Pic of the Day: This is Manly

Happy

This man is happy---wouldn't you be if your teammates gave you a brand new pink backpack to wear on your first ever pregame stroll from the dugout to the major league bullpen? But anyone can be happy. This man, however, is Happy.

Last week, the Rangers called up top pitching prospect Neftali Feliz from AAA. The right-hander, dubbed "Mr. Happy" by his teammates, throws 91 mph. Big deal, right? Lots of guys throw 91. An average major league fastball is in the low nineties, so what makes this guy so special?

91 is the velocity of Happy's changeup.

In his big league debut, Feliz struck out the first four hitters he faced enroute to locking down two perfect innings. The posters on the lonestarball.com gameday thread were mad at Hank Blalock for catching a foul popup to end Happy's night---we wanted to see another strikeout. I don't know how to post videos on the blog, but here's a link to the highlights:

Last night was his fourth relief appearance of the season, and he was even more impressive:

Feliz has now faced 22 batters in the majors, and struck out 13 of them. This is absurd. I can't believe what I'm watching. The Rangers don't get pitchers this good. It just doesn't happen. But Feliz is the real deal. He throws fastballs at 101 with crazy movement, and the delivery is so effortless it looks like he's playing catch. His curveball and changeup have developed to the point where they are plus pitches as well. And he's only 21. This guy is going to dominate for a long time.

This man is Happy. He's very good at baseball

This man is happy because he gets to watch him

Terry is a Ninja

I just found out that Terry the 67-year-old local has a house full of pelts from bears and mountain lions...which he killed...and ate. Rockstar.

Top Ten Most Crazy Awesome Things About Living 7,708 Feet Above Sea Level

Yes, it has been a really long time since I have last posted. I blame busy season in the valet world and the continued lack of internet at my apartment. For those of you who don't know, I'm spending the entire month of July in Ouray, Colorado with my buddy Zack. A typical day goes like this: Wake up whenever I feel like it, get up 30-60 minutes later, eat breakfast, then drive to Ouray. The rest of the day involves things like reading, playing in the park, throwing a frisbee, eating lunch, eating dinner, swimming in the hot springs pool, and driving back to camp. Sometimes we go hiking. It's a tough life, but hey, someone has to live it. Sadly, Zack's camera, which has been all over the world with him, chose a terrible time to malfunction. And since I don't have a camera, my pictures are limited to what visiting friends have posted on facebook. Sorry, I really wish y'all could see more snapshots of what I'm surrounded by daily. Sigh. Nevertheless, I'm having a blast, and without further ado, I give you the highlights.

10) 4th of July: Independance Day is Ouray's one big holiday. Most of the town's income comes from tourists during the summer, and a vast majority of that comes during Fourth of July week. So they go all out. The festivities begin with a 6:30 a.m. all you can eat breakfast. That was worth getting up for. Next came the parade. There's only one real street that goes through the middle of town, and they literaly shut it down for the parade. Apparently anyone who wants can enter a float as long as they do something cool and decorative; you can't just drive your truck through for kicks and giggles. Kicking off the festivities was a contingent from the military. This would have been unremarkable except that in the middle of all the trim, clean cut, uniformed soldiers was a random guy with a bright pink shirt and a huge beer gut. Good times. After them came the boy scouts, and then the folks waving "Fire Congress" signs. Military followed almost immediately by anarchists---I love this town.

But the real shabang involved a long-standing tradition dating back to when Ouray was nothing but a mining town: the firehose fight. There are four divisions: womens, junior men's, co-ed, and men's. Each fight is 2v2. Contestants duel in a 40ish foot square, hosing each other down with 40ish degree water pumped straight from the river. The battle ends when one team surrenders...or when one team is still standing. It looks something like this:


I didn't have a great view at the beginning, but things got better in a hurry. I was situated almost directly behind one set of contestants. Since aiming a giant fire hose isn't as easy as you might think, the combatants on the other side spent a great deal of time not hitting their targets. We became collateral damage. Most people were smart enough to bail, but me and a couple teenagers moved to the front, hunkered down, and took the beating. Sadly, no one thought to equip us with the heavy-duty fireman's gear that the contestants donned before each engagement. By the end of the afternoon I was battered, bruised, and freezing. I now feel sorry for fires.

Oh yeah, there were fireworks too, but they could in no way compare to the water fights.

9) Visit from friends: Two of my buddies from work, Vladimir and Diego (plus Vlad's girlfriend, Irena) came up for five days. Vladimir and Irena are Russian. Diego is the goofiest Brazilian you will ever meet. The campsite was definitely more lively with our foreign immigrants. We taught them to play Ultimate Frisbee, and got in a bunch of not-so-high-quality games of two on three. We also took them on some really beautiful hikes. I have discovered that beauty is often inversely proportional to the amount of oxygen in the air.

Here's the crew, from left to right: Diego, me, Zack, Irena, Vladimir

Here are some some pics from our first hike, known as the Blue Lakes trail:

This is Lower Blue Lake

Random trail pic


This was taken from Upper Blue Lake. You can see Lower Blue Lake in the background. We were really high up.

Here are a couple from our second hike, the Ice Lakes trail:

The guy on the left is a 67-year-old local named Terry who has lived in Ouray for 50 years but had never done Ice Lakes, so we invited him to come along. Terry is a ninja.


One of the ice lakes


Vladimir and his Lexus. This should be in a commercial.

Many thanks to Vlad for putting his pictures on facebook so I could get at them. A week after that group moved on, Darrell and Sommer Zook, a couple we play frisbee with back in Dallas, dropped by briefly as part of their tour of Colorado. We took them on the Ice Lakes hike, but they were too tired to do Blue Lakes with us the next day. Still, it was fun hanging out with them for a day.

8) Living on less than $3 a day: This includes housing (free camping) three meals a day, and even a summer pass to the hot springs pool and gym. I'm telling you, this is the high life.

7) Two-person spades: Zack taught me a substabtially better version than the one I grew up with, and we play almost every evening at the campsite. It's not as good as a full, four-person game, but we have a riot. The highligt was a thirty-one hand marathon that had to be completed the next day. Those of you who know anything about spades would probably argue that no game should ever even remotely approach thirty-one hands, but I assure you, you don't know what you're talking about.

6) Church potluck: Terry the mountain-hiking ninja attends First Southern Baptist Church in Ouray, which is where Zack usually goes when he comes out here. After Ice Lakes, Terry informed us they were having potluck that Sunday, which cemented our commitment to going there. No one---and I mean no one---can cook like old Baptist ladies. It's science. If this doesn't seem worthy of a #6 ranking, refer back to #8.

5) Muffin!!!!!!!!!

Ok, Colby isn't actualy here, but he still makes the top ten.

4) Frisbee: I am a dominant frisbee player in Ouray. Part of this is due to the fact that I can throw the disc substantially farther in high altitude. But also, the talent pool isn't quite the same as in Dallas, or even Abilene. Hence, I am the second best player on the field...unless Zack doesn't play, in which case I rise to the top. And the field is amazing! It rains pretty much every day, and the grass gets plenty of sun, so the playing surface is both thick and soft. It makes you want to lay out. In fact, the field is so nice, you feel better after diving than you do if you had stayed on your feet. I am convinced I've found paradise.

Me trying to snag Diego's swill

3) Otherworldly Beauty: This is the part where I wish I could just show you about six dozen photos and not type anything else. The beauty here is absolutely stunning. I'm surrounded by it from the second I emerge from my tent: mountains, valleys, waterfalls, cliffs, trees, flowers, a radiant blue sky, millions of stars at night. Even the rocks are pretty here. I feel like I'm living in the Artist's own personal gallery. Colorado is the best argument for the existence of God I have ever seen.

2) Mt. Sneffles: My first night in Ouray, Zack was telling me about all the great hiking trails. He told me about Mount Sneffles, a daunting climb to the summit that he had never attempted in eight years of coming to Ouray annually. We decided it was time for the streak to end.

The great Sneffles himself

Hardcore mountaineers claim the 14,150 foot peak provides the best view in all of Colorado. Terry told us that if wanted to do it, we should start early and make sure we hit the summit by noon or we'd run into nasty weather. Zack had been as far up as the saddle, and we could see the the top from the Blue Lakes trail, and based on what we saw we figured we could get there in about three hours. We drove Zack's truck as far up a jeep trail as we could, eventually abandoning it two miles from the Yankee Boy Basin, which leads right up to the base of Sneffles. From there the trail ends, and it's just a hard pull almost straight up hundreds and hundreds of meters of scree and rocks.

It was already raining when we got out of the truck around 9:00 a.m. We considered coming back another day, but figured since we had come that far we might as well give it a shot. On our way up Yankee Boy, we passed numerous hikers coming the other way who said they had to turn back due to foul weather. Undeterred, we plodded along, talking trash to Sneffles all the way. (To be honest, we were surprised he had stuck around. We had spent the last week taunting him, letting him know we were coming. We fully expected to wake up Monday morning to discover that he had taken the opportunity to slink away during the night.) Whoever is in charge of maintaining the trails built a little podium with a book for all hikers to register in, allowing them to know how many people use the trail. In the comments section, Zack wrote, "We're not very smart."

True words. As we trudged up the scree slope, we saw a massive thundercloud moving our way. I said I wasn't worried, because by the time we got to the top we would be above it. The inaccuracy of that statement in no way stopped us from continuing.

We were gasping for what little air our lungs could take in when we crested the ridge. From there, the journey somehow got harder. The summit was was a towering, quarter-mile high pile of rocks. All semblence of hiking ended; from there it was an all-fours scramble up gravel and ice, where one false step would result in serious injury---at best. We gave Sneffles one last chance to walk away. He didn't.

About half way to the summit, we realized we had picked a bad route, as our direction was leading us straight up a snow shoot. In case you're wondering, snow on a steep hill provides really bad footing. But it turned out for the best. By that point, the sky was looking really nasty. I had just spied a small cleft in in the rock and thought to myself, that would make a really good shelter if we need it when Sneffles played his last trump card. The world abruptly turned white. This wasn't the fluffy white poweder you dream of at Christmas; these were stinging pellets flung with the full fury of a desperate Sneffles. We crawled into the cubby hole, which turned out to be just big enough for two, and while Sneffles raged, we feasted on peanut butter sandwiches.

The storm eventually subsided, and we finished the journey. It was agony, but at approximately 2:30 p.m. Zack and I conquered the beast. Perhaps there's a better view somewhere, but I have a hard time imagining it. From our vantage point, we could see all the San Juan mountains, as well as myriad valleys and lakes. The best part was looking down at Blue Lakes. The Sneffles peak had seemed so close from Upper Blue Lake; from the top of Sneffles, the Blue Lakes looked like puddles. What had seemed so lofty mere days before suddenly appeared, when put in perspective, to be no more than a speed bump. There's a profound lesson in there somewhere.

Though we vanquished our foe, both Zack and I freely admitted that he was probably feeling a lot better that evening than we were.

1) My Geo's dominance: I drive a 1995 Geo Prizm. Most people would not consider it a good car to take in the mountains. Most people are fools! Two weeks into my stay here, my Geo as accomplished things that most Geos only dream of.

The bridge on the road to our campsite---designed for jeeps and other four wheel drive vehicles---washes out every year, so we have to ford the river to get home. Some vehicles are more equipped than others for traversing such terrain. Remember the earlier picture of Vlad and his Lexus? Check this out:

We eventually got it out, so it was all good. Now I know what you're thinking: If a Lexus couldn't hack it, there's no way a Geo could brave the raging rapids. If that is what you are thinking, you are wrong! (If you weren't thinking that, obviously you've been in my Geo). I make the drive almost every day---including a few times after a flash flood---and I only got stuck once...but since I am almost as awesome as my Geo, I was able to throw it in reverse a few times and get it out without assistance. On one such crossing, a local teen was hanging out by the creek when I drove by. The expression on his face was priceless. He stared in slack-jawed wonder as my Geo effortless navigated the waters and landed itself on dry ground.

Other feats include the following:

*Making it to the top of Red Mountain Pass on the way to Ouray. The speed limit said 45; at one point I was doing 16 in second gear, but me and the Geo made it.

*Carrying five people to the nearby town of Teluride. This may not sound like much, but my car usually struggles to accelerate with even one passenger.

*Getting up to 80 mph...in neutral

I accidentally left my keys sitting on the top of the hood for six hours when we went to Blue Lakes. No one touched them. Why? The leading theory is that the people are really honest, but I know the truth. It's because my Geo is awesome. People can feel the awesomeness radiating from it. Everyone who passed by knew they weren't awesome enough to drive a car that awesome, so they let it be.

I would bestow upon my Geo a Rockstar, but it is so awesome that even the prestigious Rockstar award would be an insult to its awesomeness. So instead, I hand it out to Darrell and Sommer, who ganked some cookies from their hotel and relayed them to Zack and me. Well done, Zooks.

The Cult of Mackie

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you Mackie.

So I've been going to this house church for five or six weeks. Most of the time it's pretty lame, but I like the people there, and I could see it developing into authentic spiritual community, so I'm sticking it out for now.

This last Sunday was by far the most interesting discussion we've had---by that I mean it's the only interesting discussion we've had. We started off talking about God's blessings and protection and things like that. Meh. Then the great (and now red-headed) Cheryl Blaisdell (that's her married name; she's not available) brought up the question of how that theology fits in with starving people in Africa. But then Cheryl stated her belief that despite so many atrocities on earth, God is still good and loving. And that's when all Pergatory broke loose.

In response to Cheryl's comment, Eight-year-old Mackie raised her hand. When she was finally allowed to speak (which took entirely too long) she stated bluntly that God was not loving, but actually quite mean, as he killed her kittens. For the next half hour, various well-meaning adults attempted to avert her faith crisis with cookie-cutter answers. She shot each one down in turn. Pwned* every single one of them. It was quite possibly the most fascinating thing I've ever seen in church. This was the highlight:

Well Meaning Adult: We'll pray for you, Mackie.

Mackie: Don't pray for me, pray that God will stop being mean.

Well Meaning Adult: Well, we have cookies for lunch!

Epic. Absolutely epic.

The part of me that has a soul felt really bad for her. Not only did all these people keep saying stupid stuff in her general direction, but everyone completely missed her blatant desire to not keep talking about this subject. I could have entered the conversation and taken some heat off this poor little girl. But the part of me that's a questioning heretic and really enjoys observing people won out. And so I watched, spellbound, as Mackie cut through all the textbook Christian answers, all the while voicing things that "aren't supposed" to be said in church, things that no one else had the guts to say.

Word of Mackie's Last Stand leaked out, and before long heretics all over the interweb were paying homage to this new patron saint of theodicy. Comments like "Mackie pwnz" and "What would Mackie do?" soon began appearing in cyberspace. The cult is growing, and Mackie welcomes all with open arms. So come all you who are cynical and jaded, and Mackie will give you cookies.

OK, so I'm being flippant and borderline sacreligious. My point is, the western church has done a terrible job addressing the problem of pain. Increasing numbers of people are no longer satisfied with simply saying, "God has a plan," or, "The devil did it," or any other answer that relieves both God and his followers of responsibility. Did God deliberately murder Mackie's kittens? Probably not. But did he create a world in which kittens die, sometimes prematurely, horribly, and inexplicably? Absolutely. Does that make him mean? I've been chewing on this for years and haven't come up with a satisfactory answer yet. But Mackie can make a good case.

Take a look at this

And this

Who among you, given the opportunity and the necessity, wouldn't save these lives? I don't even like animals, and I can't imagine sitting by and watching them die. If God does, isn't this an appropriate image of him?

That is certainly how Mackie sees him right now. And given the state that much of the world is in, I sometimes wonder if she's not far off. Though I don't believe he's a tyrant, I wish the creator of death would answer for it. For those of you who now wish to throw large rocks at me, please feel free to do so in the comments. But for those who are asking some of the same questions, come join me in the Cult of Mackie, where we'll all rally under this banner:


And of course, I now bestow upon Mackie a prestigious Rockstar. Well played, Mackie.

*For those of you who don't play online video games or hang out with people who do, the term pwned (rhymes with phoned, groaned, loaned, stoned, cloned, zoned, and broned, which isn't actually a word) refers to an utter and thorough beat down, usually in a humiliating fashion. It is derived from the words "punked" and "owned", both of which refer to the state of being defeated. Example 1: "I was playing Halo, and I attacked Hoplyte with a plasma pistol even though he had a rocket launcher. I got pwned." Example 2: "A fat guy tried to cover me in frisbee but I pwned him."

Opening Day

This morning I awoke to the sound of a ringing cell phone, with the frantic voice of the Gold Crown operations manager informing me that no one had showed up at the Dallas Museum of Art for the day shift, and could I please get there right away. Sigh. I'm going to make it my life's ambition to find out which valet didn't show up for work. I'm going to find him, and when I do it won't be pretty. This irresponsible bum cost me dearly: because of him, I missed opening day at the ballpark. This is an unforgivable sin.

It couldn't have possibly gone any better. The Rangers came out swinging (surprise, surprise) and cruised to a 9-1 victory. Kevin Milwood went seven innings and apparently looked better than at any point during his first three seasons in Arlington. Rookie SS Elvis Andrus made some dazzling plays. Blalock and Salty went deep. Cruz had two hits. So did the Beasticon. Ian Kinsler swung like he's the best player in the league---he might be. And best of all, Andruw Jones didn't play.

The long night is over. A new day has dawned. Baseball is back.

Winter League Epilogue

A few quick hits:

Apparently, no one in Winter League counts to three. Where normal citizens say do everything on the count of three, Winter Leaguers go, "One, two, seven!" I'm not sure why this is. At first I thought it was just Captain Trimble, but then I realized all the other teams did it as well.

The game itself isn't the true competition. After every game, the two teams serenade each other with chants, cheers, or songs, sometimes involving choreography. Most often, you take a song---anything goes, from oldies to Christmas carols to the Star Spangled Banner---and adapt the words to pay homage to your opponents, the great game of Ultimate, and even the weather conditions. Whichever team comes up with a better cheer is the true winner. We had some epic geniuses in this regard, and I think our cheer record was about 16-2. Hey, at least we dominated somewhere.

There are a lot of nuances to calling pick on someone. I think when you boil it down, the correct time to call pick is when someone is about to burn you deep and you know you can't do anything to stop them.

And now for some pictures.

A post-game team picture of the Knights Who Play D. Zack is the goofy looking blond dude to the right of the guy in the yellow hat.


Our Fearless Leaders, Trimble and Carol


Here's a decent action shot, though not involving the Knights. You can see us in the background on the next field over. The yellow team is Spank Me. We're probably walking because they just scored.


I'm teaching everyone the cheer I composed to the tune of "My Girl." If I may say so, it was substantially better than what the other team cooked up.