Off I Go

I'm off to the mountains with Ali and the future in-laws. Probably won't be back 'til Sunday. Have a great Thanksgiving!

One more thing. Steve, if you don't write me back one of these days, I'm gonna FedEx the contents of the litter box down to you for your Christmas present.

Happy Holidays!

Gregory Gaines, April 6, 1982 – November 17, 2002

• PRESCOTT – A Prescott man reportedly died at the scene of an accident near Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University Sunday afternoon.

According to a Prescott Police report, 20-year-old Gregory Gaines lost control of the motorcycle he was driving on Hunt Drive near Haas Boulevard.

Prescott firefighter Dave Peterson said Gaines was not wearing a helmet and was thrown from the motorcycle. He reportedly suffered serious head trauma and internal injuries. Prescott Fire Department personnel pronounced him dead at the scene.

Authorities do not know if the accident involved alcohol, and it remains under investigation.

In four short paragraphs; the end of my friend’s life.

I met Greg shortly after meeting Alison, about three and a half years ago. They were classmates and had known each other for years, so I was the stranger. Not to worry, though. He was one of those rare people that, upon meeting, you want nothing more than to be his friend. Smart, witty, handsome, with a retiring manner and an off-the-wall sense of humor; he was someone that enriched everyone that knew him, just by being himself. A helluva guy.

We saw each other fairly frequently for the first year that Ali and I were together, meeting at parties and going out to eat. The more I talked to him, the more I came to like and respect him. He was my little brother, the embodiment of everything I wished I was when I was younger. I wanted to talk to him, listen, offer what advice I could, and show him what I had learned in my extra years. It made me feel good, just talking to him.

After that first year, we didn’t get to spend as much time with him as we’d like, though at a time like this, I don’t think I could ever have spent enough time that way. After graduation, he went to Prescott, AZ, to chase his dream of being a professional pilot, and Ali and I moved to Fort Collins, CO, where she is pursuing her vet degree. We’d get together once or twice a month during the summer, and maybe three times during the school year; something I always looked forward to. Some of the best memories I have are of sitting on the couch, or in chairs in the office, drinking beers and talking about whatever was on our mind until the sun came up and reminded us that it’s time to sleep. We even managed to have fun watching the Red Wings destroy the Avs in game 7 of the Stanley Cup last year, which, for a pair of diehard Avs fans, is pretty impressive.

On my 26th birthday, Greg joined Alison in throwing a cookout/party for me. That led to great conversations and an amazing hangover, at least for me. He was smart enough to go to bed before the sun came up. Then, a few days later, Greg and Alison surprised me by renting a Cessna 172SP and taking me up over Denver for an hour and a half flight. It was Alison’s first time in a private plane, my second, and it was the best gift I could have gotten. I sat in the copilot seat, and got to fly for about 45 minutes, while he coached me and offered suggestions. We flew all over Denver, finding our houses, schools, and businesses, doing touch and goes, and making funny noises at each other over the headsets. It was wonderful.

After that, we made plans to go in halves on an old bike, and I was going to teach him how to ride. In return, he was going to take me flying as often as possible. We talked of finally fulfilling my dream, a motorcycle road trip from coast to coast, following as much of Route 66 as possible. A month later, I had located the bike, but, due to bad budget decisions, was unable to purchase it before he left for school. I’m still torn by what might have been, had I only followed through and taught him to ride safely.

He was one of the first people Alison and I told of our engagement, and I still remember how excited he was. He told everybody he knew about the engagement and the (very tentative) wedding plans, ‘til I’m sure they were good and tired of hearing about these two people they’d never met. He was going to be a member of the bridal party, as he and Alison were very close, and we joked about making him wear a dress. It’s amazing, that some memories can still make me smile at a time like this.

We’d been planning to get together this weekend, when he was coming home for Thanksgiving break, for months. We were going to meet up with him on Saturday, head to the mountains, and go play in the powder at Copper. He was an excellent snowboarder, one of the few people I’ve ever met who could keep up with Alison, which put him light years beyond me. Ali and I’d been corresponding with him, trading ideas, finalizing plans, all the usual pre-holiday preparations. We hadn’t seen each other in about 3 months, and we were all excited.

We last heard from him on the morning of Saturday, the 16th, basically confirming dates and times. We didn’t hear from him for a couple days after that, and were getting ready to harass him about not returning e-mails when a mutual friend told Alison the news. She called me and I left work immediately. Everything after that seems like a particularly bad, extremely detailed nightmare. I remember being very numb, then very drunk, then numb again.

His father called Ali yesterday, to tell us the time and location for the funeral. He told us that he had opted for cremation because, you see, “We can’t put our pilot in the ground.” Of all the things I’ve heard or remembered, that hurts the most. It’s true. We could no more bury him in the earth than we could tell the birds not to fly. He belongs in the sky, where he was happiest, where his dreams were. It is his place.

Epilogue:

The funeral was Friday afternoon in Denver. Alison and I met at her house, and her mother accompanied us to the ceremony. I still felt like this wasn’t happening, like this was some tremendous bad joke or endless nightmare. I couldn’t accept it, so I went through the motions, awaiting a miracle.

The first indication I had of how many friends Greg has came when we had to park about two blocks from the funeral home. We parked, and walked in, and the chapel was full to overflowing. The chapel was full, all the annexes were full, the lobby was full, and people were spilling out onto the sidewalk. In total, around 150-250 people attended. Amazing.

The ceremony was… well, it was very sad. There were songs, and prayers, and a friend wrote a beautiful poem that made me cry even harder. People he’d grown up with, scoutmasters, coaches, and friends, spoke of their time with him. Alison and I stood in the lobby, and listened. It still hadn’t hit me, not entirely.

It’s amazing what you learn about people, things they don’t tell you. Greg was accepted into West Point, among other first rate colleges, but turned them down so that he could learn to fly. He was planning on proposing to his girlfriend this upcoming Sunday. Things like that, plans and dreams that will never be brought to fruition. That’s when I finally got it.

After the ceremony, we went into the chapel, and sat with friends. His mother, father, and sister were in the aisle, talking to the long line of friends and family that waited to offer their condolences. Watching his father fight back tears, his mother smile through them, keeping up the brave façade, broke my heart all the more. We talked to mutual friends, people we hadn’t seen in a while, and waited for the line to shorten.

Finally, when we could put it off no longer, we joined the line. I will never forget the pain and the emptiness that was etched into their faces. I tried to speak, but there were no words, nothing that didn’t pale before the magnitude of their loss. So I hugged them, and sobbed. It was all I could do.

I spoke to his mom briefly. She led me the few steps to the casket, pointed to a family portrait standing next to it, and said, “That’s the Greg you remember. All that’s in the casket is what’s left behind. That’s him in the picture.”

And it is. Greg, the man I loved like a brother, is gone. His time on earth was cut far too short. But I can look at the pictures, and remember, and as long as I do that, he’ll live on.

"High Flight"

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of -
wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hovering there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew:
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

Pre-flighting the Cessna for my 26th birthday present

Top of Mt. Princeton

Hiatus...

I learned today that a very dear friend of ours was killed in a motorcycle accident last Sunday. We're in a state of shock, and I really don't think I want to talk about it right now. So this site is going to go silent for a few days, while we work our way through this.

I'm going to go get drunk now. Thank you for your patience.

Happy Birthday, Melissa!

Melissa, the VodkaBride, is celebrating her birthday today. Why don't you drop by and say something nice? She's a very classy lady, a compliment I don't use lightly.

From Steve's post:

Happy birthday, darling. You're not just loved; I adore you.

Sometimes, it just fits

Sometimes, when you're sitting at your computer, waiting for exhaustion to force you to bed, songs that wouldn't even register normally become incredibly powerful. I'm having one of those moments, and I thought I'd share it.

BareNaked Ladies - You Will Be Waiting

As we walk together through the autumn, nearing winter Through the dying leaves and trees we call our home and native land, You say you don't believe a thing I say, I say you don't believe a thing You say you can't believe how I don't understand

Chorus:
But I Know
That you will be waiting
Oh I know
That you will be waiting
Oh I know
You Will be waiting
Waiting there for me

You say you cannot live with me, you need your own identity
And now we air our laundry on national TV
And so you hate my arrogance, my smothering and sitting on the fence,
But I'm afraid of the hard permanence of letting you go free

Chorus

I'm so sick of fighting and that effigy you're lighting looks
An awful lot like someone whose name I just can't quite place
And though you say it's not supposed to be me or any entity
Still through the flames and smoke I see I recognize that face

Chorus

And you were someone who would
Always tell me things I don't know,
And tell me where to go
But there I'll always go, always go there
Whether or not you're waiting
I don't care if you'll be waiting
But please say that you will be waiting there for me

Don't you ever leave me
Don't leave

I don't know what this means, and I'm not sure I care. It speaks to me, and I listen.

(Copyright Barenaked Ladies)

Phrase of the Day

"Backhoe Attenuation"

Some construction monkey went through the fiber with a backhoe, and I was greeted with quite the surprise this morning.

DNS - Down. Web Site - Down. E-mail - Down. CRM - Down.

Shit.

Everything's back up and running, but damn, people. Look before you dig.

Please?

This is your brain...

This is your brain on a British military exercise designed to guage the effects of LSD.

Warning: large download (14.2Mb)

Via MemePool

Pink???

Juan Gato has officially lost his mind. The result, 'Juan Gato's Bucket o' Hugs, is funnier than hell.

And then it was clear. Love is the answer! Suddenly my life had meaning and purpose, and that meaning was love. So there will be a whole new attitude around here from now on. Every post will be smothered with love. Love is truly all we need.

Someone get this man some scotch. It might not be too late...

Update: He's back. My world resumes it's proper shape.

A real banner day

Drudge is set to pass 1 billion (yes, with a B) hits today. God, that's a lot of traffic.

Congrats, Matt.

Crisis averted

Bill's back!

That almost put a severe cramp in my day...

Banner Day!

Ok, everyone's going to have a big laugh at this, but today was my 1,000th hit! Look!

I know that everybody else is getting that in 10 minutes, but I'm excited.

I'm sure Andy will have something cruel to say to this, as well he might. He was the hit.

Is 'ominosity' really a word?

Found via the VodkaMeister, whose onimosity level is disconcertingly low.

New VodkaTagline

"Martini-fueled Outrage"

I like it better than the previous one. I just wonder how long it was up there before I noticed it...

I really need to start paying attention.

No more Daily Pundit?!?

Daily Pundit, one of my regular stops (10-15 times a day, average day), is closing shop.

Seems that his Popup ads stopped working entirely, for reasons unknown at this time. Without the cash flow from that, he's left back where he started, and that's not where he wants to be. Understandable.

As to his suspicion of being hacked, I would be inclined to doubt it. Having used Free Software for years, I've seen more than my fair share of bugs and sloppy coding. The problem, in all likelihood, is a corruption in Movable Type. I'm not bashing MT; on the contrary, I love it. However, any time you use free software, expect to find problems. It happens.

Mr. Quick, I know you don't know me from Adam, but take this bit of advice from a fan: Take a few days off, call Stacy Tabb, and let her put it back to right. If there has been an intrusion, find and fix the vulnerability. If not, send an e-mail to MT letting them know about the problem. Other than that, relax and enjoy yourself.

We're not going anywhere.

They're back!!!

Ken Layne and Dr. Frank are back, after a long absence.

Damn, guys. I though we'd lost you...

Busy little bee

This week has been a helluva lot of fun, but busier than the proverbial one-armed paper hanger. I apologize to anyone who's been seeking fresh new grammatical errors and been disappointed. (There's one!)

A lot can happen in a week, and when the repercussions are fully understood, I will be telling all of my loyal readers a story about love, and chance, and happy endings. Yes, alcohol was involved, but not as much as you'd think.

So hang in there. I've got an ace or two up my sleeve...

Steve, you're a wild man...

My good man Steve, proprieter of Vodkapundit, is blogging the elections fast and furious. Me, I don't even have a TV, so I'll defer to him. Go check it out, if you're interested.

Oh, and Steve? After last weekend, we're tied 1 and 1. I will put you under the table next time. :)

Outages

Looks like a large portion of the internet has dropped out. Google, Slashdot, Blogspot (alright, not a great indicator), among others are no longer reachable. I'll keep an eye on this.

Strange, though. Slashdot never goes down...

Update: They're back. That was quick. Wonder if I need to ring my idiot ISP...

It's on!!!

While surfing my morning blogs, I came across some welcome news.

A-Basin has 49" of snow this month alone! Copper Mountain has 22" mid-mountain, 29" upper mountain, and two lifts open. This is very, very good, especially seeing as I just spent a lot of money on a new board, boots, and bindings. I think we're in for a primo season.

I ski Copper, because that is what the boss has decreed. (I love you, Ali.) I've got my seasons pass, and now I'm just itching to take the new board (here, except mine's a 155) out and beat myself up a bit.

Thanks to Walter in Denver for the heads-up. Anybody out there who'll be heading up soon, let me know. I got an itch that needs scratchin'.