Memories of Somebody
Thinking Back, Thinking Forward

Size 13 shoes

By LukeCD03

There are big things afoot. Boredom and a need to substantiate myself as an educated millennial have collided in the form of me spending two days straight designing and hand coding a new website. A home to my resume, portfolio, and a blog.

With my own space, I'll probably relocate this unseen venue to wordpress, but we'll see. In either case, www.lukusnotlucas.com will be up and running within a few days.

 
Up?
0

If a tree falls in the forest...

Posted In: , , , . By LukeCD03

I'm not concerned with trees, but that eternal question is very much real to me today.

My Xbox Live Gamertag has been corrupted. This means, the fifteen or so games I've played through, the achievements I completed, the saves... they're all gone. Now my old 4000-ish gamescore was nothing to write home about, especially when compared to my buddy with over 12,000, but still it did give me some legitimacy. It showed that while I might not have been a game collector, I was certainly in it for the long run with what I had.

Forty achievements in Mass Effect, thirty in Dragon Age: Origins, thirty-seven in Mirror's Edge, twenty-nine from Assassin's Creed. I could go on, but I'll stop.

The issue I have now is, on my new Gamertag... it appears as if I just learned what video games were a week ago. I know that I had wracked up the kills, the achievements, and the multiple play-throughs, but no one else does.

Now, even though I've beaten these games and bent over backwards to appease the requirements of certain achievements, I'm planning on doing it again. It's a strange sort of self-conciousness to be ashamed of one's own meager gamescore, yet that's where I'm at.

So, should anyone come across CheeseDuck03 on Live, friend me, but don't point and laugh!

 
Up?
0

Hometown Eulogy

Posted In: , , , , . By LukeCD03

You know that old adage: The more things change the more they stay the same? I once thought saying fit my small hometown the same way my favorite pair of tennis shoes slide on without having to retie the laces. Only now, when I’m here during what is to be the curtain call on a long tradition of winter breaks and summer vacations, do I realize that isn’t exactly the case. Nothing changes here.
Yes, maybe after fifteen years we have a new town mayor, and of course there’s finally a second grocery store. But the people themselves, the one’s I grew-up with, my high school friends and teachers, the lady who drove my school bus… everyone who either did not want to or was not able to escape from this town sinking into the sands of the southern Mojave desert: they’re the same.
Their problems, perceptions, and ideas do not waver.
Each successive visit to my childhood home becomes more and more awkward because of this staunch conformity to tradition. What have become fond memories for myself remain current to those that I left behind. I look to share my experiences and knowledge from the outside world while they struggle to fit this new me back into the space I left vacant. I’m the proud recipient of reassuring pats on the shoulder and a promise that I’ll surely be able to come back home, find a place and a job that will benefit the community, and fill the spot I left open.
I once thought that I would come back, affect the changes I knew needed to happen, make this town what it could be. But now, any thought, any offer of a future in this place seems to be the beginning of a eulogy for the rest of my life.
So, this trip has been different. I truly am saying goodbye. Oh, it’s not that I’ll never visit, but this is the last opportunity for me to take my place here. I left home for school, but this time when I leave, I wont be going for my education and I wont be leaving home – I’ll be returning to it.
I wish it were sad to be putting aside this chapter of my life – almost nineteen years of memories – but it’s not. I was never the one to cry at a graduation, nor fret over what had past and never would be again. I’m the one who’s already out the door, saying that it’s about damn time, and ready for the more exciting events to come.

 
Up?
0

Space Exploration: Running on Fumes and Politics

By LukeCD03

Those who are interested in space exploration will probably enjoy Buzz Aldrin's blog at the Huffington Post: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/buzz-aldrin/in-search-of-a-real-space_b_371205.html

He has the unfortunately less publicized view on killing the shuttle, its replacement the X-33, and going back thirty years to rockets. The pages of intelligent and well moderated comments to this posting are also fairly intriguing, with apparently a few former NASA employees throwing their hat in with Aldrin.


With the way things seem to be going down here, I don't think the Vulcan's will be making a stop in 2063. 

 
Up?
0

Sex In the land of Bitter Old Bitties

By LukeCD03

Somehow fate always makes sure some things remain constant in my world:

1.  Whenever I have free time I suddenly have more work, thus negating the free time.

2.  I never, ever bring enough water when I hit a bike trail. No matter how much I have, I want to drink more.

3.  If there is a hole, curb, or some other type of uneven terrain I will find it and I will roll my ankle.

And my favorite is one I enjoyed earlier this afternoon.

4.  Any time I buy condoms, I’m boxed in at the check-out by two old women and the cashier wants to be glib and say things like, “big plans for tonight?”

I mean, why does this happen? I do my best to be an adult, I’m not blushing and shifty-eyed when I pick out the ones I want. I also grabbed a gallon of milk and some hair gel. I pick the smallest line and lay my goods down on the conveyor belt.

Immediately the seventy year old woman, checkbook in hand, turns and surveys what I had placed behind her tub of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter (Do people realize that the stuff is nearly chemically identical to plastic?). She huffs a bit, turns to the cashier, a man slightly older than myself, and says: “I didn’t realize this store sold those.”

I remained silent, but if my father were there he would have warned me that my eyes were going to roll right out of my head.

A moment later a few bottles clank behind me. I turn to see a fine lady with a much shorter haircut than I, lay down a six pack of O’Douls and some candy. I smile, say hey. Her eyes dart up to me, to my purchase, then back. Her huff mirrors the old woman’s, who is now finally leaving after recommending that the cashier restock the stuffing in a different isle.

Finally its my turn.

I smile at the guy, give my non-committal “how’s it going?” and proceed to pull my membership card out from my wallet. He replies with an equally non-committal, “good how’re you?”

“Pretty good,” I said, still digging into my wallet, only looking up when he says, “Yeah I bet it is going good, huh?”

Guess what he’s holding? Not my gallon of milk.

Really people?

 
Up?
0

Some wisdom born in the 1980s

Posted In: , , . By LukeCD03


Lately I’m reminded of how much I’ve grown in the last few years. Having roommates that are four years younger than myself serves as an almost constant reminder of what I’ve gained in my years of college and independence. I’m no stranger to leadership roles, but to be looked at for experience-based wisdom on a consistent basis is an unnerving eye-opener.

Mundane day-to-day necessities like paying bills, shopping, or even cleaning are no longer mysterious and arcane things that only my parents had to deal with. I’ve also moved past the headache and anxiety with having to accomplish these tasks. Well, perhaps there’s still anxiety when money is tight, but that’s a separate issue. The process is no longer daunting, instead all these things have become routine.

The motivation for this train of thought didn’t come from knowing how to talk to a plumber though, its because of a girl.

Jon’s about the same age as I when I first encountered this type of female friend: the clingy girl. A physically, emotionally, and socially needy individual – great for three-legged races, but scary in most other scenarios. In my situation, it was a series of lucky coincidences that turned sour with my first San Diegan girlfriend.

I met “Jane” at a mixer for new Professional Studies and Fine Arts transfer students and we hit it off. Through the conversation I learned she lived in the same residential hall apartments that I did. Later on that night my roommates and I ended up hanging out at her place, with her roommates and some other folks. It was the first party I ever had in San Diego, and the first time I’d ever received and given a haircut while tipping back a few – Don’t try that at home kids. The night ended on a horizontal note and it seemed like all was well.

As time progressed everything became less well. She learned my schedule better than I knew it. That could be seen as a sweet gesture, until she started showing up outside of classes and became agitated if I was ever not “where I should have been.” This was scary Swimfan stuff here, guys. Eventually I learned to hide, with many thanks to her roommates and mine. This steady increase in not meeting her expectations resulted in some explosive retribution from her end, yet she eventually got tired of me falling short and thus grew bored.

Now here in the present, we have Jon. He met a girl through a free online dating site and she came over and watched a movie with him (and I mean that in truth, not as a euphemism). Ever since the credits stopped rolling she’s been calling and text messaging him nonstop. He claimed that he was ignoring her and trying to cut ties, but I could tell what he was still gaming for with this one.

Just like when he wanted to know about dealing with his insurance company, he looked to me for some advice. And having survived the situation myself and seeing he had a chance to take a right turn where I had taken the wrong one, I shared my wisdom:

Clingy, stalker girls are like Gremlins. Don’t feed them, and don’t get them wet. Follow those two rules and you’ll be safe.

When I came home from my own escapades last night and found the two of them on the couch, all I could do was shake my head and mutter, “Gremlins man, Gremlins,” as I walked up stairs. My only hope is she doesn’t get a driver’s license and start showing up here unannounced. Good thing my door has a lock; I wouldn’t enjoy being murdered because she wanted some alone time.

 
Up?
0

Step aside, Edward Michael Grylls

Posted In: , , , . By LukeCD03





Writing is, in many cases, a cathartic experience; so to are nature and friendship. Therefore writing about a hiking trip in the mountains with friends will be the penultimate cleansing venture!

That faulty syllogism sort-a reads like a colon-cleansing ad now. But either way, that’s what’s coming down the pipe for this entry.

Last Saturday was our inaugural trek through the Laguna Mountain Recreation Area in Cleveland National Forest, just outside of San Diego. The plan was simple and began in the middle of the week.

Jon: “Want to go hiking this weekend?”
Me: “Sure.”


It didn’t evolve much until we were a few miles down Sunrise Highway, realizing we’d probably need a map. While buying a map at the trading post we learned we’d need a parking pass, and after driving around for an hour we learned that even though I was especially skilled at map reading (compared to Jon), no amount of skill would force the map to tell us anything about surrounding landmarks that could be used to find the trails. Picture a map of U.S. freeways without any major roads or cities marked.

I tried the whole “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good” deal, but it didn’t pan out.



Miraculously, I determined that a tiny dirty path and an illegible sign in the confines of the Laguna Campground coincided with the markings on the map that read, Big Laguna Trail.

Sweetness. Cue adventure music.



Our first stop on our trek filled with Lord of the Rings quotes was a vast field of, well, not much. It was quite vast and field like, and would make a great background for a postcard. As we progressed we learned that this field grew to an even more vast state, in what the map told us was the Big Laguna Meadow. Meadow is a pretty gnarly word. You wouldn’t think to call that big empty lot of grass next to your house a meadow, but it could be! I endeavor to locate shires and knolls (not gnolls, which would need to be hacked to pieces for experience) on future trips.

The field-meadow relationship wasn’t the only concept that our hike challenged as we journeyed onward.

We soon came to a great expanse. Within the great expanse was a great deal of mud. Jon was hesitant to give a name to what we saw, but I had already made the unfortunate connection. The Big Laguna Lake was in fact the Big Laguna mud hole, a pair of fellow hikers confirmed to us.


Despite the lacking lake, the quest continued. We shifted from Big Laguna Trail, to the Meadow Trail, to the Sunrise Trail, then back again, while taking a few off-trail detours.

I was rewarded on our first deviation from the trail with an arrow! Oh, you might think, "Wow, an ancient Native American relic! What a find!" And in response I'd say, "No, why would I care about some moldy wooden arrow with a stone tip?" What I found was a nice fiberglass arrow shaft, with a steel broadhead arrowhead (redundant much?), and some crappy plastic vanes for fletching. Granted I can't use a broadhead in target competition, and I'd replace the plastic vanes with feathered ones, but a free fiberglass shaft is like... $5.00? Score. Makes me wonder what was in those trees that a hunter would need a broadhead point for, though.


Our eight mile trek brought us up hill then down, then up, and down again. And we saw neither hide nor hair of anything aside from people, birds, and a herd of "wild" cows.

The adventure left us tired, but eager for more. And as we arrived home later that evening, plans were already in the works for future outings. Next Saturday we're breaking out the mountain bikes and tearing up the mountain trails, in a very environmentally conscious way, of course. Then camping at some point, before it snows.

If only the girls I knew liked camping and exploring, that would make these trips even more cathartic.

 
Up?
0
Older Posts