Snowy Ramble

I've been waiting for a 'real' snowfall for weeks now. It happens to come down upon Golden the very weekend I have absolutely no time to enjoy it (I mean carting my self off for some back country snowboarding) other than skating my tennis shoes across refrozen slush on my way to and from the Physics building.

Despite all this complaining, the wondrous beauty of a whitewashed outdoors is hard to overcome. The orange and white street lamps are not quite the usual beacons, blotting out shadow in all directions. Rather, the immaculate frozen blanket seems to hem light in, gathering most of its intensity and spraying it back into my eyes as if it contained its own source. The overall result is I can see the whole night landscape as if it were 4 in the afternoon. What's better about 11:30 pm (in Golden anyway) is the almost complete lack of traffic, pedestrian, vehicular, or otherwise.

Wrapped in my scarf (circa Liz: Round 2) and Tony's parka, I skidded through the empty streets at top speed, trying to work as little at the journey as possible by letting the slick surfaces carry my in that adrenaline moment where you don't know if you're going to lose your balance or keep on going unscathed. The several inches of powder not only reflected light but tuned the volume of life down a few notches. Sound was muffled, light was spread out, shadows disappeared, the stars were veiled, and the liquor store closed early...curses. I spent a rare moment standing in the exact center of four-lane Ford Street until the muted grumbling of a city bus hustled me back onto the sidewalk. Beer-less and looking at an uphill climb back to Meyer, I took a shortcut through someone's backyard (no one to see me) and attempted to repeat the sliding trick from earlier (not as much success going upslope).

Back here in front of this computer, my eyes burning like I'm dicing onions, my feet bare, my posture slowly slackening, I realize it's not nearly 2 am. Mike made tea, Tony passed out on the couch (newest addition to the undergraduate computer lab, courtesy of mio and a few others' efforts), and I've been reminiscing about my interest in traveling to Mars.

For those of the few who may read this post and know both Mike and me, you might say I've been copy-catting Mr. Raevsky (Mike). While he has been more vocal about his passion to set foot on the Red Planet in the recent past, I have legitimate claim to having the same dream since early grade-school. Mike tells me Mars has been his "focus" for the last 5 years or so. Given that a good number of kids want to be astronauts, doctors, veterinarians, the President (or the Caliph, to be fair) when they're young, my ambitions were commonplace. But, I wrote 600+ words for a 200 word maximum essay contest as an 8 year-old, star-struck space fanatic. My topic was the design of a living structure for the Martian climate, focusing mostly on the high-speed winds and blasting sand storms. For my efforts I received a poster. Six years later, as a freshman in high school, I elected to plan a trip to Mars for my science class project. That assignment was one of the few in my memory I tackled with speedy fervor, finishing well before the deadline (I'd like to save my habit of last-minute turn-ins for another post). Throughout the rest of high school and on into college I always kept Mars close to my mind, whether I remembered it or not (often not).

Now coming full circle, or mobius strip, strange loop, or whatever the geometry of my thoughts are today, my growing friendship with Mike has resurrected my old passions for interplanetary travel. We swapped some stories involving plots and plans for missions, Mike's got a mind to write a piece of fiction relating to the whole scenario, and the name Bob Zubrin came up a couple times. Mr. Raevsky started his own blog recently and has mentioned some of his ideas on Mars along with well-written discourse on something that brings the words "metaphysics" and "self-motivation" to mind sharply. Also that I have fallen into a bad habit of using passive voice nearly all the time.

Anyway or Fourway or Threeway if you like, I've dropped in awareness from sleepy to hazy. Mind dump time:

I've been told about 'underground' hip-hop, but I really cannot distinguish any differences between indie and mainstream--it all still makes me feel like swaying to a beat and retching simultaneously. I just fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard. Now in motion again and I've remembered another item in need of unloading: a recent 2007 photo of Robert Plant reminded me most of an aged lion's face in between two curtains of youthful, shoulder-length curls and it was quite strange to look at. My extremities are fading, so I think I'll listen and do the same.