Body Fat. I came back a month later at 172 Lbs and 8% body fat. Amazing what starving in the Amazon can do for your insurance rates.

And here's the kicker just to top things off. I heard throught the grapevine that some entities at work question my focus and dedication cuz I'm leaving for a few weeks. Been here for 3 years and only took a week off for my brothers wedding. The rest has been onsey twosey stuff. All this time I've been planning and saving for Brazil. The person questioning my motives didn't even KNOW about our company when I started planning this vacation. Sadder yet, I probably won't ever get to have a direct adult converstion with him about this. He's a good guy, but like me, probably, he only sees part of the picture. I wonder, as I type this, if I should perhaps speak him about this. But everything seems to be conveyed in 3rd person and via middle-men around here. I miss talking to the people I build tools for. Not only do you get better specs but you also get more satisfaction. Just a guy who needs something and comes to you for help. You listen, you help him, and you get to see him smile when his problems are solved. He might even pat you the back.

So there you have it. All this just to live pure and free with close friends for a few days. 3 years for 3 weeks. Fair, ain't it?

Why I Travel

I'm getting excited about Brazil. I read this quote from Eric Shaeffer today.

I like when things don't work perfectly. It reminds me of a time when you couldn't just get everything you want all the time so easily. It's why I like traveling to third world countries. I'm so fast all the time I appreciate anything that slows me down or takes me out of my routine and forces me to be more present because it's an unusual situation that requires me to pay attention or problem solve in a new way.