Scott Bush

The problem with the consumerismization of Christmas, if I can coin a very long word, can be summed up by the tragic death of 34-year-old Jdimytai Damour, who was trampled to death in a Black Friday stampede at a Wal-Mart in New York. I wish I was joking. I’m not:

By 4:55, with no police officers in sight, the crowd of more than 2,000 had become a rabble, and could be held back no longer. Fists banged and shoulders pressed on the sliding-glass double doors, which bowed in with the weight of the assault.
Suddenly, witnesses and the police said, the doors shattered, and the shrieking mob surged through in a blind rush for holiday bargains. One worker, Jdimytai Damour, 34, was thrown back onto the black linoleum tiles and trampled in the stampede that streamed over and around him.

I’m sorry, but no amount of $29.99 DVD players or whatever else the crowd had been queuing up for since 3:30am is worth the death–or even injuries–of workers or other shoppers. It’s asinine. I’ve never been to any Black Friday sales because I value my time (not to mention sanity and apparently even my health or life) too much. The holidays are about family and friends, not stuff. If more people realized that, events like this would never occur.

That’s the Phoenix valley, where we spent a relaxing few days visiting our friends Brigid and Carlos (married) and Sara (a housemate). They live in Mesa, to the east of Phoenix. We sure enjoyed the trip: for the opportunity to visit with our friends, but also for the weather! While the Seattle area was suffering under the cold oppression of late March snowfall, we were basking in 80-degree heat and lots of sun (and my forehead is peeling to prove it).

Day 1 - Friday

We arrived Thursday evening, but too late to do much except go to bed. Friday we headed out to the Phoenix Art Museum. They had a number of exhibits, including photography, Asian artifacts, fashion design, and the museum’s standing collection of art and installations.

Lunch was at Oregano’s, an informal Italian place that tries desperately to be “cool” and “hip,” where I swear the waiter was about to offer us “extreme pizza shooters” a la Office Space. We were recommended to go there for their “Pizzookie,” a—you guessed it—cookie baked in a pizza pan. It’s sizable, covered in ice cream, and overrated. Tasted okay, but I’d not cross the street to pick one up.

Day 2 – Saturday

Carlos was free Saturday so we took a trip two hours north to Sedona. It was much later than we intended when we left Mesa because the car we’d rented to accommodate all five of us had a nail in its tire and had to be exchanged.
Sedona is somewhat of a tourist-trap town with lots of artsy shops and overpriced cafes, but the red rock landscape more than makes up for it. We ate at an Oxaacan (Mexican) place where I had my first—and probably last—taste of cactus. It’s reminiscent of a green pepper but slimier and not as tasty.

We hit the trail after that and enjoyed a beautiful, albeit a bit short, hike. For as many cars as there were around, we didn’t see anyone on the trail. What we did see were some birds, a lizard, and lots of red rock. I’ll let the photos do the talking.

After the two-hour drive back, we finished off the night with takeout Chinese and , which comes on an hour earlier out there!

Day 3 – Sunday

Sunday we took it easy. We returned the rental car, then breakfasted (what kind of word is that?) at “The Good Egg,” which lived up to its name. Fooled by the 80-degree weather, we took a dip in the pool. After gasping, grunting and cursing the cold we spent an enjoyable 20 minutes swimming about. Warmed up and dried off in the sun, tried to read but slept instead, and polished off the afternoon with a sudoku. I also did my best Dr. Evil impression with a Mr. Bigglesworth stand-in.

Carlos treated us to homemade sonoran enchiladas (here’s a recipe), which we hadn’t had before—always a treat to experience something new. While Crystal and Brigid chatted outside, Sara, Carlos and I experienced the theatrical powerhouse that is WWE’s Wrestlemania 24. Wow. I’m not sure what blew my mind most: Snoop Dogg emceeing the ladies tag-team match, the idiots who couldn’t climb a ladder to get the briefcase, or how big these guys are. Oh, wait—I was most blown away by me actually kind of enjoying it.

Day 4 – Monday

Brigid took Monday off for our stay and we spend the day at the Desert Botanical Garden. It was way more fun than I expected. They have numerous “exhibits” of flora found in the sonoran desert. Basically tons of cacti and some flowers (yes, that’s a gross over simplification). What was even better were the free passes a kind lady offered us as we headed in; she had extras that expired that day. They even got us into the butterfly exhibit, which was nearly identical to the one at the Woodland Park zoo I saw last summer. Butterflies are very cool, even with human faces.

Lunch was a pastie at the nearby Cornish Pasty Co. A pasty is like a turnover, but savory. Or like a calzone, but with a flakier, buttery crust. They had many vegetarian options, too—including sheppard’s pie.

After that headed home, packed up and hit the airport for our return trip. I’m just glad it wasn’t snowing again when we got back.

UPDATE

Sorry, no photos to be had; we forgot our camera. There is a group photo of the “4 Dave” team we were a part of, but I don’t have it yet. The event was fun and included yummy new Pike Place Roast coffee from Starbucks. But, as I suspected walking around the back of an outlet mall and casino wasn’t exactly inspiring. Oh well, here’s to it brining the end of MS closer to reality!

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On Saturday, 12 April I’ll be up in Marysville participating in the Snohomish County MS Walk. My wife’s aunt is a staunch supporter of MS (multiple sclerosis) research because her cousin “Dave” died from MS three years ago. It’s in his honor that her team of MS Walkers is called “4 Dave.” She’s gathered a big group—20 people—to join the team for the fundraiser walk. That number includes my wife and me.

I hadn’t known much about MS, so I thought I’d share a very brief explanation of what it is (and provide a link to more information should you want it):

Having multiple sclerosis means that you may not be able to walk when you wake up. Or that you may suddenly have impaired vision. Or that your memory will fail you for no apparent reason. The symptoms of MS are different, and devastating, for everyone - the only certainty is that it will affect yet another person every hour of every day.

Doesn’t sound fun. I’m glad to be participating in the walk and hope some of my readers would consider donating if you’re interested. It is a good cause. But I noticed and felt it only fair to share the fact that just 82% of each dollar goes toward research; the rest covers overhead (the national chapter’s overall rating is 87.4%). That’s not a particularly great program-to-overhead ratio. For example, another group I volunteer with and donate to, Food Lifeline, spends an impressive 95.6% on program expenses (and, for each dollar provided, they’re able to provide $9 of food to hungry families). And the American Red Cross’ is 94% efficient with their donated money. Still, it will help so we’re contributing our own funds to the cause.

I’ll post some photos of the event afterward.

I can tell from the volumes of e-mail from my legions of faithful readers that my prolonged absence in posts has caused great concern. Well, it’s not for lack of witty post ideas, but rather that I’ve been very sick.

Not sure where it came from (though I have an idea or two; I’m thinking of you, fellow co-worker who was a “trooper” and came to work when ill!) but I’m sure it was the flu. I had apathy the likes of which haven’t been seen since sported by teems during the early 90s grunge scene. This was accompanied by aches throughout my body and the sort of general malaise that causes you to moan, not because doing so was easier than talking, or because you’d allowed yourself to watch two back-to-back episodes of Two-and-Half Men, but simply because you felt so miserable it seemed appropriate to do so.

But after five miserable days wondering if I should be wishing for death (it was Easter, after all; oh, and I missed out on my in-law’s Easter brunch, too), I began to feel better. So, with any luck I’ll get some new posts up soon.

Don’t let the post title fool you: I’m not a hard-core vegetarian militant. Some of my best friends are meat-eaters (as is my wife). I eat fish. I have leather shoes (but my wallet is duct-tape!). So I’m not here to preach. But sometimes people ask me why I don’t eat meat. Here’s a good answer: factory farms are a horrible place for animals. More proof of this can be found here: “Video of workers abusing cows raises food safety questions.”

I don’t expect most people to care. Americans, by and large, don’t want to be confronted with the truth behind that 99-cent cheeseburger they’re eating. How can it be so cheap? Hmmm… it takes a public health outcry like the Jack-in-the-Box e-coli fiasco to get attention, but things return the way they are.

Hope that opened a few eyes. If you want more info, check PETA’s site (or The Meatrix, an excellent tongue-in-cheek site about factory farming) but yes—they have an agenda so bear that in mind.

Recently I’ve experienced some tingling and discomfort in my right hand. Nothing to be alarmed about, as it’s happened to me periodically over the years. Occasionally I’ll be woken by a very intense pins-and-needles/aches in my hands, but that’s probably just from fighting all the dream ninjas. But I mentioned it to a guy who gives us company-subsidized massages and he suggested I move my mouse from the right to the left side of my keyboard. So I did.
It’s surprising how good I am at it. Now, I’m no southpaw; I can barely scratch out my own name left handed. But I can type QWERT, ASDFG, and ZXCVB just fine (not to mention 12345) so I guess it’s not surprising that after only a week I’m managing decently. I was told it’d take two weeks before I’d be proficient; perhaps I’m ahead of the curve? (On my PowerBook of course I’m still relying on my right hand when “trackpadding,” which is only slightly more of a bastardization than the term “mousing.”)