Behold

Electron blue Fender Stratocaster with a rosewood fretboard, two single-coil pick ups and a humbucker. Hecho en Mexico.


(Photo by Jed Johnson)

New posts coming soon.

Spontaneously in Seattle (Part 2)

After Saturday's chance encounter with culinary arts blogger Carina Ziegler, I added Issaquah's Tiger Mountain to my Sunday itinerary. I was committed to checking out Snoqualmie Falls for Emilio's sake, but since Issaquah was on the way (and, admittedly, I kind of wanted to check it out anyhow), I rallied around 9:30 a.m. and headed east on I-90 with hope of making it to both. I did, and I was not prepared for what awaited me.


The Tiger Mountain hike was unreal.







In a secret garden, enchanted magical forest sort of way. (THANK YOU, CARINA!)

Surely, if only I'd ingested the slightest amount of hallucinogens, secrets of the ancient forest would have spilled forth from the woods.

I think these characters, in particular, would have had a lot to share:













Unfortunately, I only had a granola bar, and my id did not burst forth from my messenger bag.

Drugs would have been redundant, though, at the top of the mountain, where the scene was effectively psychedelic. Submerged in cloud, the summit was silent save for eerie, other-worldly birdsong, the soft patter of rain, and the squelch of my shoes in the mud.

The trail at the summit.




View from the top: Cloudy, with a chance of trees.


Oh -- the mud.

For some reason, I thought my Chucks would suffice:

Duh.


And the only thing worse than climbing up a muddy mountain in Chucks? Climbing down a muddy mountain in Chucks.



Gnarly!


I hastened my descent after the fall, begging a group of lovely ladies for some band-aids along the way ("We don't have any, sorry," they replied. "Which is pretty pathetic for three doctors and a nurse.")

But I did stop to befriend a snail:

Out of the woods, my first order of business was tending to my wounds, so I stopped at a Shell and bought some band-aids from Dave, who suggested I check out the Rollin' Log Tavern across the street. Note taken.

But first: food.

I walked my bandaged hands over to the Issaquah Brewhouse and ordered the Kobe Blue Balls sandwich, a blue-cheese stuffed Kobe meatball sandwich on a marina-smothered hoagie bun. With potato chips and a pickle spear. Ohhh, it was Epic.

I met a man at the bar named G, a cuddly tattooed fellow who had just initiated a divorce from his wife of 5 years. He confessed that I was the first person he'd told; better to start with me, a total stranger, than with family and friends. We bonded over the difficulties of ending long term relationships over some Rogue Dead Guy Ale (very tasty).

Time for Snoqualmie Falls, another 20 minutes east of Issaquah. The falls were truly awe-inspiring:










My recommenders had warned that the Falls would be crowded, but they neglected to mention that it's also the site of a power plant (!)

Glorious nature.

Tranquil countryside.



Machinery aside, I did manage to capture this tender moment:


How. Adorable.

There were no discernable trails at Snoqualmie Falls, save for a super jam-packed .5 mile hike to the river. (Which made me all the more grateful for Carina's stellar recommendation.)






Frustrated, I asked the cashier at the gift shop if she knew of any good hikes nearby, and she gave me four slips of paper with cryptic directions to surrounding trailheads. I settled on Twin Falls, off I-90 exit 34.

Bingo.

Tiger Mountain had plenty of tranquil forest, but no fresh water. Snoqualmie Falls had plenty of fresh water, but no tranquil forest.

Twin Falls, though, was just right.

And I finally had that moment I was looking for.

Some pictures:

Water source.

Bottom half of the falls.

Top half of the falls.

Another friendly slug.

Prophesy.

The sun was setting by the time I left Twin Falls, and I was wet, muddy, stinky, and still bleeding from my morning tumble. So what to do? Why, head back to Issaquah for a beer at the Rollin' Log Tavern.

I enjoyed a Rogue American Amber and a basket of transcendently greasy fish and chips at the Rollin' Log, where I was tended to by a lovely mother-daughter team (Dixie and Heather, respectively).

When Shell station Dave had recommended the place earlier in the day, he said the Rollin' Log Tavern was " pretty much as good as it gets." I have to concur. The place is the holiest of dives: a nice arcade selection (bowling, Golden Tee, off-road racing), two pool tables, darts, a shuffle board, loud TVs, fried food, a hot nut bar, free popcorn, chewing gum and pork rinds and single-serving aspirin for sale behind the bar. Hospitable, close-knit, local clientele. I was tired, really tired, and I knew I should've gotten back on the road after the first beer. But I couldn't leave. In fact, I sort of wanted to die there.

Dixie recommended the Hefewiezen, and after Heather gave me a free sample, I relented, and stayed for one last beer and a conversation with Issaquah native Sharon and LA-bred Dave. I promised I'd look them up the next time I was in Issaquah (Soon, I hope. It's truly a gorgeous place).

Relunctantly, I walked back to the Sebring, passing another great looking bar along the way (H&H saloon, where several folks were singing along to one patron's acoustic rendition of a country-western song), and headed north for the final stop of the trip: Walgreen's, to replace a toothbrush I'd managed to knock into the Holiday Inn toilet (yup).

Outside the pharmacy, I was apologetically approached by a young man who had just gotten out of the emergency room for a kidney infection and "didn't want to be a bum," but just needed five more dollars to get his meds. So I bought the toothbrush, and gave him 5 of my $20 cash-back. He hugged me, and assured, "you've got great karma coming to you."

I hope so, and if it's true, I'd like to pass it along to Emilio, Debbie, the novelty store guys, Rachel and Eric, Denny, Carina and Sean, Shell Station Dave, G, Dixie and Heather, and Sharon and Dave for their help in shaping an extraordinary Memorial Day adventure. GOD BLESS YOU, CITIZENS OF AMERICA!

R.I.P. Steve Irwin

Today marks the one year anniversary of Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin's death. I remember the night he died -- Seth and I were in Las Vegas, drinking some cheap beers at the Stardust (now defunct as well). We read the news from the muted television behind the bar. I didn't follow his career very closely, but I was sad to see him go -- it's rare to find a person who lived life so passionately, and with such dedication to a worthwhile cause .

In memoriam, Animal Planet is airing some classic croc specials this week, now through Thursday.

*

The Hawking Paradox

Few men affect me like Stephen Hawking.






The smile has a lot to do with it. Hawking let it shine a number of times during "The Hawking Paradox," the BBC documentary about his work on black holes. In 1970, Hawking combined the theories of quantum mechanics and general relativity into one neat equation that described the mechanics of black holes:




The equation suggested something controversial -- that black holes would emit radiation. Radiation that would eventually cause a black hole to evaporate and disappear.

Along with everything inside of it.

The idea of information disappearing into a black hole did not sit well with other scientists. It violated a fundamental tenet of physics: that information cannot be destroyed; it may be altered, but it can never disappear. Regardless, Hawking stood firmly by his theory and insisted that information must disappear; after all, that's what his equation suggested, and he knew his equation was right.

*Cue grin*

The argument over the disappearance versus the preservation of information entering black holes became known as the Information Paradox, or the Hawking Paradox. While many scientists refused to believe that information disappeared after entering a black hole, they also remained enamored with the beauty of Hawking's equation and began to explore how both outcomes could coexist. Eventually, an Argentenian physicist named Juan Maldacena crafted an equation that explained how information behaved once it entered black holes -- and the equation showed that information was not lost.

Hawking was not convinced. But before he could dissect Maldacena's paper, he fell gravely ill with pneumonia, and was hospitalized for three months.

During this time, he developed his own answer to the Paradox.

At a conference in 2004, Hawking conceded his earlier argument and presented his modified theory: that black holes emit the information they swallow (extremely altered, of course).

Though many attendees were excited to hear Hawking's announcement, most found the new theory lackluster at best. To this day, he is still working to complete the proof that would prove this theory.

But it's getting harder. By the conclusion of the documentary, Hawking was beginning to lose the ability to manipulate his speaking device with his hand and had to rely on making facial expressions to communicate ideas to his research assistant. When his assistant interpreted incorrectly, Hawking would wince. When he got something right, Hawking would smile.

Today, Hawking operates his speaking device with a muscle under his right eye.

Can you imagine? Sitting there with nothing to do but think, knowing that many of your colleagues think you're wrong, that many of your colleagues think you're crazy, yet still going, continuing to thrive 40 years after they said you would die, never letting up even as you lose control of everything around you - even your ability to communicate?

"I want to understand the Universe, and answer all the big questions. That's what keeps me going."

-Stephen Hawking, 2004

Hawking is preparing to go into space in 2009 and is currently writing a children's book that is "like Harry Potter - without the magic."

Socially Conscious Potato Chips

As I pulled a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos from my kitchen cabinet, something caught my eye:

A picture of a young Latina and the word pedophile.

Perplexed, I read the rest of the text and learned that the woman pictured is 21 year old Cheryl Perera from Ontario, Canada, who posed as a decoy sex worker in Sri Lanka and lead police to the whereabouts of a notorious sex trafficker.

Doritos saluted her for her brave work and punctuated her story with a little black box that said "Do Something," with the URL http://www.dosomething.org/.

"Has Doritos created a philanthropy organization?" I wondered. Though noble, it seemed highly suspicious.

It turns out that Doritos is a sponsor of http://www.dosomething.org/, an activist site for young lads and lassies. The home page offers suggestions for aspiring do-gooders ("Bake cookies and deliver them to elderly people in your neighborhood!") and links to causes and projects ranging from animal welfare to body image to environmental justice.

A banner at the top right of the page explains the Doritos tie-in. The scrolling text asks "Guess who's on the back of 50 MILLION Doritos brand chips?" Click on it, and you will learn that "Doritos recognizes those who do something:"

Thought DORITOS brand just made chips? No way. The DORITOS team believes 100% in the power of young people to speak out and change the world. Starting this summer, they are using their bags to celebrate amazing young world changers and show that people like you can do something too. Check out their projects here.

Even if you're rich and famous, you can't buy your way onto one of these bags. Are YOU all that and a bag of chips? Find out what inspires you and do something now. You could be next...

So, getting your picture and story on 50 million bags of Doritos is a reward for doing good things.

This seems ripe for snarky criticism -- the involvement of Doritos (and Pepsi, and Jet Blue, and Channel One) reeks of corporate philanthropy, a calculated PR move to improve public opinion (and therefore consumption) of the company's product. But frankly, I think that in this world of me me me it's important to provide young people with any incentive to be compassionate. Even if it involves the consumption of Doritios.

So what came first -- the money, or the philanthropy? Does it matter? If a corporation's greed puts compassion out on the marketplace in a highly visible way, do the ends justify the means?

I actually took a class once that asked this very question. And it was like a dog chasing its tail for 14 straight weeks.

As Garth would say: "It's like people only do things because they get paid . . . and that's just really sad."

But hey, whatever works.

Man, propelled by helium balloons, flies 193 miles

Go Be Delighted salutes Ken Couch, an Oregon man who flew 193 miles by attaching 105 large helium-filled ballons to his lawn chair.

Ken -- here's to you.