14,000 years of good times!

As I drove this morning to what would turn out to be a disaster of a rafting trip, I took notice of an especially happy and energetic little character in the back seat of the Chevy in front of me; what appeared to be a rather pure wolf. I've never been especially fond of Canine Lupi (Lupi's plural for Lupis isn't it?), they just seem to be a little wild for my tastes, which involves dogs sleeping in their own bed with their head on the pillow. This particular fellow caught my attention and that dog lust so many of us have. He dashed back and forth from one side of the car to the other, wildly watching the road. It was clear that his Saturday morning car ride was his weekly Christmas, and he was experiencing a type of ecstasy few other mammals have the pleasure of enjoying. What happened all those 14,000 years ago, when man and wolf first started courting? Sure we were an interesting creature, living in our caves and playing with the magic of fire to some degree of sophistication, but why did we so eagerly accept these hairy mouths with legs into our lives? I think it had less to do with our admiration for the species and more to do with their admiration for us, not to mention a tooth for flesh that had been cooked over fire. They saw us in those woods, they knew our potential, we weren't some family of hogs eating grass and rolling around in our own shit, we were painting cool pictures in caves and eating hot meat! Now they find themselves dancing around in the back of Chevy's at absurd velocities, eating tender morsels of meat from animals they've never seen, sleeping under goose feathers wrapped in tightly woven cotton weed, and watching cartoons all day while Mommy and Daddy are at work (paying for their kibble and car rides).

Huffing Gas

On my way home from work this evening, typically a sacred time of the day, my cutting edge circa 1995 dashboard told me it was time to pump some cash into the old fuel tank. The friendly little yellow icon was harmless enough, and I appreciated the convenience of the message. Pulling into the trusted local Exxon station, I scanned the slots, while subconsciously calculating the dynamics involved with what side my gas tank was on. Terrific! A spot was wide open and I edged towards it, not wanting to alarm any of the foot-goers in the parking lot. I sensed a slight challenge as I neared the open slot, when a gentleman in a late model pick-up was driving into one of the two slots from the other side. Using that telepathy all people are sudden incline to at the gas station, I told him "I'm just going to edge right in front of you, we'll simply both have to back up when we're finished.". He seemed to comprehend the message just fine and we began to align ourselves with the grace of a couple of well-fed Lipizzan Stalions. Suddenly, and without warning, a larger truck with out of state plates (unspecified), came cruising up behind the man and seemed to force him directly into my spot. Dumbfounded, I stopped the car and threw it in reverse, hoping to resolve the situation with a friendly wave as it was clear this individual behind the wheel of that savage truck didn't speak telepathically like must individuals. The wave resolved nothing, and the man in the smaller truck simply gave up in his attempt at courteousy. There I was, awkwardly positioned in front of these vehicles, and enveloped by hordes of beer-buying pedestrians swarming into the store. My plight soon caught the attention of the other half dozen or so fueling-folks within an eye-shot, and they simply turned their heads, assuming I'd only be angry and vehicularly aggressive in the tight parking lot. I felt a tingle of mad creep up my spine and into my brain, but quickly dismissed it, focusing rather on the situation at hand. After several clumsy maneuvers, I was backed into a slot and poking the gas pump into my gas tank. It struck me as I stood there funding the Royal Family of Saudi Arabia and their terrorist friends, that time is a very potent element in the overly-used emotion of anger. Take almost any situation that makes you angry, and there will surely be traces of wasted time. It didn't take me more than a couple of gallons of gas to realize that I was not only spending the time of my Wednesday evening filling this pig, but also time I had wasted at work the weeks before when I had made the $20.09 that went into my tank. The $12.98 an hour I'm issued by the company I work for, turns into about $9.something after the Federal and State governments engage in nonconsensual sex with my paycheck, therefore I was putting over 2 hours of my time a couple weeks back into my car!!! I was nearing the $15.00 mark (a rare milestone in my trips to the gas station) when I decided I wasn't going to spend this time, spending time, so quickly. I eased up on the old gas handle and enjoyed my 140 or so seconds of standing on Mr. Exxon's fine concrete. Desperately listening for a bird or the chirp of a cricket to bring more enjoyment to my visit to the station, I edged up over that $20 mark and called it a fill (which it's really not). I languidly flipped the pump off, and mossied on over to my car door. It was a nice visit to the gas station, the weather was good, the gas was obviously of high quality (at the prices they were asking). I think I might go back someday.

Lost in the Wilderness: Part 2

It was entirely apparent that I had to get my bearings back in order to get home before dark. The sky was draped in such a thick fog that I couldn't tell for the life of me what direction was what. Usually, my brain will keep a keen sense of bearing, but between the penetrating humidity, the twisted mile or two behind me, and a terrible belly ache, my sense of direction was gone. "Muff?!! Can you hear me when I yell?"..."Nope."..."The dogs are getting scared!"..."THANK YOU!"... I began to hustle through ferns and dead trees, scanning the darkening landscape for anything familiar. "Can you hear the horn now??!!!"...Faintly in the undetermined distance I could make out three quick toots of a horn! "YES!" Although it was reassuring to realize I was closer to home than I had been, I was no better oriented than I had been. Looking up into the sky I noticed just one long strip of discernible cloud in the otherwise blurry sky. "Do you see that long cloud?!"..."Yes."..."Does it run somewhat parallel to the property?"..."Sort of!". I knew exactly what direction I had to go in! I stepped up the pace and hoofed it a good 15 minutes through thick brush, then dark woods, then ferns, then dark woods again. Whatever enzymes make up the sensation of relief, finally coursed through me as I noticed that trusty old dead chicken next to the dark tree! I was nearly home!! I've never been so happy to see a dead chicken! (in the distance)...Muff!!!...(over the radio)..."I just saw a deer!"..."I can hear you!"..."Good! Now come do the dishes!". My adventure came to a close as I neared the house and laid that long-awaited first step back onto our property. Although Tia's deer sighting commanded much of the conversation to follow, my walk into the dangers of being lost will stay with me for some time.

Lost in the Wilderness: Part 1

It took little more than a glass of wine and a visit from the in-laws to prompt me to take a nice long walk into the woods tonight. Much past the dead chicken (mentioned in a previous post) I walked nearly a mile into the deep, dense and unfamiliar wilderness. Equipped with my trusted machete, a flashlight, and one of two Motorola radios, I felt over-prepared. This feeling was reinforced when Tia decided to use my emergency precaution to remind me I had dishes waiting for me in the sink. The sun had at least another healthy hour in the sky, and I been walking for about 30 minutes. It was at this depth, that I came upon what I assume are an intricate network of snowmobile trails, twisting through the woods around rockwalls, straddling the no trespassing signs all the while. I figured my bearings were trusty enough and followed one of the constantly-branching trails for several minutes. Like a cave diver rationing his oxygen, I decided it was best to turn around and get home before the sky blinked its eye for the night. After just a few moments trying to follow the trail back, I realized I had no chance of retracing my steps. Pulling out the trusted machete, I choose the direction I thought best and began the long journey home. Spider webs, ominously-loud and dangerously-near hoof noises, a setting sun, and wet sneakers submerged in a mossy bog, I realized I might have stumbled into a situation. I continued for a few minutes until the woods grew so thick, I couldn't see 30 feet ahead. I radioed Tia: "I think I might be lost..." "WHAT?" "I think I might have fucked up my sense of direction." "What do you want me to do?" "Can you go out to my car and honk the horn a couple times?" "Okay" ...silence... "Did you hear that?" "No..." "Are you serious??!!" ...walking a couple hundred yards into the clear... "Do it again." "The neighbors are looking at me!" "Do it!" ...silence... "Did you hear that??!!!" "Nothing.".

It was about this time that I started to get a slight tingle of anxiety. Stay calm, remember those old videos commissioned by the British Columbia Department of the Interior I used to watch in elementary school. Don't eat any berries! Don't pat any baby bears! Just stay where you are and wait for your parents to find you!... My parents live in Florida!!! Worthless videos! What a waste of time!!.... (to be continued)

A Shameful Purchase

Well, I have a terrible, terrible confession to make. The same day I started this Blog, all those 6 days ago, I decided to buy a t-shirt from the Google Store. Although my initial intent, as I perused the selection of fine items, was to purchase a shirt that simply said Google (a tool I've used since late 99), when a much finer shirt caught my eye; a Blogger shirt! It must have been fate that I'd happen upon such an item the very day I signed up for my own Blog, and the $9 price tag was hard to ignore. I made the purchase... it arrived today... I'm wearing it right now... I'm wearing it tomorrow...

Yes, it was a shameless act that will forever cloud my mind when I wear this fine garment, but I'm justifying it as a necessary buy to maintain my enthusiasm in posting my thoughts and pictures on some back alley of the web which no one will really see unless I tell them of it. It's a kick-ass shirt and oddly enough it fits me (a hens tooth as far as my shopping is concerned), but I can't help but feel like some schmuck who bought a "I Rafted the Grand Canyon" shirt before they'd inflated their raft. Please forgive me for my despicable act as you take a look at this gorgeous shirt:

Land of the FREE

This afternoon found me speaking on the phone with a gentleman regarding his need of some marketing data specific to insurance institutions throughout the US. He sounded as though he was just another typical American entrepreneur, looking to make some money in an active vertical market until he disclosed the fact he was overseas in India. I asked him if he was in Hyderabad specifically; the epicenter of the overseas technical outsourcing crisis. He confirmed that indeed he was in Hyderabad (Cyber-a-bad as it's been dubbed by geeks on this side of the world who find themselves in an increasingly limited job market), and assumed in the form of a question that the company I work for outsourced programming in the region. At the very moment of this point in the conversation I happened to be listening to Jimi Hendrix's eternally infamous rendition of The Star Spangled Banner, and couldn't help but give the patriotic answer of "No! The owner of the company is determined to keep all such development in-house.". Our conversation had obviously struck a sour note, and I wasn't about to budge from my sudden distaste at why he was inquiring about such data in the first place. The conversation ended soon thereafter, and I began to formulate some significance to the conversation and the now finished modern anthem that had seeped through my speakers just moments before. In an instant I suddenly realized that I was just one more guilty American for wanting something for nothing or next to nothing, in this case the P2P music streaming across the network through iTunes. What a crook I was, listening to the masterpieces of a modern legend without paying a dime to the pocketbook of Al Hendrix (Jimi's father; now deceased I believe), just as this apparently crooked man on the other end of the phone had been preying on the alien economy of India (where a master programmer makes less than what a burger-flipping 16 year old makes in this country) to cater to corporate America's tight wallets, who in turn are able to cater to the tight wallets of us consumers. I could draw no moral conclusion on the matter, and it left a lasting bad taste in my mouth.



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Scared Dog and a Dead Chicken

Well, at approximately 4:17AM this morning Georgie crawled into Mommy and Daddy's bed after his first attempt at sleeping in his own bedroom. It was a valiant effort, but he missed an official 'night's sleep' by about 2 hours! Maybe tonight he'll get it right. Olive on the other hand slept through the night by herself in the spare bedroom and made a special point of flaunting the fact to Georgie this morning by jumping back on the futon a couple of times. Between her home country's (Puerto Rico) stunning defeat of the US Olympic Basketball team, and her brave night in the back room, she had every right to assume the role as Alpha Dog today. On a walk through the back woods tonight, in search of an old grown-over country road forgotten by the modern grids of the town, she took point when Tia noticed a strange mass of something at the base of a large tree. I neared the object with some hesitation and soon discovered it to be an old hen, savagely attacked and partially eaten, presumably by the red fox we've seen in the neighborhood (see below). Georgie had had just about enough by this point and was certain this was the work of none other than that band of wild gorillas that frequent his nightmares. Surely if they'd eat an old hen, they wouldn't hesitate to attack a chicken like him! He started pulling us home like a sled dog on speed!



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All Grown Up

After discussing the matter on several occasions over the past couple of weeks, Tia and I have decided to give Georgie and Olive their own bedroom. The topic arose recently when Georgie's strange sleeping habits (snoring, kicking, frequent trips to the water dish, etc.) became more than we could handle. While Olive has slept on her chair since we got her back in February, Georgie has slept in our bed for close to two years now. We recently got a futon from Tia's Mom, and Georgie started hinting that maybe it was time he be on his own. We just tucked them in and everything seems to be going fine so far, but I'm a little skeptical of Georgie's sudden bravery. We'll see...

The Texas Chainsaw massacre

After much inner debate, I decided to splash some fuel into the chainsaw my Dad gave me some months back. It had been sitting in the shed as a constant reminder of my pansiness since my shameful attempt at using the thing some back in June. I started the thing on the first pull, and sliced through a couple of horizontal trees like warm butter!!! I will wear these sawdust-covered pants for some hours as a reminder of my bravery.

Primadonnas!

As I sat eating my subway sandwich lunch this afternoon at Handy Andy's, I couldn't help but get annoyed by a group of three little fellas at the table in front of me. They couldn't have been a day over 8 0r 9, and seemed to be enjoying their first summer outside the safe yet controlled world of toddler-hood. Like a bunch of junkies sniffing paint, they kept eating ridiculous amounts of candy, becoming louder and more obnoxious. I refocused on my half-eaten tuna sandwich in front of me and attempted to go back into my lunch time trance. Lightyears away from my cubical, calm, cool, and collected... It was at this time, I realized one of these 8 or 9 year olds was talking to mommy on a cellphone! (not a candy cellphone) Just as casual as can be, he asked for a ride (in the soccer-mom shuttle no doubt) and dropped the device back in his pocket. (Note: I do not own a cell phone) If it were me with that hot little phone, I'd make sure every breathing mammal within a generous proximity knew that I was packing a hot little phone, raising my voice and over exaggerating my already loud laugh to highlight the fact I was conversing with someone through my hot little phone, and when I was done speaking on that hot little phone, I'd let it sit out in the open so everybody could have a glimpse at that hot little phone. This kid couldn't give a shit about the 7 ounce piece of plastic that granted him the magic of speaking with mommy where ever he may be. I though for a moment about how inappreciative he was, until I flashed back to my own such times of that age, spending the after school hours pissed off with the Atari or Nintendo for dishing me out yet another upsetting defeat in Space invaders or Super Mario Brothers, not giving a moment of thought to the fact that this now basic little box happened to be the forefront of consumer technology. We accept the world as though it is when we are presented to it. Those kids can't remember a time when cellphones weren't on the hips and in the bags of a significant fraction of America.

"Here I am, rock you like a hurricane!"

Tia and I arrived home last night after grocery shopping to find a quasi-urgent message from my Dad, something to the effects of: "We're evacuating the house and heading for town, we'll be at 941-.....". Apparently, Hurricane Charley has decided to make the Tampa/Bradenton area his entry wound into the US, just about smack dab through my folks' living room! We awoke here in Maine, to the disorderly remains of his less ferocious sister Bonnie, who decided to fall to Earth at a smothering pace. I sensed a dull-roar coming from the back woods, and was soon to realize that the brook was gushing like it's never gushed before! It must be 8 feet wide and swift enough to carry away a small herd of gazelle (there are no confirmed reports of wild gazelle in Maine). I snapped the following picture as record of the Great Flood of 04':

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Blogging it baby!

Yeah!! I have a blog!!