It may be too early to say, and not to jinx things, but I may be finishing up the best couple months of my life, to date. Coincidentally, they've been some of the most stressful that I've endured.
Much of the goodness comes in terms of my job. I still can't say 'my career' without wincing a bit. To me, 'career' implies a certain achievement or status, something that I'm not quite ready to call my own. But I might be getting close.
Obligatory coastal sunset shot.
I've been on fire the past couple of weeks. We had a crazy project that needed to get done post-haste, prior to the holiday season. This project involved a lot of moving parts and in the end, five critical systems would be depending on it (see also: Achilles heel). Because it was so critical, there could be absolutely no fuckups. As we marched towards go-live, we came across some pretty severe issues. For the first time in my professional experiences, I felt completely confident in my abilities -- there wasn't a problem that I didn't solve with ease. I felt like an electric wizard, equipped with a Model M, dishing out miracle spells to the sweet soundtrack of machine-gun keyboarding. Or something like that.
We finally flipped the switch, early and under budget. It was an astounding success and it feels fucking great.
Smokestack in Garibaldi, Or. There's a tree growing inside.
Additionally, in the midst of the chaos, I got a fat bonus and that raise I wanted. I was surprised, considering the fact we just went through some major layoffs and I thought that wages had been frozen. I've also heard rumors of a promotion as well. The last promotion netted me a 23% raise, which nearly made me shit my pants, but I'm not holding my breath. To be honest, I'm just stoked to have a job that affords me enough extra fundage to buy something totally dumb and self indulgent every once and awhile.Caked out, son.
"Hey Kim, come look at this asshole."
My life outside of work has been nothing short of a dream. For the first time in 3 years, I dipped into my 'paid time off' bucket and took some vacation days. Ms. Kim and I both took a week off. Our goal was to do as little as possible -- to have an entire week of 'lazy Sundays.' We almost achieved our goal. During the later part of the week, we packed the Bimmer and hit the road to the coast. Last Christmas, Ms. Kim's employer dropped her a gift certificate to a coastal inn, so we thought we'd take advantage of it before the 9 months of winter set in.
We could have spread the money out and stayed two days, but we opted instead to get the best room in the whole establishment -- it had a staircase and a jacuzzi. Classy. After exploring the beach, consuming some good food, drinking some good booze and catching a tiny bit of sleep, we packed the car up and hit the road. Our goal was to travel the entire coastal length of Oregon in one fell swoop.
Highway 38 / 138
With the windows half-cracked, sunroof open and 8 hours of handcrafted mixes, we blazed down Highway 101, through some of the most beautiful parts of Oregon. We frequently drove too fast through the coastal roads, but it just wasn't enough -- before we knew it, it was already late afternoon and we weren't even halfway down the coast. We opted to cut back via Highway 38 / 138 to Interstate 5 and continue the trek down to the family farm.
What it does, Winter?
We were sad to say goodbye to the coast, but highway 38 was an absolute joy to drive. Minimal traffic, newish pavement and gorgeous terrain. Perfect.
After surviving the drudgery of I-5, Kim and I made it to my parent's house at a reasonable hour, made some stiff (hard?) cocktails and hit the hot-tub to stargaze. The next morning, I awoke and everyone was gone -- my parents were at work and Kim was out visiting her family. With some good music, a camera and some sunshine, I took the opportunity to go explore the homestead, something I haven't done in far too long.
An old Lincoln, crushed and mangled, embedded in the side of a hill in a remote portion of the homestead.
Everything seems smaller. I think that being able to visualize property lines killed my childhood picture of infinite wilderness. I was pleased to see that many of the old trails are still there. Deer and cattle find very efficient ways through the woods. As I traversed an open field, I stopped in the middle to remove my headphones and listen -- complete silence, save for some wind. I really miss that.
Treeblood.
Later that evening, the four of us went to see Mr. James Taylor at the Jackson Country Expo. We drank overpriced wine and water and listened to him belt out all the classics. He played a few newer tunes, but he knew what the crowd came to see and stuck to his back catalog. After all, we payed good money to hear 'Fire and Rain'. James is getting old as fuck, but he's still got a wonderful voice, charming personality and guitar skillz. He put on a great show. A very nice way to end the summer.
Gulch.
Ms. Kim and I ventured back to Portland the next day to prepare for our return to the working class. Before that could happen, though, I had to attend the wonderfully bizarre Portland Retro Gaming Expo 2009 with Sledg.
Treehouse.
I picked Sledg up in the late morning. We traveled towards the waterfront, in search of a specific hotel convention room. I couldn't recall the name of the hotel, so in order to find the place, we had to rely on our tracking abilities. We noticed a few stray flocks of nerds and noted their migratory patterns. They seemed to converge on a specific hotel lobby. We made chase and found that our hunch paid off -- we had arrived.
As we made our ways towards the conference room, we were greeted by folks running the admission tables. For a measly $10, we were given a wristband, a handstamp and let through the (no shit) velvet ropes, released into a sea of nostalgia and nerdstink.
The room itself was about 1/2 the size it should have been, considering the number of people that were in attendance. The room was a nerdmaze of tables, each one piled up with it's own special blend of wares. From Intellevision to Lynx to Virtual Boy and even a Atari Video Music, it was all there, much of it for sale. Some folks were in costumes, some were unbathed, but everyone was swarming in this agoraphobic nightmare. I only brought $20, so my buying options were limited. I ended up snagging up my favourite controller ever, the NES Advantage, as well as a homemade P-Wing magnet.
Posted up.
After circling the place twice, the competitions began. We took that as our cue to get the fuck out of there. As we exited the room, we noticed a table in the corner with a really old pachinko machine on it. We stepped closer to investigate. The man sitting behind the table saw our enthusiasm and explained his restoration. After looking at the innards of it, I was ready to leave. Sledg was taking some pictures, so I continued to shoot the shit with the man. Out of nowhere, he produced two Missile Command Atari cartridges. He held them close to my face and explained that one of the carts were real and the other fake. He asked if I could tell which one was fake.
After studying the carts for a moment, it became apparent that one of them had some Photoshop work done -- the missile commander's face had been replaced with the visage of the very man holding the cartridges.
He was pleased that we could identify the differences. He continued to talk. As it turns out, this man has made two attempts to break the world record high-score for Missile Command. Both times, after over 24 hours of straight gameplay, the machine malfunctioned.
Knowing very little of the arcade high-score community, other than what I have seen in King of Kong, I mention that he should suspect foulplay. Jokingly, I suggest that Walter Day may have been the saboteur. As I speak the name, his eyes light up. Out of nowhere, he produces a copy of a Twin Galaxies Book of World Records book. He opens the front cover to reveal a handwritten message from Walter Day himself. I didn't have time to read the whole thing, but it involved words like "sorry" and "next time."
Eventually, after more banter, we finally start to commence the polite conversation shutdown sequence. As we're finalizing things, I notice two glossy flyers on the table. I ask if I can take one. Again, his eyes light up. Apparently, his attempts at the high score were documented and eventually compiled. I ask if it's purely documentary. "It's more of a docutragedy," he replies.
I reach for the flyer, but he grabs it. "Let me autograph it for you. What is your favorite vintage arcade game?"
Being put on the spot, I say "Ms. Pac Man?" In reality, I think my favorite vintage game would be Tron, but that is a tough call.
He signs the card and asks Sledg the same question. He replies "Robot Ron." After getting a confused look, Sledg explains his lolfunnyjoke and gets his autograph. Both a little frazzled, we promptly hit the road, insert In a Major Way into the stereo and roll, hard as fuck, back to Sledg's house.
Alright. That's about all I have in me for the moment. More as it comes -- who knows what Winter holds.