Toms 2008 Outdoor Escapades

European Trip II

2011-11-15T10:07:00.000-08:00

We Arrived in London on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in mid July. The British Airways flight was decent and the convenience factor of flying out of Bwi was worth it's weight in gold. However, Virgin airlines quality of service still reigns supreme when convenience is taken out of the occasion.

The Weather was excellent by London standards. Seventy degrees and sunny. From what I understand in my limited exposure to Old Blighty this is a bit of a rarity.

We took a train to the tube, and the tube to the Charing Cross station. We "minded the gap". Although my last trip to London was a bit of a quick one it still felt good to be back.

I draw comparisons to what I am familiar with, and I can say with reasonable certainty that London and NY are fraternal twins from different mothers if that is even possible.

Jet lagged, tired, and anxious, we threw our bags down and hit the town for some simple pub n grub. (look up place) Market was a very busy and vibrant environment. Think Adams Morgan only being surrounded by people with more depth and interesting accents. After a few beers and some good conversation my jet lag got the best of me and it was off to dream land for me.

The following morning we walked along the Thames to our office in downtown. What an experience to have the privilege to be able to say that. Throughout the day We conducted our business and met with our clients.

The following evening, I ventured out on my own and landed at a bar called Smalliskys. Met a guy with a thick english accent who had me laughing. It was a short night, after a few beers I walked across the street and went to bed.

One caveat to this entry. Each night no matter how early I turned in, I simply could not shake my jet leg and get a decent nights sleep. That and what sounded like a garbage truck outside my window every morning, also did I mention the 3am drunken American revelers singing the American national anthem in London?

The next evening brought more pub n grub. We went to a fondue restaurant with some of our affiliate folks. I am glad I can say that I ate fondue, but I am also glad that I can say that I will probably never eat fondue again.

That being said the restaurant was interesting. It reminded me of eating at an old country farm house, right there in the smack dab center of London. The decor was what I would consider an old style English. All in all I am glad I went. Also, it was nice to experience a meal with Londoners.

The following day we finished our business in London and took off to Dublin. It was a quick hop from London to Dublin. From the air my first impression of Ireland was fields with hedgerows. Many, many hedgerows. I imagine the English country side is very similar. Steven Ambrose referenced these frequently in his WW II books. Getting an aerial view of Ireland made it real for me.

From the airport our driver picked us up. He had a thick Irish accent that was notably distinguished from the English ones I had gotten used to. For some reason, I had a preconceived assumption that they'd be more comparable. This was not the case! David was a quiet sort of guy. Although towards the end of our trip, he picked up a conversation. His main complaint was the Irish economy. This turned out to be a running theme throughout my time spent there. I get the distinct impression that their country is hurting worse than ours.

Driving through the Irish country side it took us two hours to reach Waterford Ireland. Waterford is located in the southern portion of the Irish country side. Waterford is known for it's crystal glass, and tall ship festival amongst other things. The town is quant and quiet and just my style.

Upon going to the lobby in search for a soda machine I stumbled into a group of seniors on a bus trip. They were playing traditional Irish music and dancing. It was great, I sat down and watched them for about an hour.

The following day Kieran drove us to the coast. We walked through the town of ... And hit a couple of pubs along the way. The village was stunning and reminded me of a cross between Cape Cod Mass with its fishing fleets and Malibu California with its picturesque landscape and cliffs.

If there is such a thing as paradise I think I may have found it.

On to Dublin...I had no expectations. I had done no research on Dublin other than a quick Google. Dublin was incredible. It is many things that London is not. Navigable, authentic, circus like. We hit the pub district and had a great time. A couple of the pubs I couldn't get the vibe down but were still very enjoyable.

A walk down the shopping district was entertaining to say it best. Multiple street performers created a circus-esque atmosphere. It had a very Key West vibe.

Our last night there was last night as I write this. We went to a local bar called Grogans. I was excited to see a local bar and talk to "the locals". I need to realize that not everyone wants to share their culture with Americans. And quite frankly they have a right not to. After getting slightly hassled at the door by some Irish blokes, the bar tender rolled his eyes at me when I asked what was on tap.

Another fellow was trying to start trouble. It was then that we decided to leave. We ended up at a hotel lounge listening to techno.

It was a great time! I am ready for home.

Growing Me Up a Garden

2011-06-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

We bought a raised cedar garden bed from Home Depot. We felt that we'd splurge and buy the $180 kit as opposed to using pressure treated wood. Arsenic just doesn't go well with tomatoes from what we hear.

The project was a lot of fun. Both Lara and I take an active role in maintaining the garden. The other night we ate romaine lettuce that we grew from baby plants. It tasted incredible.

Some 2010 Highlights

2010-10-06T11:51:00.000-07:00

Well it appears as though my daily responsibilities have stifled my blog posting as of late.

It is quite evident that my blog posts have been lacking and borderline non-existent over this past year.

What can I say? Between learning the ropes of the new job, working on the house, maintaining the yard, and trying to have some sort of a life, my leisure time has become a commodity and it's getting harder to focus on this blog anymore.

I do enjoy my responsibilities and even look forward to working with my hands. I enjoy planting our flowers, watering our shrubs, hanging out in the garage and tipping back a few beers while working on my truck. At this point in my life, after staring into a luminescent screen for eight to ten hours a day, getting my hands dirty has become an enjoyable release.

Anyways, to touch on some of the bigger highlights since my last post, there have been several notable blog-worthy developments over the past year. I am engaged. Matilda and I got engaged in front of her parents and brother back in April. We are planning a private wedding in Jamaica sometime in February.

In March of this year I was laid off by BBN Technologies where I had worked on the same project for five consecutive years. Only after the government had spent millions of dollars and countless man hours to develop this piece of software that my company was working on did they decide to throw it away and start over with a different contractor.

I have to be honest, it was definitely frustrating at the very least. I have never committed myself to any project or company for that amount of time. To see five years worth of effort get tossed away like that was devastating. Looking back however, the scenario is typical in the cut throat world of defense contracting.

Shortly thereafter, I was yearning for a clearer mind and a sense of adventure since I had both the money and the time to challenge myself to do something that I have always wanted to do. So in May I packed up a bag or two and I set off on a solo cross-country motorcycle journey across the United States. In eight days I went coast to coast on route 40 from Baltimore MD to San Diego CA through nine beatiful states.

The trip was absolutely incredible, I was completely exposed to the environment on my motorcycle through the most unimaginable weather conditions I have ever experienced. Outside of hiking some mountains in Alaska and accidentally running into some glacier crossings it was the most challenging and at times the scariest adventure of my life. More on this in another blog post.

I spent the other half of the summer voluntarily unemployed strumming on my banjo and learning how to sweat pipes, roll sod, put up fences, run 14-2 with ground. Yes, I was my own apprentice learning the trades of plumbing, landscaping, electricity and all around general maintenance while fixing up our 1920's era Baltimore Bungalow.

More recently, I started a new job in the private sector and have been working 9 - 10 hour days trying to play catch up from working in the government industry for so long. My skills were practically obsolete compared to the private sector. But here I am, the knowledge is starting to come together, I've got a great girl, a great pad, a great life all around.

Life is good and I am happy and that’s all that really matters.

Salty Balty-More

2010-01-17T16:30:00.000-08:00

It had been a long time coming and to be truthful I am surprised it did not happen sooner. In fact, it was over two years ago during an unusualy long and bitter cold winter that I mustered up the courage to sell the majority of my belongings and completely split out of DC town for what I assumed would be at the very least an extended vacation on the West Coast.

In transition, and shortly after moving into Matilda's apartment as a staging ground for a cross country truck trip, I fell ill to a severe inner ear infection that had my world spinning and kept me off balance and severely sick for the better part of six months. My wanderlust would have to wait.

After using the winter to slowly heal and nearing the completion of Matilda's degree we decided that it would be best if we left the DC region entirely.

Even though as a result of my ear infection, I did not have the chance to explore the West Coast, we still flirted with the idea of settling in San Diego, Colorado, and even discussed Austin Texas. One compelling factor that kept us grounded to the East Coast in our discussions was the proximity to our families in Upstate, New York. We were willing to sacrifice a lot, but family was uncomprimisable.

After many discussions the question seemed to always come back full circle. Should we just stay in DC? Mind you that I have run the full gambit in DC metro living. I have lived in Arlington, S. Alexandria, N. Alexandria, Woodbridge, and Manassas. Never quite finding a comfortable landing.

The last eight years have had me cooped up in apartments, high-rises, and condominiums. As a result, I was desperately yearning for a my own house with a garage, a workshop, and a garden. All a man needs. Seriously, I have been working with intangible software at my 9 to 5 for years. I needed some space and opportunity where I could work and get my hands dirty building, fixing, growing tangible objects. We knew that this was not going to be an affordable possibility in the greater DC region.

After some research and a general familiarity with our largest northern neighbor we decided to entertain the idea of moving to Baltimore.

Fast forward six more months and it was late October and Matilda had been working in Baltimore since September. So towards the latter part of October after working with a Realtor over the entire summer we found a beautiful house in North East Baltimore that seemed ironicaly have found us. As it turns out it is a true original craftsman house, a type of house we have always dreamed of owning. The Arts and Crafts (Craftsman) movement in architecture is a facinating history and we both agreed with the pricinples of this movement. We made an offer on the house and anxiously waited for the sellers to accept. They did, and as of November 20th we have taken ownership of our dream home.

So here we are, we live within the city limits, I have a detached two car garage, my back yard, with a garden coming soon. I even got my workshop downstaires in the semi-finished basement. Lastly as a major bonus, I have always wanted to live in a sea-faring community and everyday as I drive over the Inner Harbor on the route 95 bridge I get the opportunity to look off to my left and see ocean freighters unloading their cargo. What a beautiful sight.

Playing Catch (up) Part II

2009-11-18T10:59:00.000-08:00

It was the evening of October 14th as I recall. Yes... the evening before our big trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

I had strategically placed my digital camera on the top of my nightstand delicately balancing it on my cell phone charger. "There's no way I'd forget both and I'd rather be caught dead than miss the opportunity to photograph some of those incredible desert rock formations", I thought to myself before falling asleep.

And as I recall it was around the time that we arrived 2,500 miles away in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and budged our way directly to the front of the overcrowded luggage line that it hit me. Right then as I tore open my bag I knew it would not contain a camera nor a cell phone charger. Both of them would be delicately balanced on top of one another 2,500 miles away on my nightstand.

The whole situation reminds me of a time just a few years ago when I went camping on a cold night and forgot to bring a sleeping bag! Can you comprehend this statement? I had brought EVERY god damn camping provision but forgot a sleeping bag. I had brought glowsticks for finding my way in the dark (just in case my flashlight failed) but I forgot a sleeping bag!

Anyways as we picked up the rental car in Albuquerque, NM, and made the 60 mile trip in the direction of Santa Fe, the drive was dark, flat, and the surrounding environment seemed barren. As flat as the drive seemed I will say that after every few mile markers I would catch a fleeting peripheral glimpse of something large "out there". The source of these objects would remain a mystery until early the next morning.

It was not until I woke up and threw the covers off of my jet lagged East Coast ridden body and stepped outside into the bright sunlight that I was fully able to take in the surrounding environment.

Yes, right then it became apparent to me that I was indeed in the middle of the American desert.

Now don't get me wrong, I have experienced the desert before. Luckily, I have been afforded the opportunity to visit Las Vegas several times as well as parts of San Diego that were desert-"esque" if you will. But I had never taken the opportunity to drive beyond the boundaries of the Las Vegas strip to witness the remote and barren desert just a few miles away.

And here I found myself standing just a few feet outside of my hotel room in the middle of nowhere. With the lack the stimulation of squirting water fountains, impromptu scary pirate shows, and the electrifying lights that have become so synonymous with the Las Vegas strip, my attention was left solely to be consumed by views of peculiar desert rock formations as well as the odd cacti or two.

Matilda was busy most of the time making arraignments and preparations for her brothers wedding. I had no hard feelings and actually to be frank this suited me just fine because I was in the mood to do some exploring. That very same afternoon I loaded up our rented Chevrolet two door Cobalt with some basic utilities and set off towards the Santa Fe National Forest.

As I drove through the Santa Fe national forest (destination unknown), I stopped the car and pulled it over to what appeared to be a trail that appeared to have been rudimentary cut through some isolated desert brush. I decided to go for a short hike and I was about two miles into the trail when I made my way into the middle of two ominous looking cliffs.

It was only after I saw a pebble fall off the top of the cliff which in turn trickeled into a minor sand avalanche that I was coincidentally standing at the base of that common sense prevailed and I thought to myself that it was probably a good idea to return to the car since I did not feel like dying that particular day.

On the way back towards the hotel I noticed that my gas needle was dangerously flirting with the letter "E".

I stopped to get gas and just as I was finishing up a small Spanish man no taller than five foot five carrying a backpack approached me and asked for change. Now on the East Coast as many bums have come to find out, I have a strict rule of not funding their addictions to controlled substances. Just as I was about to scold him and send him off he said he was just trying to make his way back to Santa Fe. I wanted to offer him a ride instead of change and I seriously had to fight the urge to say hop in but in the end I told him I had nothing for him which was the most truthful I've ever been with a vagrant before. I had not brought any cash or change hiking with me.

Playing Catch (Up) Part I

2009-11-02T12:49:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, you don't have to say it. I will say it myself! I've been more than negligent concerning this blog as of late and I'm sorry for it. Anyways, in repentance I will do my due diligence to fill you in to my boring life as much as my brittle memory will afford me to recall the last 60+ days.

Where to begin? There was that late summers canoe ride down the narrow Shenandoah River. There was also that extended weekend jaunt to the high and dusty desert plains region of that forgotten state that we call New Mexico. And believe it or not, interspersed in between both of these events there was a new house purchase and a subsequent pending move.

So during the early part of September, Matilida, myself, as well as a few friends packed up some ruck sacks and drove due west down the forever famous route 66. It was about 50 miles or so when we found ourselves conveniently located under the cover of the Shenandoah mountain range and decided to make a weekend of it. We had come in a pseudo-celebration of my thirtieth birthday.

It turned out to be nothing less than a beautiful weekend, and as we canoed down the Shenandoah river that Saturday afternoon in two bright red canoes, I thought to myself how pleasurable it was to be able to afford this luxury on my 30th birthday.

Later that afternoon it was just a few moments after we had cautiously navigated our canoes around an assembly of wading dairy cows where we found a an impromptu formation of flat rocks. It was on these flat rocks where the four of us moored our canoes just a few feet from shore and ate sandwiches in near silence under the unrelenting late summer sun.

That weekend will live forever in my mind as the close of summer 2009.

Looking Back and Looking Forward

2009-09-01T15:37:00.000-07:00

"Well... some day you'll understand".

This phrase was spoken from the lips of many good men and I can prove to you that this quotation is an indisputable fact.

The reason that I know this is that I remember hearing this phrase fall off my deaf ears many times. In fact, it came from my own fathers mouth as he put forth his best effort to lecture me in his most stern manner.

“You’ll understand someday” he would always profess in his typical mellow yet convincing manner.

It was during those confusing and disconcerting years when I somehow managed to find my own survival mechanism and pull myself through all of the teenage stages of typical pent up angst, hormonal imbalances, and nefarious behavior that come along with it.

Call it an instinctual survival mechanism, but I somehow managed to crawl out of that snake pit of competing interests and survive and even flourish fairly unscathed (ok well maybe with a few scars).

Yet here I stand today at this very moment, in the form of a grown middle aged man with an ever growing beer gut.

Feeling privileged to be in "decent" health (under 200 pounds), to be gainfully employed, and to be living in the capital of the free world. I am only left to wonder when this "coming of age" post-teen enlightenment managed to take its hold in me. This phrase had been so frequently repeated and promised to me as a young rebellious youth that it's now engraved in my mind.

The person that I am today is in stark contrast to my pre-college frame of mind and even my immediate post-college "championship" years. It's no secret, I could have been labeled or even branded as one of those so called "problem children".

I'll admit that my first honest pull off the smooth neck of a 100 proof 32 liter liquor bottle came right around the ripe old age of 13. In addition to my self-indulgences with illicit substances, I am not proud of the fact that I graduated nearly last in my high school class. Rumor has it that I even wore the silver bracelets once before the age of 16. It’s true, my moral compass typically pointed south in these formative but festive years of adolescence.

I'll keep it simple and say only that many lessons have been learned since the early days and although I may have struggled throughout my teenage experience and participated in some unsavory debaucheries in my twenties, I now have learned to take life a little more seriously.

So I take a drink and say...

Dear "My Twenties",

This has been a long time coming. First, I wanted to thank you for all of those years. College, relationships, breakups, first jobs, hangovers, travels, deaths and births.

We had a lot of fun together (I think...) details are kind of hazy at this point but I will never forget you.

However, I wanted to let you know that I feel that we've grown apart and I'm moving on with my life.

Yes, it's true that I've met someone else. Her name is "My Thirties". We've grown so close to each other over the past few years and we are ready to make a commitment to each other.

So as of Sunday Sept. 6th I am initiating the "no contact" rule with you.

Please don't call because I will not be returning your phone calls. Oh and by the way... I will not accept your flowers.

It’s over.

Good Luck!

Viva La Puerto Rico I

2009-08-13T17:08:00.000-07:00

I'm going to assume that if you are like me (your typical narrow-minded American foodie) a green banana probably does not sound all that appealing to you?

Especially if it were pronounced in a foreign language such as "Mofongo" and was presented to you on a small plate as an unpeeled, mashed mound of starch that resembled something akin to pouring gravy over loose mound of potatoes.

However, take said green bananas in oddly shaped form, add tender pieces of marinated chicken, plump oversized shrimp, or mouth watering lobster meat and it becomes a personal heaven to your palate.

Much like this unexpected fusion of unfamiliar food that managed to confuse the delicate argument between my taste buds and eyes, I can honestly say that I had little (if any) idea of what to expect from the rest of my travels to Puerto Rico.

I knew that they spoke Spanish, and that the island is an American territory with its own culture, language, diversity and practices.

One of the most comforting aspects of traveling to PR that's not typically found in too many other places in the Caribbean is that I was still entitled to all of my rights as American citizen.

With any luck, there would be no frantic dark alley payments to a crooked cop trying to squeeze me out of a few greasy American dollars. Let's hope not anyways!

Matilda and I touched down at the airport just outside of San Juan to the sound of an entire cabin full of clapping passengers. (Is this a local custom of PR? Because this was one of the least turbulent landings I have ever experienced).

Just outside of baggage claim we hopped into the back seat of a generic looking red bus and found ourselves on our way to the "U-Save" car rental place.

Almost immediately as I sat in the back of a bus and was unable to communicate with the bus driver my nerves began to work themselves into overdrive.

How did we find ourselves in a different country and on a generic bus trying to rent a car from some place called "U-Die", I mean "U-Save"? I wondered nervously to myself.

Shortly thereafter, I was able to calm myself down as I was able to regaine control over the situation. I realized this only after I had a full grip on the rental cars steering wheel and was able to manage locking both doors.

Thank you mom and dad for my overwhelming anxiety issues. I have a friend who calls himself "anxiety" for life. I say that as a joke because I love both of my parents to death, but for anyone that ever knew my father or knows my mother would realize that they both worried excessively and I managed to somehow inherit the sum of their anxiety.

Anyways moving on... as we casually walked into the hotel with minimal expectations, I could not believe my surroundings once we took one step inside.

The hotel was beyond incredible and resembled something out of a propped movie (read: perfect). Everything was sparkling clean, and the lobby was massive.

The vast paned windows in the lobby were so close to the ocean that a fine ocean mist kept them covered most of the time I was there.

A quick look outside revealed four pools, a swim up bar, two jacuzzis, and a private lagoon all at our disposal.

I knew right then and there that this was the beginning of a good vacation. So rightly and desperately needed might I add.

Continued...

Lake Anna Weekend Blitz

2009-07-24T08:03:00.001-07:00

Saturdays are definitely a commodity and one thing is for sure, they are usually over before you know it. That is why I try to make the best of my Saturdays during the summer months.

After choking down a stale breakfast cookie last Saturday morning, I threw on my D.O.T approved full face helmet, pushed in the choke, popped the stand and just a matter of minutes later I was southbound and down route 28.

Finding my way through Manassas, Nokesville, Culpepper and eventually ending up somewhere on the outskirts of the ever gorgeous Lake Anna.

It is still amazing to me that after living in Northern Virginia for almost 8 years now how rural "The Real Virginia" can be.

This serene and beautiful virgin habitat resides just a handful of miles outside of the industrial looking, traffic strewn, North-South Virginia boundary otherwise known as the capital beltway.

As I rode past a fresh crop of sprouting tobacco plants basking themselves in the glow of the sweltering sun, I could smell their sweet aroma as it crept up through the air and eventually found its way into my nasal passages.

Taking in the smell of nature while riding on my motorcycle is one of my favorite aspects of riding.

I distinctly remember what it felt like just a few months ago as I drove down the Eastern Shore and got my first whiff of the dry salty ocean air as it drifted from my nose and clung to my exposed skin.

After a sometimes anxious hour and a half of straight riding, I finally reached my destination of Mineral Virginia.

As I found myself navigating through a desolate back field traversing a muddy makeshift parking lot it was just then that I heard the first wail of a banjo echo through the trees in the distance. I had made it to the blue grass festival!

The fest was decent at best. I stayed for a couple of hours. I could tell that I did not fit the demographic for this particular event. I was under 60, did not have a confederate flag flagrantly draped off the back of my motorcycle and I did not have a wad of tobacco balled up in the right cheek of my mouth. I found my way out of the festival midway through a set.

Shortly thereafter I must have passed Lake Anna State Park's driveway about three times before I was finally able to find it. The drive through the park was fairly uneventful. I decided to go try my luck at the beach in the park to see if I could score some rays and a little midday nap.

As I got to the beach I noticed it there were signs posted indicating that there was an additional beach fee. How ridiculous I thought to myself, I'm not paying an additional fee to sit on an artificial and crowded beach.

In non violent protest as perfected by Gandhi I set my towel just outside of the beach area on the grass and sat down to rest. After a failed attempt to catch a nap, I made a few phone calls and was back on the bike northbound towards Manassas.

The ride back was LONG and tiring to say the least. I got lost at least 10 times and was starting to become frustrated right around the time that I ended up just south of Leesburg Virginia.

After picking a road at random that appeared to lead in the direction east I was finally able to call it a day.

As I parked my bike in the parking lot. I hobbled off the bike with a sore ass and found my way upstairs where B-ron and Fab Five had been waiting for me with Matilda.

Was it as I navigated my way down Route 522 along side the base of the Blue Ridge mountain range or when I caught my first site of the glistening waters of the deep blue Lake Anna when the endorphins kicked in and I found myself high on life? I don't know. But either way both made for an incredible day!

The Summer that Never Came

2009-07-16T14:50:00.001-07:00

Had you talked to me in early March, I had nothing on my mind except for the fact that I had just recently gotten over an illness that had consumed the better part of six months of my life.

I was extremely anxious and ready to ex-spell some of this un-invited cooped up energy to say the very least.

Suffice it to say that I was looking more than forward to some sort of idea that would bring me towards my ultimate goal of that seemingly un-graspable concept of "simple relaxation".

Hell... maybe alls it would take is hearing that crisp pick of the banjo echoing through the Shenandoah valley as I dozed off under the waning crescent moon that would bring me to my own salvation!

If that doesn't suit your fancy how about more of a moderate range? Let's go with riding my motorcycle into endless sunsets to just feeling the grit of sand between my toes as I basked in the luminous and radiant glow of the sun reflecting off of the salty beaches of the eastern Maryland shore.

After countless and sometimes violent torrential downpours that seemed to fall strategically on a Friday and end late Sunday night just as I realized that you I had to go back to work tomorrow, here I stand four months later.

Two moves and one muggings later, it's mid July and I feel robbed of not just my own dignity but of something that people take for granted. I feel robbed of my summer.

Let's just say "I'm ready to get my summer on" Who's with me?

Sometimes I Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me.

2009-07-13T17:16:00.001-07:00

Hey listen, I apologize now. I'm sorry ok? All's I can say is that I thought it was over (no not my opening line in the Chan 4 news broadcast) come on let's get serious here.

But no, seriously, I thought the incident was done. "This will happen never again." "Done with! That's the way these things go right?" "We're moving on".

Do you still blame me?

On July 10th I was nearly as over it as you can be. This was four days later and I was more than anxious for life to get back to some sort of semblance of normality.

At work that day, I couldn't help but think of anything else except for the fact that within just a matter of hours this was going to be the first chance since the attack that I would finally get a chance to pull back a coupla beers and just chill with Matilda and Allen in our new apartment. We'd drink some beers. We'd crack the occasional joke about someone breaking in. Ha ha ha.

"Get some movies too, take your time, I'll be fine". Matilda yelled as Allen and I were fastidiously on our way out the door.

Fast forward about 15 minutes after I had hit Giant and the nights libations had been secured... as I'm filling out a Block Buster application I received a call from Matilda saying that two burly black men had come to our door at 7:30 at night.

"It has to be those guys from the apartment complex that are there to install the locks on the windows". I preached in good faith might I add.

"Nope, already called the apartment complex". Came the reply.

"We'll be there in 2 minutes". I said as I crumpled up the Block Buster application.

It was right then as I stepped out of the Block Buster door and laid one foot onto the sidewalk that I saw the the dirtbag that robbed me.

It was something about his walk, his slight strut to the right hand side with this overwhelming air of intimidation. It was those dangling dreaded braids that I remembered so clearly before I pulled poor Allen into the truck and told him with a shaking voice that I was sure it was the guy that robbed me.

Soon thereafter, when they told me that they knew who he was and that the dog had lost his scent just a block away from where he lived. I grew more furious by the second.

Three days later, after lost sleep and brutalized nerves for the entire weekend, I've learned that the two guys who felt totally inclined to come to our door that night were more than likely related to the case. The two guys that I thought had followed me to Block Buster were probably not.

Damn. I look back and aside from the boxes that line our living space, this is a reminder of where we are at now. The message for tonight is to trust your instincts but don't trust them too much to make you paranoid.

Almost Dead

2009-07-07T09:21:00.000-07:00

It happened in the blink of an eye and yet somehow it still managed to feel like it would never end.

It happened as I've always imagined that these types of things happen. Violently and without warning. Add a dimly lit parking lot on a humid dark summers night, a lone victim unsuspectingly carrying on about his business and you have the perfect four liner crime blurb in your local paper.

Except this time was different for me. This time I wasn't perusing through the Washington Post's crime beat section as I casually sipped my first cup of coffee at work. No... no... unfortunately for me, this time I was actually forced to live through the traumatizing real life experience.

As we walked our dog Emma through the apartment complex I thought to myself how nice it was to live in the burbs for the summer. It wasn't much passed 9:45 on a quiet Monday night and Matilda and I were on our way to the back parking lot to see if we could get Emma to do her business for the night.

After several failed attempts by Matilda and I to coax her into relieving herself we gave up and began walking back to the apartment. As we were walking back I noticed that Emma was finally ready to go do her business. I volunteered to walk the 250 feet or so back to the dog bag station in the parking lot and grab a bag.

As I neared the bagging station, about 500 feet away three dark figures caught my attention walking out of a foot path in the woods that connects the apartment parking lot to a large shopping center.

Even at this stage, I was fairly sure that trouble was imminent. Even though they were far enough away for me to outrun them, I considered all of my options. At this point I was under no immediate threat and I figured my best option was to get back to the middle of the well lit apartment complexwhere I felt confident that they would not dare to jack me.

As I walked as fast and inconspicuously as I could, the fear was too overwhelming to look behind me. At some point (and details are hazy at this point) I instinctually knew that they were behind me. Just mere seconds later I heard the fast pattering of running feet.

In a last act of desperation I opened my mouth to call out to Matilda to run and as my brain was crafting the words to roll off my tongue I thought better of the idea and decided not to tip them off to the fact that Matilda was ahead of me. And by this time she was well ahead of me.

"This is it" I thought to myself, my very first time ever being mugged. I wondered how would it go down? I had lived in Woodbridge for 5 years previous to this and knew that it was generally a safe upscale neighborhood. I was scared but not worried if you can even try to makes sense of that statement.

That all changed the moment I saw the small black pistol out of my peripheral vision and felt it make contact with the side of my head just and inch or two above my right ear. It was also at this time that I felt something sharp in my back as well as a clenched hand on the collar of my tee shirt.

My body was instantaneously overwhelmed by shock that I had trouble getting my legs to do what came natural to them. I could barely walk. Whatever chemical is secreted in your brain beyond adrenaline in high pressure situations is a god send. I immediately went into survival mode. As calm as watching the sunset I asked:

Me: "What do you want".
Robber 1: "Give me the money nigga".
Robber 2: "Give us money nigga or you gonna get hurt".
Me: "I'm walking my dog man, I have no money on me".
Robber 1: "You better get money nigga".
Me: "I've got money in my apartment, just chill, just relax".

As I tried desperately to reassure them that they were going to get paid, I saw a large object come towards my face, I reacted by falling into a yard as one of their fists made its first contact with the right side of my cheekbone.

As I laid in the damp grass I thought to myself that it's just a matter of time before I'm dead. What would my family think? What about the things that I haven't accomplished yet? It's amazing the things that run through your mind when you're life is in jeopardy.

I believe that I heard the distinct dry crackling sound of the high voltage stun gun before I first felt the current make its entrance into my rib cage and penetrate legs. I had never been stunned before and the only way that I can attempt to describe the feeling is that I can understand exactly why they call it a "stun gun". It wasn't exactly painful it was just was what it was.

Luckily one of these criminals had a fragment of a conscious and told the others to stop. As they grabbed me and pulled me up I got my first glimpse of the masks they were wearing. Apparently, the common run of the mill criminal ski mask has been replaced by the more stylish and intimidating scream mask.

As they walked me like a dog with the gun firmly pressed to the back of my head, I quickly scanned the area ahead of me to look for Matilda. She was no where in my limited scope of vision. Later on after the fact I learned she had heard an odd sound (the tazer) and saw them pounce on me. Knowing I had no money on me she ran up the stairs and into the apartment to get money.

After reaching the steps up to our apartment I began to cycle through a list of ideas for not letting them into the apartment. Them entering the apartment was an assured deal breaker for me. I knew that if they entered the apartment Matilda and I would b0th be found tied up and dead sometime the next day more than likely. However, as I tried to explain that she would get the money and throw it down, criminal one said he was going to shoot me. As I got three quarters of the way up the stairs the door opened and Matilda was holding onto cash, as one of them stepped a foot into the house Matilda told him that he was not coming in and I said he was not to make another step.

After an exchange of about $50 cash, I stood nearly face to face with him still with his scream mask. He said something to me that I do not remember. Something insulting but neither Matilda nor I can remember exactly what it was.

I stood there and proudly took it like a bitch. You want to know why?...

Because Matilda and I were both still alive at a cost of only $25 a piece.
Because this kid risked 15 years in prison for what I make in 1 hour. That's .0003 $ per hour.
Because statistically speaking this dumb son of a bitch will most likely never live past 30.
and lastly...
Because no matter what I think of that I could have done differently I can smile and think to myself that I know we did everything right and the fact that we are both still alive proves it.

The Thunder Rolls

2009-05-27T12:32:00.000-07:00

June 21st may be the first official day of summer but Memorial Day weekend is the "unofficial" kick off of to the summer season.

Officially or unofficially, whatever your persuasion may be, the start of summer couldn't have started nicer than last Saturday afternoon in suburban Washington, DC as the sun was shining bright and the air was warm to the touch.

Matilda's brother Ara and his fiancee Lucy who were in town for a wedding hopped in their rental car (a PT Cruiser none the less) and headed southbound to Richmond for a rehearsal dinner they were invited to.

As for me, well I had my sights set on attending the annual DelFest bluegrass concert for the evening. Nestled in the Cumberland Gap region, DelFest attracts several top bands in the bluegrass circuit. Visions of sipping beer, banjo pickin, and slapping my thigh to some bluegrass music occupied my mind for most of the day. In preparation, I decided to clean my motorcycle for the festival and of course the Rolling Thunder Memorial Day motorcycle parade the following day.

Later on that evening after I had cleaned the bike, done the laundry, and performed a host of other chores for the day I simply could not muster up the energy to drive the three hours out to Cumberland Maryland on my motorcycle. I was dangerously low on fuel and no amount of Red Bull was going to top off my tank.

As tired as I was, I still managed to find enough energy to be disappointed in myself for not making the effort to go to something I had been looking forward to for so long. Mentally torturing myself I couldn't help but think about how tonight there would be no dancing, no thigh slapping good times, no sipping of beer... (well lets not get carried away here)... of course there would be sipping of beer and perhaps even some of my own banjo pickin but it would be done in the comfort and safety of Matilda's living room.

Later that night after having a few beers with my friend Bryan I happened to catch the eleven o'clock news while flipping through channels. One of the lead stories was concerning Del Fest.

Apparently, a violent storm had passed through the area resulting in the main stage being destroyed by wind. Four people had also sustained minor injuries from lighting that had struck the festival.

I thought to myself how ironic it was that my own pure laziness saved me from a torrential downpour and the possibility of being struck by lighting.

Lucidly dreaming but soundly sleeping in my own bed that night I was awkwardly comfortable that I did not make it to the festival that evening.

The next day was great. I woke up at 11:00 a.m. and rushed to the shower in order to make the twelve o'clock motorcycle parade going on downtown. Driving on my motorcycle downtown there was car and motorcycle traffic everywhere.

After driving down several side streets and getting denied access I ended up attaching myself (uninvited of course) to a group of about seven Harley's.

As we pulled up to a police barricade for no reason that I could discern, the officer moved an orange barrel and let us directly into the parade completely circumventing the Pentagon staging area.

Deciding not to immediately jump into the parade I ended up parking my bike on the side of the street next to about fifteen other riders from an Ohio chapter and watched the parade for a good two and a half hours.

I could not believe the shear volume of motorcycles slowly moving down Independence Avenue. This was the largest Rolling Thunder parade I had ever witnessed. The name "Rolling Thunder" was the name given to one of the most intense operations in the Vietnam war. Rolling Thunder was designed specifically for intimidation purposes against the Northern Vietnamese by dropping massive bombs on several disbursed targets throughout the country.

It was hard not to see the symbolism in the name "Rolling Thunder" as hundreds of thousands of eclectic cycles and cyclists took the the streets to bring attention to their cause. With engines revved in rebellion, they slowly crept down Constitution Avenue all the while knowing they were just a stones throw from the White house.

Some of the bikes were rigged out with the most random decorations. A personal favorite for me was the large Buffalo head (yes it was real) mounted to the sissy bar on the back of a motorcycle.

How random I thought to myself. I could not think of any significance of a Buffalo head to the Memorial day holiday. Maybe he was from Buffalo?

In any case, the day was great and my summer has officially begun. Now if mother nature would just cooperate!

Cannonball Run

2009-04-27T06:37:00.000-07:00

Five hundred and fifty miles, four states, three beaches, two days, and one hell of a ride.

It all started Friday evening when I hopped on the bike and drove up to Baltimore to see Larry Keel with Natural Bridge perform at Baltimore's equivalent of Iota... The 8x10.

As much as I typically enjoy drinking a beer and spacing out to the Keels, this was one show I just could not get into.

I'm going to chalk it up to the performing environment since I am more accustomed to seeing Larry and Jenny perform on a stage outdoors while under the influence of alcohol.

The highlight of the show for me was when I met a married couple from Buffalo. I later discovered that the woman and I had both went to Fredonia just one year apart from each other. Her for Comp. Sci and myself for Media Arts. After rattling off several names we failed to connect to Kevin Bacon.

Later that night I crashed at Matilda's cousins house in Canton. Early the next morning it was off to Wilmington Delaware to watch my niece play soccer. The drive up to Delaware on 95 north was the worst part of the entire trip.

I think they should amend the death and taxes proverb to include the fact that you can always count on some douche bag with Jersey plates riding 6 inches from your bumper on Northbound 95.

Anyhow, eventually after making it to Wilmington Delaware I spent the next two hours driving around in sunny 85 degree weather with a leather jacket on desperately trying to find the school where Brittany was playing. After stopping to ask at least six people for directions it occurred to me that people in Delaware seemed to live in their own world. I think they call it Space Case ville or something to that effect.

Not one single person had any idea where I could find River Rd. Eventually, I did find 122 River Road but to my horror I realized my sister had given me the wrong address when 122 River Road turned out to be a modest residential house.

Fuming at myself for not printing directions beforehand, I met up with my sister and her family at their hotel room in Newark Delaware, drank my two beer motorcycling limit, and devoured some greasy pizza.

Shortly thereafter, I was headed southbound down famous Route One in search of my overnight destination - Rehoboth Beach. Endless rolling tobacco farms, bridges over narrow ocean inlets, and the smell of the salty sea characterized my trip down the Delmarva peninsula.

About fifty miles deep into an eighty five mile drive with the sun setting to my west my bike fizzled out right before an eerie looking bridge in the middle of nowhere. Slightly panicked, I realized I needed gas, I switched the gas line over to my reserve and prayed that my bike would start. Thank god it did and I was scrambling to the nearest gas station.

After arriving in Rehoboth Beach with grand visions of a crazy night out, I would say it was around the time I took the first sip of a Dogfishhead beer when I realized that I needed a motel room STAT because I was about to pass out from exhaustion. The Seabreeze inn would suffice. After washing the road grit out of my eyes, I laid down in bed for just a minute when I heard voices from outside the door and realized it was morning.

After getting some breakfast and strolling along the beach, I hit Route 50 West to DC. The initial part of the drive was uneventful. About three quarters of the way home I came to the Bay Bridge. While driving over the bridge I had to remind myself to take deep breaths. Being that high up on a motorcycle over water with no pull off lane is somewhat intimidating to say the least. However after a few adrenaline filled minutes I was back on solid ground.

About 25 miles outside of Alexandria I was ready to throw in the towel. My butt was numb, I was sweating profusely, my arms were sunburned and I was dehydrated. I had to pull off and pretend I was shopping inside a 7/11 to cool down. When I made it home I checked the temperature and it said 96 degrees. The rest of the night I was in a relaxation mode.

My Own Mile High Club

2009-04-14T12:11:00.000-07:00

As we made our final decent towards the massive Denver International Airport the view was absolutely astonishing. Snow covered mountain peaks sparsely decorated with vegetation smoothly flowed into seemingly empty abandoned valleys. We were at the start of the Rockies.

It's been a long time since I have had the privilege to visit Denver. I remember when I was younger my mother and father took me to Denver during one of my fathers many business trips. I do not remember much from that experience except for an odd random Abraham Lincoln ice sculpture in some ritzy mountain resort.

Matilda and I met up with her younger brother who picked us up from the airport and promptly drove us to the nearest watering hole (a biker bar none the less) to quench my alcohol craving and satisfy Matilda's blood sugar level. Bikers --check--, a thick haze of cigarette smoke --check--, dirty bathrooms --check--, and cheap beer made the Piper Inn the perfect dive.

After the long flight and the subsequent feasting on wings and drinking cheap beer we elected to stay in and relax that night.

Later the next day Matillda's brother took me up and into the Rockies to a ski resort called Keystone. As it turned out, we got a fantastic deal to snowboard all day for only $32 in observance of Keystone's customer appreciation day.

We pulled into the gravelly parking and as I glanced towards the crest of the mountain I could already feel my helpless lungs trying to acclimatize themselves to the lack of oxygen.

Tickets paid for with snow boards in hand, we stumbled into an enclosed gondola and made our way up to the summit of the mountain. I was in absolute awe of the scenery the entire ride up the mountain. I thought to myself how inferior the bunny hill ski slopes I had previously experienced in the Mid-Atlantic area were in relation to this goliath of a mountain.

The conditions on the top half of the mountain were beyond our expectations. Fresh powder took most of the laboring work out of boarding. However, half way down the mountain the conditions became something less than accommodating. The previous day had been about 72 degree's and sunny which made the bottom portion of the mountain feel like I should exchange my snowboard for a pair of ice skates.

After two quick runs down the mountain I felt as if my legs had been crafted out of jello. The ice was doing its damage and I was unsure how many more runs I could make in these conditions.

Several times with mild embarrassment I had to stop to catch my breath and massage my calves. The good thing was the mountain was so enormous and contained so many different trails that we would go several minutes without seeing anyone else.

It was during one gondola ride that we met some Australians who had come half way around the world to ski the great Rockies. They told us that these were the best mountains in the world for skiing and that they made the trip annually.

All in all we made about ten runs down the mountain before we surrendered our aching bodies to the two hour ride back into Denver. Along the way we stopped at bbq joint and choked down some pit beef subs like two emaciated savages. The vacation was off to a good start.

Balance of Life

2009-02-13T10:19:00.000-08:00

What a hell of a Winter. It is safe to say that at any given moment from the frame of late October through early January you were most likely to find me in one of three places: laying on a couch, in a random doctors office, or slumped in front of my work computer desperately trying to act productive.

As you are probably aware, during the latter part of October I sold most of my belongings and I moved out of my house and into Matilda's house. The moving process was undoubtedly stressful to say the least, and as a result the process must have taken its toll on my body's immune system.

My admiration over completing the moving process was violently terminated one day while at work when I was casually talking to a colleague. Out of nowhere my eyes began to feel out of focus, I began feeling quezzy and soon thereafter objects in the room began to spin. Not too long after that came the nausea and vomiting.

Dismissing it as something that I must have eaten, I worked the rest of the day and came home and basically collapsed onto the couch. When I awoke the next day things were slightly better. Instead of the merry-go-round feeling I had a feeling of being on a small ship battling six foot sea swells.

After about two weeks of this feeling with little to no improvement I went to my first Ear, Nose and Throat doctor. This would kick off what would turn out to be a long series of doctors visits, blood tests, brain scans and CT scans. With the initial absence of a definitive diagnosis came the talks of being screen for the possibility of cancer, multiple sclerosis, HIV, (insert several other scary diseases here).

Many anxiety ridden sleepless nights followed. I could not help but wonder how many tumors or MS induced brain lesions would be found on my MRI scan. Or what blood born pathogen might have decided to take up residence in my blood stream and help itself to my white blood cells.

After being tested for every invasive microbe known to mankind my original diagnosis of vestibular neuritis seemed the only diagnosis to make sense. Yet, since vestibular neuritis is a diagnosis of exclusion and since I have always been a bit of a hypochondriac, this was painful for my anxiety level.

Slowly but surely I have recovered most of my balance. My blurred vision has gotten significantly better and I have completely quit smoking and I did not take a single drink of alcohol or caffeine for about four months. I now take daily vitamins and try to exercise daily.

The impact that this has had on me is immeasurable. Never has my health been threatened to this extent. I have sincerely learned the value of good health and will cherish it from this point forward. While the severity of my ailment isn't nearly as bad as other life threatening diseases, in the moment it still felt overwhelming.

Moving on up

2008-11-12T16:21:00.000-08:00

Well, once again I apologize for my extended absence and the resulting lack of new blog entries.

This is a hard time of year for me. The deficiency of Fall sunlight and the cooling temperatures each contribute in their own way to my somber, lethargic frame of mind. I have to keep reminding myself that snowboarding season is just around the corner.

To be fair, I have been in the process of moving and as a result I have been overwhelmingly busy for the last few weeks. I sold what I could and threw out most of what I could not. It's absolutely incredible the amount of "stuff" you can accumulate in the course of just a few years. The rest of my possessions deemed "worthy of keeping" are now neatly packed into a 5x5 climate controlled storage locker.

What once served the purpose of being my primary residence is now a rental property and long term investment. About the only good thing that has come out of the current state of the housing market is that the renters market is in a frenzy since people are cautious about buying.

I am going to use the next few months to save cash for some exciting vacation plans that I have in Spring.

28 Days to Make or Break a Habit

2008-10-03T07:02:00.000-07:00

Since I have not been actively participating in any outlandish excursions as of late, I figured I would digress a bit from the traditional theme of this blog.

Recently, I decided to abstain from drinking for 28 days, and to quit smoking indefinitely as part of an annual birthday time get healthy initiative.

Here I am and proud to say that after a long and sometime stressful 28 days, I still remain alcohol and nicotine free. A major feat for myself.

Even though I smoked cigarettes primarily after drinking, I began to find that they became mutually complimentary of each other. It was hard to have a smoke without a beer in my hand or to have a beer without lighting up a smoke.

So 28 days later; goal accomplished; I stand at the decisive decision to either take the chance and test the waters or maintain my abstinence. On one hand, I feel like I can handle alcohol while still making the conscious decision not to light up. However, on the other hand it's become a personal challenge to me to see how long I can go without alcohol.

Will let you know.

Natures Warning

2008-09-24T08:06:00.000-07:00

A mild, balmy breeze nips through the outer layer of polyester protection, propelling itself deep into my skin. A tingling shiver abruptly runs the length of my spine inciting goosebumps throughout my upper cavity.

I step from the cool and temperate shadows of the trees and into the overwhelming radiance of the brilliant sun. And as I do, a crisp dew glistens in the morning sunlight just before it silently permeates my leather boots.

Snaps, crackles, and thrashes reverberate throughout the forest. I am reminded that the time is ripe for all kingdom and species to diligently assemble provisions for the impending threat of winter.

Today is the the third day of autumn.

Fun and Mishaps on the Shenandoah

2008-08-28T10:19:00.000-07:00

So a few friends and I took a brief weekend trip out to the rural Shenandoah Valley for a much needed end of summer weekend getaway.

Saturday morning Sal, Sancho and I crammed all of our outdoor equipment into the back of my truck with not an inch to spare and set out on Route 66 westbound.

We ended up getting to our destination (the Down River Canoe Company) well before the rest of our crew so we took the initiative to set up our tents and camping equipment at our campsite nearby.

I had brought most of my extra gear for Bryan and his wife who are novice campers.

A couple of hours later we were loaded into a bright yellow school bus and driven the three miles upstream by an older butch looking woman.

Our goal was to float down and into our campsites. The river was seasonably low and moving at a snails pace. In a couple locations we were forced to get off of our inner tubes and push ourselves over rocks. "That's ok", I thought. "It's all about the relaxation."

At one point the river picked up and we managed to find a pretty decent sized swimming hole. Not too long after that I hopped off my raft to "relieve myself" of all the beer I had consumed. While I was attempting to leap back onto the raft, my foot slipped off a flat rock and managed to impale itself on a very sharp rock adjacent to the flat one. Blood immediately began gushing down my foot. I was concerned because as beautiful as the Shenandoah is, I knew of its reputation as a make shift sewer system for dairy cattle.

Retrospectively, I should have gotten medical attention immediately. But so it goes. After a long day of being in the open sun and rafting we finally made it to the Low Water Bridge.

Shortly thereafter with overwhelming appetites we started up the grill and threw on some hot dogs and burgers that would end up taking over 4 hours to cook.

We ended up getting a blazing campfire going and cooking our dogs over it. Even though I've sworn off eating pork, I was so hungry that I chose to disregard my moral principles and chow down on a dog or two.

The next morning the aching in my foot was starting to get the better of me. After the hour and a half drive back to DC, I hobbled over to Matilda's house to show her my battle wounds. She insisted that I go to Urgent Care and get stitches immediately. After thinking about it for a minute and remembering that the open sore on my foot had been marinating in the foul water of Shenandoah river for quite a while I decided it might be a good idea to get it looked at.

Three hours later I found myself face down on a doctors bed and a crusty doctor injecting my foot with Novocaine. Talk about excruciating pain! The needles hurt more than the abrasion. The doctor said that I had punctured my foot pretty deep and that it was at risk for an infection.

I am still taking my antibiotics and can not put pressure on the back of my foot.

All injuries aside, it still turned out to be a beautiful weekend.

Cape Follow Up

2008-08-19T09:27:00.000-07:00

So, I've been extremely bad about updating my blog lately. Chalk it up to two parts "lack of energy", a teaspoon of "loss of ambition" with a smidgen of "scarcity of time"? ... or just call me a lazy stooge.

After a three year hiatus from the outer extremities of Massachusetts's, my plane touched down tenderly at Logan International airport slightly ahead of schedule. Imagine that! Just a few minutes later I found myself nervously awaiting on my large backpack that happened to be meticulously packed with a weeks worth of provisions. After a few anxious minutes, I grabbed my pack and hopped aboard a small water taxi in search of the high speed ferry.

The sixty mile ride across Cape Cod Bay aboard The Provincetown III would prove itself to be more of a gay cruise than a means of transportation for the overwhelming majority of the people on the boat. Public displays of affection were indiscreet and in no short supply, not that I'm complaining. In fact, beyond seeing a whale breach, it was one of the more amusing happenings on the ninety minute ride.

The ferry gingerly pulled in to the Provincetown pier around 1:30 pm. A close friend of my parents was kind enough to volunteer to pick me up.

Thanks to brother Rick my entire tent was already set up. This was already looking to be a great vacation.

The next day was even better. The weather was perfect and we went down to Head of the Meadow beach for our first beach day. Had I known that this would be one of our only beach days, I would have stayed longer. In any case, it was great to see my brother Tim in the ocean for the first time in 17 years. He was the first one in the ocean and the last out, none of my nieces or nephews had the stamina to stay in longer.

After a couple of days of rain in the campground, our spirits were becoming slightly frazzled. Tim and I took the liberty to buy about five pounds of Mussels and two dozen clams. Since my stomach was slightly queasy from all the Miller Lite swilled the night before, Tim was on his own. About an hour later, an empty twelve pack of Budweiser and a full garbage can of what was just previously five pounds of mussels stood before Tim.

During the nights we managed to commandeer someone else's beach fire almost every night. Rick, Tim, Jim and I sat by the ocean drinking beer, smoking cigars and taking it all in.

The following day I bought some sand eels at the bait store and threw in a line to see what was biting. Apparently crabs have a fondness for sand eels because I was constantly re-baiting my hook. I also tried to do some snorkeling and ended up entangled in some guys fishing line. I didn't see a damn thing. I'm convinced Cape Cod is now devoid of sea life (except crabs).

The last few days were somewhat stressful. Powerful wind storms had picked up. Everyone was in the mood to get on home. The next morning everyone took off except for my mother, Kevin, his family and myself. It was odd not having everyone around and I was looking forward to getting home myself as well.

The following day Kevin dropped me off in P-town and I hopped on board the ferry back to Boston. On the way back I noticed many of the same people from the ride over. However, instead of a loud festive atmosphere, most people were passed out, sprawled across seats or drinking bottled water. I laughed to myself. "It must be hard being gay".

Oh and on a final note, while sitting in the Boston airport waiting for my plane to come in from Washington I heard someone say "Thanks John", I looked up and who else would it have been? None other than John Kerry!

Cape Cod... Drink or Destination?

2008-07-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

Cape Cod

Pour 1oz. Vodka
Mix Cranberry Juice
add Lime Wedge

or...

Spend seven days languishing in a lounge chair on the tip of the outer Cape with your entire immediate family minus 1 brother and 2 nieces, 525 miles from the politically charged, manic chaos that has come to define Washington, DC.

"I'll take the latter, extra heavy on the family please."

One to two weeks out of the summer in Cape Cod while growing up was a staple of my childhood. While I've finally come of age to appreciate it, this opportunity will be more than cherished. This will be the first time for many, many years that my entire family will all be vacationing there together.

Next week, you may be able to find me combing the local sea shore in a dire attempt to fetch the perfect sand dollar, carelessly strolling through Provincetown watching the hedonistic circus atmosphere take place, or sipping a Bloody Mary and gazing off into the horizon.

Cape Cod... one of the few places where an "anything goes" mindset is not just the norm, it's a constitutional requirement precedented by decades of overtly liberal, entertaining and outlandish folk.

Whether you go to the Cape to relax, body surf, fish, or engage in sexual libidinous behavior on the beach as identified in this article, it's a great place to be.

Everything is NOT All Good

2008-07-11T08:40:00.000-07:00

Not too far beyond the precipice of the "mid-summer", an unwanted anxiety slowly begins to find its way into my well being.

Flashbacks to 30 degree temperatures, impending snow storm warnings, and complete incarceration for four months bring out my gag reflex.

Slowly but methodically, one day at a time, the later the summer gets the more my seasonal anxiety begins to strengthen its grip on my conscious.

That being said, last winter I made a pact to myself that I would get out and into the wild in order to spend as much time as I could attending festivals, hiking and camping. I'm confident that if some sort of audit was conducted at this very moment my progress report would reflect a modest B-. Had I not gone to Alaska and done some pretty arduous hiking and fishing I think I'd coast by with a simple C.

Which brings me to why everything is not All Good...

All Good festival - Martins Mountain Top, Masontown, WV the apex of all that summarizes my summers objectives and goals. Held annually, All Good festival brings about 30,000 jamsters from all over the states, as well as top notch talent consisting of the likes of Dark Star Orchestra, Perpetual Groove, Phil Lesh, etc... the list goes on.

Unfortunately for me, this year I've decided not to attend. It's not the three and half hour drive out to West Virginia, it's not the $150 ticket price, ok... well that may have something to do with it. It's the cost of everything god damn it! (230 miles x 2 = 460 total miles), assuming 20 miles per gallon in my truck comes out to approximately 23 gallons of fuel burned. 23 x $4.09 gass = ~$100.

Now take into account food and beverage (of which are also completely inflated) and you end up with a $400 dollar-2 day weekend. Good times or not, I just can't bring myself to do it. I can think of many other "good times" to be had that come in the shape of a 4o ounce cold dark bottle, a good book and a poolside lounge chair.

So, suffice it to say, with my spirits slightly dampened and my summer report card floundering, I'm going to try to make the best of my weekend out on the river again! My show must go on.

Moo Moo's First Swim

2008-07-07T07:51:00.001-07:00

Meet Miss Emma, allegedly the fastest, strongest, most talented brindled pit bull terrier to ever traverse the volatile, treacherous and sometimes deadly waters of the upper Occoquan Reservoir.

Local legend has it that Miss Emma once pulled three burly sailors to safety after the vessel they were in had stumbled upon an iceberg and capsized.

Yup... I know what you're thinking, "Icebergs in the Occoquan?", "A 30 pound mongrel Pit Bull mixed breed mutt pulling men to safety?".

What can I say? I heard about it from a friends cousin's sister's boyfriends brother in-law! He said it happened to his best friend and that his wife's uncle saw it all happen.

Anyways, here she is with her doggy vest on all jazzed up to swim in the Occoquan. We took her out there Saturday.

What a stunningly gorgeous day. The optimal temperature, moderately sunny, and a private cove just a stones throw from my house made it feel like a sliver of our own paradise for a day.

Believe it or not, for as small a dog as she is, she kicked ass! I'm so proud of little muttsy. I didn't even have to coax her into the water at first. She chased a few sticks up to her shoulders.
Then after a few confidence boosters I dragged her about 100 ft out into the water and watched her swim back to shore. I thought I might have even seen a few tail wags in there.

At one point, like a receiver showing off by spiking a football, she grabbed a piece of floating Styrofoam and brought it into shore.

Not only do I have the best swimming pit bull this side of the Mississippi, I've also got a dog that is more environmentally conscious than myself.

My dog is green. How about yours?

It's Good to be King

2008-07-01T19:32:00.000-07:00

This by far is indisputably my most favorite picture that I took throughout my brief travel to Alaska.

Proudly perched on the top of his own self declared throne, located somewhere in the vicinity of 90 miles out in the Prince William Sound of southern Alaska, it was more than obvious that "King" owned this jagged, inhospitable rock sculpture as well as the two accompanying islands found near by.

While his harem of female sea lions engrossed themselves in barking in a primal attempt to protect their fertile breading grounds (at Kings behest of course) King barely exerted enough energy to pretend to care.

While female sea lions would fight tooth to flipper in order to defend the smallest nook of serrated, jagged, sharp rock, comparatively speaking, Kings domain consisted of a wide swath of flat welcoming rock exclusively reserved for the upper echelon of seal kingdom.

With his insatiable mass and domineering presence, not one junior sea lion in the local vicinity dared to challenge him.

We circled around this random rock formation in a twenty two foot aluminum fishing boat, gawking at this unreal environment. While we exchanged fleeting glances amongst each other, I felt that we were all thinking the same thing and discretely wondering if we were really in the United States proper.

Later on in the afternoon we witnessed two humpback whales performing their mating rituals while we circled around several gregarious porpoises swimming curiously around the boat.

Although fishing was a bit slow that day, I did manage to convince a small halibut to bite my hook. Please excuse the red faced look of utter constipation on my face as I had just gaffed a fish half the size of my body in a proud moment.

Later on, we decided to stop by one of the many islands in the Prince William Sound. These islands had the inviting look of paradise (as seen on TV). But after stepping off the boat with our waiters on, the bone chilling coldness of the salty water penetrated right through the neoprene protection and rested itself directly into my inner core . It was a startling realization that this environment played well on the eyes but was inhabitable. In any case, it was absolutely surreal.

This was undeniably the best part of my trip! I hope everyone in their life time gets to see something this amazing!!!

The Rushing Russian

2008-06-26T07:35:00.000-07:00

We averaged somewhere in the nature of four to five hours of sleep per night. After climbing snow saturated mountains, fording rivers, all the while subsisting on a steady diet of granola, beef jerky and silt tainted glacier water it was time to relax.

Relaxation came in the form of fishing for salmon in the Russian River.

"The Russian" as the locals call it is one of the most heavily fished sockeye salmon streams in Alaska. Fortunately or unfortunately for us, the salmon that coaxed us into coming to the Russian that day were running a few weeks behind their migratory schedule. Reaping the benefits of this irregular cycle, the four of us owned the pristine waters of the Russian River for a day.

Hip waiters pulled snuggly around our chests, fishing poles in hand, the crew and I struck out to catch our limit of natures bounty. Within ten minutes K-man had landed a decent sized trout.

As envious as I was, I snapped this picture and started walking upstream more than eager to stake out my own ground. I couldn't help but notice how absolutely gorgeous it was out there. The temperature peaked around 65 degrees, the sun was luminously shining and the air smelled of crisp mountain dew.

Besides K-man catching what appeared to be the same trout over again, as time went on fishing became something less than a fruitful effort.

Fruitless or not, it was still a very surreal and peaceful time. As I stood there in the stream listening to the water trickle by, I thought to myself how far I was from home.

As we were wrapping up and walking back to the car, Sal suddenly stopped and anxiously pointed across the stream.

A few seconds later a brown grizzly bear came lumbering through the brush. Indiscreetly trudging through the thicket and rooting around for salmon scraps this bear had no shame. Hell, we were in his backyard. This was our first bear sighting and it happened to be a grizzly.

It took a few seconds for the novelty to wear off and for me to realize that this primal beast was foraging around for it's next meal not more than 50 feet across a shallow stream from us.

While most of the typical Alaskan wildlife eluded us on our hiking excursion, this was definitely a convenient moment for us to get a taste of our first bear sighting. We were standing fairly close to the stairs up to the parking lot.

There was another fisherman standing just out of frame on the same side as the bear. Moments after seeing this grizzly the four of us started screaming... "GRIZZLY, GRIZZLY, GRIZZLY!!!".

I wish I was able to capture the look on this poor souls face. It was absolutely priceless.

Instinctualy, the man darted across that stream with little to no concern for the potential of drowning. Mind you that this was the same part of the stream I managed to get half way across earlier in the day and decided to turn around because it was a little too forceful for my tastes.

Even though I did not even catch a snag it was a great day.

The Crossing Part II

2008-06-24T20:20:00.000-07:00

In my mind there were two distinct parts to this hike. I have categorized them as before the crossing, and after the crossing.

So allow me to explain. There were at least two or three snow crossings before this one. These slippery, snow filled crossings were as I've alluded to in my previous posts "manageable".

Manageable in the sense that serious bodily harm and/or death was not an imminent factor. As we approached the last crossing it initially seemed that it would be more or less similar to the others.

After painstakingly walking heel to toe for about 15 feet onto this crossing, I realized that it felt different. This embankment seemed to be pitched at a much steeper grade than previous passes. When I looked ahead to try to make out the end of the crossing it also appeared to be a lot lengthier as well.

It wasn't until I was approximately 1/4 of the way across before I gained up enough courage to look down. What I saw didn't immediately resonate in my brain. A long, snow filled, icy slope complete with a 3500 foot fall off of the mountain winked back at me. I was in complete disbelief. "What the fuck am I doing?", "I'm a calculated risk taker", "This is bullshit".

It is important to understand that the angle of this particular crossing was on par with any black diamond ski slope that I have ever skied on.

Lacking an ice ax or spiked shoes, if I had slipped, it is a forgone conclusion that I would have slid right off of the side of that mountain into the abyss. It was revealed to me a few minutes after completing this crossing that someone had recently died at the very same spot a week before.

Gathering what senses I had left, I managed to concentrate and continue on. At a couple of points I could feel my legs trembling from a variety of factors. The stress of walking heel to toe, shouldering a 40 pound bag slumped over my back, and lets not forget sheer terror. I remember at one point about half way through where I momentarily went into full panic attack mode. Somehow I was able to coach my nervous system out of it.

About three quarters of the way across the snow became noticeably harder which subsequently made it more difficult to gain any sort of reliable footing. Inch by inch, I walked slowly until I had reached the end of the crossing.

Sitting on this rock shortly after completing the crossing, I was actually angry at myself for doing this. I still have mixed feelings about this and whether I should have done it or not.

The Crossing Part I

2008-06-24T19:18:00.000-07:00

We began our Alaskan adventure in the Chugach National Forest. Tasked with completing the Crow Pass Trail in two days, I confess, I was on edge from the get go. What about bears? Would seven granola bars suffice if we had to stay an extra day? How am I going to carry a 40lb backpack 27 miles?

Fiddling through my backpack and anxiously awaiting our destination, I knew my fate was sealed for me right around the the time we began navigating a remote, unforgiving, narrow dirt road one mile from the Crow Pass trail head. There was no turning back.

Around ten o'clock a.m we met up with the other two hikers and began assembling the last of our 40 pound backpacks. A few group photo's were taken, a couple "don't get eaten by a bear" jokes were cracked, and shortly there after we started our ascent to a higher elevation.

The initial climb was undeniably intense. Straight uphill, one of the more "in shape" members of our party confessed that he was already winded. As a result we took a brief rest. Shortly after recovering our winded lungs we came upon a section of the trail with several inches of snow.

One of the more distinct memory's that I have of the initial part of this hike was a cave that was carved out of snow by a bear that Sal had pointed out.

Here it was mid June and I was laboriously trudging through several inches of snow admiring bear caves. Where the hell was I, this is so foreign?

After several hundred more feet, aching legs complimented by sore backs we reached the three mile marker ..."the cabin".

From here it was less of a climb per say and more of an endurance of will power, nerves, and shear energy.

I honestly do not remember much from this point until we reached the first snow crossing (perhaps 2-3 more miles?). The first few crossings were hairy to say the least but in retrospect absolutely manageable.

Equipped with all the latest REI gear that a DC suburbanite hiker can get his hands on, one thing became apparent, I was completely unprepared for and lacked equipment for anything beyond these easy snow crossings.

Contintued in next blog...

Alaska - "The Last Frontier"

2008-06-24T09:23:00.000-07:00

"Foreign, beautiful, immense, picturesque, vast, rugged, and dangerous".

These are just some of the adjectives that come to mind when someone asks me about my experiences in Alaska.

If one were to take notice, the phrase "Alaska the last frontier", is emboldened onto the states official license plate.

I found this phrase resonating throughout my head as we maneuvered over the many twists and turns of the Alaskan-Canadian highway in our rented four door, all wheel drive, Ford Escape.

Through tunnels, around snow capped mountains, and over scenic bridges we drove. The images of surrounding beauty were hard to reconcile with my protective conscious and knowing that the closest grocery store, car mechanic, or god forbid a hospital were hours away.

While thinking about "The Last Frontier" phrase, it became apparent that the large industrial complexes, corporate strip malls, incandescent billboards and fast food enterprises that have become synonymous with driving in much of the lower 48 states ceased to exist in this part of the state.

On one level, I found the tranquility to be a very novel concept to me. On the other, a host for many potentially horrifying scenarios. For instance, a typical Alaskan road side scenic pull off featured unfathomable views complimented with steep drop offs complete with sharp, unforgiving, rocky crags below.

I can only assume that building a protective barrier to protect aggressive tourists from plummeting to certain death and disfigurement must have been beyond the scope of Alaskan Tourist Association's budget. It made me wonder how many tourists a year stumble over cliffs or off of trails in an ill fated attempt to capture that "closer shot".

Concerning the people of Alaska, there were several things I admired about the people that lived in this environment. Here are a couple observations that are more notable. After several interactions with Alaskan residents and natives, not a single person mentioned anything considered "less desirable" about living there. Even after setting out bait such as "how do you feel about the 22 hours of darkness during the winter?". "That's ok, it just makes me appreciate summer that much more." Came the replies.

I also appreciated their social interactions. A comment about outdoor recreation often served as a great ice breaker. "I heard the Kings are running two weeks late in the Russian this season", is an example of one I heard. Whether it be hunting bears, angling for salmon, or trapping small game, activities took more social precedence than the standard "what do you do for a living" so commonly heard around Washington, DC.

In conclusion, twelve hundred miles later, a crust of dust, mud, and tar served as the outer coating on our previously sparkling white Ford Escape. After twelve hundred miles, several impromptu fishing trips, multiple cities covered, I felt dignified that we had covered such a substantial distance in Alaska. It wasn't until later when I looked on a map and realized that we barely put a dent into the Kenai Peninsula!

Wow

2008-06-21T21:38:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back from Aleyaska <-- purposely spelled that way! And all I can say is wow, I'm completely drained of thoughts. I need a few days to "decompress"... if you will. Initial thoughts are just too overwhelming to even consider at this point. I hope you read on because I will be putting some serious thought and effort into this over the next couple of weeks!

ANC Bound By Way Of ROC

2008-06-09T10:46:00.000-07:00

In approximately 48 hours from the time this blog is assumed to be published, I will be flying high in the open sky on my way to the Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport. Alaska is not a truck. It's not something that you just dump something on. It's a series of tubes!!!

So here is my tentative schedule.

Thursday
4:00 pm: I strut my Xanax contaminated, jet lagged, and discombobulated body off the plane and make an effort to assimilate to my new surroundings.
~5:00 pm: I wander around Anchorage trying to find the hostel (mm... hrrmmm... that's "hostel" and not "hotel") that I've made reservations at.

$25 a night for a bunk style bed isn't so bad. And hell, I can finally check this off of my list of things to do before I die.

Friday
12:00 pm: I catch a cab and head back towards the airport to anxiously await my three friends arrivals.

Saturday
7:00 am: We leave Wasilla, stop to pick up some last minute provisions and then it's off to the Crow Pass Trail head.
~1:00 pm: I run from an aggressive bear as fast as I can with a 45 pound internal frame Kelty back-pack strapped to me.
~7:00 pm: We set up camp and I mend my left arm back onto my torso with the stitches in my first aid kit.

Sunday
Finish 27 mile hike and get on the road back to Wasilla to get rest.

Monday
It's off to Denali for some sight seeing and fishing.

Tuesday
Clean up, drag a razor across my face, pop some Xanax and hop a seaplane for our next excursion... Bald Mountain Air Service.

Wednesday
~8:00 am: Brings us to our Halibut fishing trip. (This event is definitely a contender for my most eagerly anticipated experience).
~8:00 pm: Go out to catch some nightlife in Anchorage. This is going to be somewhat difficult for me since I've recently put a moratorium on my alcohol consumption.

Thursday
Two friends depart.
~8:00 pm: More nightlife???

Friday
I cruise back to Rochester in a Boeing 757, Xanax coursing through my bloodstream, exhausted, all the while trying to restore what's left of the pieces to my shattered sleep/eat/work cycle.

Stay tuned... there will be a lot more to come very soon...

Weekend Paradise Under Water

2008-06-02T16:27:00.000-07:00

On a self reflective note, I just want to say that this blog has become borderline therapeutic for me. I've never kept a blog before as I'm a bit of a private person but there are stories that need to be told.

As I've learned from other peoples blogs, namelessness is an important pillar of blogging, so I've changed all names for the sake of friendship liabilities.

On a whim, Sal and I drove out to Assateague Island on Marylands Eastern Shore. With the self imposed promise of a good time, a weekend of camping, crabbing, fishing, and relaxation awaited the both of us.

Less than 24 hours later, we found ourselves scrambling to get off of Assateague Island in a frenzied, frantic mess that could be characterized by soaking wet clothes, water damaged cell phones, and a demoralizing sense of failure (at least on my part).

Things change quickly. The stock market fluctuates on a moments notice, the political climate changes on a day to day basis, life seems to change on more of a granular path. However, old Mother Nature abides exclusively to her own schedule.

After a long day of drinking beer, crabbing, fishing, and camping, Mother Nature decided to test our wills and make us earn our keep of crabs, mussels and potential fun times to be had.

What seemed like the end to a great day turned into havoc as a woman I met on the beach warned me about an impending tornado on the island.

After discussing it with our camping family, we decided we needed to act sooner rather than later and start packing up our gear. Not five minutes later, a mass of dark clouds rolled over our campsite. Soaking us with rain... lighting and thunder began to illuminate the sky. People began scrambling to pack their gear and get the hell off of that island as soon as possible.

As the winds picked up, panic ensued... fellow campers began ditching tents, chairs and camping supplies into the trees in a chaotic rush to get off of the island.

Car horns began beeping. Screams, shouts, and crying children could be heard. It was every man, woman and child for themselves. It was at this moment I decided I would become a pussy for the time being, but good ole Sal had his own agenda. In times of crisis people look to others for guidance. People that keep their composure and think logically typically emerge as born leaders. Thank god for Sal cause I had lost it.

A long story short, after packing up tents, food, coolers, and supplies we made it off the island in about 45 minutes. Drenched in rain water, swamped clothes and an accelerated pulse, after a few stops we found ourselves back home in DC. Safe and sound.

Thank you Sal for your level head and being the voice of reason! You have a natural talent.

Hotlanta? O RLY?

2008-05-27T13:12:00.000-07:00

After the wet weekend in Aiken, SC... duty called in Atlanta, GA for the week. The software I work on was under evaluation by the U.S. Army at Fort Gillem just outside of Atlanta.

I left Aiken early Sunday morning with quit a hangover and a vow to myself not to drink for a few days. Two hours later, I found myself sitting at a Ruby Tuesdays reading the newspaper with a frosty mug of IPA in my hand. "My name is Tom and I'm an alcoholic." "Hello Tom."

The weather was horrible. From what I understand, stricken by months of drought and less than a 90-day supply of water, I was able to single handily liberate the city of its' drought conditions with my presence alone. Swirling gusts of winds, incessant rain, fog, drizzle, painted an ominous picture of what my week ahead would look like.

Anyways, after a couple contentious days of software testing, I managed to fit in an opportunity to drive to the city limits and hit a couple of bars. A work colleague of mine and I went out one night in the Highland area. It seemed to me like an overtly cosmopolitan/posh neighborhood. Maybe a touch of Clarendon with the mentality of Woodbridge?

The bars were enthusiastically decorated with pictures of Jimmy Carter everywhere. Ian and I hit an Oyster bar/restaurant called Fontaines Oyster House. Tuesday speical: $5.00 - Dozen Raw Gulf Oysters. I felt like my ship had come in (full of oysters of course). After guzzling a few local brews, talking business, and hounding oysters all night, we found our way back to the hotel.

Bare with me. Mind you, this is one long blog post to compensate for an entire weeks time...

Our hotel was bustling, located a stones throw from the airport it was full of new hires for Delta. The Marriott was full of chain-smoking flight attendants practicing landing procedures, memorizing airport codes, and sipping on whatever was on special at the time.

Here's a tip I learned that scares the begeeeeezuz out of me. During times of high turbulence in an airplane, I always look at the flight attendants face to try to gauge their reaction. Well, after talking to a "flight attendant in training", I learned that they are taught under those circumstances to always keep a smile on their face. I guess it's back to popping Xanax for me.

I'm going to stop here and publish now, under the realization that I've got some more recent and crazy things to blog about. I'll touch back on this post when I get the time. Keep reading it's going to get good!

Aching to get back to Aiken

2008-05-26T19:28:00.000-07:00

So, I recently took a road trip to Aiken, South Carolina. Population: 28,829. I hopped on the road Friday, and drove from Woodbridge, VA down around Richmond, through Greensboro, Charlotte, and finally stalled out just shy of the Georgia-South Carolina border in a small hamlet called Aiken.

After 11 hours in my truck I was more than eager to swig some shine and listen to Blue Grass all weekend. I met up with Casey and Tim from Charlotte (festy friends). Together we threw up my tent in about five minutes and hustled over to the stage.

I had arrived just in time to see the Hackensaw Boys. It was a great set, but I was saving my energy for the following evenings activities.

I remember going to bed that night with a smile on my face, a mild buzz, and the sound of crickets. I awoke to a thunderous, pounding rain and a wind that threatened to blow the rain fly off my tent and possibly me with it.

The lightning and the thunder were so bad at times it literally sounded like the lighting was striking the trees just outside of our camp site. At one point when there couldn't have been more than a half a second between the lighting and the thunder, I ran out to my truck and tried to fall back asleep. Damn that was scary!

The second night was great... Larry Keel with Natrual Bridge, The Hackensaw Boys, Town Mountain and the Drew Emmitt Band. I was so tired from not getting any sleep the previous night I went to bed semi-early.

That night the storms started all over again. There wasn't quit as much thunder but there was biblical amounts of rain. Thank god Casey had brought her Easy-Up. It was a life saver.

This was my first festival of the season and we had a great time! The festival was small, featured notable bands, and was totally non-commercialized. The experience reminded me a lot of Mayhem in The Mountain.

All in all, aside from the savagery of thunderstorms at night and the lack of sleep, I'd rate the experience a 9 out of 10 for festivals. I will definitely keep this one in mind for next year. All aboard for All Good! ;)

Beantown Shenanigans

2008-05-19T11:13:00.000-07:00

I know, it's been a while since I've blogged (not like people actually read my blog anyways). But to be fair, I've been extremely busy at work, which to me is a godsend. As a result, I've actually got some interesting things to blog about.

And so it goes... fairly recently, my company flew myself and a work colleague of mine up to Boston to catch a Red Sox game. I flew out of DC at 7:30 a.m. Sunday morning. The sun was coming up and it was apparent that a beautiful day loomed ahead for an unusually cold Spring in DC.

Fast forward 1.5 hours... touch down at Logan airport. Weather conditions = overcast, pounding rain, and 48 degree's... FUCK! If you haven't noticed yet, I've lost my cold weather skin and have molded myself into a "lil bitch" for lack of a better term when life concerns temperature and weather conditions.

Anyways, the Sox were playing the Tampa Bay Rays (who cares, I don't). I lasted three innings before I felt the urge to get out of my overpriced seat and roam around Boston for a bit.

I started at a local brew pub called Beer Works right outside of Fenway Park. There is something to be said about the irony involved of the situation where you are holding a ticket to Fenway Park in your left hand and simultaneously grasping a frosty local brew 500 feet outside the stadium in your right hand while also watching the game on a 20 inch HD television.

I had two pints of some local brew who's name escapes me right now, but 25 minutes later I felt myself swirling and asking some random street urchin where I could find the "Metro". "You mean the T-Train?" came the obvious reply.

My impressions of Boston, (I've been there before mind you):

-Dark and dreary New England town. - I understand why the English felt so at home.
-Overwhelming sense of history.
-Seafaring community (they call me Captain Obvious).
-"I'm from Boston, I don't give a fuck (pronounced 'fack')."
-Only 1 hour from Cape Cod by ferry (Province Town), the second most liberal, artsy, rainbow city outside of San Fran.

Anyhow, all things considered, it seemed like a great town to grow up in and consequently get the fuck out of STAT! All things considered, I did get to see a great friend of mine from my community college days at MCC.

The bottom line, it was a great experience that I'll never forget. However, come July Boston, you'll notice a Nissan Frontier speeding by on route 3 with a destination of Province Town to hang with my family and enjoy a different pace of life. Beach Life!!!

Cost vs. Benefit

2008-04-21T18:37:00.000-07:00

Well, I really wanted to go to Merle Fest this weekend. For fucks sake, it's Doc Watson's own festival!!! This man is 85 years old and can still pick a banjo better than the best of em. I can't say enough about him, he's a fucking savant on the banjo. In addition to that, It seems like such an eclectic mix of bands.

There are only two forces holding me back from jumping on the open road and driving down Route 95.

In order of importance...

1. Gas prices... There's something more to be said about this. There has been plenty of prophecies, speculation and predictions in the media as to what the tipping point will be to where gas prices will start to hinder people (read: Americans) from their recreational activities.

I've found mine. Here's a predisposition you should know. I've always been frugal, my friends and anyone that knows me beyond the casual relationship can attest to this but, I'm a cheap Charley.

However, give me a vacation and/or life altering experiences and I'm handing over money like a born again Christian at a church auction. I've found that music festivals have definitely changed my life, and as a consequence, I've recently made it a point in my life to try to attend as many as possible this summer.

But, after doing the math, it would cost me over $250 to see Doc Watson pick that banjo boy. Which seriously leaves me feeling disenchanted with the way things are.

So instead, I'll spend the weekend moping around and trying to feel useful.

2. Secondly, as insignificant as it might sound, it's a festival with no place to camp! As you may know from reading my previous blogs, I've spent $400 in camping gear. I crave the endless rows of tents, the impromptu noisey neighbors, the community fire pit, the instant communal society, the raw passion of "camping".

I'm going to Aiken Bluegrass fest. Aiken or bust. See you under the stars.

Wiley Coyote and the Fire Trucks.

2008-04-16T18:55:00.000-07:00

My mother, brother, his wife, and my two nieces came down from Rochester last Friday. I decided to entertain them by having a fire down by the river (no van involved). My brother and I get the fire stoked and burning just in time because it's getting really dark.

It's a beautiful night at 75 degrees and the river is as flat as a sheet of glass. Later, Kevin and I are lounging around the fire and drinking a few pops when what looks to be a medium sized dog comes barreling down the trail toward us. After a few "here boy...here boy"'s this wild Dingo looking creature jumps into the river, yelps and then goes quiet. We were absolutely baffled by what it could have been so we named it "The Swamp Monster".

Later that night after several more pops, a bag of Dorito's, and a few pulls of wine, I invited a few friends over. We're all having a great time when all of the sudden two fire trucks show up outside my house. About four firemen come rushing through the woods and immediately extinguish our fire. Major BUZZ KILL! I looked up and saw all of my neighbors faces pressed against their back windows. I could only imagine that they were wondering why the Woodbridge fire department was putting out a fire in the common area. It was at this time that I realized I needed to GTFO of my neighborhood for a bit.

Follow Up... two evenings later, I stepped out onto my back porch about 10:00 pm and heard some sort of bird shreaking in terror and the growling of some sort of Coyote. After listening to it for about 10 minutes, what I can only assume was a Coyote definitely got the best of the bird. I locked my doors and went to bed. It was a good weekend, and I'm now scared to camp by myself!

Me...

2008-04-14T18:28:00.000-07:00

Mildly eccentric
Responsible
Paranoid android (why I don't smoke weed)
Lover of people watching
Negative Nelly
Sucker for Reality TV
Culture junkie
Commitment phobe
Last minute extraordinaire
Diet Coke phene
Semi-Hypochondriac
Self reflective
Laidback
Nervous Nancy (after my mother)
A Merry Prankster
Accountable
Passionate about certain beliefs
Do the right thing Mookie

Alaska on my mind.

2008-04-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

I'm heading to Alaska in June with a couple of amigos. One of which happens to be an Alaskan native. It seems that the closer the calendar gets to June, the more my thoughts are consumed by Alaska and what it looks like.

I've been watching too much Survivor Man marathons this Winter. I want to eat a raw salmon pulled from the Kenai River like Les Stroud.

Seriously though, on a related note about vacation and adventure, I want to point out the irony of life. When I was in college I had no money but I had an abundance of time that was more than likely wasted foolishly. Fast forward to the present tense. I have plenty of money but I lack the time to do anything with it.

As it stands now I receive three weeks of vacation per year. Ideally, I would like to have some sort of career where I could take a month to two months off and do some adventure travel or take a sabbatical to promote humanitarian causes in third world countries.

Closing thought... I guess it is safe to say that for the majority of working Americans it is hard to strike the right balance between time and money. In the mean time I'm going to keep plugging away at work and dreaming of adventure.

New Gear -

2008-04-10T08:05:00.000-07:00

Current Gear List:

Alps Fusion +20 Sleeping Bag with compression stuff sack.
Self inflating sleeping pad.
High Sierra Cirque 30 Daypack.
Princeton Tec Solo Headlamp.
Highgear SmartLatch Compass/Thermometer.
High Sierra Wave Hydration Pack - 70 oz.
Pacific Cornetta Aletta Grande Vacuum Bottle - 16 oz.

So... I am having a hard time trying to decide on which of these two tents I want. I have thought about it from a cost/benefit point of view but still can't quite make up my mind. It is obvious from reading through the specs that one of these tents offers significantly more features than the other tent. But what I keep wrestling over is whether or not these features are worth the extra $90.

Speaking of money, I won $125 at work the other day for coming in number one in our office March Madness bracket. God Bless Kansas for pulling that off! So realistically, I should not be fretting over an extra $90 bucks.

Basically...

The REI tent is an ultra-lite backpacking tent. I like the open mesh (key component) and the color of the tent. I also like purchasing from REI in general. I am not sure how easy it is to set up though.

The Rock 22 is a three season, two pole tent (very quick set up) tent. The tent has a decent amount of mesh lining and has gotten a lot of good reviews. The North Face has become a fairly commercial brand over the past few years.

REI Quarter Dome - $259.00 Specs

North Face Rock 22 - $169.00 Specs