Brewski, The Sauce, What Ales Me
On Sunday I bottled my first ever batch of home-brewed beer. Just over 3 and a half cases--approximately 45 beers. It will be ready to drink in at least another 3 weeks, I will try it on for size in two. My initial attempt was an IPA. Tasting it out of the bucket, it has grande possibilities. Of course it hadn't been primed yet nor had it sat in the bottle for the alotted 2-3 weeks. I'm excited about the end product.
Directly after bottling my first batch of beer, I brewed another pot of wort, mixed it in the bucket with the yeast and the aromatic hops, put on the fermentation lock and put the bucket in the corner of the room. The next day it was pleasantly bubbling at a rate of about one bubble per second. This batch I followed a recipe for a nut brown ale, with a few changes in the hops. I'm convinced it will be just as yummalicious.
O.k. time to work.
Word.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Thursday, October 21, 2004
BEER
Beer, oh beer, my beer, yes please.
There is a 5 gallon bucket in my living room where little tiny yeasties are committing suicide and raising the alcohol content of my beer. My friend Brad and I cooked up the recipe last Saturday, and in the next couple of days I will begin the bottling process. If you are at Thanksgiving, perhaps you will taste the fruits of my spirits. That is unless I drink it all before which is entirely possible.
Thus has begun what hopes to be my long and friendly relationship with homebrewing. I feel I have given life to a new being. I glance at it lovingly every time I walk through my livingroom. I time the interval between contractions (what I term the bubbling in the contraption on top of my bucket that indicates the fermentation process taking place). Apparently when the interval between bubbles gets to be more than 10 minutes, it is time. Joy oh joy of joyous occassions!
Beer, oh beer, my beer, yes please.
There is a 5 gallon bucket in my living room where little tiny yeasties are committing suicide and raising the alcohol content of my beer. My friend Brad and I cooked up the recipe last Saturday, and in the next couple of days I will begin the bottling process. If you are at Thanksgiving, perhaps you will taste the fruits of my spirits. That is unless I drink it all before which is entirely possible.
Thus has begun what hopes to be my long and friendly relationship with homebrewing. I feel I have given life to a new being. I glance at it lovingly every time I walk through my livingroom. I time the interval between contractions (what I term the bubbling in the contraption on top of my bucket that indicates the fermentation process taking place). Apparently when the interval between bubbles gets to be more than 10 minutes, it is time. Joy oh joy of joyous occassions!
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Yes, Word to your motherfuckin' Mother
O.k, alright. So I drank a beer at 8:30 this morning. It's been too long since I've done that. I actually got up at 8:00 (set my alarm and everything) in order to cut up the vegetables to put in with my potroast. My mom used to make that meal every Sunday. It was a tradition. So as one often longs for certain things from her childhood, I have been longing for a potroast meal on a Sunday afternoon/evening. Incidentally, I have a slowcooker to cook this all in, and it's sitting on my dining room table with 8 and a half hours to go and it's already tempting my tastebuds.
Getting back to beer. Now I'm well versed in the idea of a beer at 8:30 in the morning. On a few occasions, my friends and I would celebrate one of our favorite holidays--Drunk Before Noon Day. The central theme of this holiday is quite self-explanatory. And keeping with our brash rejection of the way we had all been raised, this Drunk Before Noon Day would almost always occur on the first second third or forth Sunday of the month. I'm not sure if I'll be drunk before noon, but at least I'm drinking on the second Sunday of the month.
In my day I also put a few down at Donald and Debbies Doghouse in Bradley, Illinois (sister city to Kankee). Good ole Sharon was always ready with her $1.00 Miller Lite drafts, her snide remarks, her tough exterior, and her large and loving heart. I think she hated us whenever we bought beef jerky, or when she had to come rescue the balls that got stuck in the pool table. This was always 8:30 a.m. or before. Usually present were me, Fred, Adam, and Bethany, and an occasional appearance of a fellow brave trooper from the night shift at Indian Oaks Academy. Why didn't Kim ever come drink with us? Ahh Kim.
Long gone are the days of a Miller Lite draft, or a Busch Light in a can. No no my friends. The beer of choice for a Sunday morning is from south of the border. A little Negra Modelo. I buy twelve packs of this for around twelve dollars from my local grocer. This cannot be found in the regular beer isle. No, it is found in the Mexican section of the grocery store, along with Jumex, and Corona, and real flour toritillas.
I am saving all of the bottles because they are not twist-offs--you can't use twist offs to bottle beer. Soon I will be embarking on the journey of home-brewing. An IPA will be the first attempt from the Bent Tree Brewry. Perhaps I will have it done in time for the Thanksgiving shindig.
Word.
O.k, alright. So I drank a beer at 8:30 this morning. It's been too long since I've done that. I actually got up at 8:00 (set my alarm and everything) in order to cut up the vegetables to put in with my potroast. My mom used to make that meal every Sunday. It was a tradition. So as one often longs for certain things from her childhood, I have been longing for a potroast meal on a Sunday afternoon/evening. Incidentally, I have a slowcooker to cook this all in, and it's sitting on my dining room table with 8 and a half hours to go and it's already tempting my tastebuds.
Getting back to beer. Now I'm well versed in the idea of a beer at 8:30 in the morning. On a few occasions, my friends and I would celebrate one of our favorite holidays--Drunk Before Noon Day. The central theme of this holiday is quite self-explanatory. And keeping with our brash rejection of the way we had all been raised, this Drunk Before Noon Day would almost always occur on the first second third or forth Sunday of the month. I'm not sure if I'll be drunk before noon, but at least I'm drinking on the second Sunday of the month.
In my day I also put a few down at Donald and Debbies Doghouse in Bradley, Illinois (sister city to Kankee). Good ole Sharon was always ready with her $1.00 Miller Lite drafts, her snide remarks, her tough exterior, and her large and loving heart. I think she hated us whenever we bought beef jerky, or when she had to come rescue the balls that got stuck in the pool table. This was always 8:30 a.m. or before. Usually present were me, Fred, Adam, and Bethany, and an occasional appearance of a fellow brave trooper from the night shift at Indian Oaks Academy. Why didn't Kim ever come drink with us? Ahh Kim.
Long gone are the days of a Miller Lite draft, or a Busch Light in a can. No no my friends. The beer of choice for a Sunday morning is from south of the border. A little Negra Modelo. I buy twelve packs of this for around twelve dollars from my local grocer. This cannot be found in the regular beer isle. No, it is found in the Mexican section of the grocery store, along with Jumex, and Corona, and real flour toritillas.
I am saving all of the bottles because they are not twist-offs--you can't use twist offs to bottle beer. Soon I will be embarking on the journey of home-brewing. An IPA will be the first attempt from the Bent Tree Brewry. Perhaps I will have it done in time for the Thanksgiving shindig.
Word.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Nina Simone
Oh my God, have you ever listened to Nina Simone? I just received her 1972 album, entitled Nina Simone And Piano, in the mail. Wow. It is just her voice and her piano. She is a classically trained pianist, so the beauty of that was prevalent. But that voice, oh that voice. Every phrase and note are so close and personal, as if she were singing for just me. Her voice lilts on the clouds, hammers in the dust, and plays on the jungle gym. You should check her out.
On another note, I was a bit dissapointed with the new release from Modest Mouse. Way too overproduced, like someone messed with the EQ just a bit too much. And where are the tempo changes and the crescendos and decrescendos that Modest Mouse pulls off so well? There were a few tracks I liked, but all in all a dissapointment.
Oh my God, have you ever listened to Nina Simone? I just received her 1972 album, entitled Nina Simone And Piano, in the mail. Wow. It is just her voice and her piano. She is a classically trained pianist, so the beauty of that was prevalent. But that voice, oh that voice. Every phrase and note are so close and personal, as if she were singing for just me. Her voice lilts on the clouds, hammers in the dust, and plays on the jungle gym. You should check her out.
On another note, I was a bit dissapointed with the new release from Modest Mouse. Way too overproduced, like someone messed with the EQ just a bit too much. And where are the tempo changes and the crescendos and decrescendos that Modest Mouse pulls off so well? There were a few tracks I liked, but all in all a dissapointment.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Rash Hashanah
I just realized that we don't have to go to work tomorrow--it's Rash Hashanah! We get to eat honey covered apples and walk in the river with our pockets turned out.
I just realized that we don't have to go to work tomorrow--it's Rash Hashanah! We get to eat honey covered apples and walk in the river with our pockets turned out.
So I guess because I lived out in the woods for a year and a half, I've been letting the bugs run free in my house. Well . . . I sucked them all up when I did the initial vacuuming of the place. Since I was only borrowing that vacuum, though, I haven't been doing much sucking lately (at least of bugs, he he). The spiders quickly reappeared, taking back their positions in various corners, in that spot behind my toilet, and attaching themselves to new items that have been too long leaning against the wall. I don't mind them so much, the spiders. They're of the not-too-big-or-black-or-juicy household variety, and I figure they're getting rid of other bugs I don't want in my house.
The other day there was this large black beetle who was making a bit of a nuisance of himself--flying around, crashing into the walls--you know the type. He decided to light on my CDs, which I took as a personal affront. So I took the book I was reading, Hotel Du Lac (a good use for this book I decided), and tried to swat him. I was unsuccessful in my first and second attempt, merely wounding him. So I non-chalantly walked to the bathroom and grabbed a piece of toilet tissue, scooped him up, being careful not to crush him, and deposited him into the toilet. He struggled out of the toilet paper and began scrambling up the side of the toilet. Flush. I wasn't sure, but I think he was having fun as he rode the cyclone of water down into the pipes. Maybe he survived, taking over the realm of the underground sewage. Ruling with an iron fist. You never can tell with a beetle.
About 20 minutes later, a cricket decided to jump right up into my body space. I let him live. Crickets aren't that bad. Sometimes they help me sleep at night.
The other day there was this large black beetle who was making a bit of a nuisance of himself--flying around, crashing into the walls--you know the type. He decided to light on my CDs, which I took as a personal affront. So I took the book I was reading, Hotel Du Lac (a good use for this book I decided), and tried to swat him. I was unsuccessful in my first and second attempt, merely wounding him. So I non-chalantly walked to the bathroom and grabbed a piece of toilet tissue, scooped him up, being careful not to crush him, and deposited him into the toilet. He struggled out of the toilet paper and began scrambling up the side of the toilet. Flush. I wasn't sure, but I think he was having fun as he rode the cyclone of water down into the pipes. Maybe he survived, taking over the realm of the underground sewage. Ruling with an iron fist. You never can tell with a beetle.
About 20 minutes later, a cricket decided to jump right up into my body space. I let him live. Crickets aren't that bad. Sometimes they help me sleep at night.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Have guitar . . . will play?
What's up with this shit? I've been working this new job for almost a month now and I've only picked up my guitar 3 or4 times. And even then it was almost out of obligation--realizing that I haven't been playing much. What gives?
I was listening to some MP3s on the Saddle Creek Records website and I realize how much I really just want to be in a band. I want to strap on an electric and start doing some new things. I want to stumble down the sidewalk and run into things. I want to feel the blood pump through my veins and know the vitality of it. I want to write about things that matter and I want people to listen.
But I don't even feel like singing.
And the cursor blinks at me as if expecting something (wink, wink, wink) . . . waiting . . . more patient than I. A technological Buddha.
Oh Christ.
What's up with this shit? I've been working this new job for almost a month now and I've only picked up my guitar 3 or4 times. And even then it was almost out of obligation--realizing that I haven't been playing much. What gives?
I was listening to some MP3s on the Saddle Creek Records website and I realize how much I really just want to be in a band. I want to strap on an electric and start doing some new things. I want to stumble down the sidewalk and run into things. I want to feel the blood pump through my veins and know the vitality of it. I want to write about things that matter and I want people to listen.
But I don't even feel like singing.
And the cursor blinks at me as if expecting something (wink, wink, wink) . . . waiting . . . more patient than I. A technological Buddha.
Oh Christ.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
What the $%&!
This confounded thing won't publish. Why won't it publish? Why won't it publish? Why won't it publish?
This confounded thing won't publish. Why won't it publish? Why won't it publish? Why won't it publish?
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
City Speed Wash
That's the name of the Laundromat where Emily and I did our laundry last night. I haven't done laundry at the laundromat since my fifth year of college. Kind of an interesting place, the laundromat. A public place to do a pretty private thing--cleaning one's soiled garments. Piss, shit, vomit, cum, dirt, grime, grease--the stuff that makes up your everyday life (well hopefully you're not pissing or shitting yourself too often). The result of one's work during the week--wherever your body has been, so have the clothes on it.
And the wait, oh the wait. Black folk, white folk, Mexicans, and an Indian couple--all just looking around at each other twiddling their thumbs while their undergarments go throught the spin cycle. One young man chose to while away the minutes by playing some Samurai arcade game. The frequent pounds on the glass made it apparent that he wasn't much of a Samurai. I read the story in the September issue of Harper's. Emily read one of her books for class. Mostly though, people just sat around, talking softly or looking at their clothes in the dryer go round and round.
I don't know . . . it wasn't so bad. Gave me an excuse to brush shoulders with persons in my community that I might never see otherwise. In fact, maybe I'll go to church next week. Meet some people tryin' to get their souls laundered (that'd be a good devotional in Our Daily Bread, wouldn't it? Oh geez).
Word.
That's the name of the Laundromat where Emily and I did our laundry last night. I haven't done laundry at the laundromat since my fifth year of college. Kind of an interesting place, the laundromat. A public place to do a pretty private thing--cleaning one's soiled garments. Piss, shit, vomit, cum, dirt, grime, grease--the stuff that makes up your everyday life (well hopefully you're not pissing or shitting yourself too often). The result of one's work during the week--wherever your body has been, so have the clothes on it.
And the wait, oh the wait. Black folk, white folk, Mexicans, and an Indian couple--all just looking around at each other twiddling their thumbs while their undergarments go throught the spin cycle. One young man chose to while away the minutes by playing some Samurai arcade game. The frequent pounds on the glass made it apparent that he wasn't much of a Samurai. I read the story in the September issue of Harper's. Emily read one of her books for class. Mostly though, people just sat around, talking softly or looking at their clothes in the dryer go round and round.
I don't know . . . it wasn't so bad. Gave me an excuse to brush shoulders with persons in my community that I might never see otherwise. In fact, maybe I'll go to church next week. Meet some people tryin' to get their souls laundered (that'd be a good devotional in Our Daily Bread, wouldn't it? Oh geez).
Word.
Friday, September 03, 2004
Many know that I tend to be bit ascetic at times. Though this story does not involve any fasting, flagellation, or trips to monasteries.
One of my goals for my new house was to eliminate the distractions of television and the internet. The idea being that without those distractions I would be able to do things that I really want to do, like read, write music, and keep my house clean and orderly. You see, I have a bit of an addictive personality when it comes to the tube. I can sit for hours on end, watching movies (sometimes even good movies), MTV, the news, etc. and convince myself that I just need to relax because I am stressed or some shit like that. The internet is not as much of a distraction, I just have an addictive personality when it comes to thousands of pictures of nude women at my finger tips. Giving into these distractions has been a source of much self-loathing.
So the first few days at my house were great. I was getting stuff organized, reading some theology, some articles in Harper's, some Spiderman comics. Good stuff. Then I was over at Emily's apartment and she was watching a DVD on her laptop computer. Suddenly the light went on. I have a DVD player on my computer too!
The next day I go to Wal-Mart and purchase some Dolby Surround Sound speakers for my desktop. I go to Blockbuster and purchase the unlimited movie rental plan. And for the next three days I am in sitting in my bedroom, eyes glued to my 17" computer screen, eating canned soup and potatoe chips and drinking 40 ounce bottles of Schlitz malt liquor.
After watching Wild Things 2, I knew something was wrong. The Holy Spirit came upon me and asked, "Jason, what the hell are you doing to yourself? Wild Things 2?" And in a heart-pounding fit of spiritual fervor, I pushed the eject button on my DVD drive and snapped the whole thing off.
I hadn't even been drinking.
So last night I went to Wal-Mart and returned the Dolby Surround Sound speakers. I went to the grocery section, bought four peaches, a loaf of 9-grain bread, a bag of sunflower nuts and trailmix, some Nutella and some crunchy peanut butter, a bag of mesquite BBQ baked lays, a box of white cheddar Cheeze-its and a pack of Camel Lights. I don't have a fridge yet, so I was focusing on non-perishables. Back to my apartment--toast the 9-grain bread, spread Nutella and peanut butter, sprinkle with sunflower seeds, bag of chips, glass of water, read Harper's and listen to Gillian Welch, play a little guitar, turn on NPR, clean house.
The demons have been excorcised.
Cheers.
One of my goals for my new house was to eliminate the distractions of television and the internet. The idea being that without those distractions I would be able to do things that I really want to do, like read, write music, and keep my house clean and orderly. You see, I have a bit of an addictive personality when it comes to the tube. I can sit for hours on end, watching movies (sometimes even good movies), MTV, the news, etc. and convince myself that I just need to relax because I am stressed or some shit like that. The internet is not as much of a distraction, I just have an addictive personality when it comes to thousands of pictures of nude women at my finger tips. Giving into these distractions has been a source of much self-loathing.
So the first few days at my house were great. I was getting stuff organized, reading some theology, some articles in Harper's, some Spiderman comics. Good stuff. Then I was over at Emily's apartment and she was watching a DVD on her laptop computer. Suddenly the light went on. I have a DVD player on my computer too!
The next day I go to Wal-Mart and purchase some Dolby Surround Sound speakers for my desktop. I go to Blockbuster and purchase the unlimited movie rental plan. And for the next three days I am in sitting in my bedroom, eyes glued to my 17" computer screen, eating canned soup and potatoe chips and drinking 40 ounce bottles of Schlitz malt liquor.
After watching Wild Things 2, I knew something was wrong. The Holy Spirit came upon me and asked, "Jason, what the hell are you doing to yourself? Wild Things 2?" And in a heart-pounding fit of spiritual fervor, I pushed the eject button on my DVD drive and snapped the whole thing off.
I hadn't even been drinking.
So last night I went to Wal-Mart and returned the Dolby Surround Sound speakers. I went to the grocery section, bought four peaches, a loaf of 9-grain bread, a bag of sunflower nuts and trailmix, some Nutella and some crunchy peanut butter, a bag of mesquite BBQ baked lays, a box of white cheddar Cheeze-its and a pack of Camel Lights. I don't have a fridge yet, so I was focusing on non-perishables. Back to my apartment--toast the 9-grain bread, spread Nutella and peanut butter, sprinkle with sunflower seeds, bag of chips, glass of water, read Harper's and listen to Gillian Welch, play a little guitar, turn on NPR, clean house.
The demons have been excorcised.
Cheers.
Thursday, September 02, 2004
I am slowly falling into the routine of an eight to fiver. The house I am renting is pre 1930 and has it's own set of quarks and faults. I like it just for that fact. My neighbor across the street is named Thomas Vaughn. He often sits on his porch in his cut off blue-jean shorts and bare chest looking bewildered. I have talked to him a couple of times--he has no teeth and perhaps some sort of speech impediment, so I understand about 10% of what he is saying. He sure does like to talk though. I nod and grunt as if I know exactly what he is talking about.
It reminds me of when I was in Russia trying to communicate with the native speakers. You knew they were saying something and could catch a word you knew every now and again, but most of it sounded like jibberish. We got by though, relying on non-verbals, and the exchange that passes between humans that goes beyond words. I remember searching for a bookstore in Nizhny Novgorod. We just kept saying, "Gde dom knigi?" (where is the house of books?). And the questionee would point and say something. We would walk in the motioned to direction for a time and then ask another bundled up Russian, "Gde dom knigi?" It was an effective way of locating our destination.
Anyhow, Mr. Vaughn interests me. It seems he has a lot to say and no one to listen to him. He has spent the last two days on his front porch working on a broken lawn mower. He'll sit and stare at it for a while, scrarch his head, adjust something, then try to crank her up. It sputters for a while and then dies. He did have it running for about 20 minutes yesterday, but it didn't sound like the engine was rotating fast enough to cut much grass.
Tom's sister and her husband live to the left of me. Their names are Bob and Lu. I met them them my first night there when Tom led me over to their house. Apparently Bob needed some Efferdent because whenever he talked, his dentures kept falling down from the roof of his mouth making a strange sucking sound. He proceeded to tell me about all of the people that live on my street. There is the black family that live to my right. They're pretty nice, he says, for black folk. Even his grandson plays with the little black girl. And Lu's sister lives right next door to Tom. Then there's the single woman that lives on the corner with her three kids--from three different men. Don't get involved with her, she'll tear you up. "Bob!" pipes in Lu, "you don' need to be telling everyone's business!" Then the Mexican family that lives down the street. They're pretty quiet, for Mexicans. They don't bother anyone.
I guess my neighborhood is much like my house--with it's own quarks and faults. I think I'm going to like where I live.
Damn.
It reminds me of when I was in Russia trying to communicate with the native speakers. You knew they were saying something and could catch a word you knew every now and again, but most of it sounded like jibberish. We got by though, relying on non-verbals, and the exchange that passes between humans that goes beyond words. I remember searching for a bookstore in Nizhny Novgorod. We just kept saying, "Gde dom knigi?" (where is the house of books?). And the questionee would point and say something. We would walk in the motioned to direction for a time and then ask another bundled up Russian, "Gde dom knigi?" It was an effective way of locating our destination.
Anyhow, Mr. Vaughn interests me. It seems he has a lot to say and no one to listen to him. He has spent the last two days on his front porch working on a broken lawn mower. He'll sit and stare at it for a while, scrarch his head, adjust something, then try to crank her up. It sputters for a while and then dies. He did have it running for about 20 minutes yesterday, but it didn't sound like the engine was rotating fast enough to cut much grass.
Tom's sister and her husband live to the left of me. Their names are Bob and Lu. I met them them my first night there when Tom led me over to their house. Apparently Bob needed some Efferdent because whenever he talked, his dentures kept falling down from the roof of his mouth making a strange sucking sound. He proceeded to tell me about all of the people that live on my street. There is the black family that live to my right. They're pretty nice, he says, for black folk. Even his grandson plays with the little black girl. And Lu's sister lives right next door to Tom. Then there's the single woman that lives on the corner with her three kids--from three different men. Don't get involved with her, she'll tear you up. "Bob!" pipes in Lu, "you don' need to be telling everyone's business!" Then the Mexican family that lives down the street. They're pretty quiet, for Mexicans. They don't bother anyone.
I guess my neighborhood is much like my house--with it's own quarks and faults. I think I'm going to like where I live.
Damn.
Sunday, August 15, 2004
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Harummph
I was just wondering to myself now many times someone clicks over to my blog only to be disappointed at the fact that it hasn't been updated for a month. I suppose there would be a way to track this, but I'm not about to figure that out.
Anywho--my last day working in the woods is this Friday--Friday the 13th. Du du dum. The next day I am bartending for a co-worker's daughter's wedding reception. That oughta be good--especially since she told me I could drink as much as I wanted. Scary.
I think I found a house to live in. It's a two-bedroom, slightly run down house with light blue siding for $275 a month. Of course I have to buy my own fridge and stove and the whole shabang. But the cheap rent should make up for that. And it will be kind of fun hunting for cheap furniture. I figure I'll be sitting on my camping chair and sleeping on the floor for a little while.
I was walking down the service road the other night to the counselor house at 9:30 p.m. thinking to myself how working from 6:30 in the morning on Wednesday until 9:30 at night on Sunday had become normal. Interesting how the body and mind can adapt to adverse conditions. I am afraid I will have some culture shock with all of the extra time on my hands. Hopefully I will not use it all drinking and (b)eating meat. I was thinking about becoming a vegetarian the other day. I've always figured I'd do that some time--it just needs to be the right scenario. I've also thought I would stop drinking some time, but that never too seriously.
So good day to you all, and I hope you enjoy the beige/olive green color.
Word.
I was just wondering to myself now many times someone clicks over to my blog only to be disappointed at the fact that it hasn't been updated for a month. I suppose there would be a way to track this, but I'm not about to figure that out.
Anywho--my last day working in the woods is this Friday--Friday the 13th. Du du dum. The next day I am bartending for a co-worker's daughter's wedding reception. That oughta be good--especially since she told me I could drink as much as I wanted. Scary.
I think I found a house to live in. It's a two-bedroom, slightly run down house with light blue siding for $275 a month. Of course I have to buy my own fridge and stove and the whole shabang. But the cheap rent should make up for that. And it will be kind of fun hunting for cheap furniture. I figure I'll be sitting on my camping chair and sleeping on the floor for a little while.
I was walking down the service road the other night to the counselor house at 9:30 p.m. thinking to myself how working from 6:30 in the morning on Wednesday until 9:30 at night on Sunday had become normal. Interesting how the body and mind can adapt to adverse conditions. I am afraid I will have some culture shock with all of the extra time on my hands. Hopefully I will not use it all drinking and (b)eating meat. I was thinking about becoming a vegetarian the other day. I've always figured I'd do that some time--it just needs to be the right scenario. I've also thought I would stop drinking some time, but that never too seriously.
So good day to you all, and I hope you enjoy the beige/olive green color.
Word.
Friday, July 09, 2004
Gone Fishin'
Here I go again, leavin' for a while on a trip. My group leaves tomorrow for a 14 day backpack trip. We will be hiking over 40 miles in the Uwharrie National Forest in southern North Carolina. I'm supposed to be packing right now, but I'm having a little trouble staying on task. That's o.k., it's only 12:42 a.m., and I have to get up at 6:00 tomorrow. I can sleep on the van ride though.
A backpack trip is a brilliant way to test a young man. He is faced with the daunting task of propelling two weeks of food, shelter, clothing, water, eating and cooking gear, etc. on his back; walking on his too tender feet over rock, dirt, water, grass, root, incline, decline, crevice, cliff, and crack. Reared in the city, he suddenly finds himself in the middle of the wilderness, fending for himself. It is a struggle of the will, a strain on the mind, a punishment to the body. At the end of the trail is more than just a van ride home. It is victory. It is pride. It is strength and confidence. A new young man emerges from his chrysalis to face life with new eyes.
I also get to play with fire the whole time.
No one ever forgets a backpack trip.
Here I go again, leavin' for a while on a trip. My group leaves tomorrow for a 14 day backpack trip. We will be hiking over 40 miles in the Uwharrie National Forest in southern North Carolina. I'm supposed to be packing right now, but I'm having a little trouble staying on task. That's o.k., it's only 12:42 a.m., and I have to get up at 6:00 tomorrow. I can sleep on the van ride though.
A backpack trip is a brilliant way to test a young man. He is faced with the daunting task of propelling two weeks of food, shelter, clothing, water, eating and cooking gear, etc. on his back; walking on his too tender feet over rock, dirt, water, grass, root, incline, decline, crevice, cliff, and crack. Reared in the city, he suddenly finds himself in the middle of the wilderness, fending for himself. It is a struggle of the will, a strain on the mind, a punishment to the body. At the end of the trail is more than just a van ride home. It is victory. It is pride. It is strength and confidence. A new young man emerges from his chrysalis to face life with new eyes.
I also get to play with fire the whole time.
No one ever forgets a backpack trip.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
Get What I'm Driving At?
I have just arrived back to North Carolina after spending the last 3 days in Vermont. I took off from South Hero, VT at 8:00 a.m. and got to camp at 8:30 p.m. Pretty good travel time. I successfully avoided the N.J. Turnpike which I happen to loathe (along with every driver that owns a New Jersey license plate).
Yeah . . . so why would I drive up to Vermont for a mere 3 (actually 2 and a half) days? Maple Syrup? Ben and Jerry's? To see a moose? O.k. it was to see a girl. Not just any girl though. Only the best girl I know. Emily's her name, and she's got the biggest brightest smile you've ever seen. She likes to kiss me with it. I haven't turned her down yet.
South Hero is an island surrounded by Lake Champlaign. Emily's parents have owned a house on that island ever since she can remember. Last night the four of us drank beer and played washers (kind of like horseshoes only you toss washers into a coffee can). Then we played a board game in the living room. Shit like that's pretty cool. You dig?
I have just arrived back to North Carolina after spending the last 3 days in Vermont. I took off from South Hero, VT at 8:00 a.m. and got to camp at 8:30 p.m. Pretty good travel time. I successfully avoided the N.J. Turnpike which I happen to loathe (along with every driver that owns a New Jersey license plate).
Yeah . . . so why would I drive up to Vermont for a mere 3 (actually 2 and a half) days? Maple Syrup? Ben and Jerry's? To see a moose? O.k. it was to see a girl. Not just any girl though. Only the best girl I know. Emily's her name, and she's got the biggest brightest smile you've ever seen. She likes to kiss me with it. I haven't turned her down yet.
South Hero is an island surrounded by Lake Champlaign. Emily's parents have owned a house on that island ever since she can remember. Last night the four of us drank beer and played washers (kind of like horseshoes only you toss washers into a coffee can). Then we played a board game in the living room. Shit like that's pretty cool. You dig?
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Tiger Woods
I just played my first round of Tiger Woods PGA Tour Golf 2004 for PS2. I had a little trouble with the water hazards, but other than that it was a pretty decent round. I had 3 birdies on the back 9 and actually parred the back 9 as well.
One of the coolest features of this game is controlling the way your player looks. Not only do you control the hair color or skin tone, you also have control over the width of the jaw, height of the forehead, size of the nose, setting of the eyes and eyebrows, color and size of the eyes, etc. etc. It's like a police sketch machine. My player really looks like me. And my buddies Aaron and Ryan's players look like them. Quite uncanny.
I just played my first round of Tiger Woods PGA Tour Golf 2004 for PS2. I had a little trouble with the water hazards, but other than that it was a pretty decent round. I had 3 birdies on the back 9 and actually parred the back 9 as well.
One of the coolest features of this game is controlling the way your player looks. Not only do you control the hair color or skin tone, you also have control over the width of the jaw, height of the forehead, size of the nose, setting of the eyes and eyebrows, color and size of the eyes, etc. etc. It's like a police sketch machine. My player really looks like me. And my buddies Aaron and Ryan's players look like them. Quite uncanny.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
On a Better Note
I have recently accepted the job of Family Worker at my camp. This will mean, obviously, that I am working with the families of the kids at camp, rather than spending all day with the kids. It also means a significant pay increase. It also means that I will have nights and weekends free, rather than working 24 hours a day. It also means I have my own office and cell phone. It also means I have to find a car and my own place.
All in all, a pretty good deal. Less hours, more pay, more perks. Sweet.
I have recently accepted the job of Family Worker at my camp. This will mean, obviously, that I am working with the families of the kids at camp, rather than spending all day with the kids. It also means a significant pay increase. It also means that I will have nights and weekends free, rather than working 24 hours a day. It also means I have my own office and cell phone. It also means I have to find a car and my own place.
All in all, a pretty good deal. Less hours, more pay, more perks. Sweet.
The Rest of the Day Off
Yes, I was asked to take the rest of the day off today because I pissed on the Nakotas sign. You see, me and my co-chief, Chief Doug, were asked to plan a party day before all the kids went home on camp-wide homesday (every single group goes home, rather than just one group, which is the norm). We come up with a number of events involving water--the water balloon toss, the greased watermelon in the lake game, the water in the Dixie cup relay, and finally the canoe relay, where two groups have to paddle with there hands to a certain spot,paddle back to shore, switch out with the other half of their group, and then complete the second leg of the relay.
Well my group, the Roanokes, has traditionally had a friendly rival with the Nakotas. It's after breakfast, my group is walking down trail on our way to the waterfront, and we're enjoying some friendly banter about how our first event is the canoe relay--against the Nakotas--and we're really gonna kick some tail. The Nakotas campsite just happens to be the only campsite you pass on your way from chuckwagon to the waterfront, and as we were nearing their trailhead, I felt the urge. I was just going to take a leak in the woods like I normally would do, however the Nakotas sign at their trailhead was just too much of a temptation. Being in the back of the line, I yelled "hold top," which is what we say when the front of the line is getting too far ahead. Zzzziiip.
"Hey, Chief Jason's pissing on the Nakotas sign."
"No, way."
"Yeah, look."
Sure enough, I gained some good cool points with my kids and felt good about getting a bit of a laugh.
4:00 in the afternoon, my assistant camp director calls me into his office to "have a chat." He says he "heard some rumors" that I pretended to urinate on the Nakotas sign, and what did I have to say.
"Well, no I didn't pretend, I really pissed on their sign, and from my perspective it really wasn't that big of a deal--I was just fooling around."
"How are you doing? Is anything going on?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Well, why don't you take the rest of the day off and meet me in my office at 9:00a.m. tomorrow morning."
"Umm . . . o.k.?"
Yeah, there you have it.
Damn.
Yes, I was asked to take the rest of the day off today because I pissed on the Nakotas sign. You see, me and my co-chief, Chief Doug, were asked to plan a party day before all the kids went home on camp-wide homesday (every single group goes home, rather than just one group, which is the norm). We come up with a number of events involving water--the water balloon toss, the greased watermelon in the lake game, the water in the Dixie cup relay, and finally the canoe relay, where two groups have to paddle with there hands to a certain spot,paddle back to shore, switch out with the other half of their group, and then complete the second leg of the relay.
Well my group, the Roanokes, has traditionally had a friendly rival with the Nakotas. It's after breakfast, my group is walking down trail on our way to the waterfront, and we're enjoying some friendly banter about how our first event is the canoe relay--against the Nakotas--and we're really gonna kick some tail. The Nakotas campsite just happens to be the only campsite you pass on your way from chuckwagon to the waterfront, and as we were nearing their trailhead, I felt the urge. I was just going to take a leak in the woods like I normally would do, however the Nakotas sign at their trailhead was just too much of a temptation. Being in the back of the line, I yelled "hold top," which is what we say when the front of the line is getting too far ahead. Zzzziiip.
"Hey, Chief Jason's pissing on the Nakotas sign."
"No, way."
"Yeah, look."
Sure enough, I gained some good cool points with my kids and felt good about getting a bit of a laugh.
4:00 in the afternoon, my assistant camp director calls me into his office to "have a chat." He says he "heard some rumors" that I pretended to urinate on the Nakotas sign, and what did I have to say.
"Well, no I didn't pretend, I really pissed on their sign, and from my perspective it really wasn't that big of a deal--I was just fooling around."
"How are you doing? Is anything going on?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Well, why don't you take the rest of the day off and meet me in my office at 9:00a.m. tomorrow morning."
"Umm . . . o.k.?"
Yeah, there you have it.
Damn.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Long Time No Post
Though I have not written anything for a bit, there has been some pretty cool stuff going on.
My new group, the Roanokes, attended a Civil War reenactment on the weekend of the 8th. This was the first time I have ever been to something like that, and I was glad to be able to do it with camp. There were about 900 reenactors alone, along with the folks visiting the battle. It was fascinating to walk around and see so many people dressed in Civil War era clothing and accessories--each one a historian in her own right. One guy was the spitting image of Robert E. Lee. I think about half of my group actually appreciated the experience, but I suppose they might remember it later in life.
I've also stumbled upon a little romance, which seems to be taking up more of my time off. 'nuf said.
We had a little send off last Wednesday night to my friend, manager and roommate, Chief Troy. He is leaving Eckerd to work as a traveling representative for his college fraternity. Yeah, he's getting paid to travel around and visit frat boys. Kooshy. Anyway, the funnest part of the night was when I was asked to perform a few songs around the campfire. Everyone seemed to be into it, and I began stomping on the fire to emphasize certain parts of a song. Natural pyrotechnics baby! It's definitely a trick I will utilize in the future.
I also went fishing again yesterday. One of the cheapest beers out here on the coast is the Yuengling. Apparently it's the oldest brewry in America. Quite a flavorful lager beer. A case of that dunked in ice and some fresh nightcrawlers--I caught some fish and a nice buzz.
And here's a little shout out to Byan Keen whom I haven't heard from in over a year. Whazzup Keen!
Peace out.
Though I have not written anything for a bit, there has been some pretty cool stuff going on.
My new group, the Roanokes, attended a Civil War reenactment on the weekend of the 8th. This was the first time I have ever been to something like that, and I was glad to be able to do it with camp. There were about 900 reenactors alone, along with the folks visiting the battle. It was fascinating to walk around and see so many people dressed in Civil War era clothing and accessories--each one a historian in her own right. One guy was the spitting image of Robert E. Lee. I think about half of my group actually appreciated the experience, but I suppose they might remember it later in life.
I've also stumbled upon a little romance, which seems to be taking up more of my time off. 'nuf said.
We had a little send off last Wednesday night to my friend, manager and roommate, Chief Troy. He is leaving Eckerd to work as a traveling representative for his college fraternity. Yeah, he's getting paid to travel around and visit frat boys. Kooshy. Anyway, the funnest part of the night was when I was asked to perform a few songs around the campfire. Everyone seemed to be into it, and I began stomping on the fire to emphasize certain parts of a song. Natural pyrotechnics baby! It's definitely a trick I will utilize in the future.
I also went fishing again yesterday. One of the cheapest beers out here on the coast is the Yuengling. Apparently it's the oldest brewry in America. Quite a flavorful lager beer. A case of that dunked in ice and some fresh nightcrawlers--I caught some fish and a nice buzz.
And here's a little shout out to Byan Keen whom I haven't heard from in over a year. Whazzup Keen!
Peace out.
Monday, May 03, 2004
Hip-Hop
Recently my collection of hip-hop albums has gone from 3 to around 30. I've been telling myself over and over again for the last year that I am going to expand my hip-hop collection. Now it has been done. My collection includes such artists as: The Roots, Goodie Mob, Mos Def, Talib Qweli, Blackalicious, 2-pac, Common, among others.
Along with the hip-hop collection, my DVD collection continues to expand. I just ordered four new Bergman films, another Bunuel film, and the Orphic trilogy by Jean Cocteau.
AND I had enough money in my checking account to send about $900 to my credit card friends. Damn.
Recently my collection of hip-hop albums has gone from 3 to around 30. I've been telling myself over and over again for the last year that I am going to expand my hip-hop collection. Now it has been done. My collection includes such artists as: The Roots, Goodie Mob, Mos Def, Talib Qweli, Blackalicious, 2-pac, Common, among others.
Along with the hip-hop collection, my DVD collection continues to expand. I just ordered four new Bergman films, another Bunuel film, and the Orphic trilogy by Jean Cocteau.
AND I had enough money in my checking account to send about $900 to my credit card friends. Damn.
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