On August 10th, my father and I hiked up to the top of Buffalo Mountain in Silverthorne, Colorado. Today, I present with photographs of the journey, because I think they're cool. Maybe you'll agree, maybe not. Frankly, I don't care. I'm presenting them either way.

As hikes and as mountains in Colorado go, Buffalo Mountain is hardly one of the more difficult. However, since everything is relative and needs to be taken in perspective, there is additional relevant information. It is not all that surpising that I was able to make this climb, 19-year old strapping young lad that I am. On a certain level, I wish I had accomplished something spectacular, but this is simply not the case. On the other hand, my father just happens to 50, and in addition to that has not maintained a lifestyle that includes regular exercise for a the better part of a decade. His reaching the top was a feat worth mentioning. In addition, neither of us had even had a full day to acclimate ourselves to the altitude. I'm proud of our success.

I will admit, though, that my father most likely owes some of his success to me. I made sure that I kept at least 50 paces ahead of him at all times, enough so that I was still in his sight, but too far for him to tell me that he wanted to go back down. I did this because I desperately wanted to reach the top (our last attempt, made when I was 12, was thwarted by an oncoming storm) and I knew he would not allow me to continue on my own. Regardless, he made it all the way up. It made the climb much easier on me, since I stopped to rest about as often as he did, even though I didn't need it that much.

Anyway, here are some photos I took of the actual mountain. 1, 2, and 3. In addition, for your viewing pleasure, an approximation of the route we took to the peak(s).

There was another group that brought their dog along, and I took a couple shots of him. One below the tree line, and another while we were on the top. (don't bother asking about the title of those photos - yahoo forced me to give them names, and it really isn't worth explaining the history behind the joke I made with myself)

The pictures I took from the top I find to be quite beautiful, which is surprising because I tend to be among the worst photographers in existence. Although, I imagine with that kind of scenery, any dope can take a good picture. That is, unless they put their finger over the lens. (which I surprisingly didn't do!) Here are the shots I took from the peak. Looking eastward, over Dillon Lake. Looking westward. Looking over the nearest town, Silverthorne. And finally, though you can't tell from the earlier pictures of the mountain, there is a hidden lake in the bowl between the two peaks. (It's called Buffalo Mountain, by the way, because the two peaks create the silhouette of a buffalo's back, supposedly)

Lastly, what you all surely are most anxious to see, pictures of me. No introduction is necessary, of course.
Intrepid!
Brazen!
Triumphant!
Glorious!
Recumbent!
What's up with the hair?
My favorite picture of me, for reasons I don't entirely understand.

Gad, I hope I didn't mess up any of those hyperlinks.

So what do you think? While I did take some pretty good pictures of my dad, I didn't post them because I figured no one would care. Does anyone want to see them? Am I really among the worst photographers in existence? Am I making a mountain out of a molehill with this whole thing? Tell me what's up.


  posted by Matthew @ 8:15 PM

 
This title ought to last longer. Its more apropos, anyway.

"Once upon a time these stories always start
There lived a handsome prince and he had a happy heart
And a princess, too--she was a beautiful kid
She said she'd never leave him but she did

Sometimes love is wet and cold
Similar to rain, just as hard to hold
Love can make you sad and blue
If you don't watch out it'll fall all over you"

~The Z-man, once more.



  posted by Matthew @ 11:42 PM

 
The Romantic in me is dead.

(and yes, I see the obvious, glaring irony in that statement, so don't bother pointing it out)

To anyone who has seen the movie The Princess Bride and has read neither the original text on which it was based or the abridgement thereof, I urge you to keep it that way. For me, that movie has always been a handhold for the Romantic and the romantic within me. I recently discovered, however, that S. Morgenstern's original text was not in all actuality a love story. It is, in fact, a 1000-page satire on European society. Reading it reminded me strangely of Voltaire's Candide, a book I did not very much enjoy.

The history of the book, which is nearly as interesting as the narrative it conveys, is thus.

Morgenstern, a Florinese author, wrote it originally - as I said - as a satiric attack on the culture of his homeland. It met with general approval by the miniscule crowd who appreciated that sort of thing, which was almost entirely composed of collegiate professors and their ilk. Jump to many years later, when a young boy with Florinese parents languished in bed, suffering from pneumonia. His immigrant father read him this book, but he skipped over all the boring parts and extracted from this satire the love story we are all so familiar with in the movie. This boy grew up to William Goldman, a successful (academy-award winning, I believe) screenwriter who published an abridgement of Morgenstern's novel that approximates the version his father created for him as a boy, which I recently read.

The lines from the movie all appear in the book, essentially verbatim. However, the context has changed. The sincerity in Cary Elwes's or Mandy Patinkin's voice is no longer present. In fact, those exact same lines which had stirred such profound emotions in me when I heard them before now seemed hollow. Up until now, I had unquestioningly supsended my disbelief when it came to that movie. Now, the absurdity behind it is suddenly evident. I knew, I always knew that the Princess Bride presented a view of love no more mature than that held by most 11-year old girls. However, on some level, a part of me clung to it even so. Now, looking back on it, I can no longer recall exactly what I saw there.

The first girl whose affections I ever seriously pursued had a similar fondness for this movie. I purchased the soundtrack for her, and I even once watched it with her. I would almost always list this movie as a favorite of mine, particularly when asked by a member of the opposite sex. I don't think I could do that now, even as a mere attempt to ingratiate myself to her. I will no longer be able to separate the satire, the thinly-veiled sarcasm, the mocking and absurd tone, from the movie. Its not a love story to me now, it makes fun of them, in my eyes. It lambastes them, points out how completely and totally removed from any semblance of reality they are.

In the past, I had always secretly hoped that the Romantic in me would win out against the cynic. That seems more and more unlikely with each passing day.

  posted by Matthew @ 1:13 PM