Life continues apace. Yesterday there were 27,000 paces, in large part because I joined up with the Saturday walking group for a hike. I should have known better because those damn Germans ALWAYS seem to pick the hardest possible ascent to the mountaintop. I don’t mind a reasonable uphill with switchbacks even if they’re steep. But a vertical climb just pisses me off somehow. My fitbit says I had 12 minutes of peak heart rate yesterday and I do recall the pounding in my chest while I muttered curses all the way up. Oh well.
What I saw while catching my breath at the top…Later I did a zoom image of my hometown. The air was not particularly clear but I like this shot because it captures both Baloy Beach (at the top) and Barretto beach. If you look closely you can also see all three floating bars.
After we made the climb the rest of the hike was really a piece of cake. Just walked the dirt road along the ridge line and then an easy descent to the beach.
Where we paused for some lunchtime nourishment.And a beach view. Such as it was. Not exactly a postcard setting, but a realistic portrayal of how things are in real life here.
Today I did an uneventful trek on My Bitch. And walked the dogs. You read that right, both dogs. I honestly didn’t think Lucky would make the entire 30 minutes I do with Buddy, but he surprised me. What a trooper. As we walked by the shack where Lucky used to live, a cute young woman came out and asked to take his picture. She said he used to be her dog. Well. Many thoughts raced through my head as she squatted down to get a photo. The thought I didn’t have until after we had moved on was “hey, anytime you want to come visit Lucky at my place you are welcome!”. Damn it.
Oh well, that’s the latest from my so-called life…
I know it is rather cliche to characterize the teenage years as “rebellious”, but when the shoe fits…(ahem). I’m not exactly sure just what triggered me, but it seemed to coincide with my entry into high school.
The scene of some of my “high” crimes and misdemeanors.
As I mentioned in the previous chapter, I was from a working class family in an affluent upper middle class community. This “sin” was exacerbated in my high school which was notorious for its cliques and assignment of status among the students based on social standing. Where did I fit in? Basically nowhere, as I didn’t really meet the demographics of any group (jocks, muscle car racers, scholars, etc). Well, except maybe the stoners, but more on that later. So I was a loner for the most part, although outside of school I would hang with my neighborhood crew.
Most of the kids had fancy new cars courtesy of mommy and daddy. Me? I drove a 1963 Ford pickup during most of those glory days. I even named my vehicle–Redford. Get it? I did have a smokin’ hot girlfriend though!
Ah, Karen Michelle. My first love. Met her in journalism class as a freshman and we had a passionate relationship until she moved away to San Diego just before senior year. Took Karen’s cherry in the back seat of my mom’s 1969 Plymouth Fury when I took her to watch the submarine races at Huntington Beach. I actually continued to see her periodically after she moved, making the two hour drive down I-5 for the weekend when I could get off work and/or had the gas money.
When I wasn’t down south I had a local girlfriend named Gail Weed. It was the best of both worlds, right up until Karen and Gail wound up in the same place at the same time. In the end I lost them both, only then realizing that I was in love with Gail. Sound familiar? Bless her heart, Gail responded to my profession of undying (and exclusive) love going forward with a hearty “fuck off”. That would be the first in a long line of heartbreaks to come over the course of many lifetimes.
At the prom with Karen held aboard the Queen Mary in Long Beach. Thirty years later I saw Karen again at our high school reunion. Took her back to the Queen Mary for dinner and reminiscing. And then we rekindled the old passion for one night. We are still friends on Facebook which is nice.
My rebellion manifested itself in various ways. For one thing, I completely rejected the Protestant faith in which I had been raised. At some point I just became aware of the utter hypocrisy of the Christian church. And once I started questioning the values of the church I found I couldn’t intellectually accept the basic tenets of Christianity. I still do not believe Mary was a virgin or that Christ rose from the grave three days after being crucified. And so ended my budding career as a steel guitarist in my church’s band. Ah well.
I did run cross country my freshman year. I was actually pretty good for a youngster, running the two mile course in under 12 minutes (I think my best time was 11:40 or so). Whatever promise I held as a distance runner was apparently overshadowed by the fact that my hair touched the top of my ears. Coach Hedges (who may have been a drill sergeant at one time) told me to cut my hair or I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in future meets. So I quit the team. And now 50 years later I’m a Harrier once again. Life’s funny, ain’t it?
Academically, I couldn’t be bothered with bullshit like homework or in some cases, attending class on a regular basis. And my grades tended to reflect that.
Well, what can I say? Mere grades don’t reflect the value of a man, right?
I did have success in my Journalism class. In fact, I rose to become editor-in-chief of our high school paper.
The paper had been called “The Scroll” since forever. My fellow staffers and I thought the name old fashioned and we set about changing it. I suggested “Harvest” (mostly because I was a big Neil Young fan) and the staff agreed. And so it was done. Looking back, it is kind of a stupid name, but what hell, right?
Being a writer with the paper gave me another outlet for feeding my desire to “stick it to the man”. I had my own column on the editorial page called “A Few Words On…” Each issue I’d address some controversial topic of interest to me. One I specifically recall because it almost got our adviser fired when he resisted the school principal’s effort to censor it was called “Our Gestapo”. I basically (and probably unfairly) took the security staff to task for their over bearing nature in enforcing the rules.
And I did political stuff as well. Nixon was always a good foil for a know-it-all teenager like me!
I wasn’t always wrong on the issues though. I had editorialized that a California Proposition on the ballot to decriminalize marijuana should be approved.That created a bit of a shitstorm at the time.
Talk about being ahead of your time! California did make pot legal over 40 years later…
Speaking of marijuana…starting at about fifteen years of age I became a bonafide pothead. I smoked dope whenever and wherever I could. And this being Southern Cal in the 1970’s, it was easier to get stoned than to get drunk. Although I did that on occasion as well. Pot was locally grown and relatively cheap at $10 an ounce. I experimented with other drugs as well, like LSD, but really only liked smoking grass. And truth be told, being high a lot of the time sucked whatever motivation I had to work hard in school right out of me. It’s a wonder I managed to graduate.
But I did. It necessitated me taking night classes at the local community college to earn the required number of credits to qualify for this Diploma.Who me? My senior picture. In a final act of defiance I boycotted the graduation ceremony. And now, welcome to the real world!
My criminality wasn’t strictly limited to my use of illegal substances. I was a notorious flaunter of traffic laws, mostly speeding related. And once I stole a car to replace a friend’s car I had drunkenly driven into a brick wall. But I was only arrested once:
On or about July 4, 1973, at 18900 Gothard Street, Huntington Beach, County of Orange, [John McCrarey] did willfully, unlawfully and maliciously disturb the peace and quiet of Mrs. Hal Westley Shirey by offensive conduct, and the use of vulgar, profane, and indecent language, in a loud and boisterous manner, in violation of Section 415 of the Penal Code of California.
My crime was yelling “fuck you pigs” after being ticketed for a bullshit offense. If you are curious about the details, I told the story here.
As a result of that episode I had the final falling out with my father whereupon I moved out of the house and on my own at 17. Good thing I had my own career already.
Graveyard shift at a convenience store making two bucks an hour!
I worked there for several months until the night I was robbed. Pretty scary shit that was. And being the rebel that I was I had failed to make my regular drops into the safe (the rule was never more than $30 in the cash drawer). I probably had close to $100 at the time of the holdup. I guess that raised suspicions at corporate, because they told me to come to the office for a polygraph. As if I was involved with robbing myself! I was a punk, but I wasn’t no Jussie Smollett. Anyway, I told them they could stick the polygraph up their ass and quit.
I then embarked on a hitchhiking trip with a buddy across the Pacific Northwest. We had planned to enter Canada, but the Canadian border guards apparently didn’t like our looks. The pretext they used was we didn’t have enough money with us to be granted entrance. Bullshit! “How much do I need? I’ll wire home and get it.” He looked at me and said “son, you’ll never have enough money to get into Canada”. If you are interested in the details of that sad story, I wrote about it here. Anyway, I’ve never been back to Canada since that attempt, but I always swore then when I go, I’m going to do it at that border crossing.
Seriously Canada? What’s wrong with a fine upstanding young man like me?
Anyway, I came back home and found a better job working day shift in a factory. I also suffered my first bout of major depression and spent weeks planning to commit suicide. Even bought the drugs I planned to use to end my life. When the appointed day arrived I changed my mind for some reason. Best decision of a lifetime! I would not have wanted to miss all the lifetimes that followed that one.
And as fate would have it, near the end of my 19th year an event occurred that was destined to change everything. Stay tuned for Chapter 3.
He’s a rebel and he’ll never ever be any good He’s a rebel ’cause he never ever does what he should But just because he doesn’t do what everybody else does That’s no reason why I can’t give him all my love
It’s always good to get out and see new places and things. Yesterday the Sausage Walkers took a journey to Castillejos for our weekly hike. It’s about a 30 minute trip by Jeepney, just on the other side of Subic town. We had an unusually large group of 14 persons and 1 dog.
We were lucky enough to catch an empty Jeepney and we all rode out together…Exiting the vehicle after our safe arrival in Castillejos…Let’s head for the hills!Sunny and hot but still a good day for a hike.Getting our rocks off, or on as it were…Crossing the creek and the dog was all “fuck that, I’m swimming across…”I kept my feet dry though…The locals enjoying a cooling swim in the ol’ watering hole…A quick rest stop…Then back on the trail…A view from the top…that’s Easter Mountain off in the distance. I’ve photographed it from the Barretto side when I’m walking “My Bitch”…Lunch time. I usually just do cheese and apple but I broke down and bought a great big cinnamon roll at our morning meetup spot, Angel’s Bakery. Starting today I’m back to low carb diet, my big ol’ belly tells me it’s time…We had intended to make a loop (the red) but lost our trail. After a fruitless search, we turned around and walked back from whence we came…Back to the highway, a Jeepney ride to Barretto, and then our customary post hike beers at Cheap Charlies bar.
It was a good day and a good walk. Almost 27,000 steps all told (some of that was not Sausage Walkers related though, our trail came in at 9K).
I’ve yet to find the famous Mating Tree on my hikes. But I’m always on the lookout!
Whenever I need to leave it all behind Or feel the need to get away I find a quiet place, far from the human race Out in the country
Before the breathin’ air is gone Before the sun is just a bright spot in the night-time Out where the rivers like to run I stand alone and take back somethin’ worth rememberin’
I’ll admit, it’s pretty gross petting Lucky with the rampant mange covering his body. But he does really crave being loved so I make it a point to give him some. He really, really wants to come inside the house and be with his new family, including Buddy. I keep telling him “soon, when you are healthy” but of course he doesn’t understand.So for now they just watch each other through the glass…So close, and yet so far…
It’s pretty sweet how Lucky has made himself at home here. Anyone or anything (neighbors and cats) who come near his enclosure get a good barking at. When I come outside to spend a few minutes with him he gets so damned happy and excited. He’s gonna do just fine, I’m sure of it.
Back to the vet for another shot tomorrow and of course his continuing mange treatment and meds here at home. I’ll be so glad when he gets some relief from the constant itching.
A disappointing Hash yesterday. The trail pretty much sucked ass. I stuck with it longer than a lot of folks did, but I finally bailed early too.
Perhaps you can spot the problem. At the top of the photo you see how we walked the length of Baloy Beach–nothing wrong with that. But where we reached the river the Hare had originally intended to have us cross by banka boat. But the boat operators insisted on us paying an inflated foreigner price (aka “skin tax”) and the Hare declined. Instead we circled back to the National Highway and walked all the way out to Matain to reconnect with the intended trail. I Hash to avoid having to do boring and noisy highway hikes. Once on the mountain portion Salty Cum and I were the only ones on trail, and the trail was confusing and not all that well marked. We blazed our way on down near that light colored spot in the middle of the map. So we didn’t really shortcut all that much I suppose. I did take a small tumble and got a scrape and a blood blister to show for it.The best part for me was near the beginning. In all the time I’ve been visiting and living here, I never attempted to climb on the rocks that separate Baloy Beach from Barretto. Now I have. No hay problema!The last photo I took. After leaving the beach it all pretty much sucked.
Eh, well at least I now have the confidence to know my trail will not be the worst one in memory!
Today has been off the rails. Not sure what’s wrong but I couldn’t even get motivated to walk at all. That almost never happens. I’m just chalking it up to my body saying give me a fucking day off. And so I have.
Lucky made his first ever visit to the veterinarian today. The main cause for concern is treatment for his skin condition. Turns out is it Sarcoptic Mange, a condition caused by microscopic mites. My instinct to keep Lucky and Buddy apart was the right one as this form of mange is highly contagious.
I came away with several medications, soaps and shampoos that will hopefully eliminate the mites and allow his fur to regrow. Poor guy is itching and scratching all the time, can’t imagine how miserable that must be. And man oh man, Lucky went nuts when he got his shots today. They wound up having to muzzle him and that was a battle royal in and of itself. Felt sorry for him, but it’s a necessity. He’s back for some additional shots on Thursday.
Chillaxin’ at home after his traumatic experience at the vet. He’s looking pretty rough (ruff?) I know, but he really does seem happy in his new environment (well, why wouldn’t he?). It will be great once he gets his health back in order.Lucky has a tremendous appetite as well. I guess that’s to be expected when you’ve spent your whole life starving. I’m going to fatten him up for sure.
Anyway, it’s gonna take some work to get him squared away but I think he has a pretty sweet demeanor. Well, unless you are sticking needles in his back. Also, Buddy was watching him eat from the other side of the fence and Lucky gave him a “get the fuck away from my food!” snarl. I think Buddy just laughed (if I’m interpreting tail wags correctly) and his expression was “what are you gonna do about it biatch?”. Ah, dogs will be dogs but I’m still pretty sure they’ll get along just fine when the quarantine is over.
In other news I had a great dinner the other night at Mango’s.
Grilled pork chops, mashed taters with gravy, and cole slaw. It was all excellent. Best cole slaw I’ve had in a long, long time. Although I haven’t sampled Kevin Kim’s yet.
Time for me to run, er well, walk. It’s Hash Monday!
Today I acquired/rescued a puppy. I’ve named him Lucky. I mentioned him in this post back in February.
Everyday I would walk by and see him tied up on a short leash, no food or water or shade. And since taking this photo last month his condition has gotten worse and worse. Skinnier and covered in some mange like stuff that is causing him to lose his fur. Heartbreaking.
Marissa asked one of the security guards to find out if the owner (who apparently does maintenance work here in Alta Vista) if he’d be willing to sell the pup for 500 pesos (around $10). The guard later told us the owner said yes, so we paid the money and brought him home this morning.
First thing we did was give him some food. Poor guy was starving! Then Marissa gave him a much needed bath. I’m pretty sure it is the first one he has ever had.
I had previously purchased an enclosure for the back yard and a dog house, thinking I’d use it for Buddy. But Buddy turned out to be mostly an indoor dog.
But for the time being at least it’s where Lucky is going to hang out. I need to get him to the vet on Monday for shots, de-worming, and treatment for that skin condition. Don’t want him infecting Buddy with that shit. Still, compared to a two foot long leash, Lucky is living in luxury. He seems to enjoy his new house! You can see that mange or whatever it is on his head. I hope he is not suffering too much, but I will get it treated as soon as possible.
Buddy is very curious about the new addition to our family, but I’m keeping him away for now. I think they will get along fine though. I can sense that Buddy longs for a canine playmate so this ought to be a good thing for all concerned.
Making a difference, one dog at a time!
Speaking of lucky, I enjoyed looking at photos from the team building trip I took with my staff one year ago. Including this one:
Let’s hope this posed photo is not replicated on one of my daily crossings of the National Highway here in Barretto. Well, I’m getting pretty good at Frogger….
Wow. Two posts in one day! I’m out of control. I better go drink some beer. It’s Saturday night!
You better watch what you say You better watch what you do to me Don’t get carried away Girl, if you can do better than me, go Yeah go, but remember Good love is hard to find Good love is hard to find You got lucky, babe You got lucky, babe, when I found you
You put a hand on my cheek And then you turned your eyes away If you don’t feel complete If I don’t take you all o’ the way, then go Yeah go, but remember Good love is hard to find Good love is hard to find You got lucky, babe You got lucky, babe, when I found you
A commenter on my previous post said something about my walk pace doesn’t add up. I’ve long held the idea that I take 7,000 steps an hour (on flat ground). This is based on the readings from three generations of Fitbit smart watches I’ve worn for the past several years.
I recently downloaded an app to my phone that primarily measures distance traveled. It indicates that I walk right around 5K per hour. My commenter thought I must walk faster than that, as he gets 5K with only 6,000 steps an hour. Hmm. I chalked it up to variances in the way the app and my Fitbit do their calculations. So today I thought I’d try a calibration exercise.
I started with my morning dog walk by syncing the devices (I had to deduct the steps the Fitbit had already recorded as I moved about the house). Anyway, when I returned from Buddy’s exercise my Fitbit said 2.4K in 28 minutes (Buddy poops and pees a lot) and 3100 steps. The fitness app on the phone said 2.1K in 30 minutes (it doesn’t measure steps). So, they aren’t exactly in sync, but not that far off either.
Later this morning I took a 8+ kilometer walk, again on flat ground. My phone app said (yes, it has a woman’s voice updating at each KM) I was averaging a KM every 11.48 minutes. Just slightly better than 5K per hour.
On the day, my Fitbit shows 14K walked in 160 minutes for a total of 18,500 steps. If I’m doing the math right (well, using my calculator phone app) I get this: 115 steps per minute and 6938 steps per hour. It takes me 1320 steps and 11.42 minutes to walk a KM.
So actually both the Fitbit and fitness app are giving me similar measurements. I’m not sure what all this means except I’ve obviously got too much time on my hands!
Sitting on this barstool talking like a damn fool Got the twelve o’clock news blues And I’ve given up hope for the afternoon soaps And a bottle of cold brew Is it any wonder I’m not crazy? Is it any wonder I’m sane at all Well I’m so tired of losing- I got nothing to do and all day to do it I go out cruisin’ but I’ve no place to go and all night to get there Is it any wonder I’m not a criminal? Is it any wonder I’m not in jail? Is it any wonder I’ve got
Too much time on my hands? It’s ticking away with my sanity I’ve got too much time on my hands It’s hard to believe such a calamity I’ve got too much time on my hands And it’s ticking away, ticking away from me
UPDATE: Well, I was also “doing the math” last May as I counted down the days until making the big move to the Philippines. Time flies!
“The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities.”–Ayn Rand
I thought of this quotation when I read The Big Hominid’s post about the collective loss of a sense of humor amongst many of the fellow travelers on the left. It’s sad really but I remain firmly in the mode of “if you can’t take a joke, fuck you!”
Get over yourselves, bitches!
Now, here’s a funny story for you. Yesterday I’m out walking My Bitch to get an accurate distance check for when I set trail as a Hare. I’m about halfway through my hike cresting a hill and I encounter a couple of hikers on the intersecting path. An odd couple indeed. I mean, I rarely see anyone on trail, and when I do it’s usually a Filipino wielding a machete. I always try to reassure myself it is for whacking bamboo and not my head and thus far I’ve been right about that.
Anyway, this was an older white couple wearing flip-flops. They asked me if this was the way to Baloy Beach. I bit my tongue to avoid saying “you can’t get there from here” although technically that’s correct. Instead I told them I was taking the trail back to Alta Vista subdivision and Baloy is an easy walk from there. So they followed along. The guy was familiar in an “I’ve seen him around in a bar town somewhere” kind of way, although I’d never spoken with him. We talked as we walked and he told me he was a Czechoslovakian, a country that no longer exists. Now he lives half the year in Canada and the other half here. I had assumed the white western woman with him was his spouse but she told me they had met here in the PI last year. I’m not sure who comes to the Philippines to meet an old ugly western woman, but hey, whatever rocks your boat.
I asked them what they were doing on the mountain and was told they had been visiting friends on Rizal Extension and they were told this was a “short cut” back to Baloy. Hmm, well technically it is shorter in distance than walking the road, but that assumes you know where you are going. The couple had been advised to “stay to the left” as they walked to find their way. Same instruction I had been given and it took me like five tries before I could ever successfully find my way. I’m thinking to myself, some friends you got there.
I assured them they were in good hands and I would see them safely to Alta Vista as I had walked this path many times. And then I managed to get us lost. Not sure how that happened, but the trail does tend to take on a different look what with leaves and stuff falling on it. Or maybe I wasn’t paying attention. I felt like an idiot though. Now, I wasn’t “lost lost”, just not on the right trail. And the trail we were on was new to me. And where it came down the mountain (on the opposite side of Alta Vista) it was very steep and treacherous looking (big drop off on one side). My company didn’t have on appropriate hiking footwear either. Plus the woman was complaining about her knee hurting. Damn it, but retreat seemed the best option.
I told them to rest in the shade while I backtracked to look for the right trail. I did find it about half a click away, and went back to fetch the old folks. The gal was moving real slow at this point and taking frequent breaks. I gave her my walking stick to use which seemed to help. About 30 minutes later we arrived at Alta Vista. And in a small miracle, an empty trike was passing by, so they loaded in and headed off to home. What a relief to be rid of them!
So, I downloaded a new measurement app on my phone and it shows my trail at just around 6K. That’s good enough for the walkers. This morning I went out and walked an extended version for the runners that adds an additional 3K. If they don’t like it, too fucking bad.
I also learned that on flat ground I walk right at 5K an hour (59 minutes to be exact). In the hills yesterday I slowed to around 16 minutes per kilometer. So my trail should be just under two hours. That ought to work.
What else? Well, I’m still enjoying views like this from my upstairs patio:
The retirement vista I dreamed about.Much better than my outlook on life when I was living in Anjeong-ri one year ago!
So now it is time for me to head out for the Friday dart league. I may not have everything I want but I have everything I need. Life is good enough for me.
I will hazard a prediction. When you are 80 years old, and in a quiet moment of reflection narrating for only yourself the most personal version of your life story, the telling that will be most compact and meaningful will be the series of choices you have made. In the end, we are our choices. Build yourself a great story. –Jeff Bezos
UPDATE: Well, shit. I just used “Lost and found” as a title back in January. Oh well. At least it was about my journey of discovery on My Bitch.
But anyone can write a poem, even me! Especially a bad one. Well, it’s been a long, long time since I put verses on paper but back in the day I was a poem writing fool. I had cause to be reminded of this fact when I opened “the box of memories” I brought back with me from the last visit to the USA.
An old wine box. But after reading some of the crap inside, it might be more apt to call it a whine box.Photographs, cards and letters, and lots of original words on paper–a journal, some short stories, and some bad poetry. All authored by yours truly back in the early 1970’s. Yep, the contents were still dripping with teenage angst even after all these years.
I was somewhat taken aback at how similar some of those emotions I was expressing back then are to ones I still sometimes experience. And the opposite is true as well, I found my self shaking my head at the sad and petulant young man who fancied himself a writer. Geez, and here I am overcoming that shame by sharing some of those words here with you now. Ha! Finally published after all these years!
Okay, I’m not going to edit or rewrite this crap, but some of it will be excerpted so you’ll get the flavor without having to suffer overmuch. Let’s start with a twofer–a sheet of notebook paper dated December 14, 1972 with these two poems:
The Only Way
Perhaps the best way Is your way Maybe the best belief Is not to believe Maybe the only answer Is no answer And maybe the only time Is this time... And yet, Why can't our love Be the only love?
Alone
Alone in my fantasies Alone with my dreams But when I wake with the dawning One sullen fact remains That I am alone in my love for you--- The sun doesn't shine, it rains.
Well, I warned you. Let’s try this:
I wrote this for my creative writing class in my junior year if I recall correctly. My teacher was a bit of a prick (he called a sonnet I had worked hard on and was proud of “extremely corny”), so this was high praise coming from him. Yeah, I was a full-on anti-war protester back in those days and wrote several Vietnam themed poems. I am not proud of the sentiment expressed in this one. I think it may have been prompted by the My Lai massacre, but it was wrong then and so was I.
Here’s an excerpt from a poem called New Year’s Eve which I assume I wrote on New Year’s Eve. Not sure which New Year’s Eve, but given my history of ill-fated love, it could be just about ANY New Year’s Eve.
You never even took the time To see what you were using And you were shocked when you found out It was you who did the losing
And you really can't help looking back Was it all just another game? You pretend it doesn't matter But you've never felt quite the same
And when it's finally all over Will you look at your life and be sad? Will you remember the people and places And the love you could have had?
I had a typewriter and a hippie mentality back in those days. Geez, this one makes me cringe. And I’m pretty sure the punctuation is all wrong. I’d usually get A’s and B’s on content and D’s on composition. I have no idea why I took to calling myself John Mark McCrarey II. I’m the first and only. I guess I thought it looked cool. Geez.
Alright, I’ve tortured you just about enough I suppose. But before you go, let me share a short essay that just so happens to be the oldest thing in the box, written in my sophomore English class on October 22, 1970. It’s called: Love? Hah!
People are really fools but nobody ever seems to notice this, not even me, until recently. A couple of days ago a friend of mine came up to me and said, “John, I’m in love with Joyce.” I held back from laughing out of friendship, but inside I was thinking “you’re just as dumb as the rest of them.”
Not many people realize there’s no love in the world anymore. Why? Well, for one thing, nobody seems to have time for love in a modern society. Yeah, a lot of people say they’re in love, but they are only fooling themselves. Love is only in the mind. People like to think they are in in love, I guess it makes them happy. I’m not knocking love, how can I? There’s no such thing!
I was only in love once and that’s how I found out about the whole phony thing. It doesn’t make any difference though; people will still foolishly go on searching for something they will never find, something that doesn’t exist, something they call love. Hah!
Hard to believe I was so cynical about love at the tender age of fifteen. Hmm, the more things change, the more they remain the same.
We climbed the black rock mountain today. I’m not sure, so I don’t want to take it for granite.The gals went out on a ledge to get a better photo opportunity. Made me a little nervous.The guys called this the “San Isidro Valley” so I will too. We hiked across it to get to the mountain we climbed.And then we stopped for lunch.
Daytime done. Darts on tap for nighttime. Tomorrow there will be poetry!
I don’t brag on the kids much here at LTG, but every once in awhile I just can’t help myself. Daughter Renee sent me this video clip of a commercial featuring her younger brother Kevin:
Who says the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree? It obviously did in this case!
It was a big move for Kevin giving up his broadcasting career for a more stable and family oriented work environment. I’m really pleased he’s doing so well in his new professional life. Of course the success I’m most proud of is the generous nature of his character. Well done, son. Well, done.
Meanwhile, Renee had one of those rare “full circle” events recently. Her daughter Gracyn is big time into volleyball. And she wound up playing a match at the high school Renee and Kevin attended.
Ha Ha! I accidentally uploaded this image of Gracyn as a newborn! She’s only 6 months younger than LTG!“Hey Mom, look what I found!”The fruit DID NOT fall far from the tree in Gracyn’s case!
Anyway, that’s enough bragging for one day. I didn’t have much to do with how great my kids turned out anyway. I just got lucky I suppose.
The bus ride from Barretto to Cabangan wasn’t as bad as anticipated, only about an hour and 15 minutes.
Yesterday’s SBH3 outstation run in Cabangan is now Hash history. As promised, the Hares did in fact set a flat trail. I was frankly surprised because it was so out of character for Leech My Nuggets. I asked him about that later and he said it was because they were unable to find any paths leading up into the surrounding mountains. Pity that!
Anyway, I opted for the medium hike of 8 kilometers. That was about right because it was a pretty hot day with no breeze and little shade. I was a little surprised that I made it back on-home to Samantha’s Resort before the runners who did the 12K hike, but I do make decent time when I’m walking on flat ground.
About that flat ground. It was mostly through farm country and frankly it was a little boring. Not much of interest to see and not all that challenging. Until the surprise the Hares had in store near the end of the trail. Not one, but two of the most rickety bridges over the river that I ever did see. I was so relieved after successfully crossing the first one. I hadn’t even finished congratulating myself for not falling into the water when the second bridge appeared. I made it across that one as well, no thanks to the punk ass kids who got on behind me and bounced around making it all the more difficult to keep my balance. The water wasn’t deep and the bridge wasn’t very high, so probably the worst that would have happened was getting wet and ruining my phone. Honestly, had the bridge been higher I wouldn’t have been able to do it given my fear of heights. It was tough enough as it was. I guess it was instant Karma for my boring trail thoughts. Ah well.
I’ve got pictures, lots of pictures, so let’s relive the journey, shall we?
The trail…The bus what brought us and deposited us at the trail head. (I said “what” on purpose because I thought it was kinda cute. But given my propensity for typos I feared my intentional misusage would be misinterpreted.)And we are “on-on”. Always nice to walk behind a sweet ass!We began on the banks of a mostly dry river bed.And then out into the open fields. The goats thought we were nuts I suppose. They might be right about that!This bridge was no challenge.A question of balance.Are you lonesome tonight?Those wide open spaces…Hash Gash on the trail (Gash is what female Hashers are called. I can’t imagine why…)“Green Acres is the place to be….”“…farm living is the life for me…”“…land stretching out so far and wide, keep Manhattan just give me that countryside…”Man and beast working the fields…And then there was this motherfucker…Not as easy to cross as it may appear…Just got to take it one careful step at a time…Once across you breathe that sigh of relief and then look up to see this…and even longer so-called bridge.One false step and you are going to regret it.Looking back after a second successful crossing. As far as I know no one fucked up. Wouldn’t want to try and cross after a few beers though…Speaking of beers, it’s always great to make it “on-home” for some much needed re-hydration!Samantha’s Resort is owned by an old-time Hasher and is situated on a pretty nice beach…I chilled out and sipped my beer in the shade of this beach side Nipa hut.While these lovely sea Filipinas frolicked in the ocean.And then it was time for the Hash circle. We did not have our customary blocks of ice, so we improvised with a bag of ice. We also did the deflowering ritual for the three Hash virgins in attendance…And then the sun set on another fine day of Hashing.Oh, and here are the Hares, Anal Receptive and Leech My Nuggets, posing on their instrument of torture.
We are doing an outstation run in Cabangan today. Never been, but looking forward to seeing some new sights, notwithstanding a two hour bus ride to get there.
The Hare advises that there will be flat trails of 4, 8, and 12 kilometers. We’ll see. I’ve never know Leech My Nuggets to set a flat course before, but maybe there ain’t no mountains out that way.
I’m liable to take some photos along the way so stay tuned!
Get out of town, think I’ll get out of town, Get out of town, think I’ll get out of town. I head for the sticks with my bus and friends, I follow the road, though I don’t know where it ends. Get out of town, get out of town, think I’ll get out of town.
‘Cause the world is turnin’, I don’t want to see it turn away.
UPDATE: Damn, third time I’ve used the “get outta town” title for a post. Once last year about a journey up to Seoul, and a 2015 trip to Bomunsa Temple on Seokmodo island with Jee Yeun that just makes me sad now.
As I mentioned in a post here awhile back I want to write about the lives I’ve lived within this lifetime. The ultimate vanity project to be sure but I just can’t seem to help myself. So here goes.
I guess the obvious starting point is where it all started. The life I led as a child. As I’ve looked back on those times it seems an overstatement to call childhood the foundation on which the rest of your life is built. Obviously I can only speak for myself in that regard, but I just don’t think anything that happened in those “formative” years has been a hindrance or burden to overcome nor can I see anything in that distant past that led me to become who and what I am today. Sure, it’s all about growing up and learning but I’m not sure I had enough self-awareness to have been shaped or scarred for life by childhood events. Hell, maybe I just got lucky!
Which is not to say that I had a particularly easy time of it back then. I’m still keenly aware of growing up in a working class family in a wealthy upper middle class environment that was Orange County, California in the 1960’s.
Garden Grove, my first hometown as it looked back in the day. I was technically born in Los Angeles, but we lived in Garden Grove and Westminster throughout my childhood.
I want to make the distinction between working class and poor. We always had food to eat and a roof over our heads. It may have been ground beef and chicken and our house was old and not in one of those fancy new subdivisions, but we got by alright I suppose.
And we had love. Tough love, as neither of my parents brooked much bullshit. I recall my dad in particular taking off his belt and saying before a (usually deserved) whipping “this is going to hurt me more than you”. It never really felt that way to me though…
My father managed a fast food restaurant called the “Rite Spot”. Up until McDonald’s opened a franchise right across the street. He then took up work as a route salesman delivering food items to the catering houses that served the booming construction industry. My mom worked as a carhop at a drive-in restaurant and later as an assembler on the night shift at a manufacturing plant. My grandma Pernie was always around to take care of us kids while we were growing up.
Hanging out with the bros. Ignorance can be bliss, and it took awhile before I was made aware that our family was “different” by community standards.
We vacationed every year. Usually on the Kern River a few hours away in San Bernadino county. Camping and fishing of course.
Dad always had money for beer and cigarettes, so we weren’t doing too bad. And damn, if you’ve never gutted and pan fried a rainbow trout right out of the river, well, you don’t know what you missed! And I guess maybe all those camping trips instilled in me a love of the outdoors that I satisfy today with long ass walks in the local mountains.My dad only got one week of vacation a year, but on some weekends he’d load us up in the pack of his Jeep pickup truck and drive us out to the desert. Good times!
Our street, Milton Avenue, was sort of a mishmash of 1940’s era homes surrounded by new housing developments. Well, we were bounded on one side by the newly constructed Interstate (the 405 if I recall correctly). So all my childhood friends were similarly situated, economically speaking. And we always found a way to have fun. Playing sandlot baseball, building hideouts and forts, and riding our bicycles. Me and my buds would often ride the 8 miles or so to the beach and hang out all day. We had a lot of freedom back then, sort of a “be home when the streetlights come on”, until then we were left to our own devices. We pretty much stayed out of trouble, and collected pop bottles for the deposits to give us some spending money. I have fond memories of the community spirit we developed.
When I was 11 or 12, one of the neighbors invited me to his church, a small evangelical house of worship. Well, my grandma was Assembly of God so I had been exposed to all of the craziness (like speaking in tongues) from an early age. Anyway, I wound up getting invited to join the church orchestra and choir. I didn’t play an instrument, but no problem they provided me an old lap style steel guitar. I didn’t read music, but they just numbered the frets on the guitar and put corresponding numbers on the notes of the sheet music. So, I just plucked away and used the slide accordingly. It seemed to work, or at least no one ever complained about my “music”. I’m a notoriously bad singer so they called me a tenor and stuck me in the back row. And later that summer we actually did a tour across the western U.S. states. Random church families would takes us in for the nights we were in town. I was one of the youngest members of the group and I recall not being entirely comfortable with the situation. Everyone was nice to me though, so nothing traumatic to report.
In school I was an average student at best, mostly due to laziness I suppose. I always hated homework. But it was in school that I became acutely aware that I was not like my peers. I didn’t wear the same nice clothes, didn’t live in the nice neighborhood, didn’t hang out with the cool kids. That kind of thing. And yes, kids can be cruel and they were. And so can adults. I’ve actually written a little about this before in a post called “A working class hero is something to be”.
Two incidents stand out. One day the kids were all laughing at my shoes. Which admittedly were ridiculous. A gift from my uncle who was a shoe salesman. Probably a couple of sizes too large. But they were new and so I was compelled to wear them.
They looked something like this.
Anyway, the teacher came out to see what all the commotion was about. Someone said “look at McCrarey’s shoes!”. The teacher looked and burst out laughing too. I think she felt bad about it though.
The other incident that is seared into my memory involves my 7th grade math teacher, Peter Boothroyd. I’m sure he’s dead by now so I won’t begrudge him. Much. I was being my usual smart ass self in class one day and he called me out on it by saying “Keep it up McCrarey and you’ll wind up selling jello out of a truck like your father”. Ouch. Well, as it turns out I did for a time wind up working in route sales (sandwiches, not jello). But I’m proud to say that I went on to bigger and better things, beyond anything a pea brain like Peter Boothroyd could have imagined possible. Hmm, I guess maybe I am still a little bitter.
But seriously, so I grew up poorer than most of the community that surrounded me. And that maybe resulted in me being an outsider. Perhaps it impacted my self-esteem some. Honestly, I’d say that makes me luckier than many people. I certainly had no great tragedy or trauma to overcome. And if anything if provided me more motivation later in life to make sure my kids had the kind of life I did not.
Bottom line, my childhood life seems to have little or no relevance to what I became or who I am now. I would wager that is true for most people. I think the next chapter of my life had a far greater impact on my future. A future I could just as easily have lost. Stay tuned for the next installment!
Pretty much. But I’m going to keep writing anyway.
As soon as you’re born they make you feel small By giving you no time instead of it all Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all A working class hero is something to be A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school They hate you if you’re clever and they despise a fool Till you’re so fucking crazy you can’t follow their rules A working class hero is something to be A working class hero is something to be
That’s what I did today. Well, everyday. But this time I joined the Saturday walkers. Such as we were. Five of us all told. It was a goodly long hike though. I led the way for the first half, mostly just doing Monday’s Hash trail in reverse. Gunter took over for Part Duex and as is his custom had us do an almost straight up climb. I know I was muttering “never again!” all the way up.
Three of the five. The German Dieter was lagging behind with his cute little Filipina girlfriend and missed this photo op.The obligatory view from the top. I never get tired of it. I was tired at the conclusion of our travels this afternoon though. The key thing to note is “the floors”. I did 25,000 steps yesterday on my own, but only 44 floors. Uphill is a motherfucker!
I drank four bottles of water during the hike today. And four bottles of beer at the conclusion. It’s good to keep things in balance.
Once upon a time you could find posts here at LTG that did not revolve around me and my so-called life. Hard to believe I know, but I had a pleasant reminder of this yesterday from long time reader and blog buddy Kevin Kim.
Kev, who still writes on issues of substance, recently posted here regarding the socialism induced bankruptcy of the government in Finland. In response to a comment I left on his post, Kevin said it was the future I had predicted some time ago on my blog. I had no recollection of that but he came back with this post I’d written 14 years ago! Well, what I had to say back then wasn’t exactly rocket science but it impressed the hell out of me that he remembered it at all and that he was able to ferret it out from the sewer of my archives. Thanks for that Mr. Kim!
Anyway, I don’t bother arguing politics much these days. It seems pointless since I doubt I’m going to change any minds. I still follow along with what is happening back in the USA and it both makes me sad for my country and glad that I’m not there to experience it up close and personal. So what I’m saying is this blog will continue to serve as a reminder that no man is totally worthless–he can always serve as a bad example! You’re welcome.
Yesterday I was able to briefly step out of my pathetic self-centered life with my monthly visit to the King’s Fil-Am orphanage.
The director had provided me a shopping list of needed items and I was happy to oblige.There were no birthdays to celebrate this month but I brought along some pizzas for the staff to serve the children.Who doesn’t like a pizza party?
The kids all seem happy and well cared for. And the little bit of help I’m able to provide each month seems appreciated. The director sent me a thank you email that made me smile:
God bless you as you continue to share your blessings to these unfortunate children, but fortunate enough because of your love.
To God be the Glory!
Well, I’m not a religious man at all, but if a God I don’t believe in is helping these kids by using me as a tool, more power to Him! I know it is kinda of gauche to make a public display of charity, but being the self-centered bastard that I amI can’t help myself it fulfills in part one of the goals I set when moving here: to make a difference. I’m not changing lives or doing anything all that meaningful or significant, but I’m at least making things a little bit better for a few folks and I’m happy about that. It takes some of the edge off the guilt that comes with living large amongst people who have so little.
Speaking of making things better:
The baby back ribs I prepared last night might be the best batch ever! The meat was falling off the bone tender (8 hours in the crock pot will do that), the seasoning was flavorful, and the oven-baked BBQ sauce crust came out just right.
Oh, and last night across the bay someone was trying to burn down a mountain.
Selfish bastards.
Life marches on! Hope you will come back for more nothing of substance soon.
One of my big dislikes here so far is the willful trashing of the environment. People litter the streets and rivers with impunity. I’ve never seen folks with such a disregard for keeping their own community clean. It’s really quite astounding to see individuals from all walks of life nonchalantly chuck trash out of their car window, dump garbage into the water, and leave crap all over the beach after a picnic.
As bad as that is, I think this pisses me off more:
People are constantly burning brush and undergrowth almost everywhere. I saw the above fire when I was walking Buddy this morning. Three hours later it is still raging. All that smoke really fucks up the air quality. It’s been quite a few days since my view hasn’t been obscured by haze.
Smoke filled air ain’t too good for my diminished lung capacity either. Anyway, nothing I can do but go with the flow…take a deep breath (*cough*, *cough*), relax, and accept the Filipino way. I don’t have to like it though.
And speaking of Buddy, what a crazy dog he is. I’m not even sure if he knows he’s a dog. He’s taken to sleeping on my bed. Like this:
Sweet dreams, my friend.
And there you have the good and the bad. I’ll spare you the ugly for now.
Only three showed up today for the Wednesday walkers group. I seized the opportunity to take on the leader role for the hike. My two compadres are also not into those massive and difficult trails so I felt confident in showing them some of My Bitch and the route I’m developing for my debut as a solo Hare.
As we passed through my Alta Vista neighborhood at the beginning of the hike, Bimbo pointed at a house and said it was where one of our newest Hashers lives. A recent widow by the name of Heidi. As we neared the residence Bimbo started calling out her name and a very cute young woman came out. Not Heidi, but apparently one of her friends. Heidi soon after come downstairs and invited us in for a quick tour of the house. It was massive and beautiful. Including a rooftop bar! Heidi told us she rents out rooms on AirBnB. After a quick visit we continued on our way. I felt an instant attraction to the friend and Heidi was also an attractive woman. I may have to make an effort to get to know my neighbors better!
So we did my trail and then took a lunch break on my back patio. My house is nothing compared to Heidi’s, but the guys liked it too. The trail came in at around 6K, so I’m getting there. I saw a couple of new paths I’ll investigate over the coming days to see if I can’t get another kilometer or so added.
As is our Wednesday tradition, we finished our walk at Cheap Charlies where we re-hydrated ourselves with some refreshing cold brews.
Cheers!
And oh yeah, here’s a fun little song that explains the attraction of Filipinas…
What a day it was yesterday. Full of highs and lows. Here’s the first part of the story.
A very good Hash. Interesting trail as the Hare (Demolition Derby) worked hard at finding paths that have not been used for any recent Hashes. I was disappointed that included a trail I had been scouting for future use, but I still had to give Derby credit for his discovery. One steep climb and two moderate ones, took me two hours to complete all told.
We did have to work our way around this obstacle. The carabao looked pretty damn horny to me.A view from the trail.
After the Hash circle was completed I went home where the day turned to shit. I’m not quite ready to talk about it yet as I’m still working my way through it in my head. This illustration will serve as a little foreshadowing:
What’s love got to do with it?
Oh, here’s a group photo from the Hash Bash. I’m off to the right.
Good times!
Life goes on. And you have to eat. Here’s my dinner for one tonight:
Tried a New York cut of New Zealand beef. Was actually comparatively tender compared to the crap I have been buying. Tasty too!
And now I reckon it’s time to go out and try to drown my sorrows.
UPDATE: Hmm, I used the Peaks and valleys title once before in 2014. I didn’t have a clue back then what was in store for me.
