Donald Trump is....Not Good.

It is amazing to me....just amazing....that a man who sights as his inspiration two of the darkest chapters in American history, the internment of Japanese Citizens during World War II and Operation Wetback, is still leading the polls for the GOP nomination.  It's astounding.  Just astounding.  

And there are really no other words.  Volumes and volumes have been written and will be written about this political cycle where one man has broken every rule of presidential electoral politics and thus far remained seemingly invincible to his own vacuity.  

But I'll tell you this Donald J. Trump:  I will never, ever vote for you.  

And my vote is cheap!  I was willing to give it away to Romney for a couple dozen fresh (not fundraiser) Krispy Kreme donuts.  But for you?  No amount of donuts will do.  Not three dozen, not five dozen.  Not ten.  You could even up the quality, fly them in special from New York, get your own personal chef to guild them with gold flake in the shape of little boats and geese and get Katy Perry and Anne Hathaway to serve them to me in a palatial Mansion by the sea and I still would proudly, proudly say "No!"

No, Donald Trump!  No.  I won't do it.   

So that's what I think of Donald Trump.  It's on record, it's out in the ether, and I needn't discuss this again.

Books You May Not Like: The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger

Listen:  Henry de Tamble has become unstuck in time.

No, not like Billy Pilgrim.  This is different.  Henry has some kind of disease where his entire body and soul suddenly gets transported to a different time.  He'll be sitting there drinking coffee with you, suddenly complain that he will feel nauseous, and POOF!  he's gone.  Only his body goes.  Anything foreign (clothes, shoes, fillings, contacts, glasses) gets left behind.  So you are sitting there drinking coffee with a pile of clothes.  

If you are Clare de Tamble, you may merely shrug.  This is something your used to.  Henry has been a part of your life since you were 6, when you met Henry for the first time in a clearing.  As he kept traveling back in time, you fell in love.  Then you met Henry in the present where he works in Chicago in some high-falutin laboratory, and you got married.  It was weird -- you knew him very well, but the Henry you met in the present did not know who you were.  The Henry you have met before is a little older, a little wiser, a little less of a douche.  

Where did Henry go?  More likely than not in the past, and more likely than not to a place near his own past. He tends to stick to his own continuum.  He revisits traumatic events in his past quite often.  Very rarely does he go into the future.

Can he control it?  No.  It happens, and he's gone.  He has no say as to where he goes.  He does not know how long he'll be gone.  He winds up naked and with nothing in whatever place he ends up, and he steals what he needs to survive. Henry has some kind of disease, you see, that allows him to time travel...

When will he back?  Who knows.  Could be a few minutes, hours, days.  One thing is for sure...time seems to elapse slower in the present.  If he is gone for spends a few hours in the past it will be minutes in the present.  Days are like weeks.

What is it like to live with a guy who keeps disappearing all the time?  It's hard.  It's been hard to have a child (but after two dreadful miscarriages you finally had one, and she is afflicted with the same....affliction.  damn.).  Plus, Henry knows how and when he will die.  And when it happens...wow.  It's sad.  

So its a sad book.  Kind of about living with dignity against our own finiteness.  That seems to be how Henry grows.  When we meet him, as I said, he's a real douche.  He sleeps around, he has stupid 90's hair, he's kind of an asshole.  Being with Clare kind of helps him lose some of that assholery, and as he approaches the end there are moments where he behaves with real human dignity.  He gives his father, who grieves over the horrific death of his mother by taking to alcohol, a chance as well to redeem himself when he tells him that he will teach his daughter to play the violin.

Is it a good book?  Sort of.  I think its a wonderful, wonderful idea.  What a great premise.  And Niffenegger writes with great power, at times approaching a syntax that is almost poetic.  She laces this book with a wide range of emotions, from the beautiful to the nauseating to the downright tragic.  And that is impressive.

The one problem I have with the book is that Clare's character seems to be a bit too autobiographical.  This is probably because we get a long description of her red air, and if you look at the dust jacket of the book you see that that is a trait Niffenegger shares with her protagonist.  There are other things as well (they both live in Chicago, they both are artists). 

And I don't know....when you read of Clare "courting" Henry in early 1990's Chicago, it just feels like the author has packed a lot of her own experience into the book.  You'd expect that - everyone writes from their own experience, and its a first novel so you'd expect it even more so.  But the intimacy and the length of the section just make me feel like we are a little too close to the author here, and for some reason I found it to be uncomfortable.  

If Clare had had brown hair, maybe things would have been different. 

But at any rate, an enjoyable work.  I have a feeling I will try Niffenegger again.  She has a name, for sure, that is impossible to forget.

My Favorite Frank Beamer Story....Which isn't Really About Frank Beamer at all, but Rather Begins with a Bunch of Rocks.

Even if the Hokies lose this weekend to UVA it may not be Super Franlkie Beamer's last football game; at 5-7 the well supported Hokies could still end up in the Diamond Walnut Weedeater Bowl or something like that.  However, in celebration of Frank Beamer's last regular season game and his final trip to Charlottesville in anger, I want to tell my favorite Frank Beamer story,  which is less about Frank and more about the Appalachian Trail.  And its long, and its dumb, but this my blog, so....yeah.

So, in the beginning....

When I thru-hiked the AT 10 years ago I had a small radio, equipped with AM/FM/TV and weather bands.  When I started the hike I thought that I wouldn't be listening to it too much, seeing as I would be communing with nature and getting down with the trees and birds and shit and didn't want anything to interfere with that.  I'd listen to it at night sometimes or in the mornings, to check the weather and get some news of the world, but as I made my way down the trail my heart and mind was full of the silent sublimity of nature. I really had no need to listen to the radio.  

Then I ran smack dab into Pennsylvania.  

Pennsylvania is just a terrible place to hike.  It's where the glaciers from the last ice age stopped, and that glacial boundary is marked with millions of small rocks poking up out of the ground.  For two days out of the Delaware Water Gap I walked on the points of these rocks jutting out of the ground for miles and miles and miles and at last, with my mind numb and my feet sore and my nerves going all a jingle-jangle, I finally pulled out the radio and clipped it to my pack, stuck in the earbuds, and never looked back.  For the rest of the hike if I was walking I was listening to the radio.  Nature be damned.

How'd you like to commune with this?

Saturdays became my favorite days.  I'd listen to weekend edition on NPR and then listen to the rest of their Saturday programming, which was usually things like "Wait wait don't tell me" and "This American Life". Then, in the evenings, I would listen to college football broadcasts.

If the Hokies were playing?  Double Bonus, because when I hiked the trail I loved the Virginia Tech Fighting Gobblers more than I ever had before or have since.

Two reasons for this, as best as I can figure.  First, when you hike, when you actually spend your day walking for miles and miles, something weird happens to your brain - I think its because you are getting so much exercise that you have excessive amounts of Dopamine and other hormones to contend with.

For me, this was manifested in being extremely emotional.  Listening to Country Music was the worst.  I'd hear one song about Mama and how after Dad died she flew his F-14 into Libya and the plane got hit and the dog had to eject over the desert sands and we never could find him and now she's sitting there in her rocking chair knitting a pair of Christmas shoes for when Aunt Deb goes to meet Jesus and wondering about what happened to the dog and I'll tell ya - I would cry. Tears streaming down the cheeks and sniffles sniffling up the nose, a few hushed sobs.

But then the next song would be about the farmer's daughter with a predisposition to tequila who likes to go skinny dipping after she is done milking the cows and she has a tattoo somewhere on her body of what doing something to who and then she walks off to Bible Study with a tray of biscuits winking at you because when she made them she was buck nekkid (okay, she was wearing an apron, because otherwise it would simply be unsanitary) and all these old Church ladies will be eating her buck nekkid biscuits and it gives her little subversive heart so much joy, and did I mention she has huuuuuge tires on her truck and her dog is just awesome, like a little Boswell to her Samuel Johnson, going where ever she does and making little notes on her life so that one day the dog can publish her story and it will be not quite a best seller but that's pretty good for a dog, and he'll get to New York City to see if those city slickers ever learned how to make a decent salsa. And I would cheer-up, like, immediately.

So I was in love with the Hokies because I was sort of messed up and pretty much in love with everything.

Second, the Hokies, they reminded me of home.  Walking the AT at the time represented both the farthest and the longest I had been away from Blacksburg, and I was maybe a little home-sick.  Just a little.  So when I heard news of the Hokies or listened to their games, I felt like a little piece of me had gone back home, was hanging out spiritually in the town I grew up in with the people I loved, and that was cool man.  I could dig it, you know?

Sure you do.

Anyways, the story.  Around Halloween of 2005 I had actually reached Pearisburg, and my family pulled me off the trail for a week to rest, relax, and do some slack packing, where they would drive me to point A, I'd walk for about 25 miles or so and get picked up at the end of the day at point B by my parents.  They'd drive me home, I'd get to eat a nice big meal and sleep in a regular bed.

After a week of this I was finally out of range, and it was finally time to start hiking again for reals.  I was driven out to somewhere near Marion in a truck and dropped off with a full load of food, some fresh socks, and a new pair of trekking poles, and there I was again, back in the woods.  Mixed emotions.  Mixed emotions.  Happy to be back on the road, sad to leave those I loved behind so I could go finish the hike.

But it was Saturday, and I had the Hokies to buoy my spirits, yeah?  It has been a great season for Tech, despite the fact that they were lead by Marcus Vick (Marcus Vick!).  They had begun the season ranked 8th in the nation and had steadily improved their standing as they destroyed all other opposition.  They beat big named teams.  Looking at the college football landscape today it is almost impossible to believe, but there was a time when #3 VT met #18 Boston College at Lane Stadium and Beamer's Boys put their adversaries to the sword in front of a sold out crowd.

My how times have changed.

Any ways, on November 5th, as a I sat huddled in a dark shelter not too far from Burke's Garden, the #3 Hokies hosted the #5 Hurricanes at Lane Stadium, and it grew dark, and I fell asleep listening to the game, and I woke up around 11:30 to the sound of Frank Beamer saying that we should give Miami all credit, they're a great football team, you know, and.....

They had lost, 7-27.  'Twas a schlacking.

The next morning I penned a hasty note in the trail register, a notebook left at the shelters that people write in, either to share news on trail conditions or just have a laugh, let people know that you were at this particular place.  I was feeling plucky, so I wrote a sarcastic note stating that upon hearing that the Hokies had lost my spirit was so mortally wounded, my heart was so broken, that it was not possible for me to continue, and I was getting off the trail.  Laughing to myself, I kept on a'chooglin down the line.

Fast forward about a month and about 500 miles later.  I'm at the Walayisi Outdoor Center in Neels Gap, GA, the last stop before the AT's southern terminus in Springer mountain.  There is an outfitter there, and the people who work it are used to seeing people going north who have just logged in their first 70 miles of the trail and maybe their first 70 miles of backpacking ever in their lives.  Many of them have no idea what they are doing and desperately need gear changes and advice.  It is a PERFECT place for an outfitters.

I was standing there, eyeing a pocket rocket stove, and one of the people working the outfitters saw me. "Those are sweet little stoves, man."

"Yeah, they look it."

"What are you carrying?"

"Oh, I have a whisperlite."

"Ha!  You mean a 'whisperheavy'?  You know, we got a sale going on right now, if you are looking to upgrade."

I gave him a sour look, or at least the sourest look I could manage, which wasn't very sour because like I said earlier I was pretty much in love with everything.  "That's okay.  I've managed to schlep it for 2,000 miles.  I think I can manage the last 77."

But hey, he wasn't all bad.  He gave me and Bad Cheese and Stale Crackers (the two people I finished the hike with) the number to Domino's pizza.

And as I sat there, eating a lovely medium pizza that was mine and only mine, these two hikers walked in who I had never seen before, but they knew someone I had gone to high school with and who is now a yoga princess or something like that (really.  It's actually pretty cool).  Bad Cheese and Stale Crackers introduced themselves, and when I told them who I was they were flabbergasted.

They had read my post after the Miami loss, and they thought I had actually, really, had gotten off the trail because of it.

And that's my story.

And yeah, it isn't that great, which is why any effort I've made to write about the Trail and my hike have met so often with frustration.  For me there was no great spiritual epiphany or insight.  I didn't meet any bears.  I didn't fall in love with nature or anything or anyone else.  When I got back my life followed the same arc that it was already on before I did my hike. The AT was a grind, a long day in and day out moderately dangerous adventure.  But it was beautiful, and I was happy, and it has molded my sensibilities, and I am ever so grateful to have done it.

But I think if this story tells anything, it shows what Frank Beamer had built at Virginia Tech, and what it meant to so many people.  These guys actually thought that a VT football loss had been the final straw that finally forced me to hang up the trekking poles and call it a walk; that they actually believed I would do such a thing shows what power the program had over us, how much a part of our lives it was.

Frank Beamer in happier times.  I'll leave it to the shirt and the hat to give away the year, but it was a very, very long ago.

So thanks, Frank, for giving so many people something they have held so dear, a decent college football team, and occasionally a great college football team.  There are more important things in this word, I suppose....but the Hokies gave so many of us something to project a bit of meaning onto, a reason to put one foot in front of the other towards the Fall season and towards Saturday and Thursday nights in Blacksburg, and a reason to eat Turkey Legs that are just way to large to be natural.      

And now, I am going to get me some of those buck-nekkid biscuits.