Wandering, But Not Lost

One Unique, Unforgettable Trip

2012-02-14T09:12:00.000-08:00

It is commonly said, "Dog is man's best friend." That always made sense to me on a very basic level when examining the relationship a dog seems to build around their owner. The owner feeds and cares for a dog in a way none other does. The dog is dependent on the owner for a number of things therefor making a positive connection a more than viable result of the relationship. Through the provision of the dog's basic needs the owner is rewarded with an unwavering loyalty and what can easily be labeled as a "best friend."

Doing his Lion king impression.

What I did not fully grasp until recently was how an owner can develop a dependence on his dog. The level of this dependence can be effectively managed to a degree by how much of his life in which an owner wishes to include his barking bro. For example, an owner who keeps his dog outside will naturally separate the related emotions and feelings derived from human relationships from those he relates to his relationship with a canine who he interacts with on a limited basis. Another owner who treats his dog in a way more closely aligned with the humans for whom he cares through means of snuggling, "conversations," socializing, and other seemingly quirky activities, will most likely blur the delineation between the different types of relationships.

He was quite popular at the parks.

I am not necessarily going to take a stance on how a dog should be raised, and what type of relationship should be groomed in the process because there are evident factors in each case that will determine how an individual chooses to interact with their pet. The differences with which people approach such a matter could be debated ad nauseam without resolution, and to me it is a rather moot point holding very little worth in debate in the first place. That is until something happens to your four legged friend.

When we take on a pet we are knowingly entering into a very limited relationship on a number of levels. A pet may "listen" to you, but he will never completely understand you, and there is very little chance they will respond intelligibly. Also, we know that no matter what kind of relationship we foster with a pet it will only last for a limited period of time as they only live for so long. It is in this dynamic that a relationship with a pet is so unique from the very first time you lay eyes on a potential four-legged companion.

Maybe we do not dwell on a pet's life expectancy when we engage in the selection process, but on some level we weigh the excitement of a new addition to the family and the memories to be created with the inevitable truth that we will have to say goodbye at some point.

No relationship in this life is guaranteed, but because of the known limitations of the time you will have with a pet, the responsibility you embrace from the day you take a particular fuzzball home goes far beyond food, walks, and baths. You understand that, barring an unfortunately turn of events, you will outlive your pet. You will nurture and provide in whole for your pet. Despite this in the pit of our being we know the joy procured through the many days to come, as fleeting as they may prove to be, will far outweigh the pain actualized in their passing.

My experience was one I would have trouble fully capturing in words in a blog. My first dog, Trip, was, like most dogs, a loyal companion. What distinguished Trip from the other canines I have encountered was his unique ability to calm your soul with a unabashed joy and excitement, draw you in with his expressive eyes, and steal your heart within moments. Since his passing, a number of people have reminded me of the fear of or distaste in dogs they once harbored. They had somewhat different stories, but they were all connected by the bond they made with Trip.

Trip had it all. He was a rugged explorer, a goofy klutz, a superior snuggler, and a loyal buddy. People have recently mentioned how lucky he was to have had me as an owner, but I can't help but look at it the other way around. It wasn't about what I was able to do for him. It was about what he did for me on a daily basis. This may sound melodramatic, but their are specific points in my life when I could not have imagined where I would have been without him. I am not the same person I would have been had I not had that dog in my life, and definitely all for the better.

A unique relationship indeed, from start to finish. One I may enter into once again down the road. For now, though, I will bathe in the warmth of the glow gleaned from a seemingly endless store of memories of the adventures I had with Trip.

I Want You to Take Over Control...

2011-08-23T19:22:00.000-07:00

As summer draws to a conclusion once again I am faced with a familiar scene. Sun-bleached hair and and tanned brown skin still smell of salt and ocean air as I step onto Madison High School's campus.

Two dueling sides of my psyche clash in order to attain complete control of mind and body. The heart, both pumping life's blood throughout my body toward the extremities and making emotional and passionate appeals to my conscious thought, embraces and thrives on freethought, adventure, and desire, but maybe most importantly love. A love that connects all of us, yes, but more so in that it gives us comfort in our purposes in life.

It is the American way to earn a structured position of employment in order to provide for yourself and those directly connected to you. It is also the American way to push through such a life gridded and laid out by the constructs of the 9-5 work day. Many of us spend time and energy silencing the noise fighting for voice in your stream of consciousness. The noise that if paid any attention, would drive us to do something crazy, something drastic, something that does not fit in our neatly created world.

The brain can be found at the center of this struggle to silence the noise in weighing options, calculating, predicting and influencing your actions. Constricting freedoms through restrictive interpretations of what is necessary in order to exist and prosper in life, the brain works in order to support you in your drive to achieve a persona, in the safest way possible, that will be perceived by the masses as successful.

Once this successful persona is developed , the brain becomes hyper-aware of conceivable threats and further separates the decision making process from the heart. The heart, driven by its passion, seems to hold no connection to any calculated processes. The brain, knowing what is best for continued success and prosperity, may allow the heart to make minor contributions, but mostly it maintains its stance as "knowing best."

Now, a life fueled by an uninhibited heart may be one of reckless abandon ultimately ending in a fireworks display the most gaudy of US Independence celebrations would envy, but to what extent do we allow our brains to drive us through our world and the decisions to be made. What balance between the two warring factions would both nurture a love and passion for what you do and how it is accomplished and also provide enough calculated maneuvers to ensure basic needs are met?

What do we call this balance? Calculated risk? What is to be made of a meshing of two seemingly opposite forces? Are we doomed to pick one of three lives? Are we driven by pure passion and act directly from the heart with little to know thought as to the consequences? Are we to sit and weigh and measure every little decision and determine the safest and most beneficial path to take culminating in drab life with little room for emotional expression? Or, in the face of frustration and stress, are we destined to search for a harmonious balance between the two that may not even exist?

The leaders of this world have made a choice for themselves. Many have picked different avenues and made each one of them work, but at what expense? These questions are nothing new, and the answers are determined by an individual's level of comfort in his or her decisions, but, in a not so veiled attempt to stick up for the heart, I would ask one question: in a world filled with the unpredictability that ours is accustomed to, how calculated can you possibly be in making almost any decision?

Rim 2 Rim 2 Rim - Part II

2011-06-10T08:16:00.000-07:00

It has been over 2 years since my last double crossing of the Grand Canyon. The first attempt resulted in a time just under the 24 hr mark. I remember being thrilled with this accomplishment and satisfied with our efforts, but as time tends to erode the landscape of our memories so too does it allow the roots of ever growing questions to take hold in the conscious working their way toward the very change in perspective leading to the unthinkable.

How could we have approached the hike differently? Did it really hurt that much? How could I have managed my diabetes more efficiently? Could we have cut out or at least shortened our breaks? How did the season help or hurt us in our pursuit? Many other questions regarding our hike have filtered through my brain over the course of the last couple years, but there was none more vexing, none more compelling than, "Could we have done it faster?"

Each time I asked myself this seemingly simple question I had one and only one response... YES!

This summer, despite the warnings and suggestions to pick almost any other time to attempt this, we will be making another attempt at the crossing, but this time with the goal of going sub 20.

The plan is to arrive at the canyon on July 29th and begin at 2pm the following day. The timing is crucial as temps at the base of the canyon can climb into the 100s during midday. It will be a warm trek, so attention to hydration will be imperative.

The team will consist of two health challenged individuals battling our own distinct and separate obstacles. I feel confident in my approach in taking into consideration what I learned on the North Rim last time and making sure that I test more often.

The only missing piece at this point is the conditioning aspect. I have recently made the push to rededicate myself to training, so as we approach our departure, I am certain I will be in a much more appropriate state of mind and body.

The question I received from friends and family most the last time I embarked on this adventure was a resounding "WHY?" The answer can be complicated, but the easy route is blaming it on who I am, and who I have been for awhile.

Dating back to at least the elementary school I have thrived in situations where I have been doubted or told I could not succeed. I feed off the challenge. I think Moliere said it simply enough, "The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it."

Don't get me wrong. I don't believe there is anyone out there doubting me necessarily, but I love the feeling generated from pushing myself up, over or through an obstacle to experience tangible limits. For me, there doesn't need to be a person doubting me anymore. Since I have been living with Type I Diabetes for a little over 5 years, I constantly feel I have this stigma to overcome. Everyday I focus on what I can do despite having the disease while never paying mind to any conceived resulting constraints.

Happy Thanksgiving from Death Valley

2010-12-07T12:16:00.000-08:00

Seeing as how family was 3000 miles away, and many people had their Thanksgiving plans abroad and so forth, Trip and I decided to get lost in the desert for a couple days. It was the most peaceful I have felt internally in a long time. Many beautiful sites and experiences and plenty of time with my thoughts...

The Misappropriation of State Fun

2010-05-19T09:25:00.000-07:00

I don't know if this is an accurate title for what I am about to type mostly because I feel a tangent laced rant of spiritually mythical proportions brewing beneath the surface of my strained visage.

I was discussing with a couple people today the shortcomings of a particular program installed by the California State Government as a requirement for all new teachers. Being that I am relatively new to the state I fall into the aforementioned category of "new teacher." I have no qualms with the label in and of itself, but it's the "standards" and requirements accompanying such a label that are proving to be the bane of my once somewhat simple life.

The program to which I am referring is the mess known throughout the California education system as BTSA.

...

I have just now logged in in order to finish this post that I began a month or two ago. As the school year is coming to a timely close, and I have now fulfilled each requirement of the BTSA program set forth by the governing bodies that be I am struggling more and more to recreate the mindset from which the beginning of the post developed. I am a free man in a week, and what good comes of dwelling in the past.

With that said, I feel I would be remiss in failing to mention the unique turn in which the state has steered the future of the BTSA program. In the past, a new teacher was provided with the opportunity to spend 2 years mimicking and reproducing the work completed in their credentialing programs for free, but beginning this coming year that will all change as the state is requiring teachers to pay for the program in its entirety. If I was one of the teachers required to pay for this waste of resources, this would be a much longer and angrier post.

I remember the last time it was fun to be an O's fan...

2010-04-26T11:21:00.000-07:00

Can you tell me what the left lane is for?

2010-02-16T14:47:00.000-08:00

If you can, you probably don't live and drive in San Diego. Call it what you want: left lane, fast lane, passing lane... Just get the hell out of it if you aren't passing anybody, or sit there and help congest the already overtrafficked region. It's what you do best.

Look for life

2010-01-25T19:11:00.000-08:00

2/14/09

I dive in head first, failing to check the depth.

With a few contortions I am able to manipulate the world around me.

Now, with opened eyes I can navigate past deep crags and submerged lunar landscapes.

My body learning motions in a weightlessness envied even by astronauts.

A newly found license to explore, yet one fear invading my world.

Will I soon find it all?

Shaking Yesterday

2010-01-25T18:50:00.000-08:00

3/4/05

Tied to the tales of antiquity
That is where we find ourselves
The future sprawled out before us
Seize each day or watch ineptly
True, there are the passive, the aggressive
The embodiment of faith, the faithless
Embrace your truth because
As those pray to leave this world
Too many are praying to see tomorrow

Who are you?

2010-01-25T18:44:00.000-08:00

2/20/05

It's the little boy with the blond hair
sitting alone with his blank stare.

It's the little boy with the frozen eyes
the only one who never cries.

It's the little boy with the heavy head
perfectly framed with cheeks of red.

It's the little boy with the giant heart
everyone wants to pick apart.

It's the little boy with never a fight
after losing his way in the night.

It's the little boy in whom I believe
he seems so familiar to me.

Nica: Take it easy, man!

2009-07-02T12:51:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I got back from a surf trip to Nicaragua. Intense. Beautiful. Extremely fun. Big swell.

Pictures are up on Facebook.

Stayed in Gigante the first night. It's a great little fishing village with a unique feeling and atmosphere. Surfed Colorados and Ponga Drops. Both were great breaks, but Colorados was double overhead and barreling. A fun, big, heavy wave I got worked on a few times.

From there we went to San Juan del Sur. Got a flat tire and fixed it in the blazing sun. Satyed at Arenas Caliente for a couple nights. This was a surf hostel in the middle of town. San Juan was definitely a more central tourist attraction when compared to Gigante. Firs day, we took a boat to Yankees. While we were waiting for the surf to pick up, we fished. I caught a tiny blow fish, but that was better than my gringo counterparts who ended up with only the bait they casted overboard. The locals we were with caught some fish that was later made into some kick-ass ceviche and also grilled up. Some of the best stuff we had in Nica.

Yankees was kind of breaking weird, so we tried Hermosa. Hermosa had some fun waves, but I was dead tired in the water. Caught some fun ones this day, but it was probably the worst day of surf we had on the trip.

That night we hung out with a few other travelers. Consumed a bit of the ubiquitous Flor de Cana rum and some rather large Tona cervesas. I slept in a hammock and got some of the best sleep I had in Nica.

The next day we packed up a bit, and headed to playa Maderas with a couple guys we hung out with the night before, Andi and Reese. Amazing waves when we pulled up. Enough peaks for everybody. Pulled into some good ones. Took some fun pics. Ate some tacos a guy was selling on the beach, and covered a couple tourists on 4-wheelers in mud on the way there.

From Maderas we headed back towards Gigante. We stayed at Giant's Foot Surf Camp. It was a beautiful hostel located on the bay. We surfed Colorados one more time but this time we got there by way of a "secret" road that put us right on the beach. Some locals guarded the road, but we had an in with one of the guys we took along in our car. Surf was still pumping.

After surfing Colorados, winds were turning onshore, so we headed to Isla de Ometepe. This is an island in the middle of enormous Lago de Nicaragua formed by two volcanoes. We stayed the night, and ended up having a great time hanging with some locals and some Americans we met. The next day we hiked up through a jungle to a couple falls that were beautiful. Monkeys flying around in the canopy and lush green vegetation surrounded these fresh water cascades. Refreshing.

Later that day we caught the ferry back and headed back to mainland. From there we headed back to the west coast to a town known as Popoyo. We were thinking about staying there for only a night, but once we found Two Brothers, we weren't able to leave. We stayed the remainder of trip there. We surfed a few breaks Peaks, Popoyo Reef, and Beach Break. We missed Manzanilla, but at least we have something to look forward to on our return trip.

The trip back to the airport was interesting, but the trip was almost soured by a huge headache in the form of a buster rental car hombre. Enough said. Still a touchy subject.

All in all it was an amazing trip. I have officially been bitten by the travel bug, and I am currently planning a trip to my next destination...

Grand Canyon: R-R-R 48 under 24

2009-04-21T12:40:00.000-07:00

So here it is. A couple weeks after the trip. I'm not quite sure why it has taken so long for me to write about our adventure, but I think it has something to do with wrapping my mind around what was accomplished. Were we the first to attempt this? No. The fastest? Doesn't seem like it. It proved to be and amazingly intense experience nonetheless.

April 8, 2009:
We arrived at the Grand Canyon and shortly debated whether or not we should take a peak at the journey lying before us. We decided it would be a good idea to see the canyon during the day time and grab some pictures.

This was my first experience overall with the Grand Canyon, and I think everyone should make a trip out to view it. You owe it to yourself. It was awe inspiring. A significantly grander canyon than I even imagined. We snapped some shots and ate a fine pre-hike meal... packer's stew. Highly recommended South Rim cuisine.

After the meal, we headed back to the hotel and packed up and took a nap. Around 9:30 it was go time. We ate our last real meal and packed into the car and drove to the Bright Angel trail head. As we pulled into the parking lot, nerves started to simmer in each of our bellies as we truly did not know what to expect. The time neared 12am as we crept through the shadows of the campgrounds to the trail head. Some last minute group photos were taken, and boy did we look tough. Yet to be humbled by what the canyon had to offer, we were biting at the bit to get this adventure started.

April 9, 2009:
We took a few steps on to the trail so that we would be out of sight and waited in the 27 degree air until it was exactly 12am on Thuy's watch. As soon as she gave us the word, we took off through the gusty night. The four of us, bundled up, cruised down the switchbacks of the South Rim as we had to hold ourselves back as the nerves turned to adrenaline infusing our systems with energy and bravado needed to compensate for the overwhelming feeling we were being consumed by the sheer cliffs and precipices rising around us in our descent.

We motored down the trail when the footing and visibility was appropriate. Time gained now could prove to be valuable on the way back. Our fearless leader, Bill Cunningham, took a strong pace down to Indian Gardens putting us right on schedule.

Once at Indian Gardens, we stopped, ate a little, and focused on the 43.5 miles ahead of us. I did not dare to look back at the drop we made knowing that whatever the distance was, it would be staring me down on our return. Bill rallied the troops and we were off again. Next stop, Phantom Ranch on the Colorado River.

We sped out of Indian Gardens warming up as we covered ground. The devils corkscrew wound us down to the river bed where we got the first sight of the river. The moon was out in full and headlamps weren't needed as long as we were free of the shadows of the cliffs. The strength and energy of the Colorado could be felt as we moved along its bank for the next 2 miles. A crossing of the suspension bridge and we were in to P.R. A break was taken here, 10 miles in and 38 to get out, in order to force some food and hydrate. Still feeling upbeat about our situation, we mused and chatted for a bit until Bill rallied the troops once again for one last refill for the next 10 miles or so.

I am not sure if I chose to lead the next part of our journey or if it just happened that way, but I took off. I was in a zone. It was still dark. The moon was still providing as much light as we had seen on the hike so far. The sound of the water flowing through one of the Colorado's tributaries aided the zen-like state at which I pushed forward. The pace was quick, but I wanted to try to put as much distance in as possible while the weather was cool and the incline was mild. I slowed a few times to take it all in and allow for the others to close the distance. The last thing I wanted to do was make the others think I was trying to hike faster than them. I was simply in a zone. As day began to break, the sun illuminated the highest peaks in the canyon which truly made for some of the most beautiful sights. With only a couple of miles til the next camp, we sat and enjoyed the fruits the quick pace afforded us.

A couple more miles and we were in to Cottonwood Campground. Not much here, but we sat at a picnic table and downed some food. It was then off to Roaring Springs. I was still able to cruise through this section. Each spot we stopped I checked my blood sugar and ate. Each time I tested my sugars they were at optimal levels. Because my muscles were using the sugar at such a rate, I was hesitant to use insulin for fear of going low. This would prove to be the most costly mistake of the hike.

We hit Roaring Springs right on time and filled up the water for this would be the last we had til the return. We still had about 5 miles to go to the North Rim where I could sing a little Bon Jovi to celebrate being "half way there..." and these would prove to be the hardest miles yet.

We cruised up and out of Roaring Springs and into the seemingly endless switchbacks winding the way to the rim. The trail was never very wide, but some spots proved to be slightly hairy with only room for you feet and 500+ ft drops to your left or right. The temperature increased as we climbed higher and higher. We stopped again to eat and met a man who was out for a fairly long hike himself. I knew he was hardcore when he didn't even blink an eye when we told him what we were doing. He had done it before, friends. Later in the hike his positive and engaging attitude would become extremely annoying to me.

As we continued on our way, we crossed a bridge that we actually had to descend to get to in order to continue climbing to the North Rim. Seriously? What a mind f*ck. I tried to push the pace on the way up until something started happening. My muscles weren't firing properly. My head was pounding. I was feeling sick. I began to fight more than the trail and it's incline. I was fighting my own body. Thuy and I were ahead of Bill and Mary, so I decided to take a break. I quickly began to feel worse. What was happening? It seemed as though I could not stay hydrated. I kept drinking and drinking, but to no avail. We had about a mile to go. The hardest mile for me across the entire 48. Before we continued on, we decided to stash our packs on the trail for the return trip.

At this point I barely felt like I could carry my own weight. My body was fatiguing like I have never felt before, even shutting down on me. It took every ounce of concentration for me push on. Left foot. Right foot. Staggering up through the wooded section. Mounds of snow yet to melt covered parts of the trail. My balance was deteriorating on the dirt path and even worse on the snow. The others pushed onward as I desperately attempted to maintain their pace. Mary was behind me. Little did I know that this was more due to the fact that the others were worried over my visibly worsening condition.

Our friend, "You are a minute away, friends!" Our buddy was bouncing along the trail with a very merry attitude. I hated him at this moment. Dragging my body to the sign at the North Rim I collapsed in a pile on a stone wall. The others took pictures as I searched for an answer to my debilitating issues. Of course! So stupid! My blood sugars were always level because I checked them after miles of hiking. In actuality, I was continuing to peak my sugars as my muscles slowly brought the levels down. My body was reacting to the virtual small poisoning sessions to which I was submitting it. I needed to get back to my pack and check my sugars. I needed to be much more aware of my sugar levels for here on out, and I needed to use my insulin more effectively. With high sugars, the very least that was happening to me was that I was enabling an extremely high rate of dehydration. There would be no impromptu singing of Bon Jovi. Hell, I was not even in good enough shape to hum it.

As we made the decision to head back to the packs, I heard it for the first time. "Andy, if we need to pack it in and get you out of here, that is our first priority." Or something like that. What? Me hold you back? Though I felt like throwing in the towel and giving up, I would never let myself. If that had happened...well I just do not want to think about it.

I summoned every last ounce of energy for the walk back to our packs. It was after 11am. Less than 13 hours to go 24 miles. This was the first time I had to come to grips with it. Maybe diabetics do have their limits. Had I found something that I would not be able to do because I am a diabetic. This thought began to grow heavier and heavier on me. The each step I struggled with taking made me feel a little more defeated. No longer can I make the claim that diabetes will never keep me from accomplishing my goals. Ever since being diagnosed I have always lived my life in such a way. I did not want diabetes to define me; to determine what I can and cannot achieve.

All of a sudden, on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, pieces of my identity started to shift, mutate and crumble. Maybe it was the dehydration, but I literally felt I had to remove myself from the surrounding debris and begin to pick the pieces up. Collecting what I knew about myself, the disease, my blood sugar patterns, and the 24 miles of trail in front of me I silently found the determination and will to drag myself to the packs.

The packs were further away than any of us remember stashing them. Each switchback we made we expected to find our stuff. When we finally made it, I immediately drank and hydrated. I checked my blood sugar and despite all the hiking since I last checked it was high. I ate a rice cake or two and shot up some insulin in order to balance my blood sugar levels. We gathered our things and I led us down the rim.

Once my sugars were regulated, I was able to hold fluid and stay hydrated much more easily. Energy began to flow through my body. Doubts began to slip away as each step took me closer to the South Rim and our goal of sub 24 hours. We had gravity on our side now, and since I effectively wasted some valuable time recovering, we needed to push the pace. Down through the canyon we sped. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins because I knew my body would be able to handle this endeavor, and I knew I would not let diabetes beat me.

We cruised into Roaring Springs and grabbed some rest (some more than others), refilled the water, and forced some food down. The weather was beautiful and we needed to hustle back to Cottonwood campgrounds.

Before we made it to the campground something caught my eye. It was light brown and sitting on top of a big rock along the trail. I took another look in time to see a graceful dismount in which a mountain lion easily cleared the trail and bounded into the thick vegetation. It was a beautiful sight. We had be moving fairly quietly, but once the large cat caught wind enough he or she took off. I never had an encounter like that in the wild. What a beautiful creature... and we were lucky as most visitors and hikers never see the native cats.

We stopped shortly after at Cottonwood to eat a bit, and this time I was sure to use enough insulin. For the sake of time we pushed off with only a short rest. We still had some downhill to P.R. but it was 7 miles. We made the decision to make the even straight without a stop. We crushed the pace back down to PR, but with less than a mile to go my sugars crashed. I was sweating profusely, my legs were weak, and was definitely feeling out of sorts. I quickly stopped and downed some apricots. The sugar in the dried fruit prove to be a perfect solution, and in a few minutes I was back on my feet and cruising into PR. Thuy had beat us all there, but she had some extra motivation...

It was about 4pm when we got into PR, so we fueled up again and filled our reservoirs. We had only 10 more miles to go and we had 7 hours in which to do it. Across the Colorado we went at a comfortable pace. We knew we had time, so we slowed our pace to ensure we would not burn out before the the Bright Angel Trail head.

We made it 2 miles in less than an hour. 8 miles in 6 hours. No problem. At the base of the Devil's Corkscrew we decided to go 15 minutes on and 5 off in order to save our legs on the steeper inclines. The plan worked perfectly. We made it without putting too much unneeded stress on our tiring legs. From there the terrain eased as we cruised into Indian Gardens, our last checkpoint.

It was dark, somewhere around 8pm, and we had 4.5 miles left. We were exhausted, and pains and blisters were emerging everywhere. Last minute fuel and water. The plan from here was to average 1.5 mph from here out. Sounds simple, but we need it. We did about 30 min on and 5-10 off. We followed each other closely. Staring at the heels of the person directly in front, and praising each leg as it successfully completed a step we crawled up steep switchbacks.

The False Portal, a tunnel resembling one closer to the finish, crushed me. We still had miles to go. Once we passed through the final tunnel, spirits began to lift. We were going to make it. Communication actually resumed in our group as we made our final turn to the top of the South Rim. Arm-in-arm we squeezed onto the final few steps of the Bright Angel trail.

Reaching the "end" never felt so good. Marathoning experiences quickly paled in comparison. I let out a victory yell. We shared a few hugs and many smiles, took a couple pictures, and hobbled to the car. We had earned tonight's sleep.

As we drove off, a smile broke over my face which was immediately followed by a rush of emotion. Andy 3-Diabetes 0.

Death March: Rim to Rim to Rim

2009-03-23T12:48:00.000-07:00

(By the way, this sign is only referring to half the hike I am taking)

The count down has begun...

We are now within a mere 3 weeks from what I am sure will prove to be the longest day of my life. I have agreed to attempt a grueling 48 mile day-hike in the Grand Canyon. No, I did not mistype the last sentence. It will be a D-A-Y-I-E, day-hike. The idea is that broken up over a few days most people could complete the hike, but how many can do it in 24 hours? Some suggest it's a 5-7 day strenuous hike. Then there are these people who are either complete lunatics or complete liars. These times are ridiculous for the distance and terrain covered.

All I know is that we are going to do it in under 24 hours. If you feel like learning more, Google "rim to rim to rim Grand Canyon" or "Grand Canyon Death March."

I'm Mad

2009-03-17T10:47:00.000-07:00

The kind of mad you get right before spring. The venous brackets laid out before you taunting you with the whispers of the inevitable upsets. Where will that bracket-busting upset rear it's ugly little head? Hopefully in that 12-5 game you picked. Will the 1 seeds win out? Of course not all of them. Over and over you replay the possibilities and analyze individual match-ups. Who can guard him? They are too fast. They play D too well. He shoots lights out. In the end you finalize your road to the Championship not because you are satisfied with all of your picks, but because either you have pulled out the remaining follicles of hair hanging on to your past-its-prime scalp or because you need to meet your company pool's deadline and you reluctantly submit your bracket after 73 last minute adjustments. Over the few days since the field of 65 had been announced your once desolate tree of teams has undergone a metamorphosis of predictive power that has seen young men's hopes and dreams crushed, salvaged, thinly perpetuated, and, for the lucky, dedicated few, fully realized.

Ah, yes. March Madness is indeed upon us, around us, inside us. Which team will hold the title of hottest team in the final three weeks of the season? Only time will tell, friends.

AMGEN Tour of California

2009-02-27T08:15:00.000-08:00

I went up Palomar Mtn with my girlfriend last weekend to watch the final stage of the Tour of California. It was the first time that the tough stage had been included in the 8 stage tour. The field had some big names in it. In fact, it showcased the strongest field of professional cyclists ever assembled in United States.

Some of the stud sprinters like Thor Horshovd, Tom Boonen, and Oscar Freire made it out for some stage battles. Astana was there with Lance and Levi, the eventual winner. Frank Schleck was there trashing the field in the final stage. His brother Andy was in there as well. Other decorated riders included Carlos Sastre, last years TDF winner, George Hincapie, Floyd Landis, Christian Vande Velde, Mark Cavendish, Ivan Basso, Kim Kirchen, Fabian Cancellara, Jens Voigt, and David Zabriskie, and others. Basically a ton of legit riders I have only had a chance to see on TV before.

A new team joined the ranks of the pros for this race, Team Type 1. I had no idea they were in the race until a couple days after when I got an emial from my aunt. She told me that there was a new team trying to show that type 1 diabetics can hang with the elite. They might have been the ones that were 20 minutes behind the main pack, but I wish I had known they were there. I'm joking about being in the back of the pack because this team actually won some pro races last year. I found some infor on them, my new heroes, that stated quite simply that their goal is to " The Type 1 athletes in these programs strive to instill hope and inspiration for people around the world affected by diabetes. The team encourages control of diabetes through diet, exercise and the use of the best treatment and technology available today." Pretty freaking cool if you ask this diabetic.

Despite not having my TT1 jersey, sign, and chalkings we had a great time on the course. The sheer power with which these athletes crushed the climb was definitely aweinspiring. Maybe even more impressive was the speed they cruised by us with when they circled back around the base. The cars trailing them even looked like they were going fast. I was so caught up in watching the cyclists as they passed that, on more than one occasion, I may have stepped a little too close to the paths of the team cars.

Last Sunday was a great experience... minus the serpentine-like traffic jam winding through the hills of NE San Diego County as we left. I would definitely go again, and now I am determined to make it toTHE Tour at some point. Next year I will be more prepared though: a bike to try to ride the courses climb, a cooler of beer for after that, a sign, a shirt with a witty phrase on it, a couple chairs, and FOOD.

EDITORS NOTE: I don't believe Sastre actually made the start this year.

"Over and Out," She Said

2009-01-30T15:36:00.000-08:00

The first semester has come to an end, and with it the reality begins to set in that this may truly be my final year at the helm of the classroom (I know there's a helm around here somewhere). It's true. The greatest educator to ever walk the face of the earth is retiring. Yeah, that's right. Some teacher in the northern mid-west who has won multiple National Teacher of the Year honors is calling it quits.

But back to me. I think about changing careers a lot. It's weird to think that I even began a "career." I'm not even sure what that means. I don't feel like work is any different. It's still something that I don't want to do everyday or any day or ever. I'm going to head back to college. I love college. Liver shriveling parties; really late night food (a far cry from my oh so exciting midnight snack of warm milk); stupid stuck up snotty bitches with over-sized bags and sunglasses taking out the poor little engineer on their way to class with an overly dramatized swing of her non-cell-phone-holding arm; laying out on the mall and watching time and co-eds move on by; pizza for lunch; pizza for dinner; cold pizza for breakfast; red solo cups; toxic headaches, the kind that pound so loud your roommate can hear it; responsibilities that laid so few and far between that they were ridiculously easy to ignore; a passion and school spirit that made me bleed RED... and black, white and gold sometimes too.

Anyway, the school I will be heading back to will not have any of these things, but it will lead me down a whole new road. I will have another piece of paper that I can hang up next to my First Aid certification. I will be a MASTER of hopefully something besides BS-ing. For now I am not quite sure of the time line, but look out for Andy the Student come spring!

It's Winter Break?!?!

2008-12-19T12:56:00.000-08:00

... And none too soon.

As I am sitting here waiting for a parent teacher conference to begin (me being the teacher... I didn't buy a child recently), I am wondering why I picked today to have this little meeting. Due to the fact I was checked out mentally before my students I am slowly constructing what this meeting will look like.

Parent walks in and begins various lines of questioning... Fast forward 30 minutes... "So what do you think Mr. Gell?"

"Homemade fruitcakes get a bad rap."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry. What was it you were asking?"

I am praying that it goes this well. All I can think about right now is what I WON'T be doing over the next two weeks. No lesson planning. No Grading. No reprimanding. No Teaching!

It won't be a white Christmas for me, but maybe it will be a quiet one at least.

Post Game

2008-12-18T09:13:00.000-08:00

We effing lost!

Sad but true. I couldn't be prouder of these kids though. They came in as huge underdogs, but played their hardest. Would it have been a different game if we had all of our studs playing? I think so, but we took it to them with the one of the greatest talents at running back I have seen in a high school uniform.

The Q

2008-12-10T18:06:00.000-08:00

That's what everyone around here calls the stadium at which the Sand Diego Super Chargers play their home games and it's also where the MADISON WARHAWKS will be playing Friday, December 12, 2008.

The Madison football team has so far engineered a perfect season. Never before has a team from this small school reached the CIF finals. Never before had they such a talented squad. Waiting for them at Qualcom is one final test. Can Madison survive the punishment by Valley Center's explosive offense? Will they bring home the 'Ship? Will Andrew Gell be named San Diego's coach of the year? (no) These questions and more to be answered in less than 39 hours.

Stay tuned for a post-game report...

Teaching isn't for everybody

2008-11-20T10:56:00.000-08:00

I am so looking forward to some much needed time off from teaching. This year has created some unusual stress in my professional life which has since spilled over into my personal life. I am seriously weighing possibilities for my next career move.

Professional Actor
I have been watching way too much Entourage in the past few months. Every time I watch an episode, the lifestyle just seems more and more attainable to me. I could just drop everything. Pick up my stuff. Move to Hollywood. Find a role in a movie... or make a friend who already has one, and the rest is history. Soon enough I will be living in mansions, flying private jets to various exotic destinations, and doing it all with a few close, emotionally and psychologically bruised friends.

Hired Gun
This one doesn't seem like the safest line of work, but I could probably get away with killing the people determined to create stress in my life. I hear the money is pretty good as well.

Inherit a Load of Money
This does not really seem like a career path at second glance, but it seems to fulfill the needs for which a career provides. This would probably take a lot of research and definitely some creative liberties on my behalf to make this work. I think treasure hunting might fall in the same category actually.

Professional Athlete
I don't really care which one I go pro in. Whichever will take me. I have uncapped athletic potential and I'm just waiting for my break. I could see myself as a third-string QB on a struggling NFL team. I can call in plays from the sideline, and wear a ball cap instead of a helmet. Put me in, Coach!

Cowboy
I'm not thinking I would get rich doing this, but how much fun would this be? Herding cattle, riding horses, repairing barbwire fences, branding various livestock, wearing a cowboy hat, telling my wife she isn't cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the house properly are all things I can do.

Astronaut
The only reason I thought of this is because most people tell me I'm a space cadet. Kind of one of those self-fulfilling prophecy-type deals.

Daycare Owner
I have a garage big enough to cram in about 40-50 of the little ones.

These were just what I thought of off the top of my head. I'm sure there are plenty of great opportunities out there for an educated individual like myself. I just have to keep my nose to the grindstone... or get really really extremely lucky.

Back to School... Back to School...

2008-09-15T17:04:00.000-07:00

To prove to Dad that I'm not a fool. I got my lunch packed up, my boots tied tight. I hope I don't get in a fight. Oh! Back to school. Back to school...

So I am in my third week back here at old Madison High School. This is the first year that I am returning to the same school as a teacher. It's a pretty good feeling. I've finally found a place that I am comfortable with. The faculty is great. I've got some pretty cool kids this year. I am also coaching the football team this fall. We have some of the biggest talent on this team around. If I can post some some video later, I will.

The planning is taking a front seat for the first time in awhile. Down side is that I am at school 12 hours a day, but at least I feel comfortable with my lessons.

I have to plan some crap now. More to come on such an eventful year.

Fat people don't run.

2008-06-12T08:36:00.000-07:00

I think most people who know me from high school and college would label me as a runner. One of the insane who seemingly tortures himself in order to... well as far as the majority goes they have no idea why we do it. To merely grasp the idea of tempos, track workouts, long runs, and the such in order to be able to just run more is far from their reach. They have nothing to compare it to, and we all look like fools to them.

I don't know where things really changed, but I am finding myself more and more sympathetic towards the Andy of senior year of college. The one burnt out from years of running competitively and rarely compiling the expected results. I have been battling lower back issues for awhile, and these pains usually take over after only a mile of running. The lower portion of my back seizes and it becomes impossible to run. I have recently begun a series of specific abdominal exercises in hopes to alleviate this debilitating pain I have been recently experiencing. Maybe they will help immensely, and I can return to some form of running in the near future, but I'm guessing it will be awhile.

I don't know that I will ever return to the marathon courses as a competitor, but I feel my days labeled as a "runner" are numbered. I tried to run 5-6 miles of the Rock n Roll Marathon here in SD and I couldn't even get past a mile. It's weird to sort of transition in your identity. I thought of myself and was labeled by others as a "runner" for such a long time that it will be interesting to see how I begin to perceive myself in the near future.

Processing this has lead me to consider the importance of labels. I don't think they are very important or necessary, but it is an inevitable part of life. You will label people, be labeled by others, and label yourself in varying ways, and most of the time you probably won't even be aware of it. Do we feel more comfortable having a known identity? Do we feel more comfortable knowing what to expect from others based on how people with similar identities or labels act and react to things? I think it's an interesting facet of human behavior, and the reality is that it's inescapable. You may refuse to label yourself, but you can never keep others from doing it for you.

It's getting closer...

2008-05-30T11:20:00.000-07:00

It truly is. The end of the school year is near. The end of a calendar year usually evokes the need for people to reflect on both their successes and failures that made the previous 12 months memorable... even if they want to try to forget much of it.

Truth is that this past school year was a number of things. It was challenging. It was fun. It was boring at times. It was tedious. It was fulfilling. It was frustrating. In the end, it was a success.

I still have yet to sign a contract for next year, yet the school is full steam ahead in planning my schedule for next year. I guess they are pretty confident that I will be able to get my job back for next year. All I'm saying is that I would feel much better if I had a signed contract on file somewhere.

Evidently, one of the ways I could increase my value as a teacher and ultimately retain my current job is to be a three season coach. I coached soccer last year and had a ton of fun and success doing it. Soccer was a sport I grew up playing, so it really wasn't a stretch trying to coach it. In SD, soccer is a winter sport, so I'm trying to get into coaching that. This leaves fall and spring to find a sport to coach. In the spring we have track, and help is always needed there.

The fall is for cross country. This seems like the most logical place for me to step in, but they seem to have a bunch of people helping out there. The AD (also the head football coach) asks me if I want to coach freshman football. Huh? Those who know me know that I have never even played organized football. I know the rules of the game, and I can play pickup games, but coach it? I agreed anyway, and felt in way over my head in the first meeting when the coaches were reviewing formations and zone d. As the feeling was starting to sink in that I might have made a mistake it was time to start a little spring football and meet some of the incoming freshmen for next year. It became evident that my football knowledge was greater than most of these kids'. Starting to feel a little more confident I began to step in as the receiver/DB coach. I now am able to fake it with a bit of confidence... I hope this helps save my job.

By the way, I think I get one day off between the end of school and summer school. Whoo Hoo!

Reason #486 as to Why I Hate the Yankees

2008-05-13T08:17:00.000-07:00

I was reading an article about Joba Chamberlain's "antics" on the mound. Little did I know that my hatred for the Yankees would be irreparably fueled by this article. Also, little did I know how much I hated Goose Gossage. Pretentious Prick! I don't think I need to say much about the article, but I will post a few quotes by "Boner" Gossage:

"Gossage also told The Bergen Record that Chamberlain needs to remember what uniform he is wearing. According to Gossage, playing for the Yankees carries a different set of rules.
'That's just not the Yankee way, what Joba did. Let everyone else do that stuff, but not a Yankee,' Gossage told The Record on Saturday. "

That's not the Yankee way? Are you kidding me? Being a Yankee has different rules? How can we take the fun out of sports...? I know! Be a Yankee. Gossage pretty much held everyone who has ever worn a Yankee uniform above every other player in baseball. This is exactly the Yankee way. Even if you aren't better than everyone, pretend you are. Let the "degenerates" on other teams do that stuff. Why are these douchebags held in such high esteem?

Heath Benedict

2008-05-02T08:18:00.000-07:00

http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/draft08/columns/story?columnist=williamson_bill&id=3376486

I just read an article on ESPN.com about this football player who passed who seemed to be a true hero to some and a great friend/family member to all. The story was written pretty well. As my eyes watered, as they usually do when reading/viewing these types of inspirational stories, I thought about why we focus on the ridiculous stories in not only sports, but also in other areas of our culture.

Why do we spend days, weeks, months of front page articles and "top story" coverage talking about the steroid abuse, domestic abuse, illicit drug abuse, and other less than praise-worthy acts of these mainstream icons. I get sick of hearing about what ever Vick is up to in jail... unless he is getting butt raped by a large inmate. He had his chance to be famous... let's not make him infamous. Pacman Jones? Somebody please tell me the Cowboys traded for him so that he could clean the locker room and wash jock straps. What about the majority of the Bengals organization? Clemens? Balco? Conseco? Etc, etc...

I'm no fool. I know we as a culture can get locked into the drama. We are a drama loving culture. That will turn into ratings... especially if you can be the first to break a scandalous story. The money/power driven society scares me at times. We are so focused on where our next dollar comes from that we are missing the big picture. "Look at all the people effing up! I feel better about my pathetic existence." I'm being a little melodramatic, but when we are so caught up in comparing ourselves to each other that the slightest bit of drama can help us live with our currents situations, whatever they may be, I feel like we lose touch with some incredible facets of life.

Basically what I'm trying to say is that I am much more interested in the stories that inspire me to better myself rather than the stories that make me feel better about myself. RIP big guy. I'm sure the NFL could have used a guy like you.

Another Attack

2008-04-30T11:07:00.000-07:00

Right after posting the previous post I went to a site I visit everyday, and I saw an article on the following attack:

A surfer was attacked by what is assumed to be a tiger or grey shark. This attack was in Mexico near Troncones. The surfer was from S.F. and had just arrived for a surf vacation. Similar story. A bite to the leg and he bled out before he could be saved.

RIP: Dave Martin

2008-04-29T08:07:00.000-07:00

Let me first start off by saying that my thought and prayers go out to the Martins and their friends.

San Diego experienced a shark attack this past weekend. Dave Martin was out doing what he did every Friday morning. He met up with the tri-club for an early morning ocean swim as part of their combined efforts in training for various triathlons. I won't go into the gruesome details of what happened next, but I will say it was an unfortunate turn of events involving a 17 foot great white.

I don't know where exactly to start with this story. The news stations and Internet sources have been saturated with images of sharks, surfers, swimmers, and grievers. It was tragic turn of events last Friday, but it has also drummed up a significant amount of debate. This is where I will chime in.

Dave Martin was a man who daily pursued the loves of his life. It seems that, like most of us, his friends an family took priority in his life. After that he was an avid athlete, a fellow waterman, and a retired animal doc. I'm not going to speculate as to his motivation for training for triathlons, but I know that there needs to be some sort of ardor driving your training in order to constantly submit your body to the pain and intensity involved in such a pastime. Therefor I can confidently infer that Mr. Martin passed doing something he truly loved in a place he loved.

We all are going to have to face that day eventually. Many of us would like to prolong our stay on Earth by any reasonable means, but the truth is none of us will physically remain in permanence. I don't want to die today or tomorrow, but I want to think that if my time is up here I can be at peace with moving on. I can't think of many more frightening things than a shark attack, but I can think of a multitude of places and ways to die that are less appealing than going by way of pursuing something you love. If I was a friend or family member of Martin's, I would try to take solace in the fact that he was where he wanted to be last Friday morning. I know it may only give them a temporary reprieve from the sadness that seems to be all but entirely consuming at this point, but one day I hope they embrace what he was doing when he died as the focal point rather than how he died or even that he died.

Shark attacks, like previously alluded to, scare the crap out of me. Not the attacks in general, but just knowing that it is a possibility when you paddle out. But that's just it, it's a possibility. It's also a possibility that you could die from lightning strikes, or being mugged, or gas leaking in your house, or any number of things you may not have ever known anyone to be afflicted by. I know this though; it is much more dangerous to drive your car down the street than to paddle your board out into the surf (or swim as the case may be). With all the people who enjoy the beaches and ocean in this area each year, there are a limited number of attacks and even fewer deaths reported.

The other point is that sharks are predators. They live in our oceans. Once you swim out, you are no longer at the top of the food chain. It's natural for a shark to behave in such a way. It is a risk some are willing to take in order to pursue their love. We have to be careful of demonizing sharks. They can be dangerous creatures, but they have as much right to be in water as we do... maybe even more so. It may be easy to harbor anger towards these animals that can only be fueled by the presence of gripping fear. It follows the pattern that the "right" thing to do is usually the hardest thing to do. I feel we owe it to Martin to get back out there, not to be reckless, but just to do the exact same thing he was doing before his death... enjoying the simple wonders of this planet.

When the news broke of this attack, I wondered how my family might react knowing how much time I spend in the water in SoCal. I only got one message. It was from my mom. It was an email that simply read:

"'Everything is dangerous, my dear fellow. If it wasn't so, life wouldn't be worth living."
OSCAR WILDE, The importance of Being Earnest
'Here’s to living a life fully experienced!!'
MCMOM, The importance of Being Unimportant"

Awesome email. I'm surprised/impressed that I haven't heard from anyone telling me to stay out of the water, or to be careful, or something along those lines. I haven't talked to my dad yet though... I love being in the water. It is my release, my therapy. As dangerous as it may be perceived by others, I will continue to surf so I might live a life worth living. Just know that if I was to die doing something I love, I would hope people would focus on what I was doing and imagine my state of being right up until the end.

It was like a day at the park...

2008-04-24T07:38:00.001-07:00

Went to the Padres game last night. My first as a San Diegoanite. It was a great time. Petco Park is a great stadium. It has some nice amenities that you would expect from a newer park, but it also has a nice amount of character for such a young stadium. The fans still suck. There were a ton of empty seats, and since they were playing the Giants there were a bunch of SF fans. I guess I can't say much when the Os are pulling in only 10k to see their second game of the season.

There was a pretty kick-ass whiffleball field in the stadium. It was behind center field. Right next to it, behind right field, there was a grassy knoll where you could sit and see the whole game. Tickets for that are always $5. It's a pretty good idea for a family with kids. The kids, who will probably bore of the game, can run around on the grassy field or even play whiffleball while the adults can sit and watch the game.

There aren't any railings really in the front of most sections. Instead they used reinforced glass (I'm guessing it was reinforced because I know how easy it is to break a window with a multitude of types of balls) so the people in the front row have unobstructed views. It also looked like to luxury boxes were sick. I didn't get a chance to go in them, but they looked pretty rad.

The left field has a building right behind the wall with balconies on each floor containing seats. I don't know the whole story about the place, but I think there are bars and food in the building. The seats looked like they were leather or something. It's like watching the game from your deck at home or something... maybe even better.

There were some cool architectural things. They used wood beams in some parts that gave the place a pretty unique feel. You know it's a new place, but it feels like it's been there for awhile. This was mixed very well with the newer park design.

If you ever get a chance, try to catch a game there. I'm sure you'll pick a day with beautiful weather...

Earth Day in Balboa Park

2008-04-21T11:04:00.000-07:00

Nothing like a festival to remind you of the diversity of the population of the city of San Diego. It was a beautiful, sunshiny day yesterday as hoards of families, hippies, stoners, teenagers, college students, freaks, geeks, and dogs flooded the streets of Balboa Park to unify in their belief that they should help save our planet Earth.

The funniest part may have been the amount of traffic, traffic created by air-polluting cars, that packed the highways and main arteries around the park. A whole bunch of people traveling to celebrate a green day and consequently pouring massive amounts of CFCs and such into the air. Sure, there were some people driving their hybrids, but mostly people were flying solo in their SUVs. We managed to all pack it into a smaller vehicle for the trip, so I consider myself one of the lessers in the contribution of greenhouse gas on this day.

The most interesting part of the day revolved around the masses. I don't think that I could really explain to you what were in all the tents at this festival because I spent the majority of the time watching people. There were some of the goofiest people there. Don't get me wrong there were your regular type people (families and such) but there were also the uniques. I don't even know if I can describe all the interesting people I saw, but I think your imagination could do the trick.

I guess if you think about it, it was kind of cool. I have never seen such a large, diverse group of people packed into an area with seemingly no problems. Say what you want about the hippie mentality, but you probably don't ever see fights at these festivals.

Rant: I can do it with the best of them

2008-04-16T11:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I sat down at the computer to just update with a post. That post soon turned into a long tangent laced rant the ended up some where between political boundaries. I fully intended to start talking about a simple observation I had the other day, but I soon found myself identifying certain issues I am uncomfortable with. The heat generated by the eventual conclusions I came to coupled with a stressful day at work created perfect conditions for what ended up as the previous post.

I make no excuses though. It's very therapeutic. Look for more like that in the future.

Going anywhere FAST!

2008-04-15T16:30:00.000-07:00

I was sitting at a light today on my way home from school. I was pretty beat, so I was kind of zoning out. I was the first car at the light, and as I was zoning I noticed something. There were a ton of people on the road. It was an average intersection with an above average number of cars. Where was everyone of to? I have no idea, but I'll tell you what: Try getting in their way...

I would put money on it that the majority of the people whose flow you interrupted would have a few choice words for you. I feel like it's so easy to get so caught up in what you are doing, that is whatever the task at hand is, that we ignore the people around us. Forget ignore. Half of us would probably run another over just to stay on the path to success, the path to "enlightenment," the path to an important meeting, or the path to the bank.

What drives us? I'm sure it's different for everyone, but what makes us think that what we are doing is so important. Less and less the answer is passion, desire, or even appreciation for humanity. I would love to live for a month in the 60s. It seemed everyone had an agenda. Most people live their days by some agenda in 2008, but I feel like the 60s agendas were fueled by a passion for something, or maybe more importantly a passion to end or rebel against something.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a slave to most of what mainstream society values. I feel like most of us, even you guys who lived through the 60s, have lost some of the fight for things we believe in. Why is that? I don't know. I might attribute it to constantly being let down by the people who we hire to fight for us. Politicians... are you kidding me? I don't want to make this so political, but how many of you feel depressed watching the "news" that revolves around these people? Maybe another reason is the unique ability we have to settle. What's the point of fighting for something when we can survive comfortably moving with the flow.

Don't expect me to stop showering, and start hugging trees, dropping acid, fighting for my rights, and rebelling against oppression. I am a child of the technology age where information is at my fingertips. I'm too lazy to want to learn or expand my mind. Fighting? That sounds like work. Learning? My teachers can't teach me the way I "need" to learn, and my classes aren't entertaining enough. I could be playing X-Box right now.

We need to wake up. We are conditioning our youth to be mindless and unimaginative. The budget is hurting, so why don't we do away with teaching the arts in school? Are you kidding me? These kids have no chance. We are creating a huge gap between the educated and uneducated. The latter is growing at a rapid pace, which only helps the elite solidify a hold on the power positions in our society. Competition breeds change, and, for God's sake, change is most often necessary. I'm tired of the perverted, emotionally crippled rich whoring themselves out in front of us while we do nothing to change our circumstances.

F*ck it! I'm fighting. Save our schools. 4.19.2008

Job Update and The New Year, The New Yoo Hoo

2008-04-02T09:45:00.000-07:00

I have a job through the rest of the school year for sure, but still looming over my head is the fact that there may or may not be a job here for me as of next year. People are saying, "You teach math? You're fine. You'll have a job." You know what? I'll be fine when I have something in writing and on file with my signature on it.

I am trying to rededicate myself to fitness and health... or maybe just dedicate. I am trying to do some core work at least every other day. This is an improvement from every previous year of my life outside the years I had a certain UM trainer with a certain panther tattoo ordering me to do abs because usually the only sit-ups I do come after I am just tired of laying down.

I am also thinking about the idea of cutting out fast food from my diet, but I am worried that may lead to starvation. Though fast food is not healthy, dying of starvation seems to be slightly worse. On the other hand, I have seen some skinny anorexics. It's a serious disease. I know. I was just making a point.

Another vital portion of my exercise program includes surfing. Stop rolling your eyes. I saw that! Seriously. I know those of you who do not have access to a beach might be thinking that I am stretching it a bit, but I have to say that surfing is a great workout. Most people change into their wetsuit at their car. It takes a lot of flexing while putting that suit on and while you have it on to hide the "trouble spots." Okay I'm joking about this, but paddle out for a few hours and you will feel it for sure. Don't believe me? Find an out of shape pro surfer. I dare you.

Finally, I am deciding to cut out my alcohol intake. The less beer I drink the less of a beer gut I will have. Right? I don't drink a ton, but I'm looking to really fortify my crusade for a healthier me. In addition, I'm going to increase my cocaine use. It seems that a healthy cocaine habit will not only help me burn some extra calories, but it should also help suppress my appetite. Just kidding, Mom and Dad. I'll probably just keep my normal habit. No, don't worry. I'm kidding about that too. I'll just do some Heroine.

Feeling the wrath of the Terminator

2008-03-27T16:28:00.000-07:00

The Governator has governated my job into oblivion. The budget is suffering, and now so is my livelihood. I knew my position would be terminated at the end of the school year, but this week has delivered a bonus surprise! It looks like I might be able to keep my job at least through the week. Evidently I am no longer credentialed in the state of Californication. This means I'm no longer in compliance, and I am going to be sentenced to death if I continue in my ways of educating my students to achieve some of the best grades in town on the benchmark assessments. Yes, that's right. It might not be my passion, but evidently I'm good at what I do.

In related news... An angel works at the BCTR office. I think it's my guardian angel. She hooked it up big time. I spent almost two weeks trying to get someone to do something for me... anything... even just acknowledge me. I finally decided to call her today, and she not only acknowledged me, but she also gave me some answers and got some paperwork processed for me. When compared to the inefficient monkey butts that I had tried to contact previously, she was definitely all-world. Now it's up to SDUSD to pull some strings and make some miracles happen. For now my job is safe, but "toon" in next time for the hilarious misadventures of Mr. Gell in Hell.

Spring Break!

2008-03-25T08:42:00.000-07:00

So it came and went. Gone are the days of trips to far off places where mostly underagers gather to string together a week's worth of non-memories. I say non-memories because I feel like their goal is to not remember as many nights in paradise as possible through many means of intoxication.

I never participated in this All-American event really. I had tame Spring Breaks throughout my life, and this year was no different. I had a fun weekend around St. Patty's Day. I hit up a pub or two. The middle of the week I spent trying to relax as much as possible. I took a few trips to the beach (8-10 minutes from my house) to soak up some energizing UV rays. The weather was perfect for bumming around outside.

Last Friday, I cruised down to Mexico to try to catch some waves with a couple friends. I'm still learning how to surf. I just recently moved down to a shorter board. They are harder to surf, but they are fun once you get the hang of it. The other two are fairly seasoned surfers, so I just tried to pretend that I knew what I was doing. All in all it was a good trip... we did have an adventure though.

Mowbs and I started the day off trying to track down our third adventurer. We were supposed to leave at 7am in order to grab some early surf in Mexico. Long story short, Mazza was being held captive in a house in La Jolla with no ride back to his place. We finally got him and were off to the south.

We first stopped at a break known as Baja Malibu. I have never been there, but word is the place can fire when it's on. It really wasn't "on" this past Friday. Mowbs and I took out some chairs and watched the waves roll in hoping that things would shape up while the tide slowly receded. After some deep introspection and finally figuring out the answers to some of life's most pressing and philosophical questions we decided we wouls probably have better luck a little further south.
We cruised a little further south to km38. It looked a little more promising. The wind was much calmer and it looked as though there were a couple breaks shaping up. We hopped out of the car to check the scene. It was Good Friday, so a bunch of the locals were hanging out with their families. We ran to the back of the car, opened the tailgate, and began to gear up. That's when I heard it. (Insert choice expletive here)! We forgot to grab the chairs we took out at the other break. Classic. Fearing that going back would waste some quality waves we headed to paddle out anyway.

The break we wanted to get to was out on a point created by a cliff extending into the water. I say cliff, but it wasn't that dramatic. It was just a drop off. It was going to be a nice paddle out to the break from there, so we decided to climb the cliff and hoof it over to the other side. It was a significant scramble with a board in your hand and no shoes on your feet. We made it up, but we lost five good men due to enemy fire along the way. Huh? At the top we hucked around through a construction site, admired the ENORMOUS statue of Jesus, and cruised down a nice ramp to the beach. We were now further from the break than we were when we started out. Sweet.

Then I heard it again. (Insert choice expletive again)! "I had my key in my hand! Where is it?" Mowbs, aka the driver, had dropped his car key along the route. He believed that he had dropped it on the ascent up the cliff. He chose to take a slightly more difficult approach, but failed to secure his key, and evidently his brain as well. So we picked up the boards and headed back the way we came. After a few minutes of looking from the top of the cliff, Mowbs climbed down for a different perspective. There it was. Pure gold masked in steel and black plastic. It was as though it was hanging on for dear life to the edge of a slippery rock right above the waves crashing beneath it. If it weren't for the strength and courage of that key, we might still be down in Mexico.

Mowbs secured the key and we decided to climb back down and paddle out from pretty much where we first thought about paddling out. We had an inkling that we looked like a bunch of idiots traversing the landscape back and forth, but it was really solidified when a random surfer asked us after we paddled out if we were the ones climbing back and forth on the shore. Glad we could provide the entertainment for the afternoon.

It was fun surfing. Then the wind got on the waves mixing it up a bit. I caught a few waves, and by caught I mean I stood up on some. We decided to head in after a few hours. Tired and hungry, we decided to see if the chairs would actually be where we left them and then find some tacos. We never found tacos up to everyone's liking, but I'll tell you what. Those chairs were there when we got back. Jubilation Homes! I don't know how they survived because it was crowded, but they made it through the abandonment. Too bad Mowbray now has to pay for years of therapy so that the chairs can deal with the issues brought forth by such trauma.

At the border we were waiting in line. Mazza bought a Map of Mexico for real cheap and we debated buying food from various vendors. We were about to the border when this guy ahead of us cut us off and just sat there leaving a ton of room between himself and the car ahead. I don't know what happened, but after a bit of complaining due to rising stress levels compounded by a lengthy stint in bumper to bumper traffic, I felt it. Bang! Whoops. We hit him, or rather Mowbray did. The guy got out and asked what our problem was. Mowbray said he was just trying to get the guy to move up. This struck me as odd because I have never heard that as an excuse to hit someone, and I tried to stifle a laugh. The guy asked if Mowbs had ever heard of a horn. Nick said he had. The situation was resolved because there was no damage. Afterwards I mentioned something about Nick's comment about trying to get the guy to move. Mowbs looked at me and started laughing. "I said that?" He said he didn't realize he said that because during those situations he just reacts and says whatever comes to his mind. "So that's why he asked if I have ever used a horn!"

We made it across and back home for a burger and a beer. Day well spent. The rest of the weekend was spent at the beach. Fun stuff.

Happy St. Patty's Day

2008-03-17T11:49:00.000-07:00

A day where I talk up the significance of my mother's maiden name more than any other day of the year.

It is also the beginning of my spring break. I think I might head down to the beach for the afternoon and celebrate, with a Guinnes or two, the day an Englishman (Yeah, bet you didn't know it was a Brit that did the deed) drove hoards of snakes out of the motherland. It really brings the best of both worlds together for one day of celebrating. As I believe to be true (correct me if I'm wrong) I descend from mostly the Irish and English people.

The new advertising campaign developed and used by the good people of Guinness evidently have a petition going around to make March 17th a national holiday. I really don't know how I feel about that. As down as I am for a holiday that promotes the consumption of fine Irish malted beverages, I am a bit concerned about the possible ramifications of an entire nation on a paid holiday of this kind. Yeah I know. What about the new year's celebration every year? This is different. This is a holiday that is basically for the Irish. I know. I know. On SPD everyone is supposed to be Irish, but why do you think everyone wants to be Irish on this day? It's the basic idea of exclusion. People want what they are not supposed to have. I think that idea combined with those who choose to drink excessively creates an extremely volatile situation.

Anyway, Happy Irish Day er'body!

Mustache March

2008-03-17T01:10:00.000-07:00

So a roommate of mine, Byon "I always have great ideas" Halperin, decided that this March should be "Mustache March." For those of you who either do not really know me or haven't seen me try to grow facial hair, let me paint a picture for you. Imagine, if you can, a young Japanese boy of about 12 years of age... make that 8 years old. Now imagine the hairiest this boy could possibly be. That is much more hair than I can grow.

With that picture freshly painted somewhere on the landscape of your brain, please take a moment to think of the train wreck that would be me participating in such an event as "Mustache March." I took some pictures the other night just to have some proof. I'll post them soon.

Anyway, Bryon called off Mustache March because he felt that his mustache made him look like a pedophile. I wasn't about to let him give up on his own idea. I told him that he looked like one even when he didn't have the mustache. That didn't help my cause. So everyone shaved their lovely lip locks, but I tried to stand firm. I started this, and I wanted to see it through to the end. I might have made it if it weren't for the fact that I have a mirror in my bathroom. I don't like to think of myself as a particularly vain individual, but the amount of filth that was brought to my appearance by the addition of some upper lip fuzz was quite unexpected and difficult to adjust to.

Last night I shaved it off. I feel like I really broke down way too easily. I'm stronger than that. At least now I won't have to deal with a bunch of high schoolers trying to make fun of me. Actually that part was pretty funny. They get so caught up in how I look and what I do on the weekends. Anyway, the dream is over as quickly as it began. No more mustache, and so ends the sweet sweet lifestyle of a mustached man.

Look out Iditarod 2009!

2008-03-13T15:48:00.000-07:00

I purchased a longboard awhile ago to cruise around on and carve up the streets. The only thing I didn't plan on was how much my dog would like the board. Now we cruise around together. If I even walk towards the board, Trip jumps up and starts spinning in circles. He loves cruising/pulling me on the board. I feel kind of bad when he does, but it's not like I make him. I want to get a harness though so he doesn't choke himself. I think I need to get some booties for him too. He tore up his feet last time.

Apology: Family

2008-03-13T14:21:00.000-07:00

I am so sorry.

I don't believe that I was quite as ignorant when I was in high school as some of my students seem to be, but I know I definitely had my moments. I wouldn't consider myself out of control, but I did some dumb ass things. I wouldn't really consider myself a complete pain in the ass either at that age because I like to think that I had some redeeming qualities. Let's just say you guys don't have to wait until I'm a parent myself in order to sit back and laugh your asses off as I get a "taste of what it's like."

I now know how annoying it is to try to talk sensibly to a teenager who already knows everything. I realize every 4-5 years I look back to my last realization of similar substance and say how dumb I used to be. I look back and wonder how I could think that I had it all figured out... I eventually say to myself, "I'll never do that again!" At least I have finally gotten to that stage where I have everything figured out.

Quick side note: As I am typing this I am listening to a story one of my night school students is telling about her dad choking her boyfriend because he walked in on them... you know...and then he started hitting her or something. It's actually fairly sad... Maybe I should not compare my high school experiences to closely to my students'.

I'm still going to anyway. Where was I? Ah, yes. I'm sorry.

When I reached 21 years of age my mother told me that she was "just happy I made it to 21." I didn't really understand what that meant at the time, but I think it had something to do with the decision making skills (or lack there of) I possessed. These kids say and do things sometimes that leave me speechless. I don't even know how to respond to them.

Each day, as I struggle to figure out whose decision it was to allow me to be an educator, I try to determine if we were this retarded (Yes I said it. All of you PC-want-to-make-a-big-deal-out-of-people's-word-choice-types can kiss my butt. Retarded doesn't always have to refer to the mentally challenged. My students are retarded. Deal with it.) growing up. I like to think that I had some common sense and that it showed every once in awhile.

Come to think of it, I was probably fairly easy to handle on my own. A lot of these retards (oops, I'm sorry I'll at least make an effort for those of you I have offended) I mean students are pretty good kids on their own. I like teaching night school when I have small classes. I love working one on one with kids too. You can actually get an enlightening look into their personalities. As a group though, they feed off each other and if you aren't on top of them (by that I mean threatening their lives at every possible moment... did I mention my contract didn't get renewed fro next year? more to come on that later), they can combust with out warning. Exploding kids is a big problem. The admin tend to look down on your students exploding during class. I guess they actually have people at home that love them and miss them after they explode.

I'm going to end this post before it gets too ridiculous.

I just want to say that I love my family, and wouldn't change them for the world. I just thought I probably owe you guys more than I even realize at this moment. Thank you for allowing me to make to 21 and beyond.

The day I tried to live

2008-03-13T09:08:00.000-07:00

I have debated fiercely with mine own soul as to whether I should bare all things Andy related on the inter-web or rather find another platform for my misguided attempts in profundity.

Just kidding. I just didn't really know whether or not I wanted to buy into the blog thing, but seeing as though so many of my loved ones are across the country I feel as though this may be a necessity. Also, I keep forgetting who I have told news to and who I haven't, so people keep feeling like I don't care when the truth of the matter is that I am just all over the place in terms of my thoughts and memory. Hopefully some of you will enjoy the rants on California living, or the accounts of my many fun and exciting days teaching pain in the ass high schoolers (note to family and former high school teachers: Formal apology for my teenage years to come).

Last August I took a fairly big leap. I needed to begin to do some things for myself, and I thought that moving 3,000 miles away from everything I knew would be the best way to start. I had no job, a little bit of money, and at least a place to live (Thanks Jackie for being crazy enough to welcome a complete stranger into your apartment). Anyway, I feel I should catch some people up on my "progress."

There are a bunch of things I want to post about, so hopefully I can get a chance to post a bunch of them in the next couple days or so.