Blog-azic

I went to the Ridges today and had an adventure. [Here I will digress from my story in order that I may provide more information about what exactly is "the Ridges." The Ridges is a geographic area on the property of Ohio University. The most prominant feature of the Ridges - most would say - is the collection of buildings that were for a very long time an "insane" asylum - please excuse my uncooth language. If, however, you were to ask my opinion on the matter, I would say that the most prominant feature of the Ridges are the gigantic trees.] I went to the Ridges today to pick crabapples. I have watched the crabapples since I last cooked with them. Some have been eaten by birds and some have not. I wonder why some have not. I picked these crabapples to cook up a Christmas gift. Then, I took a walk. I walked by the gnarly shagbark hickory that lives on the hillside near the auditorium. I walked up the hill and by a most interesting sculture of a horse. I walked down

This past weekend, I visited a friend. Adam and I worked on deer hide. We fleshed the hide; we scraped lingering fat and meat from the "inside" of the hide. As we fleshed, we discussed Jesus and listened to Bob Marley. We prepared the hide for the rack by cutting one-inch slits in the skin, about an inch from each other and the edge of the hide. I will soon build a rack and string it up. Then, I will scrape more flesh from the hide and vigorously rub brain into it. Last weekend I also thought: If I were the kind of man to be impressed by body smells, I would be impressed by my smells. Perhaps the following story will elaborate on this: I was, one day, on the toilet in a campus building doing my duty to GOD and this fair land. An unknown student walked in, smelled the raunchy air, and said, "Oh great. It's orangutan." Most finally, I have posted the song of which you will find the lyrics in the post below this one. This post, then, concludes our game. I wonder ho

Below are song lyrics I've penned recently. Mull over them for a while, think about how the song (with music) might sound. Soon I'll publish the song and you can hear how close you were. The Angels Are Singing This is a song I wrote during the late evening of December 1. In retrospect, I say it is a prophesy of the end of the world. The ocean is all in a tempest for the Lord called the angels to sing. They sang with the fury of a beehive in spring, alive at the birth of the first living thing. The ocean is risin' up slowly for the Lord called the heavens to rain. It poured with a fury for forty straight nights. It poured with a fury for forty straight days 'Till the hillsides and valleys were covered, but the mountains were still pretty green. The people climbed up to the top of the world and watched all their lives float away like a dream. They called on the Lord to help them, but their necks were too stiff to believe that the Lord had it well in his power and love to

Every year, about this time, hunters travel deep into the woods stalking that elusive beast, that delicacy of the forest: the deer. This year I learned how to process a deer. That's right, process a deer. From forest to freezer. Please allow me to inform you - step by step - of the wondrous circle of life - err, death - which befalls deer during this season: 1. The deer must be killed. This isn't a necessary step because the following steps will accomplish this if it's not already done, but it is rather difficult to finish step #2 if step #1 is not done. 2. The deer must be "field dressed." Field dressing is rather straightforward. With a sharp knife, cut a slit from genitals to ribcage and allow the internal organs to slide out. The organs may be left at the kill site as a testimony to your hunting prowess. *At this point most people take the deer to a butcher/processor. This is also the point at which my practical experience comes in. I visited Eric and Penny B

You may notice, to the right of this post, a column with podcast box. In this podcast are songs that I enjoy. Most are performed by my self, but I have recently added one featuring Johnny Hartman . Hartman is one of those low-key jazzers who only briefly "blipped " on the popular conscious of jazz. In the early 1960s, he and John Coltrane, a famous jazz saxophonist, recorded an album together. Taken from that album is "You Are Two Beautiful," a luscious, mellow tune, which features Coltrane only briefly in thebeginning. Beyond that, the piano (and Hartman's voice) are the prominent instruments. I never really understood what the word "cool" meant until I listened to Hartman singing on this album. It certainly is a must have. I hope you enjoy the tune. Following Hartman is a song I have recently recorded titled, "My Lord Is Greater." There are a total of three tracks on the recording. The first track, featuring guitar and vocal, was recorded

'Twas yesterday evening. I 'twas leaving the work house. As I approached my car, a sudden gust of wind shook the naked branches of a gnarled maple overlooking the vehicle. Its branches groaned in the late Autumn air - a sound that bodes ill for the weary traveler such as I was. I pulled my jacket tight around my body and unlocked the door. Seat belt. Keys. Ignition. My mind ran through the familiar sequence. But something is strange today. As I turn the key, as I attempt to crank some life into this metal beast, nothing happens. So it was. My car was adamant, decisive. "I will not start," it told me. "I was born in 1989; I'm too old. You'll have to call a tow truck today." J.D. of J.D.'s Towing Service soon arrived. He didn't seem to recognize me, but I knew him: As a fog envelopes the scene, the Narrator takes us back nearly one month. Chris: Hello. I need to call a towtruck. I've locked the door of my car unaware that my ke

For the Thanksgiving holiday, I traveled far: to Lorain in Northeastern Ohio. Were I to write that the travel was uneventful, those words would lie in opposition to the truth. For the truth of the matter is this: such a sight I beheld on my journey to Lorain that, had I not laid eyes upon it again on my return, I would have thought it to be no more than fancy of the mind. Yet, though I am assured of its authenticity, its memory is like a dream to me. The Goasis is more than a gas station; more than a rest stop; more than the steel and cement which compose its skin and innards. The Goasis is the pinacle of man's acheivement, riviling - ney, surpasing the great wonders of the world: a feat more daring than the Eiffel Tower; more breathtaking than the Taj Mahal; more ambitious than the Great Wall of China; more wondrous than the lost empires of Africa; a treasure to be awed and feared.

I do volunteer for AmeriCorps*VISTA . As part of my service, I recently traveled to Indianapolis, Indiana for my "Continued Development Training," two days of pretty obvious information and free meals consisting mainly of maynoase, cheese and meat. One evening, I did take a walk . From my hotel, I walked along a the city's canal to the Indiana State Museum. Then, I walked to the bar. Below is an excerpt from my journal. 11/13/06 7PM From Indianapolis, IN: I walked along the canal. The watter slunk along, bobbing slightly as it passed under highways, roads. The architecture of the Historical Center, the lights impressed me. Characterized by a clean, smooth transition between building, street, lamp, world, nature. Indianapollis [sic] makes a city look easy! I experienced the multimedia of the Medal of Honor Memorial : Green glass, names - which nearly made me cry - the voice of a storyteller over speakers, a photographer and her friend. I [turned around and] walked towards

My former housemate, Ben, lives in Israel for the next 8 months. I remember fondly our times together: spring time in our backyard, birds chirping, the sun so golden. I'm reading Thoreau. I don't remember what he's reading. I emailed him today. I have reproduced below the last line of that email. Deep down inside (not so deep, actually) I hope global warming causes a massive social collapse. Then, I may have just cause to walk into the woods to live or die. ... If one wants to leave society, to which wilderness must he go? ... Jesus spent forty days in the wilderness. Perhaps his wilderness was suited for such a thing. After all, he did live in the promised land - a land overflowing with milk and honey. I presume that Jesus knew the folklore of his land. I presume this knowledge prepared Jesus for the wilderness far more that I understand. In great contrast, MY FOLKLORE TELLS ME OF THE INTERNET, NOT THE SOIL. Then again, nothing is new, and no one is special. I suppo

Tori and I left work early on Wednesday. It was 3:30 p.m. when I arrived in Athens. I decided to take a walk uptown. First, I go to the Blue Eagle Music Shop to buy guitar strings. Frank, the owner of the store, greets me as I enter. The Blue Eagle has a luscious wood interior adorned with folk guitars and a wood burning stove in the center of the room - the kind of place you love to step into out of a snowy, winter day. I ho-humm over the type and gauge of strings to buy and eventually decide upon .10 gauge Martin 80/20s. As I leave the Blue Eagle, I am unsure what my next move should be. I had thought of eating a slice of pie at the Dinner, but decide against that in favor of going to Donkey, the coffee cafe. At Donkey I see Christine and Hannah, two friends of mine who are coincidentally sitting next to each other. Christine has in front of her a practice GRE book, which she is studying. She has already taken the GRE - about a month ago - and is now reviewing for the psychology GRE.

Every year around this time, the students and residents of Athens, OH celebrate Halloween. In this respect, I am no different than my peers. My difference begins with a traditional staple of Halloween: the costume. Generally, I cobble together a costume on the Saturday of Halloween weekend - the day when party intensity is at its peak. Three years ago I was Santa on vacation. Two years ago I wore the uppers of a tuxedo with a bottom of boxers. One year ago, I draped my self in a vampire's cape and inserted plastic teeth into my mouth. But, this year, I had no costume. I intended to be an old-west sheriff, but I can not find my sheriff’s badge. Slightly disappointed but still determined to enjoy the night, I decided to venture out in normal clothes. However, no sooner had I left my front porch than a passer-by questioned me: "Are you Saddam Hussein?" The irony of the situation is wonderful. My "normal" clothes consisted of green canvas pants, a green military sw

I woke up late today. I dreamt of a squirrel who showed me how to open a walnut with my bare hands. It was very similar to opening a jelly jar. This squirrel had a stash of nuts - walnuts, acorns, and chestnuts - most of which were ruined with rot. Despite this, I was jealous. I identified two chestnut trees this season. One lives along my bike path to work. It has been many weeks since I took that path; I was not able to harvest these nuts. The other tree lives on the grounds of the old mental institution called 'the Ridges.' This tree yielded to me only 5 edible chestnuts. (I found many nuts that were not fully developed. An informed party told to me a reason why this is: the flowers were not pollinated. Pollination is mainly the job of bees. Why have the bees neglected this chestnut? ) I brought my chestnuts to my home. I ate one immediately. It was sweet and delicious. The remaining nuts I intended to save for many months. Alas! All are lost to me! Every chestnut was eaten

I have been craving fat lately. I believe this to be the fault of the changing seasons. As summer melts into winter, as the days become short and cold, my body wants a blubbery buffer from the stiff breezes. My cravings are acute, especially at night. I suppose about a time-tested formula to convert calories into fat: food followed by sleep. A favorite snack of mine: toast with butter, topped with cinnamon and spread with honey. ... ... ... In other food news, I have made crabapple spread. I spent a few hours of my Sunday afternoon hanging in crabapple trees, picking the delightfully tart, yellow-green fruits. [I did feel slightly uneasy doing this, only because the crabapple trees are part of the Ohio University campus (imagine the OUPD recieves a phone call from a concerned parent about a bearded man dangling in trees, terrifying children). ] I washed the crabapples and boiled them in cinnamon-sugury water. The crabapples soften as boiling progresses, making it easy work to mas

I received today an email. The email requested that I donate money to a certain organization. You will find an excerpt below. It's day 5 of our 2006 StrawBale.com fund raiser to raise money for an organization called "Save The Rain", who are traveling this November to a remote village called Namballa in Tanzania to build rain catchment systems to bring clean water to hundreds of needy children, who have to walk 3 hours every day just to drink from a disease-ridden muddy stream. As I read the email, I am taken back to fourth grade. At that age, my classmates and I had not yet learned the art of ending a sentence. Mrs. Valadez would tongue-lash us (it was a Catholic school) because, in our zeal for the written word, we would cram all posible information between every capital letter and period. I remember one fine morning. Mrs. Valadez sat on a stool at the head of class and reviewed with us an essay assignment that we had completed the day before. Poor Beth Foble. She had b

When last I wrote about walnuts, I did not tell you much about how my harvests have gone. I will now "set the record straight" in regards to personal walnut experiences: Many weeks ago, I harvested a large set of nuts. I removed the husks, dried them in the garage, and hung them in a mesh sack in my closet to cure. This past weekend I opened the sack to discover a mold growing on the nuts. In the moist dark of my closet, walnuts (that likely were not completely dry) were ruined. I threw all the nuts under a walnut tree in my backyard. In the meantime, I've been keeping nuts on the porch. These have dried rather well. I plan to leave these nuts outside until it becomes much colder. I think: Surely these nuts will dry and cure better in a more natural environment (such as the open air of my porch). The loss of a sack of walnuts is certainly a sorrowful (and humbling) event. But, it is sung: "Fate is kind." While harvesting crabapples yesterday, I discovered a waln

My body has been much on my mind lately. It was nearly one week ago that I cut open my thumb. Chopping potatoes I was - I had already had a few beers. Alas, I did overlook basic saftey procedures. In reality, the cut IS NOT THAT BAD [I am slightly disturbed by that grammar]. It is one half of a centimeter deep. On my left hand. Bleed, bleed, bleed it did. To whom shall I cry out? I wrapped a bloody thumb in an old sock. I recieved no stiches. Today I am pleased that the thumb heals. Also, my body has caught a cold. I told it not to do so; it did not listen. I have felt the virus inside of me for some time. However, I have been getting plenty of rest and liquids - until this past weekend. I stayed up late and drank alcohol (see above paragraph) two nights in a row. I rowed the nights by doing THE SAME THING ON BOTH. To remedy the "problem" I have slept very much at night. It is wonderful. To dream so much is pleasing. Such wonderful dreams. Many liquids as well (including whit

My house is an interesting place. It is called the ACME Co-op - yes, it is a cooperative. A cooperative is a union of independent people who jointly opperate some enterprise. (At ACME, that enterprise is a house.) My seven housemates and I get along meltily. It's swell, really. We cook meals for each other, do our part keeping the house clean, and often think about living a more-than-average sustainable life. I have no bed in my room. Instead, I sleep on the floor. Each night I unroll a foam camping pad onto the floor. Over that, I spread about 7 blankets. I cover my body with clothes (in order to keep my blankets clean), then I lay down and cover myself with blankets. Most people wonder at that. "Isn't it uncomfortable?" they say. No, it is not - at least not anymore. I've gotten quite used to it. In fact, I think the floor is comfortable. The real problem I encounter when sleeping on the floor deals with warmth. Most of a person's heat is lost to the surface

I was outside of the work house when I noticed a butterfly on a leaf. The butterfly was pleasant to observe. It was mostly black with blue on the lower wings, white on the upper wing tips, and just a little orange near the white. It held onto the leaf during intermitent gusts of wind. I approached it to get a closer look. The intricacy of its pattern was awe inspiring. As I came up on it, the butterfly folded its wings in order to fly away. Before leaving though, the butterfly raised its abdomen and excreted a drop of orange liquid. I assume it to be poop.

My family will be visiting me today. My mother (Kathleen) and father (Jim) will be coming down along with both of my sisters (Rosalie, 11 and Jessica, 24). I am very excited about the visit. My sister lives in Germany, so I don't often see her anymore. And, I do not often hang out with my mother and father together (because they are divorced). They are bringing me a car. I happy that I will soon be able to burn more oil. Perhaps we will go to the Dairy Barn and the Kennedy Art Museum. Perhaps we will also take a hike in the woods so that I may harvest some sassafras root...