ahwahnee adventures

Centuries ago, small bands of people lived sprinkled throughout the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The Sierra Miwok were traditional hunter-gatherers with a temperament like the placid, meandering foothills of the western Sierra Nevada. The Mono Paiute, the aggressive neighbors of the Miwok, inhabited the Sierra high country and its rugged eastern escarpment. Years of warfare led renegades from both groups to settle in a valley among the mountains. Protected by an edifice of granite, this new tribe subsisted primarily on acorns and practiced controlled fire techniques to maintain healthy forest growth and protect meadows. The tribe referred to their home as Ahwahnee (place like a gaping mouth) and themselves as Ahwahnechee (dwellers of Ahwahnee). The Ahwahnechee's reputation for violence, however, earned them a name that in Southern Miwok translates to "they are killers": Yohhe'meti.

In the mid-19th century, the Ahwahnechee, led by Chief Tenaya, engaged in bloody territorial disputes with the Miwoks and white settlers who were drawn west by the California Gold Rush. Conflict with miners reached a climax in 1851 when the Mariposa Battalion, led by Major Jim Savage, chased the Ahwahnechee up the Merced River. Upon reaching the western entrance of the valley where the Ahwahnechee sought refuge, a member of the battalion, Dr. Lafayette Bunnell, wrote:

The grandeur of the scene was but softened by the haze that hung over the valley--light as gossamer--and by the clouds which partially dimmed the higher cliffs and mountains. This obscurity of vision but increased the awe with which I beheld it, and as I looked, a peculiar exalted sensation seemed to fill my whole being, and I found my eyes in tears with emotion.

What the Mariposa Battalion saw in 1851

In "honor" of the Ahwahnechee, who were about to be captured and driven from their home, Dr. Bunnell decided to call this place "Yosemite" (which had been mistaken as "grizzly bear" during translation).

More than 150 years later, my modest existence briefly coincided with that of an epic landscape sculpted by erosion and the words of men.

Beginning in Los Angeles, the South Entrance of Yosemite National Park can be reached in just under four hours (assuming no traffic and a cruise control set to 80 mph). I arrived at the ranger station around five, just as the sun's power began to dissipate.

Whether climbing the slopes of Mount Whitney along the Mountaineer's Route or gazing upon the gentle inclines of Little Lakes Valley from my high camp on the rocky shore of Dade Lake, I am familiar with and find comfort in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The initial drive from the entrance, characterized by towering evergreens and the fresh smell of a pine forest, brought to mind images of the campgrounds at the Whitney Portal. Yet when I drove around a corner and saw Yosemite Valley, I could easily have been in a different world.

In the waning light the valley was resplendent. Waves of green lapped against sheer granite cliffs that rose 3,000 feet above the valley floor before abruptly giving way to a vast expanse of blue unblemished by clouds. In the distance, Half Dome rested at the tip of the valley like a king whose subjects knelt in homage before him.

I felt as though I had been taken from the real world and placed within one of the fantastical landscapes I had read about in fantasy novels as a child. I half expected to see dragons battling in the skies above as I journeyed to some legendary valley to complete my quest.

If there is a point at which superlatives lose the ability to convey additional meaning and simply become tiresome, Yosemite refuses to acknowledge such a meddlesome constraint.

My daydreaming was rudely interrupted by the need to continue driving and avoid taking myself, and any other drivers, off a cliff. I arrived in Curry Village just before dark and checked in.

Curry Village is essentially a motel comprised of canvas tents, each with two cots, a bear box and a locking screen door. I found the village to be quite charming, though I hear that during the high season the crowds render the area intolerable. The amenities I've grown accustomed to on camping trips include wag bags and contaminated mountain streams, so restrooms, running water and electricity are a four-star luxury. I was also very impressed by a dining facility with not one, but three restaurants: a cafe, a pizza shop, and an all-you-can-eat buffet for $12.

Following a carb-packed dinner at the buffet, I promptly hit the sack. The next morning I planned to day hike Half Dome and I needed to get an early start. I'll post the the remainder of the trip report later.

great falls national park

Editor's note: I am going to take a different approach to this trip report. The idea is to present a shorter description, but with more details on logistics and trail suggestions, as opposed to my earlier post on Old Rag which was a pseudo-article. After reading the following post, take a moment to read Part I and Part II of my Old Rag trip report. I am curious as to which style you prefer (maybe a toss-up of the two, or maybe I should just stop writing).

Great Falls (click for bigger image)

Weekend escapes: Great Falls National Park
Great Falls NP is an 800-acre park encompassing a section of the Potomac River that advertises both jarring waterfalls and the river's deepest gorge, all within 15 miles of Washington, DC. Great Falls Park actually straddles the Potomac, splitting the park into both a Virginia side and a Maryland side (each state argues its side is the best). Regardless, either side allows access to rugged banks and rapids you would never expect from a relatively calm river that winds its way from West Virginia to the Chesapeake Bay.

After paying the $5 entrance fee, it's best to make a quick stop at the visitor center for a map and some history. Great Falls, along with other parks along the Potomac, is a historical site of colonial commerce. The Patowmack Canal, the remains of which are visible throughout the park, has the distinction of being the nation's first canal to use locks. In the early 20th century, an amusement park run by the W&OD Railway established picnic grounds on the Virginia side that are still used today.

The actual falls can be accessed near the visitor center. While several outlooks provide excellent picture opportunities, the only way to really experience the falls is to climb down to the riverbank for a close-up (do so with caution, an average of seven drownings occur per year).

The park is nestled in the country's eighth largest metropolitan area, which is reflected by the number of visitors. On the weekends, large groups with coolers, coals and meat, producing the sweet smell of BBQ, frequent the picnic grounds. Fortunately, the crowds can be left behind once on the trail. The River Trail is easily the most scenic and most popular of the approximately 15 miles of hiking trails within the park. The 3.3-mile (round trip) trail hugs the cliffs of Mather Gorge and offers magnificent views and excellent side trips down the cliffs to the river.

For those who seek a little more adventure than simply walking, Great Falls will not disappoint. Many of the trails permit mountain bikers looking for some action within riding distance of Washington. Kayaking is also very popular on the class 5-6 rapids at the falls and the class 2-3 rapids in Mather Gorge. And if that isn't enough, there are hundreds of routes along the gorge for rock climbing. Most of the climbs are about 50 feet and range in difficulty between 5.8 and 5.12 (the majority are 5.10 and higher). However, be ready to top-rope because trad climbing is not permitted for environmental reasons. In any case, many of the cliffs are relatively smooth and require crack climbing, always a fun way to spend the afternoon.

old and ragged (part II)

Editor's Note: I intended to post the rest of my Old Rag trip report this past weekend; however, I got distracted and nothing went according to plan, including a trip out to the mountains. I place the blame entirely on video games and a surprisingly delicious combination of pomegranate-flavored yogurt and vodka (no complaints here!). In any case, if you have not read part one and need some context, you can do so here. Otherwise, enjoy part two below.

The Blue Ridge Mountains are a physiographic province of the Appalachians, but lie just east of the bulk of the larger mountain chain. Bordered on the east by the Piedmont and the Great Valley on the west, the Blue Ridge contains the tallest mountains in eastern North America, the highest point being Mount Mitchell in North Carolina at 6,684 feet. The Blue Ridge itself is defined by two physiographic sections, Southern and Northern. Each section contains a National Park and is connected by the 469-mile Blue Ridge Parkway: Great Smoky Mountains National Park in the south and Shenandoah National Park in the north.

The Blue Ridge Mountains

The defining feature of the Blue Ridge Mountains, and consequently its namesake, is the bluish hue when seen from a distance. The blue glow of the gently rolling mountains, caused by the release of hydrocarbons, is a calming contrast to the sheerness of the eastern Sierra's escarpment or the breathtaking (literally) and deadly upper reaches of the Himalayas.

About two miles from the Old Rag parking lot, a discreet, obviously un-maintained trail casually breaks from the Old Rag Fire Road and disappears into the thick forest of Corbin Hollow. The Robertson Mountain Trail briefly parallels the Brokenback River before the river gradually ascends Corbin Hollow and the trail begins a rapid climb up the Eastern ridge of Robertson Mountain, one of Shenandoah's best kept secrets.

At 3,296 feet, Robertson Mountain is five feet higher than Old Rag and, fortunately, is devoid of hikers due to its more popular southern neighbor. While the summit can be reached from Skyline Drive on the west, the eastern trail is a worthwhile challenge: 1,700 feet of elevation gain in only a mile and a half. After three hours of hiking in hot, humid weather, a climb I normally would have sprinted became an exercise in dragging feet and taking quick breaks to catch my breath.

View from Robertson Mountain Summit

I reached the summit following a solid hour of hiking. Much to my dismay, the summit was covered in evergreens and every view was partially blocked by foliage. Not to be denied an overlook, I traipsed around the summit and found a small clearing that featured a rock outcropping looking over Weakley Hollow and Robinson River towards the south. Quite content with this find, I spent the next hour temporarily liberated from the chains of the real world, lying on the rocks and taking in the awesome expanse before me.

old and ragged (part I)

Editor's Note: This past weekend a group of friends and I climbed Old Rag out in Shenandoah National Park. The climb was relatively uneventful (other than 90-degree temperatures and suffocating humidity), but in the spirit of kicking things off, below I have included the first part of a trip report I wrote for Old Rag back in April.

Old Rag on the approach

Sitting atop a lone rock outcropping amid an otherwise tree-covered summit, I notice the remnants of white chalk, a sort of territorial marker for climbers. Glancing over the side of the nearly 60-foot drop in an attempt to find any leftover “bootie” (gear left behind by a climbing party), the only information I can discern is that climbers were here between now and the last time it rained. Otherwise I am alone on Robertson Mountain, a nondescript peak tucked into a small slice of Appalachia. Solitude is my only companion, as I have not seen a human since leaving the fire road an hour earlier and 1,700 feet closer to sea level. Returning my gaze towards Robinson River meandering slowly through the valley below me, I am amazed by how such sheer beauty and complete privacy may be found a mere 75 miles from Washington, D.C.

Shenandoah National Park (SNP) is Virginia’s most notable federally protected wilderness, if not one of the most popular national parks in the East (aside from Great Smoky Mountains National Park). Authorized in 1926, SNP owes its fame to the spectacular vistas seen along Skyline Drive. The 105-mile New Deal-built road stretches from the town of Front Royal in the north to Waynesboro in the south, snaking across ridges, overlooking canyons and vast expanses of farmland in the Shenandoah Valley. On any given summer weekend, Skyline Drive crawls with tourist-packed cars searching for the most scenic overlook, the largest cascading waterfall, or any other superlative-laden nature-inspired object. While the popular trails are easily accessible from the road and feature hemlock forests, crumbling frontier-era home sites and even former President Herbert Hoover’s summer home, Rapidan Camp, the trail traveled most frequently bags the summit of Old Rag Mountain.

As you approach the Old Rag trailhead from the east, the mountain looms at the vanguard of the Blue Ridge mountains, its boulder-strewn summit stands in rugged contrast to the smooth waves of green that characterize the Appalachians. The bald (exposed) summit and Northeastern ridge are Old Rag’s defining features. Covered in large granite boulders, Old Rag might belong in California’s Sierra Nevadas, if only Nature’s scythe had not reduced towering peaks and spires into a humble 3,291-foot mountain. On an unseasonably warm day in April, the well-worn Old Rag ridge trail is the first leg of my hike.

While an excellent trail in its own right, the similarities make Old Rag an adequate Eastern training ground for more advanced climbs in the West. The trail begins with a series of switchbacks through typical mid-Atlantic woodland. After a couple of miles, the forest slowly fades among boulders that make the final stretch of the ridge climb an exciting, and sometimes exposed, rock scramble. Several chutes with few solid holds add to the challenge, and the reward at the end. The biggest drawback to the scramble is made apparent when amateur hikers are bewildered by the moderate difficulty involved in navigating the boulders. It is not unusual to see a queue of hikers—up to twenty deep—waiting to move through some of the spicier spots.

This particular weekend, school buses full of hikers were swarming up the ridge trail (I wish this were an exaggeration, but there were actually several school buses in the parking lot). Throughout nearly a dozen summit hikes I have discovered alternative routes that avoid a majority of the crowds. Unfortunately, the last serious obstacle confounded me; a 15-foot chute interrupted by an enormous boulder wedged halfway up, forcing one to squeeze through a small gap with no obvious holds other than one rock to serve as a foothold. On busy days the chute never ceases to cause traffic jams. You would think people were waiting to climb the Hillary Step on Everest.

Summit, looking out over SNP

Growing increasingly frustrated by the seemingly endless sea of people ahead of me (at least thirty), I anxiously looked about, searching for a way to quickly bypass the chute. An older man, who appeared to be the leader of a Boy Scout troop, invited me to pass because I was a solo hiker. Gladly accepting his offer, I jumped ahead only to see a dozen people hardly moving in the middle of the chute, signaling an immediate stop to my ascent. I noticed a steep slab of granite to the left of the chute, offering a more direct route to the top, but also a 100-foot drop should I slip. Hoping my boots would stick on the very smooth, precipitous slab, I asked one of the Boy Scouts to give me a boost.

My left boot slipped an inch or two before I caught myself and quickly friction climbed to the top. It took approximately twenty seconds to pass the chute and the traffic jam, opening a clear trail to the summit. Upon reaching the summit, I dropped my pack for a short break; this was only my first summit of the day. After some Gatorade and a Clif Bar, I started down the trail towards the Old Rag fire road and the second leg of my hike, Robertson Mountain.

Zero Sum Games

Paul Rubin's article on human evolutionary opposition to immigration and trade is another piece of absurd logic proving economics professors are insulated by academia. His argument is based upon the idea that our brains have evolved according to a "zero sum" mentality; resources gained for one community means those same resources are denied to a separate community. The development of this type of evolutionary thinking makes perfect sense. For example, two villages live by one well. If my village’s boundaries include the well, your village no longer has any water. Your village now faces two pragmatic choices: wage a war against my village in an attempt to take the well, or trade some commodity for water.

Now, hair-brained economic purists would gleefully declare that the optimum level of efficiency would require your village to trade for water. In a perfect trade or immigration model – given two goods – the country with the lower opportunity costs in the production of one good will trade with the country that has lower production costs in the other good. According to most economists this is a logical, rational argument to which I respond, bullshit.

I understand many forms of trade are uneven. The U.S. has free trade agreements with a number of countries, yet we still provide subsidies to farmers, and our aerospace industry, in addition to import quotas on various Chinese goods. I cannot think of one case in which trade ceases to be a zero sum game. When jobs in this country are sent abroad, those jobs cease to exist here in the U.S. The only way these now unemployed workers will improve their lot is through training programs, or by developing new skills. Seeing as the unemployed are no longer receiving incomes, the government has to step in by either providing unemployment checks, or funding re-training programs. Is this an example of efficiency in trade?

Life as we know is a zero sum game on all levels. As life is created, life ends. In Mr. Rubin’s perfect trade world, everyone pays the exact price that matches his or her level of utility. What happens when one wants to pay a steep discount, or better yet, nothing at all? The whole system falls apart at the seams. Call me a pessimist, but “rising above” evolutionary thinking is illogical (Maybe even proving his point). We are pre-programmed to look after our communities and ourselves. Unless we evolve to become altruistic peaceniks, life will always remain a zero sum game. And the idea that America has risen to this challenge and lowered its barriers to outsiders is pure hilarity.

The Silent Majority

“…Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil, which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men.”

- A line from the movie, the Boondock Saints

A cult favorite that never saw wide release, the Boondock Saints portrays two working class brothers who receive a call from God, inspiring them to execute criminals, prostitutes and other degenerates. The Bostonians become known as saints for their work in “cleaning” up the city. The brothers are a quintessential example of what I term zealous moderation. They represent the average American: blue collar, hardworking, and religious men who are fed up with infringement of the Russia mob in the heart of Irish Boston. Yet, unlike many of us, who limit our criticism of current culture to mere words, they take matters into their own hands and exact justice on criminals. The brothers are rebelling against the current mores in society, which permit perverse and immoral behavior. The screenwriter, Troy Duffy, was inspired to create this film after he had seen a dead woman wheeled out of a drug dealer’s apartment across from his.

I do not believe in capital punishment, nor do I believe vigilante justice belongs in a culture built by the rule of law. However, the quote is a stinging critique of contemporary society. The majority of people in this country could be labeled as moderate or “good men”. Our primary concerns involve making ends meet, caring for our families and maintaining a comfortable lifestyle. Most of the empty promises hurled at us by politicians are ignored. The issues really on our minds are those that directly affect our lives: taxes, health care, and sustained employment. We are a group the late President Nixon referred to as the “silent majority”.

Yet whose voices do we hear the most? The players in deep left or right field that promote agendas in sharp opposition to what may be considered rational thought. Listen to Sean Hannity or the raving ideologue at the Daily Kos and you almost want to throw your hands into the air and jump. Their contributions to political discourse are valuable, as we should respect all viewpoints. However, the venom and seething hate emanating from much of their material only has a polarizing effect. Friends and families are divided by labels and pigeonholed into stereotypes of how a liberal, conservative, Marxist or libertarian should think. So, if one believes capitalism is flawed or that abortion is wrong, are they assumed to be a socialist or a misogynist trying to deny a woman of her rights? No.

Personally, the most accurate description of my beliefs is utilitarianism. An ideology first developed by John Stuart Mill, utilitarianism defines the moral worth of an action to be derived entirely from its contribution to overall utility. In short, the objective of a society should be to increase the overall welfare of its members. Unfortunately, labor movements and international trade have ensured welfare improvements are asymmetrical. Job outsourcing, while negatively affecting the lives of people in a particular industry, allow for cheaper products to be produced, benefiting the entire population. I think where we have gone terribly wrong in this country is our intense focus on the individual instead of the community. Why is there no real incentive to fix social security, scrap farm subsidies, or establish a universal health care system? Because self-interest prevents our government from doing what is best for the country, as a whole. Though I agree with Adam Smith and his theory that self-interest drives markets and growth, it is not a catchall system (which is a topic I will pick up on at another time).

Regardless of your adherence to a religion or set of values, we do live in communities and must abide by the laws society has set forth. Considering the welfare, and ideas of our neighbors is a pursuit we seem to have forgotten. Rational, moderate people in this country, including myself, need to stand up for logical, intelligent thought, and against vitriolic backstabbing and squabbling.

Life, the Universe and Everything

What is the meaning/purpose of life?

The million-dollar question, and in most cases, a query inevitably leading one to a brief existential crisis. For anyone who has read and remembers Douglas Adam’s Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy, (which actually was five volumes) the answer is quite obvious. After seven and a half million years of calculations, the super computer Deep Thought arrives at the answer, 42. In what would appear to be the ultimate form of irony, the question humans have been asking since the beginning of existence may be summed up in a simple two digit numeric answer.

Humor aside, the subject does beg serious thought. Anyone asking the “life” question begins to understand how the absence of an answer simply gnaws at your very soul. Religious figures and philosophers from Saint Augustine to Nietzsche have dedicated countless years and many a written word in an attempt to understand and offer an explanation to the masses. Unfortunately, the typical sorority girl who cries about her inability to discover her identity and purpose in between shopping sprees and sessions of beer pong probably has not read Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Making matters worse, according to our current scientific knowledge, humans appear to be the only species carrying this curse. Not only can we not arrive at a conclusion amongst ourselves, but we also cannot look to man’s best friend or even our closest animal relatives for support.

The idea for this entry began almost a year ago as I struggled with the conscience whiplash I received while taking an economic development course. Unfortunately, I had neither the motivation nor the presence of mind to arrive at an acceptable conclusion. Throughout the past year I have mulled over possible solutions and have had many discussions, which were derived from the question. I spent a summer in Egypt, witnessed extreme poverty and the utter lack of compassion in the West towards this poverty. Needless to say, I was discouraged. It began to dawn on me how perverse our society is and how pop culture has poisoned our minds with a marketer’s view of how we should live our lives: more power, more money, more fame…more, more, more.

I started a new temp job this week as a data entry extraordinaire in the finance department of a large trade association. As I sat there for hours entering meaningless numbers and faceless names into a database, I felt as though my soul was dying. If any one job on earth required absolutely no stimulation of the mind, data entry is that job. If any job worth doing is worth doing well, then data entry is not worth doing well. The moment the digital clock on the taskbar read 5:00 pm, I was out the door. Upon my arrival at the apartment, I began an Internet search for anyone else sharing a strong disdain for data entry. With countless other people in the same position as myself, the odds were high another harbored similar feelings. I attempted to describe my experience to my father later that evening. An experience another writer expressed much more eloquently than I: “8 hours of data entry sucks out your eyeballs and burns them up, then starts in on your soul.”

Now, you are thinking either one of two things: 1) How does the previous paragraph fit into this dialogue in any way? 2) This is the “light bulb” moment; the perfect point when one may ask what the hell the meaning of life is. Obviously, the second option came to my mind and I began to write.

The reasons people use in justifying a purposeful life frequently blow my mind. Many religious people claim the meaning of life is to follow God’s way or preach the bible or whatever. How can you base your entire life on a premise that has no basis in reality? Nothing has disproved the existence of a higher being, but then again, no evidence exists to the contrary. That is a digression for another day. Furthermore, living life to help other people fails to account for your own needs, just as exclusively indulging yourself alienates everyone else.

So what is the answer? Drum roll please. Prepare for the anti-climax.

The meaning of life is entirely in your hands. In other words, exercising your ability to choose (free will). You decide whether another’s words or the weather will affect your mood, why not take control over how you want to live your life. Stop wondering why we are here and start living. Do not let peers or current clothing trends craft your decisions and choose your journey. Of course, if you would rather be near death and desperately trying to justify your life as a mindless zombie of the pop culture horde, you might as well jump with everyone else. There will always be war, suffering, and cruel people who exploit others. And there will always be those who look towards the heavens asking, “What is the point?” The meaning of life is not a universally applicable idea. How you want to spend your time on this planet becomes your own personal purpose.

Ironically, my thesis comes full circle seeing as free will leads people into decisions such as living with faith or choosing to let celebrities lead one into self-image depression. And my father would respond, “What stops one from deciding their meaning in life is to commit murder or theft?” By choosing to live in a society, we choose to live within its boundaries. Anyone who decides to start killing their fellow citizens will quickly come into conflict with the rest of the community and be forced to face the consequences. However, this quandary of mores is closer to the topic of morality, one saved for another day.

Real World Fairy Tales

I took a 12-hour break writing this latest entry. While writing earlier this morning, I came across a roadblock and could not for the life of me think of a decent conclusion. I ran some errands, and read one of my books on globalization, all in the hopes of getting past this obstacle. However, a friend mentioned I should not worry about reaching a conclusion because some situations in life do not always have clear and tidy endings. Initially the idea seemed like unadulterated insanity (I do not mean it as harshly as it is written), but since our conversation the idea has grown on me. Maybe I cannot conclude an idea in my head now, but perhaps I will later or with the help of someone else’s ideas.

The next paragraph is a bit of a departure from the first…I am warning you now.

In 1990, the United Nations published the Millennium Declaration, a “compact among nations” in an attempt to advance development by, in part, halving poverty and world hunger by 2015. I will not spend time throwing out statistics, you can read all about it in the UNDP’s 2003 Human Development Report (Unless you’re really interested…don’t bother). Making a long story short, progress towards these Millennium Goals has been negligible and in many parts of the world, the number of people living under a dollar per day and without access to clean drinking water has increased (Sub-Saharan Africa being the worst). Now I do have a point and am not writing in an attempt to pull on people’s heartstrings or raise awareness towards those who are appallingly worse off than we are here in this country.

In the pursuit of my Masters, I am taking a development course and we spend hours reading the flowery language of international politicians and bureaucrats. Yet the more I read, the more frustrated I become with the failure of these development policies the UN and other development agencies have created. When rich nations stumble across a new idea for development there is usually a 10-15 year time lag before the ineptitude of the policies really sinks in. Many of the policies so strictly adhered to in the seventies and eighties by the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank have only recently been acknowledged as incompetent, and extremely detrimental to many of the nations they were forced upon, affecting billions of lives. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am no development expert, but I feel like these international organizations would be better suited to taking a scholarly or research-based approach towards development. Research poverty and brainstorm policy by living in a developing nation versus reading statistics in your comfy DC office about a country you hardly knew existed. Very little work is done on the ground actually examining the root causes of poverty. Most of the work occurs in towering glass and steel buildings in New York or Washington DC, in furnished offices with leather chairs. Yes, many strides have been made. The eradication of smallpox in 1980, and the dramatically increasing incomes of people in Southeast Asia throughout the nineties are examples. At the same time, poverty is skyrocketing in Sub-Saharan Africa and population growth rates are so high, more and more people are being born into abject poverty. It is a twisted paradox. Hold conferences and proclaim to the world you want to make a difference yet successfully manage to screw things up even more.

Now I will admit I can be a tad cynical at times. I spoke with my professor last week regarding this whole paradox and to my surprise he felt the exact same way while he was an economics student. He related to me how disillusioned he was with the international community especially considering he was a student at a time when the Millennium Goals did not exist and efforts at poverty reduction were a bit of a joke. In his mind, these conferences and reports were more of a way for the rich nation’s big shots to get together, write these reports and then pat each other on the back for all the hard work. As one might expect, politics plays an enormous role in preventing the policies in these reports from becoming a reality.

All of this got me thinking, is the eradication of poverty or ending world hunger even a remote possibility? All of the numbers tell a story of how easy it could be to improve the lives the billions of people yet nothing ever happens. And can this be applied to our lives? We hold our own “conferences” and invent our own utopia. Real world fairy tales to help us feel better about our own existence, justified by our ability to now say: “Well at least we’re trying to do something about it.” However, instead of working towards this perfect place, we spend our lives simmering in a dystopia, damned to mediocrity by the bureaucracy of our mind.

While on this contemplative streak, I am brought to another point. I have had countless discussions with people about how the world needs to relax and stop being so judgmental. We should not stress about what we have no control over and will not try to take control of. However, I find that when I stop worrying so much about the stupid things I argue about with other people, something else equally as dim-witted invades my consciousness. As soon as you feel you have reached a turning point, something comes out of your mouth contradicting everything you’ve just said. Like riding a carousel, I get off the horse and move to the tiger and then to the elephant, but I am still going in circles. May I please get off?

Intermezzo

Another idea was provided complimentary passage to the Island of Misfit Blogs tonight. For a brief moment I had a great rhythm and idea flow taking me into the dark world of human interaction in the form of relationships. A very difficult topic to tackle well and, understandably, one I failed to convert into written form (for now at least). However, dumping the entry got me thinking about some of my earlier “Misfit Blogs”. I pulled one out from underneath the cobwebs and was planning on pasting it below this paragraph. It was a raw, uncut prequel to my Out of Context entry, though only by coincidence. As I was about to press the publish button, I had second thoughts and decided against its publication. Some of my writing is a little too uncut and inappropriate for viewing in a public forum. A number of these blogs could be polished for the Internet, but others should remain unseen. I am in the process of writing my next entry, which should be ready within a few days.

Are You Listening to Me?!?!

Some have described me as opinionated: ask me a question and I will have an immediate response. Normally we are not talking about an Ann Coulter or Al Franken response, one typically tilted viciously in one direction or another (though it has been known to happen before). Occasionally, my opinion is merely indifference or zealous moderation. I loathe the politicos on Capitol Hill; puppets whose opinions rarely oppose the party line with little regard to their constituencies or the welfare of the country. I also struggle to understand right-wing evangelicals and leftist quacks clinging so tightly to their special interests they convince themselves of the righteousness of their own opinions and the illegitimacy of any who disagree. Progressive? Following the path of Christ? Open-minded? Should I answer any of these questions or simply respond with nauseating sarcasm or perhaps with the irony of everything I have just said.

I spent the past weekend skiing in Northern Michigan, which up until a week ago had no snow and fifty degree weather. Now a pleasant two feet of soft powder covers the slopes, perfect for skiing. And great skiing it was. On the first day I practiced my own techniques since two rookies had traveled with the group. I showed them the ropes along with tips on how to avoid killing themselves, an experience far removed and gentler than the first time I ever went tumbling down a snowy mountain in Canada. Getting even further off my main point, I borrowed my brother’s snowboarding helmet for the first time and, amazingly, there was a dramatic transformation in my attitude. Normally I have been a little hesitant of the more difficult slopes (black diamonds), but now I was rocketing down every hill I could find, never passing up the opportunity to ski glades and terrain parks. It felt good to see a significant improvement in my skiing.

The second night we were there, the group played a game titled Hear Me Out! The premise of this game is to move your piece across a board by trying to guess what other people are thinking or by giving your opinion on Rorschach pictures and hypothetical situations. At first I thought this game would be a riot and a great incentive to consume alcohol. I quickly realized this game was most certainly not created for people like me. When you give an opinion on a hypothetical situation or try to interpret a picture, the remaining players are required to give you the thumbs up or down on your interpretation. Now unfortunately, it is not a requirement to provide a justification for which thumb you gave. And when I got booed, I started to get a tad bit frustrated.

I think this frustration was caused by two primary factors: my over-the-top competitive spirit (I cannot stand losing to people in general, but especially those I feel are not as qualified or up to my level of skill…I am not inferring my friends are worse than I, in fact, the opposite is more likely), and having to be subjected to opinions without competent justification.

During my tenure in D.C., I was unwillingly forced into a disagreement with one of my co-workers on a political issue. According to my co-worker, I was unable to present a valid argument because I was on the “wrong” side of the issue. When I tried to get a word in, he would cut me off while making whining noises like a child. I finally told him to bugger off and left the room in a fit of rage. I love engaging in meaningful discourse, but why must people resort to ignorant name-calling and petty insults as a means of defending their point of view? If you cannot support your opinion in an intelligent and thoughtful manner, then shut the hell up (or in the case of many television pundits, get louder and more belligerent).

I feel as though I am just ending my thought in an awkward place yet I have nothing meaningful to add as a conclusion to this piece. Instead I will end with this excuse not to write further.