Writing to Failure

The last couple of days have been a bit odd. It's like a bad joke. One of those where it isn't really funny and nobody laughs. But that doesn't make a just description. It's more like when Colt makes a joke. You don't really listen except to determine when he's finished so you can give him a mild chuckle that reaffirms that his jokes need more work.

I'm sitting here chuckling at life. It's jokes need a little more work. They're not horrible and they're not good either. Just blah.

Failure 1. I haven't really been catching fish. Now sure I can skewer some small reef fish, but I don't want small fish, I want something I can take a picture of. I would also like the amount of fish I catch to exceed the amount of energy I spend catching it. I shot a small fish yesterday just because it was taunting me. Little punk. He eventually got away when I tried putting him on the stringer. :-(

Failure 2. My truck, Gus, died. Well it didn't die it just broke. I pulled over after some nasty noised came from the front left wheel yesterday going to church. Smoke was coming out of the locker casing. I'll work on it this afternoon. Also my cool flip flops broke this morning in class. Now I'm out two modes of transportation. Usually I'd be really hacked and say Gus makes me want to cus, but not this time. It seems ok, and I glued my shoe back with some Krazy Glue. It's like life has turned into a Bobby McFarren song.

Failure 3. Not really a current failure, but apparently Whitney Hay7es found my facebook stuff and we're facebook friends now. She wrote me a message. I don't know how to take it. Can I just electroshock those memories out of my life. There are two standing memorials to P Murph failure on my Facebook wall. Thanks life. That's really helping my coping skills.

I guess Mom's right; if I didn't have all this junk to deal with life would be boring.

In other news I have a dominating immune system and I think it'd be really cool to get to share it with other people, and DK will take me out to get icecream if I donate bone marrow.

Paul "When your flip flop pops a loop, just go get some Krazy glue. Don't worry. Be happy" Murphy

My new pigs

So I've found a new way to help save the world. I've been watching a lot of House lately and they're always looking for bone marrow donors. So I signed up on the list.

National Marrow Donor Program

apparently it costs $52 for the test, so you pay that and they send you a cheek swab kit. So here's to finding a match. You might want to sign up too. Apparently there's a huge need for more African-Americans and Pacific islanders.

Paul "I think they use a huge needle to get it" Murphy

P Murph- 0 Ocean- 4

So I got my speargun in yesterday. Wednesday is my night to cook too. So I took off after work for the ocean to catch some fish to fry up with my totally cool new speargun. I grabbed my gear to hiked off to the beach.

I would like to appologize to all of the dead transendentalist writers I use to make fun of. I still dislike your writing style but I understand some of the themes a little bit better. Melville writes about the indominable ocean, and how humans constantly fail against nature. I guess its about insignificance. I didn't get it in high school. Frankly, you can go to the SC beaches and constantly be disappointed with the size of the waves- weak force of nature. So I never really understood the whole "the ocean will kill you" thing transendentalist wrote about. I just wished for bigger waves.

Not true on the island. Now we don't get the huge North Shore waves but they can get pretty big. Worse, we have a reef that surrounds the island so the waves ussually crash on top of them. But you have to get on the deep end of the reef to catch good sized fish.

So yesterday I struggled across the pounding waves to the dark side of the reef. Spearfishing is different then other typs of hunting. Unlike dear, fish have gills and swim remarkably well. Go figure. I do not have gills. But I do have a record of 2 minutes holding my breath- and am an accomplished swimmer (what does that mean?).

I eventually landed a shot on a fish. So then I was in fairly deep water with a dying, bleeding fish. Shark bait. I reached for my stringer to hold the fish when I realized I left it on the beach. So I needed to swim back in.

As I approached the reef the waves were at a managable 4 feet. Just get close, hang on to the rocks for the backdraft before the wave, and ride the wave in. But then there was this huge backdraft that ripped me off the reef backwards. I never saw the wave but I was pretty sure it was a big one from the amount of water it pulled off the reef. I aligned and began riding the wave in over the reef. Unfortunately for me it was absolutely massive. Somewhere between 6-8ft high. I was submerged then summersaulted by the monster wave with huge amounts of power. Remember, a cubic yard of salt water weighs like 1000lbs. It threw me around like a rag doll then slammed me square against the reef.

At first I thought I may have broken something when I hit. My right calf also started cramping hard. What good is adrenaline if it just makes your muscles cramp? I quickly realized that no matter what I was still at the edge of the reef and another wave was coming in. As I checked on that wave I saw the fish that was formerly on my spear jump out of the water as if to taunt me. Jerk. I quickly turned around and swam hard, still clutching my speargun. I got back over the reef but scratched up and in pain.

My rear still hurts from being slammed down. I also have a sweet scrape/bruise on my right cheek. Unfortunately I haven't been able to show anybody my cool battle wounds. Maybe I'll post a picture.

Paul "Still never bagged a fish in the ocean but I'll try again today" Murphy

A New Crag

Sometimes its hard to realize that the blog is about one thought at a time. Otherwise things get wordy. Nobody likes a wordy blog.

Rockclimbing, this post is about rockclimbing.
When I lived in Arkansas I use to love going out and rockclimbing. Most of the time I would either scamper over to Riverside park and sometimes out to that hill by the lake- I forgot the name. Sometimes it was hard finding the time or people to go with you. Luckily Mandi P would ussually be up for climbing whenever.

When I firt got to the island I saw all of these rock walls that I thought would be great to climb. See volcanic rock is especially susceptible to errosion. This leaves random large rock formations. At first I thought it would be cool climbing on these rocks. Nobody else had probably ever sumitted many of the walls. I could be the first.

So I started climbing. I started at beechside rock formations that are scattered about around the island. Unfortunately there is a reason volcanic rock errodes easily. Its actually very loose compared to other rock. Its worse then sedimentary rock. Ask Ron Staggs I'm sure he can explain it to you why its like this.



The first few climbs I did ended in the same way. I would find a solid outcropping that held the initial weight I put on it. As soon as I went to push off to occupy the next step a piece would inevitably break, putting me precariously off balance. And by that I mean almost threw me to the ground 20ft below. Luckily, wait, Skillfully I always managed to catch myself, but not before my body was slung against the wall. In the end I wound up with matching scars on my shins where I slammed into the jagged volcanic rock; permanent reminders of how fragile rocks can be. So I gave it up.

Until now. Down at the beech behind the house (Its really a walk through the jungle a few hundred yards) I found a piece of rock that is sticking out past all the others. It runs right down to where the waves roll up after breaking. The bottom is ussually wet at high tide. But something is a bit different about this one- its harty and has stood the test of time better than the surround rocks. So I've started climbing on it. I should get a picture.

Its definitely a 5.9 or higher climb. Holds are few and far between and it slants backwards. But a few more days of working my arms out on the rock and I should have regained the strength and endurance to make it to the top.

Paul "A bit rejuvenated" Murphy

More Moron Moments

I have a tendancy to say dumb stuff sometimes. It happens. Sometimes Its because I'm an idiot. Sometimes because I'm trying to be funny- and I'm not. Humor takes a while to accurately grasp. Here's another Paul Murphy trying to be funny moments.

My third grade teacher was Mrs. Fox at Ridge Spring Monetta Elementary. RSM for short. From what I remember Mrs. Fox was a nice lady with long fingernails, and long brown hair. I think she was in her forties, but I'm not sure. She was definitely better than Mrs. Cockrel, who Josh had to put up with for his year of third grade.

Mrs. Fox always had new ideas on how to inspire kids to do well in class. One day she promised everyone who got a 90 or better on a quiz that she would buy us icecream. Now it wasn't real icecream it was the kind that you get a school or camp that comes in a presized styrofoam container and a tin lid. But it was still icecream; sort of. Being the brilliant third grader I naturally dominated whatever quiz it was, and began waiting for my icecream to come wednesday.

Wednesday. In the morning Mrs. Fox had us doing some trivial exercise about something. I don't remember what it was but I was bored. When I'm bored my brain thinks of dumb things. So Mrs. Fox went on with the activity. She eventually asked the class, "What things remind you of a hot air balloon?" Now I was bored and hadn't been paying a lot of attention so I'm not sure to the context of the question. All I know is I saw an opportunity for a joke. I raised my hand.

Seeing that I may actually have been paying attention while staring at the walls, Mrs. Fox was eager to call on me to answer her very elementary question. I was a bright student so I'm sure there may have been some abstract thought she was awaiting like, an imagination; because its bright and colorfull and can take you places you've never been. But that's not me.

"You remind me of a hot air balloon!" The other students giggled. "Becuase you're big and full of hot air!" The classroom errupted in laughter. I had made my joke. It was good, and everybody laughed; except Mrs. Fox.

Later that day after lunch she carried a tray full of white icecream containers in. She called students to the back of the class to pickup their reward and return to their seats to feast. As the names went by I kept expecting mine to come up. But name after name it didn't. I didn't understand what went wrong, and being me I wasn't going to question my teacher. But I still couldn't understand why I didn't get my icecream.

I got home and told my mom first about the hillarious joke I made during class. She laughed, then told me it wasn't very nice. Then I lamented about not getting icecream and explained to my mother how some mixup probably happened. Mom laughed. "You called your teacher a hot air baloon and expect to get icecream?!" Mom laughed at me for a while. Then she told everybody in the house.

Sheesh, I didn't know making jokes about middle aged women was such and offense to have icecream stripped away from an 8 year old.

But now I know.

Paul "A little slower than your average bear" Murphy

Unnecissary Blog

Why? Because it won't change your opinion.

I like Donald Miller's writing. I was handed Blue Like Jazz on a Friday afternoon and closed the back cover before Saturday's 2pm frisbee at Harding Park. It's mezmorizing.

I especially like his not-better-than-you style of writing. Its a breath of fresh air when I'm submerged 2000ft in a book ocean. (What was that <- ?) Is he a Tolstoy- no, that's not his style. There are a lot of smart people out there that like to write like they're smart people. Lots of times they write books about history and I get wrangled into reading them. Even some on the side link do so. There's nothing wrong with it, It's just not my prefered method. (Mine's "elementary") In my mind the true mark of a great teacher, book, whatever, is the ability to take a complicated subject and make it accessible to everybody. It's why I love Peter F. Drucker's books on Economics, Stephen Hawkings A Brief History of Time, and Donald Miller's writing style. They simplify something complicated to where anybody could read and understand it.

Donald Miller deals with some complicated stuff. In BLJ its religion and its place within our relationships with God. In Through the Painted Desert its about solidifying who you are and what you believe. Its about finding God somewhere other than in pages of a Bible or in the pews of a church building.

He jumps around and is crazy. Yes, ok, I concede that. Miller will use a train of thought internal discussion and will (spaghetti) take a detour during a chapter for a while. But it all comes back around. And I like that he's crazy- but we all are- he just write about it and the rest of us keep it inside. Maybe you aren't and that's why you don't like it. But I think some crazy stuff, and its nice to know that somebody else does too- it makes it real.

Sunday I was finishing up TPDesert just completely submerged in the book. It was a great chapter about life, fun, girls, and camping in the yard. I was so completely into the chapter that at the end I looked up and had forgotten completely what day it was. Now that's some good writing. Maybe its just his Bohemian view and lifestyle that so attracts me. I dunno.

Paul "Confused about why Japanese science experiments wind up on the grocery store shelf" Murphy

Whaling for science? That seems........ wrong. Especially when it winds up as food.

Reading and Fishing

I bought a speargun. The company shipped it out this morning via priority mail so I'm hoping it shows up either on Sunday's flight or Thursday's. I'm really excited. I've never tasted Sea turtle and I'm really interested to see how it tastes. That's a joke. So I've been looking up fish charts for the area to see what is edible. I think it'll be a blast. I got a Murphycheap 27" JBL Explorer speargun. It's not a big game gun, but its mine and hopefully it'll be shiny.

I've been reading a lot lately. I've downed 3 books in the last month. The two on Mountain climbing, which were excellent, and another Donald Miller book "Through the Painted Desert." Its about a roadtrip. I like roadtrips. Jeremy Stoneburner says we're going camping this summer. So we'll go somewhere cool again.

Through the Painted desert wasn't like Blue Like Jazz. It was different but the same pragmatic but poetic Donald Miller. I like his take on things, he makes christianity easy. I love how he takes a sobering look at relationships between people, and people and God. I also like the idea of traveling around and living in the woods and stuff.

What a random blog

Paul "captain random" Murphy

Off the home row

You ever notice when someone is frustrated they type only on the home row? asdkfjasdlf style. Its like if we're frustrated we just move around the easiest keys to press. I'm frustrated and I don't know where the keys are.

Over break I read two really good books. Into Thin Air by John Krakauer, about the 1996 disaster on Everest and High Exposure by David Breshears. Both excellent. Both about mountanineering and what pulls people toward something as ridiculous and illogical as climbing to 29,028ft, the troposphere. Both books resonate somewhere inside me. Its about personal challenge.

I'm frustrated with a lot of things right now. All related to what I do from 7:30 to 3:00. On one hand I've got this new enthused idea that each day is special and shouldn't be wasted. On the other I'm not happy. Problem. Solution? I don't know.

All accounts I can read from mountaneers on Everest say that nobody enjoys the short walk to the top. And by short walk I mean 13,000ft drudgery of a march through wind, cold, and ice from Base Camp to the peak. Sure people enjoy some aspect of the climb but on day 4, sumit day, nobodys chipper and happy. Even veteran climbers have to force themselves out of bed at midnight to make the last ascent of the excruciating climb. Above 26,000ft your intestines shut down b/c of a lack of oxygen. It feeds on itself for energy. They call it the "death zone." Often climber return with a 20% loss of body mass.

I kinda feel that way. The question becomes how do you balance a "don't waste a day" philosophy with being miserable at work?
A. Find something else that doesn't make you miserable
B. Find a way to make work less miserable
C. Suck it up and waste the next 163 days of your life
D. Find meaning, value, and happiness somewhere else like spearfishing, cycling, or some other cheap activity.

Paul "not in a good place" Murphy

Panic! at Midnight

I never know how much to discuss about my current trip. On the one hand I could say stuff like... (backspaced out). True, yes. Accurate, ehhh. So I don't know how much to divulge of my NZ exploits.

Many of my actions tend to be high-risk high-reward type stuff. I think that's how I can continuously come up with stuff to write for this blog. Paul Murphy makes another blunder in an attempt for greatness. I guess Dad was right, I don't think a lot of things through. But that's how I roll yo. And that's how I fall flat on my face and wind up making a fool out of myself then post it to all my friends to read.

New Years Eve I was making my way up from Queenstown to Aukland riding the bus. So NYE I found myself in the small seaside former whaling town of Kaikura. It was small and not much to do. So after I trekked out to see a few fur seals I went back to the room and crashed around 5pm New Years Eve.

I woke up around 11 pm by the bad cover band blaring outside the window. The NYE party was on, and I was sleeping it off. How lame. So my brain got to thinking. I decided that I should go join the party on the street and find a good looking lady to stand by when the clock stroke 12. We'd have our celebratory kiss and I could go to bed. I was also hungry b/c I missed supper. Brilliant. I really don't think things through though.

So I went down to the streets where people were partying and a little on the drunk side as a whole. It was an hour till midnight so I sat in a small roadside park and watched drunk people. Drunk people are funny. Then the drunk people spotted me sitting by myself and decided to talk to me. Nuts. Should have thought that one through. So I talked to some guy and his plank of wood he'd drawn a face on. Then one of the girls asked how old I was.

When asked how old you are its always good to lie. Period. There isn't an advantage to telling someone the correct age. Especially girls. I made the mistake and told her 23. Nuts.
"How old do you think I am?" came the reply from the inquisitive girl.
Nuts. Another question you shouldn't answer correctly. There's only one reason someone would ask that- they're too young. Nuts. Brain-"Get the smash out of here!!"
"you look... ... ... eight." (17???)
Drunk people don't like strange answers. So I gave a few more and they left me alone. Back to my search for a good looking lady to position myself next to. And I could use some food.

So I found the "Speights" sign and went in. I got a "hotdog" (corndog) and some fries. That should hold me over. Now to listen to the bad cover band and eat my food, and scope out a good place to stand.

As I sat there eating my food and listening to the music, and searching for a place to stand, I apparently caught the attention of my plump bus driver. So she came over and sat down and we had a conversation. All the while I was panicking. This isn't what I wanted. I was supposed to find a hot german girl or something. Anything but the bus driver!? Oh snap. Then I started to panic.

My horribly planned plan began to crumble as it ticked closer to midnight and I was still carrying a conversation with the bus driver. Nice girl, just not the plan. Some of her friends came over and we talked a little more. There was no way out at 1 minute till 12. I was toast. And so ended the brilliant plan of Paul Murphy. I dodged a quick kiss and went for the hug. I quickly came up with some lame excuse and bolted for bed, narrowly escaping further pursuit of physical contact. Whehww.

Paul "Moron" Murphy