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Dear Hollywood Screenwriters Guild:

I’m writing you today because I’m sick and tired (and just downright annoyed) with your pathetic and hokey attempts to created realistic impressions of “hackers” and “nerds.” To the best of my knowledge, you’ve never gotten it right yet, and you give people the wrong ideas.

So, if you’ll allow me, I’ll let you in on a few secrets.

1. Just because you don’t know how to use your Mac doesn’t mean someone who does is capable of using it to penetrate any computer network anywhere in two seconds flat.

2. Most electronics hardware is incompatible. There’s nowhere you could even PUT the SIM card from your cell phone in your computer, and even if you did, you wouldn’t suddenly have access to a network of satellites and bank accounts. Sorry.

3. Bad fake operating systems are like bad fake actors (see: Nicolas Cage). Bad fake operating systems make your movie look bad, just like bad acting. It’s nice to think that “hackers” use operating systems that are lightyears more advanced than anything known to man, where windows slide and shimmer and dance and swirl, and where everything in the known universe is available at the touch of a few keys. But the truth is: all of your fake “super advanced” operating systems look stupid and fake. Give us a break.

4. Most “nerds” are actually normal people. They eat normal (sometimes even healthy) food; drink water, coffee and beer (not just energy drinks), tend to have good complexions (see: no pimples), friends (girlfriends, too!), and other hobbies. In fact, most of the nerds I know are outgoing, athletic and attractive. They just happen to like and be good with computers.

5. Copying equations out of a math book doesn’t make your movie look smart.

6. No one can calculate logarithms or advanced physics equations in their heads. Much less instantly while dodging bullets in a burning nuclear reactor.

7. Most “nerds” have clean, well-lit work stations. Darkness causes eye strain.

8. Computers are essentially secure and impenetrable.

9. Even if “hackers” existed, there’s absolutely nothing on your home computer that a “hacker” would possible want? What? To steal your scripts? To steal the pictures of your girlfriend? Don’t flatter yourself.

10. Not all “good” guys use Macs. And not all “bad” guys use PCs. Honest.

11. Most “hacking” is done by brilliant social engineers with only a minimum of computer proficiency. Not by drinking Mountain Dew in a dark room listening to German techno typing furiously into a green-and-black console.

Ah ha! It’s been a while… Nevertheless (and rather to my surprise), life plods inexorably along, even in the absence of blog posts. Who knew.

So. When I last checked in, I had a broken back (or, rather, a herniated disc). Though I get better day by day (little by little), this is still very much the case. The annoyance of being broken makes the most salient feature of the passing days, but I try not to complain. (Ha! That’s a lie!)

Perhaps to the detriment of the healing process, I’ve nevertheless tried to remain somewhat active: possibly detrimental to my back, but absolutely essential to my mental health.

Ah. Well, fall is in there air–or has been these past few days. The evenings have become chilly–the mornings too. So much so, in fact, that I found myself putting on shoes, yesterday, instead of flip-flops: a sure sign that fall is upon us! Along with socks and shoes, the arrival of teaming minions of new and insultingly young faces on campus portends the change of seasons. Sorry suckers. Someone should warn them!

Hrm. I seem to be somewhat out of the practice of posting.

I know! I’ll post some pictures. Pictures taken with my new camera–a shiny, brown Canon SD1100. The camera I received as a graduation gift from my brother four yeas ago has finally resigned itself to the big dirt nap, as it were, after taking some 11,866 pictures. The power button was failing–sometimes it wouldn’t turn on at all–but it was the little accident with the Pelican Case that proved to be its undoing.

Here: pictures! (It’s a link!)

2008.08.25 Lost River Range et al.

I’m all registered for classes and such. In a bold move, I’m taking two classes at the same time–which means either I’ll finally master the art of being in two places at the same time … or I’ll be skipping some class, now and again. Against my better judgment, of course.

A few econ classes, a history class, a math class and a geology class, rounding out to 21 credit hours. I’m on track to graduate in May with Bachelors of Arts in Economics, if nothing else. Hopefully I’ll get something for my ~100 credit hours of history classes. Who knows. I just might.

Why won’t my pictures upload? Silly Picasa keeps getting stuck at 67%… ooh! 68%!

Ah. So I’m on Worker’s Comp these days. Does that make me a parasite? A drag on society? Honestly, I feel a might bit ambivalent about it–but so long as I’m not able to do the things I enjoy–so long as I’m not able to ride my bicycle–I’m going to take it.

Oh! The new Procrastinator Theater is finished (mostly!). There’s a soft opening this Friday. It’s not what it should have been (once again, the students at MSU have been screwed by the administration), but it’s still pretty awesome. The updated projection system looks really good, and with Dolby Digital Surround, sounds pretty good, too.

Blah. My next post will be better. I promise!

Usually I try to stay above this muck and mire … especially when it comes to the content of my blog. Nevertheless, I post the following, because I think it deserves note and speaks for itself:

—

In other news, I’m a wee bit injured.

Here’s a picture I stole from Yahoo (who stole it from Intermountain Medical Imaging, Boise, Idaho. All Rights Reserved):

-Figure 1 is a normal, healthy lumbar spine.
-Figure 2 is a spine with a herniated disc at L5/S1.

Now, I present a picture from the MRI I had last Tuesday:

Now, play doctor.

…

Come to find out, the pain is the least of discomforts associated with being injured.

(Perhaps being injured is like having chicken pox–it’s better to get it (for the first time) when you’re young: it’s worse when you’re older. By which I mean: I’ve never been injured before. Perhaps, if I had been, I would be better equipped to deal with this now.)

No, rather, it’s the being debilitated, helpless, broken.

I’ve learned some about myself over the past few days, weeks. I’ve learned that I’m happiest when I feel strong, capable–be that physically, or otherwise. When I’m running up a hill. When I write well. When I successfully repair my car.

Of late, it’s a struggle to put on my pants in the morning. I feel weak and pathetic, helpless and stupid and worthless.

Now, play psychologist.

On Tuesday, I was supposed to be on top of Grand Teton. Instead, I limped pathetically to the hospital and laid on my stomach in the lobby waiting room–waiting to go get pushed through a huge magnet that would cook my insides and take pictures of my broken fleshy parts–because it’s too painful to sit.

I’ve been irritable. Go figure. I’ve taken it out on those closest to me–those kind enough to rub Icy Hot on me where I’m too stiff or sore to reach; those to who call with their care and concern. And that, in turn, makes me feel worse. A self-defeating cycle. You know who you are: I’m sorry. I don’t want to be like this.

Enough of this pity-party. Sagar arrives tonight. Ken and Baugh wed tomorrow night. The Yellowstone River awaits. So much to do! So much excitement ahead! Farewell!

7 July 2008
Up at 5:50 am, I kiss Christina goodbye, strap on my pack, and bike down the Montana Conservation Corps office. We load our rig (Blanco, a gigantic 2001 Ford Excursion (or Ford Extinction, as others call it)). Tools and packs strapped securely to the top, we merge on to I-90, west-bound for Ashton, Idaho, and the Jedediah Smith Wilderness.

The Jedediah Smith Wilderness abuts the back side of the Tetons–between the rocky pinnacle ridges of the Teton range and the Targhee National Forest in Idaho. The wilderness itself is just inside the Wyoming border. Established by Congressional Act in 1984, the “Jed” is an integral part of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, and home to many a GRIZ.

8 July 2008
Our day is spent hiking, clearing drains, brushing, and removing trees from the trail. Working in a wilderness area, we use two-man crosscut saws, rather than chain saws. Though slower than its motorized counterpart, the two-inch, razor-sharp teeth of the crosscut make light work of even 18″ Douglas Fir stumps.

We’ve seen little wildlife, but they’re here: the prints of a mountain lion and a moose both cover our own in the dusty trail this morning.

A full cadre of mountain wildflowers are in bloom. Today we hike past upland larkspurs (delphinium nuttallianum–poisonous, with spur-shaped stamen), silvery lupine (lupinus argenteus), common yampah, mules-ear wyethia (wyoethia amplexicaulis, the shorter cousins of full-sized sunflowers), and multitudinous little sticky geraniums (geranium viscossimum), with their pink and purple flowers and bright-red veins.

9 July 2008
I think the significance of the Tower of Babel lies not in the confounding of tongues, but rather in the proud guesture of the building of the tower itself. In a sense, one might reduce the whole of human existance to a struggle against gravity. So much of what we do centers on up–on conquering the indomitable force that keeps us all earthbound, humble, human. Viz., sit-ups, pull-ups, push-ups. Viz., climbing mountains, cliffs, ladders. We’re all engaged in a rich struggle to push ourselves up, to pull ourselves up, to climb, to soar. We raise a structure, we build an alter–lifting stones from the ground, raising them further from the epicenter of gravity’s pull.

It’s in this sense that I begin to understand how the building of an alter is a deeply spiritual act. An alter is an accomplishment, and a deeply human act: the act of building up, away from the ground.

One wonders: what possessed the builders of the Tower of Babel to build a structure that would reach the sky? It must have been, as the Bible tells it, hubris: to think that one could reach the sky. Or hubris: building a tower as transfiguration from earth-bound mortal to a god.

It’s hardly surprising that being of or living in the cosmos is always an attribute of a god or diety: for the Greeks and Romans, their gods living in the skies, or on a distant mountain peak. For the Christians and Jews, their god resides in the distance heavens; their “devil” is located deeply in the ground. For Hindus, Rama is a personification of the sun. Among the synonyms for deity is cosmocrat–a supreme and all-powerful rules of the earth, derived from the Greek cosmos + crat. Living in the heavens is as much an attribute of a godhead as omnipotence or omniscience.

10 July 2008
Hiking toward Hidden Lake this early this morning, we happened to encounter a Great Gray Owl, perched on the branch of a dead, bare tree. Seemingly undisturbed by our presence, he gazed at us while we gazed at him–swiveling his head around a full 180 degrees, in typical owl fashion. He let us approach to within 15 feet, cameras in hand (or, in my case, enjoying his presence and tolerance of us meddling humans), before flying off–perhaps in search of some breakfast.

11 July 2008
I–we–live with an excess of energy. We evolved in–and for–the primordial. For a life nasty, brutish and–for the least well-adapted–short. We–like any beast of the field–are animals built for survival, to struggle amongst the terrible vicissitudes of the wilderness.

We–though some are rapidly breeding that way–are not for the city, for feathertop beds with four inch memory-foam, for dinners with four forks, two spoons, three knives and myriad rules, for makeup, day spas, a full array of etiquette, regulations, creature comforts.

There’s too much energy in us, still, which, once recognized, can be readily identified all around us. IN the case of the musician or artist of athlete, this energy–designed for the struggle of the wild–is channeled in one’s passion, bt it music, art or sport.

But for those who lack an artists’ talent or an athlete’s calling, there must be some other outlet. These outlets are many–but too frequently destructive, or self-destructive. The smashing of microwaves, fights with strangers (or lovers), drug or alcohol addiction, senseless and violent wars–all attempts to drown or obfuscate that excess of energy. But never with much success, and too often with much destruction.

The best of these outlets, by far, is Feel is a return to the wilderness, the primordial. To challenge one’s strength and ability and prowess and tenacity and endurance against nature, to live for a time as nature intended, as we evolved to live.

Ed Abbey suggests that wilderness is necessary for civilization. Necessary may be too strong of a word–but complementary, certainly. Complimentary to a restful and complete civilization–one less ravaged by violence, drugs, anger and destructive degeneracy.

12 July 2008
There’s no easy to scribble one’s thoughts on one’s knee. Nevertheless, I’ll attempt it, rather than endure the dim, suffocating confines of the in-of-doors.

Today’s accomplishment: M-Crew (Mark, mark, Justin, Goose) fixed 38 waterbars that D-Crew spent the last four days working hard on but doing wrong. Donna (D-Crew leader) didn’t handle Mark’s (M-Crew leader) criticism of her poorly-constructed waterbars with much grace; she’s not a graceful person.

Yesterday, we cleared 14 trees (making our week’s total 35) owned on the Hidden Lake Trail past Conant Basin.

The trail to past Conant Basin has been particularly beautiful. We’ve climbed high enough (finally) for the trees to thin, giving us breathtaking views of the Northern Teton Range and the Jedeidah Smith Wilderness, as well as the stretching agricultural fields of eastern Idaho, beyond.

As we gain elevation, the mountain flowers change. We leave behind the silverly lupines and larkspur. We walk, instead, into fields of little yellow flowers (perhaps Cliff Anemones?) and huge mountain columbines with white petals, purple sepals and giant, shooting stigmata (bursting with energy, as though a shooting meteorite caught in motion).

13 July 2008
I love the way light blasts through the trees–this morning: tall, limbless lodgepole pines–hiking in to the worksite in the mornings. It’s like the sensation of the afternoon sun through the trees, watching out of a car window–but slower, brighter, more felt–and with the full dewy freshness of early morning.

It’s day seven and we’re cooking dinner and taking showers at the Porcupine Forest Service Guard Station (now just housing for Forest Service Personelle), courtesy of Brandon. Dinner’s ready–Train’s chili–and I’m hungry after a long day of swinging a pick-mattox and hiking.

Tomorrow we work a half day, then pack our tents and head back to civilization for a while. Or, in my case, back to civilization long enough to rent a raft before taking off again.

—

Photos from our last hitch are available at
http://picasaweb.google.com/tcrompton/WorkingOnTheBitch, courtesy of Tom “Train” Crompton.

Until October 31st, the only reasonable and reliable way to get in contact with me will be via my cellphone. The number is: 307-421-1500.

Emails will likely sit in my inbox for two to four weeks before being read, and the likelihood of receiving a reply (when I have 10,000 unread messages) is very, very low.

Snail mail might work–the USPS is pretty reliable, but who knows if I’ll get the mail once it arrives at my house (I’ve already lost one package…). My new address is:

1621 S Rouse Ave
Bozeman, MT 59715-5754

Smoke signals may prove effective until the start of fire season–though, due to a recent bout of pink eye (and its associated affect on my eyesight), any smoke signals sent in the last week went unobserved by me.

Yes, I’m hard to contact sometimes.

Yes, I’m bad about returning phone calls.

Yes, I’m terrible about returning emails.

No, I’ve never sent a letter.

Yes, I’m cognoscente of my short comings as a son, brother, friend, lover, etc. — as least, in so far as communication is concerned.

And, yes, you’re right: I’m not about to change any of that. =)

Good luck.