Out-running bison in North Dakota

A few years ago, my friend, Mary, and I took off on an adventure to follow the part of the Lewis and Clark Trail starting in Bismark North Dakota and extending to the North Dakota Badlands.

At the end of our trip, we did some hiking in the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. I'd been to the Badlands of South Dakota -- had even done some solo backpacking and camping there -- but I'd never seen North Dakota's. They were, as advertised, stunningly beautiful.

As in most places in that part of the country, herds of bison roam freely around the park. If you keep at a respectable distance, and you don't engage in any predator-like behaviors (e.g. "sneaking up" on them to take a photo), they generally ignore visitors. Bison generally weigh between 2,000 and 2,500 pounds and can sprint at speeds of up to 30 mph. As huge as they are -- and as cow-stupid as they look -- they are surprisingly nimble, jumping fences as easily as any deer and able to turn quickly while running. (They also have creepy eyes and know physics, but that's a story for another time.)

Despite numerous warnings posted throughout our National Parks, despite rangers' attempts to save people from themselves, and despite the obvious humongousness of the beasts, several tourists are gored or trampled every year, sometimes to death. Bison are seen as photo opportunities, not as wild animals. In fact, my mother overheard a Yellowstone tourist comment, "The signs are just for show. Buffaloes aren't really dangerous. If they were, they'd be fenced in. They wouldn't be allowed to roam around the park where people go." Yep. Darwinism definitely has its place.

The thing with bison is this: They'll tolerate you. And tolerate you. And tolerate you...

Then they just get up and kill you.

Karma and the ride home

I have a Golden Retriever, Sachi. Like all Goldens, Sachi's a happy, energetic dog, and I love her for those reasons. One of the things I love best is watching her run. She's beautiful -- her long, silky hair rippling, her lean body low to the ground... I take her off-leash as often as possible so I can watch her flow around trees, leap over rocks, and stop just long enough to sniff something wonderful with her eyes narrowed to slits and her tail a still, bright flag as she deciphers the scent.

Dog-parks are great, but they're crowded and loud. So, occasionally, against the rules, I take her out to a local trail and let her and her sister, Coyote, run off-leash.

In an admittedly lame attempt at courtesy, I try to do this when it's unlikely there will be many other people on the trail. Generally, it's after dark (also against the rules) or when it's raining or extremely cold outside. On this particular day, there was a 6-inch layer of snow on the ground, and it was about 20 below zero -- a rarity for the part of Indiana in which I live -- and perfect for off-leash running.

The two dogs were having a great time, but I was starting to have a bit of a drop in my blood sugar, so I called them over to put their leashes back on so we could go home. I bent to snap the leash onto Sachi's collar when she plunked herself down on the ground and dug at her paw with her teeth. When she stood up, blood gushed from the paw. She'd apparently removed something from it -- a piece of glass from a beer bottle; a shard of ice from a puddle she'd broken through. Who knows. But the snow under her paw was quickly stained red.

Sometimes, I'm invisible

I'm out for dinner, drinking a couple of beers with a friend. I excuse myself to use the restroom, do what I need to do, wash my hands, and approach the paper towel dispenser to dry them.


Crap! It's one of those motion-detector dispensers.

I wave my hand in front of it. Nothing.

I move closer and wave again. Nothing.

I wave harder. I back up and wave. I move my hand toward, then away from, the little red light. Just as I start doing my silly little "what-a-stupid-situation" dance in front of it (cue the sarcasm), someone walks into the restroom. She's a bit startled, so I explain: "The paper towel dispenser doesn't see me."


 The woman kindly waves her hand in front of the dispenser, which obediently provides her with a paper towel, and locks herself into a stall. I dry my hands and re-join my friend.

I'm invisible to paper towel dispensers. Consistently. No matter what moves I make in front of them, no matter how hard I concentrate to be corporeal, I simply don't exist to them. Motion-detector sinks? No problem. Soap dispensers? They squirt me every time. But I'll be damned if I can dry my hands without using the legs of my jeans. There's just something about paper towel dispensers.


 Well, ok, and the occasional automatic door.

My first cell phone...and white slavery

I remember my first cell phone... No, it's not something I wax sentimental about. In fact, I got it under duress in preparation for a solo backpacking and camping trip in South Dakota's Black Hills and Badlands.

Friends were already concerned about my choice to "go it alone" in the harsh environment of the Badlands, but when Jenni noted that my trip coincided with the end of the yearly motorcycle rally in Sturgis, ND, she insisted I buy a cell phone. (And pepper spray, but that's another story.)

Me. A cell phone. Riiiiight.

Creating a brand

One of the first mistakes I plan to make out here in the Blogosphere is one involving branding.

"Branding" refers to how one distinguishes oneself, how we present ourselves to the world and what meaning we make of that representation. Think "trademarking." Think Nike and Gatorade and Disney. Think Mother Jones and The Onion and The Economist.

Branding also refers to burning a mark into something -- like branding cows or horses or other livestock.

It also means to stigmatize: "branded a fool."

Stigmas and burns are difficult to remove. They tend not to change, for the most part, leaving lasting marks -- which is probably how the advertising sense of the word also works. Changing a brand is a huge risk, a big expense. For some demographics, changes in brand is almost an expectation. For others of us, well...I just want to be able to find that blue kind of deodorant I wear, dang it! Don't go changing the packaging to yellow!

As I move along here, though, I might think the background on my blog doesn't quite fit. I'll likely learn how to use my own photos or backgrounds. I'll likely mess with fonts and colors and all the other things that might be considered "branding." I'll likely morph, change direction, go from blue to yellow. And it's highly unlikely I'll notify anyone of my intentions -- or explain my reasoning. There is creativity in chaos. "Consistency," as Michael Shurtleff writes in Audition: Everything the Actor Needs to Know to Get the Part, "is the death of good acting."

And what are we out here but actors? You might watch at the window. (I'm imagining readers, here, in my conceit.) But I'm the performer.

So be ready for costume changes, shifts in scenery, makeup artistry. The writing will be what it will be, but the set design, the lighting, the BRANDING -- well...all of that might just go yellow on you now and again.

For my first conceit...

Pardon me while I publicly figure this blogging thing out.

I'm a Luddite Lite. It's not that I believe technology has no place in our lives; it's just that I try to limit its place in mine. I was TV-free for five years, until a frustrated friend gave me the 1999 model he was replacing with a flat-screened modern marvel -- along with the little card that would allow me to purchase a hi-def converter box. When he asked me how I liked my new TV, I responded, "TV? Oh...you mean the DVD-viewer. I like it just fine." Netflix, yes. Network TV, not so much.

Until I drowned it in a kayaking mishap a couple of weeks ago, my phone was a flip-model with a little, bitty camera, and a plan that allowed me to phone ET if I wanted to, but limited me to text messages. I now have a new shiny, red phone, with one of those screens you need to pet and tap and nudge with your finger -- along with the requisite data plan for that model. "Cool!" you exclaim. "What kind of phone is it?" Didn't I just tell you?: The shiny, red kind with the pettable screen and a data plan.

I went kicking and screaming into the Valley of the Shadow of FaceBook, and -- yea! -- though I walk there, I walk there infrequently, often tripping over rules of conduct/engagement I never knew existed because I live in the physical realm. I was a Twitter tweeter for a while but have yet to find a good personal use for it. I'm LinkedIn, Plaxo-ed, and even had a little bit of "karma" going on Plurk. Dogster and I had a brief flirtation. I'm digging Digg, but Tweetdeck and I just couldn't get it together. Really, do I need that much information at my fingertips?

My industry tells me, "Perhaps."

And it's my job that brings me here. I'm not kicking. Or screaming. Or making much of a fuss at all. But it seems I'll be blogging corporately now, and the company website just isn't a good place to experiment. This space, I'm hoping, will be.

I'm going to make mistakes. I'm going to misstep. I might even misspell occasionally. (Say it isn't so!) But I'm not sure how better to learn about this space than to occupy it. So here I am. Please accept my apologies in advance.