Our first official television commercial as Butcher Bird Studios is now airing on Time Warner Cable channels in the Los Angeles area. Do not fear those of you in another region or (like me) without cable television, you can see it online. It is a :30 spot featuring Luka Jones of Upright Citizen’s Brigade Theatre and Terrence, the Space Monkey from Moodoo Puppets. Watch it and learn why you should read and attend the 2010 West Hollywood Book Fair.
Last summer, I helped shoot a short project with some friends called Silver Moon. Afterwards, I spent the last few months of the year compositing the green screen photography. Well, Travis and Ben have finished tweaking the audio and now it is online for everyone to see.
Silver Moon is a proposed feature-length horror/western. What you can see embedded below is a teaser. It is two scenes from the movie. If we can get funding, we hope to shoot the whole thing. Pass this video around if you enjoy it and become a fan on Facebook if you are social network savvy.
My first experiences with skiing and with respectable snow were in Lake Tahoe. It is also the place where I had first seen whitewater, though not where I would first navigate it. It had been a few years since I’d visited and Erika had never been. We drove up the Saturday morning of MLK weekend. Camp Richardson’s Historic Hotel in South Lake Tahoe is where we stayed. Erika found a great package deal: $260 for the weekend including breakfasts, a voucher for dinner, and two lift tickets at Sierra (we traded these for beginner’s packages – gear, lessons, and a limited lift ticket).
There was no shortage of snow. It was deep, it blanketed everything. We had Saturday afternoon, all of Sunday, and Monday morning to make the best of it. We spent Sunday at Sierra learning to ski and repeatedly taking the bunny slope. I am always surprised just how quickly you can shoot down a bunny slope if you aren’t careful. Sierra was nice, but it can’t compete with Heavenly where I first tried skiing a few years back. Both make Mountain High look like a slushy skate park. As the day passed, snow began to fall harder. It took us a while to find Erika’s snow-covered Yaris in the parking lot. The ice scraper we’d picked up on a whim the night before came in very handy. We ended the night with a nice meal at an Irish Pub and a soak in the snow-coated hot tub. As steam rose from the tub, it cooled, then fell back on us as water.
Monday morning, we rented snowshoes and hiked down a trail into a wooded area. We knew a storm was on its way and would be a good idea to leave before it hit in full. It began snowing lightly as we headed back to the sport rental shop. We climbed into the car and I drove us towards the mountains. I tried to, that is. The storm was close enough that chains or snow tires were required in the mountains and checkpoints were set up. The traffic leaving Tahoe was barely moving. As we slowly traveled down the main highway towards the checkpoint, the storm grew closer. I had never driven in snow and never used chains. I had read the directions that came with our pair the day before. The time had come to apply that limited knowledge. Putting chains on a vehicle is not difficult if you know what you are doing. Crouched in slush—reaching behind tires on a low-clearance passenger vehicle as snow falls and cars slide past—while learning to attach tire chains is not so easy. It took me a few tries to discover what works and what doesn’t. I was covered in snow, my toes were wet and freezing, and my fingers cold because my gloves were too bulky for precise chain manipulation. The chains were on, it was cold, Erika’s interior was wet with melting snow, and I hoped I’d done it properly. They were about to be tested and there would be little chance to adjust them once we hit the mountain.
I come from the South, the land of swamps, rain, and humidity. Hurricanes, floods, fog—I have a lot of experience driving in such conditions. I was not prepared for the adventure that awaited us on our 6 hour drive to Sacramento (a drive that took less than 2 hours on the way to Tahoe). The sky was white. Visibility varied by dozens of feet—it was like diving except instead of receding into darkness, details faded to white. Snow fell steadily. I crouched like a hunchback as I drove because we could rarely keep the upper portion of the windshield from fogging up. Snow banks flanked us on either side, ice and snow were caked to the streets. Occasionally we would pass a car stuck in a snow bank. We crept along at 20 mile per hour, an icicle grew from the passenger side mirror. The tire chains clanged and I feared they were loosening and would fall off. Brake lights peeking through the white were my guides around the curves of the mountain. It was nerve-wracking and exciting.
The snowfall stopped, then started again, falling harder. A checkpoint was ahead. It was time to remove the chains. We were on a decline, the snow was falling harder, there was little shoulder. My chains had lasted! Taking them off would be easier than installing had been, right? Yes, it was easier to remove them… a little easier. We struggled with the locking chains on the inside of the wheel well. Snow falling, cars sliding past, ice becoming slush. Finally they were off! Yet, we still had a few miles to go downhill in snow on icy roads. Why in the hell was I required to take them off now? I drove on. Eventually, the snow was replaced by rain. Hours later we made it home. We had a great weekend and we experienced our first snowstorm. I wouldn’t trade any minute of it.
Occasionally, I look through travel books or magazines searching for ideas. There are often photos of beautiful locales and listings for resorts, expensive hotels, eateries, and other aspects of luxury travel. I can’t generally afford luxury travel and I am not a big fan of pretending to be a member of the bourgeoisie with servants dancing around me. Earlier in the year, I stumbled across two books catering specifically to adventure travel—trips where you learn about yourself and get dirty. Thanks to The Rough Guide to Ultimate Adventures I was informed of something I never suspected—there are many reasons to visit Utah.
Slot Canyons, deep and narrow gorges, abound in Utah. They are spectacular. My Rough Guide highlighted one in particular—The Zion Narrows in Zion National Park. The itinerary: hike 16 miles (mostly in a shallow river) through the Zion backcountry within the confines of a slot canyon over the course of 2 days. The particulars: The Narrows were formed by the Virgin River. Over the 16 miles we’d be walking through it, its depth would range from ankle deep to waist deep with the occasional hole requiring swimming. Water flow would vary from mostly stagnant to somewhat powerful swiftwater. When not in the water, the hike includes a lot of rock hopping and scrambling. The walls of the canyon often rise over a thousand feet on either side. Nearby rain can cause flash floods (a few occur each year) so the weather must be monitored preceding and during the hike. Once inside the canyon, you must commit. Hiking is your only feasible way out as rescue is relatively difficult and time-consuming. I love climbing and scrambling. I love water (especially moving water). When water and climbing are combined, I am truly happy. From the moment I read about the Narrows in the Rough Guide, I knew I had to go.
Zion is a 7-10 hour drive from L.A. greatly dependent on traffic running through Las Vegas. Erika and I did a number of things this year, but visiting Zion had not fit into any of our plans conveniently. As fall approached, it became clear that our chances to hike the Narrows were dwindling. The waters would grow colder and dry suits (not just wet suits) would be required. Erika is not made for the cold. Labor Day weekend was our last hope. I logged onto the National Park Service website a month prior. Only 40 people are allowed through the Narrows each day as overnight hikers. Luckily I was able to reserve the last four spots for Sunday, Sept. 6 at Camp 2. Thankfully, our posse was only four people: Erika, Al-Insan, Steven, and me. Now, we just needed to wait for the weeks to pass.
Erika and I spent April 26-30 in Yosemite National Park. John Muir and many others have raved about the majesty of Yosemite. Their words are not exaggeration. The earth falls open to reveal blankets of rich green sewn with threads of flowing whitewater; flora climbs huge granite sculptures painted with redwood monoliths. Life seeps from its every pore. Mother Nature is reflected in every pool throughout Yosemite. Her voice in every leaf. It is grandiose, splendorous, humbling. To try to capture its beauty in a photograph is an affront. Photos of Yosemite are mere ambassadors—a tease for future visitors. You cannot capture a star in a telescope.
We slept in a primitive camping area in Hodgdon Meadow where temperatures plunged into the lower 30s at night. All campers throughout the park are required to lock away all food in bear-proof lockers or canisters. A fire was a necessity every night. This is no complaint. You can’t commune with nature by locking yourself away in an air-regulated hotel for large portions of the day. Next time I visit, I certainly want to camp in the back-country and attempt some of the many multi-day hikes… to really experience Yosemite. I want to lie on one of its higher peaks and see the stars unobstructed.
Amidst the trees, waterfalls, rapids, and rivers we saw numerous squirrels, chickaree, woodpeckers, chipmunks, and other creatures. Along the road, we dodged two deer and spotted a foraging bear. We hiked a few trails, felt the spray of a few falls, surmounted numerous rocks, and stared in awe at the sights. Yosemite can keep a person busy for a life time. We’ve barely begun to see it.
Our last day was spent rafting 16 miles down the Merced River with Zephyr Whitewater Expeditions. This was Erika’s first rafting experience, my second. I can’t wait for the day I get to raft class 5 and I hope to eventually have the knowledge and skill to traverse whitewater alone in a kayak.
The night before leaving for Yosemite we camped atop the little-known Pine Mountain with Extreme Things. The night was cold and the wind was ceaseless. The stars were the most populous I’ve ever seen.
Need to learn basic math principles?
Wish you could learn them from a hamster?
It’s your lucky day!
Thanks to some fine folks in Canada, you can watch Tumbletown Tales and fulfill your dreams!
Seriously, watch it. It is hilarious.
If you have not yet heard of Italian Spiderman, your life means nothing.
Stop what you are doing and go experience it now.
About a week ago, we put together a short pitch for a web show at work. It features artwork of giant robots from one of our books mixed with keyed footage of few of us acting like ridiculous jack-asses. It is pretty entertaining. Unfortunately, I can’t post it, but that won’t stop me from showing off a few stills. Steven (my supervisor) had a fantastic idea. He had me nab one of the images we used for the video and use it to create a shirt featuring one of our coworkers who played the villain as his birthday was approaching and we knew he would love it. One of his scenes from the short features him saying “activate super crush.” Today, Steven called him to a conference room where seven of us sat waiting to presumably castigate him. Instead, we revealed that we were each wearing a shirt featuring him and gave him one of his own. He was so excited he ran around the office showing everyone and taking pictures of all of us. At this moment, he is probably sending links to all of his family and friends in Japan.
I never got around to posting more photos and blabber about the Rafting trip in June. I intend to remedy that right now.
I have been on a fair number of Extreme Things activities/trips (probably approaching 20 or so) and they have always been fun and very rewarding (even Strawberry Peak which beat me like a bitch), but the Kern Rafting Trip is likely the most fun I have had yet. I don’t know if the astral bodies happened to align perfectly that weekend or if that combination of calendar numbers ignited my joy chakra; but I was constantly in high spirits, bursting with energy, and having a great time all weekend.
Our camp site was directly in the blazing Sun—that weekend was relentless, but the awe-inspiring white-water river nearby more than compensated. We lounged around on immense rocks, explored, foolishly swam through rapids, and tubed. The next day brought the main event, 3-4 trips down separate areas of the River Kern. I couldn’t stop smiling the whole time. It whet my appetite for rafting. I certainly plan on returning next year, although I want to up the stakes—class 5. I’d love to try out white-water kayaking as well.
The weekend saw the birth of a running gag that may never die—Team Sausage—the best damn rafting team the Kern has ever seen. There were numerous high points to the weekend, but nothing can top the look on Karl’s face after being launched from our raft into a roaring rapid. That’s when my smile was the widest.
I’ve been relatively silent for the last couple of months.
Thus, it’s time to play catch-up.
Here is what has been going on between April and the present.
I have often said that once genetic splicing attains maturity I want a prehensile tail and monkey-hand-feet grafted to my DNA. I like to climb things. It’s one of my favorite hobbies. Thus, the Extreme Things rock-hop through Malibu Creek State Park was an event I eagerly anticipated.
We headed into the park, leapt a fence, and hopped our way across huge boulders and streams. Karl’s description read: “Surrounded by picturesque hills, forests, and sheer rocky cliffs, our route will follow a canyon stream in the heart of Malibu Creek State Park, accessing areas that are almost never frequented by hikers. This off-trail adventure will include rock hopping, scrambling on all fours (relying on both legs and arms for support), and traversing over low angled rock face above 10-feet deep water (no current).” His description was accurate and encompasses how we spent a few hours. During the rock-face traverse, I lost my grip and fell into the water, as did a few others. It felt great. At the end of the trek, we were welcomed by a enclosed pond where we will return in July for the annual “pool” party. There was one unforeseen ocurrence unfortunately. During a staggered scramble down a steep slope, a loose rock bashed open the finger of a guest. She was a hell of a trooper. Karl bandaged her finger and she continued on with nary a complaint. Later she would need stitches and discover her finger was broken. Despite this, she is recommending the club to others because she had such a great time. Climbing rocks is so fun, even a bashed up finger won’t stop some people.
