Poor Doggy

On my way to work this morning, a young Black Lab ran out in front of my car not far from the Fwy off-ramp. I caught his eye as he went by and slowed to make sure he made it out of the road. He had no concept of the danger of the cars. His face looked a lot like my own dog, Zsa Zsa.

Kept driving another 5 minutes towards work.

Arguing with myself.

Got back on the Fwy and went back to look for him.

He was still sniffing around the street, now near the Fwy on-ramp. I parked my car and got out … what the hell was I gonna do if I could grab him? Take him home? We already have 4 dogs. I figured the best I could do was take him to a shelter and hope that any fate that would await him at a shelter would be better than getting hit by a car. Poor doggy.

Anyway, once I parked and got out of my car, and walked over to where I had seen him, he was nowhere to be found. I drove the neighborhood for a few minutes because I couldn’t feel good until I made some kind of effort. Funny, I’ve seen dogs running in the streets many times. Always feel like it would be a good thing to stop and help them out. I’ve never done it before. Might be that his face reminding me of Zsa Zsa made a difference. I don’t know. It’s been sort of haunting me all day today.

I think it’s time for a new leash and collar for Zsa Zsa. Think I’ll put the old ones in my car.

Just in case.

Maybe a little bag of dog treats as well.

You never know.

iPhones & Tattoos

I had an epiphany today. The seeds were planted a couple of days ago. But it really came home today. SCV Talk. Cap'n Gene. I know I shouldn't. Sometimes, I just can't help myself. The topic was tattoos.

You may think tattoos are silly. You may hold certain notions of what "type" of person gets tattoos. I'm here to tell you, if you're not into them, then you just don't understand. You may never understand. There are three types of people in this World: Those who don't get tattoos, those who get one tattoo, and those who get many tattoos.

Those who get one tattoo. These people generally have something very specific in mind, say, a Harley logo or a butt-antler (aka tramp stamp). This group also may include tribute tattoos, like "Mom" or "Insert Lover's Name." I've got nothing against this sort, but they tend to be the faddish type, sometimes regretting their decision. Whatevskies.

Many tattoos. If you know, you know. How can I describe it? I went in for "The One" tattoo. I liked it. As I looked around the shop and through the artist's book of work, something happened. Many. I wanted another. Well, I got another. Something simple but meaningful. More looking. More wanting. I needed a plan. The plan, was to get more.

Mid-life crisis? I like to refer to it as a Mid-life Renaissance. Or this: I've always been a tattoo guy ... I've just never had any tattoos. Silly? I don't think so. If you think so, then you don't get the point .. you just don't ...

Now, where have I heard that before?

iPhone Wars

This week, I stirred the pot a little with my iPhone fanboys. My only objection to the frenzy of iAnythingButMostlyPhones is that it seems so many *want* without actual consideration of *what.* I'm an accountant. A numbers guy, yes, but more than that, I'm practical. When I buy a product, I want to know what it does for me. "It's the whole experience" says he. "You're missing the point." Wha?!? What does that mean? The Apple Experience. What. The. Fuck? I don't buy it ... and I won't buy it. Pffff.

Then today.

You don't get it. You may never get it.
You're missing the point.

Hmmm.

My mind opened.
At least provisionally.

Scott's iPhone 4s

Next upgrade available is December. Tic Toc.

The Delicious Pain

"You can say that climbers suffer the same as other riders, but they suffer in a different way. You feel the pain, but you're glad to be there." - Richard Virenque

Five miles in to my first ride back with the local bicycle racing club, Santa Clarita Velo, it happened. I knew it would. I didn't know how I would respond. If I would respond. If I COULD respond. The hammer dropped. Speed. Sweat. The gnashing of teeth. I remember this feeling. It had been nearly five years.

About five years ago, I lost something. I don't know why. But, after riding my bicycle passionately for nearly fifteen years ... I didn't want to any more. I mean I did .. on occasion. But you can't keep up with a racing club "on occasion." Many comeback attempts and failures left me accepting that it might never happen. Ever.

Last July, some friends, who were not racers, got me to go out on a fairly long ride. It was fun. I suffered .. and not in a good way. But it felt good to be out riding with friends. A spark. Just a little one, but a spark nonetheless. Then I went out again. And then I went out again. I wasn't exactly enjoying myself but I kept getting out. When I say, "enjoying myself," it may not be what you're thinking.

"To the pain."

Working out for me is about suffering. Good suffering. Suffering that makes you stronger. Suffering that makes you feel alive. But it takes a while to get to the point where the suffering ... Ummm ... feels good. It probably takes longer to get there than most people are willing to put up with before they've had enough. Once you get there though, there's nothing quite like it.

Today, with The Santa Clarita Velo ... I got back there.

As we compressed into a single file pace line going up Bouquet Canyon towards Vasquez, the pace quickened. Shit. In the past, I would have flipped it up to a harder gear ratio, my strength always being in grinding the big gears. But my training this time around had been much more aerobic intensive. My riding partner last year, John, is all about spinning the gears. I had also been running since it turned cold which plays more to the cardio. I stayed in the same gear and spun.

One rider pulled off the front having done his share of pulling. The next rider ... upped the pace. Shit. Again. I fought to hang on. I couldn't quite do it, but I didn't stop trying. I was kind of liking it. I was suffering, but I was glad to be there. As the club took the right hand turn, the climbing began. No way could I catch them. But I was determined to hang on, to limit my losses. I banked on being able to recover after the eventual mid-ride stop.

The climb is a bitch. One of Santa Clarita's most intimidating. Once over, there is a nice descent followed by a fairly short but quad exploding climb before another descent and the "rest" stop. I made it over both climbs, ego and legs, more or less, intact. There they were. I rejoined. They were continuing on up another climb, but I hung with them for several miles before turning off. I still had ten miles or so to get home. To my surprise, I didn't back off. I let the pain wash over me. Invigorate me.

I got home and did NOT want to pass out on the floor. I thought, "I'm back."

The pain. The delicious pain.

Black Swan

This past weekend, I finally decided to get a tattoo.

Yeah, big deal right? It's not that I never wanted one or was chicken or whatever. It's that I didn't want to get anything too serious or too stupid. I figure it will be a one-of so I wanted to make it count. If you follow my Twitter posts you'll already be thinking, "Uh-huh, too stupid is a definite possibility." The thing is, I try not to take things too seriously and tattoos can get pretty serious (I've seen both Miami & LA Ink OK?). None of that for me. So stupid would be the way I would lean if anything. Something to make me chuckle, which is my primary goal with Twitter, Facebook, this blog etc. Make ME chuckle you understand. If you come along for the ride .. ya know .. welcome friend.

My youngest daughter (18) had made an appointment with an artist in Pasadena that her older sister (26) had found a few years back and was going to have some work done to cover up a "Scarification" that had not been finished (don't ask). I had promised to go along with her and had actually decided on a design that I was going to discuss with the artist. A month or so ago there was a bru-ha-ha about there being a 13th and new sign of the Zodiac which just happened to cover my birthday. Apologies to those that believe, but I just find the whole astrology thing to be a farce. So now that my sign had changed to Orhiciphus-er-sum-such-BS, and since the picture I found was pretty cool looking ... how could I pass it up?

Well, it turns out it was a little too intricate to put a version small enough to fit on the back of my calf so, I had to either let the artist trim off some of that detail, or go in a different direction entirely. Let the Second-Guessing BEGIN! For me, there is nothing quite as bad as having to re-think a decision that was already in the can. My wife, Madeline came to the rescue with a suggestion from a book, The Black Swan, that I had been reading and re-reading over the last year or so. Not the one they just made the movie about, the other one .. yeah that one. On the cover of the dust jacket was a silhouette of a Black Swan which looked more than OK to me. The more I thought about the book and it's content, the better I liked the idea. Done. Tattoo.

Not too shabby huh? I don't care, I like it. And I think he did a really good job.
So what's the story anyway? I'm going to try and keep this short .. well .. not too much longer anyway.

The book is about what the author refers to as The Black Swan Theory. The name comes from the fact that, until 1697, black swans were thought not to exist. The term came to mean something that is impossible or simply non-existent. In 1697 an explorer to Western Australia (Oi Oi Oi!) discovered there were indeed black swans. At that point, the term came to symbolize the fragility of any system of thought or theory once one of the major components is disproved. After the stock market crash of 1929, and then again in 1987, many people believed such crashes would not or even could not occur. We have so much more sophistication and tracking and warning signs  and blah blah blah. Do you know anyone who happened to get out of the market prior to the “Panic of 2008?” They’re usually quite happy to inform you how they knew something was off. Something was not quite right. Bullshit. Ask to see how they did in the 10 years prior. I guarantee they will have demonstrated no such acumen.

A Black Swan Event, to drastically over-simplify, is an event that is 1) A surprise or extremely unlikely; 2) Has a dramatic effect and 3) Is subsequently rationalized by hindsight.

On a global scale, September 11th would be an example of a Black Swan Event. It fits the definition perfectly. Parts 1 and 2 of the definition are no-brainers. Part 3 may require a little more thought .. but not much. Remember all of the conspiracy theories? All of them were based on viewing the event in retrospect, and with perfect information in hindsight. The truth is that all of the specific so-called causes or warning signs were hidden in a vast sea of white noise. Rationalization by hindsight. Our history is full of such events. Pearl 

Harbor. Every major stock market crash. Barney The Dinosaur (Super Dee-Duper!)

The book explores much more than specific Black Swan events.  It explores randomness in our lives and how we process it, how we react to it and how we filter knowledge acquired directly and from experts. It ended up being one of a handful of books that I always have handy in my, ummm, personal library. It keeps company with Dawkins-The Greatest Show on Earth, Leonard Mlodinow – The Drunkard’s Walk and the most recent copy of altSCV.

So finally, there is something that happened to me recently and, not too coincidentally, could be described as the reason I'm writing this blog in the first place. About a year or so ago, I started contributing to a local talk/news-forum. That led to a Facebook account which led to a Twitter account which led to an event at a local restaurant. A Tweet-up. Yes a Tweet-up. On that evening, I met with, basically, a bunch of strangers ... just for the hell of it. A year later, we've become good friends. We get together on a regular basis. Adventures galore! What's that you say? A Black Swan Event? Hmmmm ...

The Legend of TimberlineBitches

So every now and then, the subject of TimberlineBitches comes up. What is TimberlineBitches you may ask? It's a story rich with the concepts of honor, friendship and intestinal fortitude ....

OK, not really.
It's just about a bike ride.

Jeff and John and I had gone on a ride from Santa Clarita to Ventura, about 50 miles or so of mostly flat, valley floor riding on a beautiful summer day. We ended the ride in Ventura with a nice breakfast where family members were waiting to join us and, thankfully, cart us home.

We bonded as cyclists and as friends that day and eventually made plans for another ride.

This time however, we turned, as manly men often do, to the mountains (too cheesy? Pfffft!). As we all pulled in to the appointed meeting place we did what manly men do ... We checked out each other's junk ... mechanically speaking of course!

Jeff and I were sporting, shall I say, traditional and modern mountain biking steeds. John had a Timberline, ummm, hybrid. Not a road bike, not a mountain bike ... master of neither, a story waiting to unfold.

I took the lead as I had been on the chosen trail many times and had more experience in general. We chose an out and back trail that crisscrossed a dry creek bed up, and then down on the way back. Single track all the way. Slightly technical, but a fun ride.

I kept one eye on the lookout for my inexperienced charges in particular, on the more challenging sections. As I approached one "alley-oop" of an uphill section, I expected that either or both Jeff and John might have difficulty negotiating the last little kicker on the uphill. As I slowed to look back, I witnessed one of the more memorable moments of my cycling career (seriously).

Just as I turned to look back, John's determined face appeared as, with clenched teeth and white knuckles, he crested the hill and cried out (yes, cried out): "TIMBERLINE BITCHES!"

A legendary term was coined.

Epilogue: On a subsequent Ventura redux, enter Nate as the newest member of the club who gave us our new slogan: Shut It And Get Your Ass Moving

Why Are You Reading This?

Seriously, back to Facebook or Twitter with you!

I may get to writing something mildly entertaining at some point but, for the moment, consider yourself a victim of childish Tom-foolery.

Break your attitude!
Bully!