Now that Olympic fever is heating up north of the border, I’ve decided to repost my 2008 rant about this matter as a pin prick to the USOC and Washington’s esteemed congressional delegation (insert audio raspberry here):

If you’ve ever been to Seattle on a clear day and looked westward across Puget Sound, you’ve probably seen the Olympic Mountains. “The Olympics are out,” is a common signal of good weather in Seattle’s often-cloudy climate. But watch what you say! The term “Olympics” is a registered trademark of the United States Olympic Committee which vigorously defends its control over the word. Yes, even when the word is used to describe the mountains.

In 1788, English Captain John Meares saw the Olympic Mountains and found them beautiful enough to “house the gods” so he named Mount Olympus after it’s Greek counterpart.

In 1909 Teddy Roosevelt created the Mount Olympus National Monument.

In 1938 this became the Olympic National Park.

The Peninsula upon which the Olympic Mountains rest is called the Olympic Penninsula. The capital of Washington State (the gateway city to the Peninsula) is Olympia.

In 1978, Congress enacted the Olympic and Amateur Sports Act , granting the U.S. Olympic Committee trademark and licensing control over all things associated with the terms “Olympic(s)” as a means of funding United States Olympic game activities without the use of tax dollars. I concede, this is an excellent idea.

In 1998, the Act was re-upped as the Ted Stevens Olympic and Amateur Sports Act preserving much of the original language and, if anything, strengthening the U.S. Olympic Committee’s control over all things “Olympic.” “They basically took the word Olympic out of the English language and gave it to USOC,” says Professor Bob Jarvis, who specializes in sports law at Nova Southeastern University.

In 1999, Jeff Bezos was named Time Magazine’s “Man of the Year.” (Hang on to that seemingly unrelated gem.)

The Stevens Act does make an exception for use of the Olympic name in trade names or marks when associated with the “naturally occuring mountains or geographical region of the same name that were named prior to February 6, 1998.” But, as if the restriction isn’t clear (or strong) enough, the Act goes on to LIMIT any such geographically “Olympic” enterprise to “goods or services [which] are operated, sold, and marketed in the State of Washington west of the Cascade Mountain range and [for which] operations, sales, and marketing outside of this area are not substantial.“

If you think the U.S. Olympic Committee isn’t serious about fiercely defending their monopoly on the words, complete with the attending limitations, or that it’s only concerned when the term “Olympic” clearly attempts to capitalize on an association with the Olympic Games, talk to Jason Bausher who wanted to augment his mountain-guide income and trademark a little $12 booklet “Best of the Olympic Peninsula.” Kathy Charlton, owner of Olympic Cellars Winery, recently settled a trademark dispute with the USOC. At Olympic Cellars’ website, Charlton states “Contrary to what the USOC claims, there is no confusion as to whether the name ‘Olympic’ refers to one of our businesses, the Peninsula where we’re located or the Olympic Games themselves. When you hear the name ‘Olympic Cellars Winery’ is your first thought of a swimmer racing across the pool at the Olympic Games? I don’t think so.

“About the only way one of our local businesses could ever escape the harassment of the USOC is to become a giant like AT&T, VISA, McDonalds, Nike, Bank of America or Anheuser-Busch and actually help sponsor the Olympics! And they’ll need to do that without the help of national recognition or basic use of the Internet. When someone pulls that off, I’ll be the first to raise a glass of Vino.”

The 2010 Winter Olympic Games will take place in Vancouver, British Columbia – a ferry-ride, or customs line away from Western Washington. Is the USOC’s recent zeal the result of this critical proximity? I’m not sure that makes a difference to me.

As a Washington State resident and small business owner (Tools-n-Gizmos.com) , I’m outraged that Washington State’s Congressional delegation was asleep at the wheel when this little “stay in Washington State” clause was allowed to slip through unchallenged in the Stevens Act. Western Washington State is a tech savvy place. It is the home of Amazon.com (not to mention Microsoft and innumerable other dot coms, past and present). Was the value of internet marketing (especially for a growing small business) that obscure in 1998? If so, how come Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos was Time’s Man-of-the-Year in 1999?

It seems to me this “stay in Washington” restriction is abusive and needs to be reconsidered. Of course, the abused small enterprises (which are limited from growth!) can’t hire enough legal power to face off with with USOC lawyers and take the matter all the way to the Supreme Court. It’s just easier and less expensive to “submit” and change the business name or withdraw from internet marketing. It’s a little like being diagnosed with an orphan disease – the funds aren’t available for the research, and it doesn’t impact enough people for anyone with clout to care.

This is the kind of absurdity that makes me want to actually hide in the woods, not just live here. It’s a small matter, affecting few – but it’s one of those aggravating little signs of erosion that we don’t notice until the dam breaks.

“We cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it a home.” – Edward R. Murrow

A friend recently suggested I may be a bit too obsessed with the weather. I won’t deny it. In fact, I’ll readily admit I am a lot obsessed with the weather. I’m one of those people who susbcribes to a personal weather forecast for my lat/long. I regularly check for impending showers on the Doppler radar.

My friend’s suggestion did set me to contemplating why I’m a weather addict though.  I believe there are several reasons:

1. I live (and have lived most of my life) in meteorologically dynamic Western Washington. This area is a weatherman’s dream or nightmare. Big forces (Pacific Ocean, continental shape) combine with smaller, more immediate, geographical forces (Cascade & Olympic Mountains; Strait of Juan de Fuca & Puget Sound) creating weather systems which are channeled in infinitely variable scenarios over the dramatic geography.  Even in spring and summer, stable air masses are short lived. The layered look in outdoor apparel may have been invented here – if you are an outdoor person, you need to be prepared for almost any weather, almost every day.

2. I crewed, lived aboard and cruised on small sailboats for about 20 years - primarily between Puget Sound and Alaska. Take this area’s dynamic weather, add a small boat on the large sea, and you up the ante on your weather obsession. Although I did crew on a couple of sailboats where the standard policy was “no-matter-what-the-weather,” I tried to avoid that Deadliest Catch weather whenever possible. You avoid deadly weather by giving yourself a flexible schedule, educating yourself and by staying in tune – not just listening to forecasts, though they become elemental; but also watching the clouds, sea conditions and barometric pressure. I believe weather awareness becomes innate to most long-time boaters – on sailboats it’s even more critical. Wind is your primary propulsion – to use it, you have to be out in it. Watching the weather becomes integral and habitual – a hard habit to kick.

3. And now – though Griz and I have a perfectly comfortable house and a large heated shop – we live in the forest. It is a rare day when we are not outside for projects or pure pleasure. Weather continues to be integral to our lives. Keeping an eye on the forecasts and the Doppler radar allows me to take best advantage of the day. I admit, weather is rarely as critical now as it was when we were living aboard. We hardly notice some big storms that set people talking – after all, how big can a storm be if it doesn’t move your home. But there are some weather risks associated with living among tall trees. We expect periodic power outages and it really isn’t very wise to go for a casual walk in a big wind. You also have to be cautious in moderate wind – one reason old evergreens get so old – they shed unnecessary branches to reduce their sail area for the big storms. Big limbs can be just as deadly as a whole tree if you aren’t alert. Unless it’s very calm out, I leave the iPod behind on longer walks. Listening for that distinctive crack (or unexpected rustle) is just part of being forest smart.

4. And the most recent development in my weather obsession comes from many years of a life outdoors and many years of life in general. Mid-life brings with it little reminders of every injury and repetitive stress in your history. Many of those little reminders seem accentuated by weather change. My body’s more sensitive to voluntary abuse than when I was younger:  I’m more uncomfortable in (and resist tackling the hardest jobs in) extreme heat or cold. Fortunately, I can still do most things I did when younger – but my body makes more noise in the process and with some activities, it’s wise to pace myself. Keeping an eye on the weather allows me to set that pace or if necessary, take a day off.  Wisdom of us ancients: “Nothing wrong with a snow day – even in the middle of summer.”

I’ve been thinking about that movie a lot the last several weeks – not about the resolution of the mystery, but about the many vagaries of snow – the varieties, moisture content; how it falls, lands, rests, melts, refreezes, compacts; how snow impacts what it rests upon and a lot of other variables I have not previously had the opportunity to observe.

I’m not a big snow sports person (too many people funneled into a small area). What skiing I have done involved a series of cross-country day trips; and although the quality of snow, terrain and potential avalanche danger made big differences in my cross-country pleasure (or lack thereof), I was always unfamiliar with areas I was traversing, so I was more focused on getting from point A to point B, less consciously focused on the snow itself.

My newly developed sense of snow comes from watching it and shoveling it (repeatedly) on this landscape which I know very well in all seasons. It’s been a sometimes arduous, but revealing adventure – a new opportunity to learn something about nature by being in it.

We still have 5 inches of snow in open areas with some potential for more this evening before warm temps and solid rain move in to send us back to normal.

It will take the plow piles a week or more to dissolve. Many of our non-indigenous shrubs are emerging from the snow weight looking worse for the experience. But now we get to watch (and maybe help) the recovery.

And as much as a sunny respite appeals right now, I’ve actually been reminded of why I make a lousy tourist.  It’s more than just my reclusive nature. I’m not a person who enjoys hitting the highlights of a locale – seeing the stationary thing you’re supposed to see and moving on to the next thing you’re supposed to see.  I prefer to stay, work, play – even reside in an environment – long enough to observe and attempt to understand  – to, in some way, become a part of the process.

Not a very flattering pose, but you just can’t fold 5’10″ of adult human onto a child-sized plastic sled without looking a little like you’re practicing for your upcoming OB/Gyn exam.  Besides, you should look a bit ridiculous when you’re doing something ridiculous.

I highly recommend doing something ridiculous every so often. It’s very good for the spirit.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The Lottery Commission put a few bucks into the ad. It’s not like some middle-aged hang-glider just wandered in with the video and wondered if anyone wanted to use it.  The ad is a joint effort of  Publicis West, Sticks+Stones Studios and FisherEdit/Fisher FX. The birds were never more than a few feet off the ground, filmed in front of a green screen. (No birds were hurt or scared shitless filming this ad.)

The ad is supposed to make you realize all the crazy/wonderful things you can do (for less fortunates) if you win a bundle of money playing the lottery. If there was surge in lottery sales this year, it probably has less to do with the ad and more to do with tough economic times - which tend to increase gambling dollars spent close to home.

Subtext should include the fact that you have about as much chance of winning the lottery as the poor emu has of flying (with or without a hang-glider).

Washington State lottery dollars are distributed at approximately this split: 61% to winners; 20% to school construction (the best thing); 15% administrative & sales costs; 2.5% to sports stadiums; .06 % to economic development; .05% to address problem gambling.

Washington State is a big gambling state. The Washington State government profits from many gambling venues:  partnering on some, regulating some, totally directing others and accepting large sums of lobbying dollars.  The venues include the lottery, private card rooms, pull tabs, a large number of Indian casinos; and para-mutual (horse race) wagering.

Ironically (and ostensibly to save us all from ourselves), the Washington legislature has made playing online poker in the privacy of your own home a felony (on a par with sexual assault and distribution of pornography).  The law was passed rapidly, fueled by incidents of teenagers running up huge credit card debt at online poker sites and with the help of large sums of lobbying dollars from Indian casinos.

Teenagers running up huge online gambling debts is a parenting problem, not an online gambling problem. When online poker was legal, one could play for as little as 5 or 10 cents per wager – a fun option for people who want to play poker without investing a lot of money.  Minimums at brick-and-mortar casinos run between $3 and $5 per wager with $100 minimum buy-ins for poker games.  Poker involves skill – it’s not a blind game of chance – like lotteries.  Minimum purchase price for any of the multitude of available Washington lottery games is $1.00 per ticket.    What’s wrong with this picture?

Like the UIEGA, the Washington State legislation falls back on the idea that online poker players risk being cheated by unregulated off-shore sites.  There have been incidents of cheating and intentional fraud, but overall, the online poker community has self-regulated. Like other online networks, online poker players spread the word fast – sites that allow cheating or intentionally defraud fade fast.

Cute flying fowl commercials don’t erase the hypocrisy of this “protectionist” legislation. The reality is this: Washington’s government encourages you to gamble – but not unless they get their rake from the pot.

Griz wound up an INTP Brain Type – Introversion, Intuition, Thinking, Perceiving

The Brain Typing website defines INTPs as: “Logician” master of conceptual logic; problem-solver; scientific—desires understanding of universe; designs logical models; seeks precision; introspective; adaptable; tends to excel in theoretical, philosophical subjects; logical abstraction skilled.”

The Nightingale-Conant printed material enlarged upon the INTP description with this:

INTPs are rare and complicated individuals. Relating to them can be an intellectual challenge. If you can persuade them to simplify their thought processes and slowly unweave their complicated conclusions so you can follow their intricate logic, the trip will be worthwhile. They seek precision and can qualify to death anything they express. With a handle on the truth, though, they can be persuavsive geniuses. Having a passion for questions that begin “What would happen if…,” they’re highly effecive organizers, researchers, and planners. Projects big and small present themselves as stimulating challenges. They are sought after for their creative ideas and theories.

Famous INTP’s include Albert Einstein and Leonardo DaVinci

I wound up an INFJ Brain Type – Introversion, Intuition, Feeling, Judging

Website Description of INFJ: “Wordsmith” potential gifted writer; imaginative, conscientious; has concern for the needs and development of others; empathetic; enjoys enriching inner life; methodical; quietly forceful; counselor; language skilled.

Longer description per Nightingale-Conant:

INFJs are a true rarity, among the least commonly found types in America, comprising only two percent of the population. [How's that for a "peculiar being?"] They often come with a confusing twist: Although Introverted, they are truly “people persons,” so concerned with others that they appear Extroverted. They have endless ideas, always considering possibilities, being happiest when these ideas are helping and bettering others. They tend to have clear goals, are skilled at working with people, and relate to others with empathetic, compassionate skill. They often feel compelled to render service to humanity.  They seek harmony in every part of life.  They make loving spouses and fiercely devoted parents.

Famous INFJ’s include Billy Crystal and Carl Jung.

In completing the questionnaire for each other, I assessed Griz exactly as he assessed himself. Griz assessed me exactly as I assessed myself except Griz defined me as an extrovert. An interesting development considering the INFJ descriptive material.

In the scientific community, it is well accepted that there are certain flaws in any “self-testing” and  objectivity between spouses is always scientifically suspect. If you’ve lived with someone for more than 20 years (and you still like each other), chances are fair that you not only know the other person well, but you also are familiar with, and accepting of, your spouse’s “self-definition” or persona. This, of course, impacts the test results. The spouse element aside, it comes as no surprise that a curmudgeonly, misanthropic* hermit, like Griz, would categorize a fairly “personable” hermit, like me, as an extrovert.

I am neither advocating or rejecting Mr. Niednagel’s methodology. Griz and I completed the questionnaire for entertainment, mused over the results and that’s it. We did not, nor did we have any intention of, changing our behavior or starting new regimens because of the results. The reader is welcome to visit Niednagel’s website to see what Brain Typing is all about.

Mr. Niednagel is a businessman, not a psychologist.

The American Board of Sport Psychology has published a scathing skeptical evaluation of Brain Typing by Terry Sandbek, Ph.D., entitled “Brain Typing: The Pseudoscience of Cold Reading”.

Personally, even after reading the counter-claims, which resonate with my “scientific self,” I’m keeping an open mind. I tend to be a fan of any methodology that starts people on the road to searching inward for answers, rather than looking outward. As much as I respect the strict parameters of scientific inquiry, I also believe there are truths to be found beyond the intellect. Even “objective, scientific inquiry” has it’s roots in the subjective perception of human beings. I’ve lived long enough to understand that today’s magical thinking, science-fiction, and pseudoscience sometimes wind up the basics of tomorrow’s science and technology.

Of course, I also enjoy musing on the contents of fortune cookies.

*Note: Griz is not really a curmudgeonly misanthrope, but people who know him would agree (as would Griz himself) that he does cultivate this persona as a useful insulating tool – it puts people off and keeps them away – an advantage to any hermit. I am one of those unfortunates who tries to be polite even when saying, “No.” In our society, a polite “no” is often interpreted as a “maybe” which never works against pushy telemarketers or Jehovah’s Witnesses. Any INFJ hermit would do well to partner with a curmudgeonly misanthrope (real or purported) – nothing like easy access to a personal “grouch” for maintaining one’s privacy.

But I don’t consider myself a “city girl” – I’m more of a hybrid.  My father was a Seattle firefighter during a period when one of the job qualifications was city residency (a policy long abandoned), so I grew up in Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood. But when I was 6 years old, my parents purchased  40-acres of forest 5 miles from my grandparents’ farm (70 miles south of Seattle). Our family called this property simply “The Acres” and my parents ultimately retired to it after my father’s 25-year firefighting career. When I was growing up, our family spent nearly all available weekends and vacations on this property. I was closer to my first-cousins who lived in this rural area than I was to many of my Seattle schoolmates.

My sister and I spent many happy hours at my grandparent’s farm, and ultimately each had a horse of our own at “The Acres.” We were comfortable with farm animals and chores. We knew various breeds of cows, and learned to milk cows by hand; we could identify many crops before they arrived packaged at the grocery store; we played comfortably with reptiles and bugs, and knew which plants and critters “bit.” We knew mud and manure well – no innate country fear.

But if I had to choose the best location for growing up, especially for those breakaway-from-the-parents, formative years, I’d have to choose the city. It’s the time of life when cultivating the city skills is easy if you don’t already have them – and it’s those city skills that tend to get you a better education, a higher salary, a more impressive resume and comfortable global mobility. I don’t want to live in the city anymore, and I’m fortunate not to have to, but everytime I travel or visit the city, I’m glad I’m still comfortable (a) driving in city traffic (especially on the interstate); (b) standing in line to get what I want or need; (c) using public transportation if necessary; (d) dealing with a broad diversity of people; and (e) knowing how and from whom to get information or help if I need it.

If you grow up in the city, you naturally understand that a city is not one big sea of unknowns, but actually a collection of smaller towns (neighborhoods) which are manageably-sized encampments from which you can explore other neighborhoods and take advantage of all the city offers. My cousins who never did “city” when young rarely leave the country – the city’s just too scary for them. They miss a lot by this.

Of course, I also know some city people who never visit the country and they miss a great deal, too. Everyone should spend enough time outdoors, away from city lights, to see how dark it can really be; to discover how much light even a sliver of moonlight provides once your eyes adjust (without flashlight); to hear the quiet “noise” of an engineless environment. Anyone who has not looked up on a starry night and actually seen the “milk” of the Milky Way is deprived of a profound exercise in perspective.

I am not a parent, but I am an observer of parents and an admirer of good parents. The best country parents I see get their kids into the city and expose them to the city’s advantages, the best city parents get their kids out into the country and nature – camping, hiking, boating.  These best parents don’t pass along their own fears to their children, but rather expose their kids to as much as possible, creating fearless, autonomous individuals who can go forth into any environment when they come of age, deciding for themselves what locale best suits their needs. I don’t know how the good parents do it – but they deserve the admiration of us all.

And whatever locale you choose to settle in, it’s best to play in the other exteme at least on occasion. On long sailing cruises, Griz and I used to get out of practice at driving in traffic. You have to give yourself time to readjust to the pace of any new environment, but that doesn’t mean you should avoid the change.  If you’re a country dweller who resists going into the city, or a city dweller who resists going out into country, it’s a good indication it’s time to kick yourself in the butt and jump back out of your comfort zone. You’re getting out of practice. You’re chopping yourself off from all that’s available. This is a particular risk for us country-dwelling hermits – there’s just so many people in the city and it’s so comfortable for us out here in the woods.  But ya gotta do it. 

You’ve got to keep your skill level up – maintain your universality.

I’d been sailing for more than 10 years at that point. Harold laughed. He was also a boater.

What’s scary is always determined by life experience. Sailing on a small boat in a gale with big seas (especially overnight) is one of two pivotal experiences which have forever tempered my perception of “what’s scary.” (The other is years of riding as a passenger in motor vehicles driven by Griz – but I’ll save that for another post.)

You meet people who are rarely upset by external events – many of them middle-aged or older – but some younger ones, too. Those who have been through or seen a lot – soldiers, firefighters, cops – but also some “just ordinary” folk who have faced life-altering circumstances, grave injury or illness (or gone through it with a loved one.)

Experience is what makes the “small stuff” small.

Griz and I had a bronze plaque on S/V WaterBrother  which read:

“A superior sailor is best defined as one who uses his superior judgement to keep out of situations requiring the use of his superior skills.”

 (The plaque was actually given to us by my mother who worried a lot when we were sailing.) You try to heed those words; but it doesn’t matter how well you plan, experience comes along anyway. If you sail long enough, you get caught out in “weather.” Getting caught out is experience – on sea or on dry land.

Fred Roswold just posted a rewrite of a great storm story on his blog Wingssail including a comical explanation of why he and Judy wound up ”caught out.”  These are the sailing tales that are much more fun to talk about later, rather than experience first hand.

“It was a rough morning but we did knock off the miles on that trip: In twenty four hours we’d covered 175 miles even against the southward flowing East Coast Current. Did we like it? During the day it was simply a fast ride we’d rather not be taking. At night it was dark, loud, and scary but we carried on, and didn’t turn in until Yamba. And no, we didn’t like it.”

I’m glad Fred rewrote the story. Fear “in perspective” is so much more appealing and philosophical than the “real-time” exhaustion, fortitude and stifled, blood-curdling screams that get you out alive.

We have no grizzlies in this area - just (hungry) black bears. They reside on private forest land, which is surrounded by human population – rural changing to suburban.  The bears prefer to avoid humans altogether (smart). If you avoid surprising them, the bears just lumber off as soon as they become aware of a human. Even a sow with cub will give humans a wide berth if possible - the key for humans is to avoid getting between the Mom and her cub (the true danger point with black bears); or as with all bears - avoid surprising or engaging them.

So I’ve been singing on some of my walks lately – those that take me near the blackberries – giving the bears a lot of warning.  To remind myself to sing, I’ve been wearing my iPod* -  not even I like to listen to myself a cappella.

The cats frequently walk with me and are also great early warning systems.  On one of our walks today, the cats got a little ahead of me.  With their keen sense of smell, they obviously sensed no danger.  I suddenly noticed both cats had stopped and were staring back at me - like they thought there was something terribly wrong.  They hadn’t reacted to my singing this way in the past.  I wondered for a moment if there was a bear behind me.  But then I realized – singing away to a favorite playlist, I’d begun to dance – arms flailing, hips swaying, doing a little fancy footwork right there on the trail - truly enjoying myself alone in the woods.

But I wasn’t alone, of course. I’d upset the cats with my unfamiliar movements - or at least fascinated them.  A couple of small planes had just flown low overhead, too.  I wondered what the pilots thought. I started laughing  to myself, hoping everyone enjoyed the show.  And as for the bears – maybe I don’t even need to sing – just dance like a human - the gyrations alone may be enough to send critters in retreat.

*I am aware (and Griz pointed out) that in my post on personal Tasers, I said I would not go into a dangerous situation wearing headphones.  With reasonable precautions, I do not consider neighboring with black bears particularly dangerous. In many ways, the bears’ presence here indicates just how safe we are.

I’ve recently become a big fan of Carl Hiaasen.  Hiassen’s works actually surpass the mystery genre into just plain fun, satirical, contemporary fiction. I just finished Double Whammy, (c) 1987, a murder mystery with a background of (all things) pro-bass fishing tournaments.  As a result, I’ve decided to make Most Memorable Hermits (Real or Fictional) a recurring feature in this blog. Although Kaczynski and Thoreau made the list by default, my first official nominee is Hiaasen’s Skink.

Skink is a highly intelligent, good-looking, slightly wacko, radical environmentalist. He’s also a former governer of Florida who vanished mid-term and was never found. When we first meet Skink, his hermitage is a book-lined lakeside shack. (In later novels he lives in abandoned vehicles and even a dumpster, but somehow he always has room for his library.)  His favorite food is fresh roadkill – when he gets hungry, he’s off to the highway like you or I would stop by a supermarket. If you’re unfamiliar with him, give him a read. Believe it or not, he’s a very likable character.

Skink also appears in these Hiaasen books: Native Tongue, (c) 1991; Stormy Weather, (c) 1995; and Sick Puppy, (c) 2000.