But The View Is Amazing

I have never scaled Mount Everest, but I have been to the summit of Piestewa Peak quite a few times. All without the benefit of supplemental oxygen. Lately, Robyn and I have come about as close to Everest as we will ever get, thanks to the new Discovery Channel documentary, Everest: Beyond the Limit. It doesn't take much to get me to watch something on DSC (as long as that something doesn't showcase those overhyped Orange County idiots). However, if it is on DSC and Robyn likes it, it must be great. Truly, this series is great.

Unlike seasoned climbers, the times I have been at 29,000 feet above sea level have been in the back of a commercial aircraft. As I struggled to relieve the numbness in my lower back during our flight to Boston yesterday, I found that there were other startling similarities between scaling the highest mountain on the planet and traveling coach class in an A319. Here are my reflections from the top.

Miles of walking over rugged and unfamilar terrain are required just to reach an intermediate camp (or connecting flight).

Only sherpas have the über-human strength and stamina necessary to carry the hundreds of pounds of required bags and supplies.

At altitude, there is barely enough food to survive. Minimal sustinence consists of processed rations in one of the following forms: gel, dehydrated, freeze dried, or powdered.

Ultimate success or failure is at the behest of Mother Nature. For climbers, failure is the end of a dream. For air travelers, failure is the start of a nightmare that includes sleeping at gate B26 and eating TCBY for breakfast, Cinnabon for lunch, and Pizza Hut for dinner.

Space and movement are so limited that you have to urinate in a cup and throw it out. Ok, on a commercial flight, this is frowned upon.

Admittedly, I don't get out very much. But in typical Christmas vernacular, we ventured into the dark heart of American consumerism: Scottsdale Fashion Square. I was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the situation. Thousands of contumelious teenagers and Snobsdale socio-elites flooded wreath bedecked halls in an orgy of commerce. Truly, my ninth circle of hell.

Robyn sped off and left baby and me to fend for ourselves. I wandered aimlessly, pushing an empty stroller with baby strapped securely to my chest. In the throng of passers-by, a woman hails me and asks, "Do you know where the movie theater is?" This question made me laugh on so many levels. First, I didn't even know where we were parked. Second, keeping in mind I have a four-month-old baby on my chest, when do you think was the last time I made it to the movies? Third, I'm a 32 year old man with a baby strapped to my chest. Do I appear to be the best candidate to answer your mall information inquiry? I politely told her I didn't know.

I stopped to sit on a bench while baby napped peacefully. Another weary dad and baby sat down next to me hoping for a brief respit. Anonymous Dad strikes up a nice conversation about his Anonymous Kid, his dad life, and his Anonymous Wife. Eventually, Mrs. Anonymous Dad shows up and whisks him away for what is undoubtedly more torture. Certainly, a forgettable event.

My dilemma is this. How do I ask another dude for his phone number? I could use another dad pal in this life and this guy certainly made the grade. But coming right out and asking a guy for his number is a little, well, yeah. I wouldn't even know what to say. "Hey, it was great talking with you. Maybe we can get together sometime and talk more about getting the kids to sleep?" Seems a little stalker-ish. I never was good at asking for numbers. Anonymous Dad, if you're out there, I like reading, walks on the beach, and playing Scrabble.

Fox Funday

8:22 tonight, we get a glimpse of the film that will change the world.

But Once A Year Does It Pass

For an epicurean undertaking as complex as the state fair, I needed to prepare a checklist. My record of completion and comments below.

þ Indian fry bread with beans and cheese. This is my state fair tradition. I can't recall a time when we went to the fair and I didn't get a Navajo taco.
þ Funnel cake with strawberries. Had a few bites of this. Perfectly crispy and delicious. Makes me want to sell the house, buy an RV, a funnel cake machine, and roam the country with my carny bretheren.
þ Fresh roasted corn on the cob. Mmmmm, corn.
þ Deep fried Snickers. This was my first sampling of the deep fried sweet craze. I have to admit, although tasty, I would not order it again.
þ Fried zuchini, onion rings, mushrooms, and artichokes. I mistakenly ordered this veggie platter from a place serving fish. The vegetables were big and fresh, but the batter was flavorless and non-descript. As Robyn would say, "You didn't like it because the vegetable-to-batter ratio was too high." Indeed.
þ Deep fried Coke. I expected this. What I got was something that looked like a soggy corndog and tasted like warm, flat Coke.
þ Deep fried cookie dough. After three offerings, I've decided I don't like the fried sweets. I like my fried salty, meaty, and on a stick. Preferably of the pork variety.
þ Spicy cajun corndog. There is nothing like a true state fair corndog. A foot of some sort of spicy meat, dipped in corny batter, and served on its own souvenir stick.
þ Polish sausage corndog. This needs some explaining. I wanted the cajun 'dog because I wanted the true creole experience. I had not finished turning the stick horizontally to gnaw
the last batter remnants, when across the fairway I did spy the elusive Polish sausage corndog. Back to back 'dogs? Could it be done? I sidled up to the counter, slapped down my fin, and asked for a Polish. The carny looked right at me and asked incredulously, "Didn't you just eat one?" Yes I did, brother. Yes I did. This is a true story.
þ Frozen banana. The crown jewel of stick-based cuisine. God's perfect fruit made even more perfect through the magic of refrigeration, chocolate, and of course, the stick.
o Grilled turkey leg. The line was too long. I'll catch you at Thanksgiving, Mr. Turkey.

Until next year, I leave you with these words of gratitude from Homer Simpson.

"He's not just some guy, Marge. He's a Carny and part of a noble tradition. Carnies built this country--the carnival part of it anyway--and though they may be rat-like in appearance, they are truly kings among men."

The Wild Parakeets Of The Golden Horseshoe

I finally got a shot of the wild 'keets socializing in our tree. Apparently the rest of the world calls them budgies.

Not In My Backyard (But I Wish They Were)

These friendly little piglets are javelinas. The little pellets are pieces of dog food on which they love to snack. The babies are two days old. These collared peccaries are wild and free roaming. Pictures courtesy of a guy at my work, taken looking out on his 10 acre spread in New River.

I Wish It Was Waterworld

Name this movie storyline.

Kevin Costner stars as a washed up pro who is too old to get back into the game. He struggles with reconciling his past success with his current role as a mentor in a training environment. The only connection to his storied past are the dreams of a brash young talent. But he finds that much has changed in the passing of the torch to the new generation.

If you said Bull Durham, I'd say you just got punk'd. If you said The Guardian, I'd say, why do you know the plot of this hackneyed mush? Did you actually watch it?