Blog-azic

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.