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T R A N S I T I O N

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2018.09.13 Oldness

It used to be that I spent my birthday reflecting on life; what I've learned, how I've grown, and what the future might hold.

This year, my birthday was mostly just another day trying to fiercely absorb the moments as they hosed over me, desperate to absorb as much of them as possible and to try not to dwell too much on the horizons. Life is weird.

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2018.09.11 Seventeen Year Realization

There is another term for terrorism: asymmetric warfare.

When you consider the 3 thousand that died in the attack, the subsequent 5 thousand allied soldiers lives that have been spent since then, and the staggering 5.6 trillion dollars flushed away by directly inspired military operations abroad security fetishes domestically - you can make a pretty solid case that the terrorists made a comprehensive tactical victory. Anybody who blusters about having bombed them back into the stone age completely misses the point about how that's exactly where they started anyways. That's why they did it: they already had nothing to lose.

As sickening as that is to contemplate, it is nothing compared to my realization today. They didn't just manipulate the United States into wasting titanic amounts of money and desecrating the lives of dutiful soldiers. They succeeded in scaring the United States so badly that the country figuratively shit its bed.

Because what else is the election of Donald Trump other than the exact manifestation of mindless fear?

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2018.09.07 Star Wars Concert

For my birthday this year, S surprised me with tickets to see Star Wars (A New Hope) with the instrumentals performed live by the Portland Symphony Orchestra.

It was delightful.

Star Wars has been one of the cornerstones of my connection with popular culture, and John Williams' score is a very big part of that. Hearing it performed live was magical by itself. Experiencing it amongst all the glorious weirdos who were also eagerly attending the Schnitzer added a special flavour. Especially the couple in the stormtrooper helmet with a white tuxedo and a vader helmet with a skin-tight catsuit.

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2018.09.03 Canadian Family

The Portland Castle Clan drove up to my home town of Nelson BC, in Canada, to stay with my Grandpa Kosiancic for the "Celebration of Life" for my Grandma Kosiancic. It was deeply meaningful to be there with him, and to witness his courage and stoicism. And to be humbled both by his unwavering love for his Violet, and the vitality that still illuminates his small, wiry 90-year-old frame.

Among the rare creatures who appeared, as if from fairy tales, were:

• my mother, the hermit
• my uncle, the recluse
• my aunt, "the good one"
• my sister, her common-law husband, and her two kids with their partners
• cousins that I have not seen since childhood
• Grandpa Kosiancic's younger and-much-less-flourishing brother
• people I knew when I was a child in Valhalla

It was sort of akin to being an alien imposter wearing a human family-member's skin. My difficulty in relating with most of these people ended up feeling abstract, requiring me to simplify myself into a tritely-packaged version that they could swallow. And yet, it was still really valuable to me to have these various imperfect connections with my physically-distant family. Almost as though I was made more real by existing an incrementally more clear fractal image in their minds.

Better still was driving through the night to visit with Dave. He remains the only person with whom I am surprised by the degree to which I transform into a chatterbox. It felt really good to engage in that high-bandwidth connection after a day of low-fidelity conversations. The lonely nighttime drive itself was a conversation with my younger Kootenay-dwelling self, going swiftly and eagerly and drowning out my singing with my favourite songs.

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2018.08.22 Blatherings

It's late at night and I'm just feeling unable to go to bed in my current mental state. And one of the things weighing on me is my lack of contributions to this blog, or writing in general - but I have nothing specific that I want to say. So here I blather trying to satisfy the general malaise without benefit of specifics.

One of the pieces of writing advice that I recently absorbed was the value of just writing and writing and writing and trusting that eventually your voice will appear and that inside that voice you can discover things that you want to say. It also warned that a lot of editing would probably be required, but assured that the writing in the first place was by far the greater hurdle. Having recently watched NK Jemisen's 3^rd consecutive Hugo acceptance speech, where she admitted to writing a million words of crap, and a million more of meh, I think I can see how the work of writing can be accomplished. After long having been seemingly just beyond my grasp.

Except, of course, I really don't see myself having any more reach than before, time-wise. At least, not any time soon. But that doesn't mean I can't continue to fumble along with some practice until I can settle in and dedicate more of my time to really working at writing.

Probably after I break myself physically, mind you. Because it's good to have plans.

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2018.08.16 Whistler Flashbacks

The recent televised events at Whistler has reminded me of many experiences etched into memory.

Ninja Cougar / Karate Monkey / Samurai Pizza Cat

Our "warm up ride" the first day was this series of technical trails that are listed as intermediate at Whistler. They easily rank as black diamond back at Sandy Ridge, and included a surprise drop that easily exceeded my largest drop accomplished before. This set the tone for the whole trip for being in over my head but managing to survive and enjoy the thrill.

Crank It Up / Heart Of Darkness / Family Cross

Despite punishing breaking bumps, many repeats of these intermediate jump lines did a lot to build my confidence in the air. Especially gratifying was learning to feel my balance improve from launch to landing, and learning to let go of the brakes.

Freight Train

Black diamond jump line. Ho-Lee-Shit. The worst part is the sheer amount of time you get to hang in the air feeling afraid. I felt like I should have added a sign to my bike saying "this machine makes braking bumps", even as I was massively thankful for its generous suspension soaking up all the casing I did.

Earth Circus

A new "intermediate" flow trail that is hands-down my favourite trail on the whole planet. The joy of dancing and bouncing through this magical tail is unparalleled.

Top Of The World

There is nothing that squats in one's memory quite as much as riding a black diamond technical trail from the very peak of a mountain. It was legendary.

The Dreams

While in Whistler, my dreams were frenetic continuations of my mind racing to see what line to take next. Even while awake but letting my mind wander, a series of images of twisting banks and gut-wrenching drops and technical gnar would roll through my mind's eye. It was both mentally exhausting and amusing.

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2018.07.24 Whistler

I want to write stuff here about this.

Just, you know, when I'm not so fucking sad.

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The key aspects to relate about this adventure are (in no particular order):

• The beauty of the mountains in British Columbia Canada whisper to my soul's truest self. Especially including the twisty roads.
• Cramming a year's worth of technical riding into two days feels like the scene from the Matrix where Neo learns kung fu.
• The gestalt difficulty of the riding I was doing clearly over my head, comfort-wise. But it sure was fun, and rewarding in terms of skills. #safetythird.
• When I get tired and shaky, my fear of heights gets more profound. Dang those chairlifts can feel high.
• Having the right equipment is a big deal. Huzzah for:
  • my Rocky Mountain Slayer - for general awesomeness
  • the double-down Maxxis Minion DHF's I mounted on it - for specific no-flats awesomeness despite terrible abuse
  • and my Fox Proframe helmet - for permitting good airflow while providing full-face MIPS protection
• Forcing others to listen to Hamilton on a road trip can be very cathartic.

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2018.07.16 Goodbye Grandma Kosiancic

After a year and six days of being in the hospital and various care facilities, being slowly eroded by Alzheimer's, my mom's mom Violet Kosiancic passed away today.

Holding her hand as she passed was her husband of 49-and-a-half years was my grandpa, Lawrence Kosiancic.

I will miss her.

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2018.07.05 Whelmed

So, not overwhelmed, exactly. But definitely doing enough that logging thoughts for posterity seem... secondary. Hard to feel motivated knowing that I still have yet to fix the claytoncastle.com link to point here correctly.

Anyway, so far July has been busy.

1. Simon birthday party of surprising chaos.
2. Canada Day of insufficiently picturesque biking.
3. Simon birthday of extreme LEGO™-ness.
4. Rebellion Day hosting the neighbourhood on our grill and blowing shit up on our street.
5. Reading Bourdaine and extrapolating too much.

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2018.06.29 Tesla Day

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2018.06.13 Fuck

Fuuuuuuuck.

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2018.06.11 Fear

Had a stray thought tonight. Maybe the reason why bravery matters is because reality is mostly formed by fear. All the worst things are forged from fear. Even the things that aren't real, fear of them makes them relevant anyway.

We should be mindful of what we decide to fear. If such a thing is possible.

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2018.06.09 Life, the Universe, and Everything

Simon has been reading my old copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy. His laughter every night echoes my own from 3 decades ago.

One of the legacies of my many readings and watchings of Douglas Adam's works is a tendency to reflect on a wider perspective. It can be humorous, as originally intended, but it can also be cathartic. This last time, it feels actually pretty humbling.

Life is good. Simon and Violet are happy, healthy, delightfully alive little people that I adore; being their dad is pretty great. Marriage with S continues to be a gift and a joy, and even though we have our complications the shared adulty adultness of our loving friendship and partnership feels solid and real. My job is rewarding and fun, despite some annoying stubbed toes on my ambitions. I keep playing AIF with Dave, and staying in touch with my creative side thereby. Today I went for a short bike ride through a poorly maintained trail that was slick with rain mixed with dust on top of slippery roots and mud - it was sketchy as hell, and the grind back up was exhausting, but I feel great. Not just "great for a 45.75-year-old", but legitimately great.

I'm not sure how or why I managed to get to have such a good life, but I sure an thankful for it.

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2018.05.25 Another Deletable Entry

This is where I write something asinine that transmutes into something poignant.

Shit. I guess not.

Just like how this was supposed to be the day that I finally figured out how deftly point claytoncastle.com to this site instead of the old static POS. Lesson to self: don't register domains with shifty-eyed Calgarians.

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2018.05.21 Reflections On David Bock

The memorial service for my father-in-law was lovely. It is quite impressive the consistently profound effect that he had on most people who got to know him. Their remembrances of him spoke of his capacity for listening, insight, and wisdom. My wife's and my brother-in-law's memorial speeches were part of the same Venn diagram, but also included insights into his pervasive humour and glimpses of fatherly love.

I feel like there was another lesson of David Bock that was less-well recognized. When people mentioned his struggle with Parkinsons, they spoke of his former vigor and of his valour in facing the disease. Both of which are undoubtedly true. But there was also a substantial serving of stubbornness associated with his resolute denial of some of his limitations. He really should have been using a walker, or a wheelchair - but he didn't. Instead he used a cane. Not to help him walk, really, but more of a way to signal "holy shit, look out for the old man about to stumble and fall down". And, I should say, I have a hereditary respect for stubbornness. To my shame, I also felt a certain occasional pity for him - for the difficulty in basic navigation, and the embarrassment of needing help. He needed help standing up. A lot. But here's the thing - and pardon me while I struggle to capture it adequately - he was capable of transcending that pity and embarrassment, for both of us.

When he needed help up, he would hold up his hand as a simple, humble request. And no matter how he had gotten into the state of needing help up, he was actually offering both of us a way to address - and succeed - in accomplishing a mutual state of dignity. The asking for help comes from self-respect, knowing that being helped is deserved. The giving of help comes from self-respect, knowing that we are capable of helping. The simple clasping of hands, and pulling, forged a bond of regard and affection.

I liked helping my father-in-law, Doctor David Bock, to stand up. In family settings I would arrange to be situated so that I would be the most convenient person to step in to assist him to stand should he need it. It's not often you get the opportunity to engage in an act of pure transcendent dignity.

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2018.05.15 Congratulations Canadians

Specifically, congratulations to my children Simon and Violet who just received their official documentation verifying their Canadian citizenship. A few thoughts about this coexist simultaneously for me.

1. I'm so incredibly proud of my favourite people belonging to my favourite country.
2. That was considerably more difficult and annoying than it had to be.
3. I hope they live in Canada, at least for a bit.
4. All that's left is for S to get her Canadian citizenship, then we can flee. (If we need to.)

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2018.05.05 Turtles All The Way Down

Just finished reading Turtles All The Way Down by John Green. Yes, the same John Green who made you cry entirely too much with The Fault In Our Stars. It's similarly excellent, complete with required tissues in-between the laughing.

One of the poignant facets of the book is the unique pain of losing loved ones, specifically fathers. This resonates here at the Castle household, because of tragedies both new and old. It prompted a couple things in me. One, I found myself phoning my dad's cell phone, which for complicated reasons my mom has kept but rarely has on - and has never changed the message. Two, I've become hyper-aware of how my kids seem to be perceiving me.

I hope there's still an internet when they're older, after I'm gone. Hi kids. I adore you both.

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2018.04.27 David Bock

kvankii.com/gallery/bocks.jpeg

Farewell to my father-in-law, a man of profound insight and humour.

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2018.04.21 Moobaru

What the Moobaru is can be either simple or complicated.

Simply:
A base-model 2018 Subaru Impreza, milky white.

Complicated:
Several considerations needed to be weighed. The need for a second vehicle was relatively urgent, due to the timing for returning the Schleppenwagen. Plus the (hopefully) imminent arrival of a Tesla Model 3 meant that we wanted to keep the budget as low as could be reasonable. Further, the current Blubaru is going to need to be returned itself later this year, and there is a definite niche of utility having a Canadian-snow-capable transport in the fleet.

On the utility front, I would have preferred to maintain some sort of van-like element, but this failed several parameters. Firstly, despite being the least-expensive Mercedes, all the realistic potential vans are more expensive than is ideal. Used versions are not readily available, and we have little interest in increased maintenance issues. Ultimately is the concept that the non-Tesla vehicle would functionally be the Wife's default vehicle for use, and she really hated driving the Schleppenwagen. Alas.

One interesting element about the Moobaru is that it has a manual transmission. This makes it surprisingly fun to drive. The surprise is not because of the peak of joy it provides, but instead because of how complicated it makes the driving. The clutch actuation is a rather narrow band, and the little boxer-4 engine is astonishingly gutless at low RPM. This means that the Moobaru is decidedly tricky to launch. Thankfully it has an automatic hill-holding feature, or I would have a much harder time of it. I've come to respect how the CVT in the Blubaru enables the engine to stay in its most potent range, because with the discrete gears of the Moobaru you only get to visit maximum power briefly. Throw in a healthy dash of standard Subaru extra-bouncy driveline lash, and it takes a lot of finesse to avoid head bobbling.

I mentioned the overall gutlessness of the Moobaru to the resident racecar builder/driver at work, and he delightedly proclaimed "MOMENTUM CAR!". "Momentum doesn't need gears - just a good line and commitment." He's totally right.

The Moobaru also came with steel wheels, which were originally hidden behind plastic mag-toupees. I pulled those off, because I prefer the honest look of the steel wheels. The wife is less enthralled, and demands the replacement of the fakey-fake fakes. Maybe a compromise of finding some cheap mag wheels for the duration of the Moobaru's stay would be better - keeping the steelies for winter rubber.

Technology is quite different between the Moobaru and Blubaru. The Moobaru lacks the Eyesight™ system for active safety and advanced cruise control, which I regret. The ability to crawl through stop-and-go traffic without obsessively watching the surging traffic makes it much less stressful. Plus I really quite like the idea of automatic emergency braking. On the plus side, the Moobaru comes with Apple Carplay - and it's brilliant.

Overall, I really quite like the Moobaru - for what it is.

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2018.04.11 Violet Art Gallery

Some of Violet's art was selected for public display at the Portland Art Gallery.

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2018.04.07 stuffin.space

http://stuffin.space is actually really rather amazing. That's a lot of stuff. In space.