The folks are in town for a few days, so I’m taking a few days off of work.

It’s a vacation for them, but it’s also a vacation for me. I’ve only taken a day here and there during the summer, and the last time I took a whole week away from work, I spent it, um... working.

We went to a Western Washington Vikings football game on Saturday. Cheap tickets, decent seats, ok football. I’ll be back for sure (they have two more home games in Bellingham this year). It’s the first live football game I’ve attended since seeing the Lions get clobbered by the Seahawks back in 2004. The Vikings got clobbered by the South Dakota Coyotes, so at least that was familiar.

Despite the clouds on Monday, we took a chance at visiting Mount Baker. Artist Point was all clouded in, but we stopped a few other places to try to make up for it:

Groundcover colors are brilliant up there:

Looking over the valley from a picnic area:

Looking down the valley:

My mom remarked about how the water has a green hue:

Random woods picture:

Random Nooksack River picture:

A week-ago Monday, as I was entering a supermarket, a random dude wearing a St. Louis Cardinals cap was walking out. I was wearing my Detroit Tigers cap.

He says to me, "See you in the World Series!"

I say, "Looking forward to it!"

This episode was just after the Tigers defeated the Yankees in 4 games and before they started playing the A’s. St. Louis was playing, um... someone. It was presumptive on Random Dude’s part to confidently declare the World Series participants even before the LCSes began. But at least he was clairvoyant about the Tigers. :)

The Tigers defeated the A’s this weekend in the American League Championship Series to advance to the World Series. The Tigers haven’t been there since 1984; the last time they were in the playoffs was 1987; they haven’t had an above-.500 winning percentage since 1993.

AND NOW THEY’RE IN THE WORLD SERIES

If you need me, I’ll be at the zoo tending to my family. I am now a monkey’s uncle.

My house is a Sunday football house, and I have an open door policy.

You wanna watch football? You come to my house. It’s not the fanciest TV, but it’s about the football, not the gear. It’s football we watch, football we talk about, or a football we throw around in the back yard. Lesser moments of life are allowed but not necessarily encouraged. We may exchange pleasantries as you arrive, but after I point out the chips-and-salsa and give directions to the bathroom, we’re back to our pre-ordained football focus.

Many times, it’s just I and the remote. And this can be fine, especially on the days when all I want to do is spend a rainy autumn afternoon falling into and out of sleep while the football plays on.

Today was no such day.

First of all, it wasn’t raining.

Second of all, it was a full house. Lunch with house guests expanded to include a fellow fantasy football player. Husband-temporarily-without-wife showed up after lunch. Friends-with-cool-parents came towards the end of the first half of the late games to re-energize the place. The 2- and almost-4-year-old kids laughed and had fun and kept everyone on their best and sweetest behaviors.

Folks slowly filed out over time, getting on with their lives. Not everyone came for the football, and that was ok. One hung back while the place went silent, and we played guitars. (I should play my guitar more, seeing as how I love it so much when I’m playing. But that’s another post.)

I had a couple invites for other goings-on in the evening, but I was bushed. I was just all people-ed out. I guess I’m one of those that needs a little time away from the crowds.

And this is a perfect segue to today’s required reading: Caring for your Inner Introvert by Jonathan Rauch of The Atlantic online. Read it. Know me.

And then when you come to my house for football, and you think I may have gone missing midway through the third quarter, you’ll know why. But don’t worry, I’ll be back. If there’s one thing stronger than my periodic need to find a quiet room, it’s my desire to see the end of the game.

Did anyone else witness the can of whoop-buttocks that the Tigers opened up on the Yankees last night? How sweet was that?

And a cool thing ESPN did, I thought: they invited Ernie Harwell to join the announcers for a few innings. Harwell left after the third inning, but it was great. They let him reminisce a little about past Tigers teams (playoffs in 1987, 1984, 1972, 1968), and then he starts mentioning very specific stats about a particular Tiger team from 1921 or some such date. Good times.

Let me laud the benefits of Paste Magazine ("Signs of Life in Music, Film, & Culture"):

• 20+ track sampler music CD in every issue. Every sampler is like the best 80 minutes of radio you’ve ever heard, and you’re guaranteed not to know all the musicians on the disc. I have 24 of the 25 samplers on my harddrive at work (#4 came shattered), and I use them like my own private radio station.
• A DVD every other issue (at least that was the pattern... we’ll see with the next one) that includes music videos and short films.
• It’s now published monthly. Paste started in 2002 as a quarterly magazine.
• Lots of reviews of music, books, and movies that are all the rage with the kids these days.

The October 2006 (#25) issue’s cover story is on Zach Braff. Cool, yo. There are also articles on The Decemberists, Bavarian beer, and... did I mention music and books reviews? They got lots. Anyone want to gift me copy of Thirteen Moons?

This issue also delves in to “The 24 Best Hours on Television” in which we find this little gem (and some minor personal vindication) from contributor Reid Davis:

“You’re not supposed to be watching this” is what each week’s feminine-hygiene ad barrage says. So why do I, a red-blooded hetero male, love Gilmore Girls? There’s the snappy, Front Page-worthy dialogue referencing everything from Ava Gardner to XTC. There’s Paste-caliber musical knowledge (Grant-Lee Phillips busking; Sebastian Bach delivering sly self-parody; a cameo from Sonic friggin’ Youth!), and characters you want to simultaneously hug and strangle. (Scrubs’ Turk said it best: “I’m so mad at Lorelai, I can’t even speak right now.”) It has nothing to do with my wife having grown up in a small Connecticut town a half-hour from Hartford. I swear.

Other good shows for which Paste agrees with me:

• House
• Scrubs
• Battlestar Galactica

Minor beefs from the list:

• I never got in to the NBC’s version of The Office. I prefer the original Ricky Gervais version.
• Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip hadn’t even aired when Paste #25 went to print. Sure, important editors of big, fancy magazines may get previews before mere mortals. And Aaron Sorkin does have a pretty good track record. But the blurb strikes me as a bought-and-paid-for NBC advertisement.
  

Let me laud the benefits of Paste Magazine:

• 20+ track sampler music CD in every issue. Every sampler is like the best 80 minutes of radio you’ve ever heard, and you’re guaranteed not to have heard of all of the musicians beforehand.
• A DVD every other issue (at least that was the pattern... we’ll see with the next one) that includes music videos and film shorts.
• It’s now a monthly mag (it started quarterly back in ... then bi-monthly...)
• Lots of reviews of music, books, and movies that are all the rage with kids these days. Anyone want to buy me copy of Thirteen Moons?

The October 2006 (#25) issue’s cover story is on Zach Braff and career and where he’s heading in the near future. And this issue delves in to “The 24 Best Hours on Television” in which we find this little gem and some minor personal vindication from contributor Reid Davis:

“You’re not supposed to be watching this” is what each week’s feminine-hygiene ad barrage says. So why do I, a red-blooded hetero male, love Gilmore Girls? There’s the snappy, Front Page-worthy dialogue referencing everything from Ava Gardner to XTC. There’s Paste-caliber musical knowledge (Grant-Lee Phillips busking; Sebastian Bach delivering sly self-parody; a cameo from Sonic friggin’ Youth!), and characters you want to simultaneously hug and strangle. (Scrubs’ Turk said it best: “I’m so mad at Lorelai, I can’t even speak right now.”) It has nothing to do with my wife having grown up in a small Connecticut town a half-hour from Hartford. I swear.

Other shows for which Paste agrees with me:

• House
• Scrubs
• Battlestar Galactica

Minor beefs from the list:

• I never got in to the NBC’s version of The Office. The British one, though: Wow. Good stuff.
• Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip hadn’t even aired when Paste #25 went to print. Sure, important editors of big, fancy magazines may get previews before mere mortals. But the blurb almost reads like a bought-and-paid-for NBC advertisement.
  

I’ve interrupted my self-imposed, unintentional blogging hiatus to re-bring you what you really should not have been missing:

A return to “what I did yesterday.”

So, let’s see... by the time you read this, it’ll be not today, so my ‘yesterday’ is right now.

Today... er, yesterday... I got tossed about on the waves at work and left not feeling like I accomplished anything. As a pick-me-up, I left a few minutes early to get some time in on my fancy bicycle before the sun went down.

I always feel better after riding. If I don’t ride for awhile, I start to miss it. My knees and legs start to ache from inactivity, and I start going a little stir crazy. As I'm in my car or walking down the street, I wistfully watch other cyclist pass me, wishing I could be where they are.

When the exception of the “ache from inactivity,” I used to have the same reaction to a lack of TV and corn chips. Used to.

After I got home from the ride, and while I’m feeling all full of myself, a friend stops by and suggests that I need to date more.

Talk about a buzz killer.

Other hikes I am just now getting around to mentioning:

Stewart Mountain -- Stewart is the ridge that keeps sea-level Bellingham from having unobstructed Mount Baker views. The land is owned/maintained/whatever by a logging company and, presumably, the power company (what with all of the power lines going up, though, and over the hills there).

I followed the logging/access road that heads up the hill from the parking lot at the North Lake Whatcom Park. (Don’t follow the trail directions in the link unless you really want leisurely stroll along the waterside). Walk around the gate and follow the road up the hill. And up. No joke about the ups. The first two miles are killer. At any time you can turn and see views of Lake Whatcom and some peak-a-boo views of Bellingham (trees and power lines may obstruct your view). Eventually the road winds back in through the trees and levels slightly. When you reach the crossroads, go straight (and under the power lines) another mile or so until you reach a Y in the road. Go left. Go up. Stop when you can look down on Acme and out to Mount Baker.

If you go: you’ll be spending a lot of time walking through clear cut, so you may be exposed to a lot of sun. I don't have all of my facts and figures... there may be anywhere from 2000ft to 3000ft elevation gain. Whatever it is,

Oyster Dome -- There are a number of different trailheads for this hike. The hard trail starts down on Chuckanut Drive and zigzags up the hill. The less hard one (the one I prefer) starts on Blanchard Mountain at a parking lot that is also a launching area for hang gliders.

The Bat Caves are the coolest. You can scramble around on top of the rocks or, if you brought a flashlight or head lamp, explore some of the caves created when all of the rocks fell. Careful if it's wet, though.

Instead of my rambling on about it, check out this article from the Seattle-PI. The article is 8 years old, but it's still good.

I’m turning my snark mode off for this one. Mostly.

Last weekend Erland, Ben, and I hiked to Hannegan Peak (Forest Service, Hiker Bob, Green Trails #14 Mt Shuksan).

The hike begins at the end of Hannegan Pass Rd and follows Ruth Creek before the trail climbs a total of 2000 feet to Hannegan Pass. The first 3 miles is a gradual incline, but the 4th mile to the Pass is at least an 1000-ft elevation gain. The next mile to the peak is also 1000 vertical feet.

At 6100 feet, the views up there are pretty cool. Canadian mountains to the north; full view of the Cascades to the west; Ruth Mountain “right there”, and Shuksan and Baker peaking out behind the Nooksack Ridge to our south. And there are a few patches of snow, even at the the beginning of September.

Our target was to be back to Bellingham by noon, but we (ahem... I) totally underestimated how long that distance and elevation gain would take. Plus we spent at least 45 minutes at Hannegan Peak just sitting there.

If you go, prepare for a long day. In fact, many people backpack this trail through Hannegan Pass and on to Copper Mountain or through Whatcom Pass. This being Labor Day weekend, we saw our share of both day hikers and backpackers (55 people, 5 dogs, 5 horses).

Hot tip: there’s a great campsite up near Hannegan Peak. That is, there’s a level spot, it has a great view, and there are a few trees that might offer at least a little bit of protection. However, the closest water is, um, not close. Bring lots.

I love football.

No, really. It’s a game I really love. I’ve skipped church for it; I’ve cut phone calls short because of it. I once held back my bladder's natural urges for nearly an entire half because the game was not worth leaving (but that was before TiVo).

I never played it, though, except in backyards. And I still have a hard time with some of the football-ese. But the grit, determination, and perseverance it requires to win a game in the NFL or even in the college ranks is amazing. You can’t just show up and win. You need to prepare, practice, and execute. <donald-miller-mode>It’s a metaphor for life, really.</donald-miller-mode>

Because of my admiration for this game, I can instantly connect with any other football geek/fantasy football player if ever our paths meet. Start with the ice breaker, “So who went first in your draft?” and I’ve got a friend for life.

Sometimes, though, even I can’t take some of the goofiness. The rest of this is an open letter to that guy at the pub who was constantly using first person plural pronouns when referring to the Seahawks:

Hey, dude. You’re a pretty excited fan, huh? Yeah, the team looks pretty good this year. Hope those receivers can hold up. Yup, the first game is at Detroit. I’ll put 5 bucks on that, sure, even though the Lions are starting Kitna.

Oh, what was that? Did you say “we”? “We drove down and scored...”? “We pulled that game out at the end...”? “And when we went to the Super Bowl...”?

You own season tickets, huh? Oh, right... your dad does... riiiiight. So I can see that this game is important to you. You get excited, you cheer the team on, you rejoice when they score, you complain when something goes wrong. Cool. Do that. All that.

But, dude... Puh-lease. You don’t play. You don't coach. You don't clean out the lockers of the cut players. You don’t get tackled, you don’t commit penalties, you don’t score touchdowns. You watch. You. Don’t. Play.

Do not think for one minute that you can assume that you’re part of the team. The city doesn’t own the team, your daddy doesn’t own the team, and you don’t know any of the players. Hasselbeck does not send you Christmas cards. You don’t go to church with Alexander. You didn’t even send flowers to Jackson after his last surgery. You are an outsider. A stranger. They don’t know you. And if it weren’t for your credit card, the team wouldn’t care about you.
 
They are them. You are you. “We” is a term best left to Green Bay Packer fan. If you continue to use it injudiciously, the next thing you know you’re going to blame the refs, the other team, and/or the other team’s public address announcer for the crummy things that your stinky team commits on or off the field.

So here’s your charge in a nutshell: Don’t act like you’re from Wisconsin.

And if you are, Bummer. We all have our own cross to bear.