its time for me to buy a nut tool

Had a beautiful day at Rumney yesterday. Its been a few weeks since I've climbed up there-- the weather has been absolute crap: hot and humid which means slimey, slippery (scarey) rock and hands.

I met Johnny up there. He did a couple of trad leads at the Meadows-- Beginners Routes and Holderness Crack. We were limited on the routes and grades by his rack (he needs to get some bigger pro) and my lack of a nut tool (I think its time to buy one). So we hopped on some sport routes-- Holderness Arete at the Meadows, Juan Valdez at the Parking Lot Wall (I had forgotten how pumpy that one is) and Underdog at the Main Cliff (the coolest, weirdest three dimensional climb I've been on).

Here is Johnny belaying me from the bottom of Underdog. (Yes, I finally led it. It was a fun lead. I don't know why I was so scared of falling last year) Its a long route (12 bolts) so he looks pretty small.

Here I am at the top-- kind of sweaty.

From the Main Cliff, you can see the entire valley and the river. The view is quite nice. And, as October approaches, it is only going to get better!

when the cat is away...

the mice come out to play

some pics from my sisters neighborhood in Brooklyn...




shopping in Soho



my sister in a cardboard box


at the new MOMA where the people watching is as good as the art

joy

One of my daily little rituals is reading Yarn Harlot-- its a hilarious knitting blog. Today's entry had a link for the llama llama duck song.

Check it out. Its funny.

delusional *and* stubborn

Mathieu and I spent another beautiful summer Saturday climbing at Rumney. Excited to go this weekend, I insisted that we wake up early so we could have a long day. The result was that we were both sleepy and tired all day. The first route of the day didn't help.

Last night I was told in a dream that we *must* go to Jimmy Cliff. There are a bunch of moderate routes there, many of which we had done before but not since last summer. I'm not my strongest right now so slabby, technical routes are right up my alley.

We saw a posting on the parking lot bullitin board for a new route, a 5.7, next to Hammond Organ, the 5.10d there. When we got up the cliff, our first two choice routes were taken so we decided to do the 7. I couldn't remember which side of Hammond Organ the new route was so I picked the route that had shinier bolts and more lichen on it.

The first few bolts were easy and fun-- perhaps not 5.7 easy but not worse than 5.9 easy; it was my first route of that day so things felt funny anyhow. When I reached the third bolt, the other climbers in the crag started giving me a hard time, saying I was on the 5.10d. I was swept over with a wave of arrogance, insisted it was the 7, and continued to climb the route.

When I reached the crux, it became abundantly clear that I was not on a 7, that it was definately a 10d, and that my fingers were not warmed up enough to handle pulling on tiny crimps. A Rumney 10d is difficult for me in any case-- most of my projects last fall were at that grade-- and first thing in the morning when I'm not climbing at my peak, its pretty darn hard.

But I was delusional that I could do it and I worked on the crux for a good twenty minutes (not ever getting it), I was also stubborn because I didn't want to come down and admit to the other climbers that I was wrong and they were right. So, with poor Mathieu belaying me, I fought the route until I didn't have much left.

Mathieu shouted up one of his incredibly sensible suggestions, "Perhaps you should come down and we can warm up and then try it again." After five more, "one last try"' 's and "I'm going to do it this time" I came down and we did some easier routes for a warm up.

I finally redpointed Junko, which was the source of a wickedly bad head day last summer (reachy move to a sloper while it started raining and a cute boy was belaying me). Getting that route was deliciously satisfying.

And we did the new 7 only to decide that it really, truely sucks. It climbs up a sharp corner (I ended up covered in little cuts and blood), where one wall is hollow rock and a fall means a pointy-rock-kind-of-head-injury. (Yes, I wore my helmet!)

We got back on the 10d but, exhausted, frustrated, confused, and a bit scared, we decided to project it.

So, after lunching at Waimea, a trip up Yoda (the most popular route at Rumney-- and overhanging and committing 5.9) and Mathieu's lead of a route at the 5.8 crag, we called it a day and jumped in the swimming hole.

This swimming hole is the most refreshing water I've ever been in. I don't know if its because its cool water washes off all the sweat, chalk, and sunscreen of a long day of climbing while the temperature and current are just right for cooling sore muscles, or if its been enchanted by magical fairies and pixies in the night. But it is a fabulous way to end a day at Rumney.

plant news

This is what happens to your plants (plural) when you break up with your Plant Sitter four months before you get back to town. (The camera flash is making it look much healthier and shinier than it is. Trust me: it is limp, skinny and sad)

I gave him two goldfish plants in mid-January. They weren't the healthiest: infrequent watering (once a week) meant that their flowers were drying up and falling off. This plant, although flowerless, was three times as bushy in January. It lost a lot of leaves and branches. What is left is turning black and drooping. My Plant Sitter says that he watered it half an hour before I showed up and denys starving them out of a subconscious resentment over our break up. In his defense, his own plants aren't doing very well.

In other news, my roommate, Katie, discovered some old potatos in a cabinet today. They had all sprouted, this one being the tallest and most impressive.

It is really nifty: this thing grew in the dark. (Notice that it is not at all green. I wonder how long it will take for it to turn green)

One of my other rommates, Ben, did not like my (bullshit) arguement for how the plant knew which way was up. (I made up something about pressure differentials giving it a sense of gravity. I don't know any biology and have no business making bold statements like that.) Does anyone have a good explanation for how a plant growing in a dark cabinet can know which way is up?

The rubber tree has some new tenants (aside from the monkies sporting leis).

Are these going to be a problem for its health? (or for ours?)


Finally I'd like to have a shout-out to my third fabulous roommate, Kathy, and my officemates, Joe, Can and Greg, for keeping the rest of my plants alive and (very!) healthy while I was away. Thanks!

(soon to be Doctor) Shock has won the Blog Challenge

I'm taking down the original post here. It comes up in technorati when you search for a certain infamous Harvard string theorist with initials "LM." Also, my reference of his page is coming up on his page.

For the record, I owe Jon dinner and beer.

walden pond

I made my first trip to Walden Pond this weekend. This is rather surprising because I am a Massachusetts native and I've been living in Cambridge for the past few years, just a short ride from this fabulous, famous swimming hole.

I'm not the strongest swimming: I know a few strokes but can't make it very far free-style. If I go slow with a breast stroke then I'm ok. I like to be in control. I wear contacts and goggles so I can see underwater and always know exactly where the surface is. Most of the swimming I do is in pools where the side and the ends are never far away, where I always have the option of taking a break at any moment. So when I find myself in the middle of a murky pond where I can't touch the bottom and its a long way to shore, I get nervous.

Last summer, Ellie and I went to Summersville Lake, near the New River Gorge in West Virginia. The lake is a dammed river that fills up to the cliffs around it. These cliffs are loaded with excellent, overhanging climbing routes and during the summer, when the lake is full, you can free solo the routes (no rope) and then (safely) fall or jump into the deep water. Normally free soloing is something that scares me (see, for example, this post). But I was much more comfortable hanging on the rock then swimming in the deep, deep lake around those cliffs.

So, on Saturday, my first swim across (the short length of) Walden Pond had me hyperventilating a bit. Then I decided to relax and the swim back and later swims to the middle were relaxing and fun. I think I like this.