Ten Punch

So it turns out that someone over at the BRC thinks I’m pretty f’n cool. I know this because when I got my pass in the mail the other day I saw that they had given me a nickname. I’m now Mike (ten punch) Lastnamehere. That’s right, ten punch – pretty masculine sounding, isn’t it. They must have dreamed it up while watching me climb some of the more impressive 5.9-s.

Oh and sorry for blocking out the personal info but I’ve already had my share of stalkers and although they make for interesting stories, I don’t really need more. Unless of course you’re young, female and cute (with photo) – then stalk away because my wish is your command and I’ll do whatever you say. Unit.

Ah, nostalgia

So this past Tuesday I flew to Cleveland, OH – smack dab in the heart of the Midwest. The cold, grey, drizzly Midwest. Sunshine? Ha! The Midwest scoffs at sunshine, that’s for West Coast vegetable eaters. Eternal bleakness punctuated by a cold & steady drip. drip. drip. Water torture at it’s finest – each drop more crafty then the last as it sneaks down your collar and attempts to steal your soul. Ah, nostalgia.

On a related note on the plane ride from Denver to Cleveland I begin the book Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. What the hell was I thinking. Before I finished first page I had come to the conclusion that I will never be cool enough to understand this book. Now I’m a huge fan of free association, but seriously, damn. How many drugs I would have to do before this thing makes sense? (Seriously, I’m curious.)

Walking Sucks

So as it turns out it takes just over an hour to walk from Boulder Station to my place. Stupid walking, I could have done that in less then 15 minutes on a bike (and still stopped to pee in the bushes near Folsom & Valmont).