New and Improved

[David Howell]

Hello,

A lot of things have changed for me in the last year, including many of my values and objectives. As well as my weight, blood pressure (both down), stress, and even my name: David. 

Please do not call me Brian anymore. (I am aware the adjustment could be difficult and will be patient—to a point). More and more of my friends and family are successfully making the switch, so I know it is achievable. 

In addition to a significant amount of personal growth, I've been working on my autobiography, the working title of which is Ravings of a Madman. I have about 120 pages of notes, more than 400 citations, a surprising narrative structure, and highly detailed outline, which I am fleshing. 

I'm happy to meet with any of you over lunch to discuss my why's and wherefore's, whether over lunch or dinner. Let me know.

Regards,

David

[David Howell]

A few biographical highlights:

• I ran away for the evening, dressed in only my underpants, at the age of five in Puerto Vallarta, to hear a mariachi band at a nearby hotel. The city's police were looking for me when I returned to my family's rented cottage after the band wrapped for the night after last call;
• When I was choosing a Scout Troop to join, I looked at three: troops 19, 22, and 24, all in Berkeley. I found Troop 24 too regimental. Troop 19, which I eventually joined, was totally Berkeley: several of the parents hand Ph.D.s, like my father, and one father liked to sleep out under the stars while getting stoned (he was a brilliant hydrological engineer). But before I made my final decision between 19 and 22, I was aggressively courted by the then scoutmaster of Troop 22, Steve Kabeary.
• When I was 11, I became separated from a YMCA group trip to Disneyland late morning. After several frustrating attempts at connecting with members of my group, I simply roamed the park at my pleasure for several hours, enjoying the specific attractions I was interested in (I rode the monorail several times around the park, the People Mover four times, and went through Adventure through Inner Space at least twice). I was finally spotted by one of the chaperoning adults about 4:30PM, following which I was kept on an extremely short leash for the duration.
• I had to backpack about with my Scout Troop through the worst storm to hit the Yosemite backcountry in decades: drenching, driving, freezing rain; gusts of 20+ MPH; hail; thunder; sleet; lightning. Our campsite was closed when we arrived: it had been washed out when the adjacent Merced river flash-flooded. The Park Service was using helicopters and horses to evacuate those already at the site. We had to hike an additional seven miles, mostly through the storm, to an unofficial campsite offered by a compassionate ranger.
• I had to be rescued at night, in near freezing temperatures, by a USNPS mountaineering SAR team, from Washington's Column, above Mirror Lake, in Yosemite National Park. Someone two miles, in Lower Pines Campground, away heard my cries for help and alerted the Park Service.
• I had to be airlifted to a trauma center in Modesto after a freak cross-country skiing accident in Bear Valley. After which I learned some, well, perhaps not so, surprising things about people in general and their relationships to disabled people; such as the completely able-bodied woman who ran for the BART elevator and intentionally left me, then on crutches, behind.

Oh, and cars:

1. My first car, a Honda Accord, died after spinning 360°, having been hit at high speed on the left rear (no fault);
2. I saw dirt through the sunroof of my father's borrowed Honda Prelude, after its brakes failed (according to the CHP who responded) on a windy, hilly road, and I couldn't make a hairpin curve and tumbled—inside the car, its sunroof open—into a ravine;
3. I drove my red Honda Civic EX (basically it was an Acura Integra in Civic clothing) like the little sports car it was, then sold it after many happy miles;
4. I inherited my father's Honda Accord, which I drove for about a year, then discarded, in favor of...
5. My mother's hand-me-down souped-up Honda Civic (which she bought used), which was totaled in a high-speed rear-end collision on I-80N that basically pushed the trunk into the backseat. The driver who hit me said, in front of a witness, "I didn't see that you'd stopped."
6. Based on my history, I figure my current car, a Honda Civic (See a familial pattern here? My next car will be German!) has about a 60% chance of being obliterated by its 4th birthday. (Its 3rd is 12/24.)

Also, although I am a professed atheist, I nonetheless have long believed that the Universe is out to get me. But elaboration, for which I think I have surprising documentary proof, will have to wait for Ravings.

 

[David Fisher]

And to think I commuted with you nearly daily for 9 months.  It's wonder we're both alive.  Remind me never to go camping with you, eh?

Oh, and and you forgot to include the little earthquake in Kaikoura you were in.

David

On Tue, Dec 4, 2018 at 3:09 PM David Howell <bdho...@gmail.com> wrote:

A few biographical highlights:

• I ran away for the evening, dressed in only my underpants, at the age of five in Puerto Vallarta, to hear a mariachi band at a nearby hotel. The city's police were looking for me when I returned to my family's rented cottage after the band wrapped for the night after last call;
• When I was choosing a Scout Troop to join, I looked at three: troops 19, 22, and 24, all in Berkeley. I found Troop 24 too regimental. Troop 19, which I eventually joined, was totally Berkeley: several of the parents hand Ph.D.s, like my father, and one father liked to sleep out under the stars while getting stoned (he was a brilliant hydrological engineer). But before I made my final decision between 19 and 22, I was aggressively courted by the then scoutmaster of Troop 22, Steve Kabeary.

• I had to backpack about with my Scout Troop through the worst storm to hit the Yosemite backcountry in decades: drenching, driving, freezing rain; gusts of 20+ MPH; hail; thunder; sleet; lightning. Our campsite was closed when we arrived: it had been washed out when the adjacent Merced river flash-flooded. The Park Service was using helicopters and horses to evacuate those already at the site. We had to hike an additional seven miles, mostly through the storm, to an unofficial campsite offered by a compassionate ranger.
• I had to be rescued at night, in near freezing temperatures, by a USNPS mountaineering SAR team, from Washington's Column, above Mirror Lake, in Yosemite National Park. Someone two miles, in Lower Pines Campground, away heard my cries for help and alerted the Park Service.
• I had to be airlifted to a trauma center in Modesto after a freak cross-country skiing accident in Bear Valley. After which I learned some, well, perhaps not so, surprising things about people in general and their relationships to disabled people; such as the completely able-bodied woman who ran for the BART elevator and intentionally left me, then on crutches, behind.

Oh, and cars:

1. My first car, a Honda Accord, died after spinning 360°, having been hit at high speed on the left rear (no fault);
2. I saw dirt through the sunroof of my father's borrowed Honda Prelude, after its brakes failed (according to the CHP who responded) on a windy, hilly road, and I couldn't make a hairpin curve and tumbled—inside the car, its sunroof open—into a ravine;
3. I drove my red Honda Civic EX (basically it was an Acura Integra in Civic clothing) like the little sports car it was, then sold it after many happy miles;
4. I inherited my father's Honda Accord, which I drove for about a year, then discarded, in favor of...
5. My mother's hand-me-down souped-up Honda Civic (which she bought used), which was totaled in a high-speed rear-end collision on I-80N that basically pushed the trunk into the backseat. The driver who hit me said, in front of a witness, "I didn't see that you'd stopped."
6. Based on my history, I figure my current car, a Honda Civic (See a familial pattern here? My next car will be German!) has about a 60% chance of being obliterated by its 4th birthday. (Its 3rd is 12/24.)

Also, although I am a professed atheist, I nonetheless have long believed that the Universe is out to get me. But elaboration, for which I think I have surprising documentary proof, will have to wait for Ravings.

 

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