Steellover

A lot of people talk about "Urban Exploration" as wandering around old abandoned factories and buildings and yeah, that IS kind of cool (although risky if you get caught for breaking and entering) to me it just means, discovering cool stuff close to home, in my home town, having random adventures without really going far.

Any kind of strenuous hiking, exercise, and/or long distance driving were out of the question this past weekend as I was far from 100% back to full health, and didn't have much energy for it.  So we stayed pretty close to home.  So we were driving down some random street, just cruising. It was one of those super wooded streets in this old part of town.  And then we roll up on this ancient Victorian house, kind of like one of those old haunted looking houses, surrounded by dense leafy trees already turning yellow.  A sign out front said "Artist Open Studios" (or something to that effect) and on the front door, a sign basically saying, come on in.  Well, this was intriguing, so on a whim, we parked out front and decided to go check this out.  We went up to the front door and knocked.  This woman- the artist's daughter as it turned out, answered it.  "Uh, so like, does the artist live here?"  I ask.  "Come on in!  Yeah, here he is (pointing to this old guy in an easy chair) and feel free to wander around and explore!" We looked at each other, nodded, - and stepped inside. 

The place was awesome.  The entire house was filled, top to bottom, with brightly colored paintings- abstract modernist style, each one colorful and bold. We struck up a conversation with the artist. His name was Tarmo Watia, and he had been doing this for literally, over sixty five years.  Born in Michigan, the son of immigrants from Finland (obviously) he had taught art all over the country, and had showings all over the world- and here he was, living right here in our little home town, and just opened up his house to us. How awesome was this?  We ended up buying a piece from this guy, a small original for like $65. But there was so much art the choices were endless.  Stacks of unframed watercolors sat on the tables and benches. In a side room off the living room, entire binders- dozens of them- were full of paintings, along with more stacks.  "Yeah, feel free to go upstairs," the daughter said.  Seriously?  Well, the stairwell was one of those narrow, dark winding staircases where you would almost expect some ghostly figure to descend, but instead it was the opposite- what we found at the top were nothing but whole rooms full of brightly colored paintings.  Huge canvases sat in rows in one tiny bedroom, while another room had more canvases and supplies. At the back of the upstairs, was a bright, sunny room, with windows all around, that was full of easels and art supplies and paintings in various stages of completion- this must be where he worked, I thought. 

Just this house alone was awesome enough.  But filled to the brim with Tarmo Watia paintings- it was like an artistic wonderland. There must have been at least 20,000 pieces of art here.  And that's no exaggeration, remember he had been painting for over sixty five years.  The only thing missing, we noted, was a typical bedroom.  "Oh, I just sleep on the couch; I have little need for rest; I'm just always creating." He said. Tarmo was just the coolest old dude in the world, and I didn't mind saying so. If you ever get a chance, check out his stuff online; it's really vivid and colorful.  So anyway, you never know what kind of random cool stuff you'll run up against when out on a local urban exploration.  Even though I didn't really "Do much" it was still pretty cool overall.  Anyway just thought I'd share that.  That's about it; see ya.

I'm just getting over the stupid flu, which meant that the time off I had planned to go exploring the back country last week, turned into time off exploring different ways to lie on the couch.  It sucks being sick ANY time of year, but especially now, when you want to grab the last opportunity to enjoy the nice weather before the curtain of late fall/winter darkness and sleet/rainy dreariness falls on us, and consigns ALL of your adventures to indoors. 

But indoor adventures can be just as fun and amazing with the right partner....  Though, those of you dudes out there who are lucky (or unlucky, as the case may be) to be suffering through "locktober," I can only imagine the longing, and the unchecked lust, you are already feeling. I wish I could say hang in there but the month is still young and it will only get more intense.  A man is easily led by his balls, and you ladies, if you are holding the key (literally) now is the time you are discovering this...Discovering the power and pleasure of being wanted, of being sexual.  Relish it.  

I'd be ready for the Locktober Chastity Challenge except... well, a couple things. For one, I got the stupid flu (I'm too tired for any kind of challenge, plus, man, it's freezing in here dammit!)  and, well the obvious reason.  My cute redhead friend just isn't into things like this.... 

All this typing has made me exhausted.  Time for my second mid-afternoon nap. If I can get the thermostat fixed. It says it's 70  F. in here. Feels more like 30.  Man, it's freezing in here. 

I don't want to bore people with two travel-log/adventure blogs in a row, but this was so cool I just wanted to share it.

The saying "The Higher You Get, the Higher You Get" just sounds cool, and it can mean any number of things, depending on what it means to you as a person. I first came across this saying painted across the roof of this cabin, located high up in the mountains of Idaho.  Actually, VERY high up.  You can't drive to it.  It's strictly a hike in/hike out.  Though I saw some chick on an electric, pedal assist mountain bike cranking up to it, but I personally wouldn't even want to ride one of those up there.  For me it was just an uphill slog, roughly four miles and nearly 2500 feet of vertical elevation gain over that distance.  Switchback after switchback after endless switchback, knees and legs aching.   Up and up through the lodge pole pines and aspens, topping out on an exposed rocky ridge top, then more switchbacks.  I have heard of people running, jogging the whole route, but even when I was in my peak physical shape in my early/mid 20s, when I used to be a distance runner,  I couldn't imagine doing that. That's world class athlete stuff right there. Walking it was strenuous enough.  It's 2500 feet of vertical gain!  Plus, you top out at a headache-inducing 9500 feet above sea level, making you feel like you are in the Himalayas. 

But once you're there....it LOOKS like the Himalayas. The cabin sits in a small meadow basin, surrounded by 12,000 foot peaks all around you, everywhere you look.  It is just epically intense. From what I can tell, the cabin is open to the public for overnight hikers on a first come, first serve basis, maybe there's a way to reserve it with the Forest Service but I'm not sure about that. I stopped in, signed the guest book, hung out for a while taking in the alpine views and scenery before heading back down the mountain. 

The fall colors were starting to come out and the aspens were bright yellow. And the weather was perfect- Well no, actually I take it back; it wasn't. There were some intermittent showers on the way up, and coming back down. Every so often, the sun would come out for a while though, and reveal the expansive views in all their glory, at times bathing the craggy canyons and distant peaks in a misty haze, other times they shone clear and bright.  A few disconcerting rumbles of thunder on the way back down had me quicken my pace until I was safely further down under the wooded canopy, where the first set of switchbacks wind up and down the canyon side. The rain actually helped keep me cool; this would have probably been much tougher in the heat of mid-summer.

I reflect on the saying painted on the roof of the cabin. It can mean a number of things. The higher you get, you do get sort of a runner's high I guess. It gives you an ambition, to climb higher for more rewards and a feeling of accomplishment.  (Though it was an intense workout, I actually felt like the hike I did three weeks ago was harder.) But more than that, you get high on the views, the intensity and the awesome power of nature and the connection to the divine. 

It's been, I dunno, probably almost 2 months, or something since I've written anything, I can't even remember for sure.  It isn't so much that I've lost interest in this site, as I have been periodically checking it, but it's just that... I've just been focused on other things:  Art, festivals, travelling, hiking, exploring, and a whole bunch of other stuff.  Mostly good.  I prefer to talk about good stuff, as much as it might seem like the opposite sometimes.

While I was out visiting family in California, I went to church with my mother.  I won't focus on religion or God here, as I'm not even sure blog rules on this site even allow it.  But I did vibe with the sermon a lot.  I've actually heard her talk about this more than once.  She said, that approaching the divine is like being atop a mountain, a blissful, beautiful, and peaceful place, the culmination of a quest.  And once atop that mountain,  all you want to do is stay there, and once you leave, all you want to do is get back there.

But we are called upon to take those feelings we have, of being on that mountain, and carry them with you and keep them in your heart as we descend and live our lives in the daily grind in the real world.  

About a week ago, I took a long hike into the mountains, in an area of the state that isn't as well traveled as some of the more "Famous" areas of the country, like, say, Yosemite or Yellowstone.  But it is just as intense and beautiful, and it does take some effort to get there:  Driving a dirt road over a pass with a 2000 foot plummet (no guard rail of course, and if you go over the side, well, you would have a good 30 seconds of free-fall.) then navigating more rugged dirt roads. Then, the hike starts innocently enough: a short climb over a quarter mile gives way to endless alpine meadows crisscrossed by a clear stream and ringed with tall mountains. Two stream crossings later, suddenly the mountain comes AT YOU, and it's a mile and a half STRAIGHT UP, which feels like 3 miles, as you gain nearly all of the 1800 foot elevation gain in that stretch.  And the climb makes you feel fat and out of shape even if you aren't- because you top out at around 9400 feet above sea level.

Then you get there.  Suddenly you see it through the trees: A stunning emerald blue-green alpine lake, ringed with evergreens, and 11,000 foot peaks towering above you. Fish jumping, chipmunks chirping.  And you just want to rest, and take it in and never leave.  And when you get back to your vehicle, tired and sore, you feel like you really did have a brush with the infinite power of light and creation. 

And when you are sitting at your desk at work the next day, sore and tired but strangely at peace, all you want to do is get back there.  And the memory of that day stays with you, keeping you content through the week.

There have been so many tributes to Ozzy Osbourne that I don't even know whether to add mine, as it would sound trite and would just echo what so many others have already said, both on this website and on others I frequent.  I've been known to do a few music-related blogs on here from time to time; a lot of people do this and our musical taste is a part of who we are. Ozzy's first couple albums were a huge part of my early teenage years, and I loved both the electrifying guitar work,  screaming solos and riffs, as much as Ozzy's unequaled persona.  He sold the image of the rebellious and slightly edgy rock n' roll rebel, but compared to, say, the likes of GG Allin, or some of the more blatantly satanic themed bands like Venom, he was fairly tame by comparison (so much so, that my parents didn't really mind me listening to him, objecting more to the volume at which I played his music as opposed to the music itself.  And I never really liked Venom anyway.) 

I know, a lot of people, including a lot of you people reading this, probably weren't Ozzy fans.  So with that said, I can't help but look back on the death of another rock icon, nearly 30 years ago now (Wow, time has flown.)  This was Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead, a man who commanded not just a huge following, but an entire lifestyle devoted to him and his music.  I remember the Deadheads, travelling tie-dyed hippies, following the band around and listening to their music, almost exclusively, for days on end.  I knew a ton of these people.  I myself was never a particular fan of the Grateful Dead. I always thought they were over-rated, and that their music was kinda boring, to be honest.  But yet, I couldn't help but feel a little bit of sorrow nonetheless when he passed away.  Here was a guy who gave so much to so many people for such a long time, bringing happiness to a lot of people who might not have been in the best space.  How can you not appreciate that?

The main difference between Jerry Garcia and Ozzy was that, when he stepped off that stage for the last time, Jerry never realized that it would be the last time.  He had hoped to continue for many long years.  So he never really got to say goodbye, which was kind of sad.  Ozzy, on the other hand, knew that it would be his last show.  He was dying, he knew it, but he wanted to get one final chance for a final good-bye.  And he did.  It was still bittersweet, but listening to the footage, he sounded fine, and the crowd got to sing with him, and it was so sweet that he got to tell the crowd he loved them one last time, and feel the love from the crowd for one last time.  It was the perfect send off, and even though I'm sad, I'm glad that he got to go out on his terms the way he did. I wish, for all those Grateful Dead fans, that Jerry had been able to do the same.

So with that I'll leave you with, you guessed it.... well, how about this. I'll leave you with one of his lesser known songs. This was an early rare b-side and a lot of fans probably haven't heard this song before.  Thanks for reading one last Ozzy tribute.

I've been too busy enjoying the summer weather to really get around to writing anything, so I thought I'd check in.

What drew me back here was, I got a message saying "MistressSamantha Loves Your Profile."  Well, that's nice... maybe I'll love her profile back.  But when I tried to click on her name to read her profile, I got the message "Profile does not exist."  So what happened?  Maybe she was shy?  Hope I didn't scare her off...though her liking my profile was the only interaction I ever had with her.  In any case, I'm not really looking for a shy dominant. 

In hindsight, I think I may have inadvertently sabotaged potential relationships by being shy myself.  I've never had an issue chatting up members of the opposite sex, and usually, though not always, I am not shy about having long, in depth conversations with just about anyone.  If there are common interests, shared values, and a broad range of things we like doing together or apart as individual hobbies- I have no problem with this.

But conversation leading to intimacy?  Making the first move?  That's always been hard for me. Trying to read the subtle signs that are so easily mis-interpreted, or wishfully thinking you are seeing signs that aren't really there.  I prefer it when she is direct:  Come here boy, kiss me.  What are you waiting for, get your clothes off, now!  No chance to misinterpret that. Maybe that's why I've found my submissive nature to be a curse in terms of finding intimacy.  Sometimes you get the feeling you should lean over and kiss her, but what if you are wrong?  You get a slap.  Should you ask?  That feels awkward and can be kind of icky to me.  And some women want a big alpha caveman knuckle dragger type dude to just sleaze on up to her and take charge; but I'm not that type of guy.  (and if you screw THAT up... well, potentially some really bad things can happen.)  With practice, maybe I'll get over my shyness and learn to be more direct.  Or maybe she'll understand, and make the first move herself. I dunno, dating in the kink scene has it's own separate set of challenges, but it's always about communication and being on the same wavelength, and it never easy either way... Maybe we're just not enough on the same wavelength.

So that's kind of the way things stand.  She's been busy caught up in her own world.  The usual mixed signals like "I want to hang out but I'm busy this weekend, how bout next weekend," then next weekend, it's the usual call-and-wait-by-the-phone routine.  Which is the part of the dating game I've always hated the most.  Being tethered to your phone waiting for a call-back is much more torture than being tethered to a leash in a bondage scene, believe me.  But that's a post for another day... maybe next November when the weather's dark and nasty.  Right now, I've got a hike planned for tomorrow and a trip planned for Sunday so, we'll see.

As you might have guessed, sometimes I like to just escape to the back country. It helped me yesterday, because I was full of doubt, uncertainty, and depression- about many things too much to get into.  But it was a relatively cool day for June and I thought I would explore the rugged back country of southern Idaho and eastern Oregon.

If you've ever driven between Boise and Reno, or Sacramento and points west, you have probably driven right past it:  An old, crumbling schoolhouse, sitting just off the highway under a huge spreading willow tree, maybe ten miles north of the nearest town, a slowly dying community called Jordan Valley. Most people just speed right by it, not even paying attention or barely noticing it.  To most people, it's just an old ramshackle decaying building under a tree sitting in a cow pasture.  But I've stopped, more than once, and checked it out.  I tried to imagine the days when children of all ages attended classes in this one-room schoolhouse. Tried to imagine them running through the field during recess breaks, and listening to the teacher standing in front of the class.  My own school experience growing up would have been very different, of course, than the kids who attended school here, in this rural ranching community.  The siding was peeling away, the roof leaked, and by all appearances, the local cattle had been using it as an outhouse.  But it still seemed to hold onto it's energy, it's fading memories...

Then one day, last December, I drove by there on the way home, and the old schoolhouse building was gone. I only assumed it had been torn down. Like it was a fire hazard, or an attractive nuisance.  Just erased by the process of time. 

So, yesterday, I happened to pull into Jordan Valley in a rather glum mood, hoping to be inspired by the desert and crags of the back country. I stopped into the little coffee shop along the town's main street.... and THERE IT WAS!  

Right next door to the coffee shop, was the old schoolhouse. I could barely believe it!  It was almost unrecognizable.  It had been fully restored and turned into a historic tourist attraction.  It's sides had been freshly painted white.  It's bell tower had been rebuilt. Inside, it had brand new hardwood floors, and new windows.  The blackboard had been restored.  They had re-fitted the school with vintage furniture- old-style desks and chairs, and there were artifacts on display, along with old photos of the teachers and kids along the walls. Apparently someone took a heart to this old building, towed it into town, and then, over several months, the whole community pitched in to restore it.

It is things like this that help restore my faith in the innate goodness of humanity and community, in what seem to be darkening times.  It is a small thing, to wax nostalgic about something so silly as an old schoolhouse, but as an old history buff who tends to get nostalgic about a lot of things, this actually made my day.  

The rest of the trip involved exploring a beautiful box canyon and trying unsuccessfully to reach a spot called "Cow Lake" but having to turn around at a spot called "Huge pond blocking-the-entire-road-lake,"  but that stuff's not very interesting.  Actually, this is all I got. See ya!

I had to think carefully about how to say this, so it doesn't come across as negative or self-pitying.  

I've been trying to dip my toe into the dating world.  Anyway, I met this awesome, pretty girl who I like, who is close to my age, and with whom I have some mutual interests. I do really like her. I also worry about compatibility issues, (beyond just the sexual stuff, there are some, I gotta admit) and I wonder where things will go, if it will go anywhere.  I want it to, of course, because she is totally awesome, talented and amazing.  But at the same time I worry that it will leave me, and possibly both of us, unfulfilled in the end. She is cute, but very, very, vanilla sexually- and that is fine.  I cannot complain about that; liking someone for who they are also means accepting what they are not.  

I guess it will be a challenge to me to make the first move, to subtly understand her mood without being told. I've never been that good at being the dominant, or the instigator.  I remember longing to kiss her, even, but wasn't even sure if that wasn't too forward.

If there is anything that will come of this, she inspired me to do a deep cleaning and de-cluttering of the house. Thank God she didn't see the place before hand.  Her place, and particularly the kitchen, while not immaculate, did inspire me to get to work.  Maybe that's the key, just being inspired to improve yourself and your own environment without the coercion of whips and paddles!  I hope to see her again soon. Dating is hard enough, especially when you've feel trapped in your own head and your own "alternative" sexual needs for so long.  But when she comes over, which I hope will happen soon, to maybe share a meal (I will try to cook as well as she does) or more, at least she won't judge me for a messy kitchen.

I don't mean to dwell too much on my personal life, though.  I guess everyone has one. I hope that everyone will eventually find the happiness they seek.

Sometimes we just need some light to shine into the dark places in our mind.

I remember days when I was much younger, being full of anger, bitterness, and putting up this wall of rebellious death-metal grimness to fortress off the world.  I won't elaborate on my past, but to summarize I went through years of feeling unloved and rejected.  I am grateful that I no longer feel this way, and I'm grateful for every day.  And grateful for the sunshine.

But there are still dark days filled with doubt, where my mind is spinning, with angst and doubt.  Reflecting on past failed relationships, and stressing about a (hopefully) budding one.  She is a wonderful human being, yeah about as vanilla sexually as wonder bread (not really anyone's buisness but I'm just saying) but I still really like her and would love to be with her.. I hope that if it comes to it, I will be able to make her happy.

So I think of these things, and my mind stresses and fills with fear and doubt. To dispel it, I decided to just get out, hit the trails, and let the sunshine in.  And it was worth it.

So here's a song about it. It rocks!  Fast, upbeat and catchy. I Hope you enjoy it!  Sometimes we just need to lay our worries aside and let the sunshine in.  That's all I got.