I recently bought some trekking poles, seeing them in Costco while shopping for groceries (yes, I buy groceries from Costco even though I live alone).

Several friends have promoted trekking poles to me as a helpful tool for long, arduous hikes. I’ve always been skeptical because I have … legs, ones that work remarkably well.

The backstory is that I am trying hiking again after abstaining from the activity for almost a decade now. Technology moves fast so I figure for ~$25 why not give this a try. I know, hiking is really walking without a sidewalk so why do we need “equipment”? I also wonder the same. What’s wrong with legs, especially a healthy, strong pair like mine?

Here are the arguments for trekking poles:

• Trekking poles provide balance and stability on uneven terrain

• Help to prevent injuries that can occur from slipping, tripping, and falling.

• They also help to reduce fatigue by taking some of the load off the legs when walking for extended periods.

• Also, trekking poles can be used to help cross streams and rivers and probe for hidden obstacles.

• They can also be used to set up a shelter and as a support when climbing.

• Overall, trekking poles can provide extra support and peace of mind while exploring the great outdoors.

The above seem reasonable. You know what tipped me over the edge into being convinced they’re a good tool on a hike?

They’re sticks. This means they can be used to whack things, or animals, or people — serial killers are hiding everywhere, not just on TV shows (do we still say TV shows when everything is streamed?).

Yes, I have a little paranoia. Trekking poles, aka whacking sticks, alleviate my anxiety in the wild.

My recommendation? Get a pair. They might save your life. And maybe help you get up your mountain as well.

I was in a Chipotle copycat restaurant a few nights ago, and my friend suggested I get my burrito enchilada style.

I asked what that was and he said it was my regular burrito covered with sauce and cheese, It sounded good so I went for it. Then it occurred to me that I’d now have to use a fork and knife to eat my burrito, whereas before, I’d just pick it up with my hands.

It got us talking about the origins of cutlery. Why did it arise when it’s apparent that most food can be eaten with one’s hands?

The cleanliness argument seems specious when it’s the norm for billions of people today to eat with their hands. Even in cultures where cutlery is the norm, there are numerous foods consumed by hand: sandwiches, chips, fruit, fries, candy, nuts, almost everything snackable.

My friend and I wondered if it was the human urge for class signifiers that engendered cutlery. The ritual around cutlery is highly freighted with class distinctions. There is a salad fork and an entree fork, a dinner spoon and a dessert spoon, another spoon to stir one’s tea, two butter knives, and a steak knife. Really, one of each would do fine. The oft-maligned spork would be even more efficient and less confusing for the “uncultured.” Chopsticks are the apex of efficiency in the cutlery domain, but even for these two simple sticks there are rituals based on culture and class. In some Asian countries, you should never plant chopsticks into your rice mound as if they were incense sticks giving reverence to your ancestors.

Somewhere in the varied histories of the many cultures on Earth, there came a moment when some ambitious wannabe potentate decided they would elevate themselves from the masses by ritualizing their meal occasions. It’s no accident the phrase “born with a silver spoon in your mouth” is idiomatic for accusing someone of coming from wealth and privilege.

Eating with your hands is the more natural, more efficient method. Eating with your hands is an act of protest.

My enchilada-style burrito got messy.

Picking up someone from the airport is a task with which most of us are familiar. Oftentimes, it’s a chore that ranks alongside grocery shopping–as something that needs to be done that is somewhat predictable but can sometimes be pleasant. Of course, this all depends on who’s visiting. The wrong visitor can make the trip to the airport be as dreadfully anticipatory as renewing one’s driver’s license in person at the Department of Motor Vehicles. You know you’ll be in for it, even if you have all your paperwork. Ideally, in this age of rideshare services, you’d instead not do it at all and have the person magically transported to their choice of lodging.

But sometimes you gotta do it.

The traveler has a checklist, and so should the welcoming party

• Verify flight information

• Check flight status before heading to the airport

• Tidy car

• Tidy home

• Clean bedsheets

• Ample toilet paper

• Hide porn

• Body odor check

• Wash genitals (optional)

The three types of visitors

The mostly harmless visitor is the “say hello” type. Most of your friends and family fall into this category; perhaps a handful of close acquaintances also–the climbing partner who gives a good catch on belay, or the work buddy you’ve interacted with online but never in person who has surprised you by taking you up on your offer of a place to stay should they ever visit. I call these types of acquaintances transactional relationships; there is a value exchange of some sort with little emotional attachments.

Then you have the moocher. They treat your home like a free hotel with unlimited food and concierge service. They will stay too long, no matter how long their actual stay is. And he will lie on every surface in your home because it’s always a he, and he will not move unless incentivized by food or entertainment, all expensed to you.

The third type is the center-of-your-universe visitor. These visitors are rare, and you don’t want them to leave. You’re obviously in love with them.

Be the bookends

You intend on being the first and last person on their trip. You imagine significance in this because of course you do. Love charges every small thing with affect and elevates big things into signature life events.

You believe that bracketing their trip with your smiling face will imprint on them this memory of you being the source of all goodness, and to get more, they need to return to you.

To park or not to park?

There is no decision here. You park the car.

Dammit, if short-term parking isn’t full!

Ok, $24 for the day rate is a small price to greet your heart’s desire in baggage claim. This gives you the opportunity to heroically yank their luggage from the carousel before it disappears back into the handlers area to reappear on another circuit.

Hugs are creepy

There is a deeper question here of how did hugs arise as a form of human interaction? To clasp one’s body to another in a supposedly chaste acknowledgment? Seems weird.

There’s no formula for how long to hold a hug. We’re all improvising. One arm or two arms? Men-to-men hugs require complicated split-second calculations based on perceived masculinity–I’m secure so I will hug you, I am manly so I will shoulder hug you, I’m attracted to you so I will linger in your body, I will smell your hair now, is this too much?

You detach from the hug with your love because it’s safer to err on the side of abruptness than to veer into awkwardness.

The first ride home

Your nervous energy is masked by easy chatter because there is lots to catch up on. Beneath the conversation, your brain is parallel processing the anxiety you feel of being too conscious of acting appropriately during their visit. The next few days will require consideration of every decision and action.

You parse every sentence and word they speak, sorting hints and divulgences. They may have a significant other now. Is it possible they feel the way you feel?

Cut to the return trip

Ah, what happened during their visit?

That’s a different story and a tale for another time. We’re focused on the airport chauffeuring portions of this narrative.

There are several possibilities at this stage, the most likely one being disappointment. If this is the case, then this is a quiet personnel delivery.

Miracle of miracles if we are elated. Then the energy in the car is unbounded. Plans are being made for a return visit or even a reciprocal trip by you to their home. In a daring moment, perhaps you even try to convince them to stay.

Are we unsure? Then this is more akin to disappointment.

Unresolved

We’ll end things here. Uncertainty is 99% of life, so perhaps this is the Heisenberg state we’re, if never comfortable with, at least most familiar with.

Epiphany.

Not doing something stupid is success.