I'm Dumb the Fourth

The past two days, I've been driving a tractor - all day, until the sun sets. It has it's perks - I've listened to all the Creedence and Led Zeppelin recordings I have and thoroughly enjoyed it, plus I get to be in the sun all day! - but it also has the major downsides of boredom and fatigue. And maybe the onset of carpal tunnel syndrome (?). (I used to think that joysticks were the best thing ever, especially if controlling a space ship or airplane in a video game. I am now totally joysticked out. I have been moving a stupid little joystick back and forth (at ~ 1Hz) for 8+ hours a day! My wrist is so sore!!!) Anyway, the reason for all the tractor driving is that it's getting very cold out here on the Western Slope, and the poor little vines may be in danger of freezing. And during the growing season we regularly strip the vines of their earthen clothing (a side effect of the turbulent inter-vine weeding made possible by the weed badger), making them even more prone to the cold. So now is the time of year to push dirt back over the bases of the vines to guard them against the cold! And what better way to do it than with yet another tractor implement?! (I think by now I've taken a full tour of the vineyard with all of 4 or 5 different implements...)

Okay. So now we're picturing me yesterday, on the tractor cruising through rows of vines. I am bundled from head to toe, a ball cap shades my eyes, and I'm now rocking out to Jethro Tull. My hand rhythmically moves a joystick back and forth, back and forth to guide a large steel blade in and out of the vines, pushing earth against them. My mind wanders to stave off boredom and monotony. I finish a row, turn the tractor and prepare to begin another, and I see one of the dumbest things on the property. A sight I'm by now familiar with (thanks to all of my tractoring), a large blue hydrant stands proud at the end of one of the vine rows... or rather, exactly in between two rows... right where any vehicle moving between the rows would have difficulty avoiding it. I don't know why it's there. It's just asking for trouble.

I noted the hydrant as I continued on beside it. "I [hoe in] should really [hoe out] remember to [hoe in] to be careful [hoe out] of that when I [hoe in] come back up the [hoe out] next row [hoe in]..." I traveled onward down the hill trying to think of some way to remember to be alert in another five minutes. My mind wandered. (It really is curious how your mind wanders when you're doing something that requires a great deal of attention and yet absolutely no brain power. It's kind of similar to the thoughts flying through your mind as you begin to fall asleep... intense, scattered and fleeting...) Back up the other side. [Ian Anderson sings: What a reason for waiting and dreaming of dreams...] End of the row. I look down and notice some irrigation piping I had safely laid aside earlier. Piping. Pipe. Hydrant. SHIT!!! I looked in front of me. No hydrant. (I was still moving forward.) Maybe this wasn't the row. I look behind me. There it was: a bent pipe gushing water, the remains of the hydrant fixture dragging behind me from the tractor. OHNOOHNOOHNOOHNO!!! I tried to stop the gushing, got wet, realized it was futile and ran to get boss man.

We headed up to the main shutoff valve for the domestic water for the entire farm, he chiding me the whole way. We shut the water off while he went to get a cap for the mangled pipe. I went to tell Colin and Anna how I was the source of the recent water scarcity. "Did you need the water for anything?" Colin replied, "Well, it was cooling the cooling tower for the still..." OHNOOHNOOHNO!! I ran back to turn the water on, a mini geyser better than a fried piece of expensive equipment. Too late. The still was okay, but the run had to be aborted. And back to shut off the water again. Lance came back with the cap, we screwed it on tight and I surrounded the pipe end with dirt so it wouldn't freeze. And back on the tractor until the sun set behind Grand Mesa.

Today, as soon as I spied the wind machine I started loudly chanting, "Matthew, don't hit the wind machine. It is imperative that you don't hit the wind machine with the tractor. It's getting closer. Don't forget. Don't hit the wind machine..."

Things that Make Me Come Alive

About two years ago, some very good friends of mine suggested that I make a list of things that make me come alive. One of these friends had created such a list - on a single blank sheet of paper, later artistically decorated - for a reason I'm now forgetting. A whim? A constructive tool for looking at the good things in life? Whatever the reason, it was a good idea. The piece of paper was proudly posted on the living room wall, and more such lists soon followed, created by each house member. And before long, a good friend and I (who frequented the house) soon added our lists to the wall.

Looking back, my what a good exercise that was. I remember feeling so good about life, myself and the person I was when I created that list. And every time I visited the house and saw those things that defined the essence of me I just... felt good inside. The house has since disbanded, and along with missing the friends who once lived there I often find myself wondering what happened to those lists. I'm not any less myself without mine, but I do think it's good to be reminded of the things that are really important to me. Furthermore, in my present mode of trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, I've taken to thinking about things in terms of whether they make me come alive or not. After all, who wants to live out their lives doing something that slowly kills their soul (the first description I could think of for the opposite of "makes he/she come alive")? Not I! So, while I have not made any major progress in determining "what to do next," I thought I would at least try to recreate my Things that Make Me Come Alive list. And I decided to post this version on everyone's living room wall via the internet. Without further ado...

Things that Make Me Come Alive
(in no particular order)

• cooking a delicious meal
• eating/sharing food with other people
• ice skating, biking down a hill, roller blading, skiing or anything else that makes me feel like I'm flying
• having good conversations with people I love
• staying up really late for the sake of a good conversation, prank, or game
• going for walks in beautiful places
• giggling hysterically with another giggler
• explaining something I know a lot about to someone who's actually interested
• working obsessively on a project
• building things
• taking pictures
• beat-boxing in the shower
• making really nerdy jokes with other nerds
• pwning n00bs - j/k lolololololololollol
  
• writing (in a journal, blogging, or other fun/creative writing)
• singing a capella with other people - improvised, hymns or Ratatat songs
• understanding a difficult concept
• being outside
• arguing for the sake of arguing (preferably about something dumb and/or funny)
• listening to good, live music in an intimate venue
• a good board game (preferably played with other competitive board game nerds)
• a good, exhausting game of squash
• salvaging things other people throw away and making cool/useful things from it
• becoming immersed in a good book
• a delicious, end-of-the-work-day reward beer
• trying new and/or exotic cuisine
• crossword puzzles
• a good night's sleep followed by waking up at a decent hour without an alarm clock
• learning about really interesting things from a scientific perspective
• helping to make someone's day better
• solving problems (having to do with math, relationships, bouldering, using closet space efficiently... whatever)
• using really nice equipment (power tools, cameras/lenses, sound equipment, etc.)
• being able to entertain a young child
• making funny faces in the mirror
• being silly
• listening to really good recorded music with really good quality sound equipment (i.e. Everything in it's Right Place turned up really loud in nice headphones)
• looking at the stars
  

I'm Dumb: Part the Third

Another delightful little quirk of Guinevere's that I may or may not have already mentioned is that she does not have a functioning parking brake. Also having a manual transmission, she occasionally gives me cute little Parking Dilemmas, especially if I need to leave the car running. These Parking Dilemmas are mostly endearing, and they were more infrequent back when I lived in Northern Indiana, but since I've moved to Colorado I have begun to become a bit more annoyed with these Dilemmas. There are times that I park - even when her engine is stopped, she is in gear and her wheels are pointing her straight into the curb - when I leave Gwen, half expecting to find her cloven in two by some telephone pole a block or two down hill. But thus far this aspect of our relationship has not strained us to a breaking point.

Aside from noticeable inclines, rural Colorado has brought another joy into my life: fences. Now I am no stranger to fences. In my early days I lived on a horse farm, and hopping horse fences was something done frequently, even for fun sometimes. And my Dad, still living in Kentucky, has gone with my on many walks in the woods, opening a cow fence here, squeezing through a barbed wire fence there. The North Fork Valley of Colorado, however, has shown me a different kind of fence. Here we have many orchards and even more mule deer. We like orchards. Deer like orchards. We don't like deer. We really don't like deer in orchards. We need deer fences everywhere! Q.E.D. And really, in order for fruit trees (or vines) to survive, deer fences are a necessity. Our vineyard makes no exception, and so a nine foot tall fence surrounds the entirety of our 70 odd acre property. Which lead me to my next paragraph.

Deer fences must annoy the hell out of deer. They can see the tender, juicy bark, they can smell it... they just can't get close to it. Theoretically deer fences should be much less of a nuisance to humans, for we designed them after all. And we can easily open and close them at our leisure. True but to an extent. Put said convenienced person in a car trying to drive out of their fenced-in driveway and suddenly replace "leisure" with "slight inconvenience, due to having to stop and wait for your passenger to open the gate and then stop again while they close it." That's assuming you have a passenger. Say you don't. Now you drive up to the gate, park, get out, open the gate, get back in, drive through, park, get back out, close the gate, get back in and you're off. [Do we see where I'm going with this yet?]

Now say that your driveway is slight incline, you drive a manual, you don't have a parking brake that works, AND you don't have a passenger... and this happens on a regular basis. Now replace "leisure" with "...I'll just drive through that [dang-tootin', confounded, sonuvagun] gate!" I never do actually work up the frustration to drive through the gate. Instead, I've - over time - channeled it into a very scientific process that has eventually led me to discover two very special car-shaped spots ,one on either side of the fence. These very special spots are flat enough that I can leave my car idling, in neutral while I open and close the gate, saving the time and frustration of turning my car on and off three times within 2 minutes of leaving my home. [Funny, the trivial crap I grouse about, eh?] Yay trial and error.

Okay. Lots of build-up... ending in Matthew being clever? But he's Dumb, right? Yes. Dumb to trust in his own cleverness. As it so happened, this evening I found myself leaving home for Paonia with the intent of visiting friends. Approaching the gate in the dark, I veered slightly to the left, heading straight for my sweet spot. It's hard to remember exactly where it is, and you do have to be right on it. Sometimes I stop too early and have to roll and tap the brakes a few times to get right on it. [Also, I'm dumb because I haven't realized that this actually takes longer than turning my car off and on again.] Tonight I had to try a few times to get it right. I got out to open the gate. The car looked like it moved a little. I quick hopped in and laid on the brake a bit to be sure it had stopped. I opened the gate. I looked up the road to notice a car zooming down it toward me. The thought struck me: Wouldn't it suck if my car... The thought interrupted my other thought: At this point in movies, by the time it takes a character to think such a thought, it's already too la... shit shit shit! I zipped up to my accelerating vehicle and barely [frantically] managed to slam on the brake, just in time. (In my rush, I also managed to slam on the accelerator at the same time, so the passing car must have thought me quite aggressive - rushing the road then revving my engine...) Phew!

I guess I learned my lesson, though. When pulling out of my driveway the sweet spot is just a wee little bit further back. I'll get it next time!

The Moral Ambiguity of the Musical Pirate

I don't steal music. Well, I might, but I won't admit to anyone over a public blog that I do. In any event I have plenty of thoughts on the subject of musical piracy. Here I will only touch on a few and those only to lead up to an interesting dilemma, primarily directed toward the Imperial Guard of the musical seas. (But I'm happy to discuss any time.)

In the world of today, digital files seem to have completely dominated the musical world. Personally I can remember back to having a Walkman (not to be confused with Discman, one of which I also had), but now this just serves to make me feel old. Anyone under the age of 16 now gives the same blank stare to "cassette tape" they would to "8-track." (I still don't really know what those are, by the way. I've just seen weird little Atari game-shaped plastic boxes that have crappy artist names on them, usually found in thrift stores. Anyone remember Atari?...) Now it's all mp3, digital music players, and i-friggin'-Tunes! If I ever get around to watching TV (doesn't happen often) I'm bombarded by companies wanting me to buy their latest mp3 player. CDs are out! The ease of digital music is in! (What I'm saying is it's Technology and Marketing's fault that music is so easy to steal.) I'm of the first generation that grew up computer mouse in hand, learning to copy and paste. It's second nature to me, and not surprising to me that so many people my age don't give a second thought to deftly copying a friend's music files just as they would a friend's photos.

Now there is that tricky little bit where it's illegal to copy copyrighted material. Artists work hard to make albums, and arguably, stealing an album is like stealing a little tiny bit of their paycheck. One could counterargue and say things like, "the record labels get all the money anyway," or "the Rolling Stones are already too rich," but the fact remains (even I'm freely willing to admit) stealing music is illegal. Okay. Let's get to that dilemma. (Only a few paragraphs away!)

So how do I feel about all of this? I love music. I love hearing new music, and I love having a large music collection and knowing it intimately enough that I can just about mirror any mood I'm in with an album I choose to put on. I also love to share music with others - to learn what music gets them excited and then make mixes or suggestions of music I think they will like. I am also poor (relatively speaking). This, plus my aforementioned tendency to think of music files as any other files (that can be copied and pasted), make it fairly easy for me to rationalize acquiring music in a less-than-legitimate way. (And a lot of older rock band are either really rich or dead...) Even so, I do try to support smaller bands that I really enjoy, or even bigger bands that I really enjoy. And though that is the secondary goal (the first being me getting more music), it's still sometimes hard to get past the fact that bands still only get a tiny cut of an album sale. And that's not to mention the fact that when I do get around to buying new CDs, I buy them used when I can. And when I do that, the band doesn't get any money from that particular transaction anyway! What to do?!

(One potentially good answer was provided by Radiohead a few years ago - offer download by donation on your website and create a direct money-for-music transaction between listener and artist, the listener paying as much as he/she is able or willing. It does help to be ridiculously successful enough to have a huge fan base in place and to be able to produce an album independently... But, perhaps this is the album-purchasing format of the future.)

Now please allow me to tell a poorly-disguised third person story about my friend Dylan. Dylan was swapping some music with a good friend. One of the bands his friend was very excited about was the RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND. She put it on his hard-drive. (Had she not, he would not have remembered the band's name, and they are small enough he may never have heard of them again.) A few months later, Dylan found the album on his iPod and put it on. The RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND was awesome! He began listening to them on a regular basis, being especially enchanted by the thoughtful lyrics and amazing voice of the lead singer, the band's namesake. By chance, he happened to look on the band's website and see that they were playing in Carbondale, a town near to which *ironically* both Dylan and I live. So on the night of the concert, Dylan braved the blowing snow, up and over mountain passes, and made the trek to Carbondale to see the RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND. [Incidentally, I happened to be at the same show, and Dylan and I had a great time catching up.] Dylan helped supported the band with his $15 cover charge, sat up front, was blown away by their awesomeness and then blew about $20 in merchandise (two albums not acquired from his friend). What's more Dylan gave the RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND support and appreciation while on the road (and they are small enough still that their setup is five dudes and all their stuff in a van... and they spent the night in the guitar shop where they played.).

So here is the moral dilemma. What Dylan did was wrong. He took music that wasn't his, from a small band that he now likes, what's more. But if he hadn't, that band would count one less among their fans and would be down two album sales. So having music stolen from them was... ultimately in their best interest?? It's unclear. And, as my mom sometimes points out, the train of logic described above really is just glorified rationalization. It's still stealing. True. But it's still an interesting situation.

After I started writing this I asked Dylan if he planned on giving the RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND money to compensate for the earlier acquired album, or just actually buying it. He was on the fence, but he said he would feel a little better about it if he convinced me to write the name of the band in ALL CAPS throughout my post so as to draw attention to it. Maybe it will eventually lure just one more potential fan into checking them out on YouTube and then buying all of their albums...



The RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND is pretty cool!

On a somewhat related note, I'll be driving to Aspen in another few weeks to see another newly discovered band called OZOMATLI. They are also awesome - very high energy shows from what I hear... Check them out too. after you buy all of Ryan Montbleau's albums...

A Juxtaposition of Two Contrasting Scenes that Presented Themselves to Me This Morning

Colin sews by the fire.

A winter wonderland.

[Note: This post was supposed to happen about a week ago. The internets were dumb back then and wouldn't let me post pictures. By now the snow has melted and I've been working in a T-shirt.]

On the Mend

Well, it's been quite a while since I last wrote. Harvest - and the duties that went with it - has been completed now for about a week and a half. My psyche is slowly recovering (long hours on a tractor can be therapeutic for the mental stress induced by overworking), and my body is even slower in recovering, though for non-harvest related reasons.

Don't get me wrong. Harvest destroyed my body. Between picking up full bins of grapes (weighing in between 35 and 40 pounds) from the field and then later repetitively dumping them into the destemmer, I estimate that during each of the 7 days of harvest I lifted the weight of a bin at least 300 times. Ouch. Sometimes I thought I could feel the muscles in my arms and back ripping and breaking down, all without getting the chance to rest and restrengthen. (There's a reason weightlifters do reps of the same kind every other day...) We crushed the last of the grapes on a Thursday. My mom and stepdad had arrived the day before, and it was a relief to be granted a three day weekend. I slept in and took it easy, going on a few short hikes with my mom on Saturday and Sunday. My body was beginning to recover. A leisurely bike ride Saturday morning and a recreational game of Ultimate on Sunday helped me further in recharging my bodily energy. So by Monday afternoon - a full day of work under my belt after my weekend of recovery - I was feeling up to a bit more bodily exertion. I hopped on my bike (instead of accompanying Colin to yoga) and set of for a tour of our mesa.


At first I considered just doing a loop or figure-8 on top of the mesa. Then I remembered how a friend and I had been talking of biking over a pass in the near future... I should really train for that, I thought. And though the sun was quickly sinking, it was a beautiful autumn day and I decided to prolong my ride by biking down the mesa and then back up. And down I went, taking the same route I had several times before. My speedometer recently fixed, I watched my speed gradually increase: 18 mph... 20...23... brake check... The section of road I was on wasn't exactly beautiful pavement, and so while tapping my brakes to maintain a reasonable speed (around 20 mph for the curves in this road by my judgement) I also tried to avoid the nastiest bumpy places. (An extra incentive toward this goal is the fact that my tires are tiiiiiiny... and pumped up to ~ 150 psi. Combine this with an aluminum frame and you have a recipe for a bumpy ride!)

It's hard to say just what exactly happened. As best I can recall I was trying to avoid some patchy asphalt, and I moved closer to the shoulder (the 2 inches on the other side of where the white line would be if there was a white line... the back roads of Colorado are not accomodating in their width) in doing so. About this time, though I was actively in the process of slowing down, a left turn in front of me told my brain that I was going a bit too fast. And I was too close to the shoulder. And a chunk of the shoulder was missing in front of me. Oh shit.

I think I was trying to brake, but I think I also knew the crash was inevitable. Though my brain was aware it was about to going flying along with it's home - my body - it did not provide me with a way out of the situation. Nor did it even decide the best way to try to fall. Just: you're not gonna make that turn. So what can we do about thi... well, at least we were wearing a helmet. And the next thing I new I was lying half on the road and half in the dirt, my bike on top of me: the classic "endo" (cool biker slang for "end over").

Remarkably, I wasn't very phased. It probably helped that I had had an almost identical crash a little over a year ago (sans mesa). I didn't feel pain, but this time I wasn't fooled. I knew that whatever chemicals my body had pumped through my veins as I was hurtling through the air would dull the pain only temporarily - I would be one sore dude in less than 30 minutes. Damage assessment: knee pretty banged up, shorts torn a bit... *ouch* elbow's pretty sad looking. (For those who have seen my nasty elbow scar from my past bike accident, be sad (or glad) to know that it is no more. This crash managed to obliterate most of it and cleave what remained in two. I can't wait to see what new scar-within-a-scar will form next...) Well, body's okay - or... good enough - what about the bike? I picked up the scattered water bottles and speedometer and turned my attention to my precious bicycle. Hope it won't cost too much, I thought. But as I tested all the levers and spun the tires I realized that not so much as a wheel was out of true. Amazing. Okay, good to go. T minus 20 minutes until I succomb to unbearable pain.


I reached into my fanny pack [Stop laughing. I can't afford the fancy bike jerseys with the nifty little pockets in the back.] and took out my cell phone to call Lance. "Yeah, so uh, I kinda wrecked my bike. Could you come pick me up? Great. Oh, and you might wanna bring some paper towels..." And the rest is just boring details. Lance graciously picked me up and drove me home, I picked the grit out of my elbow, I took some flattering pictures, I cooked some supper, I popped a few ibuprofen, I told Colin to pick up some gauze on his way home... And now I'm on the mend, I suppose.


But for me, "on the mend" is the classic two steps forward, one step back deal. I took the smallest band-aids off a few days after the wreck. Then I smashed my left middle finger between a rock and a hard place (a steel tractor implement in this case) - literally. By yesterday afternoon I was already feeling up to playing ultimate frisbee. I played - in bare feet even, thanks to the beautiful day - and between the dry climate and the stress of running in bare feet both of my feet developed nasty slits (resembling paper cuts) that now hurt like crazy when I don't walk just so. But the bandage is off my knee and that elbow is looking better and better... (So I should wear a helmet to work tomorrow?)

I'd like to end on a positive note, though. I'm a firm believer in experiencing life, and I try to as much as possible. Though sometimes "experiencing life" means taking some risks sometimes, I often feel they are worth it; the rush of the wind in my face as I zoom down a mesa on my bike is well worth the occasional road rash. Some people see my bandages or notice my limp and feel bad for me, but I'm truly in good spirits. I'll mend. And I'm enjoying life. And I do realize that sometimes you don't get to be so lucky, but that's just life too, isn't it? My friends and I joke, but I really do prefer the phrase "tell Mom it was worth it" to "sorry, I can't."

In case that's not a positive enough note, here's an even better one: I finished my first-ever batch of chocolate truffles a few hours ago. They're delicious.

Harvest: A Haiku

Four days and not done.
Averaging eleven hours
a day. Help me, God.

No really. Life's crazy right now. We had an early frost the night of Sept. 30 that wiped out most of the vines and the frost the following night took care of the rest. So now it's a race to harvest all of the grapes before they rot on the vine - or otherwise degrade. Personally, I've done little harvesting. I've done plenty of distributing empty picking bins to workers and picking up said bins when full... as well as even more destemming, crushing, pressing and pressure washing the bejesus out of all of the equipment in between each of those steps. It's been a long, taxing process, but I've been on auto pilot for the last 2 days or so. We'll be done soon... (right?) Plus I get to eat tons and tons of delicious grapes. (Wine grapes are like the kind you get at the store... only way sweeter and way better!) You haven't lived 'til you've taken a full cluster, lowered it in its entirety into your mouth and pulled of every single berry, slowly crushing them all with your entire mouth, juice dribbling down your chin... (Counterpoint: pressure washing tanks in the dark with a cold, dry wind blowing all the water onto your bare face and hands, extracting all of the warmth from your body totally sucks.)