photos of Rock Creek

Some non-people photos. We were too soggy and bedraggled to make for good photos.

word of the day

Everyone should use this word at least once in her life:

grok:

1. To have an intuitive understanding. To know without having to think. e.g., to know that there are three objects without counting them.
2. To fully and completely understand something in all its details and intricacies.

It really is a beautiful concept under a hideous sound. Few people grok me, and truly nobody can grok another person, but it's a fun thing to say. "Geez, Mom, you just don't grok rock!"

prophecy

Well, the fishing trip was an utter disaster, though not for the reason I feared. Apparently "a 30% chance of rain" in southern KY means that it's going to pour for 7 hours solid. It started at around midnight Friday night and didn't exhaust itself until about 8 in the morning. By then we were all soaked, stiff, tired of waiting for a flash flood or a branch to come down on us, and pretty tired of the lightning bug that had sought shelter near the roof of the tent. I kept seeing flashes of light through my eyelids and counting the seconds to the thunder only to realize that it was the damned bug! One horribly shameful confession: a window was left open until about 3 AM. Not sure who opened it or failed to close it, but there was a lake in the middle of the enormous tent we had borrowed. Never, ever, ever buy a Swiss Gear tent at Target. There's a reason that Target isn't known as a sporting goods store.

As we were driving up to the campground, we saw that the water level in Rock Creek was fairly low compared to the last time we were there. On Saturday morning, though, it was a torrent of mud and debris that made fishing impossible. It didn't clear up at all during the day, though the water level dropped to normal levels, and it was only Sunday morning that found us able to see parts of the bottom. Of course, the fish were still pretty skittish, if there were any left. No fish to be had despite all attempts.

The best time was playing Klabberjass, a game worth learning (though not from this site!). A sad journey that was, in the end, still a good time.

weekend bliss

To say that I'm excited about fishing this weekend would be as much an understatement as saying that the Bush White House is struggling to find its footing. I've taken the study of fly fishing to a level of dorkdom not seen since the last Star Wars film, researching knots, flies, nymphs (did you know that a nympho is "a woman with abnormal sexual desires"?), times, hatches, and more crap than anyone should ever know about it. I've never taken such an "academic" interest in a hobby like this, not even wine (I know there's a word besides "lush" for someone who loves wine but it escapes me), and I'm afraid that it will detract from the actual experience. Have you ever studied something so intensely and anticipated it for so long that the experience itself disappoints? Not because it isn't fun in and of itself, but you've been so immersed in it aforehand that the study seems more real than the experience.

Just came across a cool term: Veblen good. It's something whose appeal corresponds to its price (a nice car, a pricey wine, etc.).

Hugo Chavez: Demagogue

Russia, our ally and co-world power, is selling this guy warplanes and AK-47s. Spasibo, Russia.

creepy

I'm rereading the Lord of the Rings, and it's uncanny how similar many of Gandalf's exhortations to war are to Dubya's. The same black/white attitude is prevalent, with exceptions, and it unsettles me to think that we have a leader whose "moral compass" is as simple as that of a character in a fantasy novel.

Anyone have any recommendations for trance albums or artists? No Oakenfold or van Dyk, please. I'm looking for stuff along the lines of Astral Projection or Chicane.

Nature: 1 Human: 0

Fish spears man

forgotten congratulations

I forgot to mention the joyous news of Final Jump getting a job! Kudos.

return

An eventful weekend has passed and MSLF is back in my life.On Thursday she flew to Dallas to attend the annual conference that her grandparents' company has, and she got back Sunday evening. Loneliness thy name is dwain.

For a good critique of Asheville (one which had me giggling like a little school girl), check out Laura's post about her recent visit. I think that free spirit and the such can be idealized sometimes, something I discovered while at uni.

I played racquetball on Saturday with a couple of friends and two strangers we met at Asbury's facilities (may they crumble to the ground). It'd been several months since I'd played, but it came back to fairly quickly. Of course, since I could easily move the strings on my racquet with my fingers, it wasn't the best of games, but it was a blast. We played doubles-- the best way to get smacked--and cutthroat-- the second best way to get smacked--for two hours, and I'm extremely sore.

We're going camping and fishing this weekend with friends. We're heading to Rock Creek in southern KY for two nights of blessed outdoorsiness. I hate camping at campsites where you can park your car (I prefere hiking a couple of miles), but few people come to this one. Photos will follow.

Hope all are having a beauteous July.

guilty pleasures

In the spirit of the emotional and psychological honesty that pervades Blogworld--the honesty that makes Tyler Durden go a big rubbery one--I have decided to confess some of my deepest and most closely guarded secrets to you, friends and strangers. Catharsis such as this must be closely supervised and not done with the haphazard spirit of a Catholic confession; instead I will thematically select areas of secrecy in my life and disclose those and only those. To maintain order and a semblance of propriety, they will be in the form of an outline. Let today's session begin.

1. Though it shames me, I love Bryan Adams. That gravelly voice and pock-marked face do it for me, not to mention the beautiful and never-cliched songs that he produces. "Please Forgive Me" for loving you so much, Bryan, but it really is "Heaven" to bask in your sound.
   
2. I've seen Peter Steele, lead singer of Type O Negative, in all his glory. That's right, naked. Please remember, faithful reader, that this is a confession of secrets, not all of which are proudly disclosed. The circumstances need not be discussed (he was there, I was there, the moment seemed right...), but it should suffice to say that I am emotionally scarred. And envious, but that's another story.
   
3. I listen to Alison Krauss. I am ashamed.
   
4. I giggle whenever I say Bruce Cockburn. Though it may be unutterably gauche to do so, I can't help it.
   
5. I look down on anyone who thinks that Phish are the zenith of musical talent. Sorry, Zach. While I'm breaking Zach's heart, let me add that I like about 3... *sob* Four songs by Dave Matthews, about four more than I would like to like.
   
6. I have 42 Xian songs on my computer. I will say no more of it.
   
7. I like ABBA.
8. Hootie and the Blowfish have invaded my computer.
9. Did I mention Roxette?
   
10. I love 90s cheese-rock. Roxette, Adams, Hootie, Savage Garden (gulp), Robbie Williams, and the like.
    
11. I can't stand U2, apart from 4-5 songs.
    
12. I have The Little Mermaid soundtrack on my computer. And I listen to it.
    
13. Once in a while I like to listen to John Denver, though never for longer than 45 seconds. "Annie's Song" and "Rhyme and Reason."
    
14. I-I-I think Alanis Morissette is cute. Granted, the fact that she would unman me in a heartbeat is a bit of a deterrent, but she's still a bit cute.
    
15. Coldplay make me sad. To have become so famous for so little can only lead to disappointment and eventual obscurity. They aren't the only band I consider nearly talentless (nearly) who have attained a certain fame: Bob Dylan is the top of the list (sounds like a donkey being choked), Bruce Springsteen, U2, The Ramones, and I'm already tired of listing the dozens that would have to go here.
    

There you have it: a short list of confessions which has, until this moment, been only mine to know. Now you're burdened with it too. Worst of all, you just wasted 2 minutes of your life reading this, and that's the most shameful thing of all.

I must go before the dude comes to clean our carpets and I'm stick in this chair all day. Although...

holy hatred

The first half of this is an interview with the father of a dead soldier, and the second half is with a... I've made it this far in the blog without cussing too much, and I'd like to maintain that. Suffice it to say, many of the words that I've picked up from Deadwood fit this woman. Especially an f-bomb followed up by the c-bomb. It's worth watching the second half just to hear two woman go at each other with such furor that you can feel the men watching cover their unmentionables in fear.

Here's another example of the conflict they've caused.

bowie unleashed

For my last day's activities, we played a Jepoardy game of science and grammar terms, looked at people's home cities on Google Earth, and are now watching David Bowie work his magic in Labyrinth. Is there nothing that man can't do? Now, Jennifer-what's-her-name is worthless, a trait she hasn't shaken.

You remind me of the babe (what babe?), the babe with the power (what power?), the power of voodoo...

Magical. And those pants... Mmmmm, thinly veiled eroticism in children's film; the birth of a movement.

opium and oprah

I hate Oprah. The day she wins the presidential election is they day I lose all hope for America's future. Here's a quote from her about a long-time friend of hers (4 phone calls a day):

"Something about this relationship feels otherworldly to me, like it was designed by a power and a hand greater than my own. Whatever this friendship is, it's been a very fun ride."

She and the friend deny that it's a sexual relationship, a claim I have no difficulty believing when I look at her.

alma mater

Here's a photograph of a small portion of the school I attended for most of elementary and all of my middle school life (middle school is 7-8th in my mind). Fancy...

hot and humid

In an attempt to improve my life and educate myself about American history, I've been watching the first season of Deadwood on DVD. Now, you may ask how this does these two things, a valid question which I will dignify with an asinine response.

1) It's educational because it teaches me new combinations of expletives so that I may wallop my enemies with a Mortal Kombat combo of filthy words before I finish them with the Fatality of the f- and c- bombs. Oh, and it's historically interesting.

2) It improves my life because I now know someone who cusses more than me. Hey, nobody said self-improvement can't happen through other people lowering the bar.

We've made a monumental discovery in the field behind our house: blackberry bushes. I spent about 30 minutes picking them today (I have the stained fingers and ripped shirt to prove it) and am excited about MSLF making some sort of pavlova, whatever that is. Of course, though we aren't paying for them in cash, the mosquitoes are taking their fee in--what else?--my sweet blood. Proof positive that God is not a loving being: anything that eats blood, humans included.

the poo of tao

If you have the time and patience for it, Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story is an excellent film in the vein of Spinal Tap, Lost in La Mancha, and the ever-clever The Office. It certainly isn't a "summer blockbuster" that will have people rushing to the shelves (our local Blockbuster didn't even carry it), but it's a wonderfully entertaining film if you're in the mood to pay attention.

So there are a lot of new names popping up in the comments section (who the piss is darkwraith?). Good to see you, Zach, though I'm feeling a little stalked. As for your review of Pirates 2, all I can say is that your taste in films has always been suspect. No offense intended. Not much offense intended. Pirates sucked. Don't get me wrong about Depp; as a comedic actor, he's magnificent (check out Time magazines editorial piece about him). I just wasn't as charmed by the film in its entirety. I don't expect Brokeback of the Caribbean, but I do expect a movie with at least some respect for the moviegoers' sense of narrative and believability. I know that sounds odd in reference to a pirate movie, but I'm more likely to be derisive of an unrealistic car chase than I am of something fantastical in a film. For example, in The Two Towers pretty boy Bloom slides down some stairs on a shield while shooting Orcs. My problem with the scene isn't the Orcs, Elf, or fantasy setting; it's the horrible fight choreography! Another black spot on Pirates 2 is the horribly recycled plot: daddy problems of an over-loyal son; chick dresses as a guy and gets away with it despite having breasts straining painfully to burst forth and make a real summer hit; chick does something for the good of the group and said deed is mistaken by significant other; cannibals. Speaking of cannibals, can we say stereotypes returning for the 2006 season? I end.

While I'm linking to articles from Time, I'll include this interesting one lamenting the lack of a "voice" for our generation. Hemingway, Kerouac, Fitzgerald, etc. were all powerful young voices, but we have nothing. If it doesn't work, just go to Time.com and look in the Arts section.

Two more days this week.

oh frabjous day!

Get yourselves over to this site and indulge in sinful decadence until you're utterly spent!

rainy days and tuesdays

Finished a really long, tedious, unrewarding day of teaching. I'm not sure I've ever made a student cry before, so today must be placed in the annals of ignominious achievements by dwain. Seeing my student cry because I kicked him out smacked me in the face with the fact that these are 8th grade children that I'm teaching, not hardened high schoolers who realize that being kicked out of class isn't the end of the world. I hope the kid will "get over it" because it really wasn't a big deal. I can remember being called out by teachers in middle school, though, and the embarrassment that I felt, so I may have to have a "nurturing" chat with him. God, I hate those because I suck at them. I'm all about the tough love sans the love.

It's pouring outside and I keep hearing a tune by James in my head: "Sometimes (Lester Piggott)." And no, I don't get the reference. To hear a smidgen of the tune, go to their website and check out the album Laid. There's something about the song that drives me; perhaps it's the rhythm or the nearly monotone singing. I'm not a big fan of posting song lyrics on blogs because I know how little they mean to other people, but I'm going to do so here anyway, though slightly expurgated. I really don't give a damn if you read them because sans music they're quite bland. On a rainy night when you're feeling a little mystical, they're magical.

There's a storm outside, and the gap between crack and thunder
Crack and thunder, is closing in, is closing in
The rain floods gutters, and makes a great sound on the concrete
On a flat roof, there's a boy leaning against the wall of rain
Aerial held high, calling "come on thunder, come on thunder"

Sometimes, when I look deep in your eyes, I swear I can see your soul

The boy is hit, lit up against the sky, like a sign, like a neon sign
And he crumples, drops into the gutter, legs twitching
The flood swells his clothes and delivers him on, delivers him on

There's four new colors in the rainbow
An old man's taking polaroids
But all he captures is endless rain, endless rain
He says listen, takes my head and puts my ear to his
And I swear I can hear the sea

I'm also going to post a quote from David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas. I finished it last week and am still processing. It took me 2 weeks to finish it with interruptions, and this isn't the kind of book that you should drag out. Anyway, this passage is from one of the 6 narratives that comprise the novel. It's from the POV of a 60+ year old Brit, a character that may not sound like someone I'd identify with, but I did. It is quoted sic.

Three or four times only in my youth did I glimpse the Joyous Isles, before they were lost to fogs, depressions, cold fronts, ill winds, and contrary tides... I mistook them for adulthood. Assuming they were a fixed feature in my life's voyage, I neglected to record their latitude, their longitude, their approach. Young ruddy fool. What wouldn't I give now for a never-changing map of the ever constant ineffable? To possess, as it were, an atlas of clouds.

There are some words I wish I had written, and these are some of them. I hope that all of you see the Joyous Isles, whatever they may be for you.

another week begins

It's a Monday morning and I'm exhausted. I had a crapulous weekend of food and drink (mostly food) that was rescued by a day of watching Futurama and chortling as France got it's rear handed to it. A satisfying loss, but what an incredibly boring and anticlimactic way to end it.

So, I was on the Myspace bandwagon for a bit, and it was a great way to get in touch with people I'd had no contact with for years, but I tired of it. I was able to find a friend from my middle school in Bolivia, several friends from high school (though none of my classmates), and a couple of other people I'd met along the way, but it was a meaningless connection so I severed it. Just an FYI for anyone who was a "friend" on Myspace.

Pirates 2 was an enormous, whopping, gargantuan disappointment. In fact, beyond being disappointing, it was simply a bad movie. Aargh!

jealousy

I'm jealous of this room. I want it.

One of the artists that I feel blessed to have stumbled upon finally has a website! Hevia is a Spaniard who takes the bagpipes and contemporizes them into beauty. If you have the time, listen to "San Xuan" off of his album released in 2002(3?).

friday night treats

What a long day. The kids were horrendous, I was discombobulated, and it was a beautiful day tragically lost to little progress, I'm afraid. If anyone were ever to actually read this, they would think I hate teaching. And, they would be right, in a way, but they would also be entirely wrong. Cliched enough for you? I do hate moments of teaching and I write about them. I love other moments of teaching, but I don't write about them because they're rarely as entertaining.

We're going to the drive-in tonight to watch Pirates: Return of the Moneymaking Machine. Should be fun times!

For not being my kind of music, I'm enchanted by Frou Frou. Heard them on TV in Amsterdam and bought the album immediately after I got back Stateside. Not disappointed at all. Imogen Heap: mmmmm...

I should also recommend Thom Yorke's album The Eraser, though I'm sure most people have already heard the hype. It's not as brilliant as most critics like to think, but it definitely has personality. "Atoms for Peace" is worth giving a listen to, or at least it's the one that stood out to me the first time I listened to it.

While I'm on music recommendations, I must mention DragonForce. A marriage of glam rock and metal cannot help but be hilarious yet compelling to a child of the 80s. I'm compelled to enjoy it. Glametal shall be the name by which it shall be called, and it shall take by storm the evil forces of pop which threaten the very existence of angry white music. Listen for yourself as they sing and rampage "Through the Fire and Flames." Sound like Petra on speed?

Everyone say it with me now: Abomination.

Drove by this on the way to Toledo last weekend. An eyesore and soulsore so despicable that I couldn't even begin to express my revulsion. If you have a similar reaction, respond with a mutually agreed upon word of contempt. "Abomination" work for everyone?

A beauteous weekend has come to an end with a fantastical storm that frightened my dreams. No fireworks that cities put together could have compared with the awesome wind, lightning, and torrent that fell yesterday afternoon and then again this morning.

MSLF and I spent a hectic yet somehow relaxing day cleaning our shanty from top to bottom. Finished off the evening with a superb bottle (Thorne-Clarke's 2004 Shotfire Shiraz from the Barossa Valley) and a sentimental film that I can't help but recommend, Marilyn Hotchkiss Ballroom Dancing and Charm School. I don't normally enjoy sentimental films (notable exceptions), but this one really got to me. Robert Carlyle, a perennial favorite of mine, is a widower who's struggling to understand his wife's suicide. He brought such tenderness to the role that I was ridiculously distraught when I found out that she had committed suicide. Why did she do it? He's so quiet and kind! He's a baker, for the sake of Pete!

Maxx is getting older. He's mellowing out. It makes me more than a little sad to know that we may only have a few more years with him.

5 hours gone

Watched 3 films yesterday:

• Cache - critically acclaimed bollocks from (wait for the surprise) France
  
• Dandelion - mediocre indie with a stunning filming location (I'm moving to Idaho)
• Imagine Me and You - one of those films in which you're supposed to pity the person having an affair, but my sympathies always go to the cuckolded. Of course, in this case there's also the issue of the cheating wife being a closeted lesbian... Worth seeing just for the husband: cool as can be actor.

Well, MSLf and Maxx are playing in the yard outside, so instead of watching them through the windown, I'm going to join.

Happy Imperialism Day!

Christian film rated PG

God forbid that there ever be anything Xian that is even slightly realistic. It should all be "He's got the whole world in his hands," right?