tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038Fri, 23 Jun 2017 14:49:33 +0000LifeArtTrap ShootingNeat StuffFirefightingPlacesKickballVideosAviationMusichttp://jasongammel.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)Blogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-4780965755352721427Tue, 24 Jul 2012 04:03:00 +00002012-07-24T12:46:58.148-05:00LifeNeat Stuff<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2W8EGBzsLUM/UA4d8-9lJuI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/HVpxJ51HvXo/s1600/Pinewood+Cars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2W8EGBzsLUM/UA4d8-9lJuI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/HVpxJ51HvXo/s400/Pinewood+Cars.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Ok, so in my last post I said I'd post something about some pinewood derby cars and a small house class I went to in Austin and I said I'd do it soon, promised even. Well... Obviously my soon is longer than most other's definition of it. Since then I've taken on yet another project. But first as promised...<br /><br />So I have these two nieces that live about 30 minutes from me. On one of my visits they asked if I'd help them build a couple of pinewood derby cars. How do I say no when they're snuggled up to me on the couch? The one stipulation was that they help me, at least a little. I had a while before I needed to finish them so they were set aside until the very last moment, when I was in the middle of the flu. Yeah.<br /><br />I started doing research on various techniques used to make these things go faster and came up with some of my own ideas. I cut the basic shape I wanted which was kind of like an airplane wing. As the air moves over a curved surface it creates a low pressure causing the surface to want to rise. I didn't figure it'd make much of a difference but, not much is better than none in this case. I polished the axles, added just the right amount of weight in just the right place, and a couple of other little goodies.<br /><br />Now Cortlyn is the oldest of the two and as crazy as it may sound I tried to make her car just a little bit faster, like by less than half a second. Sounds crazy, I know. I got the cars almost ready to paint so I took them to Cortlyn and Mary Keaton's house and had them do some sanding. Afterwards I brought them home and figured I'd finish them up in the next couple of days. I woke up the next day sick as hell. Somehow I pushed through feeling like death and got the cars finished. I met my sister the next night halfway between our homes in a parking lot to give her the cars. I didn't want to get anyone sick.<br /><br />The day came for the race. My sister kept sending me text and video updates. They were crushing everyone. At the end of the event Cortlyn was first overall and MK was 3rd but, she had the second fastest car. Problem was she had to race her big sister and got beat by and inch or... half a sec. Now though, they both get to go to "finals".<br /><br />I wasn't gonna miss this one. We traveled an hour away to Hot Springs. When we arrived the cars were stashed away in their special carrying case (shoe box). The girls had to check them in and get the cars weighed. There was a couple of gentlemen there to do repairs and "fix-ups" to the cars. They asked if we needed anything and I quickly replied, "no"! I'd already packed the wheel hubs with a graphite and alcohol mix. It makes a paste and when the alcohol evaporates it makes a kind of graphite bearing in the wheel hub. So, no assistance needed, thank you.<br /><br />It was a while before ether one of them got to race. It was pretty cool. There was two big screens showing the race cars and results. I was keeping up with the fastest times trying to see how they were going to do. So far so good. Then it was time. Both girls took the stage and placed their cars on the ramp. The gate dropped and they were off. When their two cars got to the bottom of the incline they took off like a rocket. Cortlyn first and MK second. Race after race it was the same thing.<br /><br />The last race was up. This was it, the one that decided the ultimate winners. The gate dropped and again it was Cortlyn first and Mary Keaton second... by a half a second. They both were called to the stage to receive their trophies. MK for second overall and Courtlyn for first and a trophy for the fastest&nbsp;car overall. Now MK had fun but rolled with it. Cortlyn on the other hand stepped out of the place and into to the parking lot trophies in hand like she owned that place. She never cracked a smile. Just a days work.<br /><br />I still laugh when I picture her walking out like Danica Patrick. I'm not sure though, as happy as they both were, that they were happier than me. Not because I made some fast little wooden race cars but because I helped make them both feel like a million bucks. Out of all of my acheivments I'm not so sure &nbsp;that one didn't make me feel the best.<br /><br /><br />Next time, the little houses. Then... my current project. It's so awesome.<br /><br />Jason<br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</a></span><br /><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onclick="return addthis_sendto()" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')"><img alt="" border="0" height="16" src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" /></a><script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js" type="text/javascript"></script> </div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2012/07/wood-n-wheels.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-4645420311573722357Thu, 12 Apr 2012 04:47:00 +00002012-04-11T23:56:45.124-05:00ArtLifeTrap Shooting<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3BL_F5JuAaA/T4Zcokuc-tI/AAAAAAAAAd8/WRj0Lw2cJbY/s1600/100kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3BL_F5JuAaA/T4Zcokuc-tI/AAAAAAAAAd8/WRj0Lw2cJbY/s400/100kiss.jpg" width="233" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">This image has nothing to do with this post, I just thought it was super clever.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><br />While I'm not certain what it is that makes time go by so must faster with age I am certain that it does, or seems to. It doesn't seem like I've made much progress in general since the last time I wrote but as I look back I guess the little things do add up. I'm also reminded that I vowed to take some time off this summer. I have one more project to accomplish then I'm off... or on, or in. Of course I'll still do some house projects but they'll be more at my leisure.<br /><br />I'm currently sketching up a new body of <a href="http://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_1784870207"></span>artwork<span id="goog_1784870208"></span></a>. It's just time. That's one area where I have to keep moving or my work will dwindle down to nothing. It's not that I don't enjoy the current body of work but I can always tell when it's time to explore a bit. It's just my nature I suppose. I'm even shifting my creative thinking to some design projects. I've designed a game that uses a form of dice. I have the sketches done, now they just need to be put in the form of a computer generated graphic in order to transfer them to the dice. It's a simple game that I think will be neat, maybe. We'll see.<br /><br />Trapshooting has certainly taken a back seat. Not by choice but I've had to prioritize my resource of time and money, both of which the sport requires a lot of. I did do some shell testing for Remington recently. Not only that but <a href="http://www.harlancampbelljr.com/" target="_blank">Harlen Campbell Jr</a> just happened to be there and I shot with him. Now, in case you don't know who he is, his name is the most recognized in the nation when it comes to American trapshooting. He's that good. So good in fact that he's been able to make a full-time living doing so. We shot several rounds of doubles and he seldom misses, and he wasn't even shooting his gun. Impressive. Seemed like a pretty nice guy too.<br /><br />So, that's it... for now. Next time (soon, I promise) I'll tell you about a couple of pinewood derby cars and some super small houses known as Tumbleweed houses.<br /><br />Until then,<br />Jason<br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</a></span><br /><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php"><img alt="" border="0" height="16" src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" /></a><script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js" type="text/javascript"></script> </div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2012/04/has-it-really-been-that-long.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-4370356421422920038Sun, 11 Dec 2011 15:14:00 +00002011-12-11T10:52:05.275-06:00Art<div>New artwork avalible on the IO Metro site. "Pear" was selected to be reproduced and sold in all 20 IO Metro stores. They're avalible for pre-order now but should be avalible in the showrooms soon.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_BkhojbBXHs/TuTJyZzXMOI/AAAAAAAAAd0/-QyG_R2kVgY/s1600/pear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_BkhojbBXHs/TuTJyZzXMOI/AAAAAAAAAd0/-QyG_R2kVgY/s400/pear.jpg" width="322" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">&nbsp; "Pear" 40"x50"&nbsp;</span></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Check it out on the IO Metro site by clicking here...&nbsp;<a href="http://www.iometro.com/art/canvas-art/pear">Pear</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Jason</div><br /><div><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a><br /><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php"><img alt="" border="0" height="16" src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" /></a><script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2011/12/pear.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-8207870514887118141Sun, 04 Sep 2011 04:44:00 +00002011-09-29T18:32:06.868-05:00Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7cDyY6QGN5Q/TmMEJBqmIJI/AAAAAAAAAdo/xbEDyJGV8X4/s1600/308792_2349401100509_1414557337_32748866_7684395_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7cDyY6QGN5Q/TmMEJBqmIJI/AAAAAAAAAdo/xbEDyJGV8X4/s320/308792_2349401100509_1414557337_32748866_7684395_n.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>There's not much that I like better than accomplishments. It's almost my hobby but, not so much to accumulate notches on my bedpost of life but for the actual experiences. I should be making a list because one day I'll have a problem remembering... I hope. I try to at least make an accomplishment of sorts every year. More than once would be great but I try at least once. This year I'd been sweating it a little. I hadn't made any notable accomplishments so, I'm thinking, "what can I do that I can afford, learn something, and have fun". I've yet to finish my pilots licese and even though I'm only a few hours away the time and cost would still be inconvenient at present time. After the New York Marathon I figured I'd take a short break and then start my training for a half Iron Man triathlon, and still want to. The amount of time it would require to train simply won't fit in my life schedule right now (plus I'm lazy). So, as I continue to ponder I receive and email from a company named I.O.Metro. They are picking up one of my paintings and licensing to work to reproduce and sell in all 20 of their stores. This brings in royalty checks, which are awesome. So, there's one but still something else is needed as I approach the end of 2011. <br /><br />Sure enough I get a text, email, and phone call from my good friend Kenny. I knew something had to be up, he utilized every means of communication I have avalible. So, I give him a call and he starts to share with me about how he'd been submitting our documentary film around to a few film festivals. I didn't all all expect him to tell me we'd made it into the Louisville KY film festival as an official selection and feature full length documentary film. But that's exactly what he did. So there another accomplishment.&nbsp;Now if I could get into the Delta Exhibit again this year I might be on to something.<br /><br />I'll keep ya posted... .<br /><br />Jason<br /><br /><div><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a><br /><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php"><img alt="" border="0" height="16" src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" /></a><script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js" type="text/javascript"></script></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2011/09/two-new-things.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-1837320081517982220Sun, 04 Sep 2011 04:37:00 +00002011-09-03T23:44:53.688-05:00Art<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-29xhAxPTLL4/TmL_vtuZPOI/AAAAAAAAAdg/qdP5GnqW52Y/s1600/mexicanmainstreet_48x36_850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-29xhAxPTLL4/TmL_vtuZPOI/AAAAAAAAAdg/qdP5GnqW52Y/s320/mexicanmainstreet_48x36_850.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999; font-size: x-small;">"Mexican Main Street"</span></div><br /><br />I've never posted this so I thought I would... My twitter account is (of course) jasongammel, AND I'm gonna start posting new works of art there. At least for a while. A trial run of sorts. Seems quick and easy enough. If you're so inclined there's a link on the contact page of my website, <a href="http://www.jasongammel.com/">www.jasongammel.com</a>.<br /><br />See ya soon.<br />Jason<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</a></span><br /><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php"><img alt="" border="0" height="16" src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" /></a><script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js" type="text/javascript"></script> </div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2011/09/twitter.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-2160794546708858054Tue, 17 May 2011 01:25:00 +00002011-05-17T02:38:38.683-05:00LifeMusicNeat Stuff<div><br /></div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9hCantb5OM0/TdHqjnXehKI/AAAAAAAAAdA/o_wU7kDMvRc/s1600/drums.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9hCantb5OM0/TdHqjnXehKI/AAAAAAAAAdA/o_wU7kDMvRc/s400/drums.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607520908636751010" /></a><div><p style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ludwig Centennials commemorating Ludwig's 100th anniversary.</span></p><p><br /></p><p>That's an onomatopoeia, Ka-wham is. My friend Tessa taught me that word a long time ago. It's a word that describes a sound. When I hear one I think about those old Batman and Robin episodes when I was a young kid. Every time the dynamic duo got into a fight and there was contact made the entire TV screen would momentarily go to a bright color with various onomatopoeias flashing, you know like Ka-Pow or Wham or... you get the idea. Then I think about a picture my little brother Jeff and I had made with Batman when we were little. It was amazing, we were standing next to Batman *spoken in that little boy loud church whisper*. It was cool. </p><p>So, while I'm thinking about cool stuff from a long time ago I normally end up at some point thinking about music. There was a day when I thought I wanted to, in some capacity, play professionally. Not that I was good enough mind you, I just wanted to do it. In my early 20's I fell victim to a ploy to play the drums at a band rehearsal. I didn't know the band but a friend of mine did and he wanted to "casually" stop by for a few minutes. Next thing I know he's telling these guys I play so of course I'm now being prodded to the drum kit. I wasn't comfortable with this at all but their insistence was equally uncomfortable. To make matters worse, they were a country band. Now I appreciate the talent that some country musicians have, but it's not for me. That stuff is just nasty. I played a few songs, then a few more, then a few more. The next thing I know I'd been playing almost two hours. On our way out I noticed some of the band members huddled up talking low. My friend and I were making our way to the car when we were stopped by the "band leader" or "head cowboy", actually I think he was a truck driver (and get this, his name was Elmer Pullin and his nickname was Chicken - Chicken Pullin). He asked me if I'd be interested in playing with them some. I thought to myself "why not". I figured I could come and play every once in a while and have a little fun. So, I said "sure". He said "great, see ya next week". As he was shutting the mobile home door I heard him yelling to the other guys "Hey boys! He's in"! As soon as the car doors shut I looked at my friend and said "oh damn, I think I accidentally just joined a redneck country band". He just grinned. It was that moment that I realized there wasn't even a drummer there before I walked in. I was trying out for a country band and didn't even know it nor wanted to. I felt sick, and betrayed by my "friend". After 27 or 28 beers we had a good laugh about it. Then I sobered up.</p><p>After a few practice sessions we started playing places in the region, like swanky night clubs and stuff, oh and then there was the Armadillo Festival. I remember one place we played called Amanda's Palace, it was a Palace alright. I just knew at some point I was going to end up in the emergency room with a laceration to the head from a beer bottle. It was incentive to play good, believe me. We even played at this deer camp a few times that belonged to some farmer. It was more like a lodge, very nice. There was always a bunch of people there and man, it was always a party. One time while we were in the middle of playing there I looked up and saw the mayor of the town I lived in. He was <i>really</i> having a good time. I figured after that night my job as a fireman and city employee got really secure. Not that I would ever pull that card but it was in my hip pocket none the less. Heh.</p><p>Even though I didn't like country music I was having a good time. We even went to a recording studio and put some stuff on tape. Remember those, tapes? That was a really cool experience. I was getting more and more proficient at playing, so much so that I started getting phone calls from people in other towns that I had never heard of before with offers to play in their band or to fill in for their drummer that for what ever reason couldn't make a show they were playing somewhere. I never took any of them up on their offers, even though some of them payed pretty good. I simply didn't have the confidence to play music I didn't have much time to practice for or playing with people I didn't know. When you play with a group of people you learn how to play with each other and learn the little signs and signals when there's a problem or a change. Basically I had a fear of screwing up and not being able to cover up or recover. </p><p>After a while I became a little bored so I left "The Rollin' Country Boys" band (<i>rollin'</i> my eyes) and started playing with a couple of friends of mine that had a very similar taste in music as I did. They were both very talented and the Bass player, Rusty, was like a music god to me. He was very knowledgeable and talented. He even did some session recording in Memphis with Jamie Jamison the lead singer for the rock band Survivor, you know as in, "Eye of the Tiger"... dehh... dehh, dehh, dehh. Yeah, I really looked up to Rusty. I was always hanging out at his place talking about music and stuff. He was a really positive influence on me as a person too. Hell of a guy. Still is. He had this wall in his place that had some drum sticks hanging on it from events he'd played before with other drummers. I really wanted to get to hang one of my sticks on the wall of fame. Sure enough the day came that I got to hang one. I signed it "first time". It hung there for a very long time. Coolness.</p><p>The guitar player soon moved away and Rusty met a super nice girl and I got on with my job as a fireman and model airplanes and before I knew it, it was over. I still kept up with music and studied it and listened to as much as I could get my hands on. Over the years I've toyed with the thought of playing again. About ten years ago I even broke out my old trumpet and started playing it again. I went so far as to drive an hour north for some professional instruction and an hour south to play with a community concert band. I was even offered a scholarship to play at the University of Arkansas at Monticello if you can believe that, I hardly could. Even though I was considering going back to school at the time, I declined. I played everyday and even learned how to play the Didgeridoo and an Armenian double reed instrument called a Duduk. I surrounded myself with music. </p><p>I soon moved away and music playing again took a back seat. I now lived in an apartment and everything I knew how to play was too loud except for the Duduk. Even it slid in to the shadows as my art career took off. Still though, every time I heard music I would pick apart the drums and bass lines and sometimes imagine myself nailing those notes in perfect time. When I paint I most often listen to music and when I step back to look at my work as I go I'm guilty of using the paint brush as a drum stick, and if it's a really good part of the song I'll pick up another one so I'll have two, unless of course I'm listening to a Def Leopard song, in that case one will always suffice. </p><p>From time to time I'll look around on Craig's List and eBay at drums thinking if I run across just the right set, then just maybe, I might have a go. I'm in a house now and have plenty of room. A few days ago I came across an add for a set of Ludwig Centennials that are Maple covered. These drums without any hardware are over $1000.00, so when I saw that the guy was selling them for $600.00 and they hadn't been played to speak of, I figured I'd email him. In less than an hour and $450.00 later I was the proud new owner of a kit. They look sweet in my living room too. I still have to collect all of the other bits such as cymbals and hardware but I'm off to one heck of a start. I've started the pain staking process of getting them tuned and hope to be done with that soon. Until then I'll just keep staring at them and imagining myself running through flams, polyrhythms, and syncopations. And before you know it, with sticks in hand, Wham! - as in the onomatopoeia, not to be confused with the '80s pop band whose singer got caught masturbating in a public rest room... just sayin'.</p><p><br /></p><p>Jason</p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</a></span></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><!-- AddThis Button END --></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2011/05/ka-wham.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-3873733589373576160Wed, 15 Dec 2010 22:34:00 +00002010-12-15T21:46:34.977-06:00ArtLife<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/TQlKbkd4KPI/AAAAAAAAAbw/gnsSFNxy18A/s1600/jason_gammel_studio.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/TQlKbkd4KPI/AAAAAAAAAbw/gnsSFNxy18A/s400/jason_gammel_studio.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551049853216762098" /></a><div><p><br /></p><p>Well, Arkansas winter has apparently set in. It's cold, overcast, and dismal outside. This past week in fact has been cold as hell (shouldn't that be a sarcastic saying for a hot day?) and I'm reminded that new insulation is in order, especially in the art studio. Speaking of which, I'm about ready to start moving my supplies in from the old studio. The last couple of weeks I've worked almost full time getting it ready and just right so I can get back to work after a long unwelcome break. When I purchased this house just over a year and a half ago I had a vision for this room the first moment I saw it. With only a few minor improvements over the original vision it's just as I'd hoped and even a little better. It's not complete, but it's close and soon will be. I'm glad.</p><p>I'm one of those weird people that has to have everything just so before I can delve off into total immersion in my work. Not being organized is a distraction to me. Don't get me wrong, my house could use a good once over by someone handy with a mop bucket, vacuum, and dust cloth but for the most part I like to be squared away. My need for organization has been the butt of many jokes. It's kind of like the saying about always leaving the house in clean underwear because you never know if you'll be in a car wreck. I suppose that could be embarrassing as much as unexpected guest with a filthy house, although I'd take the filthy house given the choice. </p><p>My cat has even found her place in the studio. The top of two oversized pillows that are placed between two large square windows is now her official napping spot during studio hours. In fact, as I type there's a large ball of white fur slowly expanding and contracting atop of those pillows. I think this will be a great place to create. It's certainly the nicest and largest studio I've ever had to work in. Not to mention it's just below my living room. I suppose I could even paint in my underwear if I were so inclined. After all, they'd be clean... because you never know... . </p><p><br /></p><p>Jason </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</a></span></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><!-- AddThis Button END --></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/12/cold-and-clean.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-4201001527098738254Sun, 14 Nov 2010 02:00:00 +00002010-11-16T11:14:29.503-06:00LifePlaces<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/TOIkkPlC6FI/AAAAAAAAAbo/EMRVJ6MqZwM/s1600/Medal.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/TOIkkPlC6FI/AAAAAAAAAbo/EMRVJ6MqZwM/s400/Medal.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540030696694933586" /></a><p><br /></p><p>After many mornings of getting up a 4:30 in order to get my run in before 105 degree temperatures set in for the day, my goal was just before me. I now set on the ground with my knees folded into my chest with my arms wrapped around my legs shivering in the cold. I would sit there for the next 4 hours wondering if I'd had done everything that I needed to do to not disappoint my friends and family that would be watching and keeping up with my progress. I wondered if I'd done everything I needed to do to not disappoint myself. </p><br /><p>I'd been talked into signing up for the New York Marathon by my friend Katie several months ago. The chances of getting in were pretty slim but, I thought, "<i>why not</i>". I remember checking my application and seeing "ACCEPTED". What an exciting moment. And I also shared the disappointment of Katie not getting in. After all, it was her that pushed for me to apply. This would be my first full marathon. I looked at some marathon training programs and picked out one that seemed to make sense to me. I had run a couple of half marathons but this was going to require a great deal more effort. </p><br /><p>The problem with the NYC Marathon date of November 7th was that it was going to put the first half of my training schedule right in the part of summer where we would have record heat and humidity. My first 14 mile run made me question my commitment. I wondered if I was really going to be able to pull this one off. Week after week I met or exceeded my running goals. As time went on I gained more and more confidence. On my birthday 10/10/10, I would run my longest training run of 21 miles. Another couple of 19 milers and then I would be on my 2 week taper before the race and then only running no more than maybe 20 mile a week. My last run before leaving for New York would be a quick 3 mile run around one of the lakes next to my house. As I slowed to a walk I pressed the stop button on my watch said to myself, "<i>well, that's it</i>".</p><br /><p>I had to be at the New York Public Library to catch my shuttle that would be leaving at 5:30. I got up at 3:45 to get ready. Everything was all laid out and ready to go. I grabbed everything up and said so long to my parents. They both wished me good luck. As I stepped out of the hotel onto Times Square I wondered if I had gone crazy. Here I am in Times Square about to attempt something I've never done in one of the most prestigious races in the world. I looked around and under my breath said, "<i>screw it</i>". I then started walking down the street as though I'd done it a thousand times before. The closer to the Library I got the more people carrying the same plastic bags that would hold our personal belongings accompanied me down the sidewalk. Most of them talking in foreign languages. As we all made the last turn we could see the chartered buses all lined up with their amber flashing lights and idling diesel engines purring. As I came to the first race volunteer I asked about the bus I was suppose to take. She treated me like I was royalty and told me I could go ahead a board even though I was 30 minutes early. I took my seat towards the back and next to a window. We soon filled up with runners and the bus doors closed and we drove off into the cold dark streets of New York.</p><br /><p>After a quiet 30 minutes bus ride we drove over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and onto Staten Island. The bus pulled to the side and stopped and the air brakes spewed and the doors opened. We all quietly got up and made our way to the door. As I stepped off of the bus and into the cold night air, runners from several buses were all slowly converging to the runner's village entrance. These loud deep-toned speakers were repeating instructions over and over in many different languages. Now I'm starting to feel like an Olympic athlete. Everything that has my name attached to it is followed by "United States". It was neat looking at the tags on everyone's issued bag to see where they were from. When I got to the Ft. Wadsworth Runner's Village entrance I passed my bag to security and they checked over everything in it and passed it back with a smile and a wish of good luck. There were 3 different bib colors, blue, orange, and green and 3 wave starts. I was orange, wave 2, and bib number 29-386. I made my way to the orange village entrance. There was warm drinks and all the bagels you could possibly eat and a huge tent to get out of the wind. I got a cup of hot chocolate and a bagel and headed to the tent. </p><br /><p>About 2 hours later the tent was completely full of runners. I sat and off and on visited with a young girl from Oregon sitting next to me. She was a runner at Oregon State but this was her first NYC Marathon too. Mostly though we just sat there quietly, freezing. I was so miserable I kept looking at my phone to see what time it was, which always seems to make time go more slowly. It was time for the bag turn-in and coral line up for the first wave. I had about another hour to go. Finally, I'd had enough. I got up and walked out into the bright sun which offered no more warmth than I had in the tent due to the wind. I decided to turn in my bag so I turned my phone off and took off my fleece pull over and put them in the bag with my other clothes that I had packed for after the run. The bag turn-in point was 70 or so UPS trucks. I found the one with the orange sign that read 29,000-29,999. I was asked to see my bib so I pulled my outer shirt up and the gentleman smiled, took my bag, and said, "<i>good luck today</i>"! Everyone wishing me good luck honestly made me a little nervous. Was this going to be even harder than I thought?</p><br /><p>I found my coral entrance, orange sign 29,000-29,999. I stood there listening to all of the different languages being spoken around me. German, Italian, Spanish, French, and a few I didn't recognize. They opened the gate and all down the fence at every entrance we made our way into the coral. Our start time was 10:10 and it was slowly approaching. I took off my wind pants and long sleeve shirt and tossed them to the side with the other thousands of shirts and pants and coats that are given to charity after the race. Things are really starting to get exciting. Everyone was becoming more anxious. Security was tight, really tight. The were NYPD and US Coast Guard helicopters flying really low over us circling constantly along with media helicopters. We stood there waiting our turn to move to the start.</p><br /><p>KA-BOOM! We all turned over our left shoulder and everyone yelled and threw their hands in the air. The first wave and official start of the race had begun. The gates opened and we all started walking to the start. We were flanked by charted buses as we slowly walked forward and it was really starting to get tense. A bunch of guys were all lined up next to the buses trying to get that last pee in before the start, that's when I noticed we were all having to walk through the pee running along the ground. It's pretty normal I guess seeing how no one acted like it was a big deal. I turned on my GPS watch and got it ready. Just a couple of more minutes to go. I was really nervous. This was huge and there were thousands of people all around me all jacked up with adrenaline. As I stood there with all of these excited people and low buzzing helicopters I looked up into the sky to see this small slow flying airplane pulling a banner that simply read, "<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Take a deep breath and enjoy the moment</span></i>". I looked down and grinned really big and thought to myself, "<i>this is going to be fun</i>".</p><br /><p>Over the PA system they sang the national anthem and then the president of the New York Road Runners Club said, "<i>ladies and gentleman, this is the moment you've all trained so long and hard for, traveled for many miles for. Welcome to the ING New York City Marathon. Good luck to you all and enjoy your race</i>". KA-BOOM! It had started. As we all started walking forward waiting for room to run I thought about all of the many hours of lonely running that I had done, all of the people that were sitting in front of their computers and looking at their phones to track my run, and I struggled to comprehend that I was actually a part of all of this. I was able to start running just before I crossed the official starting line and as I did I pushed the start button on my watch and I looked up. I was running in the New York Marathon.</p><br /><p>The first mile is up hill and this bridge is massive. I looked to the left and in the far distance I could see the Statue of Liberty and Manhattan Island with all of it's buildings including my favorite, the Chrysler building. I would actually use this building as a point of reference on and off throughout the race. I had to keep a constant eye on my watch. I was trying to run too fast so I kept having to slow myself down until I settled into a nice easy pace. It was hard because I was being passed constantly. I held to my plan though and before I new it mile 1 had come and gone. I didn't run it fast but it sure went by fast. It was really quiet on the bridge. No spectators are allowed on the bridges so all I can hear are the shoes striking the road and people breathing. I was still pretty excited and my heart rate would end up being the highest in the first 2 minutes of the whole race at 194 beats per minute. When I started coming off of the bridge my heart rate settled down into it's normal 130 or so. We made a turn at the bottom of the bridge and when we did there was an eruption of screaming spectators. Thousands of them. </p><br /><p>I couldn't believe how many people lined the streets cheering us on. Little did I know that was only a few in comparison to what was coming later. We were in Brooklyn and would be for the next 10 miles. At every mile starting at mile 2 there was Gatoraid and water being passed out by a multitude of race volunteers. At each one of those places the ground would be covered in green drinking cups and look as though it had just rained. They tried to rake back as many of the cups as they could but there would be thousands of them on the ground. Usually when I run I look at the ground about 10-15 feet in front of me. I was trying to look around, there was just so much to see and I couldn't believe how many people lined the streets. I was in the middle of the street and started to notice little hispanic children along the side of the street with their hands stretched out hoping to touch one of the "almighty runners". I carefully started easing to the left until I got to the edge of the street. All of these little hands, hundreds, were sticking out waiting for a lucky touch. I extended my left arm and hand and would lightly touch the hands of countless children. You could see their eyes light up with anticipation as they saw me coming with my hand at the ready. I could hear the occasional giggle as I passed after a touch. </p><br /><p>New York is made up of so many different cultures and it seems that many of them settled together in an area that's measured in blocks. I can distictly remember the moment we entered the area where the Orthodox Jewish people lived. There were so many of them with their two little curls of hair, black atire, and long beards. I also remembered the moment we had left the area, it was like they dissappered. It was like that a lot along the route. You could tell when you were in an area dominated by a specific culture. It was very neat. As I passed through mile 13 the second of five bridges was just ahead. I was feeling pretty good and had settled into a nice and easy pace as I started up the slight incline. There are a few hills in Little Rock along my training route that includes 2 bridges that span the Arkansas River. My total elevation gain at home is just under 300 feet. It was only after the NY Marathon that I would learn the total climb on this day was over 1000 feet! As I creasted the bridge I had a nice down hill run into Queens. Our run through Queens would be a short 2 miles but what lay at the end of those 2 miles would test thousands of runners. The mother of all bridges.</p><br /><p>I've always pushed a little harder up hills and often end up running a little faster pace. Hills just don't frighten me much. Not to say they aren't difficult, I just do ok with them. The Queensboro Bridge is one mile long and very steep. About halfway up runners all around me start shutting down and walking. You could see the body languge of many of them being that of boarder line exhaustion. I kept on pushing and after what seemed like forever made the peak of the bridge. It was short lived and now I was going down just as steep as I went up. Going down hill does provide a little bit of a break but, for me, if I get going too fast it can be as punishing as going up, so, I fight to stay in control and keep my pace. The closer to the bottom I get the steeper it gets. At the bottom, the street loops back under the bridge. When I reached the loop I was totally unprepared for what was waiting. People everywhere screaming. It was an eruption of cheers and, well, just craziness. I was so overwhelmed that I totally forgot that I was even running. I just kept looking at all of those people along both sides of the street going nuts! Nuts I'm tellin' ya... nuts!</p><br /><p>I was now in Manhatten and running up Grand Central Ave. It's a long straight stretch of about 4 miles. This was the first time I really got a good look at all of the runners in front of me. I came to the top of a small hill where I could see a couple of miles in front of me. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. We were on a 4 lane street and most of the time, if I were to try and stretch my arm out, I would touch someone. It was that way for as far as I could see. Then I turned around to look behind me, same thing. Under my breath I said, "holy cow". As I pass through mile 17 the roar of the crowd is relentless. I'm still running on the left side of the road and I'm settled in and all's well, then, all of a sudden, I hear someone yelling and screaming my name franticly. I turn to my left and looking as it continues. Then I see it! It's Beverly and my dad. My dad is yelling at the top of his lungs jumping around waving his hands like a maniac! Now, for those of you that don't know Lamar, this isn't a big deal. For those of you who do know him, you think I'm lying. I grinned and waved real big and kept moving. I got tickeled and just kept grinning for a while. </p><p>I stay steady as I pass through miles 18 and 19, and although I didn't realize it at the moment, I passed the Chilean runner that had been trapped in the mine. He had a camera crew assigned to him. Just a little farther and it's time for another bridge crossing. As I run up the Willis Avenue Bridge it gets quiet again and all I hear are the slap and scrape sound of feet hitting the asphalt, and a lot of breathing. Before I know it I'm going down the other side of the bridge and it's a welcome relief. I'm now in the Bronx. It's funny how the surroundings so abruptly change. The area looks a little more industrial and while there were still many people lining the streets, it did thin out just a bit. I'm now feeling something, and it's nagging at me. Hunger. I'm starting to get so hungry that I'm looking at the spectators to see if I can find anyone passing out oranges or bananas. The next thing I see is another Gatorade and water station. As I run past I grab a Gatorade and squeeze the opening of the cup together to make one small opening so I can suck the liquid through it and not have it splash all over my face as I try to run. I finish it and toss my cup to the side and grab a water, do my cup squeeze maneuver, and down it. Then, there they were, bananas. I grab 2 banana halves from the first hand holding them out that I could get to. Man, those things were so good. Still though, I'm hungry and after a few hundred feet, I spot this guy on the right side of the street holding a large bag in one hand and two large pretzel sticks in the other. I made a bee line for him, grabbed the two he was holding up and yelled, "<i>thanks man</i>"! He yelled back, "<i>you're welcome</i>"! Now, I'm thirsty again.</p><p>Mile 23 comes and I'm in Central park. The area around me is starting to turn into a kind of hallway with thousands of out stretched arms and hands waving and screams and yells of encouragement. The course is actually starting to get tight and the police are having to push people back as we run by. It's crazy. The farther into the park the worse it gets. I'm starting to wonder what it's going to be like at the end. It was as though everything was about to get out of control. I didn't feel worried but instead, cared for. I was having a bit of a problem creeping up though, and I was starting to get worried about it. My calves were fading. Like a moron, the 2 days before the race I had walked all over the place sight seeing, maybe 10 or more miles total. When I got up the morning of the race my calves were a little sore. I shrugged it off and ignored it. There was no ignoring them now.</p><p>I kept running and I noticed my pace was getting slower and I was starting to lose feeling in my calves. Approaching 23.5 miles my feet were slapping the asphalt in a weird way. I was losing control of them. I was thinking to myself, "<i>please no, not at almost 24 miles</i>". I could not give into the idea of having come this close and not be able to finish. The problem was getting worse, fast. I slowed to a fast walk and thought that maybe I could give them just a bit of a rest and make the last 2.2 miles. At mile 24 I eased back into a run and sped up to the pace I'd been running. I was fine. Everything was working good and I was actually speeding up a little. Mile 25 comes and I breeze by. Just a couple of hundred feet later I hear my name being screamed again in those familiar voices. I look to my right and there they were, my dad and Beverly waving and yelling my name, and again, my dad is doing the "my son is running the New York Marathon and I 'm trying to get his attention dance". It worked! I yelled to them to stay put and I'd walk back to them. Beverly motioned, "ok". </p><p>I'm now making my last turn at the bottom of Central Park and the crowd is deafening. I can hear loud music playing and I watch as the 26 mile sign slides by me. I'm feeling great and my run at this point is almost effortless. I now see a sign that reads, "400 yards", then, "300", and "200", and then "100"..... I hear the loud roar of the crowd mixed with a very loud live band playing Metallica's "<i>Enter Sandman</i>". I look up and see the time clock pass over my head. I did it. I had just ran the New York Marathon. As I walked forward I was trying to take it all in, the excitement of finishing and the sadness that it was over. I was immediately wrapped in a foil blanket and greeted with a finishers medal that was placed around my neck. I had my picture made against the ING New York Marathon backdrop. I felt like a true athlete. We were all packed together and ushered down the asphalt path and given a goodie bag that included the best damn apple I've ever bit into. As we slowly walked forward we were slowly passing by what appeared to be hundreds of UPS trucks. I came to the one that had the orange sign that had the numbers 29,000-29,999 on it. The person there looked at my bib, handed me my bag that I had given them 26.2 miles back, smiled really big and said, "<i>congratulations</i>"! I smiled really big and said, "<i>thank you</i>". I walked to the curb next to a couple of NY police officers and pulled some warm clothes from my bag and put them on. I called my parents and we decided on a meeting place. As I exited the park I couldn't believe all of the people that were there. It was like Times Square on New Year's Eve. When I caught up with them 20 or so minutes later my dad asked if we needed to get a cab or if I was ok to walk. I told him I was fine but very hungry. We went straight to a restaurant next to our hotel and had dinner. It seemed everywhere I went the rest of the evening and was recognized as having ran the marathon, someone would say,"<i>congratulations</i>"! I felt very accomplished. It was cool.</p><p>I finished the race in just a few seconds under 4 hours and 45 minutes which is just over a minute slower per mile pace than what I train at. I wanted to ensure I finished the race so I ran much slower. The problem with that was, I think, I got to a point of diminishing returns. I was running too long, which I think contributed to my leg muscles momentarily giving up on me. I should have finished 30-40 minutes sooner, and even still I think there's room for improvement. Although I ran slow, everything went by so fast during the race. There was just so much to take in. Usually when I run I listen to music and just think about stuff. On this day there was no music except for the live bands along the route. I didn't think much about the future or the past. For 4:44:50 I lived in the moment. There was just under 49,000 people that ran that day but to me it seemed like <i>my day</i> as I'm sure it did to everyone that ran. There were so many things that came together to make that an experience that I'll never forget, and make me question if I even deserve it. Regardless, I did get it, and it was wonderful. I will say though, my favorite part of it all... was seeing my dad and Beverly in the crowd and my dad jumping up and down, waving his arms, and yelling, "<i>Jason! Jason! Jason!</i>".</p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i>So...</i></b></p><p>What did it take to get across that finish line? Here are some totals from the last year to date:</p><p>Runs: 77</p><p>Distance: 496.66 miles</p><p>Time: 83 hours 04 minutes 53 seconds</p><p>Elevation Gain: 6,369 feet</p><p>Average Speed: 6.0 miles per hour</p><p>Average heart rate: 154</p><p>Calories burned: 77,191</p><p><br /></p><p>So, what's next? Who knows for sure, but, I'll leave you with two words... Iron Man.</p><p>Jason</p><p><br /></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</a></span></p><br /><div><a onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onclick="return addthis_sendto()" onmouseout="addthis_close()" href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php"><img height="16" alt="" src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" border="0" /></a><br /><script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js" type="text/javascript"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --></div><br /><div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/11/2010-ing-new-york-marathon-experience.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-3508380266408215038Thu, 09 Sep 2010 00:21:00 +00002010-09-08T21:01:29.837-05:00Life<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/TIg_SrLBhMI/AAAAAAAAAbI/kGWmEgENtDw/s1600/central_park.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/TIg_SrLBhMI/AAAAAAAAAbI/kGWmEgENtDw/s400/central_park.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514727333774329026" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The last 3.5 miles of the race are in central park. If I can make it here, I think I got it.</span></div><div><p><br /></p><p>The New York City Marathon is surely approaching and, I'm glad to say, so is my progress. Record heat and humidity the last two months has really tested my determination. Having to get up a 4:30 in the morning to run simply sucks. And even still it wasn't uncommon even then for the temperature to be in the lower 80's with high humidity. But still I pressed on. There was a day when running six miles was at the upper end of my comfort zone. Now, six miles is pretty much a non issue and enjoyable. </p><p>I started my long runs about a month ago. My friend and co-worker Rick ran the first two with me. The first of those was a 13.6 mile run that was unplanned. We were just going to do ten and after about mile five I jokingly said, "hey, lets just run the whole river trail". His reply was , "OK". So, we did. It was fairly warm and humid and we didn't have any water or gels, nothing. We made it but, it wasn't an easy task. The next week, it was a bit cooler and I stashed a couple of bottles of sports drink and gels about halfway along our route which was fourteen miles. We felt pretty good when we were finished and it was the longest run he or I had ever made.</p><p>My next long run was to be sixteen miles. Rick couldn't make that one so, I was going to have to go at it alone. The morning came and I loaded up with music, gels, and sports drinks, and made my "half way stash" the night before. I started off nice and easy. The heat wasn't as bad that day but the conditions weren't idea ether. I passed the fourteenth mile and I was starting to wear down but I kept at it and before long mile sixteen rolled around. Another personal record distance. </p><p>I took a couple of days off before I made a six mile run followed by a five. The next distance according to my loosely followed schedule was another sixteen miler. The weather broke and it was now really cool and no humidity. Sunday was the day that I decided I was going to make an eighteen mile run instead of the scheduled sixteen. I got up early and headed to the river trail. As I got ready I started thinking about pushing for twenty. I made a slow start and was feeling pretty good. I made mile ten and still, I was feeling good. I decided that I was going for the twenty. At mile eighteen I knew I was good for it so I pressed on. Before I knew it I rolled right into twenty miles. I had to back track a little to get it which I really hate having to do but still, I got it. </p><p>That twenty mile run really boosted my confidence for New York, especially seeing how I was now three weeks ahead of my running schedule. I have no doubt now that I can pull off this marathon. That's not to say of course that I will. Many things can happen when you push your body. But if I'll just stay patient and ease into the run and not get caught up in the excitement and try to keep up with the Kenyans, I think I'll be just fine. Instead of being a little apprehensive I'm now a little more excited. I'm not ready just yet, but I will be.</p><p>Jason </p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</a></span></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><!-- AddThis Button END --></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/09/twenty.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-6312979244034484251Thu, 22 Jul 2010 14:31:00 +00002010-07-27T09:36:47.695-05:00Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/TEhZCaGzfLI/AAAAAAAAAa4/p0yezw86xOg/s1600/jason+gammel+VW.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496741243108162738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/TEhZCaGzfLI/AAAAAAAAAa4/p0yezw86xOg/s400/jason+gammel+VW.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><p>Little did I know when I saw that little greenish beetle sitting in some one's drive way, eight months later I'd have a much greater understanding of vehicle mechanics and roaring through flat farm lands with the windows down, sun roof back, and the pride of making it happen.</p><p>One of the many things that has always attracted me to old <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">VWs</span> and Porches (basically the same car back then) are their relative simplicity. Rear mount air cooled and tough as dirt. Since I've had "Ringo" I've had to learn how to adjust valves, replace and set the points and rotor, and set the timing, and, well, all sorts of other things. Having said all of this it may make one wonder why I said they are tough as dirt. The problem in my case is I took on someone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">else's</span> laziness and lack of understanding that it takes to keep these older Beetles running properly. They are simple and are tough but, they need to be taken care of. The awesome thing though is that you can do that very easily. Everything just makes sense the way it's designed. You don't have to spend hours taking apart all sorts of parts to get to something. I have never been a vehicle person. I didn't grow up working on cars and never really cared to. I can and won't hesitate to jump all in when it comes to working on this car.</p><p>I'd been having a problem with Ringo dying. I changed the fuel filter a couple of times and that worked for a while but soon it wasn't enough. About the worst thing you can do for an old steel fuel tank is to leave it half full. All of that exposed metal rust right up and eventually small bits of it flake off and clog everything up. I ended up having to take the fuel tank out. At the bottom of it is a copper strainer and man, was it stopped up. Not only that but the hard line that runs back to the engine as well. I cleaned the tank out the best I could and had to run a stiff wire through the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">hardline</span> and blow it out with compressed air. I couldn't believe how much stuff was in there and the car was still able to run as long as it did</p><p>With the tank washed out and all put back together it seemed to run better than ever. I decided it was time to put Ringo and my mechanic skills to the test. I got my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">iPod</span> and and took off. East of Little Rock are many acres of flat farm land. As I got going Ringo was purring along so well I decided after 20 miles just to keep going, you know, roll the bones. Before I knew it I was just about in Stuttgart. I found that funny seeing how it was settled by a German and named after the Capital of Baden-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Wuerttemberg</span> Germany which is... Stuttgart. <em>And</em> is the place that is associated with the home of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Porche</span> automobiles. </p><p>On my way out of Stuttgart Ringo was running like a champ and I just kind of settled in and stopped thinking about being stranded and just started to enjoy the ride. It's loud, hot, and smells like fuel and oil and it made me think how at one time this was normal. In fact this car was once considered a luxury. The car was designed around the idea that instead of just the wealthy owning and driving automobiles that everyone could, therefore "Volkswagen" or in German, "Peoples Car". There were SO many things that almost brought an end to Volkswagen before it even started including a dud bomb that landed between two turbine generators during the war that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Volkswagenwerk</span> factory had to have to operate. Had that bomb exploded it would have been impossible at the time to replace ether of them and Ringo, or any other <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">VW</span> would have never existed. </p><p>The sun was setting and as I looked across a long open field and I had no worry in the world and all the confidence in Ringo, and a little satisfaction at my newly found mechanic skills. I thought about all of the other things I'd like to do to Ringo in time and how proud I was to have him and also, how thankful I was for the occasional dud bomb. I rolled the bones on Ringo that day... it was a good roll.</p><p align="left"><em><br />"We go out in the world and take our chances<br /></em><em>Fate is just the weight of circumstances<br /></em><em>That's the way lady luck dances<br /></em><em>Roll the bones"</em></p><p align="left"><em></em><strong>Rush</strong></p><p align="left">Jason</p><p align="center"></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe to Jason <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Gammel</span></a></span></p></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/07/chances.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-602200083371573173Thu, 15 Jul 2010 02:39:00 +00002010-07-16T00:42:33.098-05:00Life<p>My training schedule for the New York Marathon will officially start next week. I've started a little early however. I've tried to keep it relaxed and simple. A few miles a day with an occasional 7 or 8 mile run. I was worried for a bit because of some leg pain that I was having. It just kept hanging around. I had finally decided that it might be my Nike shoes that I'd purchased last year. It was an impulse purchase and I'd never ran in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Nikes</span> before, it's always been <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Asics</span>, and happily so. The pain was in the same spot in both legs so, I'm not thinking injury. Sure enough I ditch my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Nikes</span> and start wearing my new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Asics</span> and guess what... . </p><p>Yesterday the weather was overcast and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">relatively</span> cool. I <strong>made</strong> myself (as I always have to do) get out of bed at 6:00 and get dressed and set my running GPS outside on my truck hood so it'll link up with the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">satellites</span>. After <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">all's</span> ready to go I make my 10 minute warm up walk and hit the start button on my watch and start running. That first half mile or so is about the worst. When I make it to the 3/4 mark I'm feeling good and being guided by the tunes of one of my favorite bands, <a href="http://www.rush.com/">Rush</a>. I was originally thinking maybe a 6 mile run would be good but when I got there my heart rate was low and I was really feeling great, other than the fact that my nipples were starting to get rubbed raw by the mixture of sweat and my shirt rubbing up and down. The pain started to get a little worse so I looked down. I was shocked to see 2 streams of blood running down both sides of my shirt. I looked up, got my focus back, and kept running because I'd already <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">committed</span> myself to running 10 miles. </p><p>I was kind of bummed because had it not been for bleeding all over the place and everybody looking at me like I was nuts, I'm sure I'd gone ahead and knocked out 13 miles. I'm pretty happy though, I feel like I kind of have a good head start. I'm certainly not taking anything for granted. There's a big difference between 13 and 26 miles. I'm learning as I go too. I'm sticking with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Asics</span> and gonna stock up on Band-Aides. </p><p>Jason</p><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Gammel</span></span></a></p><a onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onclick="return addthis_sendto()" onmouseout="addthis_close()" href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php"><img height="16" alt="" src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" border="0" /></a><script src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js" type="text/javascript"></script>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/07/just-keep-running.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-5212630317521107104Thu, 08 Jul 2010 02:51:00 +00002010-07-07T22:36:05.396-05:00Life<div><p></p><div><br /></div><div>A few months back I got a text message from a friend of mine that I met through kickball. He made quick work of asking me his question, "will you marry me and Heather"? My simple reply was, "sure". Then... nothing. No more texts. Over the course of the next two weeks I researched how it was that one could become ordained. It was pretty easy actually and after a few mouse clicks and a credit card number it was official. Once I received my official documents I went to the court house and proceeded to register myself as one that could preform weddings in Pulaski County. Five dollars later I'm now in book nine, number 0385. As I was walking down the court house step and headed to my car my phone rang. It was Mickey. I answered, "hello", and he said, "my phone screwed up and this is the first call I've made, so, you'll marry us"? I was smiling and said, "yes Mickey, in fact I'm leaving the court house right now. I'm officially registered and legal to marry you". We both had a good laugh.</div><p></p><p>I wasn't sure how to go about it all, I mean I've been to and in many weddings but, I wasn't really sure how to go about performing one. We met on a couple of occasions to discuss what they wanted. They wanted simple, fun, and quick. "Perfect", I thought. As the days grew closer I started to think exactly how to go about all of this. What to say and when to say it. Seems simple until it's up to you to actually do it. I started making notes in detail about what to say and when to say it. I even practiced using a timer to get it just right adding and taking away various parts. As a gift from Mickey and Heather I got a book, <i>"Unholy Popes" </i>that I decided I would use to hold my notes during the service, after all I needed a book, they all have them, though I doubt any of them ever bare the same title as mine. </p><p>I walked out with Mickey and his buddies and we stood there while one by one the bride's maids came out. I wondered what the hell I was doing actually marrying someone but I also couldn't help but think how cool it was that my friends asked ME to officiate one of the most important days of their lives. It went much faster than planned and I actually thought that might happen. It was as planned, very relaxed and casual. Of course it was obvious that I'd never done this before and probably won't be asked to do it again, not by anyone that was there at least. But, they are now married. And I really do feel good about them. They just go together... like peas and carrots. </p><p>While that day was for Mickey and Heather, I took something away myself. I took away the reminder of what friendship is and the value of it. It was among one of the greatest compliments I've ever had. So, thank you Mickey and Heather for being the friends that you are and recognizing how important your friendship is to me too. Cheers to you both.</p><p>Jason</p><p><br /></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</a></span></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><!-- AddThis Button END --></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/07/by-power-invested-in-me.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-7768285872777660129Fri, 09 Apr 2010 00:10:00 +00002010-04-08T19:41:33.100-05:00LifePlaces<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/S753ebqkXcI/AAAAAAAAAaw/MWLnY9p6CFw/s1600/marathon_race_nyc.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 235px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/S753ebqkXcI/AAAAAAAAAaw/MWLnY9p6CFw/s400/marathon_race_nyc.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457931163125702082" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm not scared, I'm not scared, I'm not scared...</span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div>A few months ago a friend of mine, Katie, encouraged me to send in an application for the New York City Marathon this coming November. They have around 100,000 applicants each year and only accept 37,000 runners. Most are selected through a lottery system which means the chances of getting in are not that great. Although, after 3 failed attempts you will automatically get in the 4th time. Well, Katie was applying so at her nudging I did too.</div><div> </div><div>Wednesday April 7th at noon the winners would be announced. I was kind of thinking I might get in. I don't know why really. Maybe I was just having a positive attitude, I don't know. A little after noon I logged into my account and at the top of my account page there it was, the word, "Accepted". Even though I had been confident I was still very excited. I sent a text to Katie and asked if she'd checked hers yet. A few moments later she replied, "Not Accepted". I thought, "darn". She talked me into applying, I get in and she doesn't. I felt guilty.</div><div> </div><div>I've only ever been to NYC once and it was just for a few hours. And of course it was at the Apple store. My friend John and I had some time to burn before catching a flight from Newark. We'd just left Atlantic City where we saw Jermain Taylor get defeated (total bummer). I would have said "got his ass whipped" but I figured that'd be rude seeing how his wife gave John the tickets. So, anyway, My only visit to NYC was very brief. </div><div> </div><div>This time I'll have 26.2 miles on foot to view all 5 bourghs of the city. It'll no doubt be the most dynamic event I've ever been to. It's hard to even imagine. And honestly, I kind of feel like I don't even have any business being in it. It isn't like I'm a badass runner or anything and here I am going to participate in one of the world largest and most prestigious running events. I suppose it's good motivation to work hard though. We'll see.</div><div> </div><div>It'll be one heck of an experience, and while I'm a bit intimidated at the thought of it all, I'm really excited too.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>Jason</div><div><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/04/262.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-2993467630964667802Sat, 27 Mar 2010 21:13:00 +00002010-03-30T21:10:50.176-05:00Trap Shooting<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/S7KsqfFQV4I/AAAAAAAAAao/TEFHjfi0LBA/s1600/IMG_7774.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/S7KsqfFQV4I/AAAAAAAAAao/TEFHjfi0LBA/s400/IMG_7774.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454611944597116802" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The egg I created for the 2010 Eggshibition fund raiser for <a href="http://www.youthhome.org/">Youth Home</a> of Little Rock</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So, Friday night I'm at the 2010 Egghibition fund raiser. It's a neat function where artist create art using an egg. Not a real egg but a 7 inch tall hydrocal (similar to pottery) egg. They're made by the sculptor <a href="http://www.hankkaminsky.com/">Hank Kaminsky</a>. It's always fun to come up with something new. So, my trusty date for the evening, Pam and I are checking things out and along comes a couple of kickball friends, Suds and Rayanne. After a few moments they both made known their frustration with my lack of blog posting. I didn't realize anyone read it. So, here ya go Suds and Rayanne... </div><div><br /></div><div>After not shooting for about 7 months I decided almost at the last minute to attend the spring open trap shooting tournament at Remington Sunday. Now, I get really tired of shooting 16 yard singles. I decided to only shoot the handicap and doubles events. It was really cool and really windy. For some strange reason I tend to shoot better in windy conditions, maybe I focus better, I don't know. Handicaps was first. There was only 7 people shooting in the long yardage category so I ended up shooting with only one other person instead of the usual 4. It went by pretty fast... thank goodness. I knew I was out of practice but man, it was bad, embarrassing in fact. I ended with a 78/100. My lowest score to date. As I got ready to shoot doubles I wondered if I even should. I simply relaxed, visited with some friends I haven't seen in a while, and said "screw it, what ever happens, happens". </div><div><br /></div><div>I took my spot and noticed I was shooting with a full group but, only one was an experianced shooter. The other 3 were new shooters. Typically not a good thing as new shooters tend to really screw up a rhythm. I really wasn't concerned with it though. We get started and soon it was my turn. As I shouldered my Perazzi I wondered if I could instinctively swing to the second target fast enough. I wasted no time between my raise and the time I called "pull". I powdered them both, fast too. I kept on until we'd finished our first 50. I didn't miss any. </div><div><br /></div><div>The next 50 was up and I was still calm and enjoying shooting even though we kept having interruptions due to the new shooters. I wasn't frustrated at all. I just patiently waited for my turn and was happy the new people came to shoot. Especially this young kid that was maybe 12 or 13. We bumped along and before I knew it I only had 4 more shots to go. I maintained my same demeanor and smoked the last 4 targets with ease. I had just shot a perfect 100 straight in doubles. </div><div><br /></div><div>As soon as I left the line and got behind the pullers stand the little kid walked up and shook my hand and said, "you got all of them!" "Thank you for letting me shoot with you"! I grinned and said thank you and told him thanks for letting me shoot with him. He was grinning so big. His father came over and complimented my shooting and said thanks for shooting with his son. That made me even more proud to have done so. </div><div><br /></div><div>Well, I guess I can still shoot, doubles at least. I've totally got to work on those handicaps though. Shell testing for Remington is coming up so maybe I'll get some practice. We have 19000 shells to test. I can't wait. </div><div><br /></div><div>Until next time,</div><div>Jason</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/03/egg-shotgun-shells.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-1348451259457596470Mon, 04 Jan 2010 17:31:00 +00002010-01-04T14:57:10.217-06:00KickballLife<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/S0JRVs3xkmI/AAAAAAAAAaI/IqNmnxYUFGU/s1600-h/the_end.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/S0JRVs3xkmI/AAAAAAAAAaI/IqNmnxYUFGU/s400/the_end.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422986334571696738" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Opinions are a strange thing. They vary so much. I like to look at them as being a reflection of education, experience, and understanding. Most everyone has an opinion. What often impresses me most are people that are careful to give one. They realize that without more information they can't give one of any merit. For example, just yesterday I officially ended the Atomic Catsicle Kickball team. I did this for very specific reasons and I did so for what I feel is in the best interest and integrity of what the team was suppose to stand for, and also what I feel is in the best interest of it's members. I also did it, believe it or not, to somewhat protect the main subject of my decision. I have received and seen the opinions of many people concerning this. Some have been very supportive and understanding, many of them paying more attention than I gave credit for and without assistance accurately assumed my reasons. Others have been supportive of me personally while not forming an opinion ether way concerning the issue. Then of course there are those who act on a whim of extreme emotion and and announce their lack of education, experience, and understanding of the subject at hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>I will not go into the details of my decision as it would counter the very principles the team was founded on. I will admit however this proved to be challenging after reading a few posts from people on Facebook from my "friends" list. One poster in particular went into an adolescent rage posting every few seconds their discontent with my decision only to solidify the fact that I indeed <i>did</i> make the right decision. Not to mention that they also managed to prove that they have the ability to act like an idiot.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I guess the "moral" to my post is this - Education, Experience, and Understanding. Obtain these things about the subject <i>before</i> announcing your opinion. It will appear more valid and will be respected, agreed with or not, but what's more, it'll keep you from looking like a jack-ass.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Jason<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2010/01/end.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-812373608270024753Fri, 04 Dec 2009 23:13:00 +00002009-12-04T17:51:13.679-06:00LifeNeat Stuff<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/Sxme5Y0CloI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/LHKtMeDNpxA/s1600-h/filmflyer_11x14.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/Sxme5Y0CloI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/LHKtMeDNpxA/s400/filmflyer_11x14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411531136012818050" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Almost here. Sigh. I think this may be the longest ongoing project I've ever worked on second only to my pilots license. I've always dreaded actually getting my pilots license oddly enough. The childhood dream would be over. Strange I know. That's for a whole other blog one day... maybe. </div><div><br /></div><div>Three years ago this coming March my friend Kenny and I decided to document the Little Rock Kickball League and a team that I was putting together to play in the league. Usually I would think a film maker would know his subject before hand. We were learning as we went. Not only about our film subject but also how to make a documentary film. Unlike a typical movie where you have a script to film and edit by, a documentary almost happens in reverse process, or at least it did for us. I can't say how many times I've made the comment that if we had to do it over again it would take place much quicker and efficiently and simply be better. I guess that's the case with anything though, yeah? </div><div><br /></div><div>At the fire station in the cab of the fire truck on the captain's side there a little yellow and orange sticker that is inconspicuously pasted close to the dash. For some reason I look at it often. It reads, "Leadership is the ability to hide panic from others". Oh how true that often is, especially in the fire service. Calm, cool, collective, and in control... leadership. As much as it pains me to admit it I have practiced that type of leadership. Several times during my reign as Asst. Fire Chief in my home town we responded to a large industrial complex for fires. There are so many dangerous things there from chemicals to machinery and heck, who knows what else. I remember some occasions where as I was pulling in and knowing that I was in charge and a large crew of people waited for the incident command system to take effect and thinking to myself, "what in the hell am I going to do with this". For a brief moment it's as though you're stripped naked in the mall. Everybody's lookin', and you're freakin'. Then, leadership kicks in. </div><div><br /></div><div>For the first time a week from today, See ya Sunday, my first attempt at documentary film making, will show before a sold out audience I hope (I think I hope). I have to admit, for the first time that I can ever remember(admitting that is), I'm pretty nervous. I mean , this is a documentary film that tells a story, not a polished Hollywood production that took a few hundred people to produce. But I'll still be standing there naked, in the mall... theater, waiting for applause or... . Ether way, in the back of my mind I'll try my best to picture that little yellow and orange sticker.</div><div><br /></div><div>Leadership.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jason</div><div><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/12/see-ya-sunday-almost-here.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-2803449915682813941Tue, 10 Nov 2009 02:05:00 +00002009-11-16T22:00:09.536-06:00Life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SwG_fYv3mEI/AAAAAAAAAZw/U5wM0R7T2Ho/s1600/beetle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SwG_fYv3mEI/AAAAAAAAAZw/U5wM0R7T2Ho/s400/beetle.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404811573761382466" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Maiden voyage. Turns out all it needed was a new fuel filter. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">If only I'd known that before the tow truck.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I've always had an affection for Volkswagens and Porches. They were both designed by the same guy and are, for all practical purposes the same vehicle, the old ones that is. Air cooled and rear mounted engines and all around pretty simple. "German engineering" isn't a phase that's used to describe quality for no reason. It definitely is awesome. Anyway...</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm at work one day and we're testing fire hydrants. As we're making our way down a residential street I noticed this Beetle sitting in a drive way. It looked as though it had been parked for a while. I decided to go up to the house and ask about the car, you never know. So I knocked and a guy answers the door with a concerned look on his face. I assured him everything was ok and that I was just wanting to ask about the VW. He confirmed it belonged to him and his wife. I asked if he wanted to sell it and he paused and said, "well, I do need a new roof". We exchanged information and a week later I was back looking at the car very closely. </div><div><br /></div><div>We agreed on a price and I was excited to be getting the car. The only problem was that the car wouldn't start. It didn't seem to be anything serious so I was going to have to tow the car home. I decided that it'd simply be easier and safer to have the car towed by a towing company. I made a call to a service station near my home where I'd done business many times before. I explained to the owner what type of vehicle it was and that we'd have to be extra careful. In fact, those were the last words out of my mouth before hanging up the phone. "No problem", he said, "where ya at"?</div><div><br /></div><div>About thirty minutes later a tow truck makes the corner. I flag him down and he backs up to the VW and gets out. I explain to him that we have to be really careful with this car. He hooks a winch cable to the front axle of the car and slowly starts to pull it up on the ramp. He asked me if would steer the car straight as it made its way up. When it was up all of the way he asked me to apply the parking brake. I told him that the release button was missing so the was no parking brake. I jumped down from the truck as he was securing the back of the car. He put a hook around the bottom part of the shock and I asked him if that was a good idea. He said it'd be just fine and I then asked him if he had more than one chain to secure the back of the car down in which he replied, "no". I told him that he was the tow truck driver and this was certainly not my area of expertise so I would stay out of his way. He grinned a little and I did just that, got out of his way. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was now time to leave and I told him he could follow me but gave him directions to my house just in case. As we were leaving I was behind him. We made a turn onto a four lane road that would lead us to the interstate. As we approached the first red light I saw the chain fly off of the back from the under carriage and then, he hit the brakes and then... the VW rolled forward and slammed into the the tow truck. You know that feeling you get when something really bad happens suddenly and you feel a bazillion needles stick into all parts of your body and your mind goes numb and you can't hear anything? Yeah well, that was me. I turned on my hazard lights and got out of my car at the same time he was getting out of the tow truck. He had this puzzled look on his face, I however did not. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I was walking up to the car I saw where the shock had broken. I then walked up to the front of the car and that's when I about lost it. My fist pounding the tow truck and my mouth spilling all sorts of new obscenities the driver looked at me with a wide-eyed fear and took a couple of steps back all of the while repeating, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry". After a few moments he said, "I don't know what happened". I just looked at him in disgust and then realized he probably really didn't understand why it just happened. I simply said, "get the car secured to the truck and get it to your service station". I got in my car a left. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I get to the service station I walk up to the guy that I know to be the manager and introduce myself. He said, "yeah, my guy called and he said you were pretty upset". I said," heh, yeah". He told me the driver should be there any time and he'd have a look at it. Sure enough just moments later he pulled in. At this point I'm feeling like I'm about to be sick. This isn't a car that you can just drop off at the body shop and have repaired, and that's really starting to sink in. The tow truck driver disappeared as soon as he got out of the truck. The manager and myself leaned against the bed of the tow truck and just looked at it for a few moments. He then said, "I would have never towed a car like this". I said, well, I told the owner on the phone what kind of car it was and the last words out of my mouth was, we have to be very careful." He just shook his head and said he'd like for me to leave it with them so the insurance people could look at it. I told him I wanted it taken to my house and they could look at it there. He went in to get the driver. When we found him his was in the back of the garage. The manager told him to take it to my house and he told the manager that he'd rather not and asked if he would do it for him. The manager grinned a little and told him that it wasn't far and just take it easy. Finally I looked at the driver and said, "look dude, I'm not mad at you ok? I'm not happy that this happened but it did, so lets just get it to my house". He reluctantly made his way to the tow truck. The manager said that I would hear from someone the next day.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day comes and is almost over before I decide that <i>I'm </i>going to have to be the one to make a call. When I got the manager on the phone he very shyly starts to explain to me that the insurance people said that since the parking break didn't work and the shock broke and I should have put the car in gear that they aren't at fault and therefore not liable. Remember that needle stick feeling I was talking about? I had had all I was going to take. Rather loudly I explained to him that if a parking brake is grounds for not towing a vehicle than it shouldn't have been towed and that the shock broke because it was an unacceptable tie down location and that I wasn't the tow truck driver and it wasn't my responsibility to make sure the car was in gear, that the driver should insure his load is secure before leaving. I then ask him for the name of the insurance company and he tells me he can't give me that information and that he is just caught in the middle between me and the owner. I told him to get the owner on the phone with me and that he <i>would</i> be getting me the insurance information. He gave me the information but said the owner wasn't there. </div><div><br /></div><div>I called the insurance office and oddly enough the very nice gentleman on the phone said that this was the first he'd heard of the incident. I explained everything to him in detail. He assured me that I would be hearing from an insurance adjuster soon. I felt better after hanging up with him and no sooner than I did the manager from the service station called back and said someone from the insurance office would be giving me a call. I said, "yes, I know". I still haven't heard from the owner who was so eager to come get the car and charge me $100.00. I wondered why they haven't asked for that money since <i>I </i>was supposedly the one a fault. Moron.</div><div><br /></div><div>The car isn't in the shop yet but hopefully it will be this week sometime. It's going to a guy name Robert Roling who owns <a href="http://www.kustomsroyale.com/">Kustoms Royale</a>. He builds some really cool cars including one for James Hetfield who is the lead singer for Metallica, so I'm counting on a good job being done. I'll let you know.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did get it running with the help of my friend John. It went through a body off restoration in 2005 so other than a couple of things the car is in awesome condition. Libby and I collectively came up with the name "Ringo" like Ringo Star from the Beatles because, you know, it's a Beetle, plus I used to play drums so yeah, cool name. Ringo. He runs like a champ too! </div><div><br /></div><div>More about Ringo to come...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Jason</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/11/so-i-bought-this-volkswagen.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-5879595578264376778Wed, 16 Sep 2009 14:02:00 +00002009-09-16T09:08:29.897-05:00FirefightingSo, I now know why they put our names on the back of our turnout coats... so we can find ourselves on the news.<br /><br /><a href="http://arkansasmatters.com/content/video/?cid=255122&amp;shr=addthis">Fire Rips Through Home; Fire Hydrant Fails</a><br /><br />Jasonhttp://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/09/fire-rips-through-home-fire-hydrant.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-6999051962957468749Wed, 26 Aug 2009 19:12:00 +00002009-08-26T17:23:47.099-05:00LifePlaces<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SpWueElwYWI/AAAAAAAAAXw/ArQmuCt7pGI/s1600-h/jas_pinkdrink.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SpWueElwYWI/AAAAAAAAAXw/ArQmuCt7pGI/s400/jas_pinkdrink.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374393561987965282" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Don't laugh. That stuff was good.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm having a hard time looking at the date of my last post and believing it has actually been that long since I posted last. Wow. When I did make that post I was sitting in the Dallas airport waiting on the plane to Sin City. So, here's all about that.</div><div><br /></div><div>Huge. That place is over the top without a doubt. Everything there is more. And from the moment I got off of the plane I was skeptical of everyone trying to get my money. After all, that's what that place is based on right? So we get off the plane and bam, slot machines. Libby and I chuckled about that. What better way to pass a few minutes waiting on your luggage. We however did not. We gathered our bags and made our way to the shuttle that takes us to the rental car place. Everything was so convenient, I was surprised and paranoid. I felt like I might be being wined and dined by the devil. </div><div><br /></div><div>The place where we were staying was called Tahiti Village, about a mile south of the main strip. It was really nice. My parents gave me the place as a Christmas gift. I in a weird sort of way felt bad for not using it more than we did. Having a rental car afforded us the freedom to go exploring, which we did. We found ourselves in the hood really quick. It was interesting though. The scenery in that part of the country is so much different than home. My head was on a swivel trying to catch everything. By the end of the trip my neck would hurt and my brain would be tired from information overload. We did SO many things the 5 days we were there it would be hard to write about them all. We did too many things really. I have this problem trying to squeeze everything there is to do in a short time period. It wasn't like a vacation so much and maybe even like work at times. The older I get the more I want to take in and experience. I can easily overload myself and in this case myself AND Libby.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Hoover Dam is one thing that we both wanted to go see really bad. And man I'm glad we did. We both agreed that it was our favorite part of the trip (yes, we are total nerds). That place is amazing. We took the dam tour and had a semi-lame dam tour guide along with two dam young silly girls but it was awesome just the same. I kept snapping pictures with my phone and looking at all of the details. If things were only built today with the same passion and degree of pride. That place puts into perspective how much we've turned into a greedy consumer based world where things are designed to wear out at a certain point between maintaining consumer confidence and needing to purchase another one. Everything there was build to last for generations. Every detail.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bellagio fountains = bad ass. I could watch those things dance for hours. I'd seen them on TV and even on the Discovery Channel but there is no substitute for seeing them in person. We saw the Treasure Island show, the Mirage volcano, had some of the best pizza ever in the Venetian, and gazed over the city from the Eiffel Tower replica and the Stratosphere and even road the New York Casino roller coaster. We saw the light show and gambled on Fredmont Street (the REAL Las Vegas) and saw the Body exhibit at the Luxor. We saw the glass ceiling by Dale Chihuly and Cirque Du Soleil sculptures by one of my new favorite artists Richard McDonald. We walked at least 30 miles up and down the strip all the while having pictures of silicon breast implanted good time girls flicked at us (if you've been there you know what I mean). Everything is so huge there that it appears as though it's all close and you can walk down a couple of casinos in just a couple of minutes. Not so my friend, that is actually about a 30 minute trip.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the last day we checked out and had a few hours to spend so, as we were walking by made a quick decision to stop in this placed named Serendipity in front of Caesars Palace. It was a chick place times 10. Seriously. Ended up being the best eating experience of the entire trip. I drank some pink girly drink (and enjoyed it) just before eating pizza, just before eating the best chocolate ice cream something or another that was huge just before AND after several Miller Lites. We splurged and ate like royalty ordering 'what ever' and 'just in case'. It was awesome. </div><div><br /></div><div>What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas isn't necessarily true. While sitting in the airport I assumed we were around people from Little Rock because it was a direct non-stop flight. As I was sitting there I heard a voice say the name "Little Rock" and without turning around I stood up and said," I know who that is". It was my friend and kickball team sponsor Steve. Of course he wouldn't tell on us for anything, but it just goes to show. We boarded the plane and the pilot "pent the ears back on er". We were home in exactly 2 1/2 hours.</div><div><br /></div><div>As we were ripping through a Sonic sack Libby and I talked about how funny it was that just a few short hours ago we were in the heart of Las Vegas living like we owned the place and now here we are sitting in a VW poping tots in North Little Rock Levy.</div><div><br /></div><div>We actually did gamble a little and we both came out ahead... a little. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jason</div><div><br /></div><div><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/08/fabulous-las-vegas.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-2213756705102753794Tue, 28 Jul 2009 15:53:00 +00002009-07-28T11:39:31.250-05:00 <br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/09/07/28/220.jpg'><img src='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/09/07/28/s_220.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Not much should suprise me while working in my fire district but, every now and again someone will pull a rabbit from their hat of abundant moron moves and arch my eye brows. Take for instance the people that happened up on a snake outside their apartment building. They collectively decided that the best way the dispose of it would be to pour kerosene on it and set it on fire. That is exactly what they did and in the process of the blazing snake trying to escape it was starting fires all over the place. That's where we came in. As we were being toned out to respond we all thought that we heard "snake on fire" but without saying a word to one another assumed we misunderstood what the dispatcher said. Once we get into the fire truck they repeat all of the information concerning the call and again we all heard the phrase in question, this time though we all looked at one another funny. The captain then timidly repeated the phrase in order to confirm it. It was confirmed. Snake on fire. I couldn't help but roll me eyes and again wonder why in the hell I didn't choose a career as a rock star. <br /><br />As we pulled into to apartment complex we were met by a shirtless and very confident acting white guy that explain everything was now under control. He told us how he killed the snake and threw it in the storm drain and separated his hands far apart to give us an example of how big the cotton mouth was. <br /><br />Of course we had to go and check with the people that called. When we pulled up several people came up to us, each trying to explain their own version of what happened. The captain and I walked away from one another separating the crowd into two more managible sizes ( something that is learned through true street experiance ). One lady that I was stuck with kept looking at me while she explained her story as though she was wondering why I didn't share in her concern and freak out with her. She obviously don't know me. <br /><br />I overheard another explaining about "the crazy white guy". Everytime he'd use that phase he'd back it up by trying to explain he meant no offense. I guess because we were white. It was explained to him that we agreed, he was a crazy white guy, one because he was indeed white and two because he was indeed crazy for killing the snake with his bare hands. They all would glance at him now and again across the parking lot while talking to us. They were more afraid of him than the snake I think. <br /><br /><br />The above picture was taken about a week ago. Someone at the apartment complex here decided they deserved free electricity and tried to pry open the meter box with a butter knife. It touched the incoming power wire and melted the end of the knife off and gave a fireworks show burning the thick metal cover. This moronic stunt almost electrocuted the apartment inspector.<br /><br />Snake on fire. Seriously?<br /><br />Jason <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />-- Post From My iPhone<br /><br />http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/07/snake-on-fire.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-8055541057477466896Fri, 03 Jul 2009 22:49:00 +00002009-07-03T18:34:44.607-05:00PlacesTrap Shooting<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/Sk6VW-gINuI/AAAAAAAAAXo/iyWI31bWF68/s1600-h/perazzi_showroom.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/Sk6VW-gINuI/AAAAAAAAAXo/iyWI31bWF68/s400/perazzi_showroom.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354381228957513442" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Perazzi show room in Italy</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>That little saying is everywhere in Austin Texas. And in a lot of ways that place <i>is</i> weird, although I would refer to it as being cool. I like Austin, a lot. </div><div><br /></div><div>So after two previous attempts to shoot trap in Austin that were canceled due to weather I finally pulled it off. The whole third time is a charm thing I guess. It was really hot but the humidity wasn't too bad. I was wondering how well I'd do seeing how I barely pulled a win in the recent Arkansas State tournament. Going in I felt good, just not completely confident. When I signed in the gentleman that was running things, Earl, seemed a little surprised when he looked at my average card and saw I was in AA class. "You'll probably be the only AA shooter here today, and you're at 26.5 yards at handicap, you may be shooting that event alone. There's only one guy that shoots that far back and he ain't here yet". At first I thought he might be joking around but, he wasn't. I was expecting most of the shooters to be in A or AA class. Now I was starting to worry a little. There's nothing better that a B or A class shooter likes to do than spank a AA shooter. I'm certainly not beyond that happening to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>They usually have the same shooters show up for the shoots so people were curious about who I was and where I was from. Especially having an entourage with me. Libby, my step dad, mom, sister, and nephew were there too. My mom and step dad drove up from Corpus Christie and my sister lives in Austin so we were all going to hang out and make a day of it. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was time to get started. I was on the 3rd wave out and only shooting with one other person. It was Earl. We were talking while waiting our turn and he really seemed glad that I'd came to shoot there and he was very forthcoming with compliments concerning my shooting ability after taking note of my average card. After the first couple of post I was hitting the targets really well and was feeling good. After 100 shots I ended up missing 5 for a total doubles score of 95. Not awesome but not bad ether.</div><div><br /></div><div>Next was singles. The wind started to pick up just a bit so I had to keep that in mind. I was plowing away smoking most every target and feeling great. Once when I called for a target I apparently had got over relaxed and the wind sailed one really high really quick and I shot under it missing it. So I ended up with a 99 out of 100. I'll take it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Next was handicaps. I only need to shoot a 96 one more time to get back to the 27 yard line, just a half yard more. For some reason I'm struggling with that. I was able to shoot with two other guys that were at the 24 yard line. I just had to be spaced out away from them, plus, I got this caution plea from the score keeper to please not shoot anyone in the back. A thousand wise cracks ran through my mind but I kept them to myself. When I missed my 4th one I still had a ways to go and felt certain today would not be the day I made it to the 27. After it was all said and done I missed 8 for a score of 92. </div><div><br /></div><div>I ended up leaving that day with a 1st place win in doubles and singles and a 2nd place win in handicaps (a 94 beat me). Plus, I won enough money that it paid for every thing with a little left over... beer money. I will say I've never been treated better than I was at this gun club. Everyone was very nice and complimentary and treated my family well too. I'll for sure be back. Provided they keep Austin weird of course. I love that place.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks Earl.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jason</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/07/keep-austin-weird.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-8425122582194486402Tue, 23 Jun 2009 15:27:00 +00002009-06-23T11:07:25.186-05:00Trap Shooting<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SkD8zbq7FYI/AAAAAAAAAXI/lB9da-2v8mQ/s1600-h/shell_catch.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SkD8zbq7FYI/AAAAAAAAAXI/lB9da-2v8mQ/s400/shell_catch.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350554317847467394" /></a><div><br /></div><div>The Arkansas State Trap Shooting Competition came upon me really fast. Before I knew it, it was time to register. I knew I wasn't ready but still I signed up and paid my fees. It was going to be a hot week too. </div><div><br /></div><div>I usually shoot everything but I didn't take off work for the event this year which meant I'd miss one preliminary day and the last main event day. I started off with 100 rounds of singles, handicaps, and doubles on Wednesday. It started off ok with a 97 out of 100 in singles, but it ended there. The next two events were nothing more than embarrassing. It was to the point that others were asking me what was wrong. </div><div><br /></div><div>I came back on Friday to shoot for state doubles champ which is the one title that I want above any others in state. Total failure. Same thing with the next event, handicaps. I simply couldn't make things work. It was so frustrating. That same afternoon at two different times I had someone approach me and mention that I used to always be out there practicing but, not so much anymore. It's true, I've practiced very little. I guess I thought I couldn't loss it or something. At least I know it can be corrected I suppose. I was really starting to get worried. </div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday was 200 singles, one of the main events. I almost didn't even go because I was shooting so bad and I typically don't like singles all that much. But, I went anyway. I figure it'd be good practice if nothing else. On my first 100 I missed 2 for a 98. Respectable but not typically good enough to win anything. My next 100 I relaxed and just shot for fun and absolutely smoked all but one target. It was just so effortless. So now I've ended up with a 197 out of 200. Usually at least one person shoots a 200. This is the state competition and there are a lot of shooters from all over. This year everyone was shooting terrible though. They were all talking about it. Well, the two highest scores were a pair of 199's. The next highest, 197. I ended up winning State AA singles Champion to my surprise. Basically, it's 3rd place. I was starting to get worried because it was going to be the first time since I started shooting that I wasn't going to win anything at this event. Somehow, I pulled one out though to add to my collection... whew. </div><div><br /></div><div>This weekend I fly to Austin TX for a small registered competition. I'll try to have the same attitude I did while shooting the singles competition and see what happens, you know, just have fun. My eyes and body know what to do, I just have to let them do it and enjoy letting them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jason<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/06/shootin.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-5017426047210798517Mon, 15 Jun 2009 16:40:00 +00002009-06-15T13:54:18.186-05:00Life<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SjZ5xWEIPiI/AAAAAAAAAXA/vPtjy8jnfs0/s1600-h/bike_shirt.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SjZ5xWEIPiI/AAAAAAAAAXA/vPtjy8jnfs0/s400/bike_shirt.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347595496192491042" /></a>Saturday I achieved yet another "bucket list goal". I rode the 50 mile leg of the Tour de Rock by CARTI. About the most I'd ever gone was maybe 25 miles. I almost routinely ride 15, so I wondered how well I'd do with 50. Back a few months ago I met a guy through a friend that plays kickball (imagine that). After a short conversation it was discovered that we both run and bike. We decided to ride together sometime and maybe even sign up for the Tour de Rock. At first I really wanted to try the 100 mile ride but buying a house pretty much threw a kink in any training (and everything else for that matter). <div><br /></div><div>Jud and I met up for our first ride together. It was almost cancelled because of a thunderstorm but, sunshine broke free of the clouds and we loaded our bikes and headed to the river trail. We both seemed to be a bit paranoid about possibly slowing down one another. We mounted our bikes and took off. After a mile or so I noticed I was going much faster than normal. This pace continued on for the entire 15 mile ride. When we pulled back into to parking lot I looked at the time and I had beat my record by almost 5 minutes. I was reminded how we're always capable of doing better. As we were putting our bikes and gear away Jud said, "man, I don't usually ride that hard, I just didn't want to slow you down. I looked over at him still breathing a little heavy and in a higher than normal redneck voice said, "man! I rode that hard cause I didn't want to slow YOU down! I dropped my head and said, "awe shit." Exhausted, we both busted out laughing.</div><div><br /></div><div>A couple more rides of 19 miles together was all we had before the Tour de Rock. The race was on Saturday morning at 7:00 and I had to work at the fire station Friday which meant I had to have my relief come in early for me. My alarm went off at 4:00am and I made a quick hop in the shower and got dressed. I had brought my bike to work and rolled it out to load it on my car. When I opened the door it was pouring rain. My relief showed up and I was off. I was  early so I had some time to wait around before picking up Jud. After a bit I made my way over to pick him up. Turns out he over slept and had to rush to get his things together. Fortunately it was no longer raining and was turning out to be a nice day when we pulled into the parking lot. There were a lot of people there getting their bikes ready to go. As we were getting our bikes ready you could hear a pop/spewing air sound echoing all over the place and repeatedly. Everyone was airing up their tires. Once at the right pressure, you have to pull the pump away from the valve stem and it makes that pop/air spew noise. For some reason it was amusing to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>We got all suited up and rode our bikes over to the start. I was becoming a little anxious and ready to get started. Finally the horn blew and the start wasn't the all out sprint that I had thought it would be. For some reason I kept forgetting that this was a ride, not a race. Everyone was going at a quick pace though. After about a mile I looked down at my bike computer and noticed that I was flying! It was so cool. I was surrounded by other cyclist just inches apart going really fast. There was a bit of a funnel at a bridge crossing on the river trail but after that things opened up pretty good. I kept thinking to myself that I needed to slow up just a bit because there was no way I could keep this pace for 50 miles. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we got close to the 20 mile mark we had passed more people than had passed us. We were still going at a much faster pace than normal. We hooked up with this one group of riders and was moving along pretty well when Jud and I made a wrong turn. There was a sign showing the route for the 62 and 100 mile routes but not the 50. Well, it only took a second to realize I screwed up (I was in front of Jud, so my fault). I was pissed. I DO NOT like to have to back track. It just seems like such a waste. Not just at cycling ether. Like if I forget something a home, even if I'm just down the street, yeah, I'm super aggravated. When we got back on course I had it made up in my mind that I wanted to catch back up with that group we were riding with. That was the only way I could feel like I hadn't wasted any time. Once we got going good I saw the group in the distance. Every ounce of my being was turned into furious determination to catch up with them. After a brief game of chicken with a car and a whole lot of fast peddling, I finally did catch up to them and even passed them. Problem now is, no Jud. </div><div><br /></div><div>I came up on the turn for the 50 mile route. 62/100 to the right and 50 to the left. I made my turn to the left and as I did I turned to look for Jud. Nothing. I peddled on but much slower occasionally turning to look for him. At this point I was all out in the middle of nowhere by myself. No one to draft behind, no one pushing me, nothing. I could see ahead in the distance a couple of people but they were far away. Behind me I could now make out a couple of people but neither of them had the red jersey I was looking for. I thought this was odd because he's usually a little stronger than me on the river trail. I wondered if maybe he'd had a flat or something. I was starting to get a little tired. I decided that this would be a good time to get a drink and take a Hammer Gel(gooey energy stuff) while I was going a little slower waiting on Jud. After a few minutes this group of riders blew by me. Instinctively I wanted to jump in line with them and get going. Instead I turned to look again for Jud and almost like magic, there he was. He was still a little ways back but in just a couple of minutes we were moving along side by side talking about what all had transpired in the last 30 minutes or so. </div><div><br /></div><div>We were now more than half way finished. I don't know if it was the Hammer Gel or what but I was feeling really good. We came up on a rest stop and both decided we didn't need anything and to just keep on going. The stop was at an intersection and we turned on what seemed to be the obvious choice of roads (there were no signs). We were quickly halted over the loud speaker from the state trooper car. So, we (rolling my eyes) had to turn around. Luckily it was no more than maybe 30 seconds lost... but still. We kept on moving along talking a little. We were now starting to pass a lot of people that were on the 30 mile route. We even picked one up that wanted to draft behind us. She lasted only a few miles before stopping at the last rest station. Jud and me kept on pushing forward. </div><div><br /></div><div>Due to the lack of seeing signage (again) we missed a turn and made an extra 2 blocks and also ended up in some car traffic and a red light. I sat there looking at that red light sighing in disgust thinking about how I'm just sitting there when I should be peddling my ass off. Finally we're moving again, and quickly too. After just a couple of miles we're turning back on the river trail. Knowing that the finish was close we increased our speed a bit. Jud was having a leg cramp coming on. Just before our last hill climb a couple of guys blew by us. I turned and looked at Jud and he told me to go ahead. I confirmed that he was OK and I took off. I caught up with the two guys and was getting a really good draft. It's amazing how much difference that makes. I recently read somewhere you get a 30% reduction in effort in a good draft situation, I believe it too! We were wicked fast. When the finish line came in sight I peeled out to the left and passed to two guys up as I made my way across, which looking back I'm sure was poor etiquette seeing how this wasn't a race, I dunno.  As I crossed the finish line I managed to catch a quick glimpse of this cute girl wearing a shirt with colors that matched my bike and read, "Jason You Rock". Heh... coolness. Jud came across just a moment after. Our time ended up around 2 hours and 50 minutes. I'm not sure where that stands competitively but it felt pretty good to me. It was my first one too so, hopefully I'll get better.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, it's "on like donkey kong" now cause I'm hooked. Jud and I are already planning our training for the 100 mile ride in September. 100 miles - on a bicycle. I've ran a half marathon this year and now 50 miles on a bike. If I can just do a mile swim I'm on my way to a Half Ironman 70.3... which by the way is the qualifier for the... yeah, Ironman. Hey, who knows?</div><div><br /></div><div>... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">"I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my bike"</span>...</div><div><br /></div><div>Jason</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-famous-lyrics-of-queen.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-1643828962095626328Tue, 02 Jun 2009 15:00:00 +00002009-06-02T10:14:33.400-05:00Neat StuffVideos<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SiVBcdErhsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/_kPGc5pjrmE/s1600-h/man_on_wire.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SiVBcdErhsI/AAAAAAAAAW4/_kPGc5pjrmE/s400/man_on_wire.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342748490041362114" /></a><div><br /></div><div>Every now and again I'll watch a film that really sticks with me for a while. I may watch it several times or more. If I'm in the art studio working I may let it play over and over in the background. Movies like the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">March of the Penguins</span> and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Rivers and tides. </span>These are all documentaries by the way. </div><div><br /></div><div>My friend Kenny, that I just so happen to be working on a film with, loaned me a film titled <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Man on Wire</span>. It's about a high wire walker that walked between the twin towers of New York when they were first built. Even if the subject matter doesn't interest you, try it anyway, it's a great film. There's tons of original footage that was shot many years ago when the plan was being developed. </div><div><br /></div><div>The film is put together as good as any I've ever seen. Really, all I can say is, Amazing.  </div><div><br /></div><div>Jason<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/06/man-on-wire.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473995557109268038.post-121066491305098966Tue, 12 May 2009 19:59:00 +00002009-05-12T15:47:56.621-05:00Life<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SgnfeYO0xxI/AAAAAAAAAWw/t2Gr_7eh1qo/s1600-h/IMG_7381.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YHASWjz80lM/SgnfeYO0xxI/AAAAAAAAAWw/t2Gr_7eh1qo/s400/IMG_7381.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335040946590762770" /></a><div><br /></div><div>I bought my first house sometime around the age of 26. I remember it being a whole bunch of work that took up a whole bunch of my time. It's funny that I would even consider buying a house right now as my time is taken more than ever before, but, I did. I've looked carefully over the past three years trying to find the "perfect" place. I don't know if this is the perfect place, but everything seems that way so far. </div><div><br /></div><div>Typically you wouldn't ever have contact with the seller but, I did. I developed somewhat of a relationship with the sellers. They're in their 80's and are moving to a simpler way of life in a retirement complex. The the house was inherited by the lady's father who started a blueprinting business in downtown Little Rock and is still operated under his name. This was his dream home. There's was no doubt of this after the inspection.</div><div><br /></div><div>The guy inspecting has been doing so for 30 years and is known as a bit of a hard ass as rumor has it. I liked him. He was very squared away and professional and didn't miss anything. It's amazing the detail that he looks at everything in. As we sat down to go over his findings he started to explain how over-built the house was. He talked for several minutes about various things he found with the house that were way above standard. He was impressed... I was glad. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, I should be good to go, move in and live happily ever after. Right. I started ripping up carpet and exposing these awesome hardwood floors. I knew they were there, I just didn't know what kind of shape they'd be in. I've patch 10,000 small holes, and have swept 2 tons of dust. So much for just a fresh coat of paint. I'm installing recessed lights everywhere, even outside, so me and a good buddy started with my bedroom. Of course we couldn't just put in a few lights and move on, we had to install some low voltage lights above my bed on a separate circuit with a remote dimmer control. I can't wait for MTV to come by so as I dim down those lights with a flick of my wrist I can say, "now this, is where the magic happens" in my best Barry White voice. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm only just about to finished with the bedroom and I'm already getting VIP invitations to the Home Depot and Lowes stock holder's meetings. Not to mention I've seen very few of my friends the last month and I didn't get much art completed or any film work done.  I did take a few hours a couple of Sunday's ago and shot the doubles event of a trap shooting competition. I won too! That was a good break. I'll post a few pictures of the progress along the way. For now though, have a look at my back yard neighbor's house... 3 million worth. <br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/jXXn" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Subscribe to Jason Gammel</span></a></p><div><a href="http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php" onmouseover="return addthis_open(this, '', '[URL]', '[TITLE]')" onmouseout="addthis_close()" onclick="return addthis_sendto()"><img src="http://s9.addthis.com/button0-share.gif" width="83" height="16" border="0" alt="" /></a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://s7.addthis.com/js/152/addthis_widget.js"></script><br /><!-- AddThis Button END --><br /></div></div>http://jasongammel.blogspot.com/2009/05/so-i-bought-this-house.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Jason Gammel)0