DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?

I have intentionally taken the lives of exactly 111 living creatures in the last twenty-one hours. Why, how, and from whom, you ask? Patience, lads and lasses. Patience.

First, something unrelated to my week at college: The CdM cross country team is running the Mt. SAC Invitational today. May the odds be ever in their favor. Or something like that.

Seven days ago, after finishing my blog post, I hopped on the team bus which took us all up to St. Michael's College in Burlington. There I saw two things that I had not seen in some time, one of which was more welcome in the short term but the other of which was more promising in the long term: my parents and falling snow.

The race itself was a bit of an adventure in that three different variations on the course existed, resulting in times that really shouldn't be taken into account for anything other than mocking whoever designed the course. I ran decently well, and the team won, but that was a foregone conclusion. I'm now done racing for the season because only the top runners compete at the last four races, and I am not among them. Which is frustrating only because the training takes so long and the racing is over in a matter of weeks.

And then came Fall Break. We had Monday and Tuesday off, so my parents and I made a short trip out of it: We drove to Lake Placid, under two hours away, on Saturday and returned on Monday. Ah, but first I ought to say a word about Saturday morning.

The morning in question consisted of me, alongside several friends and several hundred other people, watching and listening to the Dalai Lama talk about world peace or something like that. Here's the link to the talk I was at. Not that you're going to watch it; it's pretty long. What did I learn from the talk? That the guy likes to laugh. A lot.

On to the trip.

Between Middlebury and Lake Placid stand the ruins of two forts: Saint-Frederic (built by the French in 1734 and destroyed by the French in 1759 to prevent the British from occupying it) and Crown Point (built by the British in 1759 right next to the ruined French fort and captured by us badasses in 1775). Crown Point, by the way, was the largest earthen fort built in the country's history. Unfortunately, my mom took all the pictures (of the forts, Lake Placid, and everything else) and her camera is currently back in the state from whence it came, so what you're looking at comes from Google, not from my family.

Now it just needs a roof.

Walking through the ruins made me feel like I was in "Braveheart" or something. Pretty awesome. Pretty, pretty awesome.

We wound up in a little hotel in the sleepy town of Lake Placid, had a nice dinner, "surprised" my mom with presents, and went to bed. That sentence will probably make more sense once I tell you that Saturday (the 13th) was my mom's birthday. Saturday was my mom's birthday. Now it makes sense.
Her 50th, actually. As far as birthdays are concerned, I guess that's something of a milestone.

Of course, we did something else that Saturday, and that something else was complete the Hajj. And by completing the Hajj I mean visiting the Herb Brooks arena, site of the single greatest moment in the history of sports. Which is, of course, the men's ice hockey semifinal game between the USA and the USSR in the 1980 Winter Olympic Games. You definitely know about this if you meet any one of the following criteria:
A) Are a hockey fan.
B) Have seen the movie "Miracle".
C) Are a patriotic American.
D) Wish to continue to be respected by Yours Truly.

On Sunday it was my turn to have a birthday. So I did. Which makes me the only non-teenager contributing to this blog. (By contributing I mean posting, not commenting. Don't worry Ms. T, I know you're not 13 yet.)

And what, dare you ask, did I do on this most ordinary of days? Well, I sat in a car with my parents and we drove around a small section of Adirondack Park and saw the sights and hiked the hikes. Among these sights was one High Falls Gorge, upon which your eyes should now focus.

Yes, the bridges were a little scary.

Next up was the venue for the 1980 Olympic alpine skiing events, Whiteface Mountain. While it looks pretty small next to the giants out west, it definitely deserves its place in the highest echelon of East Coast ski resorts. I mentioned earlier that we got a dusting on Friday, but the mountain is still far from opening up for the season; eastern resorts don't tend to open until late November. (Contrast this with Arapahoe Basin, Colorado, which became the first North American resort to open this season a couple days ago.) Of course, I still picked up a few trail maps. Mission success.

Whiteface Mountain with Lake Placid in the background.

Normal.

Not normal.

And a strange thing we saw: the ski jumps from 1980. Most ski jumps are built into the mountain itself, because it just makes too much sense not to do so. But this one was built free-standing. Weird. So you know what I mean, compare a normal ski jump (Pak City, Utah) to Lake Placid's. Both are summer pictures, obviously, but you get the point. Upstate New Yorkers are strange people.

We went on a short hike on Sunday, but it sucked so we turned around. We went on a better hike on Monday, but you'll have to wait a couple paragraphs to hear about that.

On Sunday night the three of us saw the movie "Argo" at the wittle tiny town theater. All three of us enjoyed it, which is very, very unusual. I think you guys would like it too.

And one more birthday-related occurrence: my parents gave me a copy of J.K. Rowling's new book. I'm not going to even attempt to read it during school, but hopefully I can knock it out over Thanksgiving break. I'll let you know how it is whenever I get to it.

Oh, and something else about mom's birthday. My dad and I each bought her a chocolate bar (Among other things. Don't worry, we're not that cheap. I did write her a limerick.), but the thing about chocolate and Satterfields is, well, they can't both be in the same room for very long before something happens. So, as you might imagine, my dad ended up eating most of the bar that he bought for her, and I ended up eating most of the bar I bought for her. She got a little bit of both, so don't feel too bad for her. After all, she knew it was coming.

Monday. Hmm. Oh yeah. Monday was when we drove back to Middlebury. En route back, we did a nice five mile hike to a hill called Rooster Comb with views that are spectacular back east and pretty out west, if you know what I mean. This picture is from Google Earth, and it's from the exact place the hike took us to, though when we were there the trees were a little farther along there cycle, i.e. orange and brown, not red and green.

Dat roostah need a comb.

Later that day, as we were driving westward through the Champlain Valley, my dad asked if this much rain is normal. Of course it is, but the question is reasonable, coming from a SoCalian. Which got me to thinking: My dad has lived two of his 51 years outside of Southern California, which he spent as a ski bum in Utah in the early 80s; my mom has lived zero years outside Southern California. They've traveled, yes, but that's about it. Which means by the end of this school year, I'll have spent as much time living out of state as both of them combined. I wonder what that's doing to my perspective relative to theirs. Something for me to think about a little more.

I said good-bye to my parents on Tuesday morning, and they drove off to Burlington where they experienced a lengthy security delay before heading back to Orange County.

Tuesday afternoon and evening was for working out, and Tuesday night was for working in. School, lest we forget, was to resume the next day.

We've been studying some pretty awesome maps in History of Cartography. I realize you guys don't find maps quite as fascinating as I do, so I'll limit the selection. These ones are cool, though. I think you'll agree.

By Erwin Raisz

By Marie Tharp and Bruce Heezen

On a related note, I came across this article today: CLICK ME NOW PLEASE THANK YOU. 'Tis really cool.

More of the same in the Qur'an. This weekend I'm (presumably) going to write a paper comparing the creation myth in Genesis and the Qur'an. Should be interesting. I'll let you know next week. If I remember. Which isn't terribly likely.

We're now reading Turgenev's Fathers and Children in Russian lit. So far, it's a lot better than Dead Souls and a lot worse than A Hero of Our Time.

And now you get to find out what happened in my room that resulted in 111 executions. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world.

The infestation . . .

. . . commences.

Two days ago I noticed a few ladybugs in my room, and thought very little of it.

Yesterday I noticed dozens of them in my room, as well as a very runny nose, an acutely sore throat, and an extremely itchy left eye (the right one didn't start itching until today for no knowable reason). I went to the internet, which told me that lots of people are allergic to ladybugs. So I killed them. All of them. And counted each kill out loud. Up to one hundred and eleven.