The Flume

I went to school at Plymouth State College, like a half hour south of the White Mountains for 4 years, and lived there for half a year afterwards. I was an idiot and barely spent any time in the mountains. I decided that it was high time that I hit up one of the most touristy destinations in the area- The Flume Gorge.
So, after a night of partying, a horrible night of couch sleep, and a way too big but tasty meal at the Tilton Diner, I found myself sitting around waiting to see if people wanted to go to the Flume, followed by the best place ever (more on that later). After much too long of waiting, Primus Dan and I finally just decided that we needed to go at that instant, and if it meant going alone, then so be it. We hit the road and drove a solid hour north to the place that apparently everyone else in NH was going to on an 85 degree October day.

We basically had to park ON the highway, walking past tour bus after tour bus full of mostly every Indian person in New England. Not trying to sound racist or anything, it was just weird to be at this place in Northern NH and see so few white people, and also see mostly Indian people- and a bus full of Quakers (at least I think). It was odd.

We stood in line for a solid 10 minutes to find out that it cost 14 bucks to walk up the 2 mile trail. 14 DOLLARS?! To walk on a bridge over rocks with tourists? Pardon my language, but are you fucking kidding me? Dan was pretty much instantly out, and I was deterred, but decided that we had driven all the way there, and had never seen it, let's just suck it up and pay. So we did. I have no idea how they decided on 14 bucks- the place looked like it needed zero upkeep other than picking up trash. There were no guides, there wasn't much- just a building, a gift shop, an enormous parking lot, and the Flume Gorge itself.  Kind of absurd, but I guess that's what you get when New Hampshire natives figure out they can charge tourists that much money to go outside. I guess I can't blame them- I probably would be charging 20.

All that aside though, after walking a solid half mile up a dirt road before actually getting to the river, and us figuring out that it probably wouldn't be very hard to sneak in, we actually both grew to really like the place.

The Flume Gorge is basically just a river cutting through huge rocks, with small waterfalls and some huge ones too. It's all very pretty, and they built a nice walkway that zig-zagged through the whole thing. It was easy to see why this was such a tourist destination.

There was a lot of waiting in line and waiting for people to stop taking pictures, 

but overall, it was a really neat spot:

It definitely felt pretty cool to stand right next to raging torrents of river on a neatly put together walkway. It was also surprisingly cold and somewhat breezy in there too, which was quite nice considering it really was 85 degrees out.

There were also some caves to explore on the way up, but it had rained a few days before (and the whole area was kind of wet from splashing water), so we didn't want to get all wet and muddy. We're also not exactly the size of people who should probably be crawling through tiny little caves- we're more built for posing in front of them awkwardly. 

The higher we went, the waterfalls got bigger. 

Eventually we were on top of everything, and looking at a pretty big drop of 130 feet into 40 foot deep water. Apparently this area is the start of the Pemigewasset River, which I never knew. I didn't realize there would be as much of an elevation gain on this, and was surprised at how nice the views got the higher we went.

There were a lot of quick downhills to lookouts. I couldn't get pictures of some of the better ones due to the 100% absence of clouds in the sky and my iphone not being able to cut through it, but if you go, definitely walk to all of the lookouts, the views are great. 

Dan getting all emo in nature

The last real view we saw was of Liberty Mountain, Flume Mountain and another mountain I can't remember. It was a fairly spectacular representation of fall in New Hampshire, especially in HDR. 

We followed the Quakers out, 

and headed to the best place ever, which will have a separate post. The Flume was definitely a pretty cool place, and I'm happy I went. I got some awesome views, and finally got to cross it off my list of places I've always been curious about visiting but never did. Was it worth 14 bucks? I'd say it was more like an 8-10 dollar trip. But we had fun.

currently listening to: Local Natives- Gorilla Manor

Arethusa Falls, Livermore, NH

2 weekends ago (wow I'm behind on this blog) was my favorite weekend of the year; our annual gathering at Kevin's house for all things fall- called Squamtoberfest. Last year, I went up 2 days before anyone and destroyed my entire body by trying to hike Mount Chocorua as my first hike of the year. This year, even though I was very prepared for a ton of hiking, I only went up on Friday. Before going to Kevin's, I went somewhere I have never been but wanted to visit since discovering its existence earlier in the summer- Arethusa Falls, in Crawford Notch- widely considered the prettiest waterfall in NH. I had gone thinking it was the highest (and 200 feet), but through a little extra investigation tonight, apparently Dryad Falls is much higher, and Arethusa is anywhere between 120 feet and 176, with most sites listing it at 140. Or 160. I guess it's hard to measure a waterfall. Statistics aside, it's pretty gorgeous and awe-inspiring, and definitely worth a visit.

I started later than I wanted (WEIRD), but this time it was more the fault of Friday afternoon traffic through Conway than me leaving too late. I parked at the lower parking lot because I thought I had to (note: there is an upper parking lot- park there). The trail started out nice and moderate, with a sign shortly in saying that I had 2 options- take the Arethusa Falls trail to the falls (at about 1 mile) or turn left to take the Bemis Falls trail at (1.5 miles). The first just goes straight to the falls, the latter takes you to 2 other waterfalls, so for the extra half mile, it seemed silly to not take it.

Pretty quickly into the trail, I saw a sign for "Fawn Pool," which was real nice and probably a nice spot to jump in on a hot summer day.

This would probably create a decent slide with enough water

Swimming hole

Up a little ways from this spot was Bemis Falls, which was small and narrow, but pretty impressive. Once again, my iPhone took better pictures than my camera:

Then a little further up, I came to Coliseum Falls, which I didn't even realize was going to be part of the trip. This was a smaller 1-drop waterfall, but the rock around it was awesome:

I felt pretty lucky that I had come to see a big waterfall and had already seen 2 with barely any work. I was a fan of this trail. Immediately after Coliseum Falls though, was a huge incline out of nowhere. This is the section that takes you back to the Arethusa Falls trail, and, although it was straight up, obviously worth the extra work.  

This section will get your heart pumping

After the big incline, the trail meanders like any trail, going up here, going down there. It was very easy to follow, had steps when they were needed (even though they were enormous at times), and had signage wherever needed. Towards the end of it, I was wondering if this was actually a mile and a half or much, much farther. The time I had spent at the falls and the fading sun was playing tricks on me. Eventually, I came to a pretty nice bridge:

After this, the trail continued deeply left into the woods, and eventually downhill considerably. I could hear the waterfall, and I realized that the trail was taking me to the bottom of it. As soon as I could see it, it really kind of quietly blew me away from its size. 

 

To get an idea of the size, that tree that had fallen across the rocks was a little over chest high and much too hard to get over or under because of its size.

I hiked along the side of the river/rocks on some pretty sketchy stuff, then walked along the base of the waterfall, getting fairly wet from all of the splashing water. But it was more than worth it to stand at the base of this enormous waterfall and look up at gallons of water crashing towards me.

I was actually happy to be here, just looking tough/panting. Look at the rocket shooting off the top! (ok, it was a trail from a plane)

I sure love me some HDR iphoneography. 

Arethusa Falls is really a great spot, and I'd say it's a lot like Rattlesnake Mountain in Holderness, NH as one of those amazing spots where you have to work very little for some incredible scenery- Rattlesnake for a great view, Arethusa for the ability to stand at the bottom of one of the bigger and most beautiful waterfalls in New England. The only problem is that it took me a solid 2 hours to get there, and I would recommend anyone coming from Mass try to combine this with something else- maybe the Frankenstein Cliff loop here, or maybe with Crawford Mountain (which I had originally thought of trying to do on the same day) right down the road. Or maybe even just a visit to Conway- I certainly spent enough time sitting in traffic that I felt like I had gotten a full tour.

To get there- It's pretty easy- located right on Route 302 going through Crawford Notch, pretty much dead center of the White Mountains. It's about halfway between Attitash and Bretton Woods Ski Resorts. Park at the lot, walk across the railroad tracks, and the trail is to the left of the house right in front of you.

Straight Edge

I have been straight edge for my whole life.

In high school, when all of the cool kids started drinking, I just didn't. The times I spent hanging out with friends was time spent wandering malls, going on adventures, golfing, playing music, etc. Drinking or smoking just never happened. I was curious like everyone, but I never really had the opportunity presented to me. I was a special kid in high school- because of my humor and blatant honesty and ability to make fun of myself and anyone else, I could sit with anyone, and sometimes would sit with the cool kids or the hockey kids (the coolest of the cool), but I primarily liked hanging out with the "losers-" the geeks and nerds who, if I wasn't at a private school, probably would have been beaten up regularly. I identified with them the most- we laughed at the stupidest things in the world and never bowed to any pressure to be anything that we weren't. We never felt like we had to fit in, and, adding to the fact that we weren't exactly invited to parties, never got in the usual high school situation of getting pressured into drinking or smoking. My best friends ran the gamut of cliques, and this meant that I could hang out with different groups or have great one on one time with them, but never really went to the "cool" world, where all the drinking happened. So, I didn't drink through all of high school.

Towards the end of my high school years, we had a class-wide party in a friend's field. You know the party- parents left us alone with a watchful eye from afar, there was a huge fire, the cliques for the most part stayed together but slowly blended, the weirdos (me) threw frisbees in the dark, and the cooler kids drank and made out in the woods. This was my first real exposure to drinking. And it was probably a lot different from most peoples'. I got to hear the panic and rumor mill start up when suddenly two people who weren't even friends were rumored to have had unprotected sex in the woods. I got to see the panic when someone who had had way too many nearly fell into the middle of our campfire. I got to join the rescue party when it was reported that someone had wandered into the woods and was planning on drowning himself in the water down the hill. I got to watch several classmates who I had looked up to or had crushes on turn into quivering, disastrous messes who were throwing up on themselves and crying uncontrollably.

Awhile later, after prom, we all went to some camp on the lake, and I got my first taste of what college would be: I sat by the fire playing guitar and laughing at stories from our past while the cool kids were screaming and cheering each other on, taking drink after drink in a building up the hill. One of these people was my ride back home the next morning, and I got to watch him throw up for a solid half hour after drinking something like 30 beers. A zombie drove me home the next morning. I wondered if he would survive the ride back to his house- he looked dead, and I honestly was surprised all he did was throw up a lot and pass out.

I went to college a few months later, and moved into the Jersey Shore of dorms: "The straight edge maker." Save for my roommate and the kid across the hall (who are still two of my closest friends) and the kid next door (who should be president one day, but won't, because he's not a lying sack of evil), this hallway was filled with some of the worst, should-just-have-been-shot-on-the-first-day-of-college-to-save-the-world-from-them misfits that ever attended Plymouth State College. I had been curious about drinking and wondered if college would be where I, like all of the world, would explore this idea. Nope. A girl down the hall dropped out of college the next year with a 0.00 GPA. There was a stain in front of our door for the entirety of our freshman year because a guy down the hall dropped a bucket of puke there (and continued on down the hall, believing he was still carrying it), and there was a blood stain on the carpet across the hall from where two drunk girls beat each other up one night. Actually, I take that back- I'm pretty sure one was on coke. My neighbor on the other side started his life at Plymouth State with good grades and a promising life. He ended it by failing every class and waking up on his last day with penises drawn all over his face and upper body, as he had passed out from drinking too much, and his best friends cared about him enough to make it worse. I watched people crying in huddled balls on stairways, people passed out on bathroom floors in puke and piss puddles, relationships end, fights happen, etc. You know how it is. I sat in my room on Friday nights and wondered why people wanted anything to do with alcohol, as it became pretty easy to trace every problem these people were going through back to it.

A few months into college, I met someone nicknamed So-fly. We were talking, and I said something about not drinking. He said, "you don't drink? So you're straight edge?" I had no idea what this was, but later agreed that yes, I must be straight edge. Through him, I not only learned about tons of amazing music, but learned all about the world of straight edge. It was based in the hardcore/punk scene, arguably based around a band I never liked- Minor Threat. It was generally defined as no drinking, no smoking, no drugs. Some people added caffeine in with the idea of drugs. Some didn't even drink cough medicine when they got sick because there's alcohol in it. Some (me) didn't even eat food if it was cooked in alcohol, much to the chagrin of friends who didn't understand how I didn't understand that the alcohol was cooked off in the process. Most just defined it as no drugs or alcohol- and caffeine and cough medicine were ok, since you weren't drinking them to really change the way your brain worked (even though caffeine definitely does...)- it was more based on not falling into the idea that you could only have fun and be popular if you drank alcohol. In the early days, there were even gangs who beat up people who weren't edge. There was a subculture behind it, and just like any culture, money to be made on t-shirts and stickers. There was a terrible news report on it and countless documentaries (just search youtube), books, etc. I put X's around my instant messenger names, I wore an XXX necklace, and was proud of having an identifier like that to label myself to passersby who often didn't even know what it meant. Meeting someone at a show or finding out that the weird kid with tattoos and cool t-shirts on campus was also straight edge was always a great feeling- I immediately felt like we were kindred spirits in a world we lived in direct opposition to. I hated a lot of the straight edge bands, but loved the idea of what they were singing about- that these people who hated what they saw drugs and alcohol do to people they cared about decided to take a vow against that world, and unite through music and ideals. It was hard not to get behind Earth Crisis when they screamed "I AM STRAIGHT EDGE" over an enormous breakdown in "Gomorrah's Season Ends." When Converge yelled "You call it your right, I call it your weakness" (in "Fact Leaves Its Ghost), it got me all fired up. I started to become THAT guy- the guy who went through college with loser straight edge kids, hating everyone around me. And it wasn't hard. I let them be, but if I was out skateboarding with my edge friends or friends who just didn't feel like drinking every night, it was pretty much guaranteed that some group of dudeguys would hit us with a "SKATE OR DIE!! FAGS!!" or some other asshole frat boy fight challenge.

I got along with everyone though. For the first two years of college, with the exception of probably my closest friend Nate, everyone I was close to drank. I went to parties, and either just acted like an idiot (which usually came naturally) or sometimes pretended I was drunk or even tripping just to mess with people. I was asked to leave a few different parties because people thought I was "too fucked up." My friends would get destroyed, and, for the most part, they'd be fine with me not drinking. We all had fun in our own ways. I tried not to judge them, and they returned the favor. But I would always return to hell. Walking back to my dorm room was always a nightmare: what would I run into this time? Would I see a body passed out on the way back? Where would there be a fight? Would I be able to use the bathroom, or would there just be piss and puke all over the floor? Would someone be half dead on the floor of the stall? I'd sit in my room and just stew. I lived in headphones and the internet, trying to escape a world I wanted nothing to do with.

A lot of freshman year was spent on instant messenger, trying to stay connected to high school friends. You can imagine how that went. They'd write back drunk, mistyping everything, telling me about what drugs they had done and endless details of their adult world I didn't want to live in. I felt lost and disconnected from people around me and people from the past. We had tons of fun and got along, but there were always the moments when everything would change and things would get weird- they'd get drunk and I wouldn't. Even when it worked the best that it could, it was always weird.

My freshman year was a constant reminder that I didn't belong in this world. I just wanted to go back to high school where I didn't know any of this existed, where I could be crazy and goofy without being asked what drugs I was on. I wanted to go back to a world where every Monday morning class was something other than conversations of who got fucked up where and how fucked up they got and how many beers did you have? Oh dude, I drank way more than that. I wanted to be a kid again (still do). I wrote a paper for a creative writing class, detailing my love of innocence and childhood, juxtoposed with what my friends were doing or telling me they did- I think I scared my teacher. I kind of scared myself.

Sophomore year was better. People got over their excitement about drinking, or at least I was able to escape them more. I also met the people I currently live with- Rich and Josh- two people who loved hardcore and metal, comic books, art, movies and junk food, and didn't drink. They weren't as militant about it as the world I had been learning about- they just did their thing and stayed as far away from what they hated as they could. I spent the remainder of college dividing my time between my friends who drank, my friends who didn't, and the radio station. And I never drank an ounce of alcohol. I learned to be more accepting of other people's lives as long as they were accepting of mine. "You don't drink?! WHY?!"s slowly morphed into more "that's cool man, I totally respect that"s.

Straight edge is often misunderstood- from the violence that happened a lot in the beginning to the idea that if you're straight edge, you hate everyone who isn't. I think much like people going too far when they start drinking, straight edge people go too far when they discover the label and label themselves that way- it becomes incredibly easy to divide yourself from the entire world. You're the outcast, you're the weird one. Yet you're the one who is being smart and not risking your life to have the fun you can have without alcohol- it's easy to see how there will always be a dividing line based on judgement and anger. You're basing a large part of your life on refusing to do something that everyone else around you does. How can the other people not judge you and think you're a jerk for hating their way of life when your identity is partly created by trying to be the complete opposite of them? And how can you not, in turn, hate these people as well? They're judging you right back, and have the entire world on their side. The ability to accept each other and the ability for a straight edge person to hang out with drinkers and not judge or be angry is really only something that comes with conversation, understanding, and most importantly, time. Years pass and you start to find your way. You learn to not have to deal with the things you don't like seeing, and if you do, you accept that as long as the drinkers aren't making fun of you for not drinking, you only have to see it in small amounts, and jokes the next day usually alleviate any stress or anger towards peoples' actions while they were drunk. It's tough, but it's growth.

In the last few years, I've slowly cared less and less about being straight edge. It started feeling stupid to label myself as being against something that literally, with the exception of like 3 people, every one of my friends does, and more often than not, does responsibly and without incident. College was over. A lot of these people are married and have kids. So what if they have a beer with dinner and go out a couple weekends a month and occasionally drink a little too much and get goofy and stupid? I started to see why most people who were straight edge in their teens and twenties break edge in their later twenties or thirties. The anger kind of fades away- it's tiring. The judgement becomes less important. Your friends accept you; you accept them. The "wait- you don't drink!? WHY!?"s nearly completely go away. And the idea that always stuck with me how the very idea that drinking is so accepted and normal that it's mind boggling to NOT drink stopped bothering me as much. I've always been someone who automatically doesn't like being part of something if everyone is doing it. I don't have some urge to always be different, I am just psychologically and maybe even genetically driven to never be anything even close to part of the group mentality- the idea that we're all sheep and the reason we all do what we do is because that's just how it's done. That was always a big part of me not wanting to drink. I was expected to, so I didn't want to. But as time went by, I started feeling like this idea was more of a barrier against living a free life than anything- if I was going to not do something just because other people did and were expected to, wasn't my life being just as constrained by societal expectations and defined roles and ways of doing things? Wasn't I just the opposite of that design, and therefore, just as much a part of it?

I slowly discovered that pretty much all of the kids in the "scene" I went to shows with for years had broken edge. So-fly himself broke. I judged them- I said they just couldn't make it and gave up the fight. My friend Dan from college, who was very militant and had a straight edge tattoo, broke. I hated him at first, but soon saw that he hadn't really changed that much, he just liked drinking from time to time. Rich broke 2 years ago, and Heath shortly thereafter. This was huge, as they were 2 big parts of the small group of straight edge people I knew. With the exception of Josh and distant friend Brian, it seemed like the only people who were still straight edge were people who loved and had always loved the music it came from- that over time, the idea of being straight edge didn't stray far from that world, and when it did, it died out in the hearts of people who didn't want to sing along to songs they never cared about. It had really always been closely related to the world surrounding that kind of music, and as we all got older and farther away from that world, we saw it less and it mattered less. With all of my friends breaking, I changed from feeling like I was truly alive to feeling like I was somehow missing something. It began to feel silly to be against nearly all of my friends. I began to truly feel alone in a belief that I wasn't certain I believed in anymore.

Most people who have ever been straight edge chose that lifestyle after drinking first, then deciding to not drink later. I'm the only one I know who never drank first. I could list the times I had alcohol (except for cough syrup- come on) on 1 hand: A sip or two of Dad's beer when I was a little kid and said "what's that? can I try it?," a glass of champagne at a wedding when I was like 10, a chocolate mousse drink with alcohol in it I had in high school, and the most recent- a hot chocolate with Bailey's Irish Cream in it that was served to me when I worked at Waterville Valley. I drank half the glass and said "this is some of the best hot chocolate I've ever had- why is this so good!?" and was answered with "because I put Bailey's in it." I tried to play it cool, but my chest instantly got hot with nervousness- oh shit, I had just broken edge completely by accident. But I didn't know there was alcohol in it, so did I? I loved it, and I drank the rest. Was I doing that to play it cool and not be the guy that instantly freaks out and stops drinking it just because there's alcohol in it? Or did I really like it and was secretly excited that I could still say I was straight edge and get away with this drink? A lot of people would probably say that I broke edge that day. I'd say 9 years of not drinking after that more than made up for that 1 drink. But I would tell that story to friends, and tell them how I felt weird- light headed, goofy, having trouble focusing, etc. They'd say, "yea, that's a buzz," and I'd laugh with them. I think I definitely wanted to belong- it was fun to both be straight edge AND have that experience. It was the high school cafeteria all over again- I was on both sides. 

I haven't been straight edge for years. I didn't break edge, but over time, I simply no longer believed in the way I was choosing to live. When strangers asked me why I was straight edge, my usual answer of "it's just not anything I'm interested in doing. I never have, so I just kind of stayed that way" turned to "I don't know," and eventually became the brutally honest, "because I'm too scared not to be." People would always get serious with me when I said that- laughing nervously and pulling the whole "oh come on man, it's not like that, you just don't want to drink, and that's fine" answer to try and make me feel better. But I would immediately correct them: "No, honestly- I'm terrified to drink. I'm terrified to NOT be straight edge."

I identified myself as straight edge for so long and it was such an important part of my life- it was such an obvious identity and dividing line that I was terrified to be anything but that. If I wasn't straight edge anymore, who the hell was I? People always thought that I was actually scared that I would immediately become an alcoholic or 1 drink would turn into 20 and I'd be fighting with people, crying, and driving home into a tree. While that's not entirely a baseless fear (I tend to have an addictive personality and am either all in or all out), it was never the reason. When I first started questioning it, I was worried what friends would think of me, but as they all started breaking edge, it became less of a concern. And as I grew older, I have at least started to care less what people think of me. Honestly, it couldn't be more simple- I was just too scared to break edge.

The other part of it was this: If I broke edge, I would be admitting that I couldn't live life without the aid of alcohol. I know this is a strong statement, but for so many years, a large reason I never wanted anything to do with drinking was because it seemed like people only did it to have fun, to fit in, to be more relaxed in social situations, to be able to talk to girls, etc. It was the "social lubricant-" "liquid courage." People drank it as a way to make life easier and more fun. As I often do, I took a big stand on that- my feeling was that yes, they appeared to be having more fun than me, but they weren't living life- they were living a false version of it, with all the hard parts watered down and made easier by drinking some magical potion. I was actually living what life was. My perception and experiences were real, actual life, no matter how boring or depressing it was. Deciding to drink would be admitting to the world that no, I can't make it without alcohol. I couldn't live a true honest life without drinking the potion that makes everything easier, more fun and less depressing.

But I began to see through both of these reasons- If I was too scared to stop being straight edge, all I had to do was overcome that barrier and decide to live a life without that label and crutch. If I decided to drink to see what the drinks I'd been hearing about for 15 years tasted like, would that really be me admitting I couldn't make it through life without them? Wouldn't that really only be applicable if I literally was having a terrible day and just chugged vodka to shut the day out? Or if I was going to a party where I didn't know many people and just drank a ton before I went? I wasn't doing any of that stuff- so would just trying some drinks and exploring the world of alcohol really be me "not being able to live without alcohol?" No, of course not. I could live that way- I have for my whole life. I just didn't want to anymore. Was I "giving up the fight?" No, I had nothing to fight about anymore. I wanted to see what all the drinks my friends have been drinking for years tasted like. I wanted to know what the other side was like. I was tired of being straight edge. So, I decided I'd stop.

I began to tell people that I would break soon. "When I turn 30" I said. People were PSYCHED. I could have sold tickets to 40 people to have them just watch me drink a beer. They were that excited. But 30 happened, and I didn't break. People started getting upset with me- "just drink a beer dude, it's not a big deal" and it felt like college all over again. Yes, actually, it is a very big deal. To you- yea, it's just a beer and I'm the weirdo who chose not to drink and is now scared to. But to me, it would be changing my entire life. I'd say that qualifies as a big deal. But in a way, they were right- I already said I would drink, and I was putting it off and wimping out, over and over again. I began to feel like this was becoming a metaphor for all the things I've been scared to do in my life.

This blog continues to inspire me to try and live a life that is more awesome. And what's more awesome than overcoming your fears and taking a step toward change you want? So, even though most of my friends already know and its painfully obvious by now, I did it. I inspired myself to take a step I've been thinking about for years. I broke edge. I am no longer straight edge.

I had my first drink at Uno's, August 16th, the night that Shawn quit apple. I was met with lots of "are you gonna break tonight?" questions when I got there, and I think I always kind of thought I might. Shawn, on my left, was passing a drink to Alicia and I kind of whispered that maybe I should just drink something and get it over with, and her drink looked neat. He freaked out and started going at me: "Just have a sip. Come on. Not a big deal. It's just lemonade. You love lemonade. Not a big deal. Just a sip of lemonade. Mike needs to taste this. Give him this drink. Mike needs to taste it. Now." I noticed that I was being filmed and a few people were very interested in what was happening. So, I said one of my new favorite slogans of this summer, "fuck it" and just went for it. Shawn put his arms up in an X and then emphatically broke them apart with a crumbling, exploding-in-slow-motion sound that was hilarious (symbolizing breaking the X, if you can't picture it). People were confused. "Wait- did he just drink that? No..." So I grabbed Shawn's beer and had a sip. It was terrible (Guinness). The rest of the night continued this way, with me trying different things, people buying me drinks, etc. My first whole drink was a long island ice tea, which was, as anyone who drinks knows, too much. I liked a few things, I hated more, and that was that. I was there forever and made sure to drink very slowly. I knew everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to get drunk. People started whispering, and I kept having to remind them that yes, I was buzzed, but I was mostly just hyper and having fun, and remember, this is how I've always been since you met me- just because I now have alcohol in my system doesn't mean I automatically turn from "Mike is crazy!!" to "Mike is drunk!!" and it kind of bummed me out that people immediately went there, but I guess that's just a place that people want to go.

Honestly, if I had never drank again after that first drink, I'd still be happy. Drinking that first sip felt fantastic- an enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders. I no longer had to be the different guy, I no longer felt handicapped by something I didn't even care about anymore. I was instantly happier, and instantly felt more awesome. If I chose to never drink again, I could at least say "yea I don't really like alcoholic drinks," not "um... I'm scared."

Since then, I've had a bunch of different drinks. So far, as it is for most n00bs, most beer is either not good, "tastes like beer," or good for a beer, but I'm still not entirely sure if it's something I am going to seek out and continue drinking, or if I just found one that is acceptable and I'll drink if everyone is else drinking and I want to feel a little silly. Mostly, it's just been exploration. Mixed drinks ("girl drinks") are often pretty tasty, but too many of them just taste like something else with alcohol in it rather than an interesting flavor. Scotch is good, but often a little too strong like a lot of the "hard stuff" is- if I'm honest, some of the interest in that kind of stuff is probably more based around either being a badass and drinking "the hard stuff" or being some sort of fake fancypants, since wine or whiskey are two of the last things that people who know me would picture me drinking. It's been weird, because I keep drinking fancy drinks that most people have to work up to for years. People keep saying that I should be drinking light beers if anything- that the fancy, rich and strong beers and mixed drinks are an acquired taste, and it's mind boggling to them that that's what I'm starting with. But to them, they started drinking as a way to get drunk, and chugging light and/or crappy cheap beer slowly made them want and appreciate stronger flavors. Drinking vodka that tasted exactly like juice or soda they loved made the transition to harder, different tasting drinks smoother. But I'm not drinking to get drunk; I'm drinking to try flavors, so why would I want to waste time only drinking a light beer and not explore and try the stuff they love (which understandably is often gross to me)? There aren't any juices or sodas that taste like scotch or weird liqueurs, so I want to drink those weird liqueurs. They're new and different. I'm looking at this as trying new flavors, not the same flavors I've always had, just with the sting of alcohol- why would I waste my time with vodka that just tastes like Kool-aid? I'd rather drink Kool-Aid. 

Drinking definitely has opened up a whole world of flavor for me, and the fun of trying weird drinks that either friends get or I've heard about on tv shows or movies for years is fantastic- the whole "wait, have you had a ____? Duuuude you gotta have a _____!!!!" thing. And even though I don't really feel like I feel looser and more relaxed and social (what happens to a lot of people), I now have something else to talk to people about, and a whole new experience added to my life. I've really only gotten drunk once and mostly have just had a few drinks or a buzz, so I'm mostly just the new guy, trying different flavors. And it's been fantastic. And it's also been great to reveal to people that I drink now- the moments of confusion and them being excited and curious about what I drank, what I like, etc. It's fun.

To the other side, I'm sorry to my few friends who are still edge, and I'll try to not talk about drinks around you (and I'll try to not get mad when you give me some of the shit that I've given to people over the years), but I am incredibly happy that I'm not straight edge anymore. Being straight edge helped me out a ton through college by not falling into so many of the stereotypes I was trying to avoid, and I can't help but believe my life has been a little bit better from staying edge throughout college and the years after, but at the same time, I feel like it's also better now that I'm mature enough to be smart with alcohol and can try all these interesting things. Life is all about experiences, and I can finally add one of the ones everyone else had that I was missing to the list. I'm proud of myself, and fully believe that I'm going to continue to be the same person you've always known, just with the desire to drink from time to time.

I guess it's really simple though- through all of this babbling and life history, I can really sum it up in one sentence- much like alcohol just wasn't for me through all of college and life after, straight edge just wasn't for me anymore. So I made a change. On to a more open, free, and hopefully awesome life...

currently listening to: The Horrible Crowes- Elsie

Swim Thursdays and Swimming in October

If you haven't been following this blog at all, Rich invented something this summer called Swim Thursday. See, he is the only one in our house who has a real job with an actual schedule (Josh does art whenever, I do nothing), and he realized he would be missing a lot of swimming this summer (one of his favorite things to do), so he finagled his schedule to get him out at 3 on Thursdays. This meant that every Thursday was "Swim Thursday." I missed a few due to visiting Maine or Mass or New York, but otherwise did most of them. And I also did the worst ones. See, if it was raining or freezing cold, it didn't matter- it was still Swim Thursday, and that meant swimming was in order. 

3 weeks ago, on September 22nd, I'm pretty sure I caught mild hypothermia.

It was pretty cold and pretty ugly. It had been raining for at least a day, and luckily the skies opened up for our swimming, but still, it was cooooold. We went to Ellacoya State Park, which has probably become my favorite place to swim (other than Fernal Shores) because of its coolness, perfect sand, and size. Too often though, the place is understandably packed. Not today!

ghost town

We went in and I was the first to get past my waist. It was COLD. Like, shockingly, how-on-earth-am-I-going-to-swim-after-this cold. It hurt. But we all kept saying we were getting used to it, and it wasn't so bad, etc. So we just threw the B like champs as cars slowed down on the road nearby to stare in disbelief. I kept jumping for the B and going fully underwater, laughing and saying that no, how could I be cold? This water feels great! 

But I started to feel WEIRD. I felt hot inside, and started to not feel the coldness on the outside of my body anymore. I told Rich and Josh this, and they were like "yea that's not good dude." Then I started to feel kind of light headed and just not right- like I was drunk or something. At one point (as a joke), I fell face first and just floated there for a moment to illustrate how messed up I felt. I heard Rich say "imagine if this was real? like he just didn't get up?" and from underwater, I started to feel like that wasn't entirely a crazy idea- I FELT like I could have actually collapsed for real. It was at this time that I decided I had to get out of the water. 

I got out and realized that I had moved on from just being comfortably numb- I was actually kind of hot. Not good. SO, I was incredibly smart, and instead of getting out of the water, I got back in and sat in it, taking pictures of everything, playing with HDR on my phone. 

Some came out pretty awesome:

Rich and Josh, the true champs of Swim Thursday:

We got out and Rich's car is so stupid it would only defog if he had the AC on. And we headed to an ice cream place to get ice cream. And I of course ate some, because I'm a big fat idiot. All that night, I felt just incredibly wrong. I stayed kind of light headed, dizzy, hot, etc. I had never felt like this before, and I hated it. I got how I had turned numb while swimming. I got how parts of me were systematically being shut down by my brain to keep me alive. That all made sense. But why I was still feeling this messed up hours later, I had no idea. I went to bed certain that I would wake up with a horrible cold, and prayed that the awful feeling would disappear in the morning. 

I somehow woke up feeling fine, and to this day, I have no idea what was wrong with me, other than my guess- that I started to get hypothermia but somehow curbed it and survived. Swim Thursday is dangerous.

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A week later, I headed back from Maine on a rainy, cold, unbelievably ugly Thursday afternoon. I had already told both Rich and Josh that, after last week, I had no interest in swimming. I'd hang out, I'd go to dinner, etc. But I was not swimming. I didn't want to feel that awful feeling ever again. 

I walked in to hear Josh say "ohh!! just in time for swimming!!" I could see on Rich's face that he was trying to get out of it, but didn't want to admit that he didn't want to swim. Against everything that I believed, I let the peer pressure/one-upness/show-the-other-guy-up-and-act-like-you're-tougher-than-them thing hit, and said I'd go along and watch them swim. "Why do you have a towel if you're not swimming?" asked Josh. "Well, just, you know, in case you guys need one or something..."

We went to a section of river in Sanford that we had swam in before and seen a giant snapping turtle.  It's a weird spot, but it's pretty good for swimming. It was a ghost town there, and it only got more rainy and miserable the closer we got to the water. 

me and my BADASS towel

Rich is usually the guy who goes under first. He has this thing where he says "see, the thing about me is, I just go in." It was his way of getting away from the slow creeping in and wimpy way he and some people (Josh) swim. So he's always the first one under. But I seem to be the first one to go in above my waist. And this was BAD. Because I knew we weren't going to swim as much, I knew I didn't have to worry about being in the water too long. I knew I wouldn't feel like I did at Ellacoya, so honestly, the water didn't bother me as much. Rich and Josh said it was way worse, but somehow I had psyched myself into believing that it wasn't. 

But it was cold. Oh yes, it was very cold. There was lots of screaming, very little frisbee throwing, and lots of us just standing there moving our hands around so they didn't go numb. I had noticed how bad that felt at Ellacoya, and it was worse here. My feet went numb pretty quickly and didn't really hurt much. But my fingers were a different story- it was piercing ice needle death every time I put my hands underwater. And opening your eyes while underwater when it's that cold? Wow, that's a weird feeling. 

I didn't bring my camera, so we used Josh's old crappy one, but we were able to at least have proof that we had gone in. It was rough. It was raining pretty hard when we got out and we had nowhere to change, so we drove home wet, through probably the worst thunderstorm I'd seen all summer. Friendly's tasted DELICIOUS. 

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Since the beginning of summer, I had been saying that I would swim in October. I don't think I had ever done it, and it fit in nicely with my refusal to admit that summer was over and stop swimming. So sure enough, the next week was October. It was the 6th, to be exact, and it fell after a week of slowly declining temperatures. In fact, the night before, it had been in the low 30s, possibly hitting the 20s at some point. Water gets COLD when it's regularly in the 30s at night. 

I was incredibly nervous about this Swim Thursday. I even had a dream about it the night before, and woke up waiting for Rich and Josh to tell me that you know what, it was fun, but we weren't doing it anymore. Was I backing out of something I said I'd do? No- see, I wanted to swim in October. That was it. Rich and Josh decided if we were going to swim in October, we should swim at the Kanc, where the water is painfully cold in the middle of July. See, they had done this once before, and dared themselves into doing it again. Why not swim in the coldest water we could find? I never once said I wanted to do this. To me, the Kanc gets old and is very far away, not to mention that the water would be pretty much ice by this time. I had no interest in going there, and was praying that they'd somehow get their brains in order and decide to swim elsewhere. 

The first tweet I saw when I checked twitter was Josh saying WHO'S READY FOR SOME SWIMMING!?!? I was doomed. 

Our house retains cold like nothing I've ever seen. I slept the night before with 3 blankets and even a winter hat at one point because of how uncomfortably cold I was. I woke up and couldn't get my core temperature up. I was FREEZING, and sat in my room in sweatpants, a hooded sweatshirt, and a ridiculously warm and ridiculous looking hat. I didn't want to go to the Kanc, at all. I was miserable. 

Rich got home, and I was a sarcastic jerk. "Awesome, let's drive an hour to die. Great." I could tell they didn't really want to do it either, but they were staying headstrong and pretending they were psyched about it. I began to pretty much tell them that I wasn't going in, and I'd just go swimming by myself the next day to cross "swim in October" off my list. 

We stopped at a gas station, and a crow seemed to further spell out our doom. 

We got there and hopped out of the car to see that not only were there a ton of people there sight-seeing, but the water was also higher and scarier looking than I'd ever seen it there. 

All those spots were calm before, with barely any moving water. This was the Kanc in full-on beast mode. 

Do these look like people who are about to go swimming?

(most of these pics were taken by Rich)

I began to psych myself into it, and sure enough was the first person to even think about getting in the water. 

Two words: holy shit. I grew up on a lake and have felt what the water that doesn't quite freeze or the water through a crack of ice feels like. Honestly, this wasn't far off- maybe 10 degrees warmer. I wish I had a thermometer. It was really, truly, frighteningly cold. My foot was instantly numb. 

Josh stepped it up by putting two feet in. 

Then we started seeing how far out we could all go.

I went the farthest because I was the only one wearing my suit. It hit a point where we all were saying it was absurd to even think about going in. It was numbingly cold, and my legs were already bright red from being in the water for 30 seconds or so. I started just saying "I'll go in right now, but I need my towel." Then the "well, your towel is in the car, which is far away" "ok, well then let's go get my towel" "I don't know man, if we go all the way back there, we probably should just leave" "I'll jump in right now and run to my towel" "eh.. I don't know man" thing started up. They clearly didn't want anything to do with swimming here, and I didn't either, but was willing to do it since we had driven that far and I had already gone in that far. It became a "I can say I just jumped in" kind of thing- where stories would be told for years to come about my bravery and manliness. But on the way back to the car, we got hit with some wind at the same time that a huge tour bus showed up full of tourists who had been bused to the white mountains from Boston, and I think before that, another country. The idea of nearly killing ourselves but then having a tour bus of people laughing at the fat stupid guys kind of made us decide that we didn't need to be that dumb- they had already done this once (even though the air (and probably water) was much warmer), and I never really said I'd do it, so risking full on hypothermia/death just didn't need to happen. We smartly decided to go to Chocorua Lake instead, even though this meant that we would now be swimming in the dark, with temperatures even lower. 

I don't know if Rich and Josh believe me, but I honestly was ready to jump in. I really was going to. I think I'm very happy that we talked ourselves out of it though. 

By the time we got to Chocorua Lake, it was this dark out:

And it was cold. My phone said Somersworth (an hour south) was 54 degrees, meaning it was probably colder here. I would guess that if the water at the Saco River was 54, the Kanc was probably like 45 and this was probably 50. It's tough to tell, but just a few degrees can make a huge difference, and logistics and semantics aside, this "warmer" water was still chillingly cold, and it was beyond stupid that we were going in at 7 at night. 

Here's video, simply because I feel that swimming in October is worth visual evidence. And listening to us scream and panic is kind of funny. You can also hear some of the deadly game of "oh, you're getting out? Maybe I'll stay in..."

"Swimming in October" from Mike Alexander on Vimeo

That first time I went in hurt. It was so shockingly cold that it actually took a little while for the cold to actually kick in- like my body didn't register it at first. Standing in the water for a minute or however long it was was deadly- my lower half was slowly going numb, and my upper half had that kind of burning warmth that is part of freezing to death. So, the second time I went in was one of the worst experiences of my life. I think that's what got me so bad at Ellacoya- I kept going back under, which meant I kept subjecting an upper body and head that was trying to protect itself continuously to the cold evil it was trying to protect itself from. Jumping in headfirst this night was just death. I don't even know what happened. There was no water, there was no Rich and Josh, there was no me, there was just pain. Cold, deathly pain. My whole body stiffened up and I even hurt my back a little bit from the soul-stiffening shock. It was just screaming and blackness. Don't ever do this. Look at when josh goes in headfirst at 2:20, he's screaming before he's even underwater!

I don't know how the polar bear club crazies do this. For one, my understanding is that they run in, run out and warm up- they don't stay in there and keep going in. I'm guessing they're all in better shape and don't have bad hearts either, because my heart is ok but I felt like it was close to stopping the second time I went in. 

When I got out, I got naked FAST and got as much water off me as I could while moving as fast as I could. I had laid out my clothes in advance- lined windpants, warm socks and underwear, shoes, short sleeve shirt, long sleeve shirt, hooded sweatshirt, epic winter hat, and even gloves. Once I got the longsleeve on, I was happy, but the hat was heaven. 

We got in Rich's car, pumped some heat, headed to Friendly's, watched a movie, and somehow none of us woke up sick the next day. Quite the end to Swim Thursdays. It was a fun summer guys. 

SWIM THURSDAY SOLDIERS

currently listening to: Journal- Unlorja

Stonehouse Pond, Barrington, NH

Last week I needed to get outside and stretch my legs to prepare for a few days of hiking coming up. I was going to hike Blue Job for the 3rd time this year, but Josh reminded me about the existence of Stonehouse Pond and completely changed my mind for me.

Stonehouse Pond is a beautiful spot in Barrington which comprises of (at best) a quarter of a mile hike to an exposed rock cliff looking over a small and gorgeous pond, with great views of far away mountains. It was small, easy, got me in the woods, got me to walk up a hill, and gave me a great view. It was perfect, and I'd highly recommend anyone near it check it out.

I got there with very little time before sunset. There was a pickup truck in the parking lot, in which, upon seeing me, a guy suddenly acted awkward and a girl pulled a blanket up and got even more awkward. Sorry kids, I hope you got to finish whatever it is you were doing after I left.

I went left at the big rock. This was my first view:

The trail leads to the top of that rock face.

Towards the top, I got to see some excellent artwork by some wicked awesome kids. 

weed leaf in rasta colors! Woo!

The climb was very steep out of nowhere, and although it definitely got my heart pumping, it was just short enough to not really hurt. I found myself at the top pretty quickly.

 This is the view:

Glass water.

I of course went late, and didn't get a sunset, but did get a great moon.

This is how serious the drop is off the main face:

I decided to make it a loop, so continued left so I would walk around the whole pond. I almost got extreme and jumped from one cliff to another, but wisely chickened out.

look at that sweet new shoe!

This is the jump from the other side. I'd say it's doable, but that's quite the drop if I were to fail. And I didn't want to die, so I played it safe.

When I got back, there were some punk kids hanging around, and I stood in the dark to avoid them/scare the crap out of them if they saw me lurking in the shadows. When they left, I checked out some more sweet art:

Night set in and it was pretty gorgeous. What an excellent spot for a quick woods wander to a great view.

currently listening to: The Dear Hunter: The Color Spectrum (Black)