Photos, travels, good food, cooking, meandering, birds, and oh yeah, a bike.
Shawn Kielty Photography. All images and content are Copyright © 1982-2015, Shawn Kielty with all rights reserved, unless noted otherwise.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
It's a Bike ...
"Wow that's nice." "Thanks," says I. "Hey is that an '08?" "Dude, it's a bike."
Let's just say that my bike was the most frequent topic of discussion over at the bike shop. At least while I was there. It's very sweet, methinks.
Friday, March 21, 2008
It's Here
Well, I was surprised to find that it was made in Taiwan. And showing some surface scratches.
Gussetted head tube.
With some stuff on it.
The frame has nice curves.
I am missing a couple of key parts. The headset ... And honestly, I forgot that crank and bottom bracket removal requires special tools.
Gilby, I am thinking you'll notice the Brooks™ saddle.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Deciding to Go
has got my mind wandering
Do you ever finally reach
a point of knowing
or do you just wake up one day
and say I am going?
What will I tell you
when you ask me why I'm crying?
Will I point above
at the Red Tail gracefully soaring
or down to below where its prey
is quietly trembling?"1
I was driving from L.A. to Joshua Tree, and thinking about what Edward Abbey said about there being no reason to go to L.A. and how he didn't (he went to the Havasupai instead), and thinking about my friend's dead father and also his sister, who had just cooked dinner for us. And then about how my lies about the ashes of our fathers justified the salvation of those two father's children by their basking in the wilderness.
I'll need to confess that sin someday. Maybe today.
Imagine having to go to such great lengths to explain taking 2 days off just one week after you lifelong friend's father has died. We banish our failings to the dirt of the desert, finding peace in the only harmony we know; our developing oneness with the wilderness. Being one with the world is so simple, so fulfilling, the evidence of it simple sand in the shoes of an everyday life.
Mac never spent much time with me in the wilderness. But his life and knowledge of the wilderness, his savvy and wisdom, even the very weapons of his hunter spirit, have been shared with me through my friendship with his son. I am so much better off having known this man, Mac.
Yep, I was driving along against the pre-dawn Monday rush from the desert outlife into an urban world, cautiously fighting my own transformation, by playing endlessly with my phone, and thinking of Abbey. If Phoenix is a cancer, than Los Angeles is a pox; not a pox on humanity, just on the desert. Thinking quietly of Abbey and my upcoming birthday, and the Adirondacks, and my children, and John Muir, and Ansel Adams, and wondering at how many years have passed.
The sun was cracking open the sky.
Palm Springs was passing behind me and before me lay the Mohave. An uncharted wilderness of the military, bombing runs and the omnipresent creosote, a playground of outlaws, wild horses and the occasional border patrol. Thank god and Edward Abbey. I felt like I was coming home.
Me -- finding a home in the Mohave. I should confess that.
I decided that I need to go to the wilderness and write my story.
It's not the celibate story of Thoreau, nor the hardened wilderness of Hemingway, not Abbey's tale of love, nor a sad tragedy of Alexander Supertramp. It's a story of joy, and reverence, and abandon. It's the fly fisherman of my grandfather, the goose hunter of my father, it's the happy hiking guy and prospecting in the Sierras, it's tube rides on Cache creek with my crazy brother, and skiing with my overly sane one. It's me on Steptoe Butte listening to a Russian painter explain to me that the ants crawl into the pine cones when it's about to rain. It's the Colorado in a raft, barefoot hikes in the Rockies, an icy swim in the Couer D'Alene River, or a just a simple hike to a wilderness hot springs carrying a French woman. C'est la vie.
I think there might be more to confess. I think I am gonna just go ahead and do it.
1The Cowboy Junkies, Good Friday
Saturday, March 15, 2008
It's a Question of Aesthetics
So I concocted a crazy plan. Take all the classes (30 units) in one quarter, and if I don't pass -- take an incomplete and finish in the few remaining weeks. That required that I get the Dean's approval, and I swear that's the only time I ever met him.
Dr. Russ Abrams, a philosopher, after accepting my initial argument that, as a senior and fairly smart guy, I could probably easily pass his freshman level course in Clear Thinking if I only attended every other class (since he seemed to do everthing twice), seemed genuinely glad to see me when I showed at his class every other session. I was candid, and so was he; I asked the frequent question and he needed that. So we got along fine.
When I got the first test score back and it was an 18%, I freaked, confident I was going to fail. The highest score was a 98 and I was second, and as it turns out, a "B".
So we marched through 11 weeks of that ... me with an 18% B and he and I enjoying delightful conversations about my grandmother the astronaut, and other unbelievable but possibly true characters. I succeeded despite such poor attendance, and he revealed that I deserved an "A", however, since I had taken the course pass/fail ... I would just pass. Rumour has it that had I taken all those 30 units for grades I would have graduated summa cum laude. But, that's just a rumour.
On the final lecture Russ gave me a great treat. He made the astounding argument that Mathematics, because of it's principle of elegance, ultimately is founded on a principle of art. I don't think I have failed him at all in taking this to mean that Art itself is of the highest order in the realm of knowledge. I have many arguments in my life about the importance of art in understanding the world.
SO I was a bit surprised during the last job interview I went to when I was informed "I don't think I've ever interviewed any one with a Master of Fine Arts degree." "Then I guess it's your lucky day," says I. Guess who didn't get the job.
User Interface design, games, usage, etc. ... are all about aesthetics, which I am a recognized expert in. I don't know what they were thinking. I think they might have been a bit full of themselves.
A lot of what we do in our lives is about aesthetics ... In San Francisco, they made it against the law to use styrofoam containers for take out food, and outlawed plastic bags at grocery stores because they are bad for the environment. Personally I think that the noise stryrofoam makes would have been sufficient cause, not to mention the smell of it when it vaporizes. Or the fact that everyone in town knows what you've bought because it's in a shapeless, formless, semi-transparent, plastic bag. A paper bag has strength, character, wisdom, and it's a pretty good source of fuel. A paper bag is much more aesthically pleasing than a plastic bag.
But never mind that. It was the right thing to do -- and since we all hate that sound -- we're all better off. Amen.
This week, I am going to Durango, Colorado with my son, to look at going to college there. He doesn't really want to go. I said "Whoa, I would go there." Skiing, rafting, hiking, the San Juan mountains, nice. Wilderness. He doesn't want to go to Colorado. He wants to stay here. Even my son is making aesthetic choices. He doesn't want the wilderness, he wants to be in the city. Here.
Here. I am working in information. I live in a house that is shared by my family. I am a contractor, a mercenary. A hacker. My contract is up in May. My kids are both adults. I had this idea that I might go get a summer job and spend my summer in Alaska, Moab, or Yosemite, or Yellowstone ... ya know, drop out for a bit. Hike the Pacific Crest Trail.
Now, my current assignment would like to make me permanent. That is going to screw my plan. My job is not that attractive. It's really about aesthetics. I think I'll tell them no. And go anyway.
The State of Pickles
The state of pickles isn't quite what it used to be. Some things aren't quite as good as they used to be.
I am pretty sure I am not going to be disappointed in having bought one of these. I can't wait for it to get here.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
... I'm Grounded
The finger injury has me effectively grounded. Period. No climbing. The mushroom girl and I spent the day with her bike. Fixing it up , and buying stuff for it. Well we didn't buy a rack. And lthen we didn't buy tires. And we didn't look at used bikes. And we didn't find a new wheel.
It's cool though. The Mgirl's bike worked well and the wind gave us a big workout and it was all fun.
Angel and the Mgirl had a birthday tonight. So we drank a bit and shot cutthoat at the pool hall.
Friday, March 7, 2008
The Tapeworm is Angry
Some of you may remember this about the ultimate in easy to
I sat across from my boss every day for about eight months and at about 2:30 it would start. The foraging. I would begin to prowl around the kitchen and work areas, looking for uneaten carbohydrates, ice cream bars, or an occasional cup of moose stew, which was often, damned hard to find, in that office in San Francisco. Frankly, I was hungry, and it was obvious.
One day, after a late lunch, my boss looks up at about 3:15 and says, "How's the tapeworm doing?" There was an eff-load of laughter right after that. I said, "Wha?" "Your tapeworm. Howse he doing?" More laughter. Hmmmm.
So the other night I was eating ScreamingEffingHot™ with chunksOfHabanero™ Thai food with my friend, and I belched rather profoundly. He said, "I think the tapeworm is angry." More laughter.
The Mushroom Girl and I are going to Berkeley tomorrow shopping for a used bike. so maybe after that I can tell the story about the elder brother and the Atkins diet, and about the guy who got fired for hoarding hot chocolate in his locker at work, and how if you wait for the potato chips to be put out at work you'll starve to death, because -- after all -- those are *bad* for you, ... mmm ... they're carbs, so we don't want you to have them all the time.
Pass the pasta please.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Pale Sun Playlist
1. Por Un Amor - Linda Ronstadt
2. Pale Sun - Cowboy Junkies
3. Good Friday - Cowboy Junkies
4. When It Rains - Tish Hinojosa
5. The Redtail Hawk - Kate Wolf
6. Sweet Jane - Cowboy Junkies
7. Personal Jesus - Depeche Mode
8. Sister Morphine - Marianne Faithfull
9. Faithless Love - (with J.D. Souther) - Linda Ronstadt
10. Southland In The Springtime - Indigo Girls
11. You Finally Said Something Good (When You Said Goodbye) - Teddy Thompson
12. Deperado - Linda Ronstadt
13. Hunted - Cowboy Junkies
14. As If Your Life Depended On It - Juliana Hatfield
15. Closer To Fine - Indigo Girls
16. Blasphemous Rumours - Depeche Mode
17. Hickory Wind (Alternate Version) - Gram Parsons
18. Jesus, Take The Wheel - Carrie Underwood
19. Secure Yourself - Indigo Girls
20. If You Were The Woman And I Was The Man - Cowboy Junkies
21. Before He Cheats - Carrie Underwood
22. Our Song - Taylor Swift
23. Good Friday - Cowboy Junkies
24. Policy Of Truth - Depeche Mode
25. Sun Comes Up, It's Tuesday Morning - Cowboy Junkies
26. Aquella Noche - Tish Hinojosa
27. Welcome Me - (live) - Indigo Girls
28. Murder, Tonight, In The Trailer Park - Cowboy Junkies
29. Walking After Midnight - Cowboy Junkies
30. Pushing The Needle Too Far - Indigo Girls
31. Sellout - Juliana Hatfield
32. Losing My Religion - R.E.M.
33. Enjoy The Silence - Depeche Mode
34. Something In The Rain - Tish Hinojosa
35. You Finally Said Something Good (When You Said Goodbye) - Teddy Thompson
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Proximal Phalange, Left Hand
Ring finger, middle joint; my first real damage. I was working on a bouldering route at the House of Pain™ when I matched my left hand to my right on a fairly small hold, and loaded up my body's weight on to the ring finger of my left hand. It made a noise that reminded me of a dog eating a chicken and I hit the crash pad.
I am wondering right now if it's broken, dislocated, or just all torn to crap, and I've taken some Ibuprofen. As you can see it really isn't swollen all that much, despite a fair amount of pain -- so maybe I am just a wimp.
I did continue to climb with it for about an hour. I might regret that.