Hecho A Mano

Geocaching

Have you heard about Geocaching? No? Well get thee hence to geocaching.com!

I’ve been ‘geocaching’ or ‘caching’ continuously since December 2003—with the exception of a few months here and there—and have found 145 caches which, while that may sound like a lot, is nowhere near impressive compared to others with thousands and thousands of finds.

For the most part, cache owners (those who hide caches) do a good job of hiding them, but as in many human endeavors, there are enough maroons to stir the crazy pot.

For example, some Boise cache owners are a particularly peculiar lot. I have found caches in a few cities, but Boise is in a class all its own. There’s this one for example, where the cache owner seems to actively seek a “Did Not Find”! The idea of caching is to hide so that others may find so this one boggles the mind.

The other bit of weirdness: some of the recent caches I’ve found have the most idiotic hints ever. This one reads “A hint world ‘signal’ you right to it.” When you get to the cache, you’ll find there’s a (traffic) signal box nearby but the cache itself cannot be said to be anywhere near this box. In fact, one could say there’s no damned connection between the two.

Here’s one more mindless hint: the owner places a cache in a fence post of a parking area then hints that the cache is in the parking area. Yeah? Really? What’s the use of a hint if the only thing it points out is the general area to which the GPS receiver brought you in the first place?

This same cache owner hid another cache under tree cover then, astoundingly, provides no hint whatsoever. Anyone who caches quickly realizes that a GPS receiver needs a clear view of the sky (and satellites). To put a cache under tree cover, while not necessarily a bad idea, makes finding that cache a bit tougher so either make the cache location obvious to cachers—which is an entirely different thing from making it obvious, by the way—or put in a good hint.

Of course this same cacher has 911 cache finds but 158 cache hides. 158! Cachers with these numbers love to hide caches with what I call “frenzy hiding,” placing one whenever and wherever they feel like, as a rabbit would leave droppings. Whenever I see something like this, I groan. Hiding a cache should take some work: the last thing you do is get out to what you think is a good hiding area, take a waypoint, drop your cache as you would flicking a cigarette butt out the window of a speeding car then rush home to post it online.

First, placing a cache is a responsibility. You shouldn’t place a cache that you can’t take care of—there’ve been cases of people hiding caches while on vacation several thousand miles away from where they live. This means that if something happens to the cache, they couldn’t fix it.

Second, there should be a reason for placing a cache. The location could be one: is it a cool place? Something interesting to see? A cool view? Or it could be a spectacular hide, like this one which fits the category of both location and good hide technique.

Third, because the accuracy of GPS receivers vary wildly, it is the responsibility of the cache hider to verify as much as they can that the coordinates they’re posting are very, very close to the real world, actual location. The few times I’ve hidden a cache, I make absolutely certain that the coordinates are spot-on by taking several waypoints of the spot then, using Google Maps, confirming the location exactly.

In the one case where I knew I would be placing a cache without a clear view of the sky, I put in a hint that actually would help a cacher find the damn thing without requiring they “trade a DNF (Did Not Find)” for additional hints.

Fourth—and this one is a corollary of the third—give the cache finder a reasonable amount of privacy so they can find the cache and log it without arousing too much suspicion. This should be the case 90% of the time. There are those cache hides that are hidden in full view of a lot of traffic and the excitement of finding such a cache in as secretive a way as possible makes the finder bristle with the excitement of a “James Bond”. Fine. But first, describe this cache as such. Secondly, camouflage this type of cache very well. Thirdly, make it easy to get so the finder doesn’t have to perform calisthenics to find it, thus arousing suspicion!

One of the dumbest cache hides I’ve seen so far is this one in the parking lot of a supermarket. The location was ho-hum—I mean, it’s the parking lot of a supermarket! The only thing going for this cache was the unencumbered view of the sats. In other to get this cache, I had to prostrate myself full-length and then feel for the cache in full view of all the shoppers. At the very least, you’re definitely going to stand out to even the most unsuspecting passerby, which means the cache is going to be stolen or trashed (“muggled,” in the parlance) soon.

Well, that’s my rant about caching. Despite these few hiccups, It’s a lot of fun and you should definitely try it. Geocaching has taken me to some incredible places (no, not the parking lot of a supermarket!) that I’d otherwise never get to. Don’t forget caching is also as close to actual exercise us geeks get!

Captain Fred Woodbridge

In “celebration” of achieving the rank of Captain, British Virtual Airways, I commissioned the following:

Pretty nifty, eh?

Scent of the Day

I thought I might bring this one back.

My scent of the day is Terre d'Hermes by Hermes. This one's a translucent bergamot with, as its name implies, a mineral earthiness that stabilizes the effervescent citrus. A nice fragrance for any season, longevity is pretty good unlike most Hermes scents I've found.

Very comforting on a nice cold day.

A solid three stars out of five.

Cocktail Of The Day

Southern Bulldog:

In a mixing glass with ice:
1-oz Southern Comfort
1-oz Coffee liquor (Tia Maria or Kahlua)
Fill with cream or milk

Stir or shake.

Have fun.

And So …

I keep apologizing for the dearth of posts as if there are a bunch of subscribers eagerly waiting for my every enlightened word. Pshaw, as if!

Anyway, with Ramalamadingdong taking office next week, I've not only decided not to pay much attention to the news (it's worked wonderfully, my blood pressure is way lower), but I've also decided to write about things that make me happy.

Such as aviation: for now, this consists mainly of flying Microsoft Flight Simulator aircraft over the Atlantic between KORD (Chicago O'Hare), KMIA (Miami), KBOS (Boston), KJFK (guess) on one end and EGLL (London Heathrow) and EGKK (London Gatwick) on the other. Most of these flights I make for a few "virtual airlines", like American Virtual Airlines and British Virtual Airways.

So what does this all mean? Well, I fly both the Level-D Boeing 767-300ER and PMDG Boeing 747-400 and if you aren't a flightsim enthusiast, you will not believe the level of detail (and work!) that goes into doing that. For a flight, there is almost as much time spent pre-flight planning as in the real world, starting with generating a passenger and fuel load document. After this comes route planning.

Flights both ways across the Atlantic fly what is known as North Atlantic Tracks or NATs. These are specific tracks that have been designed by Air Traffic Control on both sides of the Atlantic, the Canadians (called "Gander") and the Brits (called "Shanwick"). The high speeds of the jet stream constantly blowing over the ocean requires careful planning because, as a pilot, you really don't want to be flying with a 125mph headwind! This means that most flights starting in north America leave in the evenings to take advantage of good tailwinds--the other night, I was flying with almost a 200mph tailwind--and most flights the other way from the European continent to north America leave in the mornings when the jet stream has dipped further south.

Preparing the aircraft is another ordeal, but a pleasurable one obviously. There is a checklist that must be followed when loading fuel, clicking all those buttons you may have caught a glimpse of as you passed by the open cockpit door on your way into your last commercial airliner--and that's because all of those buttons are modeled in the simulated aircraft. The level of simulation is incredible and, to the new pilot, somewhat bewildering. It took me some serious reading before I could even start the engines on the Level-D B767.

Here's the bottom-line: there isn't much (beyond the guards and their guns) that can stop me from walking up to a 767 or 747 and starting up the aircraft, taxiing to the runway and taking off! The simulations are that perfectly modeled after the real thing.

I can't wait for the next time I'm in an airliner and the pilots fall ill from seafood poisoning!

Luca Turin On The Science Of Smell

El Reyna

Eons ago (about 6 years), I got involved Big Time with flight simulation using Microsoft's venerable Flight Simulator which I've used one way or another since MSFS 95. During that time, I flew online with VATSIM which is an incredible "community" of virtual flightsim enthusiasts that both fly and provide air traffic control for those that fly.

I think I flew several hundred hours as a pilot and rose to the rank of Senior Controller in the Miami Center ARTCC (look it up). But, you just won't believe the technical proficiency of some of the aircraft produced for Flight Simulator. Here's a beautiful video of one of them, my very favorite aircraft, the Boeing 747:



Be honest, if you didn't know this was simulated, would you have known?

Tom and Sean

So I can't believe I haven't posted anything about the single greatest thing to happen in Boise (apart from my arrival): Sephora is here!

Sephora opened its doors at 10am on February 29, 2008. Unfortunately I wasn't able to visit until a few days later on Sunday and when I did, I was in line for opening along with a smattering of Boise's flamboyance (ie. the gays) and about 20 other people, mostly female. On a Sunday. At 11am.

I found the miniscule men's area and took my time sampling. The one perfume that grabbed my attention was Tom Ford's infamous Tom Ford for Men (TFFM). I tried Narcisso Rodriguez for Him which reminded me of the old Gray Flannel by Geoffrey Beene and Bulgravi Aqua was great as well but ultimately it was a toss-up between TFFM and Chanel Pour Monsieur.

Later, at home, I checked the reviews of TFFM and was slightly disappointed with them. Apparently TFFM has gnat-sized longevity and prosaic but gazing at the immaculate box and the even more immaculate bottle, I refused to believe it. Not after paying what I did for it anyway.

The test was to wear it to work the next day and I'm very happy to report that almost 12 hours after, I could still smell TFFM; I don't know what these reviewers were thinking. That's five-star staying power in my book. And the smell? Terrific.

A zesty combination of elegant citruses opens the show and soon we're in the mid-hearts of quiet orange with a hint of tobacco. The fragrance train keeps chugging and as it pulls into the station, those basenotes become a steady amber and leather (among others).

The day after (and there's nothing like the day after shirt test), my discarded shirt —dare I say this?—smelled sexy. Yeah baby. (grin)

Score!

Dateline: Target, perfume section.

I've scored great bargains before (a 2.5-oz bottle of Sarah Jessica Parker's Lovely for $8!) and at this Target, I always check the discounts bin. And bingo: a 1.7-oz bottle of Puff Daddy er I mean Sean John's Unforgivable for $9.74.

I grabbed it thinking it was a mistake, but no, it was $9.74. Puzzled, I looked at the other boxes of Unforgivable still in the perfume section to find them listed at the full price of $39.99. What the …?

The only difference I could see is that the discounted bottle had this on the box cover:

The others had just the Unforgivable name in gold on a textured background. Naturally, this got me thinking: why did the box with Puffy's face on it not sell (or finally sell at a heavy discount) while the box without him continued selling at the full price?

I tell you what: if I weren't a more “refined perfumista,” I'd never approach this perfume much less buy it. Fucking Puff Daddy. As it is, the perfume is quite simply terrific which underscores the fact that even pigs provide bacon.

Capital Adventures, Continued

Note: Was supposed to post this but forgot...

It's approaching 10pm, traffic streams across the Scott Key bridge over the Potomac.  I stand on my hotel room balcony as airliners flying the arrival route into Ronald Reagan airport howl past overhead, landing lights blazing in conical beams.

Back home, it's two hours earlier and had I been there I would have only recently returned from work to feed Their Majesties, the cats of the house.  As it is, I miss the Missus, thankful however for the time away from those pestilential felines.  Whatever you do, please don't tell them you read that.  Such heresy is usually punishable by scratches a-plenty.

Today after class, I took the DC Circulator and visited a store called Blue Mercury for a sampling of their fine perfumes.  From the sales chicks's expressions, I could tell it wasn't often they received a customer who looked quite like me but I forged ahead anyway when I saw the bounty of fragrance bottles arrayed in a sight for sore eyes.

The fragrances from the imperial house of Creed glinted their welcome while the coy bottles from L'Artisan Parfumeur winked and skittered away snickering.  But wait, where were those gorgeous beauties from Diptyque?  I overcame the butterflies of doubt and asked where I might find a bottle of the mighty sandalwood in Tam Dao.  The lady behind the counter seemed surprised I knew about TD and dug into the shelves underneath to reveal a small familiar white box.

Ah yes.  Warmth flooded over as I announced rather grandly that this bottle was going back to Boise with me, causing a wry smile on the lady's face.  Can I take a look around then?  Sure, take your time, look around.  Permission granted!  I put down my book bag and attacked the Creeds.

Names I'd learned from Basenotes stood emblazoned on those flacons: Erolfa, Silver Mountain Water, Green Irish Tweed, Himalaya, Original Vetiver, Original Santal, Millesime Imperial, Tabarome.  Yummy!  With a tingle of delight, I started spraying each one on strips, labeling them as I did.

Yes, you just read ‘tingle of delight,’ what of it?  Big men also feel tingles, my friends, and yes, even of delight.

Okay, right off the bat, Green Irish Tweed kicks butt with its heady twinges of violet and somber, dark greens.  Millesime Imperial's subdued brashness fills the senses like a the rays of a winter sun while the scrumptious Original Santal gives off a wonderful, sublime mellowness that I found surprising considering its fiery red bottle.  This is some quality stuff!

More!  What else you got, ladies?  Serge Lutens!  Wow.  Okay, any Fumerie Turque?  No?  Damn!  I was going to ask for Musks Kublai Khan when I realized those were in the non-export line and wouldn't be available.  Oh well, there's the sultry brown of Ambre Sultan to give me comfort, the grace of Cedre and the sickly sweetness of Arabie as well.  Datura Noir is quite good and Louve is divine although a bit more feminine than I like for myself.  Lys was a bit too flowery for me as well even though I still liked it enough.

At parfum strength, spraying these instantly filled the store with a silky headiness that could blow out one's nostrils so I decided to stop smelling them directly after spraying.  I started spraying the strips, labeling then putting them in the pages of a book I was holding.  I would take the time to go over for a leisurely smell session at the Barnes & Noble across the street.

Meanwhile the sales chicks were astounded at what they saw then started asking questions about my perfume habits.  Oh girls, you have no idea.  I probably own more bottles than you both do, combined.  Bathing in the heat of their surprise, I demanded an introduction to the L'Artisan line.

The problem (for me) with L'Artisan is that most of them have a house note of “steam” that underscores most of their fragrances with the exception of Dzing—and the surprise of my life, the majestic rose in Voleur de Rose.  This deep, complex scent jumped to the top of my list, and I vowed one day to own the beast.  It's a dark, almost ‘dirty’ gothic fragrance that one supposes a refined Count Dracula would wear, without the usual gory mess of blood sucking.

Safrant Troublant was exquisite and definitely purchase-worthy.  It was about this time that I realized I hated being poor, a feeling I shared vocally with the girls.  Oh yes, they knew what I meant all right.

(The world is such a small place.  I learned the lead sales chick went to high school in Boca Raton, Fla!  Was born there even.  She knew all the places I did.  Incredible.)

I wasn't too impressed with the two Acqua di Parma colognes I tested, the Colonia and Colonia Assoluta.  Way too fresh and soapy for my taste although I could sense the quality of the ingredients.  They just didn't have that ephemeral quality most modern citrus-based scents did (are your ears burning, Kenneth Cole Reaction?)

Note: I dozed off at this point … too tired to continue, I expect.

I ended up with two rather exquisite purchases: Tam Dao and Phylosikos.

My Impressions

DC is a great little place, it's a see of humanity in constant motion surrounded by profound history.  My visit to the White House was almost anti-climactic: here was this very ordinary house that is so conspicuous by its ordinariness in relation to other palatial residences (such as Buckingham Palace for example) that I immediately understood that metaphorically, this is the innate difference between the American system and others, especially Old World.

The fact the home of the President is ho-hum underscores the knowledge that no king resides here.  It's the home of a citizen like you and me.  It brought a tear to my eye.

Nyah, nyah!

As I type this, there are ten seconds left in the Super Bowl and the New York Giants are currently leading by three points.

I am very happy.  Very, very happy.  I don't like New England and I like Brady even less so anything that fucks his shit up, I'll love.

Right on, you bastard New Yorkers!  Right on!

...

It's now 1 second away ... there's a lot of stupid shit going on, like premature celebrations.  Everyone's got to get off the field for the last, insignificant play.

...

It's over, baby!

Nyah, nyah, fuck you Brady.

Smith Machines

Now that I'm a frequent enough visitor to the gym, the time has come to revive my opinionated (opinionated? Me?) rant against my least-favorite exercise machine: The Smith Machine:

For some reason probably having to do with a combination of price and general wussiness, many gyms have these contraptions.  It looks good and doesn't scare (I guess) the newbies with the full-on ‘Iron Age’ simple squat rack:

Here's the problem with the Smith Machine (regardless of whatever your resident gym expert says about its safety): look closely and you'll see that the bar rides on a polished steel track and therein lies the rub.  That track locks the lifter into a narrowly defined range of vertical motion.  Needless to say, this is not natural and the flexed stress on the knees during a squat are exaggerated and can cause problems.

With a squat rack, the lifter is free to follow whatever arc their particular body type follows.  There is nothing inherently unsafe about a squat (otherwise we'd all have problems sitting down) so the ridiculous excuse about the Smith's safety those gym experts cite is near bullshit.

Some use the Smiths for other exercises as well, like the bench press.  In my gym, we have free-standing bench press stations, but for some reason, the same logic doesn't hold for the Smith Machine when used for bench presses.  Curious.

Regardless, stay away from these contraptions.

Walking Billboards

Will over at A Suitable Wardrobe discusses a pet peeve of his and, as it turns out, mine as well: the proliferation of logoed wear:

I tried on a pair of Mephisto walking shoes once. They were very comfortable and I took a closer look. That was as far as it got. There on the side of the shoe was a label with the maker's name. On the outside of the shoe, mind you.

Ferchrissakes, I've already bought the fucking shirt, now I gotta advertise it with your logo all over my chest?  Like Will says, it's venial and wrong.  Mortally wrong.

Pour Monsieur

What is it most men want? Power? Prosperity? Pussy?

Perhaps, perhaps not. I do know that as a representative of the male of the species myself, my wants are neatly arranged on a line beginning with the premise: first, don't stink. At the other end of that line may come the triple-P above.

First, don't stink—of course I mean that metaphorically but I also mean it literally. Don't stink. Smell nice, man. I believe the literal leads to the metaphorical. If a man is confident in himself, a large part of that confidence comes from the secure knowledge that he isn't sending stink bombs every time he raises his arms.

Yesterday, I rediscovered one more weapon in that fight against stink: Chanel's 1955(!) masterpiece, Pour Monsieur. A spray or two of this and something clicks in that reptilian brain. Power suffuses the wearer in a process not unlike Jim Carey's character in The Mask. That's right, those top notes of citrus (neroli, lemon, petitgrain), while trite in many other so-called men's colognes do a remarkable job here.

It is at once refreshing and understated, which is a very difficult combination. Finally, we men can attain that fleeting condition of being bold yet light that our women want and as it doesn't require anything more strenuous than flexing a finger joint to push the pump spray on Pour Monsieur, I say even better.

Give the scent a few more minutes and things just keep getting better, folks! That playful lightness gives way with a pirouette to the slow burn of the middle and base notes. This is a revelation of the perfumer's art. Someone said it was a velvet kiss on the neck of a French courtesan; well it's that and much more. It's utterly sophisticated with a side order of danger, a true masterpiece.

Update: The picture is of Pour Monsieur Concentree. This is not what you want, it's a completely different perfume.

Through Yonder Window

Fred's out and so is Heath.

Fred, the only true conservative in the running called it quits yesterday. Too bad, Fred.

Now that he's gone, who to support? I loathe that RINO McCain and Giuliani's a barely concealed socialist. One doesn't get to be the mayor of New York and not be tainted by the putrid environs. Huckabee has some serious policy issues that I can't square with and Romney?

Romney's a strange duck. The man has a maniacal grimace that passes for a smile and a history, never forget, of being the governor of the People's Marxist Republik of Massachusetts. In addition to the freaky ass Mormonism, it just spells w-o-r-r-y. He's also anti-gun as they all are I expect except for Huckabee. Imagine the Republican candidate for President anti-gun! What a world we live in.

Bah. I'm going to have to think about this.

Heath Ledger rung his final bell and the Grim Reaper came calling. I didn't dislike Ledger's acting, I could tell he was a pretty good actor. Alas, where the light is brightest, the shadows are deepest (h/t Goethe).

Exercise

Here's the routine copied from a magazine I'm going to try today:

Warm Up

Stationary cycle: Level 12 for eight minutes, rest 90 seconds. Then another eight minutes at level six.

Routine:

1. Bench press, 15-18 reps.
2. Lat pull-down, 15-18 reps.
3. Dumbbell press, 15-18 reps.
4. Elliptical for 10 minutes, level 13 @ 4mph
5. Lateral raises, 15-18 reps.
6. Treadmill for 10 minutes, 5mph @ 1% incline.
7. Seated Dumbbell curls, 15-18 reps.
8. Leg press, 15-18 reps.
9. Leg extensions, 15-18 reps.
10. Straight-leg, ( These could be called ‘good mornings’ I believe), 15-18 reps.

Wish me luck.

Tommy

My SotD (Scent of the Day) is Tommy Cologne by (who else?) Tommy Hilfiger.  I got a great deal at Target a few days ago—a 1oz bottle with a body wash and after-shave for $8.  I thought if I hated it, I wouldn't be out too much.

Well, color me impressed.  I love it!  This comfortable scent was launched in 1995 and is a blend of “tangy citrus, cranberry, blue grass, spearmint and lavender, accompanied by the scent of apple pie and cinnamon.”

I don't get all those components beyond the citrus, cranberry and apple but it's a great blend.  The fragrance goes on lightly and without fuss.  Those early citrus top notes don't fade, providing a nice thematic thread which ties the experience together over time.  The fruit is also present but in constrained tones.  It's also quite warm, surrounding the wearer with a glow of natural freshness like a newly laundered blanket.

This is a very clean-cut fragrance that I'd expect to smell on some northeastern high-brow holiday destination.  I doubt I could find anyone, even the most sensitive, that will take offense at Tommy.  Destined to be a classic.

Grandmaster

Bobby Fischer, you magnificent, crazy anti-Semitic prick!  I loved you!

Fischer as I'd like to remember him:

Fischer in the end times, warped beyond recognition by a brain too big for its case:

Rest In Peace.

Padrón Serie 1926 No. 9

Is the top cigar of 2007.

According to Cigar Aficionado Magazine, this “pressed beauty” is the finest of the Padrón line, “blossoming with flavor” in a perfect balance of chocolate, coffee, nuts and some black cherry.

Yummers!

Particulars:

MADE BY: Padrón Cigars Inc.
FACTORY LOCATION: Nicaragua
WRAPPER: Nicaragua
BINDER: Nicaragua
FILLER: Nicaragua
PRICE: $18.00 (this is probably a suggested price, definitely more in the shops)
2007 PRODUCTION: 120,000

Cigar Aficionado has a brain-dead system of ratings (this one's a 97) wherein a bad cigar is rated 50 out of 100.  Um, okay?

The rest of the best can be found here.

Perfumes of the Year

The usual ‘... of the Year’ lists are up.  My favorite list are of the perfumes.

The Perfume Posse's list.

Bois de Jasmin's list.

Now Smell This's list.

Colombina's list.

Aromascope's list.

Bond No. 9's Andy Warhol Silver Factory scores pretty high. H'm, something I definitely have to try.

My best perfume purchases of 2007: Bond No. 9's Chez Bond and Unforgivable by Puffed up Daddy.

A (good) smelly new year's wish to all'ya.

Mayweather

Man, no one can stop this guy!

If you're a boxing fan like me, you will no doubt know that Floyd Mayweather, who touts himself as the “best pound-for-pound fighter” in the world, took one more step to prove his boast by knocking out Ricky “Hitman” Hatton in the 10th round on Saturyday.

HBO, in an effort to play up the fight, had been showing a series of programs (Mayweather Hatton 24/7) showing Floyd and Ricky training for the upcoming match. Floyd was his usual ‘flamboyant,’ flashy self, throwing cash around like confetti. Ricky was much more subdued, though laughing at Floyd's antics.

I was caught in a true dilemma: whether to support Mayweather as the American or to support Hatton because (let's face it) Mayweather's an asshole. They were both unbeaten before the match which guaranteed a good fight. The added enmity of sorts also guaranteed a brawl and so it was!

Some years back, I bought a Pay-Per-View boxing event between Mike Tyson and someone. The someone won, in two or three rounds! What a let-down! From then on, I decided no more PPV boxing matches. I should have bought this one.

Hatton talked tough, but in the video snippets I saw, Mayweather skillfully slapped him around with some good jabs (goddamn, that guy's got fast hands!) then finished him off with some tremendous left hooks. Well, as they say, it ain't bragging if you can do it.

Here's to you, Floyd, you magnificent bastard.

A round-by-round precis of the match can be found here.