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2009-07-02T14:22:00.002-05:00

For your information, there are 4 total posts: this one, a blog about new york, one containing manhattan photos, and another containing brooklyn photos. Enjoy.

New York Blog

2009-07-02T14:18:00.000-05:00

By the time I re-boarded the train to leave Portland, I had noticed a shift in my discipline to this project. What had started as an energetic and enthusiastic study, manifested in my many wanderings and ongoing conversations throughout the train cars, had turned into a sort of lethargic and slightly apathetic study, one that kept my headphones tacked to my ears and my bag on the seat next to me (trainspeak for “keep walking”). I don’t know exactly from where this shift had stemmed: the weariness of never being alone, the poor treatment I had received from a select few in Portland (certainly not all, but far more than in Alb), the indefinable boundaries of this project, the distance from my wife, or the dissatisfaction with my writing. Whether it was from one or a combination of these things, I seemed to have halted progress in my attempt to experience the culture of the modern day train ride, and was worried that this idleness of study would carry on into the loudest and most populated city in America: New York. I actually managed to make the Portland to Chicago stretch without having a significant conversation with anybody—though I did find myself often sitting along the outside of a social circle, listening in. And when I got to Chicago, instead of going out for a meal, I opted to sit in with a close friend for a home cooked meal and a movie. During the Chicago to New York stretch, I celebrated the good fortune of having an empty seat beside me by trying to sleep as much as I could. When we arrived at Albany, however, my good fortune had ended and a new passenger had squeezed in beside me. I sat listening to music for about an hour, and then was just about to watch the “Planet Earth” documentary I had borrowed from Jen, when I finally turned to the guy and asked him, “Are you from New York City, or just visiting?” From there, a conversation. As a born and raised New Yorker, he did not quit talking about his city until we pulled into Penn Station an hour and fifteen minutes later, which he described as a horrific building, more comparable to a shopping mall than a train station.”

So, I’d like to say that this conversation was all it took to turn around, but in hindsight, I’m certain that regardless of the conversation, when I stepped foot into New York City, I did not have the option to step outside of the infinite hum of human conversation. The city demanded it, was fueled by it.

An old friend, Jacob, met me at Penn and we dropped my things of at his girlfriend’s apartment, visited his practice space, and began walking New York. We started on the Brooklyn side of the East River, at a park overlooking Manhattan. Then, after crossing the river, we walked for about four hours in and out and up and down Manhattan, weaving through all the major neighborhoods on the lower side, from the Hudson River side to the East River (hope I have my river names correct). At 2am, and after a slice of New York pizza, we finally returned to the apartment and I quickly fell asleep.

During the next day, I wandered the entire day by myself, and though I had been warned repeatedly about the rudeness and coldness of the city, instead I found a helpful, proud, and often humorous (especially from the deli and bodega attendants) attitude from the people. It was nothing at all like I had imagined it. Furthermore, where I had expected filthy streets and stench, I found personality and history in the architecture and, well, stench (without alleys, trash is stored outside, and in the 80 degree heat and thick humidity, the stench was a bit awful at times). Granted, I spent the first day in Manhattan getting the tourist agenda out of the way: Ground Zero (hidden behind a fence and tarp), St. Paul’s Church (awesome little church at Ground Zero—I was told it was the oldest building in New York, but I don’t have any sources for this), Battery Park, The Statue of Liberty (much, much smaller than I had imagined it being), Staten Island, Greenwich Village, the FlatIron Building (one of my favorite sights in the city), Time Square (brilliantly excessive, felt my head loosening) The Rockefeller Building (made me sick to my stomach looking up), Central Park, etc. So, though I was pleased with the way I was treated, I admit that Manhattan felt like walking through a wealthy, tourist haven. Primarily because it is a wealthy, tourist heaven.

So the next day I wandered deeper into Central park and explored the subway systems further, taking it into Queens to buy tickets to a Mets game. Central Park was fascinating. There is a natural wildness to the park that I loved. I mean, sure it is manicured, and many of the gardens had to be installed. But the naturalness of it is in the massive exposed rocks and trees and plants that are native to the area. Ponds filled with fish and turtles broke up the trees and grass fields as they would in most of North East Appalachia. I also began to grow fonder of with the Subway systems, though I had to be assisted several times by the locals. Not only is the subway a prime people watching locale, but it is a great place to read. And I say this being an entirely high-maintenance reader (silence and stillness). But after spending some time in the subway, I got used to the motion of the cars over the tracks, and the hum of electricity blended with mumbled phone conversations, and whispers to children created such a great white noise that I was able to tackle several pages on a 15 minute subway ride.

When I say Central Park has a natural wildness to it, I have to hesitate slightly because of the amount of people doing unnatural things throughout the park, such as holding their groomed poodles up to the drinking fountain for several minutes (with its paws resting on the fountain) to get a drink (and along with this is carrying one’s dog through the park), dressing up as the Statue of Liberty and asking for money (creepy), and indulging in amusement park rides located within the park. This is one of several reasons why my absolute favorite day in New York was when I decided to walk from the Bushwick neighborhood in Brooklyn to Prospect park. The walk itself was what made the day so incredible. The variety from neighborhood to neighborhood is unmatched in any part of the world in terms of ethnicities, markets, and shops. A primarily Trinidadian neighborhood overflows into a Hasidic Jew neighborhood, into a Hispanic neighborhood. At every street corner, and at every storefront bench a group of men or women stood together speaking a variety of languages, laughing and slapping each other’s sweat-soaked backs. Most of the people looked at me as I walked by, sometimes making eye-contact and nodding. Prospect Park was equally wild; the trails were more narrow and led through more dense woods, the tunnels were darker and revealed less about their corners and boundaries, the fields were more vast and unkempt, the trees backrested readers in more remote locations. Plus, a man lay on his side next to the trail scratching the back of his neck with a large pair of shears. As I walked throughout many of the trails, a slight drizzle began, and soon developed into a rain, and then a downpour. I continued to walk, trying to stay under roof edges, and leafy tree branches, breaking this relationship only once to buy a delicious hot dog with sauerkraut for only a buck fifty. I took a different route back and, even in the warm and drenching rain, refused the urge to jump on the available subways, making the 3-4 mile trip back to the apartment, even though this meant I wouldn’t get to the Mets game until the top of the 3^rd inning.

I was a little nervous entering the Mets game, even though I successfully made all 3 transfers to get from Brooklyn to Manhattan and all the way back to Queens. The problem was a pint of rum had somehow found its way lodged into the more forward regions of my drawers, and I saw the line-waiters ahead of me getting a thorough pat-down. I tried to turn around, thinking maybe I could find a new, more comfortable and less protruding position for my rum bottle, but folks had already lined up behind me. I was stuck. As I waddled up to the gatekeeper, I lifted my arms and he patted his hands up and down my legs, missing the bottle by a mere hair’s width. I did it. Not only did I get a fifteen dollar ticket, I could avoid the 8 dollar beers for much, much cheaper Rum and Cokes. I had such a great time at the ballgame and sat among a wildly enthusiastic crowd, going nuts after all eleven of the Met’s runs (against the scoreless St. Louis Cardinals).

Later that night I went and watched Jacob’s band, Asa Ransom, at Southpaw, a Brooklyn Bar. They were great. The following night, after a day of wandering around Coney Island, which quite possibly included 3 of the following 3 things: eating a hot dog at the place where the World Hot Dog Eating Championships are held, Swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, and attending a Freak Show, I headed back to Manhattan and had a very enjoyable evening of reading at Bryant Park, with a cup of strong coffee and some Cadbury Chocolate. I then headed back to the apartment where I showered off the salty grime from my skin, and whatever other toxins one may acquire after swimming off the coast of the largest city in the USA. I met up again with Jacob—this time in Manhattan—for another of Asa Ransom’s shows and was surprised to run into Regina, another old friend, who has been living in New York for the previous year and a half. The band, again, was excellent, even though they didn’t start until after 2am. As Jacob and I finally made it back to the apartment, we stopped at the craziest intersection in Brooklyn (Broadway and Myrtle) for 4 dollar giant deli sandwiches and a beer. We carried them to his apartment as the sun rose over the buildings. Finally, on Friday, I woke one last time covered in sweat from the thick humidity, did laundry and bought a few groceries, and began making my way back to Penn Station.

New York has definitely been the highlight of this trip so far, and I really wish that I could’ve had another three weeks to enjoy it. I was thrilled by the intensity of the city and its people, the variety and character of such a historical town. In fact, even though I had a roughly 60-hour train ride ahead of me, I was re-energized about the project, and ready to spend the next four days on a train rediscovering the modern train culture and looking ahead to LA.

Manhattan Pictures

2009-07-02T13:35:00.009-05:00

1. A bell in front of St. Paul's Church - a tiny church at the edge of Ground Zero that survived the attack - that was given to the US by London.
2. The inside of St. Paul's.
3. Old cemetery in front of St. Paul's. The church has a tremendous history, including the inauguration of George Washington, and Alexander Hamilton's resting spot.
4. A military memorial.
5. A tiny church nestled in the financial district.
6-7. Ground Zero. It is near impossible to see anything here beside fence and tarp. But you can pay 20 dollars to go to a Ground Zero Memorial.
8. Another shot of St. Paul's church.
9. The Statue of Liberty.
10-13. Shots taken from the Staten Island Ferry.
14, 15. The FlatIron Building.
16. The famous Pete's Tavern, where O. Henry frequented.
17. Another Cathedral.
18. I believe that Don Delillo named his third novel, Great Jones Street, after this street.
19. Empire State Building.
20, 21. A couple shots of some random buildings.
22, 23. More of the Flatiron Building.
24. Front of the Rockefeller Building.
25. Radio City building.
26-28. Times Square.
29. Eerie Cathedral.
30. Statue in Rockefeller Plaza.
31. Same Eerie cathedral, near Central Park.
32, 33. Rockefeller Building.
34. One of New York's less known monuments.

Brooklyn Pictures

2009-07-02T12:56:00.009-05:00

1. Brooklyn's version of the FlatIron Building, I suppose.
2. The archway in that towered over a Brooklyn Intersection near the Museum and Prospect Park.
3. The Brooklyn Museum.
4. A building being demolished as I walked through Brooklyn.
5. This is the street that the photo from "The Freewheelin Bob Dylan" was taken. Sorry about the darkness.
6-10. Prospect Park.
11-15. The Mets Game. This is what you get for fifteen dollar seats.
16. One of the many sideshows along the boardwalk at Coney Island.
17. The circus at Coney Island.
18-21. Random shots from Coney Island.
22, 23. This is Nathan's Hot Dogs at Coney Island where they do the hotdog eating contests. The record is 66. I only finished one, but it was excellent. Many not so good that I wanted 65 more, but one more maybe.
24-29. More photos from Coney Island, including a shot of my feet in the Atlantic Ocean. I couldn't resist; I actually went swimming after I took this picture. (Coming soon: a photo of my feet in the Pacific Ocean.)
30. Asa Ransom performing in Manhattan. (When in New York, I stayed with my old friend, andAsa Ransom's singer/guitarist, Jacob.

Just so you know...

2009-06-24T12:23:00.003-05:00

Below this post, there are three new posts. Two of which are mainly photos - Portland, and train ride from Portland to New York - and one which contains words like "Portland" and "taco" and "walked."

Pictures from Portland to New York

2009-06-24T12:07:00.006-05:00

Pictures include, but are not limited to, sunset over water, Montana, the Columbian River Gorge, Glacier National Park, my lunch, Mt. Hood, bridges, and telephone wires. Enjoy.

Portland

2009-06-24T11:28:00.003-05:00

Maybe I waited too long to post about Portland, but now that I attempt to write about it, I cannot find much to say. It was a strange visit, one where I desired most to be alone, and one where I had not means of getting alone. Portland is a large bustling city - the streets are always full of bikers and pedestrians - but it is also a town where I always felt like an outsider. Before going into Portland, I heard many things about how it is the new, hip, cultural hot-spot in America. But all I found were some coffeehouses, a bunch of bicyclists, and a lost of elitism, as though the citizens were all too aware of their town's status. Though the streets were full, I was hard-pressed even to make eye-contact with one person. It's strange that, even here in New York where I've been wandering for the last few days, people are more apt to say hello, or at least nod. I mean, Portland can't really believe that they are the first to shave their heads and sit in coffeehouses, can they? In fact, it is strange that such a fad took so long to take place in Portland.

When I did speak with people, outside of some of the friendly travelers I met at the hostel, they were often rude and lazy in their conversation. When I asked directions from a waitress, just hours after stepping of the train, she gave me the names of two cross-streets. When I said I am not from here, so I am not familiar with those cross-streets, she said, "huh," and walked away. When I called Rogue breweries about taking the 2pm tour of their operation - one of my favorite brewers - and then walked 4 miles to get there, I was informed unsympathetically that their tour guide decided to leave early. A third time, on my final day, I asked a girl if there was a cheap place to eat lunch nearby, and she responded, "probably," and turned away.

What made it worse (and I know this is quickly turning into a complaint post), was that I really needed to have some time to myself to write and read, but none was available. I stayed in a dorm room at the hostel that was full each night I was there. And even the folks at the hostel were difficult to strike up a conversation with. One day, after returning from downtown I walked into the hostel to find at least a dozen people sitting in the common room. Yet, you could've heard a pin drop. It was just very, very strange.

It wasn't all bad, though, and I really don't mind the bad anyway. I mean, the sweet is never so sweet without the sour, right? I think it was because of the bad that I was able to find a couple places that I ended up really loving. The first was the food cart district along fifth and oak, where tacos were a 1.50 and the people watching was unbeatable. The area contained about 15 carts that served up everything from Venezuelan and Indian food to Czech. and Greek food. Another place that turned out to be a real blessing was the Hawthorne Hideaway. This bar was so dark, and the backs of the benches so high, that it lent the illusion of being alone. Plus, it was the only place in Portland I could find where I could get a cold beer cheaper than 5 dollars , and they served tacos 2 for a dollar. I ended up getting a lot of writing done here, and a bit of reading, though the darkness strained my eyes.

I understand that it is naive to think that I am getting a good grasp of a town when I only spend four days there. All I can really do is wander, and try to talk with people, and sit and watch. Well, as I write this, Brooklyn is outside of the window I sit next to, and I should be out there with it. I mean, I only have 6 hours before the Mets game tonight. (I bought tickets last night to see them play the St. Louis Cardinals).

Some Portland Pictures

2009-06-24T11:13:00.006-05:00

1. Portland Convention Center
2. City of Bridges
3-4. The first two times I walked across the Willamette river, I had to wait for these bridges, that operated with a mind of their own. (Read: no boats ever passing underneath).
5. Rogue Ales Brewery (biggest waste of time in Portland - rude and discourteous staff)
6. Guys playing bean bags on PSU campus. Apparently its not just a Michigan game.
7. PSU library.
8. Brilliant blue hydrangeas on PSU campus.
9. Chessboards at PSU campus.
Entrance to Waterfront park, where all the homeless sleep.
10-13. Bridges, bridges, bridges. The large boat in 11 is the maritime museum, and the boat in 13, the one that is mostly underwater, is a submarine.
14. The Hawthorne Hostel, in which I slept in a dorm room.
15. Hawthorne Street.
16. Union Station, Portland.

NYC

2009-06-22T13:15:00.000-05:00

I've made it to NYC, and have just a little time to update while my clothes dry. I had an incredible time last night taking a 5 hour walking tour of Manhattan and West Brooklyn. Greenwich Villlage, East Village, SoHo, China Town, Little Italy, Washington Park, Union Square, a slice of New York pizza, all under the June sky with my friend, tour guide, and local architectural and cultural historian, Jacob. The walk and the conversation was wonderful, the best I've had in a long time.

Today, while he is at band rehearsal, I will be hitting the tourist sites: Times Square, Battery Park, Central Park, the Flatiron buiding and Ground Zero. I hope to have some great pictures to post soon.

Till then...

sweet home chicago

2009-06-20T18:07:00.004-05:00

Hey all. Just a quick update. I am finally in chicago after a 48 hour train ride from Portland to Chicago. The trip was pretty sweet and sour. Can't have one without the other. I mean, though the train was almost completely full from start to finish, and I slept very, very little, and it was roasting, I did get to wake up one morning watching Glacier National Park pass by my morning, and I took part in an Amish hoedown one night in the lounge car, lead by two Amish girls on dueling harmonicas, doing mighty justice to the great hank william's songs of old.

So, I arrived at union station in Chicago, and Jen picked me up, loaned me her shower, and cooked up some sweet smelling stirfry. At nine, I have to get back on my horse and make my way to the big apple, another 22 hours away. Though, when I get there I will be greeted by my friend Jacob, who I haven't seen in way too long, and we will see the city for 5 days before I get back on my horse and truck it to the city of Angels. I have so much more to write, but limited time, the movie and the stirfry and the couch is waiting.

But, before I go, I would like to send out a slightly early Happy Father's day to my dad. Thanks for all you've done and who you are. I could not be more grateful. Thanks for all the hours spent hiking, camping, fishing, playing cribbage and drinking friday-afterwork cocktails. Thanks for all the sound advice throughout the years, and thanks mostly for the example you've set for me on how to life my life simply, to cherish my family, to love love my wife deeply, to trust in God, to and to live with integrity. I can't wait for the days of hiking and fishing and cribbaging ahead of us. I love you, and I am thankful for you.

Well, all, more later when I hit new york city. I will probably scratch up some things about Portland when I am on the train, and will post in NYC. Miss you all.

Jason

Two hands, cities, posts...

2009-06-15T20:07:00.005-05:00

Keep reading. Below this, there are two new posts, one consisting of much writing and no images, the other consisting of many images and little writing. Oh, and there is a good possibility that tonight, after my video-conferencing-date-via-gmail with my girlfriend, I will be heading to the Lucky Labrador Brew Pub, where apparently dogs are allowed to roam inside and supposedly outnumber the humans. A Portland Stout, anyone?

Musings from a train somewhere in New Mexico, heading North.

2009-06-15T19:54:00.002-05:00

I am writing this from the train to Portland, so I’ll have to post it when I get there.

Albuquerque is poised city, that doesn’t seem quite as beaten down as some of the other bigger towns across the country. On Thursday nights the men filled the streets with motorcycles fitted with ripping chrome pipes, shiny paint jobs, and ape-hanger handlebars; their equally spectacular, refurbished women fought for balance on the back seats as the bikes cut back and forth between lanes, and they did it with the sex and sass that belongs to the Hispanic woman alone.

This ritual carried on through the nights, and the weekends. Thursday night, from my hostel window, the bikes whined crescendoing, peaking, and decrescendoing off towards the Sandia mountains. During the weekend proper, the custom hot rods competed with the bikes for attention: Deafening noise vs. shameless gaudiness. Open pipes vs. hydraulics. For those of us on the streets, scared to end up underneath the tires of a jumping Ford Focus (yep, even your mother’s car bounced), it was all spectacle, and incredibly satisfying. During these times, people were friendlier, acknowledging one another as they go by, maybe even speaking. The girls wore their hair fashionably high with pricey dresses and dangerous heels; the men wore black jeans and gray tank tops. But inside the bars, they all danced, and cheered for their basketball team on the television, and drank Tecate with Jello shots.

It occurred to me that the spirit of this area is closely linked with its geography. The desert is uninhabitable to all but the strongest, most resourceful, and resilient species of flora and fauna. These species are products of millions of years of evolution and survival. In the economical decline that our country is in, it makes sense that the most resilient towns would survive only according to their adaptability. Albuquerque is, as several citizens were eager to inform me, the fifth best economy in the nation. As I volunteered at a farm, visited breweries, spoke with local businesses, and communed with fellow hostelers, I gathered the reason for the prosperity (which a hostel manager described as breaking even): a result of a combination of relatively and technologically new industry—Intel, Motorolla, and the Sandia Labs—and the highly active University community. The University of New Mexico has a reputation for excellent research in geology and meteorology, and, according to a hostel employee and local tutor, accepts and offers a large number of research grants each year.

I also found it interesting how much the local farm was positively affected by the local government. According to one of the two fulltime farmers at the farm I visited, a large participant of their crops is bought and used in the Albuquerque Public Schools, and all of the summer employees were paid through grants. In addition, the local government set aside 150 acres of land smack dab in the middle of the city (seriously) called Albuquerque’s Open Space, which is meant to be used strictly for local farming.

The community of travelers was also pretty great at the hostel. At one time, four grad students in various studies, such as journalism, history, biology, and creative writing, all researching in the area with the help of grants, were all present. Within minutes, we were, of course, fiercely arguing. This carried on until well after 2 am, upon which we all returned to our rooms in order to meet our self-imposed daily word limits for our various writing projects.

So, though my trip goals seem overwhelmingly ambiguous, I still somehow feel that Albuquerque was a success. Though, I am not sure how to gauge this. I pondered it after discussing the project with a fellow train-traveler (a retired second grade teacher), when he asked me how I would know, as I exit each town, if I was successful. I don't really have an answer, and don't expect to for quite some time. All I can really do, I guess, is wander the streets, observe, talk with strangers, take notes, read, and write. If, sometime down the road, one of these towns, strangers, etc, show up in a story, than it was successful. In addition, I feel as though I've learned some things about how to talk with people, and where to meet those that are willing to talk about their town. And, of course, some of my best time was spent sitting in the University Library, reading, writing, and processing the various encounters.

And now, to Portland. By the time I am able to post this, I will already be there. But for now, I am sitting aboard a train with my headphones on, about to enter Gallup, New Mexico en route to LA, where I will layover for two hours before boarding another train that will eventually end up in Portland. I have a hostel reserved there, but may end up splitting my time between two different hostels, in order to split my time between the yuppie/hipster Portland, and the brainy/University Portland.

As far as the train goes, I finally got a window seat, but on the wrong side of the train. Out my window, the New Mexican fields resemble Kansas in a drought. Out the opposite window, the rock outcroppings, buttes, mesas and cliffs that I can barely see, look like not-so-distant relatives of the badlands.

Pictures-UNM, Train Stations, Lunch, Portland, and Through the Train Windows: Mt. Shasta, Cascades

2009-06-15T19:09:00.010-05:00

Some Explanations:

1. My feet hanging over the ledge of the hostel porch, composing this post.

2. My favorite district in Portland: the ethnic food trailers. Killer Carne Asada and Pollo tacos for only 1.50. Also includes Thai, Indian, Venezuelan, Czech, Mexican, American, etc

3. This sign was ridiculous. Viriginia Woolf must be spinning in her River Grave.

4. The Entrance to Chinatown.

5. Not sure what this sign was referring to, the building?

6. The bridge lifted to allow a boat to pass.

7. Willamette River from Hawthorne Bridge. River divides Portland.

8-12. Train Stations of Portland, OR; San Luis Obispo, CA; L.A., CA; Albuquerque, NM; and Raton, NM. (Many, many, many more to come.)

13-24. Pictures from the train. The white-capped mountain is Mt. Shasta, I believe. The mountain range is the contains - Northern CA and Southern OR. The sandwich is Ham and Provolone on a croissant with mayo and Dijon mustard.

25. A sculpture from the UNM campus called "Modern Art." I loved this piece. Essentially, it is an odd-looking metal tower of sorts, surrounded by statues of various folk discussing it, disregarding it, justifying it, explaining it, analyzing it, dismissing it, and putting their head in their hands. Awesome example of some meta-sculpture, calling into the question the very process of determining what art is.

26-27. A couple shots of some of the awesome architecture on the UNM campus. By far, the coolest campus I've been on. I do happen to make a rare appearance in one of these photos. (Where's Waldo?)

FFA, R&R, MBC, and Laundry

2009-06-10T01:53:00.011-05:00

I woke this morning at 9am, brushed my teeth, splashed some cold water on my face, and left the hostel to find a bus. I did a little searching yesterday, and managed to find a route that took me in the remote vicinity of a farm that I had contacted about volunteering for this week. I only had about a 1/2 mile walk to get to the stop, and then another mile after the bus dropped me off. The weather wasn't too bad: hot, but a little overcast.

As I approached the farm, I followed a roadrunner (New Mexico's state bird) to the area where they were working. But, like the cartoon, he was to fast to capture on my camera.

Deb, one of only two full-time farmers on staff, told me that a good deal of the veggies from the farm go to the public schools. She explained that the city is very supportive of the local farmers. After a brief introduction to the farm, she put me to work shoveling ditches for the ditch irrigation system, so the newly planted rows of tomatoes didn't flood. The work wasn't too bad, but the heat was oppressive. My shirt was soaked through within several minutes.

Afterward, me and an intern were put to work building rows of trellises for the tall bean and tomato plants. This was done by hand-sinking old pieces of re-bar into the hard soil, one after another, after another. Then, we had to line them all with a sort of chicken wire. The task took up most of the rest of the day, and I was pretty dog-tired at the day's end. I topped the experience off with a wonderful interview with Deb, and a walking tour through the gorgeous surrounding farmland (150 acres in all, right in the middle of the city), overlooked by the Sandia Mountains, and this thing: It really creeped me out as I approached it, until I realized that it was not alive. This walk, of course, was about a mile in the opposite direction of my bus stop, but I didn't want to pass it up.

By the time I did actually make it to bus stop, I was feeling a bit dehydrated, not to mention that my muscles were achy from lugging the re-bar down the rows, and forcing them all a couple feet into the soil: a task that took with it several chunks of skin from my hands.

When I finally arrived back at the hostel, this was about all I had the energy to do.

Finally, after I lost my wireless signal mid-game, I managed to take a shower and gather up my dirty laundry. My t-shirts were smelling a bit ripe. I walked across the street and read as I did my laundry. I love doing laundry. Seriously. I think it is one of the best places to people watch, besides a mall, that is, with a cup of black coffee and some chocolate. But, on behalf of the laundromat, a mall never smells like dryer sheets.

After laundry, I walked to the Marble Brewing Co. for a microbrew and a late dinner. The walk was a little longer than I expected, but was made incredibly pleasant through the unexpected desert shower. If you haven't experienced this before, I hope you are able to soon. Rain at 80 degrees, the thick and dusty, pungent aroma, and the shifty night skies. It was fabulous. In fact, so was the IPA and Chama Chili at MBC. Though, I decided to go with the growler of red ale this evening. I sampled it and was floored: surprisingly light, with a sweet malty flavor, light hops and very-well carbonated. A great desert rain ale. Man, I need to pour myself another glass. Seriously, hold on.

Ok. So, after taking in my beer, dinner, and an Orlando victory over LA, I decided to walk back, though much, much slower than my walk to MBC. The giant chunks of tender sirloin in the Chama chili were slowing me down a bit.

Back at the hostel, I hung out a bit in the lounge with a few folks and talked. I met a guy that is staying here who is also being funded for a writing project, though his project seems to have much more of the vital elements to it, such as clarity, functionality, and reasonable goals. He was awarded a fellowship to write an article on changes in immigration laws and has been interviewing the Albuquerque suits for the article. It really sounded fascinating, and we may hang out tomorrow evening.

Other than that, I think I am going to try to do some hiking tomorrow. There are so many beautiful mountains around here, and I want to walk on them.

So, I think that is all for now. Sorry I didn't have any photos of a roadrunner. I will try harder tomorrow. Meep, meep.

University of New Mexico, Nob Hill, a better bookstore, and the Albuquerque Isotopes

2009-06-09T00:46:00.035-05:00

I woke this morning at 4 am, and wrote the previous blog post. After that, I went back to sleep. When I woke again, around 9, I went downstairs, had a cup of coffee, spoke with the desk guy about hiking routes, and called the farm that I will be volunteering at tomorrow. Apparently there is a bus route that will take me there, but from what I've seen, I'm packing prepared to be stranded. Either way, I spoke with a farmer named Beth, and I will be showing up tomorrow to experience what she does each day. I may also return on Wednesday for a tour of several local farms. I'm excited about this.

After I made my phone calls, I decided to go explore Albuquerque in the daylight. I was pounding the pavement by 11am after three cups of coffee and two granola bars. I brought along my computer and journal and plenty of water. This photo should give you an idea of what I was walking towards.

I did find a couple bicycle shops that I stopped at to inquire about renting bicycles. Both told me of only one place in town that rents, and it is located way outside of town. Kinda pointless. Albuquerque, I began to discover, is a lot like Mid-Western cities: The people are very friendly, hot dog vendors are a staple, and the public transportation isn't worth a shit. I'm realizing one particular thing: those of us in the mid-west and in Albuquerque better learn to walk, because personal vehicle usage is very soon to become an unaffordable luxury. I think this is a good thing, too. We've become to disconnected from the land we live in and on, and the people we live with. I wonder if the CEOs of AIG or GM had ridden the bus with all of their employees every single day, through the slums and projects, if they still would've fucked them over in order to pad their own pockets. Walking is good. Foot in contact with earth. We desperately need to relearn the importance of contact with the earth that yeilds the objects of our sustenance.

I stopped at the Univer- sity of New Mexico during my walk. The campus is beautiful, all in stucco and desert fauna, waterfalls, statues, and monuments. I stopped at the Library for awhile and perused their Literature section. I found a carrel where I stopped to eat some pretzels, drink some water, journal, and listen to the Tigers beat the White Sox (unfortunately this was only the case for the first of the doubleheader.) Here are some pictures of the campus. By the way, every time I saw the University's initials engraved into the stucco - UNM - I thought it was a typo of Northern's initials: NMU.

As I continued to walk on, I stopped for lunch at Frontier Restaurant. A couple that I had met the previous night said this place was a must-go. It features cheap New-Mexican food, not to be confused with Mexican food. The difference: loads and loads of hot, chunky, green chile stew. They were right. This place was great. I ordered a Carne Adovada Buritto and a half order of Chicken Nachos loaded with Green Chile Stew. Mmmmm. I'll be going back to this place.

I also saw a bar I may have to visit in the next few days. I mean, I'd be ashamed to be a Greek if I didn't. I would not be able to look Yai Yai in the eyes without visiting this joint.

When I finally began my return trip, I stopped at a bookstore. When I walked in, an old woman stood up, blocked my entrance, and asked what she could do for me. I said, "well, I'd actually like to look at the books that you sell in this bookstore." She hesitated, looked me over, and told me my bag would be safe behind the counter so I should leave it there while I looked. I did, but it pissed me off. How do I have any guarantee that this woman isn't going to steal from my bag? What insurance do I have? I don't mean to say that she would, but I was offended that she, as the retailer, required insurance of me, her (only) customer. It bothered me that she considered herself more trustworthy than I am, and would only allow me into the store if I conceded my bag that contained a novel, a bible, 2 journals, a phone, a laptop, a dictaphone, an iPod, chargers for said electronics, and a half dozen granola bars. Truth be told, I was glad the books she sold were dusty, untouched, and looked to stay that way. Two other ancient employees in the store eyeballed me without a greeting, and I could not get out of there fast enough. All this to say that later, when I got closer to my hostel (a total walk today of close to 8 miles in the New Mexican sun), I found another bookstore. A young black man, smiling and seated in front of the screen door, saw me approach, moved his chair, opened the door, and greeted me. He was just there visiting. The (only) employee present was sitting at her desk talking to the young man. She stood up, looked me in the eyes, and sincerely said, "I am so glad that you are here." I perused her shelves and found so many great books that I had to have, though my tight budget would not allow it. I roamed and roamed as her and the young man laughed and told stories. I read first pages and eavesdropped on their conversation and lugged my loaded bag around satisfied. Her aged dog followed me around the room as I did so, offering the top of his head for a quick scratch. And furthermore, as I scanned titles and authors, I found the above pictured novel: Yes, that is Cold by John Smolens: guitarist virtuoso for the Whalin Teagues, novelist, NMU professor of fiction, and a surrogate Captain Ahab. If this bookstore is good enough to carry his work, then it was good enough for me.

I went on to my hostel and took a couple pictures of it as well. Here is one from the outside and one of my room (notice, the growler of IPA has finally been opened).

Finally, I got back to my room after the walk. The heat is very strange here. I mean, you know that it is intense, yet you don't notice it the same way you would the humid air. You notice it by the way your body requires water. You certainly get dehydrated much faster here. And I found that as I walked, I never really noticed much of a sweat. Though, if I felt the back of my neck or underneath my book bag strap, I could tell that I was sweating quite a bit. The only difference is that you do not feel it so much because it evaporates so quickly. Three times today, I spilled water on my shirt while trying to drink from the water bottle mid-stride. Each time, the water mark was gone within minutes.

I was not in my hostel room for long when the couple that I had spoken with the night before called me. They had decided to go to the ballgame and offered to give me a ride. After the long walk, and hesitant to truck another 6-8 miles (half of which would be in the dark), I took them up on their offer. We arrived at the game and soon stuffed ourselves with 50 cent hot dogs. We sat in the lawn for 6 dollars and had a blast. The couple's name was Tom and Rose. They are both photographers and show their art in galleries in Albuquerque and Sante Fe. They seemed to be fantastic people, and I really benefited from talking to them about photographs, the economy, baseball, the mid-west, and micro-breweries. I hope that I run into them once more before I leave. I've included some pictures of the game, including a fight between the Isotopes coach and the Ump after ejecting an Isotopes player. The Isotopes dominated the first 8 innings, giving up only 3 hits, one for a one-run tater. They also scratched 4 runs across the plate, including two long balls. In the ninth, however, the closer gave up 4 runs, which, unfortunately, ended up costing the Isotopes the game. It was a great game nonetheless: 80 degrees, breezy, and dry. The crowd was as enthusiastic as I've ever seen, and the hot dogs were worth all fifty cents (though not a penny more.)

Well, I hope these last two long posts have not set the bar too high. I do not intend to write this much every night, as it takes away from my real writing and research. So, don't be too disappointed if I've set you up for a sundae, and only deliver a dairy-soaked peanut shell.

Also, for anyone that is interested in what I have been listening to while on this trip, you can find the artists listed in the last.fm box to the right.

Train and Albuquerque

2009-06-08T05:43:00.006-05:00

So, I arrived in Albuquer-
que around 4pm this evening and made my way to my hostel. This first picture is of one of the first train stops in New Mexico. I got out to check out the weather. Absolutely beautiful. It's around 75 with a cool breeze. The train ride in general was great. I don't know why I haven't traveled by train more often. There is ample leg room and comfortable seats, and the passengers are free to roam the cars. I spent the majority of my time in the lounge car where I could sip on coffee, meet and speak with strangers (people on trains seem to love to talk), read and write. Plus, you can watch the landscape float by as you do these things.

The landscape from Chicago to Albuquerque was captivating; the way it transitioned from North to South, East to West, urban to rural seemed crucial to the sort of research I am trying to conduct on this trip, as I have set out to try to learn something about the effects of our modern day economy throughout the country. After leaving massive and congested Chicago, within five minutes, the city had faded and was replaced by sprawling plains and neatly plotted rows of young bean and corn plants. The only other places of mass population in the 1,300+ miles I traveled were Kansas City and Topeka, both experienced in the early AM hours underneath thunderstorms. Its amazing how these major hubs - Chicago, LA, NYC, etc - are such obtrusive anomalies amidst a vast, seldom populated landscape, yet the decisions made in these cities, and the strategies they use to produce our world's goods, dictate the prosperity and mindset of all of us. I talked with some people on the train about this, and occasionally recorded the conversations through a carefully hidden dictaphone. (Hidden, only because I am looking for honesty, and didn't want the added pressure of knowing one is being recorded. Regardless of the person, everybody had strong opinions about why the country is the way it is, and how their region has dominantly been transformed, and they loved to talk about it.

Once I got into Albuquer-
que, I checked into my hostel and spoke with the owner for a bit. He recommended a local brewery called the Chama River Brewing Co (I know, the picture is awful). I walked the ten blocks to get there, ordered an awesome IPA, and proceeded to flip through the local events magazine. Before long, I was engaged in a great conversation with a couple of locals that clued me into some of the better locations and things to do in Albuquerque. I mentioned that I had planned to go see the Albuquerque Isotopes the following evening (a minor league ball club for the Dodgers organization), and they were planning on going too, if they could get out of work. If so, they're going to give me a call and a ride to the game for cheap brews, 50 cent hot dogs, and minor league baseball. After an informative, and rather passionate, conversation about the town and how it is surviving the current economic landslide (they claimed that New Mexico was among the five best economies of the country) we drank our micro-brews and they recommended the following pizza place for a couple thin slices.

So, I ate my slices and wandered back to my hostel. The main road, Central (actually a popular section of the well-known Route 66) was congested with cars. I couldn't help but laugh as people paraded their insane, custom vehicles up and down the strip. Music was blasted, and the cars all danced. Literally. About 60 percent of the vehicles had outrageous hydraulic kits and rocked and bumped all over the road. Some of the vehicles jumped completely of the road. My favorite, however, was when some re-worked pick-up truck - an S-10 or Ranger - pulled next to me, and the entire box of the truck lifted up into the air, flipped horizontal, rotated 70 degrees, and then slid back into place and sped off. Unfortunately, I couldn't get a picture.

Oh yeah, and almost all the vehicles had chain-link steering wheels. In addition, about a third of the vehicles were custom motorcycles that screamed and whined through the bouncing and hopping Ford Focuses and Chevelles. It was pretty wild.

Finally, after making my way back to my hostel, I spoke with Stacey for a long while on the phone, and brought this half-gallon growler of IPA up to my room with the intentions of a long night of writing, transcribing, and researching (wireless internet at the hostel). As soon as I took my shoes off and sat on the bed, however, I was finished. I woke up about five hours later (4am) and decided to, at the least, post this blog and go back to bed. Needless to say, the growler still rests unopened on the chair. Well, tomorrow, I suppose.

The Porkies

2009-06-02T02:18:00.006-05:00

Went hiking in the Porkies this weekend, but I have no photos. The group consisted of myself and Stacey, Ajani, Elizabeth, Kevin, and Sarah. It was an incredible time. Stacey and I had to leave a day early for her class, but it was great nonetheless. Rain started as our vehicles entered the porcupine mountain range, after a short night, hungover morning, several stops to UP gas stations, and typically fantastic conversations. We hiked in, breathed in the musty hemlocks and cedars that carpeted the emerald range. The cabin we had rented was warm from the previous visitors, rustic with no electricity or running water. Soon after our arrival, the guys bore axes and the girls, cutting-knives, as we worked on dinner and firewood. Jokes about gender roles ensued. Through the rain, we paddled out on Mirror Lake, and I caught my first ever Brook Trout. I let it go and regretted it. Was stricken by how beautiful the fish was, with its speckled red and green belly. But I also figured that it was better off swimming in this pristine lake than sizzling over our cabin's wood stove. We battled the low forty degree temps and drizzly rain to pull at old saws against fallen trees and hack at kindling with dull hatchets. Soon, euchre was established at the cabin table as Kevin and Sarah's delectable veggie stew simmered atop the wood stove; the aroma of carrots, radishes, rutabagas, parsnips, potatoes, squash, onions, curry, and one and a half chicken breasts pervaded the cabin as we played cards under headlamps and candles (originally, only one chicken breast was to go into the stew, but K and S had a leftover chicken breast from their dining out the previous night and, what the heck, throw it in the stew).

Though I brought my fishing pole, and broke the line, losing a bobber on the way in, I did not bring any bait. I thought for sure I would be able to find some crawlers in the soil throughout the rain-beaten forest, but the sandy and mulchy earth provided no worms. I caught the trout with a piece of curried chicken. After several more attempts, we realized the catch was a lucky one. We tried threading chicken, potatoes, carrots, corn, raisins, jelly beans, and finally beef jerky to our hooks, but could not catch anything else. I would've kept the trout, but was so anxious after catching it - i wondered where I'd put it on the boat, I cursed myself for neglecting to bring my stringer, I wasn't sure how to cook it, or whether we had any sort of butter or oil in the cabin, and I held it in my hands as it flopped within my tight grip, and thought that by the time I answer all those questions, it would have suffered a great deal out of the water. So, I threw it back in.

Later that night, out from the backpacks, came bottles of Evan Williams, Dewars Scotch, Jameson, Vodka, and Coconut rum. Some Keweenaw Red Jacket was there as well. We twisted at the bottletops as we took the chill off and more. Some phenomenal chocolate - dark chocolate with mint, and Dark chocolate with orange peel and almonds - was placed around the table for the taking. Afterward, as I lay in my bed the following morning, I thought about the people I was there with. It's so odd that only three years ago my cabin mates were in such places as New Hampshire, Indiana, New york, Alaska, and that at some point, in their own hectic place they decided to study Literature along the coasts of Lake Superior - by far the greatest of the Great Lakes - and we all met at a night at Vangos, or a graduate student union meeting, or a book-heavy pedagogy class. There seems to be so much history there, or rather, within this group. Kevin was my office mate, and Ajani my Stucko's mate, Elizabeth, the first person I spoke to as I began my first preparations for teaching English, and Sarah, the techie for the 504 class. Stacey, of course, my partner as all of it went down. As the light subsided, and the dishes done - another gender battle - we put a pot of water on the stove to serve as a washing basin, we played cards late into the night and planned to return again to this cabin the following year.

The next morning we woke in intervals. Stacey woke to stoke the fire and put a spot of coffee in the percolator and on the wood stove to fill the cabin with its rich aroma. I set my hiking stove to boil another pot as the group, now one functioning body, woke to pee, brush teeth, grumble, and take care of business out in six inch holes in the woods. We had predetermined to use a group-meal method, where each two-person group was responsible for a 6-person meal. Kevin and Sarah provided the wonderful veggie stew the night before and Stacey and I had breakfast duties. The previous day we had stopped at the farmer's market and bought fresh baked baguettes and polaine bread, and went to the food co-op for some organic apples, oranges and mangoes, as well as some toxin-free raw Colby, Swiss, and smoked Gouda cheeses. We peeled fruit skins and tore chunks of bread off as Ajani personified his ridiculously large survival knife to cut cheese. During the feast of carbs and aged dairy, we sat around the table journaling and reading Willaim Gaddis, Richard Powers, and Annie Dillard.

Finally, after one more unsuccessful fishing attempt, we rowed back into shore and Stacey and I began packing our wares. We had a tremendous hike back to the car in the damp woods and emerald foliage, stopping once to pee and take pictures with various cameras. Our talk rippled through the crooks of Northern Michigan's only mountain range and reassured us of what engulfing comfort married life has the potential to provide. There has been a dry spot recently, between Stacey and I's relationship, that has festered through complicated endeavors and conflicting schedules, that seems to heal through time spent in the Northern woods. A week ago we took a trip to see a couple of waterfalls in Big Bay, and it was so relieving to be, if only for a moment, outside of our role's demands. This, I am certain, was the same thing we felt in the Porkies.

In five days I will be boarding a train to follow through with a grant-funded research trip that will lead me to Albuquerque, Portland, New York City, and Los Angeles. The trip will take approximately five weeks, at which end Stacey will meet me in LA after a long, solo, photography-filled road trip. We're both excited to go for various reasons: to see the landscape from a train, to camp alone in the brutally hot South Dakota badlands, to spend over 120 hours on a train, and ultimately, to feel untethered from the complacent feeling of doing things ordinarily. Just to breathe different airs, and to stalk different urges, and to get off track. To step out of one's hole and live as though, to remember, first experiences. It has been a long time since I've sat in a construction site, with a haze-covered moon dampening Beck's Sea Change album with my soon-to-be-wife, or smoked my first cigarette at a municipal airport in Indiana with my close friends, or, for that matter, had sex for the first time ever with my wife after our wedding, or slept through the day to awake to the curious liveliness of nighttime, or to read Carl Sandberg's poem "Happiness" in a strange and yearning motel room. During the waking hours of this cross-country trip, it is difficult not to feel lazy and complacent. It is easy to take for granted my warm office, the internet, my backwards sense of direction and time. It is easy to take for granted companionship, my best friends and the excited tone of my wife's expectant voice. This trip, however, this short hike through the porkies, the heavy thought of what is right now, this feeling of walking and existing from today until tomorrow is precisely, or rather, seems to be the perfect chapter break for the page number to which we've arrived. We live in an awesome place, probably the greatest place on the earth, and we have the best companions we could ever desire. It shouldn't, I suppose, be surprising that these two things are the remedy for complacency.

One would hope...

2009-04-04T09:21:00.004-05:00

I hope the only reason I haven't heard more stories like this, as opposed to stories about what sort of bonuses are "owed" to people, what tax bracket is fair, and who does and doesn't deserve financial assistance, is because this story is not considered "newsworthy."

Check out the link here. It's really something.

I hope it is not because people have lost their compassion for each other. Because if this is the case, the only thing left for the currently 13.2 million unemployed citizens, is to act out of necessity, which frightens me much more than any tax bracket.

From John Steinbeck's novel In Dubious Battle (1936):

(Mac, with Jim's assistance, performs a birth for London's daughter-in-law at a migrant camp. He has all the men in the camp provide some form of white cloth, mainly shirts and handkerchiefs, to use for the procedure. When the child is born, though Mac does use most of the cloth, he instructs London to burn them all).

"Jim said, 'You didn't need all that cloth. Why did you tell London to burn it?'

'Look, Jim. Don't you see? Every man who gave part of his clothes felt that the work was his own. They all feel responsible for that baby. It's theirs, because something from them went to it. To give back the cloth would cut them out. There's no better way to make men part of a movement that to have them give something to it. I bet they all feel fine right now'" (67).

2009-03-07T21:01:00.001-05:00

MySpace Countdowns

there is a momma

2009-02-08T02:42:00.004-05:00

You know, as a writer of fiction, I often tend to focus on stories that deal with father/son relationships. I am not sure why this is. Perhaps, it is because most of my fiction is based upon Michigan landscape, and I feel that I often experience that landscape through fishing, hunting, and backpacking: all activities I do with my father. I would like to submit, however, that it was my mother's motivation and encouragement and support that put me on the Appalachian Trail in 2002. And, it was through her guidance - and her worries - that I sought my way south through the Smokies to Mountain Mamas in North Carolina. Though she worried often, she tried hard not to let it show. And this makes me think about the beginnings of my outdoor passions. Though I know I hunt and hike and fish with my father, I began these endeavors through the 20 mile bike rides my mom insisted the family go on. And I received my hiking/camping instincts from the week-long trips my mom would plan at Higgins Lake. And my passion for the road, also inherited from my mother's proclivity to travel. Pending grant funding, I am about to embark on a train trip that will take me across the country 3 times, plant me in hostels and campsites in Portland, OR, Albuquerque, NM, New York City, NY, and Los Angeles/San Diego, CA, and place me on a train for over 150 hours. Total trip time: 30 days. As I wrote the grant proposal, I began to dream a bit about its possible acceptance. Though I felt I should be excited, I actually began feeling the recurring onset of an anxiety attack that has been all too frequent lately. Though, the more I pray and and think about the trip (that may or may not happen - pending funding) I realize that I have the know-how that is necessary for this trip to happen. This know-how came from my mom. Through the trips to Haight-Ashbury, to DC, and to Buckskin Joe's, I feel somewhat prepared for the uncertain. In short, I don't think my mom could ever actualize the impact she has had on me, and I know I don't express enough the fact that everything I am doing has only been made possible with the experience she has equipped me with. I love you mom.

-me

Quick Update

2009-02-02T15:16:00.005-05:00

I love the snow. It's coming down pretty good right now in Marquette. I''m hoping that, following my reading of "The Rape of Leander" and The Old Arcadia, and the grading of 25 student essays, I will have time for snowshoeing this weekend.

Other things:
Stacey and I celebrated our 4th anniversary on January 22nd by renting a cabin in the woods where we read books, listened to music, did homework, hiked, cooked, drank margaritas, and played cards.

Also, I just recently started two new batches of beer. My good friend, Kevin, came over and helped. We drank a couple of his home-brews and played cribbage while we waited for the batches to cook. One of them is a revision of a Strawberry Wheat that I made around this time last year. It is Stacey's favorite, so I've appropriately dubbed it Stacey's Ale. The other was meant to be an English Bitters, but it may turn out to be more along the lines of a Porter because I used a lot of dark grains. Either way, I had a few problems with both (the Strawberry Wheat was fermenting so strong its lid blew off and hit Stacey in the forehead!) . The other brew also fermented quickly. When I tried to unplug the airlock, a geyser of fermenting beer wort shot straight into my eye. But, now things are finally under control. They've slowed down considerably, and I will try to transfer them this coming up weekend.

Also, I've decided to try to learn how to play racquetball. I'm going with a friend from work for the first time this Tuesday. Are you supposed to wear a cup when you play racquetball? Seems like a good idea.

Other than that, I've been extremely busy. I just finished a non-fiction draft for a workshop next week. My heart is in fiction, but it is fun to play around a bit with the other genres. Well, I really should be working. If I'm going to have time for dinner, I need to get reading.

Till later.

President-Elect

2008-11-07T11:29:00.004-05:00

I am excited about the recent events in our country for several reasons. Not only does the election of Barrack Obama feel like a good move for America, it also feels like a good move for my generation. In a decade that is characterized by our disconnect as a nation, it is exciting to see so many people come together to, at least, try to move America in a better direction. As a Christian, a twenty-eight year old, a student, a husband, a person that loves people and my country (in that order), a son, a teacher, someone that loves the outdoors, and someone who strives to endlessly search for and question truth, I look forward to seeing what we can do for our country. As my wife told me last night during our drive from Marquette to Grand Rapids, "If we truly want change in America, we also have to change." I feel like we've made a good first step, but we can't forget that much of the responsibilty is on the shoulders of us as Christians, families, humanitarians, and citizens.

The Biannual Post

2008-08-27T22:33:00.015-05:00

So, I definitely have not posted in a while. Below are a few of the things I have been doing:

Backpacking the Porkies in the very North-Western part of the UP with my dad and friend, Ajani:

Kayaking (The second one is my dad--click on it for a better view):

Tigers Game with my brother Steve, my dad, and my grandpa:

So, the summer has been great. It is even better, though, to be back in school. The semester started last Monday, which means I am back to teaching, back to studying, and still writing. Also over the summer, I read Pynchon's 1973 masterpiece Gravity's Rainbow. It took me most of the summer, but was well worth it. I also was able to sneak in George Saunder's Pastoralia, David Foster Wallace's Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, and Lee Siegel's latest, Love and the Incredibly Old Man. I am not sure if I mentioned it in a past post, but I've been in contact with Siegel, having written my MA thesis on his incredible and exhaustive novel, Love and Other Games of Chance. So, I actually received the new novel in the mail from Hawaii, from where he sent it to me in advance of its release. He kindly enscribed it to me with encouragement and warm wishes. If you have not yet had the chance to read Lee Siegel, you should certainly do so soon.

This semester I am teaching Freshman Composition again. I am also taking a Fiction workshop and a directed study with Stephen Burn, and my friend, Elizabeth. The study is on Metafiction and the Novel. I anticipate a lot of good things to come from it. The course basically consists of reading ten metafictional novels, beginning with Laurance Sterne's 1759 masterpiece, The LIfe and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, which has had me laughing aloud the past few days as I've been reading it, Vladimir Nabokov's 1962 novel, Pale Fire, and eight other novels of our choice, which, for me, will be including Richard Powers, John Barth, Robert Coover, B.S. Johnson, William H. Gass, and probably some more David Foster Wallace.

In addition to these fine activities, I am golfing eighteen holes every Wednesday night, grilling often on the back porch of our lovely, new apartment, jogging thrice weekly, working at the food co-op, and riding my bike just about everywhere. (Yesterday, Stacey bought me a small luggage rack for my bike so I can ride it to campus and to the co-op without the burden of my bookbag.)

I hope you've all enjoyed my biannual post. I must turn in now. The morning will be coming very early tomorrow.

Kayaking

2008-05-27T21:53:00.009-05:00

I've finally taken the maiden voyage in my new kayak. Actually, this is my third time taking it out, but the first time I felt confident enough to take my camera. Friday, my friends Teague and Kevin, and myself went to Harlow Lake to paddle around. It was really great. The scenery from that lake is surreal. It sets deep down between Sugarloaf and Hogback mountains, and seems to be completely excluded from the (quiet) hustle of Marquette. So, Saturday, while at work, I could only think about getting back out. When I got out at five, I raced home, pulled my kayak through my office window, loaded it into my truck, and was off. This time, I went to the Dead River. I put in just above a waterfall, and paddled upstream for an hour or so. Then downstream for about 10 minutes. I repeated this procedure until my arms felt like jelly. No, I did not shoot the waterfall. I kept my boat way out of its proximity, lacking confidence in my ability to stop and steer. Afterwards, I went to Stuckos with Kevin and Sarah to watch the Pistons. Again, as soon as I pulled my kayak out of the water, I couldn't wait to get back in. It was pretty nasty out on Monday, though some friends and I hiked several miles along Little Garlic Falls (though our Memorial Day cookout ended up being in my living room). So, Tuesday, when I woke up, I got on the internet and started researching some local lakes. There are so many lakes up here, besides, of course, Superior, which I have not yet dared to go out on. I settled on Teal Lake, in Negaunee, and made my first stop at Gander Mountain where I bought a few things that I felt would make Kayak-fishing a bit easier. The first thing: a fishing vest with over 15 pockets. It's pretty snazzy. Then I bought some much needed hooks and sinkers. And, yes, those silly shoes you see in the pictures? I bought them too. On my previous kayaking trips, I've had to take off my shoes to load my boat in the water and get in it. Then, I have to leave them off the whole time as I'm afraid I'll spill the boat trying to put them back on. So, yes, I got the crocs because they are practical, and they are probably the most
comfortable thing I can ever imagine putting on my feet, short of baby rabbits.

As you also may see, during my picture taking, I tried to display the selling point of this kayak. This picture is not simply a picture of my inner legs. It is the best I could do at a picture of the built-in beer holder in the seat of my kayak. It was a feature that cost an extra 70 bucks, and worth every penny of it.

So, on to the fishing part of the day. Never even had a bite. But, how can I complain? If this is how I get to spend my Tuesday afternoons, I may never have a complaint.

I paddled along the shore until I got to some large rock outcroppings, and some minor coves. Then, I fastened my oars to the side of my boat, and just drifted. Birds were hopping around the small brush along the rocky shores, small waves splashed against the side of the kayak, the sun burned my cheeks and the tops of my arms, and, I assume, the perch were sleeping on the other side of the lake. At times, I attached my pole to the oar holder on the side of my boat, and "trolled" around a bit, at other times, I just drifted and drifted. Since the wind was blowing steadily to the North, and I put in at the South, when I realized it was 6:30 and I had softball practice at seven, I had to paddle furiously for a long, long ways, against the wind, to get back to my truck. I guess I should've been paying better attention, but I suppose I've committed worse sins. When I finally got to shore, I spoke with an old-timer about some better fishing holes. He told me, "there aint no fish in Teal Lake." Either way, I can't wait to get back out.

So Close

2008-04-26T11:49:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, I defended my thesis in an event that included the defenses of myself (literary criticism), Kevin Avery and Linda Johnson (creative non-fiction), and Jeniffer Yeatts (poetry). It was a great event. We held it at the Landmark Inn's boardroom, and over thirty faculty/grad students showed up. After my presentation, where I spoke about my project and read some of the more interesting sections from it, I was asked a number of questions about theory and literature. Then, by answering their questions, I successfully "defended" my thesis. The event was a lot of fun. I actually sort of enjoyed being up there answering the questions, though I was pretty nervous. And, probably the highlight of the reading was Kevin and Linda's non-fiction, and Jen's poetry. I've read various essays or poems from Kevin and Jen, but hearing the three of them read was wonderful. It is something I love about this program, the incredible grad students I am surrounded by.

So, that defense marked the almost-end of the semester. Only 20 more final portfolios to grade, one late research essay to grade, 200 pages to read, and a final take-home essay/exam to complete by Wednesday. So close. If only I could find a job, now.

In other news, a week from Monday I am going backpacking in the Porcupine mountains with my friends, and softball season is coming.

Till later.

we've decided

2008-04-01T00:18:00.003-05:00

In our search for a new home, and my search for a Master of Fine Arts program, we've finally settled on what we feel to be our best option: Northern Michigan University. After receiving two acceptance letters and three rejection letters, sifting through funding options, talking with several wise advisers, and much, much prayer, Stacey and I have decided to remain in Marquette for three more years. I have been accepted into their MFA program for Fiction Writing and have been offered another teaching assistantship (funding). We are at peace with this decision. How can you not be at peace in such a beautiful place, with such great friends, and such an incredible English department? Now Stacey can finish her photography degree without transferring, and I can continue working with some of the faculty that I've built good relationships with. For now, however, thesis, thesis, thesis. Four more days until its due. Then, only a month until graduation.

Its Coming...

2008-03-19T21:22:00.002-05:00

MySpace Countdownsw.countdownclockcodes.com/

bumdom

2008-03-11T21:34:00.005-05:00

"When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping. The sound of a jet, an engine warming up, even the clopping of shod hooves on pavement brings on the ancient shudder, the dry mouth and vacant eye, the hot palms and the churn of stomach high up under the rib cage. In other words, I don't improve; in further words, once a bum always a bum. . . . When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must first find in himself a good and sufficient reason for going. This to the practical bum is not difficult. He has a built-in garden of reasons to choose from."

--John Steinbeck, Travels With Charley in Search for America

Beer and Bob

2008-01-16T14:11:00.000-05:00

I made an investment late last year. With some money that I received for my birthday, I invested in a beer making kit. I figured that since I spend enough money on okay tasting beer, when I really want the good tasting stuff, I ought to spend the initial money on a kit, and then "make" the good tasting stuff. So, the day before New Year's Eve, while Stacey was at work, I started brewing my first batch of an Irish Stout. After boiling grains and malts and hops for a full hour, our little apartment (actually, probably the entire complex) smelled like the Guinness factory we visited in Dublin. When Stacey came home, she didn't care for it as much. But I loved it. So, once all the boiling is done, I had to add the yeast, put a bubbler on it, then let it sit for two weeks around 65 degrees in a semi-dark room. After two weeks, I transplanted it into a secondary fermenter. (This is shown in the pictures). I know, it looks more lie coffee than beer, but it smells great. During the process, I tasted a little sample of it. At this stage, it has not reached its full flavor (won't for another month or more) and it is not carbonated. However, it tasted great. I can't wait to try it when it is finished. I have to stock up on beer bottles now (you can see my stash next to the fermenter in the last picture). After another week, I will be ready to bottle it. It should make about 48-53 12oz beers. Once they are bottled they need to sit for at least another week while they age into its ripe flavor. Yeah, pretty crazy process. I have a lot of friends up here that also brew , so I think that when our Christmas batches are done, we're gonna get together and try each other's recipes. (yeah, like a knitting circle without the needles). My dad also got a wine-making kit over Christmas, and my brother already brews beer. So, we're all looking forward to being able to trade our brews with each other.

In other news, as some of you may know, when Stacey and I got married (2 years, 11 months, and 25 days ago from today), my brother, Steve, bought me this giant Bob Dylan poster to decorate wherever we chose to live. Knowing, of course, that Bob is my favorite. Unfortunately, because I did not want the poster ruined, and framing is expensive, the poster has been rolled in a cardboard tube in my closet for almost three years. Until today. This past Christmas, Stacey surprised me by getting the poster framed. Today, I picked it up. These are the photos I took while hanging it on our living room wall. You can get an idea of its size by comparing it to our television (27'' I think) in the second picture. For a better reference, think of it like this: The poster is only 6 inches shorter than Stacey.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

2007-11-27T21:56:00.001-05:00

This is another reason why I love the U.P. so much. Towards the end of September, beginning of October (yeah, this post is long overdue), my Dad and I took three days to hike the the Pictured Rocks trail. The trail goes from Grand Marais to Munising (around 45 miles). As you can probably see from the pictures, we were, at times, right on the Lake Superior beach, and other times we were peering over cliffs some 1,500 feet above Lake Superior.
We left early on a Friday morning. Lucky for us, Stacey was headed back to Grand Rapids and was able to drop us off in Grand Marais. We averaged 15 miles a day, and landed in Munising on Sunday. Again, Stacey was on her way home from Grand Rapids and was able to pick us up. Though we expected (hoped) to see quite the variety of wildlife (bear, dear, etc), it turned out to be more of a bird-watching tour than anything. A hawk, a pair of falcons, an owl, a blue heron, and a Bald Eagle. Finally, while filling up our water bottles from a creek one morning, we did notice an unexpected visitor spying on us. A Marten. For a while, I couldn't figure out what the heck it was, as it was the first I've seen in the woods. If you haven't seen one, it looks like a cross between a fox and a weasel. I actually thought it was a fox at first (it was about as large as one) but then I saw it tear up a tree across the creek from us and peek its head around to watch us.) From its tufted ears, square face, and long body, my dad knew it was a Marten. Pretty cool. Another odd thing we saw was this old (1930's perhaps) Plymouth car abandoned in the woods. We just walked around a bend and it was there.
At times, the lakeshore was so isolated and deserted that you could walk on the beach, look for miles, and see nothing but the large green expanse of Superior and the reddish rock of the coastline. It was unbelievable. In some more remote areas, on the beach, their were actually remnants of old shipwrecks that had been washed up.

So, as I am nearing the end of my degree, only one more semester, you can probably see why I am so concerned with location. Stacey and I both really hope to stay where we are. But, it depends on whether or not I can get accepted into Northern's M.F.A. program. Other schools I have been checking out are either in Oregon or Montana or Wyoming. I don't think I could go south. I love the North Country. For now, though, I am not hiking as much. Instead, I am working on my applications, and writing samples, a letters and all the other fun stuff that goes along with applying to college. Hopefully, by doing this, I can stay here for another few years and enjoy the northern portion of our beautiful state.

So, next hike on the agenda: Isle Royale. I graduate on May 3rd (or somewhere near there), and Kevin and Teague (some of my friends that will also be graduating) and my dad and I plan on taking a week to do it shortly after graduation. For those that didn't know Michigan had a National park, Isle Royale is a National Park in the middle of Lake Superior, accessible only by boat or sea plane, and native to Timber Wolves and Moose. Stacey is going to Europe around May 17, so we're planning on going around that time.

I'll keep you posted (though, as you probably know, it may not be very timely).

arts and crafts time

2007-10-07T00:48:00.001-05:00

Grad school isn't all about reading, writing, and teaching. At least not for me. That is why the other day, during about the 2nd hour of reading some texts for my thesis, I began to lose focus. I had fixed myself a small snack and as I resumed my reading of Lee Siegel's incredible novel, "Love and Other Games of Chance," I couldn't help noticing the fruit flies surrounding my plate. I tried to ignore them, but I am only human. So, I fired up the computer (read: opened it), and typed into the google search engine the words: "how to trap fruit flies." This was the start of a forty-five minute distraction. After locating what I thought to be a reputable and distinguished site of fruit fly trapping, Arts and Crafts time began. With an old mason jar, a pungent concoction of old orange juice and bourbon (for the trap, not me), some masking tape, and an 8 1/2 X 11 sheet of paper, I started building. I thought of pre-school, the hard moments of listening through a "Clifford, the Big Red Dog," book that always ended with snack/craft time. And also a nap, which I'm sure I eventually took that day, too. I also thought of high school shop class, building birdhouses. Not much has changed. I built my fruit fly trap with as much vigor and excitement as I've ever had. Once complete, I set it on top of the stove (the site said that heat attracts them), and tried to resume reading. All was good, except that, unlike the regular outdoor fly traps on old porches, fruit fly traps do not buzz when a kill has been made. So, as I flipped each page in my book, I couldn't temper my curiosity. I had to get up and check. Thus, I did not get any effective reading done. However, if you look closely at the picture, you will see some floating fruit flies in the bourbon/O.J. concoction. Productive day? I think so.

Jason: 1
Fruit Flies: 0

P.S. After several days, Stacey was not as excited about the traps as I was. The smell was pungent, and they soon lost their aesthetic appeal. Especially when we had company over for dinner. They have been removed, reluctantly, and I am back to just reading. For now.

not completely gone, just busy.

2007-09-12T01:09:00.000-05:00

(i'm in hiding).
Alright, It's jason. the owner of this blog. i understand if you do not recognize my voice. it has been a while since I've posted. but, i am still here. school officially started about 2 1/2 weeks ago for everybody else. for me, it started almost 5 weeks ago. 2 weeks before the official semester started, i had class for about 7 hours a day to prepare me to begin teaching.

so, now i am teaching.
The class I am teaching is not exactly like this (me teaching emily how to hit my drums), but there are certainly some similarities--short attention spans, lack of discussion, and lots of energy. However, I am really enjoying it. They are a good group of students, and I think that a handful of them are very talented writers. It has been a lot of fun and challenging trying to figure out how to present lesson plans in a way that is interesting and that actually teach something that will stick with the students. They have their first essay due in about a week, so I am eager to see where everybody is at. I have definitely grown sympathy for a lot of my own professors in the process. The amount of time it takes to prepare for one 1-hour class is way more than the time you actually spend in class. I spend a lot of time in my office researching different plans, reading essays, and planning discussions--and more than a little time bull-shitting with kevin and jef. My office area is great. The full-timers call it "TA row," cause it is where all the TA's are located. It is very helpful, though, because we often congregate and share some of the things that have been working/not working for us. As well as schedule our evening rendezvous, band practices, and weekend golf-outings. Plus, the entire department is right there and it is very helpful to be able to speak to one of your professors about an issue you are having in the class you are teaching. A lot of the full-time faculty are very willing to help a desperate TA.

So, in addition to teaching, I have actually gone fishing for the first time this summer. I can't believe it has taken me so long to get out there, but now that I got the taste for it, I may have trouble stopping. Over Labor Day weekend, Stacey and I spent some time in Hessel (other side of U.P.) with her parents. They had a boat so we scooted around lake Huron and we caught a good deal of perch. It was a perfect week. After leaving Hessel, stacey and i, wanting to waste a little time, found a driving range and hit a bunch of balls, stopped in sault sainte marie and played black jack for a while, then used our winnings to buy lunch at a little dive bar by lake superior, right next to the soo locks. Eventually we made it home (only to find that i had missed band practice). but, since then, we have made plans to go to a friend's property this saturday and to spend the entire day on the lake blue gill and perch fishing and sitting in the sun, and (maybe) drinking beer, and possibly camping. we are really looking forward to it. the whole plan sounds great.

In other news, stacey and i woke this morning to find water dripping from our dining room light fixture and onto our table. apparently a pipe had busted above our kitchen and pooled up in our ceiling until it found the hole by the light fixture to drip from. So, we have several holes in our ceiling that will not be fixed for a couple weeks, and tomorrow we have a plumber coming over to work on it. It sounds like they will be replacing the entire pipe. Since I am at work now, and get out at 8am (same time the plumber is arriving), i am considering bringing a sleeping bag over to my office to catch a few z's. we will see. well, the water issue is well photo-documented here if you are interested.

If you are looking for something to read, check out:
Lee Siegel's "Love, and Other Games of Chance"
Z.Z. Packer's "Drinking Coffee Elsewhere"
Tobias Wolff's "The Night in Question"

And if you are looking for some new tunes, maybe try...

Mono Men "Monomen LP"
The National "The Boxer"
Decemberists "Crane Wife"
The Shins "Wincing the Night Away"
M. Ward "Post-War"

Alright, so, sorry about the hiatus. no promises that it wont happen again. please direct all questions and concerns to the comment box...

jason

Running With the Bulls

2007-07-22T01:09:00.001-05:00

Class is done, no more required writing, reading, etc. i am finally getting a chance to read and write the things i want to read and write. The reading includes Cormack McCarthy's "Blood Meridian" and Lee Siegel's "Love and Other Games of Chance." The last required reading i had to read was a re-read of Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises." I guess that is why i posted this picture of the guy getting gored through the leg during the most recent run. (If you haven't read "The Sun Also Rises," do so immediately). You don't have to be particularly into bull fighting, just sadness, alcohol and emasculation. Great, sad novel. I have also been thinking about this picture lately as everything in my life has slowed down temporarily. With my first break in classes since last august, it feels incredible to have some time on my hands. i've been watching movies and walking outside, playing my drums and reading and have even sat by the lake a few times. I have 12 more credits before i get my MA and then decide what to do from there and where to do it. About 3 weeks left before i get back into the footrace, when i start my training for teaching next fall. so now, i'm just relaxing. perhaps, gored a bit, but recovering. From all the forced writing exercises and from having someone always tell me what to read. recovering from all-night writing binges and neck-aches from trying to stay awake during four hour workshops after eight-hour midnight shifts at the hotel. so, nothing season ending. (alright, i've been watching a lot of baseball, too).

I'm not sure if the metaphor of running with the bulls works or not. it something that i've always wanted to do. though i may have to forget about this picture before i try.

in other news, today i swam in lake superior for about twenty minutes in cut-off jean shorts. it was very warm, but the walk home kinda sucked.

jason

my lookalikes

2007-07-10T06:05:00.000-05:00

just because i wanted to post, but am too tired to write much, you can now scroll to the bottom of this page to view my celebrity lookalikes. very important stuff, here. and yes, john candy is one of them. did i ever mention someone told me i look just like ron jeremy? yup, glad he didn't show up on this one.

warning: if you don't know who ron jeremy is, i would advise NOT googling him.

its not fair. people say my brother looks like russell crowe, my dad looks like sam elliot, and me? I look like pope john paul I, and john candy. hmmm....

p.s. i used another photo of me and fidel castro and paul mccartney came up as the top 2. though, Kirsten Dunst also came up. i guess thats kinda cool.

bowling

2007-06-16T03:17:00.000-05:00

for some of stacey's photos of our latest outing with our pals, click here.

THE RODEO IS IN SAWYER!!!

2007-06-16T02:15:00.000-05:00

Before you start reading this, hit play on that white "play button, " to your right, you'll be glad you did.

My first task as i showed up to work today was to disperse a band of angry rodeo cowboys from the hotel lobby where i work. apparently, the hotel bar closes at midnight and these rope-swinging, cattle-dancing, herders were not gonna have it. especially on a FRIDAY NIGHT!! Rodeo night, to boot (cowboy boot)! I tried to explain to them that i don't know how they do things in Houston or Albuquerque, or Lonesome Dove, but up here in Sawyer, where the population of people is about the same as the amount of wild horses that need to be roped in the U.P., people are usually in bed by midnight. even on a saturday night. even on rodeo night. its not a very lively community. in twenty years when the fifteen people that live here move on to the lovely military base in the sky, Sawyer will probably cease to exist.
After a few griping comments, one handlebar-mustached cowboy noticed i had a copy of The Mining Journal (marquette's newspaper) sitting on the desk. I handed it to him and they all spent the next fifteen minutes looking for the "write-up" on the Sawyer Rodeo. For pictures, I assume. Then, they went to bed. There was no write-up in the paper. I sure hope this event won't ruin their ropin' tomorrow.

In other news, today, Stacey and i took our first swim of the summer in Lake Superior. Though it was 87 degrees most of the day, I'd be exaggerating if I told you the water was in the mid-50's. About ten feet out, it was tolerably warm--really, not bad. But after that, it was bitter cold. So, like little kids at the beach, we splashed around and swam in thigh-high water, enjoying every minute of it. I love Marquette.

Also, in case anybody was curious, the Stampers, my raggled group of english grad/softball players came out of last night's game with a 25-5 victory. It was beautiful. We had lost our two previous games in extra innings by only 1 run. We wanted this one badly, and I think it showed.

the mighty stampers have struck out

2007-05-18T13:13:00.001-05:00

softball season officially started last wednesday when "the stampers" fell 11-9 to "team b." we had a slow first inning, giving up 6 runs. in the bottom of the 6th we came within one (8-7) only to give up 3 more runs in the seventh and then failed to recover. it was a good start though. not a bad effort from the graduate english department team. we had a blast. i played third base and hope to stay there. i guess i could just stay there, since i'm the captain, but i'll try to be fair. it was a very sunny and chilly evening. sweatshirts and long paints. (notice the grass stains on my right pant leg in the second picture and the clean pant leg in the 1st and 3rd picture. a result of sliding into second right after that hit you can see in picture # 3. a grass stain i am very proud of. i may not wash those jeans again.) we had to play on a grass field, infield and outfield, grass. it was hard to see the bases, so we're going to try to sneak to a real field next week. normally you have to pay to get on the real fields. but, we're crafty. after the game we had a mandatory team meeting at vangos bar and pizzeria, where we discussed batting order, euchre techniques, and cormack mccarthy. then played euchre and shared pitchers of beer till it closed. a great ending to a great evening.

incidentally, last night the pistons beat the bulls in game 6 to advance to the eastern conference finals for the 5th time in five years. i was booted out of the house so stacey could watch the season finale of grey's anatomy, so i rode my bike to the nearest watering hole to resume my watching of the game. go pistons.

also, this is for you alex, tonight, the tigers will take on the cardinals, a recap of last year's world series. looking forward to watching that one right after softball practice. go tigers.

graduate drumming

2007-05-07T23:23:00.000-05:00

someone mentioned to me the other day that shrontz is drumming again. i think this is a good thing. i think this is a good thing for all of us. to listen to it, click here. This is my new band. so far, we call ourselves "the teague whalen trio." Though, there is four of us. i hope you enjoy it. and yes, that is a rhodes piano that jennifer simula is playing. beautiful isn't it? by the way, this is the second of two posts i've written tonight, so keep scrolling.

my new ball mitt

2007-05-07T21:08:00.000-05:00

i'll get this part over with quick, the negative part (by the way, the picture is of a mini origami swan, the symbol is one of tedious-ness):
1. i don't have a job. everyday now, I have been pounding the pavement, turning in applications. i trust it will come soon, though. today i had to do a little research and report my employment history for the last ten years!! TEN YEARS!! thats a lot of entries for a lifetime college student. 14 jobs i recorded in the last ten years, and that still allows for my time off for high school and college. But, i finally did the research, got all the addresses and numbers. i found out that 4 of the places I've worked at went out of business soon after I quit (either that means that they could not function without me or I am like the plague, hire me and your business will go OUT of business). Also, I am in the process of applying to the local casino, but their application is about 40 pages long (lots of regulations to work on an indian reservation).

2. school is out. This should be a good thing, except that I am a nerd. I like school. i like required reading and deadlines and research papers. I am not me when i am not doing these things.

3. Joel Zumaya, Tiger's reliever, may be out for the next fifteen days or longer due to a sprained finger. I guess as long as sheffield, mags, granderson and monroe continue to hit the long ball, we will be okay. 7 game winning streak as of now. (sorry about your cardinals, alex. it's early).

okay, the good stuff.

1. i'm sitting in my living room, wearing a #32 rip hamilton pistons jersey, drinking beer out of a pistons mug that i got at game 5--pistons vs. philadelphia in 2005, while watching the pistons beat the bulls by more than 20 points in game 2 of round 2 of the playoffs. this is a good start to the evening. oh yeah, and stacey and i just ate a pizza from vango's--the best pizza in town, maybe the world.

2., and probably the most important. the other day i bought a baseball mitt. i am the captain of my english dept. softball team this summer and on saturday i bought a mitt. i was like a kid in a candy store, or better yet, like a kid in a baseball mitt store. lets just say, very excited. i bought a cheapy, as our budget allows. when i finally got home, stacey and i played catch (i had some extra mitts in my truck from my other teammates). if you've read stacey's blog, this is the part where we heard the fire alarm, smelled the smoke, called the fire department which shipped out two full trucks with sirens blaring, beckoning all our neighbors within a 3 mile radius to come out to stare; all to find that up upstairs neighbors moved out, leaving on their self-cleaning oven. so anyways, soon afterwards, we put down our coronas (it was cinco de mayo) and went inside. at this point, i had the pure and simple joy of spreading oil on my mitt. i havent oiled up a ball glove since my little league days when my dad coached, brother pitched and i caught. it was pure bliss with the ability to erase any stress I have had during the entire week (week being Finals Week: 2 research papers and 2 full revisions of 2 short stories). Then, after my ball glove was thoroughly oiled, i wrapped a giant rubberband (one of stacey's hair bands) around my glove and hung it in my office. I scheduled a softball practice tomorrow and wednesday. i am looking very forward to putting on my now oiled and pliable glove to throw around the ole baseball. this will be a great summer.

sorry about the positing hiatus.

your brother,
jason shrontz

It's Good To Be King

2007-04-04T17:10:00.000-05:00

Stacey finally admitted that I am the Cribbage King. We were playing last saturday and I tried telling her before she took me on that I was the cribbage king, but she denied me. She took me in the first game, and her confidence rose. A little too much as I smoked her in game 2 and 3. So much so, that in her shame, she made me a crown and crowned me the Cribbage King. In the second picture, you'll notice that I just wanted to document those 3 words, so people would believe me when I tell them stacey was wrong. Or believe me when i tell them she admitted it.

Next stop: the backgammon bad-ass. (i can't think of any other good "b-names" to go with backgammon)

well, stacey and i have a snow day, today. there is quite a vicious blizzard outdoors. I just helped un-stick a guy from a snow drift i nthe middle of a parking lot. it is wicked cold. so, in honor of the snow say, we are having a movie night. and ordering out. maybe some more cribbage.

Kings of Leon and New Top 5 List

2007-03-27T21:22:00.000-05:00

Today, I had another workshop for my new story in my fiction course. It went well. When I got home, I planned on reading through all the letters that my classmates write in response to my story. However, while checking my email, I found that Kings of Leon put their entire new album, "Because of the Times" up on their myspace page for a free advance listen. The album comes out next tuesday and I have been anticipating it like crazy. So, instead of reading through my workshop letters, I sat in my dark office and listened to this album in its entirety through headphones. Wow. Its incredible. Check it out by clicking here.

Also, last friday, stacey and i went to another GWA (graduate writers association) reading at the Landmark inn. Just like last time we went, it was wonderful. We all sit in a room at the hotel and listen to each other read recent poems, stories and essays. A waiter comes by and gives us stuff to drink. Our heads get lighter and we listen to unique voices reading powerful writing and playful writing and sad writing and hopeful writing. It is such a great experience as so many of us writers are all in the same boat, here: laboring over every word on our new story or poem late into the night and hoping that it may be the one that might be published or speak some truth to a ready ear. Whether it is this experience or the concentration of serious, serious work and sweat put into these pages or the possibility and fear of the truth that may have been read that night, we often all drink too much and end up at another bar laughing and arguing and talking about hemingway. After sitting with my writing friends late at the shamrock late into friday night, this was certainly the case. Saturday morning i came up with this list:

Top 6 Albums for a Hang-on (greek-speak for a hangover)
1. Tom Petty's "Wildflowers"
2. Grateful Dead's "Live in Europe, 1972"
3. Pavement's "Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain"
4. Black Rebel Motorcyle Club's "Howl"
5. Sufjan Steven's "Greetings From Michigan: The Great Lakes State"
6. Kings of Leon's "Aha Shake Heartbreak"

feel free to post your own top 6.

jason

Graduate Assistantship

2007-03-21T16:54:00.000-05:00

Saturday, while playing backgammon and drinking Jameson with my family back in GR, I received a phone call from my advisor in the English office at NMU. He called to offer me the Graduate Assistant position that I'd applied for. This means that, starting next fall, I will be teaching a Freshman Composition class, on my own, but with guidance from a mentor. In addition, all my tuition will be waived and I'll be given a stipend to live on. I am very excited. and, i just figured I would update everyone. For those of you that were praying for this, thank you. We are blessed.

not a cheap trick

2007-03-14T00:09:00.000-05:00

seriously, this is no cheap trick. this is real. this is rock'n'roll. if you want to be the next rick nielson, you need the best up-date reviews in rock'n'roll critique. you can find it here.

rock'n'roll

2007-03-12T22:40:00.000-05:00

the king wants YOU to have access to the best rock'n'roll reviews and top 5 lists in the jailhouse. do it here: uh-uhha-huh-uh-huh (quivering lip not shown).

deloused

2007-03-11T15:13:00.000-05:00

alright. we are home. last night we just threw our bags in the office, got some food, then just vegged while we watched "marie antoinette" and "the departed." today we set about the fun task of unpacking and cleaning our apartment. I was very tentative about unpacking my backpack as i already found one scorpion crawling through my hiking clothes (see below). so, very slowly, i unzipped each pocket, peered into it with a flashlight, then pulled out every item, shook it a few times and set it aside. I didn't want to leave the room during this process in case a scorpion crawled out while i was gone and i couldn't find it. I took out every item of clothing and put them right in the dirty clothes bin, that went right to the washing machine (i figured if i missed one, i'd at least drown it). all that to say, my backpack is finally deloused of critters. no venomous arachnids in our apartment, clothes, or luggage.
i must say, though, a little bit of me kinda wanted to find another one. I had already planned out the container I would keep it in--a cardboard box with holes punched in the top--and what flora and fauna i would place in the box to make my scorpion feel like he was in the desert--some sand, a large peice of bark, a few rocks, maybe some snow just to confuse it, and a bowl of water--and exactly what i would feed it--crickets, grasshoppers, earwigs, old research papers. But, alas, no scorpion. i suppose we'll sleep better knowing that are apartment, though drafty and with a nonstop running toilet, is venom free. safe for children and sleepy students. i can safely walk around without socks and lay on the couch without investigating under its cushions. though, the experience made me want a pet. i'm sure i'll get over that, for now.

sleep well, i finally will.

scorpion

2007-03-10T00:02:00.000-05:00

as you may know, i've been in tucson, AZ for the past week. and have spent much of my time hiking in the mountains. well, as it is our last night here, i was packing my clothes into my backpack and apparently brought something back from the mountains with me. i was rolling up a shirt and as i shoved it into my pack, this crawled out. also, if you didn't know, im staying in a condo with my wife and her grandma, aunt and cousins. im the only guy here with five girls. i wanted to be discreet about catching it and letting it go outside, but i needed something to put it in and did not want to lose sight of it. so, i had to yell to stacey in the other room to bring me a cup and a cover. then, everybody came in my room to see what is up. thats when i caught it, and let it loose outside, after everybody saw it. i wonder how the girls will sleep tonight...

p.s. grandma troost did a little research on this scorpion and what she found is here. in case you don't read it, here's what you missed:

"It is the most dangerous scorpion in Arizona. The sting of this scorpion can be fatal to humans, mainly infants and small children, so it is important to be careful when picking up firewood or rocks. During the past century, the sting of this scorpion has killed more people in Arizona than all types of poisonous snakes combined."

sleep well.
jason

books

2007-03-07T19:22:00.000-05:00

since spring break started, these are the books I've read, and all three of them are very much worth mentioning. The first is George Saunders, In Persuasion Nation. This is an incredibly (almost) flawless collection of short stories. From cover to cover, the best collection i've read. If you want stories, but do not want to tackle 300+ pages, read this. If you want social consciousness and commentary that probably will lend insight to some of the frightening things you notice in our culture, but are not sure how to articulate them yourself, read this. I think he is master of the craft, and is very thorough. If you dont want the social commentary, read it anyway. The stories can be both funny and devastatingly sad at the same time. I am confident that these stories are all very important. And I know that there are few writers like George Saunders. Check this out, please.

The next book I read was Lee Siegel's Who Wrote the Book of Love. This is part of a quasi-trilogy about writing about love. I've read Love in a Dead Language, and it was equally as wonderful as this book. If you don't mind reading about the complexities of love, mainly sex, from the perspective of a five-year-old lusting after his classmates and friend's sisters, while ultimately learning priceless lessons of love that some of us that are not five-year-olds still have trouble understanding, this is a book you should read. Siegel's mastery of lanuage (he's a professor of religion studies at the University of Hawaii) and wordplay, puns, allusions, etc is so evident in this book. There are many plays on Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn throughout the book. If you catch them, you will undoubtedly fall out of your chair in a fit of laughter and utter amazement at this guy's brilliance and mastery. I'm a bit biased as I started reading this book already in love with Siegel, but am confident that if you like a well written story and are somewhat interested in sex (and love), you will like (and want to sleep with) this book.

After finishing the Siegel novel, I found this on a used shelf at a grocery store in Tucson. Immediately I thought of the hardcover first edition of Where the Sidewalk Ends that I lost to my brother in a latenight card game months before his daughter was born. (Although I haven't yet given him all the books and CD's that i lost to him that night via IOU's, I feel that the Silverstein book was a good start). Anyway, this is Shel Silverstein's The Missing Piece and it is fantastic. The drawings, the rhyme, the simple story: wonderful, as Silverstein is. I read it in one sitting (on the toilet, so the book has already been defiled and the chances of my brother now wanting this one during a late-nite card game has dropped drastically) and it was as close to literary happiness as I have ever acheived while sitting on the toilet. I would like to thank Shel for that moment. If you've read Silverstein, there is no sense in describing this book. it is simple, clever, and I am sure that if you ever owned a puppy, or listened to Dr. Hook and The Medicine Band, you will enjoy it. The only difference is that this is one complete story instead of a collection of stories.

I am currently reading Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49. The picture here is of an audio recording, but I am actually reading it. I am enjoying the read: wonderful sentences, mysterious, with some blunt comments on metafiction and studying literature. I've heard that this is probably the most read Pynchon novel, but not the best. I suppose it is the most read because it is the shortest. Which is, guiltfully, why I picked it up. All I can say is that I am thus far enjoying it, and appreciating the humorous techniques Pynchon uses and hope to, by the end, understand exactly what purpose those techniques are serving.

Hope you check out these books, and i hope you enjoy them.

arizona

2007-03-06T19:33:00.000-05:00

stacey and i are in tucson arizona this week. we're on spring break from school, and are out here with her grandma, aunt and cousins. it is out-of-control beautiful out here. like marquette, but different. where in marquette there are mountains of snow, here there are mountains of jagged rock. where, in marquette, beer cans and cigarette cartons dot the snow, here cactus and wildflowers pepper the mountains. it is wonderful. the sky goes on forever. at night, it feels unnatural, like it is still being worked on, like color splotches are lined up in the sky waiting for an artist to pick the right one. i'm fine with all of them. we went hiking yesterday. these pictures are all ones stacey took . some from the condo, some from our hike. well, i think people are waiting for me, so i better get going. i'll probably write some more later.
jason

sorry about the rushed-ness of this post.

happy birthday cobb...

2007-03-01T03:04:00.000-05:00

just so everybody knows, its this guy's birthday today. actually, since i am posting this late at night, yesterday was actually his birthday. (the one on the left--the one on the right is my neice, emily). This is my cousin, jacob: my hunting, guitaring, "madden"ing (as in the playstation football game--not the act of inciting anger within one), heater installing, golfing, soon-to-be-fathering, always laughing (and making others do so), rugbying, fishing comrade and brother who is also always willing to drive his two brothas (from another motha) to taco bell when we've had too much too drink. i love you jacob. can't wait to see ya in a couple weeks. work on that golf swing, spring is coming. GO TIGERS!!! --manbaby

dogsledding

2007-02-19T10:55:00.000-05:00

stacey and i went dogsledding this weekend. not really, but we volunteered to work at the end of the big dogsled race this weekend. we were off on our lonesome, in the woods, right on lake superior. it was fantastic. big oil drum. started a fire. brought flashlights and read and listened to music. it was great. we actually stayed long after the last team came through. it was a little funny though cause we expected to see these teams just racing through. but, as we were on the last mile of a 200 mile race (i think), the dogs were moving at a pace a little faster than i walk, in foot deep snow. but, it was still great. i love these times the best. being alone in the woods with stacey around a fire talking and reading and comparing what music we're listening to. by the way, i've been reading short stories by robert olen butler. check him out, he's really good. we were actually trying to figure out ways to camp out in the woods this time of year, but we couldn't figure out how to bring enough wood with us to burn all night. there is no way we'd get any sleep in this cold. anyways, we had an awesome time. these are our pictures.

stacey's birthday

2007-02-17T12:02:00.000-05:00

just so everybody knows, its stacey's birthday today. she's twenty-five (and she thinks thats old!!!) not old, though. very young and healthy. this picture here is of her following the doctor's advice that a beer every day is good for your heart. i dont think he was referring to these 2 25oz'ers, though, babe. (actually, one of 'em is mine--but only one of 'em). if you know stacey, give her a call today and wish her a happy birthday. we're going to houghton tonight to see the ice sculptures at michigan tech. and maybe get a little chinese food. tomorrow, we've volunteered us to work big dogsled races that come through marquette, and stacey has the day off work. so, hope ya'll have great weekend, too. jason.

functioning

2007-02-15T20:12:00.000-05:00

just for anybody that tried to leave a comment but couldn't, i want you to know that i fixed it. anybody can now leave a comment. all right then. goodnight.

2007-02-15T01:44:00.000-05:00

i was at the gym the other day, having just a hell of a time. i was running on the giant industrial treadmill at about 6 mph, a nice steady pace. my goal was 3 miles. i was feeling good. listening to miles davis' "filles de killimanjaro," getting completely lost in the incredible drumming on that album. miles and herbie hancock were taunting each other back and forth with trumpet and keyboard, each shooting off turrets-like blasts, back and forth, back and forth, each only about a half measure long and so loud and overfilled with notes, sounding like an old man trying to catch his breath but only coming up with spastic coughs. it was great. i was about 12 minutes into my run, about a mile and a quarter, when the machine just stopped. didn't slow down, nothing gradual, but instantly came to a complete halt. i was not focusing on running at all, everything was going smooth, until i about busted my sternum on the front display of the treadmill and nearly flipped myself over the top. well, looking like an idiot, i quickly tried to find the problem so i could get back to my run without losing any more momentum. so, i got it started back up again and was about 7 minutes into it when the same thing happened. my reaction was the same. i was angry and frustrated and looked like a complete fool when the girl next to me said "yeah, it was doing the same thing to the last person" (i'm not sure why you wouldn't tell the new person about this problem).

so, i got on another machine, finished my workout and headed to the locker room. when i got there, and old man, probably mid-60's, and very heavyset, was standing in front of my locker in only his tightie whities. i stalled a bit, avoiding eye contact, headed to the bathroom, filled up my water bottle and went back to find him in the same spot, still in his underwear, but now with a t-shirt on. i finally struck up a little conversation with him, mentioned that he was in front of my locker, and he moved and we kept talking. the conversation was empty, but it was nice. my favorite part was after i was complaining about the treadmill and that nobody warned me, he said, "well, they say that the problem with common sense is that it isn't all to common."

i felt good, then. the saying, well, it was cliche and not very enlightening, but it felt good just to have this little bull shit conversation with this guy, both standing in our undies. it is something that i really have been missing up here, the simple camaraderie with people, talking cause you're both people and, why the hell not? people walk around the gym and don't acknowledge anything but themselves. they ignore you and pump their chests out and admiringly stare, pseudo-intimidatingly at themselves in the mirror, ignoring everybody. i realized through this conversation that when i am really tired during my morning janitor shift at the ice rink, frustrated that nobody seems to be able to hit the urinal and i have to mop their piss off the floor and clean tobacco chew off the locker room walls, it is still important for me to at least, acknowledge people. just say good morning to them when i pass them in the hall, slow my pace a bit and linger, just in case they need to indulge in a little bull shit conversation. everybody is in a situation. not the same situations, but maybe they just bombed a test, or their baby at home is sick, or they broke up with someone, or maybe they are just ornery because its so cold outside, but they are in a situation. that is kinda what brings people on the same level with each other. and maybe just being acknowledged throughout their day instead of feeling invisible may make that situation a little easier to cope with. even a little bullshit conversation, at least somebody is realizing that you're there.

im not pretending to have advice to spread, or to insist everybody begin talking more, i just made a realization for myself. this old man helped me to remember something about being human that i left somewhere in high school. i felt good when i was finished in the locker room. but i felt inclined to linger a bit. i was sad for this man, knowing that he was headed into the gym to exercise and knowing that for the next hour or two he would be completely ignored and snubbed and labelled and probably discouraged. though i felt so much better, i left hoping that sometime on the way home, whether at the grocery store or at the fuel pump, somebody would engage in a little bull shit conversation with him.

im a baboon's ass

2007-02-13T22:56:00.000-05:00

okay, so today i made a complete ass of myself in class, today.

i was in my fiction workshop and we were work-shopping a classmate's story. I really enjoyed the story. Briefly, it dealt with a man, somewhat of a recluse, who accidentally wandered into the wrong house. the resident was on vacation and the man was fascinated by her grand piano. he eventually started sleeping there until she returned. he spent a lot of time fixing up the piano and cleaning her house. while he was there he brought over his cat and let it play around with him. that is a very unjustly summary to a wonderful story.

so, at the beginning of the class, we went around the group and spoke about what we really enjoyed about the story. When it got to me, i went off on a tangent about how much i appreciated the consistency in representing the man's disturbed childhood and his reliance on his imaginary friend throuhgout the story. Well, apparently there was no imaginary friend. it was a cat. a real one. Turns out, for whatever frickin reason, i read the story, 3+ times, and it never occurred to me that the cat was real. though everyone else did. So i was going on in class about this imaginary friend that was only imaginary in my own head. Very humbling experience for a graduate level fiction workshop. the biggest problem was that all my comments on her paper, as well as my 1 page written response all dealt with her successful inclusion of an imaginary friend in the story. i get this sick feeling that she is back home now, reading my responses, in tears of laughter.

the problem was that last thursday i was out with some friends and i asked one of them (who was in my class) about the stories, as i hadn't read them yet. he remarked that one of them was dealt with magic realism. for whatever reason, i just assumed it was this particular story and after 3 reads, never thought, even for a second, that the cat was real. apparently, my classmate was talking about something else.

my the majority of my embarrassment is due to the fact that i am an english nerd, literary geek, etc., that prides himself on his close reading of texts, and well, i can't deny it. im officially a literature geek.

ahhhhhhh!

new blog

2007-02-09T01:53:00.000-05:00

this is my new blog. it is a supplement for my existing myspace account. i hate the format of myspace and i figured that since i'll probably keep the same songs up for years, but put new writing up occasionally, i should have a format where the writing is more accesible and immediate, and the music is in the background. hope you agree. well, kind of. if you only agree because the music is shit, and the writing is only good because it is not the music (you can skim the writing and you definitely do not have to listen to it) then don't tell me, or at least, tell me to my face. i want to see your expression. nothing else is pressing enough to write further about, so i will say hello to my first post, and goodnight to everything else blog-related.