goodbye, me

Jamaica

2012-02-05T12:57:00.014-05:00

Hey guys! It's Alan, and as you can see I'm back on Goodbye, Me after a long hiatus. Since my last post, I've spent time in Louisiana, Oregon, and Massachusetts, as well as back home in North Carolina. But now, I am in Jamaica and ready to start blogging again. Why am I in Jamaica? Well, my girlfriend Laura and I are first and foremost, studying birds, but adventure is a big part of it as well. We are working for a graduate student at Tulane University, and in turn the the Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center. Our study is focusing on American Redstarts and Black-throated Blue Warblers, two species of warbler that breed in eastern North America and spend the rest of the year here in the West Indies. What's remarkable about those two species in particular is the fact that they hold winter territories, and the dynamics of these territories is what we are studying. A single redstart will return to the same tree to spend the winter, year after year, all after over a 1,000 mile journey! WOWZA! But more on that in later posts... I'll keep it streamlined for now. Basically, Laura and I will be down here until May, capturing and studying birds and exploring the world of Jamaica. SOoooo... without further ado... let's start the journey. Here is post #1...

January 14th, 2012

As the plane descended into Montego Bay the stewardess came onto the intercom. She declared that everyone should get ready, because it was 84 degrees on the ground! Roars of exultation came from the rabid tourists who had been ordering cocktails and mini-bottles since the flight had taken off. Not everyone on the flight was so responsive to the weather announcement however. A young, fat rastafari in a wife beater and stocking cap sat quietly and a black man next to me offered me two Halls cough drops after I had sneezed into my hand. He promptly fell asleep against the window after that, which was okay with me, as I preferred to sit in silence as we approached.

Well, it was true. Montego Bay was indeed 84 degrees, and as the plane skimmed just above the coastline, aquamarine water met white sand just as it should. Beyond the coastline strand, verdant hills rose up into lush forest, where small colorful buildings were barely visible, tucked beneath the fronds, fruits, and flowers.

The humidity hit me like a wall as we filed out of the plane and into the airport. Moving through a bare white hallway, I followed the signs towards immigration. I had taken a separate flight than Laura and Ashley, who had arrived on a plane about 30 minutes before I had. Arriving at immigration, I was greeted by a line of 300 people, making switchbacks toward the front . Ashley had informed me that I might get some questioning from the immigration officers regarding the length of my stay, which, at four months, was a rarity among visitors. At long last I arrived at the booth, and answered a series questions – How long is your visit? What will your address be? What is the purpose of your visit? I answered all as I should. I will be here until May 10th. My address will be Kew Park, Betheltown. I am a volunteer on a scientific research project. I am a volunteer. All my expenses are paid. Repeat. I am not getting paid. She promptly asked – Who is your boss? I said she is over there in baggage claim. Her name is Ashley. Then I remembered that I had a sheet of paper with our Jamaican phone number and address printed out – maybe that would be more convincing. I handed the sheet to the young Jamaican woman, and as she glossed over it, she began to laugh and show it to the worker next to her. I had forgotten that on that same piece of paper was a blow-by-blow list of tips to get by immigration, rife with all the “right things to say,” and “what you might expect.” Of course that was hilarious to them. After their laughter subsided, she stamped my passport for 90 days and said I would need to come back two weeks before it expires to get it renewed or face a steep penalty. I was through!

In the airport parking lot we met up with a representative from the car rental company who handed over the keys of a new pick-up for us to drive off in. Our first stop in town was the Mega Mart, a giant store reminiscent of Costco. I, however, did not get to go inside, and had to stay with the pick-up to guard our bags in the back. Not knowing exactly what I was guarding against, I stood stoically behind the truck, switching around occasionally to sit on the back hatch. To pass the time, I nonchalantly watched the bird life around me. Glossy ibis lifted up from the wet grasses across the street, and a pair of mockingbirds danced across the lawn, throwing shadows over insects before they pounced. My attention was drawn to the cars that passed by me in the parking lot – hosting a wide variety of people, all of them either gawking, glaring, or avoiding me. Horrific dramas of assault and murder began to play out in my mind. What a shameful way it would be to go out!

Well, of course nothing happened, and as we continued onward, I learned from Ashley that we would be driving about an hour or so into the hills to where we would be staying, in an old estate of a British family that rarely visits anymore. The road that wound up into the mountains and away from tourist-land was sinuous, narrow, and full of potholes, and when combined with the left-side-of-the-road driving, quite harrowing. We passed through the towns of Anchovy and Rat Trap, where trash blew down the sidewalks and matchstick houses with zinc roofs blurred by.

Ashley’s informative words flowed fluidly into and out of my consciousness – The Jamaican government is bankrupt, they are trying to develop every undeveloped area left in the county - Nowhere is safe - They don’t give a shit about the land – it went on. I lost track of the words, and stared back out the window at the shoulder of the road, where a man and his two sons stood urinating, their backs turned to us. Wow. Ashley then told a story of a kid who once approached her and asked if she wanted to see a boa. Since the Jamaican Boa is an endangered species and rarely encountered, she eagerly asked the kid to lead her to it. There it was. In the chicken coop! Later she learned that they traded the boa so that the kids could get shoes. What can you say to that? We all agreed. Nothing.

Our journey towards Kew Park continued, and I focused again on the scenes passing by. The feeling of being in a 3rd world country started to come back to me, as I smelled the smell of exhaust fumes, burning trash combined with lush green vegetation, foreign signs and foreign faces. We pulled over to a plywood front with “corner jerk” scrawled on it. It was a small shop selling jerk chicken and jerk pork, and as Ashley ran in to grab us some, I watched a young boy wearing a red shirt and athletic shorts walking up the street, kicking a ball. As he launched the ball up the road, he made a gun with his hand and fired three shots into the sky before he ran around the corner and out of sight.

At last we pulled onto the dirt track that would take us to our house where we’d be staying the first few nights, while other researchers cleared out of the main house. It was an old, fortress turned cottage, with slots in the wall for firing weapons out of, and a tower that would fit right into medieval times. I took a moment to sit down. I could here music from Betheltown far below us. Mystikal, Notorious BIG, and Ghetto Superstar played in succession. My favorite music! Where was that music coming from, and what sort of people were down there? I sat back and closed my eyes and slowly but surely, my brain started to tackle my new home. Jamaica.

So... STAY TUNED. Many more posts to come.. hopefully once a week or so. And, maybe you are wondering why I am wearing duct tape on my ankles in that photo. Well, tune in later and you'll find out. IT'S A SCARY REASON. Wowza!

DON'T FORGET

2010-05-03T19:03:00.001-04:00

Don't forget... hop over to BEER AND TREES!!!!!!!!! New posts are there right now.

www.beerandtrees.com

I rotate so fast I appear invisible.

2010-04-27T15:53:00.016-04:00

Hey, folks. Whether you have been waiting with bated breath or haven't been aware... I haven't been here for a while. I apologize for the month of silence.

What has been going on? Well... First, I have left Puerto Rico. I have nothing but love for the island, but it was time. The work was getting tedious, the people overbearing, the island all too familiar. All signs that it was time to dip and begin the next stage of this life.......

But since then, No, I haven't been idling, and this post has a specific purpose. A purpose that I'll explain now. For the last six months a plan has been in formation, a sort of realization of dreams. It began with my friend Tyler, who approached me long ago with the intention of driving cross-country, something he was determined to do, whether or not he had a posse. After a month or so of waffling I agreed to join the team, along with a 3rd, Michael. Tyler, a budding brew-master, had his sights set on checking out various microbreweries along the way, as well as visiting national parks... all in all an authentically wholesome agenda in my eyes....

Time passes.... excitement builds... thumb-tacks go into maps.... and....

I write this now on the eve of our departure, and still nothing is set in stone... and that is the way we planned it to be. For me, I will be a part of the team until the 22nd of May, when I am jettisoned into the sagebrush desert of SE Oregon for my next job. There I will spend two months performing census of colonial marsh-nesting birds, another adventure entirely. But that will be covered later. Much later.

So, now we have come to it. Tyler, Michael, and I will be operating a blog on our journey. It will be focused, it will be varied, it will be juicy. Appropriately, it will be named Beer and Trees. Yum Yum! Check the link below...

http://www.beerandtrees.com

It will be for nature lovers. Beer lovers. Travel lovers. And most of all, for the dreamers. Lmao that's cheezy.

For now, I'll just leave you with this sick line from Lupe, off his Enemy of the State mixtape.

"I've seen a bunch of fake shit like avid wrestler fans." - Lupe

Lmaooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, PEACE!

The Most Bizarre Behavior

2010-03-11T16:28:00.037-05:00

Before you read this post, make sure you read this direction:

This is a narrative about a domestic human situation. Consider its likelihood, its appeal, consider everything about it. And, make sure you stop afterward and read the next bold-faced statement.

Out of all the exotic, tempting places in the world, perhaps the most bizarre behavior of all took place in the suburban gardens of the British couple, Bill and Jane Momsen. To the passing eye, they lived together as a traditional pair… but, little did everyone know, that still didn’t preclude a little infidelity now and then.

Let’s take a look into one May morning of theirs together. Jane is quite pregnant, spending most of her time primping the soon to be baby’s room, decorating the crib, and gabbing to all of her envious, jealous friends. Bill is busy in the front yard, trimming the hedge, keeping an eye on the shady characters. Vigilance is both part of his duty as a husband and as a member of the Community Watch. He still isn’t sure why, but keeps his eye on Jane, makes sure that she is doing exactly what he expects, makes sure that she is where he thinks she is. It’s been that way ever since that scum-bag Jerry came around. Jerry wants his Jane. He can tell it in his eyes, the way he lurks around the trashcans.

Lunchtime arrives and Bill and Jane come together once more, eating together. He compliments her cooking, she rinses the dishes, he asks her if she needs anything else. Bill reflects on how useless she is. Jane reflects on how much he underestimates her. How he has no idea how much he owes her.

Bill watches her walk back up the stairs, and then he goes back out into the front yard to work, and just as he does so he spots that scum-bag Jerry lurking in the hedge. Bill takes off his shirt, breaking into a sprint after Jerry, his muscles rippling beneath his chest hair. Jerry freezes, plants on his back foot, and then lunges to meet Bill. They collide in a mass of testosterone, nails clawing at each others backs, curse words flying.

"You effing wanker."
"You bloody sack of oats."

Jerry begins to hear his glasses crack, realizes he is beat, and promptly flees.

Bill sighs. He has got Jane to himself again. He gets back to work… he is convinced that Jane is at work upstairs, putting up that new wallpaper. But, on the contrary, Jane has just slipped out the back window, has just met up with Jerry, has just declothed and submitted herself to him. Jerry could never resist the sight of a proper lady shaking her fanny like that...

It’s now mid-afternoon, and Bill is about finished working. The yard looks great, much better than all the other yards around. He is truly proud. That is until he sees flush-cheeked Jane sashaying out of the front door, coming up to him, acting like she did 15 years ago, acting like they were still in lust. What the hell, he thinks.

Bill immediately knows something is up, grabs her wrist, and leads her into the den. Here he proceeds to inspect her genital opening with his hand until she ejects some droplets. He knows what it is immediately! It is Jerry’s sperm! They proceed to copulate anew, Jane seemingly content with all that has transpired. She is even waggling her fanny like she did for Jerry! Bill, driven by his instincts, spends no time thinking.

------------------ Years pass -------------------------

Young Ted, the son of Bill and Jane, is experiencing his 17th birthday. From Bill and Jane he receives his favorite CDs and Bill's old car, a BMW. From a mysterious man who claims to be his estranged father, a man he has always kept secret from Bill, he receives access to a bank account of 100,000 dollars(a secret fund for his future), as well as 3 Twix bars, his favorite.

That evening Bill is out working on the hedgerows, thinking of how much his son resembles him. Then he sees the shadow again. His back aching, he runs down to the curb, only to see a rat slip down the drain. God damn it, he thinks.

All the while, Jane is sitting on the upstairs balcony Bill built for her, fondling the jewelery Jerry gave her, smiling at the secure future she has made for her young Ted. What a brave life she has lead so far! She has kept two males happy, both of whom have helped young Ted get to where he is.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first segment of this post, as I said, described a domestic situation between Bill, Jane, and Jerry, where Jane, the promiscuous wife, tricked two men into taking care of her son. Now for Part II. Part II is taken from the Life of Birds, narrated by David Attenborough. It details the infidelity of one species, the Dunnock...

Most birds stay together as a pair, at least during the breeding season. But… living as a pair doesn’t preclude a little infidelity now and then.

Perhaps the most bizarre behavior of all takes place in the suburban gardens of England, and the common hedge sparrow, or Dunnock.

Picture a female Dunnock ready to lay. Above her in bush is her mate Alpha, singing lustily, declaring his ownership of the nest and the territory around it in which he feeds. The pair often feed together, a devoted couple if you ever saw one.

However, Alpha seldom lets her out of his sight, for she is not as faithful as she might be. There is a third bird around…. Beta, another younger male. He is not popular with Alpha and they are continually squabbling. Sometimes the fights can get quite vicious and feathers fly. But in spite of that, the loner Beta stays around, skulking out of sight in the hedge.

To Alpha, it seems as if he has the female to himself once more. But she has got her eye cocked. Beta is still in the hedge, calling quietly to her. And now while Alpha is preoccupied feeding, she joins Beta in the hedge. She and Beta get together. She begins twirling her tail as an invitation, and in a split second they mate. Beta flies away.

But now, out in the open the female is now courting Alpha with that some old tail twirling. He, however, takes precautions to ensure his paternity. He pecks her genital opening, and she eventually ejects a droplet. Its Beta’s sperm. He persists for up to 2 minutes, until all of his rival’s sperm is gone. And now, he mates with her. It will be his sperm that will fertilize her eggs. She has kept two males happy, both of whom will help to feed the young when they hatch, and Alpha has managed to ensure he will be the father of the eggs she will soon lay, or at any rate, most of them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So there it is, one group of humans, one group of birds... well... what else is there to say? Perhaps this...Cough. Cough. Ahem!

"Extreme infidelity like polygamy is not widespread among birds. Among most birds, and humans, male and female stay together, and by a combination of bonding with one another, and driving away any who try and interfere with the partnership, they stay together. Male and female conduct their courtship on equal terms, and when they are convinced they are compatible, they work together to build a nest. And once they do that, they enter the most difficult time of their lives, a time in which they'll have to employ all kinds of ingenious stratagems if they are to raise a family."

Cheers! Vacation time for me... with mother and father. Or so I'm told....*wink*

lips that touch tears lose their taste for kissing... a.k.a... CAT UPDATE!

2010-03-06T14:04:00.027-05:00

3/5/10

More workers arrived to our apartment this past weekend. They have moved in, reshuffled the equilibrium, and most importantly, given me reason to tell stories about what has happened. I have been around the Puerto Rican block, know the island, and can sound like an expert...something I love to do, especially since I have been the one constantly asking people questions for the last two months.

Out of the assortment of details I've related, the one that evoked the most emotion involved our saga with the cats... specifically, Don Hawk... the cat who's trials and tribulations have been chronicled already on this blog. For a refresher(I recommend this), read the initial reports, a couple posts down from this one.

I spoke of Hawk in detail, told them how we had taken him away, how he had returned, and how we had taken him away again, to his now presumed death. I had scarcely allowed myself to think about Hawk until then. How the situation pained me! Thankfully, the newbies were full of oohs, ahhs, and most of all, awwwwwwwws. It was the past, it was nostalgic, it was fun.

And so it came to be March 5th...

Phillip, Sarah, and Kim had gone for an afternoon of surfing, a route that takes them through the old neighborhood where we had last released Hawk. As they returned to the house in the late afternoon, I heard Phillip's screams first. "Come look!"

And yes. I knew it. Hawk was in his arms.

They had seen him sitting on the side of the road, not 5 minutes from where we live, and picked him up and brought him back. Just like that he was back. I sat down by the door and stared at him, at his once white legs, now sooty with dust. He ran into my knees, plowed his head into my open palm, and it felt good. Very good.

But a good feeling does not solve problems, especially when it comes to rogue beasts... and that is where I find myself now.

Now that I am around Hawk again, and the initial joy of reunion has worn off, I can see that I am the one that has changed. The ruling fist of Don Walter has poisoned me, and I find myself to be, bluntly, an amalgamation of hypocritical emotionz. Late last night after he returned, I found myself sitting alone with him, cuddling by the door, rough-housing like we used to. But then this morning, I saw him sitting outside the door and felt an uncontrollable rage, and in turn I punted him four or five times in the ribs and butt, making sure that he had fled down the street.

One moment I am in love, the other I am desperate to get him out of my sight. Later, Kim had left the door open like we used to do and Hawk had wandered in on his own accord, weaving through the table legs like he owned the place. Instead of coaxing him, however, I felt panic and let out a tirade of threats.

"If you let this cat in the house again, you're going to have to answer to Don Walter," I shrieked. "I have taken the fall way too many times already, I will not do it again!!"

I picked up Hawk and chucked him out again, shouting obscenities. But then, just hours later, I was out wandering the streets, wondering where he might be, peering into hiding spots for his familiar shape.

................... Yes. Now it is obvious... I am a confused, old friend, of Don Hawk. As I sit now and reflect on the situation, I attempt to piece together the feelings. I want him close, but not close enough to be seen as a relationship... in the eyes of both Don Walter and Don Hawk. He needs to be a casual stopper-by, an independent man... or it is not going to work. I have closed the book on elicit intimacy... and I will not tolerate a battle with Don Walter again, I will not put stress on the friendship we have forged since the initial battles began.

At least for today, that is. :-O

Burnt at Both Ends: The Energy Shot

2010-02-17T11:31:00.037-05:00

Ever since ESPN started airing the commercial, it was inevitable.

Long lasting energy without the crash... You don't need energy drinks, just the energy...

These phrases were permanently ingrained in my head, every 3rd commercial, as I sat wondering how the Bobcats(17-6 at home) could lose at home to the New Jersey Nets(1-27 on the road), how the Tarheels could get dominated so mercilessly by Georgia Tech, if the Lakers can beat the Cavs with Jamison(yes), or how glad I was that Johnny Weir was at a safe distance...

5 hour Energy.

Ever since being overexposed to 5-hour Energy, I've been secretly obsessed with giving it a try. Not out of necessity, not as a trial run for future addiction, but to...?

To put a feeling to the name. Would 2:30 really feel like 5:30?

To confirm my suspicions. How much does life suck for people who rely on them? Would Luke Harangody consider it?

5 hour energy. 5 hour energy.

Since I made the decision to do this about a week ago, I have been trolling the supermarkets, gas stations, and finally the Walgreens in search of the small orange bottle. Gas stations? No luck. Supermarkets? No luck. K-Mart? Sold out. 1st Walgreens? Sold out. 2nd Walgreens? Sold out. Apparently Puerto Ricans are super into it... Even more reason to do it!

However, the prolonged search was getting irritating, so I decided that I didn't care that much about the brand, just the effect.. so I settled for the second rate spin-off sitting next to the empty slot on the shelf: the Monster: Hitman Energy Shooter. . I purchased the 3 fluid oz. bottle for 2.99.

In doing so, I was directly defying this statement by 5-hour Energy on their website: Despite dozens of imitators, 5-hour Energy is still number one – by a wide margin. Why? Because it works.

According to the bottles however, they have the exact same ingredients, the Monster: Hitman even one-upping 5-Hour Energy with 400 mg of Panax Ginseng. So, any fears of tainting my experiment were thus assuaged, and I entered the next step at full throttle, dreaming of full throttle.

Next step? To actually drink the energy shooter. The target was for the early morning of February 17th, selected simply because it was the next day. I glanced briefly at the warning label, cursorily noted the phrase: "no more than 1 every 4 hours," the words "irritability, rapid heartbeat, pregnant women," and read no more. In retrospect, here is what it really says:

But at that moment in time, I didn't care about their warnings. I wanted to make my own warning. And this is how it reads:

6:30 AM. I chugged the small bottle on the way to do point counts with Alcides. Taste doesn't really matter, since it's gone in a millisecond. Only preparation? Make sure I'm not the one driving. For the first hour nothing has really happened, until... I realize that something is happening. While driving to the next point, I discover myself simultaneously attempting to:

- eat yogurt
- remove seed-pods from my pants
- grope for my pen beneath the seat
- change the CD to Kid Cudi
- enter the next point into the GPS
- read directions to Alcides
- grasp his joke about if your friend falls into this plant to say this phrase about a penis, which is a double-meaning, because...

As I said, I try to accomplish all these things simultaneously in about 2 minutes, all while feeling quite nauseous and strung out. I "succeed," but have worked myself into a complete frenzy in the process...

Anyways... we are arriving to the next point, so I have to get out and open a gate. As I get back in the car, I can't open the door because the spoon is still in my hand and then I slam the door on my foot getting back in. I become entangled in the seat belt and by the time I de-tangle it's time to open another gate. Alcides is fully aware of my experiment and is whooping and laughing at me.

The point is up a stream-bed, and my goal is to not fall and at the same time to think of some adjectives to describe my sensations. I create a chant of them so I can remember them until I write them down. They are:

- Nausea
- Over-enthusiasm
- Master of None
- Irrational Anger
- Idly Scatterbrained
- Bodily Functions x 100

Those are pretty accurate, and I'm pleased. Here are the notes I make while also counting the birds I am hearing. Note how large I wrote "close door on foot." Click on it to make it bigger!

So... Time passes... We are finished working, it's about 11:00 and we're driving home. I am crashing(I'm not supposed to be crashing), and it is not pretty, I am extremely hostile, hostile toward every song that is playing, the seat belt, my shoes, everything. Everything is out to get me! I stop moving completely and eat a PB and J and things start to get better.

What to make of this? Well... I'll just put it like this: it confirmed my suspicions...

- After taking it, 2:30 may feel like 5:30, but you'll get splinched in the process.

- Luke Harangody has probably tried it(yet another reason why he'll never be as good as Hansbrough), and yes... you're life would really suck if you took this regularly.

Sigh... As with most things in life, the actual experience did not live up to the fantasy. But then again... I'm not the one writing reviews like this, so you tell me:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

i tried it and the taste is alitle less than expected but all in all pretty good its about 1:00 am i took it about 11:00 im alitle more tired than in the begining but then agian ive had a full can of monster every day for 3 weeks id give it about an 8.5
10:59 PM

Anonymous Anonymous said...

whoever said its pathetic is retarted monster kicks ass NOS sux i was high wen i drank 3 of them hahahahahhahaahah
7:46 AM

Anonymous dean said...

i am now six hours out after my very first energy drink ever...this shot from monster. i took it before a hockey game, and i'm just now recovering. seriously thought i was going to have to call a doctor. shakes were so bad i couldnt type this ten minutes ago. the energy drink experts may chalk this up to my being a rookie at the energy drinks and they may be right, but for me the aftereffects were terrifying. just a word to the wise, and again in fairness i'm a 41 year old guy who is about ten pounds overweight. full disclosure.
1:02 AM

Loll... At least I spent the rest of my day like this:

One love, y'all.

Woof, Meow, and Ouch: The Dead-end Nature with which We Operate.

2010-02-06T16:35:00.027-05:00

This post is the beginning of what promises to be a long, continuous tale. In my neighborhood, the humans share the streets, yards, and trashcans with an assortment of loose animals. Just within our block, there are dozens of cats and dogs, a scattering of horses, not to mention the giant toads, hermit crabs, and the slinking mongoose. Sitting along the street in the evening, I have built relationships with some of them, and find great amusement in finding my role in this myriad of feral beasts... and during this process I have kept a journal of my interactions, of which I'll be sharing with you. Before we get to the entries, I need to give some background of the characters. To this point, the most important players have been a trio of male cats. Our first cat to hang around us is named Hawk, and later on you'll meet two others, Harrier and Owl Cat. The overlying tension of all that happens is caused by the fact that our landlord Don Walter(who lives above us) strictly prohibits cats around the house due to the allergy of his wife...but we'll get to all of that. So, with no further adieu, let it begin... photographs will be at the end:

1/10
A cat has appeared, and he seems to be willing to come closer, unlike the other ones. The development of our relationship has been gradual, the sequence of events long and complicated. At first it was simple bribery with bacon fat, then preening. We give him pleasure in the form of company and food, and in turn he gives us company and a fun challenge. His eyes are forever critical, and his body is still constantly taut and poised to flee. Our relationship has been forged under the disapproval of our landlord who strictly prohibited cats in the vicinity, due to the allergy of his wife. I name him Hawk.

1/15
Hawk ran to the door, staring out to the street. We scampered up behind him, and through the dimness of dusk we saw a figure sitting on the curb, staring intently down towards us. It was a dark, vertical figure with two ears sticking up from his skull. The image of a long-eared owl came to mind and the name stuck. Owl Cat. Just as his existence registered we blinked and he had disappeared. Walking up the driveway to the road, we looked up and down, but saw nothing. He had disappeared. Hawk refused to leave our side, weaving between our legs, peering down the street.

1/20
Last night we were the closest ever with Hawk, having gained enough trust for him to come inside and sit alongside us, to chase down toads in front of us, even to cut loose with his youthful energy and leap onto the side of a telephone pole, only to calm down, leap off, and nudge and sway between our calves, running to catch up with us if we walked ahead.

1/21
We had to take Hawk away this morning, as Don Walter was overheard cursing and threatening to poison him with tainted tuna. Don Walter then came and yelled at us directly, telling us to stop feeding the cat and leaving the door open. We feared for his life and felt responsible for it. Phillip and I forced him in the car before dawn as we headed to Maricao Forest to bird. We drove him down the road, through a mile of undeveloped land and into Ensenada town, where we let him out by a traffic construction sign and the first houses. In the car he struggled at first, jumping onto the dashboard and throwing his head into the windows, calming down only when one of us held him in our lap, stroking his ribcage or the areas around his throat and ears. As we approached our destination he began to emit a series of heart-wrenching screams, hollow and descending, unlike anything he had made before. We tossed him out the door, drove away, and then looked back. He sat there by the side of a new road motionless... he seemed to be scarcely breathing. But we knew from having just held him that his heart was racing.

We were taking him away from the only place he had ever known, into a new, cutthroat world in which he was completely un-established. And in our heads Phillip and I agonized. We were performing the utmost betrayal, but at the same time we were trying to convince ourselves that we were doing the right thing: severance for the greater good.. but that made us feel no better.

1/21 evening
Full of guilt. Not until now did I realize that we hadn’t even fought for him, hadn’t made his case for permanence to Don Walter. Instead, we had taken him anonymously in the dark and severed our relationship. I can picture us slamming the door and driving off..

1/25/10 – 8:00 PM –
A new cat appears coming up Calle D. With distant coaxing he takes up post underneath a field vehicle by the blue trashcans. Luring with a slice of cheddar cheese gets him to come as close as 2 meters, but just for the food. Cheese is gone, mostly down his throat, and he is now perched on the curb where Hawk used to sit, his face to the road. He has also spent moments lying underneath the car. During the day a few new cats were seen, a black white and orange cat(smore), and a mostly black cat with a white throat that was feasting inside a trashcan. Optimism rises with this new cat, Harrier… though he is certainly more independent and slower to reel in than Hawk. He has now crossed the road, his camouflage is incredible. He is part rock, part threadbare grass as he chases down a toad and slips away through the brush.

1/26
I was alone in the house, sitting at the kitchen table, when I saw Owl Cat sitting by the blue trashcan on the curb. I scarcely believed my eyes, this mythic cat is virtually never seen. And now he was a stones throw away. At mid-day! I slunk to the refrigerator and pulled out a piece of ham. I tossed a few pieces his way and cautiously he stepped through the grass to eat them. The entire time I was cautious not to move, not to slam the door, my only goal being to imprint upon him a positive notion. I filled a lid with milk and placed it behind the car tire. He pretended to not be interested until I left him alone, then, as I watched through the screen door I saw him drink it up eagerly. I have attempted no physical contact, but now he is lying scarcely 5 meters from the door, his back to me, his eyes surveying the scene. I was able to grab some photographs of him.. he is a haphazard mottling of coffee and black with no pattern whatsoever. He leers with the most peculiar eyes.

1/28/10 – 6:00 PM
Hawk returns!!! While throwing stones into trashcans, we take a break and walk up the street, and as we return we see Hawk sitting by the cans. He begins to cry and meow constantly, plowing headfirst into our legs, swishing through us and giving us the utmost affection. His coat is dusty, we know he has traveled at least 1.5 miles in his return and by only two possible routes: through uninhabited inhospitable forest, or following along the treacherous road. We are overwhelmed with emotion: overjoyed, pained, and conflicted about what to do. It has to be only moments until Don Walter hears all of this screaming.

We wind up taking him away again for fear of his life, but it is a half-hearted attempt. This time we take him only .5 miles, across the neighborhood… to buy us some time before making a more serious decision. He will return. All we know is that his profuse screaming would reveal him to Don Walter all too quickly. What a cat. I love him. Maybe he thought it was a manhood test, and he was super proud to have passed it. But God. We are assholes... He's been taken away again, thrown into another random neighborhood, where he will have to pass through the bar district, full of the most massive and lunatic dogs to return. I predict his return by dawn.

2/5/10
Still no return from Hawk. Maybe he has died? He would only have had to come back about 0.5 miles, easy distance compared to what he did before. Owl Cat not seen in awhile. Harrier stops by the trashcan spot daily, is resting often underneath the cars, but gives no affection and I am starting to not care about him.

PHOTOS:

This is Hawk. Doing what he does best: charming.

Steely-eyed Owl Cat. Forever mysterious.

Harrier. The most regular visitor now, but completely unwilling to bond.

A cat seen only once. Frightening.

Our dog for one night... until Don Walter chased it away with rocks. He still stops by occasionally.

So when you're in a place that hardly rains and is surrounded by salt water, where do homeless animals drink from? Thankfully, there are random puddles of household runoff everywhere. . . Yum Yum.

And there are some big ass poisonous toads. The animals like to chase/eat the little ones, but once they are full grown, like this one, the toads are the ones doing the eating.

And there are some big ass hermit crabs, this one stuntin' on the kitchen table.

Constant Vigilance

2010-01-30T10:53:00.040-05:00

Be careful who you let in your bedroom, they might bite you.
When it comes to bedroom guests, looks can sometimes be deceiving. But sometimes, they are exactly who they look to be... for better or worse.

This needs no further proof when Scolopendra angulata is discovered beneath your resting laundry...

Thankfully, it was sufficiently ill to allow removal and, in turn... a full hour of prodding and photo-shooting before being chucked into the shrubbery.

Jaws of death. Or at least jaws of excruciating pain. The result of all this? Not a whole lot... just that I am a little less enthusiastic about walking to the potty in the pitch black.

In the words of Mad-Eye Moody... CONSTANT VIGILANCE.

Seed of Chucky

2010-01-25T19:49:00.023-05:00

Thankfully, in the wilds of Puerto Rico there are fairly few life threatening creatures - there are no jaguars, there are no bushmasters, there are fairly few murderous fellows. Thus, when I am trodding through the forest on a daily basis, I can afford to be a bit more reckless. I can stick my foot behind a root or slide down a hill on my butt.... but I'm starting to learn that there are new perils, perils I had never ever considered. Yes. I have borne witness to a new and deadly foe.

And so the story begins...

A couple days ago I was going down a stream bed to a survey point with my field partner. We had passed under barbed wire fences and descended into relative remoteness, and as we did so I thought to myself that if I were anywhere else, I would be somewhat concerned for my life. Something might attack me. But nay... here there are no creatures in the woodland depths any larger than a rat. Nothing can surprise me. Or so I thought. As I came into a clearing by the streamside I came across a most startling discovery. It was this:

What the...? Okay, an abandoned house isn't that strange, but wait, there's something weird about these horses, besides the fact that they are approaching me rapidly. Let me look closer at that white one.

Uh. And this one t00?

At first I wasn't certain what was going on. Were these members of a rare, barbie race of forest pony? Had the Rastafarians crossed from Jamaica and infiltrated the equines?

Well... kind of! The truth is this. As one came to feed on my shirt, I got a close look at its perm. They had suffered from an attack of seed pods. Sticking their heads deep into the grasses, they had emerged worse for the wear.
-----------
I have grown accustomed to having a ton of seed pods clinging to my legs when I return to the house. I spend a few minutes using my humanoid fingers to pull them off... and by the end I'm even vaguely enjoying the whole process. But these horses, afflicted with the same plight, are unable to groom themselves and in turn have become ostracized hermits.

But, seriously, let's not be too hard on them. It looks pretty good doesn't it?

A Picture Says a Thousand Words

2010-01-18T14:59:00.016-05:00

We should all bow to cliches.

But I often feel pressure to avoid them in conversation, knowing that I'll be scoffed at for being cliche. But then I realize that they are what they are for a reason... They have a reputation, an automatic reaction, because they always hit close to home. You know, if the shoe fits wear it! Where there's smoke, there's fire!

One such cliche is A picture says a thousand words. So, what can I do but prove it? Here are some Puerto Rican photos, with a few spare comments... you know, something to sink your teeth into. Remember that you can click on the photos to make them bigger!

The first two photos are from the back porch of our "research station." AKA, two apartments connected by a balcony in the town of Playa Santa. Anyways, this balcony is the icing on top of some terrific accomodations, full of wireless internet, showers, satellite TV, air-conditioning... things I usually only dream of while working jobs like these. Anyways, the balcony is perfect for birding, relaxation, work, whatever. But most importantly, a breeze and natural lighting.

We will continue the tour with some looks at the rest of the island... or at least what I have seen so far. The picture below is facing north, with the mountainous center of the island visible. There doesn't seem to be many flat spots in this place, its volcanic past has left it hilly and winding.

The final sequence of photographs will be from up in the mountains. Here, unlike in the dry forests of our home, there is often dense cloud cover and rain showers, and because of this... there is rain forest. The trees are full of color and fruit with coffee plantations scattered amongst them.

Below is the famous breadfruit, or pana... a staple of the tropical diet worldwide.

Oh... and don't forget the beaches.

So, that's it for now. We all know Rome wasn't built in a day! But don't fret there is more coming. You can count on it, lock stock and barrel.

Possessed As a Gun Charge

2010-01-12T11:36:00.025-05:00

There has been a long break since I last posted and there are a few things you should know. First, you can kiss substitute teaching goodbye and can send all the Carolina muttering into the sunset. Second, it is a new year. Third, I'm still the same.

NEways...I am now operating in Puerto Rico. Before I begin the documentation, I better give U some backdrop, just in case u are clueless, as in, geographically challenged, as in... where is Puerto Rico? Thanks to Google and the South Plains Church of Christ missionary trips website, I found a map online to show you.

Here is a zoom in.

I am in the SW at the Guanica forest on the map. This side of the island is the dry side not the jungle side, due to the rain shadow caused by the central mountain ranges. Dryness is goodness when the days are upper 80s and sunny, and especially so while perched along the Caribbean shores. The hillsides are covered in dry forest, a conglomeration of prickles, pods, and compound leaves... The towns are filled with caramel skin, surf boards, and wandering dogs... The countryside full of cattle, bananas, and rusting history.

Now... the next question to be flushed out of the brush is this: What am I doing here? Well, technically, I am... working with birds. Shocker! But still not specific enough. The goal of our work is this: to assess the habitat viability in the area between Guanica and Susua Forests.. to see if there is movement of individuals between the forests, and to see if connecting the two through a corridor is possible, or if birds are already moving fluidly between them. So, we spend the mornings going to points in between the forests, counting what we hear or see. More or less. Later in the Spring I will be assisting with two other related projects, including using telemetry to track the movements of Puerto Rican Bullfinches in the area.

Soooooo, all this background stuff was just for the most inquisitive folk. My posts won't be all about the birds, they'll be about everything... that oddment in the grocery store, that peculiarity in the hills, that online meditation.

All I can promise is that you won't be waiting long.

What Google Can Do 4 U

2009-12-17T17:05:00.019-05:00

What's the best way to summarize the needs of mankind? The desires of the weak? The questions that we all want to ask?

Thankfully, Google has the ability to predict these questions for us. Google knows best.

What are the most used intros to questions? Well, don't worry, because I know. They are:

1.) How to ______________?

2.) Where can I find ______________?

3.) What is the best ______________?

4.) How do I spell ______________?

5.) Where is the best place to ____________?

6.) Who is _________________?

7.) Why does ________________?

8.) What is _________________?

9.) Is it unhealthy to ________?

10.) Is ______________?

Haha, ok this is going to be so good. We're going to tackle these one at a time... Google shall do all the work for me, I will just type "How To" or "Who is" into the search bar and I will get a list of the top questions that begin with that phrase prompted to me. I will copy them down so we can, in turn, ponder them. And laugh. We are about to learn A LOT about society.

1.) How to ______________
How to sew on a button
How to tie a tie
How to kiss
How to get pregnant
How to lose weight fast
How to cook a turkey
How to solve a rubix cube
How to write a resume
How to make a website
How to lose weight

2.) Where can I find _____________?
Where can I find zhu zhu pets?
Where can I find Chuck Norris?
Where can I find Erin Andrews video?
Where can I find my IP address?
Where can I find Erin Andrews peephole video?
Where can I find a job?
Where can I find cheap airline tickets?
Where can I find a notary?

3.) What is the best _______________?
What is the best cell phone?
What is the best laptop?
What is the best antivirus software?
What is the best way to lose weight?
What is the best dog food?
What is the best way to lose fat?
What is the best digital camera?
What is the best blackberry?
What is the best mattress?

4.) How do I spell ________________?
How do I spell numbers?
How do I spell resume?
How do I spell hors d'oeuvres?
How do I spell sounds?
How do I spell cancelled?
How do I spell hieroglyfics?
How do I spell my name phonetically?

5.) Where is the best place to __________________?
Where is the best place to live?
Where is the best place to live in Florida?
Where is the best place to get a tattoo?
Where is the best place to buy a TV?
Where is the best place to shoot a deer?
Where is the best place to download free music?
Where is the best place to mine thorium?
Where is the best place to exchange currency?

6.) Who is ___________________?
Who is my congressman?
Who is Lady Gaga?
Who is Big Poppa?
Who is John Galt?
Who is on the dime?
Who is the richest man in the world?

7.) Why does ___________________?
Why does my vag smell?
Why does my eye twitch?
Why does poop float?
Why does my dog eat poop?
Why does ice float?
Why does hair turn gray?
Why does milk appear white?
Why does Kim Zolciak where a wig?
Why does it rain?
Why do men have nipples?
Why do men cheat?
Why do cats knead?

8.) What are ______________?
What are the symptoms of the swine flu?
What are the 7 deadly sins?
What are the 7 wonders of the world?
What are capers?
What are prime #s?
What are carbs?
What are the 7 continents?
What is labor day?
What is love?
What is twitter?
What is mystery google?

9.) Is it unhealthy to _____________?
Is it unhealthy to not ejaculate?
Is it unhealthy to eat boogers?
Is it unhealthy to swallow?
Is it unhealthy to sleep too much?
Is it unhealthy to ejaculate too often?
Is it unhealthy to wash your hair everyday?
Is it unhealthy to not have a period?
Is it unhealthy to not wear your underwear?
Is it unhealthy to be a vegetarian?
Is it unhealthy to eat late?

10.) Is _______?
Is Lady Gaga a man?
Is Lady Gaga a hermaphrodite?
Is the world going to end in 2012?
Is Santa real?
Is bronchitis contagious?
Is Khloe Kardashian pregnant?
Is pneumonia contagious?
Is Wal-mart open on Christmas 09?
Is Wendy Williams a man?
Is limewire illegal?

So what is it that we learned? I'm not certain. The only thing I'm certain of is this:

If you are trying to find the Erin Andrew's peep hole video and you realize that a.) you need to lose weight fast and b.) you don't know how to make a turkey, you must be able to whip out a cell phone with text capabilities to ask your friend what the proper hors d'ouevers(sp?) are and find the best background music for Christmas dinner. In the meantime, surf the net to catch up on all the latest Pop News, such as how to mine thorium or the story of Kim Zolciak's wig, and you do all of this why? To avoid being stuck alone in front of a mirror wondering if your vag smells. Only then will you begin to understand the mystery google. And why men have nipples. But seriously, is Wal-mart open on Christmas?

A Ritual Killing

2009-12-09T15:45:00.034-05:00

Setup: In the summer of 2007 I spent a term in Kenya studying community wildlife management. With any foreign country comes a foreign culture, and in my part of Kenya this happened to be the nomadic Maasai, a culture in which cattle and children are the terms of wealth, and a culture I had always revered from home... I imagined them standing high over the plain, trailing the lions that stalked his herd. An image soon to be confirmed.

At our research station, I befriended one of the Maasai guards named Fred Kipoit, whose job was to protect our camp against rogue wildlife and rogue people. He did this with a machete, a wooden mace, and a high-powered flashlight. My encounters with him consisted of patrolling the perimeter with him at night, listening to stories of him battling lions, and as I'll detail here, butchering the goat for our team's final feast. This butchering occurred in the acacia forest behind our buildings, out of sight and hearing of all the students, the students who would later eat the product.

The experience was a fascinating one, both for the actions and the company. It was no ordinary butchering, it was a Maasai one... and what came with that was a wholly unique process... highlighted by their aversion to eyeballs. So. This shall be a sectional poem of sorts... though I dislike the word poem, so I'll chalk it up as Xtreme detail. Interspersed throughout will be photos and a video! yay, of the goings on.

Ritual Killing

The goat was strangled with a nylon cord
With no resistance. On the muddy path
That splits the bush, by an electric fence
Its body stiffened in a final gasp.

Fred Kipoit was hired as a guard
To peer into the night tar-skinned and slender,
He carries a thin rod made of tamarind
That I hold now as he collects the tinder.

A nesting pair of bare-faced go-away birds
Scold me like the bleating of a sheep,
I hollow out and rinse the ripped intestine
As the golden films of shit pile in a heap.

To pay respect for animals that die,
Plucked from cattle dips or subtle dens,
Custom of the Maasai is to spare
Their eyes from seeing juice upon our chin.

The knife dissevers membranes of white matter
Like the cells of a sweet grapefruit; at last
The eyes are torn, tossed onto the ground
Like bulbs uprooted, reddening the grass.

Stripped of skin and braced on wooden prongs
The muscles sear under a smoky hood
By orange gleams that quiver in the breeze
Of savannas lying far from coastal woods.

Death Threats and The Silver Bullet Train

2009-12-02T15:14:00.030-05:00

At 6:30 a.m. the phone calls start. I listen to and decline a few job offers, floating in and out of consciousness, lying on my stomach, the phone pressed between me and the mattress. Vibrate. Vibrate. I think back to the day before... impossibly small humans... asking me if if they can put their heads in the trashcan... tugging on my knee, asking Mr. Alan, can we use your shoes as pillows?

7:00. Another call. Awake. Middle school Math. I can do that. I get up, completely relying on routine and muscle memory to get me through the mindless morning sequence. Wash. Eat. Dress. Pack. Drive. Bump Drake.

And so it begins...

I'm in the classroom.

The lesson plans are simple enough. Pass out a worksheet with some complex word problems on them, and do this for every class. One of the problems reads as such:

Two cubes and two screws weigh as much as one cube and ten nails. One cube weighs as much as one screw and one nail. How many nails weigh as much as one cube?

Oh my God. Talk about an obnoxious question. Now I have to listen to the sighs and complaints about it all day. I will have to continually threaten them by telling them that it will be collected and graded. By the way, the answer is 4.

But. Never despair. What I've learned as I trawl classroom after classroom in search of amusement is this: that the most priceless gems never have anything to do with the schoolwork. Today's no different. Here are the highlights:

One extremely "enthusiastic" boy feels the need to share all of his favorite jokes with me.

Him: Did you hear the joke about the speeding bullet train?

Me: No.

Him: Too bad. You missed it!

Me: Wow that's funny.

Him: What's the difference between Jimmy and an onion?

Me: I don't know.

Him: You don't cry when you chop Jimmy up.

He keeps on going. And going. Wow. But I get distracted by a little girl who is bragging to her neighbor that she can burp the ABC's. So cliche, I think. But then again, she is about 40 pounds so I have to see if it is true. I put her to the test. She then gets red in the face and says she can't do it all at once. I have called her bluff. I turn my back on her and start heading back to my desk. But then, from behind me, from deep down in her recesses, comes the eruption. A. B. C. D. I stay completely still so as not to distract her...all the way until X. Y. Z.

She did it! Yay!

Completely enthused with my first class, I think the day can't get much better. That is until a shaking young lad comes up to me and says someone is threatening to kill him. Mhmmm.... Unexpected!!! I stay calm and ask him: Who? How do you know?

He hands me a folded piece of paper. He tells me he found it in his locker.

I can't tell whether he is actually frightened by this or not. Either he is an excellent actor or he is petrified. Regardless, I tell him that there is nothing to worry about. That I will take care of it. That he is safe. Lolololol.

The rest of the day passes by calmly. A new kid comes and eats lunch in my classroom. We debate his homework, and whether 4 never-ending lines can have only 2 points of intersection.

After lunch, I give the class a challenge. The kid who answers the domino riddle first wins a prize. This is the riddle:

So far, no one in any of the classes had answered it correctly - a perfect opportunity for some excitement. And...?

And..? I have never seen students work so feverishly. And...? As always, the motivation of winning a prize drives someone to succeed. And...? Someone solves it! I hand the girl an ice cold Coca-Cola can just like in the commercials, and just like in the commercials it lights up her face.

I tell her to dispose of the can afterward, for I'm sure that it is against school policy to down soft drinks in class. She says NO. I'M KEEPING IT AS A MEMENTO. I say whatever.

Even In Poetry: Middle School Never Fails

2009-11-17T11:52:00.007-05:00

I substituted for a middle school language arts class this past week. 5 classes of 7th graders. The first 30 minutes of each period was spent following along in a novel as we listened to the recording.

Things got more exciting during the final 15 minutes, when the kids were supposed to write a poem, the only guideline being a "Message to a Friend." When everyone seemed stumped, I gave them suggestions. I told them that a "message to a friend" is just a guideline, that you can write it to an object, to food, or even to someone you're angry with. This got them going. Here are some priceless samples:

Poem #1
I met a new friend,
We had a lot of fun.
The next day,
She ditched me 3 times,
One by one.
After school,
I saw her,
She gave me gum.
We talked,
And laughed,
I guess we're friends
Again...
A week before,
I got better
Relations with a friend.
She ditched me to go to science,
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???
She ditched me.
That's OK but to go
To SCIENCE??
Uh oh, that's not right.
Or is it?

Poem #2
Jahleel is my baby,
Love him to death,
Known him since
September 25th
Last year, met at
A party. He'll
Always be in
My heart, threw
Thick and thin
I'll always be
There for him
I LOVE YOU JAHLEEL

Poem #3
Josh is going around talking like he's
Cool, making lame jokes about his
Fake life, even when I laugh he
Takes it as a compliment, Yea right,
I wish he left
Webslingers, and
Got a life of
Dismal days, That
Will be grand,
Getting away
From him, is
Not a request,
But a life
Goal, so when
Something like
That happens, I
Will thank the lord
For that day, also
He gets all in my
Face and I'm like buzz
Off to your bad life,
Peace!

Poem #4
Nolan, what is this gap that stands between us?
Ever since we first met,
We were tighter than a noose.
Now we stand on either side
Of an invisible wall,
Thousands of miles across.
This wall is called employment.

When mom’s job made us move,
We were separated and each sealed
On either side of this gap.
But one day, our separate prisons will fall
And we will once again roam the earth together,
No wall to divide us from our friendship.

Poem #5

Mr. Nyquil
You are my quill

Underwater World: The Wrack of Ida on the Carolina Coast

2009-11-16T13:49:00.002-05:00

This past weekend I headed to the coast to assist the UNC Chapel Hill Vert. Zoology class on a birding field trip. Fortunately, the timing was perfect. The trip would coincide with the tail-end of the Nor'Easter passing by... giving me the rare opportunity of being able to witness, first hand, the damage brought to our coastline.

Locals said that this was the biggest storm since Isabel in 2003, and the evidence supports it. In Nags Head, dunes disappeared and beachside boardwalks were buried in a foot of sand, while the surf was littered with the shards of docks. Driving throughout the Pamlico Peninsula, settlement after settlement had sections underwater, and most fields had become temporary ponds.

Not something you see everyday. Thankfully for you, I have a few photos to give you some idea. Strap on your belts and take a ride!

We were stationed on the Outer Banks in Nags Head at the Sea Foam Motel, a weathered, somewhat charming establishment. Above is the view at dawn on Saturday, November 14th. Still a 20-30 mph NW wind, large swells.

Here is a view looking North along the beach, where you can see the sand bag wall. The goal of these sand bags is to prevent the onslaught of the ocean as the Outer Banks erode inland, slowly but surely.

Above is the shower head behind the motel. It may be hard to tell in this photo, but it's under 1.5 feet of sand... only a hobbit could bathe under this.

Continued signs of the sand deposition... here is the staircase leading to the oceanfront gazebo. As you can see, the steps are under sand and the hand-rail is more like an ankle-rail.

"Walk down the steps and enter the ocean," the sign should read. All morning, waves broke onto the gazebo.

Leaving the Outer Banks and back on the mainland now, here are some photos of the town of Engelhard on the Pamlico Peninsula. A small town, a water world. There's not a whole lot you can do to combat it, other than to move your car to high ground and wait for the water to recede. Many areas totaled over a foot of rain the past week, too much for the earth to soak up.

But, even in dire times, someone benefits. Riiight? Some thrive in such conditions. Like beavers. Too bad this 50 pounder decided to cross the road. His life may be forfeit, but he would be happy to know how much we loved prodding him. He was very fresh.

Whether it be in New Orleans, Bangladesh, or North Carolina... some places are, by definition, disaster zones in waiting. The unique ecosystems of these areas have been created by, and depend on, storms like these. It is a fact that the barrier islands along the Carolina coast are geologically unstable, shifting sands that are incompatible with permanent structures and associated human habitation.

It just so happens that humans feel the benefits outweigh the negatives in living here. What is it that binds them to these risky places? Is it family tradition? The ocean front? The natural resources?

Most certainly it is all of the above... but let it be known...

Storms will persist, separate from man's desire.

Ida: All That Rain Last Week

2009-11-16T12:53:00.002-05:00

In September of 1989 Hurricane Hugo blew through Charlotte NC, leveling trees, cutting power, and to young me, creating the greatest jungle gym he would ever see.

Flipping through the T.V. channels as a growing boy, the channels I flipped through included TNT for Scooby Doo, PBS for Wishbone, ESPN for sports, and Cable Channel 41, the Weather Channel. During late summer and fall, my days revolved around the Tropical Update at the :50 of every hour. I envied the cue-ball head of Jim Cantore as he stood in the midst of 120 mph winds, lusted after the opportunity to stand a foot deep in a horizontal, driving snow.

So, when I became aware of Tropical Storm Ida churning in the Gulf of Mexico last week, I kept a casual eye on the reports. I read that, once making landfall, the winds would bring it towards the Carolinas. I also read that as it did so, it would team up with a low pressure system off of the southeastern coast, creating a two-fold storm, the swirling comma of a Nor'Easter.

Yay.

As everyone with a pulse now knows, it wound up raining a ton last week, whether you were in the Appalachians, piedmont or coastal plain. Instinct told you stay cooped up during all that rain. To stay sheltered, warm, lazy, fat. A mini-hibernation. On the other hand, for me, cursed by the Hugo Effect, my urges lay elsewhere. Outside.

As the Flood Warnings were posted, the Wind Advisories issued, I thought of Morgan and Bolin Creek. How fat would they get?

So, what else to do but go find out? The afternoon of November 11th I went out to survey the situation. Here are the photos.

Running southeast out of town, Morgan Creek drains a great deal of the town's runoff. I went to check on it behind Finley Golf Course, along the entrance road to Mason Farm Biological Reserve. Above is the water level, below, a pan of the swollen channel.

As I continued down the road, my trip came to an abrupt halt. The road had become a torrent, as the adjacent beaver pond had jumped its banks, connecting the two bodies of water. Below, a great blue heron spends its time fishing in the road. Its not a road to him! Just more water.

I continued on foot, where I discovered the weir to be way underwater!!!

Looking up from the middle of the road. Below, looking down.

And of course, the casualties. The taming of the shrew.

Why do this? I don't know, and back then I didn't even need to know. But as I ponder it now, I believe part of it is this: There is no greater force, no more dominant power, than what our planet churns.

So what greater thrill can there be, other than to subject yourself, in complete submission, to this power? To immerse yourself in the driving force. How unnecessary thoughts seem when our senses are firing so intensely.

Coffee Shop Attendance: Filtration and Procession

2009-11-11T17:15:00.004-05:00

I’ve been haunting coffee shops for a while now. While I can’t say it is my favorite activity, it has become somewhat of a necessity for me to go there.

Why?

Simple. I am a victim of homeland denial. I cannot achieve anything inside my house, a habit that has become a black mark, a true medical condition. I no longer even consider tackling a book, or doing anything worthwhile, inside my house. Why? I don’t know. The best explanation I can come up with is this.

I am a bachelor. I am young. I am unachieved... and in my house I disappear. I am taken out of the ocean. The opportunity for a tidal wave is next to none.

Coffee shop attendance, on the other hand, provides ample opportunity for participation and observation of the schools of fish swimming by. I usually sit solo, sometimes slipping in with the other fish. But today I am like a spreading sea fan on a block of coral - filtering my environment and to the casual eye, barely participating.

And as I do so, I realize is this: What I hear, see, and smell while sitting on a porch with coffee is often priceless. Just like the sea fan I am filter feeding, oriented across the prevailing current, maximizing the intake of particulate matter. That's me below...

And so the experience begins.

On a lucid afternoon, the temperature has dropped 5 degrees since the rain began. The sky is uniformly gray. I see rain on the hoods, pavement, reflecting on the sidewalks. I cannot read. I cannot chat. So what do I do?

I unfurl my receptors and dedicate 30 minutes to writing down what I hear and see, written down in the reality of my mind. No goal other than to try and gain some understanding.

The osmosis begins.

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To my left, four guys are sitting together. One with dreadlocks, others normal enough, I catch one phrase: “What about the Christian Hell? That too?”

To my left, there is an aging blond female speaking of her relationship troubles with her boyfriend to a male confidant: She says: “He doesn’t respect my sobriety! He comes over with beers.”

Moving on to her dating life, she continues: “One other thing about this guy I’m dating… He’s also dating my best friend…She’s out of town a lot working a lot… It seems like he’s got a girl in every town!”

She is chain smoking, and I realize something. There is an unalterable correlation in my overhearing: cigarette smokers = the loudest speaker, a plagued past and eccentric outlooks.

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A salt-and-pepper haired man in Carhartts walks out with a beautiful young woman, a woman that raises the question in my mind, “Is that his wife or daughter?”

I pause and lean back to process my surroundings. I see the peak of autumn flush.

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Two testosterone-suppressed men arrive, color-coordinated pumas and sweaters, the pair of them matching in their dark rims and dark mesh hair. They sit down besides me, begin to whisper imperceptibly.

I see a lot of 35 year old men, fresh shaven and iron-pressed. I decide that they vary between two subspecies, the cocky-calculating sort and the alternative-coveting. Both successful in societies terms.

The resident grandpa arrives teetering, with a truck hat and a cassette deck. Conversational, many people stop to talk to him, call him by his name.

I note the other Elder, celebrated minds. Then I see those that wish they were such. Then those vanilla folks that wish to be near such, that leach off their presence.

The people I like best are the ones that are such but don’t look so, that don’t know so, and perhaps don’t care so, and that get away with their work unseen and unadorned, like a throbbing torpedo below the surface, separate from the hot air of coffee houses. I fantasize that I am one of these.

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I realize that the subconscious reason of every visit for me, and many others, is the women.

One passes, bursting in the tight jeans, tight sweater, shaved head, slender glasses, fatless body.

Then another in a toboggan hat, auburn hair, studded ears, shredded black jean skirt with leggings underneath, unatheletic and large.

I muse over my potential hyper-exposure to germs due to my constant presence in public schools. My thoughts are fluid, entering and exiting, external from my control.

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A few thrown out of left-field arrive, the ones that defy all of my categorization attempts:

The stocky Vietnamese man with glasses that belts it out in foreign tongues. The pastel polo 20 somethings, perhaps the only stock that is OUT OF PLACE.

One of the group of four men at the beginning, returning from inside, circles the other three laughing, “Y’all still going at it? Dogmatic in the rain… still arguing.” These are the coffee shop revolutionaries.

The coffee begins to dig at my empty stomach, the sound of voices fades into the rush hour. I walk to my bike, unlock it and pedal into the rain, steering towards home.

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It is said that the size, shape, and appearance of sea fans is highly correlated to their location. The more fan-shaped and flexible sea fans tend to populate shallower areas with strong currents, while the taller, thinner, and stiffer ones can be found in deeper, calmer waters.

Many creatures are known to dwell within their branches, some of which closely resemble their host and are thus well camouflaged.

Starting Early: Middle School Felons

2009-11-04T13:43:00.000-05:00

I have always avoided the letters I.S.S.

As a student, they were deadly, as a substitute they are threatening.

In. School. Suspension.

But I felt reckless this morning, curious. Middle school I.S.S. can't be that bad... the kids that are in there will surely be scared out of their wits and in turn will sit quietly doing work, and I will have a simple day. Correct?

Correct. The two lads in here are very obedient.

But, being the inquisitive sort, I can't let the two boys sit in complete silence. I have to hear why they are in here...

And so I do. After prompting each one, asking why they are in here, they are more than willing to share their stories, eager for some conciliation, some understanding.

Story #1
8th grader, Michael is a wigger and has just been caught for selling oregano on the bus. For 5 bucks, he told the boy it was Salvia. His prospective buyer told on him and now he's busted. Michael has now admitted to me that he smokes Salvia on a regular basis and needs to quit, but I think he is lying to impress me. But regardless of that, this morning his parents found a homemade bong made out of a Gatorade bottle. He has yet to face the music for this and is frightened to go home. He is going to court tomorrow and will be going to reform school for 90 days. To compound the issue, he has been accused of tattling on one of his friends for smoking weed, and this friend is now threatening to "kill him." To protect him, his grandmother has been called in to drive him home, because the school bus is no longer safe for him.

Story #2
Jimmy, 8th grader. Currently in I.S.S. for mouthing off to his health teacher. His mouth starts running and all of a sudden he is telling me a high action drama of his recent past, a drama that goes something like this: His friend Tyreke had a gun and brought it to school and was threatening to kill someone. This someone had stolen his "girl." Tyreke then fires the gun into the ground 5 times, while Jimmy is by his side. Word got around that Jimmy witnessed the firing, so he was called to the office to give information on Tyreke. He refused to rat. Tyreke is in juvie now. Jimmy is still ballin.

Jimmy left after one period. Now it's just me and Michael, and Michael is in no mood to do anymore work, and how can I blame him? He may not be coming back to school for 90 days... why do your homework? So we talk. It devolves into him reading me Insect Jokes, which are funny for all the wrong reasons. We laugh out loud. Check these out:

What kind of boats do mosquitos like?

Blood vessels.

How did the firefly feel when it ran into the fan?

He was delighted.

What bug goes snap crackle fizz?

A lightning bug with a short-circuit.

Why did the bee go to the doctor?

It had hives.

What animal is smarter than a talking parrot?

A spelling bee.

What kind of fly has a frog in its throat?

A banana.

Why did the fly fly?

Because the spider spied her.

Yeah I know. Those are terrible!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Especially those last two... I mean W.T.F. Anyways, I.S.S. is now on my subbing radar. I'm doing it whenever it surfaces from here on out.

The Flowers of Fall

2009-10-29T16:19:00.000-04:00

There are some things in life that even the most sheltered, sedentary person cannot avoid. I have one of these things in mind.
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Here in Fall, the great pivot of the year, as skeins of geese flood southward, shores become ice-choked, and squalls push down the Appalachians, we are, for the most part, oblivious to it all. We are too busy to possibly have time to consider the great forces that drive our planet, we are too busy skirting the sidewalks of our concrete jungle, stressed out, face down in our cellular devices.

But there is one aspect of this great shift that you cannot avoid, that you can see by lifting up your head while sitting on the john, looking out the window, seeing the tree beside your house swirling in the wind. A tree that is green no longer.

Perhaps there is no greater alteration to our visual landscape than the fall leaf change. Winter is gray, summer is green, fall is... red, yellow, orange, brown, purple, whichever you need. Such beauty in the name of death.

What is going on? Why do tree leaves change color in fall? As with most scientific questions there is a simple answer, and then the seriously too complicated answer that is impossible to grasp. I'll bridge the gap for you.

In the summer, chlorophyll(the plant's food factory) is so concentrated in the leaves that its green color hides the yellow and oranges of other chemical compounds present. As chlorophyll begins to disappear at the onset of the cold season, the oranges and yellows are revealed. And what about the leaves that just turn brown? The brown is tannin, a waste product of the tree's life processes.

But why do the deciduous leaves die and fall to the ground to begin with?

Here in the temperate deciduous forests of North Carolina, the main reason is temperature. Growth only occurs during the warm summers and leaves drop during the fall so that the trees sit dormant during the cold winter. The loss of leaves helps conserve water that would otherwise be needed to maintain the leaves. And even though this system requires the tree to regrow new leaves in the Spring(a taxing chore), it is still more favorable than having to maintain functional leaves in the depths of winter.

SO ENOUGH OF THE TALK ALREADY... I'm sure you're starting to feel a bit too nerdy, so let's get back to the artistic, pretty side... LET'S TAKE A VISUAL TOUR!!! I've spent the past couple weeks accumulating some photographs for this article.. whether from backpacking in the Smokies to just poking around Chapel Hill.

Above and below, photos from the Blue Ridge Parkway in NC in mid-October. The vividness of this scape cannot be captured with a lens, it is too expansive... but I tried.

Above is the normal sight along the parkway, where the road is lined like this all day. Ever wonder why the Blue Ridge Parkway is the most traveled road in the country? This is perhaps the biggest reason of all.

Above, we're back in Orange County, outside of Chapel Hill. While meandering through Duke Forest today 10/29, I sat still and took stock of what was around me. Without moving I collected the following leaves. Note the different colors... Clockwise starting in the top left: Red Oak, Dogwood, Hickory, Grape Vine, Sassafras, White Oak, Red Maple, Beech, Tulip, Sweet Gum, Black Cherry, Willow Oak, Winged Elm.

Above is the winning leaf so far. Red Maple from Great Smoky Mountain National Park sitting on my desk. It looks like burnt earth splitting along veined fault lines, revealing the magma beneath.

And finally, the most decorated, flamboyant leaves of all belong to the Sugar Maple... Above is one floating in a creek in Battle Park, Chapel Hill.

I'm sure most of you have spent moments admiring the trees around you. But for the readers out there who are in the East, take another moment to truly appreciate it. Feel sorry for those scrubs out west(female or not) who have to deal with evergreens and deserts. We've got it best. And I guess Germany does too.

Learn the Warning Sign of Mental Illness

2009-10-15T15:47:00.000-04:00

Today, I'm a study hall supervisor all day. I sit and make sure that kids do their work. If they don't have work, I'm supposed to make them be quiet. They are not allowed to talk, listen to i-pods, or put their head down. They must be what I want them to be. The walls of my trailer are covered with posters professing what's best for them. I can't help but laugh. You think the kids are gonna listen to this stuff? Check out the scare tactics on the posters:

Drugs and the body... it isn't pretty.
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What you're served... what's one serving?
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Learn the warning sign of mental illness.
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YOU MAY NOT REMEMBER...
Did you see her last weekend?
I can't believe she did that...
I bet she doesn't even remember what happened...
She was so drunk...
BUT WE WILL.
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Call it what you want, it's still a drug.
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Cheating: Talking about the test to the next period class.
Cheating: "Borrowing" homework.
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Live for the future, not for the moment, sex can wait.
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What Mommy does... baby does...
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To get a visual idea, here are some examples:

Faith in the kids? Nah... I can't see it. My desk is a throne, the walls around me the bastion for propaganda. The walls are plastered with our lack of faith...

I look around the classroom, and the way I see it is this...

just like the baboon on the Serengeti...

He runs and fails. He humps his brother. His mother mortally wounds a rabbit so that he can practice making the final kill. He doesn't know how to do it and paws at it's back feebly... He eats a poisonous lilac berry by accident... One day he catches an infant gazelle... It's torn from his hand by another... He learns to climb trees to escape... mates with a sultry female in estrus... ignores his children until they do the same...

experimentation...

Things have been happening this way thousands of years, whether IT goes down in caves with fermented mammoth piss, with grog on an Atlantic crossing, or in the back of the Burger King. By having IT plastered on the walls of schools and on the tip of adult lips, all IT does is bring IT to the forefront of the kids' minds. IT makes them think about IT more. IT makes them curious. IT makes them want IT more.

Is a sexless drugless adolescence really the key to a successful adulthood? Is that the prelude we need? I think that has yet to be proven, and probably never will be.

Lesson Time: Of Nuts, Trees, and Squirrels

2009-10-07T16:30:00.002-04:00

Walnuts, pecans, hazels. Yummm. Everyone has an appreciation for nuts.

What do you think about when you munch these delicious kernels? Are you filled with panic that it might all disappear? Are you a health freak obsessed with anti-oxidants? Are you proud of your North American forests for producing them?

Or are you overwhelmed by the mystery of their creation? At least for me, I was perplexed as I devoured my walnuts. I wanted to know more.

Why would a tree go through the trouble of producing a nourishment-filled nut - and then not defend it properly? The shells of walnuts, pecans, hazels, etc. are all relatively thin. Isn't that basically giving away their embryos to anything that wants to eat them?

Pecans on a tree.

I began to do a little research, and realized that the answer was right beneath my nose. Or, rather, beneath the squirrels' nose, those ubiquitous, fastidious, bushy-tailed rats that make their home amongst us. And what are they doing all the time? They are carrying nuts everywhere. Fences, trunks, and stones are all home to their embedded nuts, stashed away to be eaten in the future, when pickings are slim.

And then it came to me.

Trees want squirrels to eat their nuts.

Trees work on the principle that squirrels aren't perfect. That among the thousands of nuts that a single squirrel stashes, he will never return to them all. Perhaps he will get run over and not return to a single one, and still... The squirrel has done all the work for the tree: taken the tree's seed, excavated a nurturing nest for it, and done this a thousand times over. The squirrel is the tree's ideal gardener. Hickory, pecan, and walnut trees are all competing to make the most appetizing nut, to see who will win the squirrels services... and we all know that competition makes for a better product!

We have squirrels to thank for the nuts we love to eat. Millions of generations of squirrels have been busy shaping them, hiding and sometimes forgetting the nuts that appeal to them most. And what appeals to them? It's simple: ones that are thin-shelled, easy to open, and fit inside their mouth. It is these nuts that have the best chance of growing into trees, and in doing so, perpetuating their style.

But, leaning back and thinking about this for a moment, there lies a potential wrinkle in this philosophy. Not all nuts are easy to open! What about the massive shells of brazils and macadamias? It is impossible to open these without the aid of some serious bludgeoning.

The impenetrable brazil nut.

The answer to these massive shells lies in the countries where they hail from. Both brazils and macadamias exist in regions(South America and Australia), where there are no harsh winters. Thus there is no need for animals to cache them in order to survive during the coldest months. Instead, nuts are eaten where they found, immediately, and usually right beneath their mother tree. This destroys the reproductive potential of the tree, so, nuts such as brazils and macadamias armor themselves accordingly, to prevent such disasters from occurring.
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I hope you learned something. Now read this 3 times at least. Now you are prepared with great knowledge, either to impress someone or to annoy someone just trying to eat some nuts.

As I did research on this concept, I was aided greatly by the book The Eternal Frontier: An Ecological History of North America and Its Peoples by Tim Flannery.

Diversion: Chapel Hill Disc Golf

2009-10-04T14:30:00.000-04:00

Urge to explore. Urge to exert. Urge to compete. To excel. Yes, these are the desires of the human, the desires of the fit, the desires of me. How to accomplish these elevated goals? And for free?

Is there a way?

Play disc golf.

Disc golf expertly rides the crest between the mainstream and the unappreciated. It is a sport that is select yet free of requirement. What the hell does that mean? Don't worry, we'll explore that. But first, let's get a little background for the new-b's.

All through the country, disc-golf courses wind through suburban forest patches, most often as a section of a larger park. It's a part of the bigger picture and a thoroughly American creation.

Here in Chapel Hill, NC for example, the local course is part of the Outdoor Recreation Center, maintained by the university. On some holes you are within sight of volleyball and tennis courts, a rope course, or other practice facilities. On other holes, you are thoroughly immersed in the forest.

This is what you are greeted with at the first tee.

In bare essentials, disc-golf is similar to traditional golf. Birdies, eagles, bogies, drives, chips, and dog-legs are all part of the disc-golf lexicon too. But after that, things begin to change. For example, here is what I find in my bag of weapons:

My fairway driver. In a backhand throw it has a strong hook to the right. Easy to spot when I throw it 200 feet into the woods.

The auburn putter, heirloom of my father. Heavy and deep, it is most often seen in the chains. Lol. Or bouncing of the rim.

The beauty of this sport is that there is room for all. It is everything that traditional golf is not. It is not homogeneous. It is not white men coveting status, veins bulging from their buttoned-up collars, sweat hidden from their expensive slacks. On the disc-golf course your more likely to see bare skin shining, hairy, flabby, or not. Needless to say, the freedom of cutting loose is often undervalued. But not here. In a single round you will bear witness to a diverse assemblage. There are:

The true pros, that have refined the flick of their wrist to attack the dog-legs and let their disc soar for 400 feet if necessary.

The pros that want a workout, that finish the entire course in 30 minutes, running from shot to shot, hole to hole. I find these intimidating and off-putting. Odd and inaccessible.

The pros-in-training, that drain a birdie but follow it up with a tee-shot into the trees. They lack the consistency that we all covet. I am a pro-in-training.

And then there are the amateurs, that are either in their fetal stages, throwing just for the sake of throwing, or as a diversion while walking the dog.

What next? Well I can't leave everything up to the imagination. I'm going to give you a virtual tour of one hole. The 3rd hole in Chapel Hill. Daunting is the only word appropriate to describe it.

This is what it looks like on paper.

This is what it looks like from the tee. Can you ignore the water and launch? Or can't you?

After you throw over(or in it), this is your view looking back.

And this is what it looks like after 1 throw. :-)
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As mentioned before, while playing, there is more to enjoy than just disc golf. The course is not sterile, like "normal golf." I love the outdoors. I love the observation of wilderness and the beating sun. I write down notes of what I see.

Down the sodden fairway a phoebe is sitting on the basket, but as we approach it retreats, first in circling flight and then onto the crown of a sweet gum.

For all the squirrels that make their homes here, I still expect more. Along the path, around the pond, a crouching squirrel turns into a cluster of brown leaves as I pass by it.

Behind the 7th tee, a black rat snake sits in the pine needle floor. I rush and grab it, its body contorting, recoiling and striking the top of my hand with it's unhinged jaw. I feel the rows of teeth dig in and release as I tug him away. Pricks of blood turn into isolated pools, and as I fling my hand on my next throw the blood scatters. Super beautiful.

The 12th hole skirts the backstop of the softball practice field, where Red-tailed Hawks are often seen sitting on the posts or wheeling in the sky, all too ready to laugh as a wild toss skids onto the diamond.

I urge you to explore. Just don't tell too many people. The bane of d-golf is a queue at the tee.

Past Our Hotel

2009-09-19T16:52:00.001-04:00

This poem came to be during the spring of 2008 after a trip to Oak Island, North Carolina. I joined in on a large group that hailed from Greensboro, including my sister and several of her friends that I was familiar with. The weekend nights began at the Captain's Cove Motel and culminated in jubilant outings to the beach, where nude sea bathing was all the rage, an activity that has yet to be surpassed in its sense of liberation.

Past our hotel
And down the beach access,
Our feet give way to sand,
Silent as we pass
The marsh with barking frogs
Camouflaged in water that runs
Down from corrugated roofs,
Treeless streets,
Into the gutter runs.

Beneath the clearness of a coastal moon
We cross the interdunal flats,
The sea-oat wall,
Onto the gaping strand,
Where the sand comes
Like a thousand needle-points to cling
Onto our naked bodies; spotless
We present ourselves
Like sweeping vagrants
Through the ruffled surf.

Five boys again, we run,
Hit the tidal rhythm --
Outlines drawn into
And out of a thousand difficulties,
Submerged, mixed and lost in the vortex
Drawn down from island corners.

On the Gravel After I Peed

2009-09-19T16:51:00.001-04:00

From July 10th to August 17th I volunteered on a project studying the threatened Maroon-fronted Parrot in the Sierra Madre of NE Mexico. The parrots nested colonially in limestone cliffs, and my duty was to sit and observe and record nest activity, at times from a great distance. Some nesting sites had negligible nest activity, so I would wind up having 8 hours on my bum to deal with. As you can guess, I became adept at alternative activities. I wrote this poem on August 10th 2009. At this particular site I became obsessed with the butterflies, taking advantage of their weakness for urine salts. Enjoy!

On the gravel after I peed,
After the car passed and hit you,
Your forewing lay bent
And the breeze tumbled. You
Clung to my finger, tongue still
Tickling the salts, and green insides
Coming from your tip.
I placed you on my lap, my left hip
And squeezed your head
In the forceps of my fingers
And in a crunch you died.
So feathery, the wind still blossomed
Gave lift along your spine, your scales shedding
On my shorts. In the urine stain
On the gravel, sit six of your kind
Jostling over the wettest spots,
Unfurling proboscis
As I tuck you down beside me,
Press you in a rock crevice.

I don’t like you moving when you’re dead;
It gives me hollow dreams.

This would be the butterfly in question. A Marina Patch.

This would be his kind on my urine. Along with a Goatweed Leafwing.

Power Out, Power On

2009-09-16T13:39:00.000-04:00

Subbed for a elementary art class yesterday. 6 periods, each one a different grade, 5th, 4th, 3rd, 2nd, 1st, kindergarten. The schedule was simple... my only duty was to stick in a video about Eric Carle, who is a children's book author/artist. The show interviews him about his background and has him demonstrating how he makes the art for his books. I watched it 6 times and was fully enthralled each time.

He showed how he made this, his Very Hungry Caterpillar, his most famous.

Unfortunately the power went off to the entire school at about 9 am, causing utter chaos. The video was no longer an option, so I went to the emergency plan and let them draw. While the power was off, I made the mistake of letting the kids go to the bathroom. I had forgotten the dungeon atmosphere of elementary bathrooms, had forgotten that if a 6 year old goes into a pitch black bathroom some bad things will happen. After each bathroom visit I had to contend with a severely traumatized kiddie.

But, I am a master of disaster control, so onwards we go. Time to let artwork explain the rest of the day. During the power outage, one of my 3rd graders brought me this:

She informed me that it was not just a power outage, that in fact the school was about to blow up. This is her representation. I told her that yeah, no, she was wrong.

I had developed a serious headache by the arrival of the 1st graders. The power had returned and the video had resumed, but a problem still existed. The video was 30 minutes long, the classes were 45 minutes long, so I had 10-15 minutes to kill afterward. So I let them draw. The problem with little kids is that they do not follow orders unless you are a complete domineering bitch, so that is what I had to become. They obeyed me, but not without repercussions.

The drawings I began to receive became a bit less cheery. One positively insane little girl handed me a folded up piece of paper as she left the classroom. She whispered "Open it ONLY after I leave."

So I did, and this is what I got.

Oh, the love!

Before the day began, I had dreamed of a calm day where I could goof off with art materials all day. Turns out I didn't get too much of an opportunity to. My one un-finished product is below.

In retrospect, I guess that would be the dungeon school and then a lot of hellfire? Who knows. What a piece of _______.

ALERT

2009-09-14T13:48:00.000-04:00

Sup y'all. So, this is fairly straight forward. Starting right now, I have a 2nd blog. So start following that too, or you're straight bonkers..

Just go to my profile and check it out... The Best of Spit, Pen, and Song... or click on the link to the right.

You Wiped Your Mouth Quite Nicely

2009-09-10T11:11:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I substituted for a elementary autistic class. I had substituted with this class once before last year, and had experience a couple times with other autistic classes. If I am in the right mood, I find Special-Ed classes to be the most rewarding, eye-opening, stimulating of all the classes.

But at the same time, days like these are a frightening load of responsibility, a work day where you are not allowed a single second to relax. Without exaggeration, I was on my toes attending to something from 7:30 to 2:30 non-stop. Whereas this makes the time go faster, it bites back by exhausting you. But, upon reflection, I learned a lot, saw a lot, and the kids are terrific and a lot smarter than anyone would think.

The set-up was this: 5 students aged 5-7, and 3 teachers including me. The game-plan is to have a variety of activities planned throughout the day to keep the kids focused and introduce them to a variety of subjects.

And the stream of consciousness begins...

- Every object of every activity is attached by velcro. The sound of pulling velcro gives me the willies like nothing else. Except for finger nails across newsprint. That's worse. But seriously, I cannot focus with that.

- Music teaches, right? A music teacher comes into the room to sing some songs. It's evident that this happens way too often and the kids are entirely nonplussed. We are supposed to all be singing "You are my sunshine." The reality is that it's only me and the teacher singing. Sweet.

- The music-teacher spices it up by leaving out the word "sunshine" and expecting someone to fill in the blank. As she does it, one kid fills in the blank with "October." No, it's not that odd of an answer when you consider he has been admiring the artistic designs of all the months just to the left of him.

- There are now 2 students left sitting in front of music-teacher. One kid has left and coerced assistant-teacher to sing itsy-bitsy spider to her over in a corner. Another is off alone, bouncing halfway to the ceiling on a therapy ball, grinning, full of joy. The third is screaming and running around the room, resisting the forearm strength of the teacher-in-charge.

- Mantra: A disaster is capable of occurring at any moment.

- One of the kids that is still in front of the music teacher has replaced his chew toy with a wooden drumstick.

- I become fearfully obsessed with being seen through. I am a fraud.

- It's time to go outside on the playground. By going out to the playground this means going to play on the swings. Nothing else is of interest. Here there are kids from other classes as well and our kids have become mixed with the general population.

- I spend the entire recess time pushing two of my kids on the swing, one with each arm. I think my wrists are permanently injured but I hide it, telling each of them that they are birds and airplanes.

- A 7 year old girl asks how old I am. I tell her 23. She says. "Oh, I thought you were 40!"

- I convince one of my kids to get off the swing, as I've become conscious by the line of 20 drooling kids, all rubbing themselves in anxiety, waiting for a swing to open up.

- I spot one kid foraging in some soil.

- I decide that I am strangely qualified to handle the absurdity of all this.

- Back in the classroom.

- Recess seems to have increased the lucidity of all.

- Amidst a round of play-doh and snack time, I witness that these kids are not that different than any other.

- One boy does not like play-doh. It is a well known fact in the classroom that he does not like play-doh. I try and convince him to come in contact with it, and not just roll it out, but then I stop. I realize that maybe he finds it smelly, but he can't talk. Or maybe he finds it boring. Would I want to touch a gross smelling, boring object? Not usually, and that is the truth.

- I overhear the teacher-in-charge commenting on one girl, saying "She doesn't show what he knows." I realize that that is the ultimate truth.

- One kid repeatedly goes and gets on a computer without permission. I overhear the teacher assistant commenting to the teacher-in-charge, "He's testing you." The truth.

Those last two comments opened my eyes a lot. I still don't know what to think, but I think I like it. But only every once in a while.

I still prefer to substitute slack-style, so that I can do things like.... write this post during work. Taha!!!

Plato Specialist

2009-09-03T13:03:00.000-04:00

Fresh off my return to Chapel Hill and eager to start the money train a rolling, how could I resist? Plato Specialist? High school? Ok. Turns out Plato was not Play-Doh, was not Plato the Grecian, but a computer program that assists learning. Beyond that I still don't know what it means. The only thing it means to me is that the computer is doing the teaching, not me. So, they get on the computer, and so do I. They work, I don't. The best way to relate my day is by a stream of consciousness, period by period.

1st Period:
- Pretend to go to the bathroom and fill my water bottle.

- Girl informs me that she was late because she was reading the pledge of allegiance.

- I listen to "Obsessed" by Mariah Carey three times.

2nd period:
- I start playing Lexulous online.

- Don't bother to say anything to the students.

- Play "hoopoe" for 68 points. My opponent thinks I'm cheating.

- Wringing her hands, a girl comes up and asks to go to the bathroom.

- Sandy J plays "it" for 19 points.

- I take off my shoes.

3rd period:
- I decide to cheat and use a word-builder and play "trave" for 50 points. I'm now beating Sandra W by 97.

- Jeremy the "student" comes into class 10 minutes late and throws a bookbag off of a chair.

- Directed to me, he asks: "What's your name?"

Me: "Mr. K."
Him: "Special K."
Me: "That's right. Eat a healthy breakfast."

- Jeremy starts arguing with everyone around him.

- I say nothing else for the rest of class.

- Jeremy says to the guy next to him: "Why don't you go outside and fight that dog that's been walking around. I'll give you 20 dollars for that."

- Sandy J play "goos" for 18 points.

- Jeremy says to someone else: "If you stop smoking weed you are going to start beating your kids and wish you hadn't stopped smoking."

- Jeremy philosophizing on Facebook's deception: "You see her picture on facebook and they look so bangin. Then you see them in real life and they got a rash on top of their forehead."

- Jeremy's heart-felt, defensive response to someone making fun of his middle name Dewayne: "It's a family name. My brother Tewayne, cousin Berwayne, Dewayne. Ya dig?"

- I play "ape" for 14 points and beat Sandy J.

- Jeremy dropping knowledge: "I've accepted the fact I'm ugly. You ugly and you can't accept it."

- Jeremy gets removed by a counselor.

Character Profile: Dr. Ian Malcolm in Jurassic Park

2009-05-14T15:32:00.000-04:00

In a movie with transcendent dino stars, Jeff Goldblum found a way to outdo them all. How did he do this? One by a being a terrific actor, two by getting to play the best character of all time, Dr. Ian Malcolm.

For all you out there who spend the entirety of Jurassic Park ogling at T-Rex and Velociraptors going "wow" and "neat," you probably can't remember a single line he said. And granted, I saw it about 150 times before I did either... but eventually I dug deeper.

And if you dig deeper, if you actually listen to what is going on, you will find the deepest proddings of the world's psyche ever to hit the big screen. And what is the purpose behind that deepest prodding? It is to massage out the potential results of unconsidered biological tinkering, just like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. I am not lying. Let us dig deeper together:

First of all, everyone's memory needs to be jogged with an image of Ian Malcolm, the man himself, the muse that brings the philosophies to light:

That aught to do the trick. So...

Who is Ian Malcolm?
Physically, as you can see, he is tall, lean, and about 35 years old. He is a mathematician that specializes in chaos theory, and he is also the namesake of the fictional Malcolm Effect(which describes the catastrophic rapid failing of a solar system).

Anyways, Malcolm predicts from the very beginning of Jurassic Park that the park will fail. His reasoning behind this prediction is that complex systems cannot be controlled. One example he uses is weather forecasting which is performed by computer programs.

Believe it or not, his theory is proved correct. The dinosaur population of Jurassic Park was designed to be controlled by having all the dinosaurs be genetically engineered to be female. Thus, no breeding possible. And no breeding is good breeding, because otherwise all hell would break loose. However, during the film, Dr. Alan Grant discovers the nest of a Velociraptor filled with hatched eggs. As said by Malcolm, life finds a way. Don't try to control it. His theory is proven further in the eventual escape of every dinosaur in the park.

Now that you've got a general idea of who he is, we'll get to the funnest part. Exploring his wonderful character through the things he says:

"All the money spent on long-range forecasting - about half a billion dollars in the last few decades - is money wasted. It's a fool's errand. It's as pointless as trying to turn lead into gold."
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Dr. Ian Malcolm: "God creates dinosaurs, God destroys dinosaurs, God creates man, Man destroys God, Man creates dinosaurs."
Dr. Ellie Satler: "Dinosaurs eat man, Woman inherits the Earth"
God: Lol. They got it right except the last part.
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"What is so great about discovery? It is a violent, penetrative act that scars what it explores. What you call discovery, I call the rape of the natural world."
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"The lack of humility before nature that’s being displayed here uh... staggers me."
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Dr. Alan Grant: "You married?"
Dr. Ian Malcolm: "Occasionally. I'm always on the lookout for the future ex-Mrs. Malcolm."
God: Malcolm lives his life like is work: erratically. Maybe that's what we are all designed to do, and any constancy we experience is just a conscious effort to resist the chaos that rules us.
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Henry Wu: "You're implying that a group composed entirely of female animals will... breed?"
Dr. Ian Malcolm: "No, I'm simply saying that life, uh... finds a way."
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"Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."
God: Science is such a new power that sometimes we achieve all we can before thinking about the repercussions.

"I'll tell you the problem with the scientific power that you're using here: it didn't require any discipline to attain it. You read what others had done and you took the next step. You didn't earn the knowledge for yourselves, so you don't take any responsibility for it. You stood on the shoulders of geniuses to accomplish something as fast as you could and before you even knew what you had you patented it and packaged it and slapped it on a plastic lunchbox, and now you're selling it, you want to sell it!"
God: This is reality before us.
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"God help us, we're in the hands of engineers."
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"Boy, do I hate being right all the time!"
God: He says this upon realizing the park is out of control.
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"There's, another example. See, here I'm now sitting by myself, uh, er, talking to myself. That's, that's chaos."
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"Don't you see the danger, John, inherent in what you're doing here? Genetic power is the most awesome force the planet's ever witnessed, yet you wield it like a kid that's found his dad's gun."
God: Hey, you folks in the labs out there. Don't take the power you have for less than it really is.
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"If there is one thing the history of evolution has taught us it's that life will not be contained. Life breaks free, expands to new territory, and crashes through barriers, painfully, maybe even dangerously."
God: That is the beautiful power of the world: there is no permanent containment.

God: Bow to the awesome power.

More than anything, Ian Malcolm challenges us to think. He challenges us to resist the initial lust of discovery in favor of the more cautious approach. Why be cautious? Because anything can and will happen, when given the ingredients.

Just like when you get a bowl, put in some Jeff Goldblum, a pinch of chaos, and a dollop of butter, only to mix it all up. Then you wind up with this on your bathroom wall:

The Art of Idleness: Substitution

2009-05-06T14:12:00.000-04:00

There is a certain substituting rhythm that I have adapted myself to. The average class requires very little student interaction. The goal is to go by unnoticed, the dream being that the students will function as a separate entity, not needing the inspiration of a teacher.

Thankfully, most of the time I "teach" I encounter the brightest stars of the Chapel Hill-Carrboro City School constellation, which allows me to do whatever I want. I drop the bad news to the kids: do this worksheet, then this one, then shut up, and they accept it.

My latest assignment was middle school math. For the first half of the day I was in a surly mood; the kids were not paying attention to me. So I quickly changed up my style and began to threaten them. All of the kids were supposed to be working on EOG worksheets, but there was a group of three boys that refused to do so. I had learned earlier that the ultimate punishment in middle-school world is to send the kid to the teacher break room, where they must do their work in dead silence and isolation.

I walked up to the three chumps and knelt down in front of them and laid out the law:

"Look. I'm not blind. Just because you have the worksheet in front of you doesn't mean you are working. You are over here slapping each other and smashing staplers on the floor. You are disrupting the kids who actually want to learn something. If I hear anything else you are going to the break room. Capiche?"

This made them shut up, and for the rest of the day this is what I did, making an example of one kid at the beginning of the class and then sitting back to relax and let them grovel and learn.

In the meantime I had discovered a tragedy of my own. There was no internet. What the heck was I to do? So Bored. Thankfully I brought Jurassic Park with me, so during my break periods I watched it. Get ready for an upcoming post about Jurassic Park. I've got Jeff Goldblum thoughts.

But my true-found entertainment came while scrumming through the "art & crafts" drawer. Here I found a watercolor kit!!! So for my last two class periods I spent my time painting, filling all the students around me with jealousy and fascination.

Here is my end product:

Yeah I know. You might be wondering if that really took 2 periods to paint? The answer to that is No, it didn't. But that's beside the point. It all began with the creature in the middle. I think the arms may have been inspired by my mantids lethal forearms, the head inspired by a parrot, and the rest of the body by a grotesque spider abdomen. Then I just felt that he needed to be soaring out of the water, heading towards an exotic island.

Then one of my admiring students said I needed a dragon. After half-heartedly rebuking them for watching me paint instead of working, I opened up discussion of dragons. I could not really see it happening in this painting, but I added some version of a dragon anyways, just to please the masses. I think the "dragon" is really scaring my mantid-fish-parrot, making him flee into the dense brush of the island. Meanwhile, the sadistic, all-powerful Sun God is watching, pleased with the havoc his world is wreaking.

While I was doing this I was, of course, washing off my brush in a bottle of water. The water by the end was a dark mess, the color of forest-green sweaters in L.L. Bean magazines. I half jokingly offered to pay someone 10 dollars to drink it. Much to my dismay, about 5 kids leapt up to battle for the opportunity. I was part disgusted, part impressed. I wound up backpeddling and not allowing anyone to, saying that I wanted it for myself. I couldn't stand for poisoning my children!!!!

Finding entertainment without internet is So Challenging. But for all those out there who feel helpless when denied the .com world, don't despair. Just think. Last week I subbed for a elementary music class, and for 7 hours all I had to do was teach two 30 minute classes of kindergarten kids. I played them a Carnival of Animals video during class, and for the other 6 hours I locked myself in and banged on the piano and tooted on the recorders. I learned how to play Amazing Grace on both. And since all four walls of the classroom were made of mirrors, I practiced all the dances I had forgotten how to do. I danced the Rumba with my reflection. I ate my lentil leftovers. I GOT PAID.

A NEW GAME: Search Image

2009-05-04T10:53:00.001-04:00

I am substituting for high-school Ceramics class and am entirely unneeded. Straight from the horses mouth I was told: The reason you are required to be in here is so that someone can be liable for the children, which in real-talk equates to: if one of them burns their hand off they can blame it on me. Ha! Like I know to work a kiln...

So anyways, I have plenty of time on my hands and feel that it is time to provide you guys with a new form of entertainment. This game is about as simple as it comes and will be sure to "shock and wow" you. What else could you possibly want?

What you need:
a.) google
b.) dissociative skills

The first thing you need to do is to turn off the safe search on your Google Image Search. I hope that most of you would already have your computer set like this, but I have come understand that there are some out there who avoid the dark side.

The second thing that you need to do is to make a list of 4 words. The key is to pick 4 words that are the least associated with each other. For example, don't have one of your words be "swine," and then have another one be "bacon." Instead, do something like: "swine and carpet."

Once you have selected your four words, enter them into the Google Image Search. Now, find out what pictures you come up with! The only guaranteed result is amusement. Every other result is up to the Gods.

Here are a few examples of what can surface:

booger t-rex roll net

melody candle don sparrow

fielder evil vogue dock

chimney smock, linoleum janice

pontificate salamander meet regal

It's difficult not to keep going and going, but I'll stop there. I don't want you to get fat and happy off of my hard work. So go do it for yourself!

Fathering Instinct: Praying Mantids

2009-04-29T14:26:00.001-04:00

One of the most underrated aspects of young males is the fathering instinct, similar and in no ways lesser than the more well known mothering instinct. Never is this irresistible urge more evident than in our owning of pets. Pets of any size often act as the training wheels for future human babies, teaching the owner(yes, you own your baby) the requisite skills of dedication, training, teaching, and most importantly, spoiling.

Why am I writing this, some may wonder. Isn't it obvious? I have training wheels of my own now: 1 inch, spineless, bloodthirsty pseudo-babies. The apples of my eye, las niñas de mis ojos, my four praying mantids.

This is what you need to be imagining now.

How did they come into my life? Well, as it should be, they came to me the way I came into this world - with the assistance of my father. He brought an egg sac with him to the beach a few weeks ago, an egg sac that had just let loose dozens of baby mantids. He had to bring them to the beach so they would not die - he needed to keep them alive for his biology students.

Egg sac.

I felt a burning desire deep within me when I first saw the multitude of infants in the white cage. I wanted nothing else but to take care of them, to feed them, watch them grow, and to brag about them to everyone. So, never being one to disobey my urges, I got permission from Father to take four of them with me back to Carrboro.

As soon as I got home I went out and bought a delux cage for them... NOT. I cut open a juice bottle and stuck them in there. I tossed in the handful of fruit flies that Father pawned off on me, and I let them be for the night.

Normally the first thing I do when I wake up is walk into the shower with my eyes closed. I then brush my teeth in the shower with my eyes still closed, and perhaps by the end I will open them. However, the first morning with my mantids I did not do this. Instead I lurched out of bed(earplugs still in) and leapt over to my desk to take ahold of the juice bottle and raised it to the light. Peering through the plastic, time stood still.

Since that fateful morning, my life has changed. No longer am I living for myself. No longer is my life the only life that depends on me. I've got 5 lives to take care of. Since then I have upgraded their accomodations. I have traps set outside for fruit flies. I take them on long drives in the Jetta - windows down, lid cracked. If we go through the drive-thru at Wendy's, I stop at a patch of clover to snag them some flies as well.

In the words of the Spice Girls, 5 have become 1. I will now give you a quick tour of our lives together:

This is their new palace. It is a converted fish tank with all the amenities: a rotten piece of apple for the flies, a piece of our kitchen sponge, and of course, ornamental seaweed.

Another angle.

So the next aspect of this tour that needs to be addressed concerns their food. I feel the need to have food constantly available to them, otherwise I start to get stressed out. What if they are hungry and can't tell me? There is no real simple way to keep a constant stream of snacks flowing into this container, but I am doing the best I can. Here is what I do:

First I bust up some fruit and stick it in a yogurt container. Then I set it out in my front yard and leave it to simmer. After a few hours I return and put a top on it, trapping fruit flies inside. But how to get the flies from there into the mantis' cage? Here is where I get a bit ridiculous.

In case this picture hasn't explained the process to you, I'll explain it a bit further. I take the yogurt container into my bathroom, close the door, and release the flies. Now I have them in a contained space with minimal obstacles between me and them. Most of them go straight for the shower walls or window, easy spots to catch them. Next, I use the pictured vial to catch them one by one and tap it quickly into the terrarium. Usually it's about 10 flies per batch and it takes about 5 minutes. Yes, that might sound a bit arduous, but I enjoy it.

The rest of the day I let them be. I want them to be independent, I want them to learn how to hunt by themselves.

I know that there will come a day when this won't work anymore. These mantids are Chinese Mantids, which, ironically, means that they are the largest species around. Soon they will look like this:

Their childhood will end. They will enter adolescence and they will soon be able to draw blood when they strike me, but I promise, no matter what they say or do, I will keep working for them. If they are lucky and don't lose any legs while molting and die, one day they will be adults with families of their own(unless they are boys, then their wives will eat them). But either way, when that day comes, let us pray that I will be willing to let them go. And I think I will be willing, as long as they don't move out of the yard and keep their cell phone on.

Stanky Leg Gets the Job Done

2009-04-22T14:28:00.000-04:00

The past two weeks have been pretty much workless. I said sayonara to Trader Joe’s on national championship Monday… and I have been out of commission in the substituting world the past two weeks due to Spring Break and illness. But this all came to an end this past Monday, as I entered the work week with a ferocity, eager to get back in the classroom and continue recruiting folks for the revolution.

My assignment for Monday was Math, Math, and more Math. All 7th grade, all classes being Pre-Algebra except for one Algebra class. All the classes are prepping for the EOG(End of Grade) exams coming up. I got to inflict great pain on all the students by passing out a massive booklet for them to take practice tests in. It was quite enjoyable to take the tests myself, and to be a resource for the students when they needed help.

Can you answer this question?

Ralph's favorite number is very special. The prime factors of this number do not repeat and are all the odd prime numbers less than 15. What is Ralph's number? a. 105, b. 1155, c. 15,015, d., 135135

Well if you can, congratulations. I couldn't until I got a 4 foot 5 kid to explain it to me. I had forgotten all about factoring trees.

So enough talking about Math, let's talk about the more exciting/traumatizing things that happened during the day, none of which have to do with Math.

First of all, the reverie of my first planning period was interrupted by a French class occurring in my classroom, so I slipped out and headed to the teachers' lounge. There I sat on a gigantic couch, read Heart of Darkness, and ate 5 donuts. I also got to scrutinize everyone that filtered through to scout out the donuts(donated by some mother.) Every male teacher that came in grunted in exultation and grabbed several to take with them. The female teachers would do a couple circuits through the lounge downplaying their desire, until eventually they gently slipped one donut out of the box, back facing me. They would then walk quickly out with their eyes downcast, desire quenched. It's fun to watch how men and women who want the same thing approach it differently... women just aren't allowed to have as much fun!

However, the most exciting moment for me occurred in 5th period Pre-Algebra. Everything was going according to plan: I was sitting at my desk reading my book, eavesdropping on students, and defining the word "correlation" at least 10 times. All that changed when I overheard a heated conversation about Stanky Leg. One girl was bragging about her ability to do Soulja Boy's new dance, the Stanky Leg, and all this had caused a general discussion about who knew the dance the best, and how lame everyone who wasn't familiar with it was. Being the poor Mr. K that I am, I couldn't help watching this whole situation like a glorious train wreck... I thought I was watching it anonymously until the girl student and I made eye contact. Then this sequence happened:

"Mr. K, do you know Stanky Leg??"

"Yes... Of course!"

"Do it!! C'mon!!" Everyone in the class is now on their feet, begging and shouting for it.

"Everyone be quiet."

"Do it!!"

"Ok.... pause... Here's the deal. I'll do Stanky Leg at the end of class, on two conditions. First, stop screaming and everyone sit down(they do it). Second, you have got to keep working on your math, and if everyone stays in their seat and does their work, I'll do Stanky Leg."

So. The deal had been made. They continued their work for the final 15 minutes of class, and then the bell rang. I thought I was off the hook until I was completely called out by the girl. I had no choice. I proceeded to Stanky Leg by my desk to the general uproar of the entire class.

More satisfying than my moves was one kid who yelled above it all, "Dang Mr. K, you can Stanky Leg better than her!!!" Who knew!

Here is Soulja Boy doing Stanky Leg:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ro0DCOxxG18

The rush of having done Stanky Leg for my class carried me through the next period. I had sworn them all to keep it on the down-low, but as I walked through the hallways for the rest of the day, all I heard was "Hey! I heard you danced for your class!" "Mr. K, show me Stanky Leg!!" My response to all this was, "Say what?"

Nothing too great happened during the day, though I did hear some ridiculous things said by the kids. Here are some of the greatest quotes of the day:

Said by a girl in a proud, matter of fact voice: "I'm black that's why I eat chicken!"

Said by a 4 foot 7th grader: "If I injure my ankle, then I can't date Angelina Jolie!"

Said by a boy to another boy in the midst of a game of truth or dare, about 3 feet from my desk: "I dare you to pretend being in love with Adam!"

Said wisely by the same boy as above, giving advice to his friend that is in trouble for cheating on his girlfriend: "You can't really cheat in middle school."

Crisis in the Great Plains: Animals Have the Answer

2009-04-19T15:16:00.000-04:00

When Europeans first crossed our continent, the Great Plains were known as the “Great American Desert,” nothing but an obstacle in their way to the Pacific Ocean. But, after the Pacific coast was fully saturated with settlers, they returned to the vast midsection of the country, this time with intent of staying.

The Europeans weren’t, however, the first agriculturalists to attempt a living there. A thousand years before, Indians left their forest margins to attempt growing their cold resistant maize and beans. By the 15th century, it appears that drought forced the Indians to forgo their enterprise. Barely a century later, the appearance of the horse into American culture made a buffalo-hunting existence a more profitable one for the Indians, leaving the plains fallow until the arrival of the European sod-busters.

The Great Plains

Today, inhabitants of this tough country are still experiencing its harsh realities. The land is simply too poor to provide a financial base for the richness and complexity of contemporary North American culture.

Currently, people in this region are surviving at a lower population density than the Indians a century and a half ago. Unless there is a dramatic change soon, agriculture will continue decline in large areas of the west. The relationship between North Americans and their land must change if sustainability is to be achieved.

What is the solution? A complete makeover of the region is needed, a comprehensive solution to a crisis 13,000 years in the making.

The ideal option is also the most romantic one. The region should be left to the buffalo and other previously dominant animals, which will in turn provide subsistence for a hunter-gatherer sort of enterprise, not dissimilar to the one that existed two centuries ago.

This plan would also provide a solution for other grave problems occurring in the rangelands. Perhaps the biggest controversy in parkland management recently has come down to elk population control, due mainly to their tremendously negative effect on trees and bushes. Recently, burgeoning elk numbers have been the cause of a great decline in flora diversity in the west.

Though it may look pristine, elk are wreaking havoc throughout the west.

The two most well known remedies for this crisis are proving inadequate. They are: to manage the land in order to maintain it as it was when the Indians lived on it, or to leave it alone – to treat it as a “wilderness,” in hope that it will revert to some sort of ecological balance. It is now obvious that neither of these will work. There will be no ecological balance with the current set of wildlife.

The problem with elk is quite simple - they lack the appropriate predators. Although wolves have been reintroduced and cougar persist, there is still a void of ambush predators such as jaguar and lion, a role that was temporarily filled by Indians. These once native ambush predators would provide protection for the berry producing bushes and trees that the elk threaten, for any areas that would provide cover for these large felines would be avoided by browsers.

It may seem extreme to us, but sights like this are not foreign to our land. In fact they have been the norm up until very recently.

Another problem that would be solved by the restoration of North America’s fauna would be the issue of fire. Although fire is a natural part of regeneration, too much fire is not a natural thing. Fire behaves like mega-herbivores do, consuming dry and coarse vegetation that the smaller vegetarians cannot consume. If large herbivores were to return, the problem of excessive wildfires would disappear.

Smoky the Bear? No, it's Smoky the Elephant.

The debate comes down to whether the Great Plains and parklands of the west are suitable for the re-arrival of elephant, camel, llama, panther and lion. I believe they are. These animals could provide the nucleus for a smaller, yet sustainable economy, providing ecologically inexpensive meat and hides to a new and finally adapted people.

Canadian Bison... I could do that.

Some claim that such an experiment is too novel to be tested on such a grand scale. But it has already been demonstrated in the Sonoran Desert, where a diverse group of introduced grazers and browsers have produced higher yields to ranchers than cattle alone. Also, with the exception of humans, new large mammal immigrants have never caused extinctions of the original fauna. Finally, any species that we would consider introducing are close relatives of species that already existed here just 13 millennia ago. That is such a short period of time, certainly too short of a time for any new species to evolve that would exclude these previous species.

So what if all this was to happen? The economy of the Great Plains would be completely revitalized. They would have a native and sustainable meat industry along with selective agriculture. Second we would have a harmonious ecosystem around us, where many problems of the day would be solved by simple coexistence, where the so called "balance" of nature once again could rule supreme. Money made from tourism to this region would rival any spectacle in the entire world, money made on the beauty of the Earth, not the exploitation of it.

One of the most striking aspects of the North American people is their ability to reinvent themselves. What we need now is the ability to imagine the reinvention. This region of America is in need of a new dream. No longer will it be a place of destitution. No longer will we have to travel to Africa to see a wildlife spectacle. We have the proof in our own history that this dream can be a reality, a reality of new prosperity, new pride, new harmony.

Many of these ideas were supplemented by the terrific book, The Eternal Frontier: An Ecological History of North America and its Peoples by Tim Flannery.

THE MOST FABULOUS GAME

2009-04-14T15:58:00.000-04:00

This game, a quaking presence in my life for many years, must now be shared with all.

Ingredients: 4+ people. sheets of paper. writing utensils.

What you do is this:

Each person has a piece of paper. You write a sentence on the top of the page, a sentence that is going to become the first line of a story. You then pass your paper to the person on your right. You will now be holding a piece of paper with one sentence on it. Add a continuing sentence to your liking, and then fold the paper so the person you pass the paper to will only be able to see the most recent sentence(the one you wrote).

You continue this cycle until all the pages are filled up. Suddenly you have a group of hilariously blind, dream-like stories. The plot, characters, and worlds within each story ebb and flow as simply as the ocean.

This past weekend I played with my uncle, aunt, mother, father, sister and her boyfriend. Fueled by the insanity of lives, our production was one of a kind. Now take a look at 4 of our productions:

STORY 1
Bud or Bud Light? Travis couldn't decide.
One was his favorite but the other tempted the devil in his loin.
In the darkness he selected the evil one, so he pried off the nails and laced up his shoes.
He knew it was going to be a long night, so he filled his fanny pack with granola bars, batteries, and other things he might need.
On his way to the bus station his attention was diverted by the cabbie's rude but puzzling remark.
Did he know him from somewhere? Had they met before?
They locked eyes and then embraced as if they were long lost lovers.
In fact they were long lost lovers, reincarnated from their past as neighboring toadstools.
Sex as fungi was so unfulfilling, now as sentient beings with feelings and desires, their needs could ultimately be realized.
"Let's never go back to being mushrooms," they agreed happily.

STORY 2
At last! The crust was perfect and the guests were about to arrive.
Eagerly wanting to test his new confection on his friends, he lathered the haunches.
"C'mon, just try one bite!" he pleaded to them.
I admit the color is not appetizing, but the flavors! - You'll be impressed, I promise.
Feeling adventurous, Rhonda sniffed the peculiar looking blob and then chomped down on it.
A surge of memories filled her, of Tijuana on Christmas and jailbait through the windows; it was so damn delicious!
So she said "Yes! - bring it on big fella!"
Stan obliged in a way that caused them both to swear off such behavior hence forth.

STORY 3
Jameson felt violated.
He wasn't sure why Roger had just yelled at him!
It didn't matter, Roger was going down!
Drawing on his courage he slowly inched his way down into the well.
Thoughts of Janice filled his mind as he reached the bottom and started lapping up the contents.
But it just wasn't the same - a bowl of pudding couldn't fill the space she had left in his heart.
So he left town at sunset for spring break at Fort Lauderdale.
He took all the accoutrement he would need to ramp up his misbehavior, to max out on faux pas.
The first thing he did was go to a bar to hit on ladies inappropriately.

STORY 4
The books fell on the floor, the furniture rattled, and sirens rang as the tremor reached its climax.
Maude was relieved to be outside where nothing could fall on her.
Then, out of nowhere, a bird deposited its breakfast right on her shoulder.
Soiled, dejected, and confused, she asked a stranger for a cloth of any type.
A man with an anvil handed her his rinsing rag.
She didn't want to be impolite, but it looked too gross to use, "Um, thanks..." she said uncertainly.
Drawing on all her reserves, she blew her nose on the least soiled corner, then passed it on.
It began as a simple cold, but quickly progressed into a citywide epidemic.
That his lean chicken stock could be the cause pushed him into delerium.
The guilt and shame gave him no rest either day or night.
So he wasted into a frail tender.

The Pickle Dealer from Seville

2009-04-08T14:27:00.001-04:00

“In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue.”

Yeah, so what, we've known this forever.

Why, if Christopher Columbus was the first to “discover” the New World, are the continents not named after him? Why do we not live in the United States of Columbia? Why are they named after Amerigo Vespucci instead?

This question, a question we undoubtedly ask ourselves every day, must be answered. And as we begin to answer it we will fall into the deepest of all dramas, full of slander and giant rats. Take my hand and come with me, as we purge our mysteries and embrace the truth that evades us all.

By the late 1400's, the European urge to set sail for new lands was overwhelming, we know this. The auburn eyes of Italians were set on the West, where, unknown to them, lay the vast, untapped wilderness of the New World. And yes, Italians had power back then and could accomplish things. And yes, Columbus was the first to make the voyage, and was the first to bring the concept of a New World to European awareness. But we aren't here to talk about that. We're here to talk about the drama.

Christopher Columbus. Oooh so intimidating! Yeah, I do not want this guy to be my namesake. What a bland boy.

Amerigo Vespucci. Should you mess with this man? No. Should you mess with the New World? No.

Vespucci's role in the whole naming controversy is unclear. The landmass named America first appeared on a map drawn by German cartographer Martin Waldseemüller in 1507. Waldseemüller may have been mislead by the Soderini Letter, which is now thought to be a forgery. This letter reports that the New World was populated by giants, cannibals, and sexually insatiable females, while also implying that it was first discovered by Vespucci. We all know none of those exist in America. Get real!

Waldseemüller's 1507 map that first showed the name America. He used Crayola.

Some have suggested that Vespucci, in the two letters published in his lifetime, was exaggerating his role and constructed deliberate fabrications. The belief of this exaggeration can be seen in the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson the famous American transcendentalist, as he called Vespucci: “the pickle dealer at Seville… who managed in this lying world to supplant Columbus and baptize half the earth with his own dishonest name."

However, Emerson was out of line! Many scholars now believe that the two letters were not written by Vespucci but were fabrications by others based in part on genuine letters by Vespucci.

Christopher Columbus himself died in 1506, and was unable to dispute the naming. He also believed until his end that he had discovered and colonized a part of Asia. Vespucci, however, knew otherwise. Vespucci was the first man to knowingly show that the Americas were not connected with Asia and were, in fact, a new and separate continent.

But here comes the real rub. The real stickler. I'm not one to blindly take the word of "scholars." I suggest that you don't either. I need more information. Something hard. And furry.

Yessss. Modern science has come to Amerigo's rescue! Some of the dispute surrounding Vespucci's discoveries can finally be wiped away. In one of his several letters, he claims discovery of a new tropical coastline. In this letter he describes an island filled with giant rats. This may seem like an idle detail when compared to the discovery of an entire continent, but in fact this one furry beast of a detail corroborates his namesake and cements a part of his legacy. For the truth is that there is only one place that this could have been: the northeast coast of South America.

Vespucci's Rodent (Noronhomys vespuccii) is an extinct rodent discovered on Ilha Fernando de Noronha, a small volcanic island off the coast of Brazil. It is known that the species was alive in 1503, but it is unknown at what point the species became extinct.

The species is now named after Amerigo Vespucci, who landed on Ilha Fernando de Noronha on the 10th of August 1503, describing "very big rats" believed to be the Noronhomys vespuccii.

Here is a Giant Rat very similar to the ones seen by Vespucci. Would you forget an island covered in these big boys, especially when they are known to be cannibals and sexually insatiable? ;-)

So what can be taken from all this? First, that Giant Rats are incredible and important. Second, that Vespucci was not trying usurp Christopher Columbus' glory. He was overdue for his own glory. Third, that Columbus has enough things named after him(District of Columbia, British Columbia, CBS). Fourth, that Columbus barely dabbled in South America, not getting past Venezuela, whereas Vespucci made it all the way to Patagonia... and since South America is a much more exotic continent, whoever finds that one should get to name the entire World.

And most importantly... if it was the United States of Columbia, it would be USC for short, and the Universities of South Carolina and Southern Cal would get way too cocky. And we know we don't need that.

German Chocolate

2009-04-01T15:03:00.000-04:00

Substitute teaching has been on a Trader Joe's imposed hiatus of late. But this hiatus came to an end this past Tuesday as Mr. K resurfaced in the city school system. These days it takes the most illustrious position possible to draw me out, and this particular position sounded pretty sweet to me: German teacher, 8-11 at a middle school, 3 hours off and then 2 hours at a high school. German is an elective, so kids should be little, benign, language sweethearts. Riiight?

The middle school classes were appetizing enough with only 7 students per class. However, the teacher I was subbing for floated from classroom to classroom for each period, the main downside of this being that there was another teacher in each of these classrooms while I was there, sitting at the desk writing lesson plans and denying me the power position. So instead I was forced to sit in a chair in the front of the class like a total numbskull!

In the second class the incumbent teacher thankfully disappeared and I was able to exert my will upon the students. The goal of these 7th graders was to work on their poster presentations about Berlin. I legally sent some students to the media center, while others did stuff on the computers in the back of the classroom. I say stuff because I have no clue what they were really doing, nor did I care.

This was mainly because I was quickly preoccupied with one special student. We'll call him Willy, both for anonymity and for the fact that I don't remember it. My attention was first drawn to Willy when he began pirouetting and yelping in front of the blackboard. When I asked him what the matter was, I got a sequence of "Where is our teacher?!" followed by "What is wrong with him?" "Why isn't he here?" All of these I responded to summarily: "I don't know. He'll be back. He's fine. It doesn't matter."

This seemed to assuage his concern, but instead of working on his project he sat at his desk in an altered state, staring off, foaming drool around his braces. Utterly out of my comfort zone now, I urged him to start working, to do anything that would allow me to leave him alone... but it quickly became evident that this was not to be.

So I asked him to teach me how to say a few phrases in German. "How are you?" "My name is ______" "I am great." That went by successfully, so I suggested we research Berlin on the computer. This elicited a deranged holler, a few body thrusts, and several smirks from the other students. All that came out of his mouth after his spasms was "German Chocolate!" followed by a sequence of bizarre questions about German chocolate... most of them wondering what the most common filling for German chocolate was. At this point I was more than willing to cultivate his passion for German knowledge, regardless of the subject, so I told him there was only one way to find out.

So we spent maybe 10 minutes researching German chocolate, culminating in the discovery of a German website selling the chocolates. At this point I took control of the mouse and put in an order for $3,500 dollars of caramel filled chocolates, adding them to my virtual shopping cart. Willy was following my every move and became very excited, thinking that an actual purchase had been made. I then told him that the chocolate would arrive in the next couple days to the classroom. Panic filled Willy's face then as he informed me that Mr. _______ would be very upset about this, and that he was going to get in lots of trouble for being affiliated with such a transaction. So I told them that I had just gotten word that the federal agents had prevented the chocolate from passing into the USA, and as the bell rang the chocolate thread ended.

After that class I made my way to the 6th grade exploratory German class. The lesson plan consisted of having them split into pairs and quiz each other on telling time. After ten minutes of that, we were supposed to play Fisch Mal, Go Fish, with big numbers. I joined one of the groups and I kicked their butt in the first game, came in 2nd the next game. My only mistake in this class occurred before it started when I went to write my name on the board... I grabbed a gigantic Vis-a-vis pen instead of a dry-erase pen, and scribed Mr. Kneidel in gigantic letters across the board. Permanent Vis-a-vis pen. Whoops. I guess they'll know who did it!

After a wonderful 3 hour lunch break I made my way to the high school. These German students were wholesome and alternative, but had apparently been permanently scarred by the substitute the day before. They told me that the previous substitute had not allowed them to speak any English and had forced them to practice German. How. Dare. He!!!! I sympathized completely.

First I wrote my name on the board. Then they mispronounced it. Then I shortened it to Mr K. Then they said, "shouldn't it be Mr. N if the K is silent?" I said yes. Mr. N it was.

Then I wrote the lesson plan on the board. Then we all laughed at it. Then I told one of them to close the curtain over the window on the door. Then I told them not to leave, not to scream, and that those were my two main rules. They then asked if they could use the youtube on my computer to watch Hannah Montana videos. I told them no, watch it on that kid's Itouch. So they did. I then started playing Lexulous on my computer and eat Smarties.

So all went smoothly. Some did schoolwork, some gossiped, some got on facebook, one pair broke up with each other, and all the while I thought, "Who am I to deny them?"

The One Constant: Change: Life at Mason Farm Biological Reserve

2009-03-24T12:55:00.001-04:00

Our life is one grand season of change, nothing is ever the same. As soon as we find stability, it seems that the players are taken away, and new characters are ushered in before we know it. Inevitably, remembrance of things past overtakes us, becomes more important than what is happening today, and we are poisoned into stagnancy by our thoughts. In these changing seasons we should take lessons from the lesser, the plants and animals that go about their duties, adapting to change without complaint, flourishing in the new opportunities it provides. In cold coastal waters nutrients billow up from the sea floor, making the coldest, not the warmest waters, the ones teeming with life.

So yes, that was all billowy writing, but the point is this: We can take a lesson or two from the changing seasons around us. Some of us are blessed to be spending this segment of our life, this season, in the Spring in Chapel Hill, where everyday we see change without realizing it. Let's take a closer look.

The best classroom is within a stone's throw of Franklin Street. Mason Farm Biological Reserve, an expansive wilderness that lies behind Finley Golf Course(so that all you punk-ass city dwellers can get oriented).

As you can see, this is a map.

To enter the reserve you must ford a weir that crosses Morgan Creek, a challenge capably handled by most vehicles... However on days after heavy rain, it is sometimes necessary to ford by foot, a scintillating adventure. Here is the ford below:

One must go no further than the ford itself to witness the drastic changes of the seasons. Take a look:

Looking upstream on March 25th, 2006. In the winter, mixed-species flocks of chickadees, titmice, kinglets, creepers, and finches forage busily through the treetops.

The same view, just over a month later. May 4th, 2006. During the summer, the trees that line Morgan Creek are filled with Prothonotary Warblers, American Redstarts and Louisiana Waterthrushes while Belted Kingfishers patrol the banks.

Let's learn something today. Why do the boxelder, sycamore, and ash that line Morgan Creek drop their leaves every winter? Here in the temperate deciduous forests of North Carolina, the main reason is temperature. Growth only occurs during the warm summers and leaves drop during the fall so that the trees sit dormant during the cold winter. The loss of leaves helps conserve water that would otherwise be needed to maintain the leaves. And even though this system requires the tree to regrow new leaves in the Spring(a taxing chore), it is still more favorable than having to maintain functional leaves in the depths of winter.

Some of you may be thinking now, but what about the pine trees? What about the holly trees in my backyard that keep their leaves all winter? Why are they doing that? Are they retarded? No. Being evergreen in North Carolina is usually an adaptation to low nutrient levels in the soil. Deciduous trees must have high nutrient levels to regenerate their leaves every season, and in some soils there are insufficient nutrient levels to do this. In these situations, evergreen trees have an advantage over deciduous trees. In temperate climates, evergreens are real smart and can reinforce their own survival; evergreen leaf and needle litter has a higher carbon-nitrogen ratio than deciduous leaf litter, contributing to a higher soil acidity and lower soil nitrogen content. These conditions favor the growth of more evergreens and make it more difficult for deciduous plants to persist.

Wow. Isn't that a neat thing to know! Let's get on to some more pretty things. Not just trees change with the seasons. Many animals escape the winter, doing so in a variety of ways. Reptiles and amphibians choose to hibernate, and some mammals up north do so as well(even big old bears).

The most easily visible changes from season to season occur in the bird populations. There is a group of birds, most likely the most familiar ones to you, that spend the entire year here. Woodpeckers, bluebirds, chickadees, titmice, robins, goldfinches, blue jays, crows etc. But not all birds that breed in the summer here have the fortitude to stick it out for the winter. Instead they migrate south, some as far as southern South America, others just as far as the Caribbean. Simultaneously, many of the birds that breed in Canada and the northern U.S. migrate south as to take up winter residence in the Carolinas. Thus, as each season comes, a predominately new group of birds shows up, keeping things lively and new. For me, there is nothing more exciting than the first Spring walk at Mason Farm, anticipating the summer arrival of Prothonotary Warblers, Scarlet Tanagers, and the many other summer beauties.

Scarlet Tanager

Prothonotary Warbler

But the beauty is not reserved for summer alone. Oh no! Even in the frigid mornings that we loath so much, when the windshield wipers are frozen stuck and layer upon layer of clothes cover our true figure, there is beauty a plenty in the woods and fields. The food may be harder to come by in the winter, but holly berries, myrtle berries, and winter seeds provide enough.

One of the most common, and beautiful, winter residents. The Cedar Waxwing loves berries.

Once much more common, the Purple Finch is another winter arrival. It has been outcompeted by the introduced House Finch, a bird native to the western US.

Wait, so where is this taking place? Mason Farm itself, a combination of forest and old fields, is a fascinating place to walk, and having a little history of it makes it all the more easy to appreciate. The reserve proper is 367 acres, but is contiguous with the much larger 41,000 acre New Hope Gamelands to the south. According to the North Carolina Botanical Garden, the reserve supports approximately 800 species of plants, 216 species of birds, 29 species of mammals, 28 species of fish, 28 species of reptiles, 23 species of amphibians, and 67 species of butterflies. In fact, more different species of animals have been recorded at the Reserve than in any other comparably-sized area in the entire Piedmont.

Within the reserve lies the Big Oak Woods tract, a 65-acre bottomland woodland that is well-known for its giant trees, with some of the larger white oaks exceeding 300 years in age. This section has been continuously forested since before European settlement.

In the open areas of the reserve are several old fields that have since been rehabilitated into prairie-like habitats, some being seasonally flooded wet meadows, others being drier upland habitats.

The land was first acquired by the University in 1894 upon request of one of the last living descendants of the Mason family, Mary Elizabeth Morgan Mason. The family first settled in the area during the 1740s. The biological reserve itself was officially established in 1984, and is used both as a natural area and a biological field station.

Here are some of my photos of the reserve:

The Dead Marshes! Don't follow the lights! Nope, no Gollum sighting yet, but you never know. As the water table rises in the winter, many areas that are dry in the summer became seasonal wetlands.

Pine uplands at Mason Farm, early Spring. Breeding birds in this habitat to name a few include Wood Thrushes, Ovenbirds, Hooded Warbler, Northern Parula, Yellow-throated Warbler, Scarlet and Summer Tanager, Red-eyed Vireo, Broad-winged Hawk.

An early Spring arrival, the Atamasco Lily bursts from bottomland soils as days first begin to warm.

Perhaps no group of animals need warm weather more than butterflies. They need nectar and warmth to function. And seriously, who doesn't? Here is one of the first Zebra Swallowtails of early Spring.

The vast cattail marsh. Here, birds such as Green Heron, Red-winged Blackbird, Red-headed Woodpecker and Common Yellowthroat breed, and in the winter the marsh is full of sparrows, and if you are lucky like I was once, an American Bittern.

A straightaway through some of the open field habitat at Mason Farm. Yellow-breasted Chats, Indigo Buntings and Blue Grosbeaks are just a few of the colorful birds that take advantage of it.

So if you wonder what this was all about, go back to the top and find out, because I can't really remember either. I think I just wanted to share a wonderful place with you guys, a place that most of you don't know about.

There is much to be learned in the wilderness. The very concept that allows an ecosystem to survive is change. Nothing is sedentary, every day is different than the next. For those of you that are experiencing transition and change and find it unpleasant, I ask you to rethink your opinion of it. You must accept that change is going to exist your entire life, there is no constant in life except change itself. Thus you must become an ironclad changer, loving the endless opportunities it provides. At the same time, have the wisdom to acknowledge the peoples/places/things that are worth sacrificing to hold on to. :-)

So, here lies the rub. I'll now be offering tours of Mason Farm for 300 dollars an hour. Why? Because I hate my jobs and I'm looking for change, and that's the change I decided on. I'm bucking my constancy. Obviously I'd be untrue to myself if I didn't. So, contact me at akneidel@gmail.com if you are interested. More details available upon contact.

If you aren't willing to pay me 300 dollars let me know, for there are substitute payment options.

What Lies Beneath, being Part 1 of The Outcast Rising

2009-03-18T14:50:00.002-04:00

You think alleys are dark? You think you know dark? This tale is for all those who have never been beneath the city. It is time for you to know. It was little over 5 years ago that I first slipped beneath the surface of Chapel Hill. It all began as I passed through the woods behind Emyn Muil casually looking for birds, scouting my freshman territory. But as I balanced myself on an ancient pipeline I came across a gaping mouth carved into the hillside. Beneath it sat a forbidden pool. Despite knowing that to enter a forbidden pool bears the penalty of death, I peered closer. This is what I saw that day:

Startled as I was of this discovery, I performed quick reconnaissance on the area, and, being one of the Mindaloo Rangers of the East, I came across several troubling signs of habitation, including used needles, cigarette butts, and empty bottles. Signs of warriors. Upon further investigation, there were several scouting towers scattered discreetly along the hillside. Though they were all vacant at the time, the stale scent of human bodies still lingered, and the walls around me were covered in crude writings and symbols, signs of the Pagan uprising that had settled into this region. I slipped away undetected, and as I looked back I saw a glint deep in the entrance. Gold. I would return soon with my band of outcasts.

Skip forward to February 12th, 2005 in the Gregorian calendar. Under the veil of darkness I returned. Equipped with mag-lights and a thirst for a territorial advantage, I and a crew of fellow rangers of the North slipped down the hillside.

Under council of Merthel the Wise we made sure to avoid all contact with the treacherous water that passed in bronzy rivulets beneath our feet. It spoke in fell whispers as it cascaded into the forbidden pool. We continued on, the water quickly penetrated our elvish moccasins, but the coldness of it seemed to have little effect on our spirits as we continued. Thankfully we were significantly blunted for this foray.

Here is Eothain the Red in the entrance tunnel at its widest girth. A crude drawing on the right can be seen.

Other than the animals that had taken up residence in the tunnels, there was little other sign of habitation. In every cranny there lay the dense, senseless strands of Black Widows, and out in front dispersed rats of varying sizes, all muttering to themselves as they surely fled to inform others of our movements. But our eyes continued to lust over the golden flow beneath us, the metallic scent was irresistable as we continued deeper, deeper.

As the tunnels continued to split, fears of never seeing the light of day again built in all of us.

But the lust controlled our judgment as we pushed deeper. Meanwhile the tunnels got narrower and narrower.

The lust in my eyes.

At this point, our party had become fragmented. The females turned back, escorted by two of our men. Would we ever see them again? The group was down to three. As the water approached our calves in depth, I sensed that we were getting closer to the source of water. Suddenly I sensed an opening to the left, and redirecting the flashlight I discovered a passage upwards. A surge of excitement and trepidation filled Samuel, Matthew, and I as we clambered up the ladder, corroded in its disuse.

What luck we found! The trapdoor at the top of the ladder was unlocked. I felt the magnitude of the situation as we entered the unknown above us. Lo and behold! We found ourselves in the courtyard of Dingbat the Dark's mighty fortress. As we crouched in hiding we could see the glowing signs of propaganda all around us and the lush grass of his fertilizing fields.

It looked like we were in the armoury, for a pile of aluminum clubs sat stacked beside us, and ivory balls of death lay scattered about the floor. An unknown entrance into hell itself! What could we do but allow a moment to celebrate? We snapped a few photographs to document our quality, not to mention for use in the warroom.

Quietly we slipped back into the tunnel. In the revelry of our newest discovery our judgment became a bit clearer. The golden hue of the tunnel bottom seemed a little less important, most likely it was nothing more than rusting metal seeping from the castle smelters above. Our backs aching, we each took a swig of the tonic given to us by Galinda Blanton of the Wood.

We then turned back towards the entrance of the tunnel, but as we slipped out into the still, dark atmosphere we saw glowing lights around the forbidden pool. Around it sat living corpses drinking in silence, inhaling smoke like reversed chimneys. This wasn't a warrior hideout after all, it was an outcast meeting place, outcasts like us. We discussed our discovery with them. Eagerness glinted in their eyes as we forged plans to forge ahead, weaponless as we were.

Behind every great fortune is a crime.

2009-03-12T20:56:00.000-04:00

...and so begins The Godfather.

The Godfather. Classic, correct? Correct. A movie in all its wonder. Brando, Pacino, yes yes! Take it to the mattresses... But before all that there was Mario Puzo and his 1969 novel of the same title. The film may seem more enduring these days, but it is in the book where the true treasures lie, in its brilliant, breakneck drive, all of which is so engrossing. terrifying. Let us learn some lessons from the Godfather himself...

Book 1, page 19
"...He(Don Corleone)was comforted by the knowledge that in this world there comes a time when the most humble of men, if he keeps his eyes open, can take his revenge on the most powerful..."

God: Here is hope for everyone. Keen advice: all comes to those who hustle while they wait.

Book 1, page 20
"...From sheer habit Paulie Gatto wondered just how he could go about hijacking that fat pocketbook. The idea amused him. But he knew it was idle, innocent dreaming, as small children dream of knocking out tanks with shotguns..."

God: Idle, innocent dreaming. I am a guilty as charged for this activity. But what else can you expect? Our brain is always processing and hypothesizing, whether we want it to or not. We call it survival instinct. Jealous girlfriends call it cheating.

Book 1, page 22
"...He gave the baker a Di Nobili cigar and a glass of yellow Strega and put his hand on the man's shoulder to urge him on. That was the mark of Don's humanity. He knew from bitter experience what courage it took to ask a favor from a fellow man..."

God: If men could overcome this... If I could overcome this... How much easier would life be?

Book 1, page 27
..."'Oh,' Kay said, then asked curiously, 'why didn't you adopt him?'
Michael laughed. 'Because my father said it would be disrespectful for Tom to change his name. Disrespectful to his own parents...'"

Book 1, page 31
"You did not need me(Don Corleone). Very well. My feelings were wounded but I am not that sort of person who thrusts his friendship on those who do not value it - on those who think me of little account."

Book 1, page 38
"Friendship is everything. Friendship is more than talent. It is more than government. It is almost the equal of family. Never forget that. If you had built up a wall of friendships you wouldn't have to ask me for help. Now tell me, why can't you sing...?"

Book 1, page 39
"'He's a businessman,' the Don said blandly, 'I'll make him an offer he can't refuse.'"

Book 1, page 45
"...Ah, men understand friendship more than we women..."

God: Do men understand it better, or do they just perform it better? The principles of a male friendship are rigid and simple, revolving around one word. Loyalty. Female friendships are a little more complicated, full of vanity preened in flattery... swirling in suppressed jealousy and FEELINGS, ugh. I could go on and on.

Book 1, page 45
"The doctor was a young man, serious-faced and with the air of one born to command, that is to say, the air of one who has been immensely rich all his life..."

God: Having always been rich, you have been denied the evolution of humility. Humility will have been replaced by a sense of entitlement and also the belief that you have the ability to manipulate people to your will, like all those poor people beneath you. Maybe good things can come from money after all...

Book 1, page 46
"'My dear doctor,' said Don Corleone, 'is it true he is dying?'
'Yes,' said Dr. Kennedy.
'Then there is nothing more for you to do,' said Don Corleone. 'We will take up the burden. We will comfort him. We will close his eyes. We will bury him and weep at his funeral and afterwards we will watch over his wife and daughters."

God: A good Doctor must know when to step away.

Book 1, page 52
"A lawyer with his briefcase can steal more that a hundred men with guns."

God: I guess that's a real shame. But at least they get paid accordingly. I still think 100 men with guns is a more glorious thing to be a part of. Rather than sheisting men with technicalities, sheist 'em with a Tek. At least you'll be a man about it.

Book 1, page 53
"He took Hagen into his arms for a quick embrace and afterward treated him more like a true son, though he would sometimes say, 'Tom, never forget your parents,' as if he were reminding himself as well as Hagen.

God: If you're lucky, you'll find surrogates for members of your life who have failed you.

Book 1, page 146
"Tom, don't let anybody kid you. It's all personal, every bit of business. Every piece of shit every man has to eat every day of his life is personal. They call it business. OK. But it's personal as hell. Accidents don't happen to people who take accidents as a personal insult."

God: Damn straight. Don't separate your feelings from the game. If you do, you'll fail. You'll get taken advantage of. Sensitivity isn't a pussy characteristic. It's survival and it should be heeded.

Book 1, page 147
"There are things that have to be done and you do them and you never talk about them. You don't try to justify them. They can't be justified. You just do them. Then you forget it."

God: It's not always a bad idea to "suppress." If you rethink and question everything you do, you will find a way to let it eat you alive. Sometimes you've got to follow your gut and not look back. Sometimes there is no right. Sometimes there is no wrong. Sometimes there just is.

Book 2, page 158
"His[Johnny Fontane's] glass had considerably more brandy in it than hers, he needed it to warm himself, to cheer himself, to charge himself up. His situation was the reverse of the lover's usual one. He had to get himself drunk instead of the girl."

God: I relate with this. That's all.

Book 2, page 159
"He hated girls who turned on all of a sudden as if their bodies were motors galvanized into erotic pumpings by the touching of a hairy switch."

Book 2, page 159
"He didn't like her quite so much now. She was sweet, she was witty, she was intelligent. She hadn't fallen all over herself to screw for him or try to hustle him because his connections would help her in show biz. She was really a straight kid."

Book 2, page 188
"Every man has only one destiny."

God: You can try to buck the truth all you want, but your destiny will win out. I am the best example. God-I-Am.

Book 2, page 191
"He knew his buddy needed human contact with someone he trusted and Nino felt an enormous sadness that Johnny didn't have anyone better than himself to touch in his moment of glory."

Book 3, page 197
"Clemenza was a storyteller; Vito Corleone was a listener to storytellers. They became casual friends."

God: Simple as that. I for one am the listener.

Book 3, page 221
"The Don considered a use of threats the most foolish kind of exposure; the unleashing of anger without forethought as the most dangerous indulgence."

Book 4, page 258
"Time erodes gratitude more quickly than it does beauty."

Book 4, page 268
"He had kept his composure and the old woman had not noticed anything amiss. Not that she could not have, if she wanted to, but in her life with the Don she had learned it was far wiser not to perceive. That if it was necessary for her to know something painful, it would be told to her soon enough. And if it was a pain that could be spared her, she could do without."

Book 5, page 292
"We are all men who have refused to be fools, who have refused to be puppets dancing on a string pulled by the men on high... We will manage our world for ourselves because it is our world, cosa nostra."

Book 5, page 304
"The days before she saw him again her body was in torment. Their passion for each other was of the most elementary kind, undiluted by poetry or any form of intellectualism. It was love of the coarsest nature, a fleshly love, a love of tissue for opposing tissue."

Book 5, page 319
"Truth telling and medicine just didn't go together except in dire emergencies."

Book 7, page 365
"My father is a businessman trying to provide for his wife and children and those friends he might need someday in a time of trouble. He doesn't accept the rules of the society we live in because those rules would have condemned him to a life not suitable to a man like himself, a man of extraordinary force and character. What you have to understand is that he considers himself the equal of all those great men like Presidents and Prime Ministers and Supreme Court Justices and Governors of the States. He refuses to live by rules set up by others, rules which condemn him to a defeated life. But his ultimate aim is to enter that society with a certain power since society doesn't really protect its members who do not have their own individual power. In the meantime he operates on a code of ethics he considers far superior to the legal structures of society."

Book 7 ,page 365
"I[Michael] have no intention of placing my fate in the hands of men whose only qualification is that they managed to con a block of people to vote for them."

What is That Smell? Oh, God That's Pretty!

2009-03-11T16:40:00.000-04:00

Out the door and along the street there lies a familiar nemesis. Tall, white, and beautiful, round around in the belly. No, I'm not talking about Gerald. Nope, not Katie either. It's Bradford actually, Bradford Pear, also known as Snow White of early Spring.

Have you seen this before? I'm guessing yes.

Unfortunately, at least to my nose, Bradford also smells like a stew of rotting mushrooms and semen. Nevertheless, Bradford Pears Pyrus calleryana have undoubtedly been a staple of all of our childhoods, lining the streets and making us gag as we walked to school, biked away from home, or rolled the window down to peep at Spring dresses.

In the ornamental world however, noses are overlooked in favor of the benefits of planting Bradford Pears. Namely, they are one of, if not the earliest blooming tree, with their white flowers often opening by the end of February. By April, the flowers have fallen to the ground to be replaced by round, glossy green leaves which will turn a winy red by the end of summer. A native of temperate China, the tree is also one of the last species to lose its leaves in autumn. All of the branches sprout out of the trunk in a central location which provides the distinctive pear shape, but this design also makes them susceptible to splitting in high winds, a phenomenon that is all too easy to witness during summer thunderstorms or hurricanes in the South.

For those true Fascinati out there(those who are fascinated), I will continue a bit further so as to blow your mind. Bradford Pears are tolerant of a variety of soil types, drainage levels, and soil acidity, and are also amazingly resistant to sicknesses and blight. Basically, they are on their game when it comes to survival, even thousands of miles away from their native territory. Sadly, the wimpy "pears" that grow on the trees are inedible and wildlife seems to care little for them.

What about those other flowering trees that we see this time of year? Perhaps you are seeing Flowering Cherries, Flowering Crabapples, or maybe some native species.

Here is a Weeping Cherry Prunus sp. on the campus of UNC Chapel Hill.

Even though they are susceptible to a variety of diseases, Flowering Crabapples Malus sp. continue to be a popular flowering landscape plant because of the tremendous show of flowers they provide.

Nicknamed the Breath of Spring, the native Redbud Cercis canadensis can be spotted blooming by mid-April.

Hopefully you don't need me to tell you what this is. Our state blossom, The Flowering Dogwood! Cornus florida. The flower of this species is actually quite small. The large white petal looking things are bracts, modified leaf-like structures. The flowers are also bisexual for all you thrill seekers out there.

Stocking Excess: The Trader Joe's Beginning

2009-03-10T13:13:00.000-04:00

New Job. A competitor to substitute teaching. Is it a heavyweight contender?

While shopping at Trader Joe's the other week I asked them if they were hiring, and when they answered in the affirmative, I applied. After a week or so I was hired. I work in 8 hour shifts, each one longer than the green mile. My interview basically consisted of 1.) swearing unerring fielty, 2.) convincing them that I would not get bored at this job 3.) that I was available every day of the week. I should have known through these requirements that this would not be the most stimulating opportunity, but, being my first experience in retail, I think it could worthwhile.

First day consisted of some employee throwing a cigarette in a trashcan which sparked a gigantic bonfire that "required" two fire tucks. Other than that, I was indoctrinated and taught all the contents of my Trader Joe's Passport which shall reside in my back pocket, burning a hole in my independence. I am anxious to learn the location of all the goods so that when a customer asks where the Canned Sputum is, I can give them the proper TRADER JOE's WOW experience, and lead them there while cordially flossing through their every need. Currently when a customer asks me, I'm like "Maaaaan, this is my first day, let me go find someone for you."

After the store closes at 9, someone puts on soft rock loudly and stocking begins as I learn the proper way to stack, the proper way to cut open boxes and appropriate lingo for absolutely everything.

That's okay though. I've still got my enthusiasm, and when it disappears, so shall I.

Subbing, Part 2. The Gangsta Profile

2009-03-10T12:36:00.000-04:00

Thursday, March 5th, I subbed again.
Location: Carrboro High School
Position: math teacher, 2 classes of geometry, 1 of tech-math, 2 honors pre-cal, 2 study halls.

I was without a teaching assistant this day, and as I settled into Mr. Griffin's desk at 830 a.m., I felt self-sufficient and in control, with an arsenal of writing utensils and emergency contacts.

The geometry and honors pre-cal classes were dull beyond belief. That is the curse of good, responsible students: you are not needed. The lesson plan told me to assign classwork and homework, and for the most part the students followed orders so well that I did absolutely nothing. I sat at the desk and gave permission to use the toilet and told them that no, I didn't know how to do their homework so don't ask me to help you.

The only amusement in the pre-cal classes was overhearing a group of senior girls discuss their social plans. One was about to have a birthday, and the group was emphatic in their celebration plans: GOING TO PLAYERS. GOING TO DANCE. (Players is the skeezy club in downtown Chapel Hill for all you nwbs out there) I was startled, as it finally became clear to me that OF COURSE HIGH SCHOOL KIDS WANT TO GO TO PLAYERS, BUT OH GOD, WHAT IF I WAS THERE ONCE AND... OH... GOD...

The true thrills of the day arose in tech-math. Tech-math by definition is the math class you take if graduation isn't a foregone conclusion for you. Filled with mostly juniors, the problems were along the lines of 3x = 27, with the last, most challenging problems on the worksheet perhaps showing a square root. The clientele of the class consisted of kids who hated school, hated each other, and had a LOT of pent up energy.

The lesson plan was to have them do some classwork individually. This quickly devolved to me doing the problems for them on the board, as they screamed out obscenities and told each other how retarded they were.

The best part came when I asked one particularly rude kid why they all hated each other so much. His answer was simple and to the point.

"This a gangsta class, Mr. K. It's everyone for themselves."

My desire to be accepted reached it's zenith here, and as one kid began rapping Kanye West, "Go Hard,"

"I go the hardest flow so retarded..."

I couldn't resist, and cut him off to continue the rap, "I'm disgusted with myself, I mean uhhhh where do I start?"

This caused immediate uproar, and all hate towards me vanished as exulations and demands for my return as their Forever Teacher ensued. Next, they demanded to know whether I freestyled or not, which I responded to with:

"Asking me if I spit
Is like me asking if you breath
So believe my game is as straight
As your ruler, so don't call me Teach
Just call me The Ruler"

This brought the house down, and the bell, thank god.

Study hall was my favorite period of the day, as I was allowed to send some students to the library, while others stayed and did homework, and the others, my favorites, decided not to work but to talk to me instead. One girl talked to me about everything under the sun and I told her what I thought, or at least what she wanted to hear.

Other boys called me over to watch videos on youtube, which I allowed, as long as the door was closed and they told me what they were watching. The favorite, by far, was "On a Boat," which I refuse to post the link to because it is obnoxious.

The most challenging decision arose when two particularly annoying kids asked me if they could go to Wendy's. This was only 3rd period and they weren't allowed to, but both of them were distracting the entire class so I cut them a deal. I granted them permission as long as I was allowed to play innocent and aloof. I told them that the story was going to be that I had let them go to the bathroom and then they chose to go on their own. They accepted and they were gone. Unfortunately for them, they were caught in the parking lot and returned like vagrant baggage to their homeroom.

In these novice days of my substitution, I have decided upon my agenda. It is to follow the intended lesson plans to the best of my ability, but not if it compromises my coolness in their eyes. The chance that they are going to learn anything that day is negligible, and I would rather grant them an enjoyable day while seeing the wonders of a good substitute. After all, I am only 22, and can relate to them all too well and can still remember the vivid misery of an Evil Sub.

Expecations Changed

2009-03-10T12:12:00.000-04:00

My state of unemployment has taken a drastic turn in the past few weeks. I now found myself completely and dispassionately employed. A freeloader in Chapel HIll-Carrboro no longer, I have revitalized the local community by harnessing the coveted double-threat of substitute teacher and Trader Joe's worker.

To put it bluntly, substitute teaching is absurd. My first position was at East Chapel Hill high on Monday and Tuesday, substituting for a regular and honors biology teacher that was gone at a conference. I, unhealthily eager to get my first taste of money, was thwarted on the first day, March 1st, by 3 inches of snow. Tuesday began with a two hour delay, but I arrived ready to work at 10:45. Any anxiety of actually having to accomplish anything was quickly erased when I discovered that the teacher's teaching assistant was going to be there and teach the class. She informed me that my duties during the honors biology classes would be to simply stay awake and sit in the classroom, which I did flawlessly. The students continued a respiration lab and I sat in the teacher's chair and attempted not to stare too intently at the students. The TA even forgot to introduce me, and I, lacking any sort of courage, decided not to introduce myself either. The only acknowledgement I had from the students was when an outspoken girl blurted out if I was the TA's boyfriend. I secretly enjoyed the mortification on the TA's face as she blushed and denied the claim. I, of course, said nothing.

I quietly ate carrots during lunch and played scrabble on the computer as the other teachers around me warned me of the 9th grade biology students that would be entering later. They were wild and uncontrollable they said, and I was going to actually be needed. The TA told me to walk around the class and make sure the students stayed on task, so I did just that. Three hoodlums, there is no other word for them, except Blossoming people who scare the hell out of me, were determined to leave the class and never come back, and I was more than willing to oblige them. One came up and informed me that he was going to the bathroom. Not asking, telling. When I stared at him for a bit too long, he reared back his shoulders and jutted his jaw out at and said "What! You ain't gonna do nothing." "You're right! Go ahead!" I said.

I was happy to see the hoodlums leave, as I was needed to attend to the various missles being projected around the room. One boy was attempting the most antiquated trick of all, spearing a pencil into the ceiling. I advised him to sharpen it and go over to the other side of the room so that I could pretend I didn't see him. The students were supposed to be working on a research project concerning genetic diseases. The only enriching moment of the day came when I was talking to one of the kids in the hemophilia group. For some reason we were talking about AIDS, and he had a very interesting argument, something I believed was impossible in the class. He, unprovoked, soliloquized on his AIDS belief. He argued that in a couple where one person infects the other, the only one who should receive treatment is the victim, not the one who did the infecting. But, I guess the flaw in this is that the one doing the infecting was infected himself at one point, and was a victim at one point. But to hear this kid consider the morals of such a situation was refreshing.

As the day came to a close, the teacher I was subbing for came back. After a little chatting, she informed the TA and myself that in fact the conference had been canceled due to the late start, and that her boss had called her telling her that it was too late to cancel the substitutes so she had a free day off. She went shopping.

An Accidence to the English Tongue

2009-03-04T16:42:00.000-05:00

1724. Virginia.

Minister Hugh Jones writes The Present State of Virginia, and in the process reveals the mass opinion of the colonies to his north and south. Quoted from the text he says:

"If New England be called Receptacle of Dissenters... Pennsylvania the Nursery of Quakers, Maryland the Retirement of Roman Catholics, North Carolina the Refuge of Run-aways, and South Carolina the Delight of Buccaneers and Pirates, Virginia may be justly esteemed the happy Retreat of true Britons."