So You Think You Can Dance!? features a half dozen pairs of dancers vying for the votes of the millions of weekly Fox viewers. Their dances are choreographed and they (one cute girl and one gay man) perform the routine in a business suit for him and half a dress for her. I settled into the couch in Sammamish to watch the show this evening. My eldest brother, Chris, flanked me while my sister-in-law, Kat, sat curled beside him. I imagine this is a weekly affair. The whole Tivo/recordable tv show business made the event bearable. The tv in the Peshastin house only plays DVDs and tapes and I haven't watched network television since the last time I was in Chinese Camp. My brother is an avid fan. He's the director of strategy over at Microsoft; he's in charge of revamping the political organizations of small countries in Africa and Southeast Asia with newer, improved, more Windows friendly types of democracies. I suppose his job is hard. Lots of office politics. "Turf wars," Kat said. Whatever. It's been a few years since I've seen either him or Kat. It's hard to meet up when he's busy directing strategy and Kat's busy taking care of my four year old niece Graylin. While it's nice to see them both, I'm afraid my oldest brother's gotten a little round around the stomach. When I say "a little round" I mean very round. And when I say "very round" I mean, think Goodyear Blimp. The climbing lifestyle doesn't afford too much fat. Sure, I occasionally roll around with a bit of a muffin top, but it usually doesn't spill more than an inch or four over the top of my jeans. Maybe I'm just not used to seeing round Americans. It's really unhealthy. He's diabetic. It's not a good lifestyle. Everything's better when you're fitter. From you're ability to think and perform daily routines to nocturnal wrestling. I'm tempted to say something to him but don't know how. "Dude, you're fat" seems rather callous, especially since he's hooking it up with a sick place to stay for when I go to Little Si tomorrow. Maybe, I'll try to get him to go on a hike with me and Graylin. It can be a bonding thing...aka a two hour power slog up a strenous hill. Hopefully he's not in danger of cardiac arrest.
The past few days, actually the entire time I've been in Washington, I've been lost. Completely disorientated. My Boy's Scout Orienteering badge is on the edge of being revoked. I drove past Index today by 8 miles. I had to turn around when I hit Goldbar. The night before I drove ten miles past the Forestland, which is the only bouldering spot I've been to more than once. Damn. I almost gave up on going. I was pretty frustrated. I couldn't find the tiny turn off the wooded road, the boys in Peshastin all stayed home drinking beer, and my ankle hurt from a big fall I'd taken off a boulder two days before. I managed to find the boulders though and I dragged three crashpads out. It was a really good solo session. I rarely boulder alone but I managed to get psyched and do a couple problems I wanted to try. I even stuck a dyno, which is rad considering I don't know how to jump at all. I didn't mind having been lost for so long when I stuck that boulder problem or when I finally found Index.
I was all psyched on bouldering last night, trying to send the gnar, but today I stopped by Index to hang out with Cole Allen and Mikey Schaefer. They were toproping at the Lower Town Wall. Suddenly, I got severiously amped on route climbing again. I could learn a lot from Index. My technique is pretty appallingly and the smooth granite of the Town Wall could sharpen my skills quite a bit. A couple days at Little Si, sport climbing and hanging with the fat brother, and then maybe I'll go hang in Index for a little bit.
Still, I need to find a job. If I don't get one soon, I may end up working some crummy gig like Max did 2 years ago, grinding away at a chocolate factory in a uniform in downtown Leavenworth- he packed fudge in liederhosen in little Bavaria.