National Parks all over my face

Last week I returned from a trip that has seeped into my face and I can’t quite scratch it out (it’s allergy season). Though I’ve lived in the West my entire life I’d lever been to Yosemite, and it seemed like a good idea to ditch the recent rains of Portland for something epic and warm, but without having to climb on a plane.

First of all Yosemite is ridiculously beautiful. I keep telling people driving into the valley is like driving into the face of God. It is so beautiful that it’s kind of a problem. How do you interact with a piece of rock looming 4,000 ft over your head? How do you comprehend 2 of the world’s tallest waterfalls in a single valley?

To further our inquiry & take a stab at these questions my partner and I decided to climb Half Dome, easily the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my 29 years. Climb Half Dome if you hate your legs, and/or if you have a mild death wish, but would like to go out with a bang. If you escape the bears (we saw two), then the distance will crush you (18 miles), but if you are sturdy you will make it to the cables on the side of the dome (so you don’t fall, or slip, rather). The views afforded on the way up are quite clearly fake. Nothing should be that epic, water shouldn’t be that roaring, and John Muir deserves a sloppy wet kiss.

Before driving into the park I stopped over in my childhood playground in Napa and relished in the rain-free evenings and hospitality of extended family. The first order of business was to ditch the shoes. Barefoot, I watched the morning fog creep up the canyons before french-press and canned apricots from my Auntie’s orchard. We followed the fog after its decent into the valley for a tour of the Rubicon-Coppola winery & estate. Pinot-stained teeth. Impeccable service. Whispers of Nicholas Cage who had dropped in the day before. And the gift shop, dizzyingly covetable.

After an acceptable BAC was reached San Francisco welcomed me as I started to slip into vacation-mode. You know the drill here, but riding bikes across the Golden Gate Bridge was pretty much the coolest thing I’ve done in that city, ever. When you hop on a bike on that particular bridge, it feels like most of your body is riding above the rail line. You can see the green & white current swirls through the rail, Alcatraz in the distance, and imagine all those hungry Great White Sharks just waiting for a robust gust of wind to knock you off your padded seat. Cheap (or not, my rental was $45!) thrills folks, had by all. Sausalito or bust.

After a few days in Yosemite it was time to move on, but not before visiting Mariposa Grove near the south entrance of the park. Here live Giant Sequoias that are up to 1800 years old. They have names, too. Grizzly Giant, Faithful Couple, and Three Sisters, among other unnamed silent red behemoths. They dwarf everything. And I’m used to being dwarfed, but this was just unbelievable. There are photos around dusty museums of Teddy Roosevelt on horseback in the grove, and the forest was an eerie quiet like someone important had just died. Also, the mileage markers on the trails were blatantly wrong, and misleading! After climbing Half Dome the day before I was less than thrilled to limp along an extra mile or two due to poor signage. But the trees trumped any bitching I could muster.

The last leg of the parks tour (actually the proper name of the trip was Cinnamon Tour, South Leg) called for a visit to Crater Lake, but it’s much more appealing to say Critter Lake, especially when talking to strangers about it. My partner described the blue hue of the water as “you know, that color blue that makes you want to rip your face off.” If you’ve not seen it, go see it. Once again, the lake is so beautiful that it’s a problem. There was still snow on the rim so we were unable to hike down to the water & Wizard Island, so that will be a great excuse to return. It’s only 5-6 hours from Portland. Driving home we passed through this strange geologic feature called the pumice desert, a remnant of ancient volcanic activity in the region. It’s like suddenly the forest decided to concede & let pumice pebbles take over. And, abruptly as it came, it goes into the rear-view mirror, leaving one only curious and slightly confused. Pretty much my default state. Get yourself to our National Parks. It’s summer, go be a socialist & camp out!

Full set of trip images |  Pumice Desert | Cables on Half Dome (mildly dizzying)

Rick Moranis is a writer?

The following is an op-ed piece contributed to NYT by Rick Moranis. Can I only assume this is the Rick Moranis we know and love from all those honey-I/shrinksy movies I grew up on? My gut tells me yes, probably because I want him to be a brilliant writer now. Decide for yourself, but read this in his voice:

Waiting featuring Jay Kauffman

From ForumFiftyFive:

Music video for the acoustic version of “Waiting” by My Robot Friend (featuring Jay Kauffman). Directed by Liam Stevens of MakeMake Studio, this stop motion animation is made entirely of pencil & cut paper and took just over three months to complete. Production and technical assistance; Chris Tozer.

This is so incredible—it actually makes my fingers hurt thinking of all the drawing and cutting that went into this little video. But, I suppose if it took months to complete your fingers would be properly callused? I hope these guys don’t let their calluses go to waste, I’d be up for a full length feature film. Ok, I think I’m just going to sit here and watch it again.

It seems to me the height of this video is the bedroom shot looking over the shoulder of a lady while she looks at the moon outside her bedroom window. It is so incredible that I almost forget I’m relating to cut paper.

Miniseum—hit the road kid

I’m on the road!

As before in the Miniseum series, each image links back to where I found it—a clicky rabbit trail.

As of today I am in Yosemite, tomorrow will be a summit attempt on Half-dome, and at this point I have travelled from Portland > Redding > Nappa > San Francisco > Yosemite. After I leave the Wawona Hotel here near the Park I’ll roll on up to Crater Lake in a hot pink Delorean. I wish I was in that van though (top), I’d drive it around wearing a native headress, bopping around to CCR, probably topless.

Today’s Miniseum represents the trip I’m on—my lingering handlebar mustache, and the man I’d like to be (last photo). Ever since I met a couple of my eccentric, traveling Uncle’s, I wanted to be that dude. You know, the one that had all the stories, the safari gear, and walked with his hands behind his back. Part tourist, part sailor, partly masculine & musky, but mostly eccentric. A man without roots, a man with a past, but that now prefers exoticism to domestic aging.

He’d probably listen to something like Stan Rogers:

9-Hour Hotel

I’ve always known about those little capsule-like hotel rooms in Japan, but I’ve never seen one in action. This place is so super stark + self-explanatory. I think I’d like it?
The name though would make me nervous—once I checked in I’d be thinking “ok I’ve got 8 hours and 35 minutes left.” I’m not sure I’d sleep well on a time-schedule like this, even though that’s the way it really is any any hotel.

After consideration, however, if this were say, in an airport, I am certain I’d appreciate it. As the video mentions, it may best be received by non-Japanese audiences while they are in-transit, or stuck, or both. If there were a system whereby one could pay for chunks of time, perhaps if you only needed 4 hours between flights and wanted to sleep or recline— without looking like you were camped out at gate C24. I could definitely see this being something I’d not only appreciate, but come to love in the major air hubs of the world.

Test markets: Vancouver, Chicago, London?
Can you get one for two to snuggle in?
The video is originally from the geniuses over at Monocle.