My friends have been known to have good names for their houses. Like Entrance Ave. (pronounced intrints av). That's a great name for a place. A place that only lives in legend to me, for I never actually experienced the greatness that was Entrance Ave. It is like lore among my people. Tragedy. Drama. Laughter. Tears. Violence. A pissing couch. It had it all.
Then there was Atticus Hall. Aptly named that, for the cat called Atticus truly ruled the roost. Guests walked in fear of a strike from his claws without provocation. Atticus was a dickhead really. But Bryan loved him. At least I think he did. If so, he was the only one. Atticus Hall was also known for holding the First Annual Fukomori Foundation. I got second place. I still have the framed 2nd place award that was never signed by Mr. Fukomori. I guess Atticus wasn't the only dickhead, eh? I hope you read this Fukomori!
And who could but forget River Drive? I suppose some people would like to, like the downstairs neighbors, but heh, you can't please everyone right? Trigger. That's all I've got to say.
"Trigger's Doghouse is the place to be, Trigger's Doghouse come on follow me to Triggers, Trigger's. Trigger's, Trigger's, Trigger's, Trigger's. Trigger's Doghouse it's so much fun. Trigger's doghouse come on everyone to Trigger's, Trigger's, Trigger's. Trigger's, Trigger's, Trigger's." That was the theme that made me famous. It's been all downhill since then.
Old Farm Midcourt didn't exactly roll off the tongue, but it was definitely the best set up. Our neighbors were tolerant. Random Friday Nights were a thing of brilliance. We should all just move to some college town and do something like that again.
Well, I feel like for the first time, I live in a place that has a great name. Burwell Avenue. It feels good in the palate and sounds kinda tough. I figure a place with a good name's gotta be a place for a good party. So with Adam R.'s help, I feel there should be an event here. Perhaps Thanksgiving time, perhaps not. It could be called something like, Jason and Emily's Thanksgiving (Halloween, 4th of July, June 19th, etc.) Extravaganza. There could be a clown and a sack race and bunches of other cool stuff. Aren't you excited?
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Friday, February 17, 2006
Friday Mencken
I have decided to publish a weekly column called the Friday Mencken. For now I will start off doing a quote from Mencken, but it should morph into something more.
"A man's women folk, whatever their outward show of respect for his merit and authority, always regard him secretly as an ass, and with something akin to pity."
--from In Defense of Women
"A man's women folk, whatever their outward show of respect for his merit and authority, always regard him secretly as an ass, and with something akin to pity."
--from In Defense of Women
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Broome County Public Library, 01/28/06
Gladys sat at the edge of the coffee table and leaned over Estelle.
"I was making six or seven a day," Estelle whispered, "knitting scarves and caps for different stores around town. But my arthritis has become so bad I had to stop."
"I know so many people with arthritis." The women were dressed in the old style, wearing dark sweaters over drab dresses, their hair pinned back tightly. Estelle wore a wool overcoat and a red scarf with a subdued pattern. Everything about them suggested that they had never owned pants, and driving cars was a remarkable deal.
They spoke in hushed tones because we, all three of us, were in a library. I was seated close by them, and I eavesdropped as their conversation turned from knitting to arthritis to craft shops in town (the lady in Johnson City is nicer) to Estelle’s divorce. She stayed in Colorado for a while after she and her husband broke things off.
“I’m so unhappy with the religious right right now, I’ve pretty much turned away from the Church,” Estelle said.
“Oh, that’s sad.”
“I still believe in God.”
“Oh, of course.”
“It’s just that there are so many of them. There’s one God who wants war, one God who wants peace, one God who says the poor have to take care of themselves, one God who—”
“You’re going on and on.”
“Oh yes,” Estelle said. A girl rapped on the window behind us and ran away giggling. “What happened? I guess someone knocked on the window.”
“I was so mad at God when my son died,” Gladys intoned, hunching even further over Estelle.
“When your son died.”
“I was so, so angry at God. I can’t tell you.”
“Oh.”
“But the Bible says if you believe and are saved. . . . You just get so disillusioned.” Their conversation continued at a sincere and meaningful level for several more minutes until Gladys, who had run out of things to say about the choir, reverted to a platitude about still having a mission, which was why she was still here. And, somehow, the conversation returned to knitting.
“Knitting is a marvelous form of psychotherapy.”
The library was unusually active. A man with downs syndrome stood at a table several feet away, staring at a stack of books as if he’d forgotten what they were meant to do. He seemed really magnificent, almost cherubic, in his white sweatpants and tank top. Finally, he picked up the books and hugged them to his belly. He ambled away like that.
Next to me a young woman wearing a Riverdance tee shirt sat down to scan through some books about horses. She had just finished a book about training dogs. After a while she stepped away, then returned smiling broadly. She had another horse book.
And a sharp-looking man dressed like a hip-hop kingpin took a seat and read Newsweek. Estelle and Gladys continued talking.
“What have you got?” Estelle asked. Gladys showed her the videotapes she was borrowing from the library.
“I see, funny stuff. That Milton Berle. You know, I always tell a joke I think I got from Milton Berle. It’s pretty short. I always tell jokes quickly. This man has a job delivering a penguin to the zoo, but on the way his truck breaks down. ‘Oh no’, he thinks, but then he sees his friend coming and his friend drives a truck, too. So he waves him down and his friend says no problem, he’ll take the penguin. The man is very grateful and says, ‘Just remember, the zoo closes at 5’. Well, later on the man is driving home happily when he sees his friend walking down the street with the penguin following just a few feet behind him. The man quickly pulls over. He’s very excited. ‘What happened’, the guy says, ‘I told you he had to get to the zoo by 5’! ‘Don’t worry about it, the friend says. We went, he had a great time, and now we’re going to the movies’! Ha, ha,” Estelle laughed, “I just think that’s cute.”
A young boy wanted to look at Wired but his mother told him that it was a grown-up magazine. “Who cares,” he said. “I care,” she responded. “This is going to take forever,” the boy said. There was an article in Wired that featured Burning Man Festival, and a photo spread showed a fulsome girl with her breasts painted blue.
Behind where Gladys perched a heavy-set, poor-looking man sat down with a paperback novel written by Anne Rice. The women kept up their chat, despite his proximity. Estelle’s brother was a musician with the local symphony and the Cooperstown opera, and that meant she had to spend a lot of time taking care of her mother, but her own health wasn’t great, and her mother clearly favored her brother, who was also divorced (from a violinist who’s mother was a psychiatrist which made Estelle think they were a neat family) and, even though her brother really is busy, with the garden too, she was not excited about having to look after her mother.
The chairs at the library can rightly be considered an event. The chairs make sense of things, become a fulcrum of the community. After a while, Estelle excused herself and Gladys returned to her seat. The boy whined, “Mom, can we go home? I’m tired.” A woman across from where Estelle had been sitting screwed up her lips as she read a harlequin romance. Urban fashion suddenly made sense; bright yellow fabric with camouflage patterns render a person see-through in such a colorful society.
Gladys was sitting alone and had fallen asleep. There were plenty of people browsing the library’s video collection, but I was the only person in the chairs when her son came to pick her up.
“Hey, Sweetie,” he said, touching her arm lightly. Gladys awoke.
“I met the most lovely lady,” she told the man. “We talked for quite a little while. She’s having a bit of a row with her mother, who isn’t treating her well.”
“Really?” said the man. “That’s too bad.”
Gladys looked over to where Estelle had been. “She isn’t here now.”
“Have you seen Becky? I dropped her off at the Salvation Army. She was going to walk here and meet us.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I’ll see if I can find her, and then we’ll come to pick you up.” He walked away, stopped between a rack of books and adjusted his shoe, went on. Two girls were playing hide-and-seek. A woman moved her lips as she read.
"I was making six or seven a day," Estelle whispered, "knitting scarves and caps for different stores around town. But my arthritis has become so bad I had to stop."
"I know so many people with arthritis." The women were dressed in the old style, wearing dark sweaters over drab dresses, their hair pinned back tightly. Estelle wore a wool overcoat and a red scarf with a subdued pattern. Everything about them suggested that they had never owned pants, and driving cars was a remarkable deal.
They spoke in hushed tones because we, all three of us, were in a library. I was seated close by them, and I eavesdropped as their conversation turned from knitting to arthritis to craft shops in town (the lady in Johnson City is nicer) to Estelle’s divorce. She stayed in Colorado for a while after she and her husband broke things off.
“I’m so unhappy with the religious right right now, I’ve pretty much turned away from the Church,” Estelle said.
“Oh, that’s sad.”
“I still believe in God.”
“Oh, of course.”
“It’s just that there are so many of them. There’s one God who wants war, one God who wants peace, one God who says the poor have to take care of themselves, one God who—”
“You’re going on and on.”
“Oh yes,” Estelle said. A girl rapped on the window behind us and ran away giggling. “What happened? I guess someone knocked on the window.”
“I was so mad at God when my son died,” Gladys intoned, hunching even further over Estelle.
“When your son died.”
“I was so, so angry at God. I can’t tell you.”
“Oh.”
“But the Bible says if you believe and are saved. . . . You just get so disillusioned.” Their conversation continued at a sincere and meaningful level for several more minutes until Gladys, who had run out of things to say about the choir, reverted to a platitude about still having a mission, which was why she was still here. And, somehow, the conversation returned to knitting.
“Knitting is a marvelous form of psychotherapy.”
The library was unusually active. A man with downs syndrome stood at a table several feet away, staring at a stack of books as if he’d forgotten what they were meant to do. He seemed really magnificent, almost cherubic, in his white sweatpants and tank top. Finally, he picked up the books and hugged them to his belly. He ambled away like that.
Next to me a young woman wearing a Riverdance tee shirt sat down to scan through some books about horses. She had just finished a book about training dogs. After a while she stepped away, then returned smiling broadly. She had another horse book.
And a sharp-looking man dressed like a hip-hop kingpin took a seat and read Newsweek. Estelle and Gladys continued talking.
“What have you got?” Estelle asked. Gladys showed her the videotapes she was borrowing from the library.
“I see, funny stuff. That Milton Berle. You know, I always tell a joke I think I got from Milton Berle. It’s pretty short. I always tell jokes quickly. This man has a job delivering a penguin to the zoo, but on the way his truck breaks down. ‘Oh no’, he thinks, but then he sees his friend coming and his friend drives a truck, too. So he waves him down and his friend says no problem, he’ll take the penguin. The man is very grateful and says, ‘Just remember, the zoo closes at 5’. Well, later on the man is driving home happily when he sees his friend walking down the street with the penguin following just a few feet behind him. The man quickly pulls over. He’s very excited. ‘What happened’, the guy says, ‘I told you he had to get to the zoo by 5’! ‘Don’t worry about it, the friend says. We went, he had a great time, and now we’re going to the movies’! Ha, ha,” Estelle laughed, “I just think that’s cute.”
A young boy wanted to look at Wired but his mother told him that it was a grown-up magazine. “Who cares,” he said. “I care,” she responded. “This is going to take forever,” the boy said. There was an article in Wired that featured Burning Man Festival, and a photo spread showed a fulsome girl with her breasts painted blue.
Behind where Gladys perched a heavy-set, poor-looking man sat down with a paperback novel written by Anne Rice. The women kept up their chat, despite his proximity. Estelle’s brother was a musician with the local symphony and the Cooperstown opera, and that meant she had to spend a lot of time taking care of her mother, but her own health wasn’t great, and her mother clearly favored her brother, who was also divorced (from a violinist who’s mother was a psychiatrist which made Estelle think they were a neat family) and, even though her brother really is busy, with the garden too, she was not excited about having to look after her mother.
The chairs at the library can rightly be considered an event. The chairs make sense of things, become a fulcrum of the community. After a while, Estelle excused herself and Gladys returned to her seat. The boy whined, “Mom, can we go home? I’m tired.” A woman across from where Estelle had been sitting screwed up her lips as she read a harlequin romance. Urban fashion suddenly made sense; bright yellow fabric with camouflage patterns render a person see-through in such a colorful society.
Gladys was sitting alone and had fallen asleep. There were plenty of people browsing the library’s video collection, but I was the only person in the chairs when her son came to pick her up.
“Hey, Sweetie,” he said, touching her arm lightly. Gladys awoke.
“I met the most lovely lady,” she told the man. “We talked for quite a little while. She’s having a bit of a row with her mother, who isn’t treating her well.”
“Really?” said the man. “That’s too bad.”
Gladys looked over to where Estelle had been. “She isn’t here now.”
“Have you seen Becky? I dropped her off at the Salvation Army. She was going to walk here and meet us.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I’ll see if I can find her, and then we’ll come to pick you up.” He walked away, stopped between a rack of books and adjusted his shoe, went on. Two girls were playing hide-and-seek. A woman moved her lips as she read.
Friday, January 27, 2006
More self promotion
I hope you'll take a minute to read the new poem I wrote, called "The Future Killer." It's my best yet, and I spent several hours writing it. Thank's chiefjason for allowing me to advertise here pro bono.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Rossiya
For those that have ever been to Russia or are interested in Russia, they are tearing down the Rossiya hotel that bordered Red Square. In this article they refer to it as an eyesore, but I remember kind of liking it. Oh well.
Also in the news were two bomb blasts in Iran. Read about it here.
Also in the news were two bomb blasts in Iran. Read about it here.
HL Mencken
So, you know that Adam and Stephanie--Cardinal--are performing an operetta about HL Mencken on April 8th, and of course you're gonna be there and all. But do you know anything about HL Mencken? Well I sure as hell don't either, so I went and used my $20 gift certificate for Barnes and Noble that I got for Christmas from my wife's brother, Matt, and ordered two books authored by Mencken. The first, In Defense of Women, seems to be the better known of his works and was easy to find cheap, so I hooked up with that. The second, A Carnival of Buncombe, seemed like a good pick mainly because of it's title, so I "put that in my cart" so to speak.
Another thing you might not know is that I got the only bootleg copy of one of the songs that Cardinal will perform on April 8th. It's got me on guitar if I remember right. Yeah, that'll probably sell for a good chunkachange here pretty soon.
What am I reading right now you ask? Well, I'm about three quarters of the way through The Idiot but seemed to have been distracted from it. I came across some old notes from college--the notes from my semester in Russia and two notebooks from systematic theology. I even broke out a little Marion in there. The book I'm currently reading the most is The Wounded Land by Stephen R. Donaldson. It's a series I read in high school that I am enjoying again the second time around. Donaldson's actually a pretty good author if you feel like taking a break from all of your Socrates and Bacon and Lacan and what not.
Hm. Bacon and Lacan. Sounds like a sandwich.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Friday, January 13, 2006
Cardinal
Cardinal, I guess, is now officially the musical collaboration of Stephanie Barber and me. So far, Cardinal has written an operetta about HL Mencken. You can see it on April 8, in Baltimore. Click the image for details.
Publishing Genius
I am delighted to use The Tarantular to unveil my new web space. The Tarantular gets over 15 visits every day, which will surely bolster my internet presence. I hope everyone likes Publishing Genius. Poems daily, archives, and links to the best poetry journals. At Publishing Genius, we publish genius.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Pure Bush League
Jason Lee had an error last night at 3rd base, struck out once, and worked a walk. I bat him third because he's hitting .290, but he didn't come through last night in several clutch moments. I like his patience at the plate, though.
Here's the batting order for today's game:
Adam Robinson 2B 0.407
Dmitri Lutsker OF 0.182
Jason Lee 3B 0.290
Stephanie Barber C 0.348
Bill Brower OF 0.182
Benji Bergstrand SS 0.327
Craig Griffin OF 0.130
Bethany Hamann 2B 0.125
Alan Robinson P 0.091
The second half of the lineup looks pretty weak. That is wholly thanks to Jeff Snowbarger taking his big bat and going AWOL. Apparently, he likes to watch "Friends." I considered putting my old roomie Jonathan Burks in to pitch because he hits slightly better than my brother, but Alan has better control and today's ump is finicky. Also, we're playing in a hitter's park, today.
Here's the batting order for today's game:
Adam Robinson 2B 0.407
Dmitri Lutsker OF 0.182
Jason Lee 3B 0.290
Stephanie Barber C 0.348
Bill Brower OF 0.182
Benji Bergstrand SS 0.327
Craig Griffin OF 0.130
Bethany Hamann 2B 0.125
Alan Robinson P 0.091
The second half of the lineup looks pretty weak. That is wholly thanks to Jeff Snowbarger taking his big bat and going AWOL. Apparently, he likes to watch "Friends." I considered putting my old roomie Jonathan Burks in to pitch because he hits slightly better than my brother, but Alan has better control and today's ump is finicky. Also, we're playing in a hitter's park, today.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Abby Lee
Abby's got a new post on her blog. You should check it out.
Update: I apparently remain unscathed, despite the tenor of the post.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
NYC Police Officers go undercover at protests
I'm not sure what to make of this. My initial reaction is to 1984-out -- so Orwell was off by a couple decades -- but is there some justification for it?
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Dear SÇ¿ren --
Do you think, after officially hurting a person's feelings -- and by "officially" I mean destroying a major portion of their life's hopes and dreams, not just, like, kissing a different girl -- it's best to completely break off contact with the wounded person, and do so spitefully, unexpectedly, and especially after there is a considerable investment? Would you recommend a person does this if he or she wants to someday patch things up completely? Won't a break like that make all the parties involved more interested in a make-up?
SO Really Remorsefully Yours
Baltimore, MD
Yes, SORRY, I think it worked for that Prodigal boy, and it could work for you. But are things that bad? You want to find that out first. But who am I to know? I broke it off with that foxy Regina Olsen for much less than hurt feelings.
SO Really Remorsefully Yours
Baltimore, MD
Yes, SORRY, I think it worked for that Prodigal boy, and it could work for you. But are things that bad? You want to find that out first. But who am I to know? I broke it off with that foxy Regina Olsen for much less than hurt feelings.
Merry Christmas
Word to the wise--Don't move over the holidays, it's depressing. Also, don't jump off a building, that's depressing too.
Three cheers for the transit workers in New York City. Seems like you're gonna get screwed whatever you do. But hey, that's the American Way. Merry Christmas.
Three cheers for the transit workers in New York City. Seems like you're gonna get screwed whatever you do. But hey, that's the American Way. Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Monday, December 12, 2005
What's up Doc?
It has been two years since I visited the doctor's office. Two years. And I even have insurance. The only reason I went today was to renew my physical for work. They didn't do a whole lot. You know the usual weight, blood pressure, take deep breaths until you pass out routine. I was a little fearful I would have to turn my head and cough, and a little more fearful that I would get a finger shoved up my pooper, but no none of that. I did get a little prick in my arm to check for TB (tuberculosis), and the nurse penetrated my skin with a flu vaccine. The little flyer about the vaccine said that one of the possible allergic reactions was anaphylactic shock. So as I was leaving the doctor's office and walking to my car I was imagining that I was short of breath and that I could feel my passages closing.
All in all, I guess I'm pretty healthy. Apart from the 20 pounds I've gained in the last year, the unhealthy food that I eat, and the general lack of exercise in my life, yup, pretty healthy.
All in all, I guess I'm pretty healthy. Apart from the 20 pounds I've gained in the last year, the unhealthy food that I eat, and the general lack of exercise in my life, yup, pretty healthy.
Monday, December 05, 2005
The Pickle
Did Adam Robinson delete his blog? I could see him doing this in a state of drunk-on-Nati-Bo frenzy.
Really, though, it's just not there.
Really, though, it's just not there.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Not-Posting
Well well well, it's been a while since I've posted something of substance hasn't it? I know that your expectations are at an all time low now, so I feel confident that this post will be read by all of my readers who are so loyal as to check The Tarantular every afternoon at 3:25 p.m.
The joy of not-posting has been a staple for every blogger I know except for Adam Kotsko. (Oh, he'll "take a break" for a few days, a weekend here and there, and maybe a week if he has a paper due or something; but even then he'll comment on other people's posts. That guy is dedicated let me tell you.) Not-posting was made popular by Adam Robinson over at The Pickle. His days of not-posting were inspired by his inspired idea to have everyone control his life and tell him what to do. He created this website, The Life of Adam, where readers would give him ideas of what he should do with his time. He learned how to crochet, wrote a song, read Paul in the bar, did drunken yoga and lots of other silly stuff. Then all of a sudden The Life of Adam was no longer living. I guess he just couldn't stand to have his life dictated to him by a bunch of idiots like us. So the website became defunct (although I think it still appears as a heading if you google Adam Robinson) and he basically stopped posting on The Pickle. We were all glad when Go Brewers went by the wayside and we witnessed the ascendency of The Pickle once again (although I must admit it's been kinda weird ever since--I guess Baltimore does that to you).
Cap'n Pete has enjoyed long periods of not-posting mainly precipitated by important life events--his wife's pregnancy, the birth of his son, Harper, and now his attending to grad school in Georgia.
My not-posting all started when I first began my blog. As a "chief" in the Eckerd Youth Alternatives organization, I would go on 2-4 week backpack or canoe trips that would have me away from the computer (obviously) for long periods of time. So yes, I was not-posting before it was cool to not-post. I have carried on this long not-posting tradition through job changes, marriage, pregnancy, birth, and all of the periods of laziness in between.
I remember this one time when I first moved to my current house (somewhere around March of this year) when I was posting almost every day, visiting other blogs and "getting my name out" and trying to have a go at creating a "serious blog." It just didn't stick. I wasn't cut out to be a serious blogger. I don't have the dedication nor the stamina.
My most recent bout of not-posting was brought on by a two week vacation, hosting my family for Thanksgiving and of course my usual laziness and lack of interest. During my vacation (with my wife and our 6-week old daughter mind you) we drove from North Carolina to Michigan overnight and stopped in at my ole pal Chief Ryan's place. We drank Busch Light and played rummy and had an all around great time. After that we headed north, over the Mackinac bridge in high winds (apparently they lose a few cars over the bridge each year) and up through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We hiked a bit near the Pictured Rocks National Shoreline and then headed over to Mercer, Wisconsing to visit my good buddy, Holmes, and my friends Craig, Mark and Zac. We hiked around a bit, enjoyed some good Wisconsin brewed beer (New Glarus is a damn good brewery!), lit a campfire and had an all around good time.
Next we headed down to Madison to stay with Jeff and Laura. I love Jeff and Laura. They compliment each other so well. They are both a bit crazy in their own way which makes them much more enjoyable to be around. Laura enjoyed holding Abby and practicing her baby talk while Jeff rolled his eyes told her she sounded stupid. On Thursday, Laura and Emily and I found some good bargains at the St. Vincent DePaul's and then met Jeff for lunch at a mediterranean restaurant. They had good tea.
On Friday we drove down to Chicago to visit Benji and Sarah and to take in Russ's bachelor party. On the way we to Chicago, we stopped in New Glarus, Wisconson and toured the New Glarus Brewery. It was just o.k. and I was a little perturbed that a six-pack at the brewery cost more than what I had payed in the grocery store the previous night. I really don't get that. 6 bucks for a six pack seems pretty reasonable and one ought to be rewarded for going to where they brew their beer. In fact one ought to get free beer, but alas they did not offer it as such.
Anyway, I digress. We helped celebrate Russ and Jia at his bachelor party by singing him songs and playing Russajeopardy where you would yell "Fruss!" to answer with a question. Fruss! is derived from "For Russ." Get it?
I would go on and tell you about Russ's wedding and about how we played football beforehand, but I am experiencing blog fatigue and am about to be called for spinach lasagna. So Word to yo motha and all that.
Peace.
The joy of not-posting has been a staple for every blogger I know except for Adam Kotsko. (Oh, he'll "take a break" for a few days, a weekend here and there, and maybe a week if he has a paper due or something; but even then he'll comment on other people's posts. That guy is dedicated let me tell you.) Not-posting was made popular by Adam Robinson over at The Pickle. His days of not-posting were inspired by his inspired idea to have everyone control his life and tell him what to do. He created this website, The Life of Adam, where readers would give him ideas of what he should do with his time. He learned how to crochet, wrote a song, read Paul in the bar, did drunken yoga and lots of other silly stuff. Then all of a sudden The Life of Adam was no longer living. I guess he just couldn't stand to have his life dictated to him by a bunch of idiots like us. So the website became defunct (although I think it still appears as a heading if you google Adam Robinson) and he basically stopped posting on The Pickle. We were all glad when Go Brewers went by the wayside and we witnessed the ascendency of The Pickle once again (although I must admit it's been kinda weird ever since--I guess Baltimore does that to you).
Cap'n Pete has enjoyed long periods of not-posting mainly precipitated by important life events--his wife's pregnancy, the birth of his son, Harper, and now his attending to grad school in Georgia.
My not-posting all started when I first began my blog. As a "chief" in the Eckerd Youth Alternatives organization, I would go on 2-4 week backpack or canoe trips that would have me away from the computer (obviously) for long periods of time. So yes, I was not-posting before it was cool to not-post. I have carried on this long not-posting tradition through job changes, marriage, pregnancy, birth, and all of the periods of laziness in between.
I remember this one time when I first moved to my current house (somewhere around March of this year) when I was posting almost every day, visiting other blogs and "getting my name out" and trying to have a go at creating a "serious blog." It just didn't stick. I wasn't cut out to be a serious blogger. I don't have the dedication nor the stamina.
My most recent bout of not-posting was brought on by a two week vacation, hosting my family for Thanksgiving and of course my usual laziness and lack of interest. During my vacation (with my wife and our 6-week old daughter mind you) we drove from North Carolina to Michigan overnight and stopped in at my ole pal Chief Ryan's place. We drank Busch Light and played rummy and had an all around great time. After that we headed north, over the Mackinac bridge in high winds (apparently they lose a few cars over the bridge each year) and up through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We hiked a bit near the Pictured Rocks National Shoreline and then headed over to Mercer, Wisconsing to visit my good buddy, Holmes, and my friends Craig, Mark and Zac. We hiked around a bit, enjoyed some good Wisconsin brewed beer (New Glarus is a damn good brewery!), lit a campfire and had an all around good time.
Next we headed down to Madison to stay with Jeff and Laura. I love Jeff and Laura. They compliment each other so well. They are both a bit crazy in their own way which makes them much more enjoyable to be around. Laura enjoyed holding Abby and practicing her baby talk while Jeff rolled his eyes told her she sounded stupid. On Thursday, Laura and Emily and I found some good bargains at the St. Vincent DePaul's and then met Jeff for lunch at a mediterranean restaurant. They had good tea.
On Friday we drove down to Chicago to visit Benji and Sarah and to take in Russ's bachelor party. On the way we to Chicago, we stopped in New Glarus, Wisconson and toured the New Glarus Brewery. It was just o.k. and I was a little perturbed that a six-pack at the brewery cost more than what I had payed in the grocery store the previous night. I really don't get that. 6 bucks for a six pack seems pretty reasonable and one ought to be rewarded for going to where they brew their beer. In fact one ought to get free beer, but alas they did not offer it as such.
Anyway, I digress. We helped celebrate Russ and Jia at his bachelor party by singing him songs and playing Russajeopardy where you would yell "Fruss!" to answer with a question. Fruss! is derived from "For Russ." Get it?
I would go on and tell you about Russ's wedding and about how we played football beforehand, but I am experiencing blog fatigue and am about to be called for spinach lasagna. So Word to yo motha and all that.
Peace.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
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