A long time coming.

I know it has been some time since I wrote. And this is by no means is going to catch up for all the chaos my life has been undergoing. But it is more or less a list of things for me to recall, epic chapters in my life for me to expand upon. Deep breath...knee surgery, Las Vegas, loss of faith, work, and so many more. I promise once I return to Seattle to update my blog, fill in the gaps, and return to society.

May down in Flames

Ever have one of those months where nothing seems to go right? Well May was quite honestly the worst single month of my life. It was marked by illness, death, uncertainty, hardship, and surprise. It was a tumultuous thirty-one days where things that should be constant were dynamic and things that should be dynamic were constant. A good example could be my dating life. Now it should be dynamic, but no...it was all too stagnant. Of course it doesn't help when you are working 60 hours a week. But this is not a platform for glorified bitching. No, instead it is a place of celebration. May is finally behind me, and the final vulgarity was resolved today. See, May was coming to a screeching end, when I decided to go play a soccer game the night of the 30th. I should have known better. Not more than 12 minutes into the match and I pivot, knee collapses and down I go--never to return. Well today I got the diagnosis for my right knee. A beautiful meniscus tear and a fantastic surgery. The true beauty of May lie in its ability to inflict damage well beyond its 31 day gestation. Now my referee trip to Vegas in June is shot. Oh May, at least it will be 11 wonderful months until I see you again.

The Zimmers

You may think that I just design space for old people, but these are your grandmother's generation and they are not fading away. Just another example of the barriers I confront with design daily.

Kinetic Sculpture--Like Nothing I Have Ever Seen

glumbert.com - Kinetic Sculpture

One thing leads to another

It is funny how one exploration can yield another interesting story. As I found myself writing about my latest urban adventure in the Emerald City, I stumbled across something else. The durag, a timeless...perhaps classic piece of head wear made famous by genie's, immortalized by the 80's. What an interesting history the old watchu-rag has. Click the title to learn for yourself.

Voodoo Chicken

Josh often refers to the oddities of living downtown--from the vagrants that pee on his stoop, to the simple lack of a grocery store. But it wasn't until this Saturday night that I really began to understand the depth and complexity of the picture he was trying to paint. I find myself walking to Qwest field along the waterfront Saturday evening. I near one of the streetcar shelters and witness a shopping cart on the tracks. Now this is not entirely alarming as the streetcar hasn't run in sometime, but an abnormality which catches my eye. The cart is an eclectic mass of vagrant knick knacks, shapes, colors, and textures bulge and contort at awkward angles. As I get nearer, the volume of the viaduct yields to an other-worldly singing. A blanket obscures the show at first, but as I move perpendicular to the cart, the slice-of-life drama reveals itself. A toothless Caribbean woman wearing a doo rag, cackles the jumbled song. In her hand is a rooster, which she shakes and manipulates while she sings--the rooster contributing in a bizarre duet. I catch myself starring, the voodoo doctor deep in her transfiguration, I wide-eyed, mouth aghast.

How to Do the Hokey Pokey

O proud left foot, that ventures quick within
Then soon upon a backward journey lithe,
Anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
Command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke,
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from Heaven's yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely canst thou go, girl.
The Hoke, the poke—banish thou now thy doubt:
Verily, be this what 'tis all about.

by William Shakespeare

Car Wreck

My mom and sister were headed to Denver yesterday, when a freak hail storm hit. It dropped over two inches of hail in seconds and reduced visibility to feet. My mother swerved to avoid a car resting upside down on the interstate. She began to slide, struck the car, and spun 540 degrees coming to rest in the median on the opposite side of the road. The windshield was shattered and air bags deployed. Both my sister and mother are ok, but the car is totaled. The title is linked to the story which has a video. My mom's car is the one being pulled onto the tow truck near the end.

My Celebrity Look Alikes

Small Town Drama

I was reading my hometown newspaper the other day, I ran across this story. This is a prime example of small town fluff. So I have included it here for your pleasure...oh the small town drama, where everyone knows everyones' business.

Fire Guts Blake Avenue Duplex
Daniel Jenkins woke up at about 2:30 a.m. Tuesday to sounds of his dog, Muhammad, barking and glass breaking. He ran into the kitchen and saw a whole wall engulfed in flames.

Dustin Weller and his wife Samantha woke up to Jenkins bursting through their door screaming that there was a fire. In shock and half-awake, they ran out of the duplex at 2119 Blake Ave. with barely any clothes on. Dustin had just purchased the duplex with his father in September.

Dustin, 23, raced around completely naked trying to save dogs. Samantha, 20, screamed loudly and hysterically. She ran into the street with nothing but a shirt on.

Dustin was herding dogs away from the fire into a friend's car. But one of the three dogs, Petey, ran back inside and hid under the bed. Dustin went back inside. By this time the smoke was so thick that he had to hunch down to breathe. He grabbed Petey by the tail, pulling him out from under the bed. They'd adopted Petey with an injured tail, but there was no choice.

Justin, a roommate who lived downstairs, wasn't outside.

Jenkins smashed a bottom floor window on the west side of the house, and others broke a window on the south side, which they got Justin through.

A neighbor across the street eventually gave Dustin some boxer shorts and more clothes for him and Samantha to wear.

Everyone was ultimately safe. Everyone except Meow the cat.

"She was a good cat," Jenkins said.

Samantha went to the hospital for smoke inhalation, and someone else was treated for a cut.

"That's the good news - no human life was lost or injured," Glenwood Springs Fire Department Chief Mike Piper said.


Cause still unknown
According to neighbors and people in the duplex, Glenwood Springs Police arrived first, followed by Glenwood Springs Fire Department, which arrived about 15 or 20 minutes after witnesses noticed the fire. The fire department said it received notice from dispatch at 2:38 and arrived seven minutes later.

The fire started on the south side of the house where there used to be a deck with storage below it. There was speculation about whether or not a propane grill on the deck or gasoline for lawn mowers below the deck caused the fire. But Piper said the damage was extensive enough that it would be very difficult to determine the cause. The propane and gasoline contributed to the blaze, he said.

There was also a question of whether someone smoking started the fire. The department ruled that the fire was accidental.

The propane "really created a firestorm on that deck," he said.

Flames spread into the attic and toward the front of the house and burned through part of the roof. At one point, a firefighter sprayed down on the roof from an aerial ladder extended horizontally above. Firefighters fought the blaze until declaring it under control at 4:16 a.m. and clearing the scene around 8 a.m.

"To me it was just a raging inferno," Lois Ann McCollum said, a next-door neighbor to the south. "I got to shaking so bad I needed to sit down somewhere."

The southwest corner of the duplex is blackened and the two floors in that segment ruined. There are charred husks of what used to be a lawn mower and debris from a burned-down deck and storage shed underneath.

"I lost everything," Jenkins said. "I have someone else's shoes on and a shirt and pants and a snowboard."

But Jenkins was philosophical about his losses. "I got my dogs, and all my roommates are safe, so that's all that counts," he said.


The turtle made it
Much of the house was destroyed, but the rooms on the north side weren't damaged as much. The house looks almost undamaged from the northeast.

Tuesday before noon, a brother and sister who rented space on the north side were wondering if their turtle - Michelangelo - was still alive.

Elena Loya thought the turtle might be OK since they lived on the north side of the house that didn't burn as badly and the turtle was in a water-filled tank.

Michelangelo did make it.

A man from Chile in the unit adjacent to Dustin's, Patricio Szigethi, thought his passport had burned. He has an April 30 flight back to Chile, and feared having to travel to the consulate in Los Angeles.

He later found his passport.

In the afternoon, people went through the house looking for things that could be salvaged. Black ashes were caked underneath Samantha's fingernails from sifting through the mess. She found her wedding dress intact and her social security card.

Dustin and Samantha plan to stay at Samantha's parents' for a while.

Despite having their lives disrupted, people were able to joke about how Dustin ran naked carrying a dog, and calling Samantha "melodramatic" for running around screaming. They even commented that the Brother Ali concert they saw at the Belly Up in Aspen Monday night was good.

But the reality of fire was hard to comprehend.

"I never thought this would happen to me," Dustin said.

"I'm still in shock," Samantha said. "I don't think it's hit me yet."

Contact Pete Fowler: 945-8515, ext. 16611

pfowler@postindependent.com

Post Independent, Glenwood Springs Colorado CO

A Danish Idea

Ok...so one more short entry about my host brother. Watching someone view your world as a foreigner is quite entertaining. There is the joy in trying to translate what something is, and then realizing that you yourself can hardly explain it. Perhaps this is similar to parenthood. Then there is their excitement at all the "cool" aspects of your environment you consider dully mundane...enter Seattle monorail. I mean hasn't he seen the Simpsons--it is just a magnetic train. Fine, fine, to be fair the view is pretty spectacular. With all this exploration and stimulation come good ideas. And sometimes come great ideas. Well, Mikkel had one. His younger brother does some trick skiing. He is pretty good; I saw a clip of him landing a 900. Mikkel suggested that someone should create a video of skiers hitting the rails below Kerry Park after one of those rare snow falls. How awesome would that be, watching someone tearing up the rails with the Seattle skyline in the background...urban skiing. Again another linked title.

Wiking Brother

My life has been rapidly progressing into uncharted waters. Each new day brings unexpected challenges and rewards. A couple of weeks ago I was lucky to have my host wiking brother, Mikkel, visit the US and stay with me for a week. What better place for a first stop than Seattle, of course I may be biased. I took the liberty of removing myself from a day of work and showing him what lie beneath the emerald city. In one spectacular day we ventured up into the mountains, played in the snow, saw Snoqualmie Falls, and laid on the beaches of Alki. Where else can you go from snow to sand in one day. Then to top it all off, he came with me and watched me get my first tattoo. I hope it made his parents nervous, but my attempts at convincing him to get a permanent souvenir were to no avail. The decision was met with sighs of relief by Hanne and Finn. Perhaps when his brother Lasse comes out here, I can convince him to at least get a piercing. A complete viewing of his stay here can be seen on his online album (the title of this entry is linked).

Car goes Meow.

So I was traveling home the other day from officiating a game at Memorial Stadium, when I heard a meow. I turned around to find this, inconspicuously parked behind me. Engine puring...and complete with tail. God Bless America. Click on the image to enjoy the divine feline obsession.

My Aura

Your Aura is Yellow

You're a deeply happy and content person, and you enjoy sharing your cheer with others. While you may seem like a simple optimist, there is a lot of thinking going on inside you. The purpose of your life: bringing joy and a better life to others Famous yellows include: Conan O'Brien, Jenny Mccarthy, Jim Carrey Careers for you to try: Athlete, Actor, Yoga Instructor

What Color Is Your Aura?

Big Hole

A 330-foot-deep sinkhole killed two teenage siblings when it swallowed about a dozen homes early Friday and forced the evacuation of about 1,000 people in a crowded Guatemala City neighborhood.

Officials blamed the sinkhole on recent rains and an underground sewage flow from a ruptured main. The two bodies were found near the enormous fissure, floating in a river of sewage.

Now that is one big hole.

Pocket Coffee

Pocket Coffee is real Italian espresso enclosed in a praline shell, then coated in chocolate. A mainstay in Italy and with a cultlike following in America, this delicious candy was created in 1968 by Ferrero, the same company that invented Nutella. It's famously hard to buy in the States, but click on the title for a state-side vendor. Pop one in your mouth, close your eyes, and you're standing at a cafe on Rome's Piazza Venezia, watching the scooters swerve by. Seconds later the caffeine buzz kicks in. You can thank me later ladies.

Priming the Pump

Perhaps another guy out there can enlighten me. Men's room etiquette follows many unwritten rule. For example it is not acceptable to have lengthy conversations with your urinal neighbor--stall-side communication is strictly prohibited. Shakes are limited to no more than two. These rules are learned from a young age through frequent washroom use. But there is one such men's room ritual that continues to baffle me. Why do men spit in the urinal while peeing? Is this some archaic tradition remaining in practice by our elders. Or...is this some way to prime the pump? Does spitting somehow get the ball moving when you get older?

Bumblebee Tuna

Leigh, Jared, and I were walking to lunch in Pike Place. Sauntering along, we pass the cluttered food stands adjacent to the street. The lunch crowd is out in full force and lines are forming behind the best lunch spots. A substantial line has formed behind one nondescript Asian food counter. We are negotiating the narrow sidewalk around the line when we are nearly blindsided by a streaking food server, the only clue to her occupation is her white apron. Just as she makes her way beyond us, she reels back and...wait for it...projectile vomits, nearly spattering Leigh's new boots with dietary shrapnel. Naturally we stop, disgusted looks upon our faces. Calmly the woman wipes her mouth and makes her way back to the counter to wash her hands. Leigh is the first to speak, naturally. "Oh...Bumblebee Tuna!" Grins return to our faces and we find ourselves somehow less hungry. Surprisingly enough, not one of the patrons in line at the counter left after the woman puked.

Smell

Have you ever experienced a smell which triggers a unique olfactory experience? Try these and tell me if you can think of others.

Guy on the bus = Bowling Alley (must, beer, cigarettes, B.O., and grease)
Tire Shop = oil, rubber, and stale popcorn

Pantie Raid

I ventured out early in the morning after the latest snow storm hoping to witness the bliss of a uniform blanket of white. But upon returning home I was greeted by a less blissful sight. Panties was the theme and a string of cars the unsuspecting billboards. "Choke on my panties, sniff my panties, eat my panties, etc." The line of verbs continued for blocks, ending near my apartment. I paused, momentarily, wondering who spent their time doing this mischievous deed.

Hitting a Gull

An interesting thing happened the other day when I rode my bike home. Now it is no surprise when you hit a bird in a car...well maybe a momentary--What the *!#@. But have you ever experienced hitting another living animal on a bike. The scale of your vehicle is much smaller and the object feels much larger. Feels is the appropriate verb here. I was commuting home on my bike, pedaling uphill. Uphill non the less. A seagull is walking across the street. I innocently think nothing of it. As I get nearer I notice a car approaching from behind. I fully expect the seagull to deviate from our shared course, but instead it frantically walks like some stupid pigeon, never in a strait line, never fast enough. As a collision seems inevitable, it takes to flight. Oh...too late my winged friend. I plunge into the fowl midair. It is thrown violently to the pavement, narrowly missing the front tire. It attempts to take flight again, but is harshly pinned between the asphalt and my sprocket. Bump, bump, my rear tire runs squarely over it. It emits a painful squawking noise. My head spins quickly around attempting to confirm this anomaly which my brain argues just occurred. Before I can make sense of it all, the car behind me finishes him off, with an absolute BUMP, BUMP...tire, gull, asphalt. Now each day as I commute home I witness this winged roadkill pressed firmly into the pavement like a cartoon character.

Thursday...Plop!

As many of you know I commute to work by bicycle. Now, this crazy devotion to environmentalism can more accurately be described as me being too cheap to pay for the bus. The commute is faster, cost less, and is good for my health as well. All convincing arguments for such a choice. But as mother nature has demonstrated, commuting in the winter can be a daunting challenge. Now the biblical flooding, incessant winds, and snow have done little to prevent my successful two mile trek. Mother Nature is tricky though. She makes you think you are weathering the storm, then pummels you when you are over confident. I had grown accustom to traveling to work. After completing what could be more accurately described as a triathlon, than a bike ride, I am greeted to the heroic cheers of my coworkers. Every time she threw more at me, the more determined I was to succeed. And then she throws the curve. Thursday was a beautifully crisp morning. I was flying down the waterfront at top speed--a magnificent view of the Olympics to the west and no sign of the normal head wind. What a perfect day to commute. As I flew through the last intersection before work, I noticed a small contingent of coworkers on the corner. I began to engage the turn onto the pier, when the ice beneath the tires snickered at my feeble attempt to maintain control. A silent skidding noise...and the smacking of flesh on concrete--ice cold concrete. The pain noticeable, but the humiliation crushing. I sit for a moment in my own self pity, strew along the side of the road like an unfortunate possum. Then a coworker yells out, "Hey Levi...are you ok?" Great, now everyone that didn't recognize me in my commuting clothes are all too aware of my current condition. He meant well, but how embarrassing. I yell back letting him know I am fine. The group crosses the street, eager to check on me and make sure all is in tact. The coworker trailing the group inadvertently walks over the same patch of nastiness, and Blamo!, another one bites the dust. She lets out a squeak, throws the coffee artfully in the air, and smashes solidly on her backside. Now there are two of us, victims of the same peril. I begin to laugh and manage to direct a thank you towards her. At least I am not the only one. What a spectacle for the motorist trapped at the light behind us.

Living on the Frontier

Lately, I have felt that I reside on the frontier. Now, I am not arguing that Seattle has changed little from when Lewis and Clark first laid eyes upon this bay. Instead, I feel I live in what can be considered a frontier within the modern context. Of course, Seattle is a fully developed and modern place. But lately it has felt far more removed from the remainder of the country. Perhaps, this is the Alaska syndrome (where people from Alaska often feel more a part of Canada than the U.S.). The weather has been relentless, as it has been pretty much anywhere in the country. My apartment has been the victim of several power outages. When these occur, I find myself without heat, hot water, or lights. Of course this provides me an opportunity to enjoy a candle light dinner and read a book. This experience reminds me of living at some remote cabin, not within a metropolitan core. Then the Seahawks make the playoffs, and no-one around the country gives them a chance at winning. It is as if no good football can possibly come from this remote corner of the country, further reinforcing my notion of frontier. Don't get me wrong. I love living on an edge. People are free to be individuals, less influenced by the ebb and flow of national trends. You are free to challenge ideas and be more liberal in solutions...nobody cares if you flop. So the next time the lights go out, just remember how nice it is living on the edge.

Colorado from a Satellite

The NASA satellite photo of Colorado taken last week pretty much sums up what has happened to my beloved state. It may look like cloud cover, but it is not. My hometown of Glenwood Springs, just recorded 16" of new snow in the last 24 hours. Powder Day!

BodyGuard

This one will get you. Another oddity to find on the street. I know you are all wondering, "Damn boy, where are you walking?" At first I thought this was just some errant building wrap that had been blown free of a construction site. But upon closer inspection, I found myself suddenly laughing uncontrollably. So funny on many different levels, it immediately conjured up images of Naked Gun (first laugh). Then I read it was reusable. Now I don't remember much from middle school health classes, but reusing condoms was one thing I believe they frowned upon. Middle school health class (second laugh). Then I got to the non-lubricated. I found myself pondering the difference between a Hefty Lawn and Leaf bag and a non-lubricated BodyGuard (third laugh). Finally, it is only six-feet in length. So for someone like me who is well-endowed, that means two full inches are susceptible to infection. (Fourth laugh, all the girls giggling at me describing myself as well-endowed...easy ladies). Finally, my rapidly processing humor subsides and I find myself continuing down the street. An awry grin on my face as I desert this casually discarded body condom. What will tomorrow bring?

Safeway?...to be determined.

Yesterday I was at Safeway. I saw this near the deli floor. I do not have a clue what independent floor testing and inspecting was doing here, or what the little tube in the right hand corner was for. Regardless, it made me rethink my deli meat purchase. This is not the kind of thing you want to see after all the recent e coli outbreaks.

Apocalyptic Christmas

Recently I took a journey home for the holidays. What a journey it was. My adventure took the storyline directly from the cliche holiday movie where the traveler overcomes innumerable adversities just to be home for the holidays. It started at 9am when my 9pm flight to Denver was canceled, something about a small blizzard. The earliest the airline could re-accommodate me was Christmas day. Determined to find a faster way, even if I had to drive myself, I booked another flight into Salt Lake. This would place me a mere six hours by car from home. But at the airport, my flight is delayed an hour. I book what I think is a reservation on Greyhound and fly to the capital of Mormon. Once there, I eavesdrop, trying to hitch a ride in a rental car. No luck, but at this point I am not expecting any. I finally make it to a hotel room by 11pm and inhale an epicurean delight at JB's (a lesser known equivalent to Denny's). To bed by midnight. I am up and off to the bus terminal by 5am for an early morning departure. I arrive to find 200 people camped out, apparently all bus traffic west is halted. The plundered vending machines hum and the smells of a refuge camp are intoxicating. The normal bus crowd ( ie the single parents and strung out crack whores) are intermingled with financially disadvantaged and a few stranded airline passengers like myself. Now apparently with Greyhound when you book a reservation it is not a guarantee that you will get on the bus that you bought the ticket for. Simply put you are buying yourself a spot in line. Now as I see how long the line is, I know I don't stand a chance of getting on my bus. So using line cutting skills that would make an Italian cheer I jump to the number three spot in line. One woman starts to complain to me, but I pretend not to understand English. In line I wait, fearful of losing my spot to the mortal need to eat or use the restroom. Finally, after six hours of standing in line they put us on a bus. On we go, finally. Wait, they want us on another bus. Off we go and on to another one. Finally the bus pulls out, our short blonde bus driver taking us closer to our final destinations. Establishing herself as Supreme Dictator, our bus driver Cindy goes over the rules. "My name is Cindy, not hey lady, you, or thing. There will be no consumption of alcohol or drugs aboard this bus. There will be no use of profanity or vulgar language. If you violate these rules you will be immediately removed from the bus. Thank you for choosing Greyhound, leave the driving to us." Surprisingly enough her crass attitude puts me at ease, at least I know we have a veteran behind the wheel. Next stop, Price, Utah in three hours. Three hours before I have an excuse to remove myself from the guy sitting next to me. Couldn't have guessed it, but a born-again Mormon about my age. I know things will go ok, if I can just avoid bringing up religion or politics. Then he throws me a curve, he starts talking about sex. He tells me about how his parent discussed the birds and bees as if this just happened yesterday. I am doing all I can to redirect the conversation, I then he just out a says he is a virgin. Good for him, all hope is lost find the iPod. Unfortunately religion comes next. Why is this damn iPod so buried. He asks me if I believe in God. Sirens going off in my head, avoid answering the question. Then he very calmly pulls a locking blade from his pocket and continues as if it were part of the same sentence, "this is my favorite knife." Finally, I find the iPod. Smile and nod, placing the ear buds so deeply in I am not sure they will ever come out. The Burger King at Price has never looked so enticing. Perhaps I am that hungry, it is my first meal of the day, or perhaps it is the possibility of fresh air and personal space. I suspect it is a little of both. A nice #5 meal deal and back on the bus, Cindy has threatened to leave us if we don't get it to go and eat it on the bus. I believe her. It is here we discover one of our tires is low. Off we go, hoping our tire holds. Cindy decided to check the tire one last time before we hit the next hundred miles of nothingness. Guess what campers we have a flat. So here we are in the middle of nowhere waiting for relay wagon to change our tire. It only takes them two hours to arrive and five minutes to swap the tires. At this point in time I am beginning to think I will never make it home. Off we go, and eerily enough the whole bus starts singing "On the road again", before Cindy stops that over the loud speaker. It is about this time I realize that my shoes and bag have been smearing around in some little shits bubblicious bubble yum. It is every where. Finally we pull into Grand Junction at 9pm. Now an employee of my father picks me up and drives me the remaining hour and a half home. But not before bus driver Cindy can give me a hug.