Losing Battles

I'm sure by now you are all aware, April 4, 2013, Roger Ebert, the renowned film critic, lost his battle with cancer.  

I came home the afternoon he died and cried inconsolably. 

It might be difficult to understand why I loved him so much. Many people close to me have noted the contradiction of our philosophical viewpoints. I am Mormon. He was a non-committal, culturally catholic, atheist. I am extremely conservative, backing gun rights and opposing socialized healthcare. Roger was a proponent of gun control and felt it was our moral obligation to support Obamacare. Nevertheless, I forgave him his philosophies because I think he honestly believed in the system, however flawed it is. He felt compassion for his fellow man, noting how many people suffered from violent crime and a lack of proper healthcare options. It was out of love that he fought so hard for the "Left".

Political, religious, and philosophical ideologies aside, he was a brilliant and emotionally intriguing essayist. Many people will remember him for winning the first Pulitzer for film criticism and the only critic to receive a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. But I will remember him most as an influential teacher. His essays forced me to be analytical about film, but more importantly, they caused me to be analytical about life. 

After sixteen years of faithful readership, I have lost one of my most important teachers and friends. My heart aches.   

In other news…an update on my kayaking training. Sadly, three weeks ago, I injured my elbow at work, and I am now suffering from a form of tendonitis known commonly as "tennis elbow". It sounds pretty lame, but, let me just tell you right now, it hurts like a MOFO!!! I am forced to change the dates of my expedition, because I haven't been able to get in the water in weeks, and I'm still in recovery mode. I'm thinking mid june, but that will depend on how well I recover in the next few months. If I'm not better by then, I'll be forced to look at a later, hotter date. Oh, goody.

Crossing an Inland Sea

This year, beginning May 25th through June 1st, I’m going to attempt my most ambitious adventure to date: I will cross the Great Salt Lake (GSL). In a kayak. Solo.



I’ll be taking eight days (traveling roughly 20 miles a day), to cross the world’s fourth largest terminal lake (which basically means it is the end of line for water coming into it). Roughly 5,000 square miles larger than the Dead Sea (25% larger), the GSL is a remnant of the ancient Lake Bonneville, which used to cover most of the state of Utah. It contains four times the salinity of the ocean; therefore, it has no fish population to speak of. However, it is one of the largest bird habitats in the country; so there is a trade off.



I’ve been told by Dave, the Dock Master of the Great Salt Lake Marina and Antelope State Park Marina, that I am possibly the only person on record to attempt it. To quote him, “A lot of people talk about doing it, but no one ever does.” This seems utterly ludicrous to me, but I’ve endeavored to find evidence of someone else’s crack at it and haven’t been too successful.



Shockingly, the Great Salt Lake, which is really more like an inland sea, is not a terribly popular spot for year-round kayakers. I rarely see others on my training days (every Saturday, 16-18 mile jaunts). It may have something to do with the strong smell of dead brine shrimp and water so laden with salt that it forms crystals all over your arms, legs, face, head, boat and paddle. But there is something magical about the GSL: it is a marvelous work and wonder.



Hopefully, over the next two months I will provide more information. Also, if anyone has some good advice about writing a Living Will, I’d love to hear it. (No. I’m not planning on dying. But I would like to be prepared.)



PS Please take the time to check out Lindsaydanielsphotography.com She'll be doing all the documentation for this adventure.

Into the Darkness

I would like to start this post with a simple admission: I suffer from depression.

For many folks, depression seems like a scary or taboo subject. That’s understandable, because it’s hard to watch a full grown person, who looks perfectly fine on the outside, suddenly, and for no apparent reason, completely lose it by becoming emotionally hysterical, emotionally or physically lethargic, or even, in some cases, emotionally or physically aggressive.

I sometimes think it would be easier if those who suffer from depression had physical marks to show: a scrape for every night’s sleep lost due to depression induced insomnia, a bruise for every morning woken in a funk, a black eye for every time they thought of hurting themselves, or a substantial broken limb for every time they thought about suicide. People would stop asking silly, idiotic questions like, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” They would just look and know.

Depression is a disease. Essentially, chemicals in the brain, specifically serotonin and dopamine, which usually tell a person “you’re okay, keep eating, keep sleeping, keep moving, keep going, we’re gonna make it” become imbalanced or turn up in very short supply. Everyone experiences emotional highs and lows based on life circumstances and events, but not everyone feels like those highs and lows are going to kill them, or worse, make them feel like they want to kill themselves.

See the distinction?

There are a lot of types of depression, with known and unknown causes, and there are even more proposed treatments for it, some of them more likely to work than others. There’s exercise, activity, diet, time spent under the sun or a UV heat lamp (for those that suffer from seasonal types of depression), one-on-one counseling or therapy, and lastly, chemical treatment, AKA drugs.

Now, there is much disputation over the subject of mental health drugs, and, admittedly, there are a lot of overmedicated people out there looking for a magic pill to them help whisk away their mundane and boring existences. However, I’m much more concerned about those who refuse this option because they’re afraid of the stigma attached to it. Why am I concerned? Because I used to be one of them, and I suffered for years, because I was too afraid to admit I could no longer talk myself out of my funk and no amount of discussion, love, reinforcement, or validation from others could either. For me, fighting depression without drugs was the equivalent of going into the ring with my hands tied behind my back. I was getting my ass kicked, and I couldn’t figure out why.

It seems ironic to me if a person suffers from diabetes, another chemical deficiency, there is no question whatever about giving the person insulin, a hormonal chemical, to help maintain control over it. However, some people talk about mental health drugs like they’re discussing meth or crack. They argue: “A person could become dependent. They might not be able to function without the chemicals.”

Well, duh. Of course not! Their brain isn’t making them!

Absurd arguments over drug treatment options aside, there are few things I know beyond a shadow of a doubt: Depression is real. Depression is scary, horrible, and debilitating. And depression can kill you. Without the help of family like Lindsay, Jaime, Sarah, and my Dad, and an understanding friend/experienced mental health professional, Lynn, I would be dead.

In closing, if you or anyone you know suffers from depression and they need a listening ear, send them my way (longwayround245 Gmail). No one should have to go through this alone.

Music Revives the Soul

Once or twice a year I like to encourage others to join me, if not in my fanaticism, at least in my appreciation of a musical artist.

Allow me to introduce the lovely Missy Higgins.



Perhaps I should start with a little bit of back story. Five years ago, I had a friend hand me Missy's second album On a Clear Night. There were one or two Sarah McLachlan-esque type arrangements therein, and I appreciated it on a pop, superficial level. Nevertheless, soon she fell off of my radar.

("Where I Stood," from On a Clear Night had my attention for a little while)



It wasn't until a month ago, when I bought an album by Katie Herzig (a folk pop artist favorite of mine), that I discovered Katie had recently co-written a song with Missy Higgins. I thought, "I remember that name," so I felt compelled to check out Missy's newest album.

("Tricks," by Katie Herzig and Missy Higgins)



Missy's third album, "The Ol' Razzle Dazzle" is a far cry from the minimally produced, folksy, sometimes angst-driven, pop songs found in her first two. Evidence from this latest effort suggests she dug a little deeper for her inspiration.

Missy suffered from writers block after the international success of her first and second album. At one point, Missy admitted she had seriously believed she would never write another. During her "Block," she decided to explore other parts of herself. She visited India, went to university, and basically resigned herself to a life without music.

Thankfully, in 2010, even though she had strictly prohibited her manager from taking gigs, a call from Sarah McLachlan (ironic, I know) to play a Lilith Fair revival lulled her out of semi-retirement. She went on to play Lilith, and there she met Butterfly Boucher, fellow Aussie and Mclachlan's bass player. Missy and Butterfly formed a strong friendship, and eventually it was decided Butterfly would produce Missy's new album.

She's now up for three ARIAs (Australian Grammys) next week. I've got my fingers crossed that she'll come away with one or two to add to her already impressive collection of 7.

Below are some making of videos. I hope you take some time to browse.

Job Satisfaction

We’re closing in on the second year of my depression, and, sadly, I’ve not spent a lot of time pouring into this blog (I tend to be pretty useless when depressed; it’s been like bleeding a creative stone).

In any case, because of this, I never mentioned I quit my job as a secretary and have been working as an industrial light technician/parking maintenance flunky for the last ten months.

A lot of people have asked me how I’ve handled the transition from working in an office (which I HATED) to working outside all day.

Well, let me tell y’all.

At the beginning of last week, my boss told me to go down into one of our garages to clean up some standing water. He said it would be best to take my assistant, a power washer, and a push-squeegee to clean it up. After one very messy spray of water toward the drain, we realized we weren’t pushing standing water at all; we had just power sprayed sewage all over some very fancy-schmancy cars. It took us another four hours before we could safely say we had cleaned up the poop.

This assignment was not my favorite.

Nevertheless, at the end of last week, my boss told me he had another assignment: get rid of 100 cans of paint. Apparently, it’s illegal to toss that many buckets of paint down the drain or chuck them into a dumpster.

We found a loophole, though. You can legally pour it out, let it dry, and toss it afterwards.

Who knew?

So my stooge and I took enough plastic drop cloths to comfortably cover 15 yards of a football field, went to one of our vacated and decrepit properties, and dropped every last bucket of paint we had onto it.

Here are some of the results.






(My favorite color mix)


(My favorite composition)

So what is the moral of this story?

I’d rather clean up real crap than proverbial if it means they’ll pay me $15.50 an hour, for an entire day, to make modern art/finger paint.

Shots from Paradise Hill, Banff & Glacier

A more substantial written post is coming, but I wanted to get my shots up first. As always, double click to get a better look.


(Moonrise, Paradise Hill, BC)


(My Bedroom, "The Workout Room," Paradise Hill, BC [More stories to come...])


(A Disappearing Glacier, Banff National, AB)


(Lake Sunrise, Banff National, AB)




(Waterfall, Glacier National, MT)


(Apocalyptic Sunrise, Glacier National, MT)


(Water in Motion, Glacier National, MT)

Two New Things

At the beginning of the year, I was totally convinced I should get a dog. I had the breed picked out and everything. I was going to be the proud owner of a toy aussie shepherd. They look like this:



They've got a sort of pomeranian mixed with a border collie look to them, and they're as smart as a whip. It seemed like a match made in heaven.

About three months into the year, I started to research breeders. Sadly, the more I searched, the more I got this obnoxious twinge of the spirit telling me, "I know you think this a good idea, but it isn't. You live in an apartment the size of a comfortable shoe box. You enjoy weekends in National Parks (mostly, very non-dog friendly destinations) at least once a month. You tend to take week long breaks outside of the state or country on a semiannual basis. You treasure your space. Dogs don't tend to do any of the above very well. So you may think you want this, but you're wrong. So very, very wrong."

Don't you just hate it when the spirit is right?

I admitted defeat, and put the idea to rest shortly thereafter. Nevertheless, I still had a nagging feeling that my search for a pet was not over; I just wasn't sure which animal might be a better fit. The dialogue went like this in my head: "Rat? No. They die way too easily. Chinchilla? No. They eat better food than most of their owners, due to their specialized diet. Iguana? Snake? No and no. I don't want a pet whose only thoughts are living, breathing food and heat. Cat? No. [Pause] Well. Maybe. I'll think about it."

Then about a month and a half ago, I saw this on the Salt Lake City Public Library website (click on the picture for a better look):



It was then I had an overwhelming thought flood my brain: "I want one of those."

After a little bit of research and studious observance to the Salt Lake Humane Society website, I did eventually find the exact cat I wanted. (Can you spot her? I named her Two Sox, because she has two spilt milk paws and I love Dances with Wolves).



In addition to acquiring a new cat, I also managed to finally purchase a new computer. I've been without one for the last little bit, and that has greatly hindered both my ability to post and to download at least two months of pictures from my camera.

I've begun the arduous task of editing, but here is a sneak peak of some of the cool shots, so far.


(Canyonlands)


(Goblin)


(Bridle Veil, Yosemite)


(Salt Flats)


(Salt Flats)


(Salt Flats)

More to come...