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POP!!!
9/30/09 11:11 PM Well, thanks to some people on tweeters, a list serve for birdwatchers, it appears that I didn't even get it right to genus. Kind of embarrassing, but not the first bird that I've misidentified, and likely not the last. Turns out that it's a Lapland Longspur, a bird that I've seen probably 50 or so times, just in different circumstances, and I certainly wasn't in a Longspur mode of mind, though it is pretty "normal" habitat for them in the winter, I have never seen one at this beach. Pretty bird, and nice to be so close. 9/30/09 Settling back into life went a little slow, and I'm not sure about my work situation, but luckily I have too much to do. In the afternoon I went on a surf/nature walk to one of my favorite places. The surf wasn't that good, but luckily the birds were. When I first walked out on to the beach I was greeted by a weird looking Sparrow. Its large buffy eyeline, bold ear spot and plumage made me think it wasn't a regular Savannah Sparrow, but maybe something in the same genus. Savannah Sparrows are pretty much the most variable birds though, and I'm still not sure what the bird is. 
 I also got to see four Pectoral Sandpipers foraging in a left over, tidally isolated pool. They were very cooperative and the light was sweet.
Tomorrow I'm harvesting kelp to make pickles and working on some new sewing designs.
9/29/09 Well, I'm back in Washington after a whirlwind trip to Rhode Island. Finally got some waves on Monday back there. It was kind of nice not to be fiending for waves the whole time with my hurt leg.  Jamie Risser trimming in the sweet spot at the dock.  The shadow, somehow not making this wave look awful! I have a list a mile long right now of things to do today, but there's waves, and I'll probably go shoot photos. 9/26/09 I went to a New England Revolution game with my family last night, in which they faced off against the Seattle Sounders. Check out this insane goal in the 88th minute to win the game!! I haven't really had the time to see an M.L.S. game this year, and was really impressed at the quality of play. Both teams exhibited a real knowledge of the game and displayed true prowess and expression of il jogo bonito. Watching this game was much more like watching a british soccer match in the Premier League, than the usual kick and run style more akin to Mexico. It shows great hope for the game of soccer in the U.S. My parents have had season tickets to the Revs since the first year of the league, and have front row seats in the corner of the field where the visiting teams enter and exit the field. The staff there are all friends with my family after so many years, and it's really neat to see this side of my parent's life. After the game I had a great talk with longtime U.S. goal keeper, Kasey Keller as he exited the field, explaining to him how I used to live in Lacey, WA, his hometown. It was pretty cool, and he gave me a great signature on a Sounders shirt that my friends Mike and Gladys Costello had given me. Now I have something to wear when I go to games out in Seattle! Despite the frigid New England weather, we had a great time. 9/23/09  Boo Hoo's and Stripahs on the fishtrap boat with Cap'n Willis. Rhode Island is quite the contrast to living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, WA. There are women here, which is totally cool, and a constant barrage of activity thrown at you to distract you from doing anything productive. Bummed I missed a heavy skate sesh last night at the Attleboro ramp, including Chet Childress, and other gnarly rippers. The other night some shit went down there, including Willis pulling a sick Lean to Tail, and Joe College pretty much anhilating the shit when he brought his mini ramp lip tricks to the deep end. Not to mention P.C.Pete after puking , then ingesting 11.5 vicodin killing the shit with style including a wicked gnarly Nosepick in the pocket.  Joe College with a gnarly Rock. 8/31/09 CRAB ENCHILADAS A RECIPE FOR FUN! I have a good friend named Scott who is also a deadly slayer of Dungeness Crab. People from elsewhere may have heard of Dungeness Crab, but what you may not realize is that I live 10 miles from the mouth of the Dungeness River, presumably the namesake of the tasty crab. As I finished up my work for the day Scott came over to tell me he had left me some Crab in my cabin, and since yesterday was the last day of the season, crab is now officially a coveted commodity. I had some enchilada sauce and some greens that needed to be eaten too, so I decided to make crab enchiladas. My only problem was a lack of tortillas, well, not my only problem, but my only food related problem on this evening. That’s not even true. Generally yellow corn tortillas are favored for making enchiladas, for they take to light frying very well, and maintain a nice consistency. Only Robin Willis is allowed to make enchiladas with flour tortillas. So anyway, I have a bunch of masa and a tortilla press so I whipped up some tortillas. I wasn’t sure how they’d perform in the realm of enchiladas, never having used home made torts for that, but it couldn’t hurt to try.  Some of the Ingredients. A lot of people don’t make enchiladas because it seems like a lot of work, but the payoff is that you can make a whole bunch and eat them for days. They don’t even take that long, I think I only drank two beers while making these. The process: Tortillas: I’m sure that there is a prescribed way to make tortillas, but I never really learned it. I have a little spin on them though that seems to me to make them more plyable, and stuffabel, without having to add wheat flour. I put a small dash of Egg Replacer in the masa before adding the water. Egg Replacer is tapioca and potato flour, (I think) that vegans use for baking. Add water to the flour mix until soft and uniformly moist, but still firmish. Add the right amount, but don’t worry too much, because if you make it too moist you can just add a little more flour. If you don’t have a tortilla press, don’t fret. You can use two like glass plates, or any plate without the lipped base. Use saran wrap, a cut ziplock bag, or tear a plastic produce bag down the sides, to use as a non stick surface for pressing the tortillas. I make little balls out of the masa mix all at one time. Make the balls about 1.25 inches in diameter. If using a press, lay the plastic out, put the ball in the middle, fold the plastic in half over the top of the ball and close the top and press down on the lever. I usually flip the tortilla over and repeat to get uniformly thin tortilla. If using plates, make a plastic/ masa ball/ plastic sandwich between the two plate bottoms. Apply even pressure to flatten out the ball. It might take a couple of tries to get the thickness right. Enchiladas:  Some more of the Ingredients. Ingredients: one pound Crab Meat, (dungie or rock) Enchilada sauce Greens Onion Cheese beans Anything else you might think of Beer  Roll your own. A lot of people make enchiladas with just one main filling, cheese, or meat, but I like to mix a bunch of stuff, and I also like to add beans. It’s kind of rare to see beans in enchiladas. I’m also not eating cheese too much these days, so there isn’t any in these, but I think it would taste good, if you can live with your contribution to the dairy industry. Good enchilada sauce is really important, and for a long time has been hard to find in the canned form. Old el Paso used to have a really good one, but became unavailable about 15 years ago, and when it came back it was no good. I can’t recommend Hatch either, but have been happy with Las Palmas, which I buy at Safeway, but I’ve seen elsewhere too. It’s easy to make on your own, and I remember there being a really good recipe in either the moosewood cookbook, or the enchanted broccoli forest. So, you have to fry the tortillas lightly, in hottish oil. I used coconut oil, but anything’ll work. On an electric stove, use like medium medium high heat, but don’t burn the oil. Fry each side for just 5-10 seconds, and set aside, or bathe in Enchilada sauce as you pull them out. That’s usually too much for me to manage, so I do them all at the same time, than drench the tortillas in enchilada sauce as I roll them. I found it important to roll the home made tortillas right after drenching them, or they would crack. It didn’t happen too bad, but didn’t happen at all if I rolled them right away. So, dip the tortillas in a plate full of sauce, and stuff the enchilada with the desired amount of ingredients, but remember not to stuff too much, because you want to be able to roll them up, and place them in the pan so the seam is on the bottom and the enchilada stays wrapped up. For greens, I used Mizuna that a friend gave me, which is kind of a firm salad green, but I think benefits from some cooking. Spinach could be used here as well, or tender kale.  Ready for the oven.  Presto I use a dutch oven to cook mine, and no, I’m not talking about a covered wagon. Glass casserole dishes work well too. So once you have all your enchiladas rolled in the pan, put a little extra sauce on top to keep them from drying out. I threw a little fresh pesto on these, but only because I love it. It wasn’t really that necessary, but it was good. Stick the whole thing in the oven, or an a fire or something for a little bit. I don’t really have a temperature gauge on mine, so I just lit the flame and closed the door. Cook the enchiladas until just before you smell a slight burning on the bottom, and pull out of the oven in the nick of time. Garnish with more goodness and gorge!  Now that's cookin' with class!. 8/31/09 0 game That second phone call, The one after the first unanswered. Reason enough not to dial. Better to know? No. Better to know. 8/31/09 So, anyone reading this likely knows that I tore my Achilles tendon last month, July 12th, to be exact. I kind of wanted to write about my experience with the injury and with the health care system, mainly because it’s such a hot issue right now, and I also wanted to illustrate how even productive members of society are left behind with our current system. Every day my situation and experience becomes more and more unique, and it warrants some elucidation, in my opinion, anyway. I hope that you have the patience to read all of this. When my Achilles let go, I heard a pop, a loud pop. I think that the sound happened after I felt the pain. It seemed delayed, and seemed like I was already on my way down to the ground. As I hit the ground and reached for my leg, I knew exactly what had happened, even though I kept looking behind me for the non-existent phantom that had hacked my leg. There was no one, but the incident was so out of place and unexpected that surely there must be someone hiding in the bushes with a machete. I looked again. Before any of my teammates had gotten to me, I had processed the realities of the situation, everything. I suddenly realized that I was out of work, would likely incur huge medical expenses, needed surgery, would not be able to drive, would not be able to work for a very long time, would not be able to finish my bathroom, would not be able to drive, would not be able to gallivant with any of my friends until the wee hours. All of this and more went through my brain in an instant. I didn’t even notice the pain. As Nib and Kyle shouldered me over to the sidelines, I think I went into a sort of shock, but unlike any shock I had experienced before. It wasn’t a physical shock, but a mental shock that seemed to build a barrier around the realities that confronted me. I was jovial, smiling, joking with the players warming up for the next game. There was no question about the injury. I had no tendon in my leg, and my calf muscle was balled up in the middle of my lower leg. No one there believed that my injury was as serious as I said it was. There wasn’t enough pain I guess. I knew I had to go to the emergency room, although in retrospect, I never would have done that in my situation. Eventually, the game ended and Kyle drove me to town, where my buddy Scott drove me the rest of the way to the hospital, the Olympic Medical Center. There I received, what at the time seemed routine, and well-intentioned care. Of course they X-rayed me, knowing that it would show nothing about the injury, and would only cost me money that wasn’t necessary. They didn’t have anyone in there that was an orthopedist, so every decision about my care was made over the phone with a Doctor named Margaret Baker. They determined that indeed my Achilles was completely ruptured through the administration of the “Thompson test”, in which your calf is squeezed, and if your foot doesn’t move at all, you’re tendon is not attached. Anyway, the clear path was surgery, and to have it as soon as possible, so I underwent all of the pre-op stuff in prepar5ation for a likely surgery tomorrow. I was told not to eat anything in the AM, and to call Doctor Baker’s office at 0800, when they opened, to get in the office ASAP, so they could get me in the O.R. After about 3 hours, I was discharged with instructions and 6 vicodin, which were billed to me at $9.00 per pill, twice their street value!! I eventually made it home, after visiting with some friends. I didn’t want to be alone right away. So, I get up early after, nearly no sleep at all, having to re-medicate in the night to sleep at all, so I can call Doctor Baker’s office. I called at 0800, and spoke with her assistant Ann, who informed me that the plan was not at all to get me in ASAP, and operate on me right away, for it had been discovered that I had no insurance. Now, the issue was transformed from treat the injured party to the best possible extent, to cover our asses and make sure we get paid. She informed me that before she would even make an appointment for me that I would have to first apply for financial assistance from D.S.H.S., and upon completing said application I should furnish proof of this and make an appointment. Feeling very much second class all of the sudden, and fearing that I might not receive equal care as any normal person would, I said, “that’s retarded, you can’t just make an appointment for me first?” then Ann went off on me, mostly about how it certainly is NOT retarded to expect payment for services. To me, that was a non-issue. Of course they would be paid, maybe in 2013, but they’d get their fucking money! At 0800, the morning after tearing my Achilles in two, I had no options, so I got a ride down town. I had the address wrong, and got dropped off at the wrong place and had to hobble to the right building and go through the whole process. If you think the DMV blows, try applying for social assistance on Monday morning with a torn Achilles, and being told point blank that I would not receive ANY assistance because I make $260.00 a month from a real estate contract that I own, currently my only income. I jumped through the hoops, and outside called my ride, then Doctor Baker’s office. The assistant now in the office informed me that in the hour and a half that had passed, suddenly they had no appointments until Wednesday, so the surgery wouldn’t happen until Thursday. How the fucking fuck, could they schedule people in front of me, knowing full well that I had no other options?? Doctor Baker, I hope your practice ends in a terrible way, and that your last years of life are spent regretting your choices. Okay, that was harsh, I hope that you read this, and re-examine your practice, and maybe re-examine why you got into medicine and grow a heart, or at least pull Ann’s head out of her ass. (No names have been changed for the sake of anonymity). My ride was going to be about an hour, so I hobbled up to the internet café and began trying to figure my shit out. I called every doctor with in 50 miles, and no one could see me that week. I looked into surgery in Costa Rica, and Thailand. I checked ticket prices. I thought about recovering with no one around me that I knew. I thought about foreign busses on crutches. I scrapped the idea. I made 65 phone calls that day to nearly every orthopedist in western Washington. A friend of mine gave me a number of the doctor who had recently performed surgery on her, and who was great. I called, and low and behold, he had a cancellation on Wednesday. No sooner than Doctor Baker, but at least I might feel better about giving them my money, and by this time I had heard from two people that Dr. Baker was regarded as a serious hack in the O.R., not exactly confidence instilling words. I called Harborview Hospital in Seattle, and was referred to the Orthopedic Center where I was assured that surgery was the treatment, and that if I went to the ER I would most likely be admitted that day and receive surgery that same day or the following day. If I had insurance I would have made one phone call and had to endure none of this stress. I also would have been operated on be a renowned hack, so I guess that I’m thankful at this point. That same day, I moved out of my cabin, not having a bathroom, and fearing my mind if I were to be alone too much. At my new roommate’s house that night, we were all talking, and it seemed to make sense to act on the soonest possibility that existed, which was getting into the ER at Harborview in the AM. Amazingly, my friend Jenae offered to drive me there, and so we woke at 0500 and drove to the big city. She and my friend Angela dropped me off at the ER, and went for breakfast. In the ER I got to speak with someone immediately. The guys asked me what my issue was, and I explained to him my situation, and that I had spoken to someone in orthopedics and that they had advised me to come in. He urged me to double check with the doctors before admitting myself, so, on my last remaining pain pill I crutched from one end of the gargantuan hospital to the other and waited to speak to a doctor in Orthopedics. After about a half an hour I spoke to Bob Walsh, a nurse who assured me that surgery was the course of action for my injury, if in fact my tendon was ruptured, and that I should admit myself, and they “would take care of me.” I crutched back to the ER, which by now was full of bleeding victims and addicts, looking to get their prescriptions filled. It took me about an hour and 45 minutes to get in the back. At 1130 I was taken to have X-Rays taken, which I told them had already been done, and which could have been sent in 5 minutes from Port Angeles by email. They took 6 X Rays at this point, and would take 3 more, for which they would charge me nearly $1,600.00. Now, remember, everyone knows that X-Rays do not show anything about soft tissue injuries. At about 1500 the Doctor finally came in, did the Thompson test, agreed that my Achilles was ruptured, and promptly left to confer with the rest of her Orthopedic Team to determine the best course of action. About an hour later she came back to the room, and this is what she said, ” Now, I want you to know this has nothing to do with the fact that you don’t have insurance, but myself and the Orthopedic Team think that it might be best if you heal in a non-surgical manner.” she then continued, slightly contradicting herself,” however, if we have a surgery slot open on Thursday, we will call you tomorrow and get you in, otherwise, we need you to come in next Tuesday for a re-evaluation of your situation.” She cited a paper from Europe that talked about the differences between surgical and non-surgical healing for ruptured Achilles, and basically concurred that allowing scar tissue to eventually bridge the gap between my tendon and heel, that I would be as good as if I had had surgery. You’re right, she must be insane. The ER doctor conferred to me that he didn’t buy the logic, or the decision, and went after her to ask her about the paper. He found it and printed it for me, and in very plain language, that paper recommends that active individuals always opt for surgical healing, as with active people, the incidence of re-rupture is almost double with the non-surgical approach, never mind that it takes twice as long to heal and recover, i.e. twice as long out of work!! Some medical students built the worst cast in history around my leg, and sent me off on my way. For this service they charged me about $1,700.00, so my total costs for Harborview exceed $3,300.00, for absolutely nothing! “Just go home, you’ll get better.” I went to my friend’s house, and decided to go to my appointment the next day at Proliance Orthopedic center in Issaquah, WA. My friend Cassie, even though I was on pain pills let me borrow her car, an automatic, for the 45-minute drive. They asked for a $200.00 down payment, and said that we could work on a payment plan afterwards. I saw Doctor Clayton Brandes, and he recommended that I have the surgery, and said they would get me in as soon as possible. He did talk about the non-surgical option, but stressed the longer recovery, and the likelihood that an active person might re-rupture it. We scheduled surgery for Monday, and I worked my way back to the peninsula, with some help from my friends. Surgery went well, and everyone was more than personable and helpful, and my friend Devon drove all the way over from Port Angeles to pick me up and bring me home. After all of the headaches, and dealing, now it was time for the healing. It took some time for the bills to come in, but I knew the ballpark for the surgery was going to be about 8-10 thousand dollars. When all was said and done, the total was about $11,500.00, not including follow up visits. It took me some time, but eventually I got to the library and printed out all of my financial paperwork, and wrote a letter explaining to all of my medical providers, that though I have every intention of paying, I was completely unable to pay my balances in full at this time, in fact, I was already running a serious deficit. Well, last week I got a letter from the Orthopedic Center and Surgeon, saying that they had waived 100 percent of my fees, and today I received a letter from the hospital in Port Angeles saying the same thing. I don’t know what this means in the long run for the “system”, but for me it means that I am responsible for far less money than I thought I would be. I nearly cried when I got the first letter. As far as health care in the country, I remain very disillusioned, and know had this injury happened to me in nearly any other country, I would have received equal care with much fewer headaches, and certainly much less expense shared by respective population. I can only assume that my costs will be absorbed by your insurance company, or through some grant or federal program, but in a sane world, I would receive treatment, and eventually be able to pay for that treatment, not being half of my yearly income, which this was. My recovery goes well, though my incision is slightly infected right now, but I am hopeful for a speedy recovery, and so thankful for the administrators that looked at my paperwork, and with a swipe of the pen wiped away so much of my debt, and so thankful that Doctor Brandes sewed me back together and not Doctor Baker. 8/30/09 I literally have zero discipline. I haven't written anything in ten days. Lame. Great news for the Vicarious Living Project though. THIS JUST IN! I have been getting great response from people, and just met with a business and marketing strategist and got some very good feedback and ideas, and am definitely inspired to take this thing to the next level, even if no one is actually reading this blog yet. So I am picking out the best board, and reading the conditions and am getting poised to drop in on this huge wave, and regardless of whether I take a beating or not, it will be a fun wave, and hell, I can always claim bankruptcy. right? And now a public interest story I've been visiting with an old friend this weekend, well, she's not old, but our friendship is, and we were reminiscing about things, as I was tending my now infected surgical incision, wondering why the hell my body is always stricken with odd bullshit. We got to talking about a trip we took to Ecuador some 15 years ago. We were volunteering at a place called Jatun Sacha in the Amazon basin, one of the first private reserves in South America. Jatun Sacha is quichua, (not quechua) for big forest. Most of our days were filled with trail building, planting trees, harvesting cacao, or watching birds. My friend Robb and I were there specifically to help them with their birdlist, to which we added two new species, the Orange-backed Troupial, and the Tiny Hawk, e new genus for the reserve! Anyway, we all stayed in this cabin in the woods, about a 3rd of a mile from the road. There was no power, and the water was collected in giant cisterns from the rain, which in the amazon can be quite plentiful. We used this water for bathing, brushing teeth and on occasion, cooking. We were told that the reserve staff managed the water with iodine, and that it was clean. Down the road a bit, and back in the bush lived a family who appeared to subsist mostly on what appeared to be their own volition. They had crops of all kinds, as well as livestock, but what interested us most was the volkswagon engine that the husband had converted into a generator, and his make shift bar in which they managed to deprive us foreigners of our sucres. This was before Ecuador began using the dollar. The beer was always cold, and he had an amazing sound system which would blot out the night noises of the deep jungle, even the cicadas. I spent my 20th birthday here. That's another story, in fact, a whole chapter. Anyway, one night we had partaken in an evening at "the bar", and as any nearly 20 year old would, we all got shit faced. I think it was at about 0100 when we staggered back to our cabin, named Ali supai, quichua for place of the spirits, due to its reputation for being haunted. We all had the munchies bad, and I guess that we were out of popcorn, for that was the usual faire at this point of the night, so we decided to make pasta. We filled up a big pot with some rain water from the cisterns, and set it on the stove. At some point I looked into the water with a flashlight to see if it was boiling and noticed that the water was teeming with life. Literally hundreds upon hundreds of filamentous worms wriggled and writhed in pain as the water was heating up. Some of them were pink, some were cream colored. Some were small and oddly shaped, some were 2 inches long and narrow. Half of our group opted out of the mid night snack, but the other half, me included, decided that we would just boil the water for another minute, and that would be good. It's science! That trip to ecuador began my life as a harborer of weird and unknown life and the symptoms that go along with this. I recall a day walking the streets of quito when I actually turned green. I was faint and could not walk anymore, and I was olive green. Now lying here, with an infected leg, I can't really blame random chance, I guess it's just me. 8/20/09 And careen I did. I’d love to tell you about the road that I drove, but it’s one of the places that I pick mushrooms, so I can’t, but if I could, and you could drive it someday you would feel the rush of flying up and down that thing in the darkest night of the month with a hand clutch. Shifting and spinning the wheel on marble gravel with perilously precipitous drops on every outside corner, and strange, obscuring shadows on the inside corner walls. As I left the house, I remembered that I had sort of misplaced my wide-angle lens, so taking long exposures of meteorites was out, but I wanted to go anyway, just to hear the night, so I tricked myself into believing that I might set up my video camera instead, which I did have, and hope to get a shot out of dumb luck. Of course I never set it up, but if I had I probably would have gotten a shot. Who knows. So, I get to the top, maybe 4,000 feet, I’m not sure, maybe five, and right where I was planning on parking to see the biggest sky were two guys with telescopes set up all around. I turned my lights down to not ruin their night vision, and pulled over. As I hobbled down in the darkness, sounding like the ghost of a pirate serial killer dragging bodies through the woods, I wondered what these guys must be thinking as I approached in the black without a light. “Howdy” I said, “ You guys stargazing?” though it was obvious that they were. “Yeah.” replied the older one, “It’s a beautiful night. Are you on crutches?” I said," I was," and he asked what had happened, and we did the whole injury thing, all three of us, full circle, the way it always works , “ Yeah, I hurt my knee once...” “The ground is pretty un-even up here, you watch yourself,” said the older one, and I could tell he was a smoker from his wheez. “ I will, thanks,” I said. “I’m sort of stargazing too, but I kind of forgot all of my gadgetry.” “I’m Bill, and that there’s Travis,” a young string bean of a kid, whom he referred to as Travy for most of the night. “I’m Drew,” I said and extended my hand, “mind if I hang out?” “No, not at all. Do you know your stars at all?” asked Travis, though I had forgotten his name already. I had to explain to him that though I’ve been interested in, and have studied the natural world for all of my known life, and have travelled to and froe with astronomy experts and have benefited from countless nights staring into the night sky with telescopes and knowledgeable friends that no, I do not know anything about stars. I can find the north star and the big dipper, and Orion, etc., but for some reason when it comes to true astronomical understanding my brain just does not retain the stuff. “Do you know what that is?” asked Travis, pointing to a big bright shiny thing in the south east sky. I said, “ you know, that damned planet has been giving me trouble for the last two weeks,” which it had. “ I now it’s not Venus, and I’m pretty sure it’s not Mars because it’s too big and not red, and I don’t think it’s Saturn, but is it Saturn?” I at least knew that it was a planet, which I took some comfort in, but Travis was not impressed and wrote me off as a non-equal right there. “no, it’s Jupiter,” he said, “ Sometimes it’s hard to tell Saturn and Jupiter, but you can see the moons even with binoculars on Jupiter sometimes.” Travis turned out to be great, and very obliging, putting the scopes on everything, starting with pointing out the summer triangle, delphinus, Daneb, Cygnus, some Globular. Then the scopes started going to the galaxies, M-31 and 32, 81, and some other numbers. I suppose with some background knowledge that it’s neat to look at these things and see a deeper value, but they all look like cloudy stars to me, but it was neat nonetheless. Bill showed me the coat hanger, which is an asterism, not a constellation. See how much I learned! It was cool, and in the end they put the 16 inch reflector on Jupiter, and that was really cool. I couldn’t believe that my hair brained, camera-less, beer-less drive into the wilderness turned out so cool. Just after midnight I thanked them and headed off, having to drive up the mountain another 3 miles before I could turn around. I think they thought that I was pretty weird. They’re probably right. 8/19/09 The worst thing you can do is read Jack Kerouak when you want to write. Worse than that is reading through the heat of the afternoon with a little dozey, then you drink a couple of beers, eat some huevos rancheros and before you know it, you’re careening up a mountain into the new moon night on the premise that the persiid meteor shower might still be happening, but you know it isn’t. And the rotten yogurt on the beans. 8/15/09 The Beasties of Cameron Rd. Chapter One There is a type of wasp, the European Paper Wasp, which since I moved to Port Angeles has made its homes on the eaves of my cabin. They look like the Common Yellow-Jacket but are longer in body and not nearly as aggressive. Depending upon how successful they are, the nests range in size from 3 to 8 inches, and hang in 4 or 5 locations along the underside of my roof overhang on the east and south facing sides of the cabin. I’ve had to knock down a nest when it was getting too big right near my front door, but generally, I feel like a Violaceous Trogon living amidst and amongst. When I got hurt last month there was a nest starting to grow not a foot from the entrance to the cabin. I had been coming to grips with the fact that I’d have to deal with them at some point, but then I got hurt and moved out for two weeks, and the nest grew in my absence. When I returned, barely mobile, only reasonably conscious, and still highly allergic to wasps I was quite unable to tackle the task. For me, the wasps weren’t really a problem. Even though I keep the door to my cabin open most days, rain or shine, the wasps have entered only 2 or 3 times, on solitary scouting missions, even though their nest is right there. People are scared of the black and yellow warning stripes that adorn their bodies as well as our most basic genetic fears. I was having to tell people about the nest, so no one would do anything rash or crazy in my door and end up with the wrath of the wasps raining down on them, and they would say, like, “ man you need to do something about that thing,” and some would offer to do it, but none ever did. Then, 2 people got stung. They did not get stung by MY wasps, but got stung in the main house, by what I am sure were common Yellow Jackets, but I’m a little biased. Instead of dealing with the wasps, for what was I to do, I went to Oregon. When I got home, a can of insecticide had been purchased. Or should we more accurately say, a can of Cancer spreading agent had been purchased, which when sprayed into the environment often causes the death of insects as well. So since, non of my friends would “man up” and deal with this in the respectable way, which is to hit the thing in the middle of the night and run away, I was presented with the pressure of having to do this the way only an invalid should. I live with a newborn and a 3 year old, and we cannot have them getting stung, and my roommate has a strong distaste for killing, and so it was my duty. I set my alarm for 505, and when it went off I actually remembered why I had set the alarm. The last month has been spent trying to stay in bed as long as possible to stay off my feet, so to wake this early was a little foggy. I slid on my butt along the edge of my loft and climbed down my ladder onto the chair and hopped onto my right leg and grabbed my crutches. I hobbled over to the table where my head lamp and can of poison waited, and leaned way over to grab the chair and slid it over to the door. I opened the door a little and lit the hive up. There they were, 40 to 50 waspies all heaped up on one another on top of the honeycomb nest. I closed the door, and hopped behind the chair, scooted it up and hauled my self onto it and balanced on my one leg. I reached down and grabbed the poison, and prepared myself for battle. I say battle, because confronting an adversary with such potentially painful repurcussions requires a mental preparation for the worst case scenario. But really, this was a battle like when the citizens of Providence marched down to West Kingston, Rhode Island, and while the men of the Narragansetts were out hunting, the distinguished settlers of our fair land laid waste to the women and children who remained in camp. Like the Great Swamp Massacre of 1675 I was attacking a helpless population of cold and mostly immobile wasps while they slept. I readied the can in my right hand, and twisted the knob of the door. The door swayed open about 10 inches, and I sprayed the can in a frantic burst, as I looked away to avoid any carcinogenic blowback. I grasped for the door handle and slammed the door shut. I looked up toward the nest through the glass of the door, and nothing was happening, except a foam ball was clinging to the roof truss just on the other side of the nest. I had missed completely. I repeated the process, though this time a little less frantically. I spied the nest, took aim, and watched as the spray lit up the nest, and all the wasps. They started dropping, and as they did so, they tried to fly. The door was open, and they were coming right at me. In one motion, I slammed the door shut, spun around and jumped off the chair, but much less smoothly than that sentence might allege. I caught my right foot, and came down right on my cast, which applied about 185 pounds of falling pressure onto my brand new tendon and the Kevlar holding it together. As I hit the floor, so did 4 or 5 wasps, which splattered a little, drenched in death. A few expletives later, I grabbed the bottom of my crutches and pulled them over to me and hoisted myself up, washed my hands and went back to sleep. I could hear chickadees foraging in the maple outside my cabin as I lay in bed, but I didn’t want to confront a potentially half dead and pissed off wasp nest, so I updated my stupid facebook status and lay in bed planning my life. Finally I mustered the will to climb out of my loft and went to look out the front door. Dead wasps lay all over the deck, and the residue of falling insecticide was gathered in moist blotches. I opened my rat proof door into the bathroom, and crutched outside and around the cabin to see what happened from the other side. I got ‘em. There was one live wasp on the periphery, but every other wasp on the hive was dead, my mission accomplished. Now, as I write, a common Yellow Jacket peruses my stove top and threateningly hums through the air of my cabin, and my critter karma is running at a deficit once again. 8/03/09 Before this whole injury thing happened, I had been synthesizing an idea, a statement, a way to explain my lifestyle in terms of retirement, health insurance and standard of living. Maybe I was just trying to come to terms with the hand I’m playing, but I’ve been picking all of my own cards for some time now. I don’t think that the ideas involved are fully matured yet, but the irony of my current situation and what I wanted to write about forces me to try and deal with it now. A lot of people that I respect greatly caution me all of the time, that when I’m 50, 60 or 75 I’m going to regret not having led a more normal life and paid into some system in the hopes of receiving some benefits other than my social security blanket. Artists, surfers, teachers all alike have warned me, in fact I only know of one friend off of the top of my head that whole heartedly endorses how I live, granted, most people I know never contemplate what I do, they are just my friends. What is funny is that at the same time, I get the standard, “that’s great, do it while you can” encouragement, about my travelling and general tendency to wander and maybe not work as much as a good American should. I reply, ”while I can?? When would I not be able to do this?” Central to my ethos, (for it is a planned existence, and not just the life I’ve fallen in to), is the fact that because we are born in this country, and because this is the greatest democracy in the world does not mean that I have to agree with that system, and it also does not mean that I have to offer you a better system in return. I believe that we are far beyond systems of management and government that can ENSURE equality and fairness to all people while maintaining a peaceful existence on this planet, unless that system is simply LOVE. Democracy will not save anyone. Never mind the fact that the U.S. is NOT a democracy, but a republic. That said, I’ve known since I was a young adult that I don’t agree with hardly anything that our government does, or at all with how 99% of people live their lives, and are more or less forced to live their lives by this cave allegory that has been written by corporate puppeteers, and constantly re-written to keep people just on the edge of survival and consumption, so that the most we, as Americans can hope for is a vacation to Cancun and some digital pictures to share at the office, never to know the possibilities that exist just outside of our prescribed boxed life. I know, I am over simplifying, but this is a blaahhgg, not a book. So, for me, rejecting this type of a consumer based society, veiled by a patriotic fervor and guise of freedom has always meant that I must find different ways to exist in this realm. I accept that I have been very much shaped by late 20th century ideas, ideals, recreations, and pop culture. I am not saying that I want to disappear into the woods, or burn T.V.s, or blow up corporate officers. What I’m saying is that I want to leave the cave, and forge an existence that I know is there, and I want to inspire people to do the same. What I really want, is to live in a community where friendship and love is valued more than anything else, and I want to be loved and nurtured in that environment, and raise a family and enjoy all that this bountiful world has to offer. Kind of a bummer that I also believe that birthing and raising a child in this world does not make sense due to the current situation, thank you everyone who has ever given birth to more than your share of children, you took mine. Didn’t realize this was a rant too. Oh well. So the conclusion of this paragraph will read; Living as a normal American for me, not agreeing with the current situation of the world, our environment, our government would be like fucking for virginity or bombing for peace. You cannot simultaneously oppose a system and support it with your taxes and life without great emotional consequence. Unfortunately, you cannot also live simultaneously in the United States and oppose our government without going to jail and forfeiting your freedom, ‘cuz everybody knows freedom ain’t free. In fact, what freedom costs is one hundred years of isolating impoverished people throughout the world, subverting governments and opposition factions throughout the world, economically enslaving people in nations who never knew what a job was until their food sources all of a sudden cost money, exporting hatred, guns missiles, and munitions to the four corners of this spinning, wondrous and verdant globe. That’s what it costs, and you know what else it costs, your neighbor Jimmy’s leg, and 5,000 innocent collateral damages, all so we can watch the NFL, drink dirty martinis, and vote for the best of two fucking assholes. I don’t mean to point fingers. I own a 2006 Toyota, have $47,000 in debt to 7 or 8 creditors and drank 2 Olympia beers last night. I just want to work through this so we might make it a little better. What does this have to do with the first paragraph about retirement, social security, standard of living, etc.?? Well, to many, I think the term “standard of living” is often at the heart of what they believe is truly the best course for their life. They believe working a 9-5 and paying into the system and retiring at 65 will be the way to optimize their standard of living, and get the most out of this life, until, ahhhhh....., at long last, heaven. Most people I think engage this idea regularly, and even contemplate their standard of living in terms of the rest of the world. The problem is that the examples of the rest of the world come in Sally Struthers commercials, the Headline news and photos of be-headed Mexican drug lords on the side of the road. Standard of living and Quality of life should be measured by number of smiles per unit area, and I guarantee you the US, as well as many other first world nations would fall to the bottom of the list. Even as it is, with normal indices like literacy rate, infant mortality rate, work/recreation rate, the United States is ranked very low on the list, even when compared to 3rd world countries. Costa Rica, for example ranks higher in every area, except for unemployment. Fewer people work, but more people are happier and healthier. So, really, for me, the heart of the matter is that we are Homo sapiens sapiens, in the family hominidae, order primate, class mammalia and phylum chordata. To me, this means that we are essentially animals. Yes, we reason. We love. We do all sorts of things that have not been illustrated in much of the other occupants of the animal kingdom, including kill for nothing but an idea or thought, yet our similarities are far more numerous than our differences. Walk through a Walmart on some Sunday afternoon and you will quickly realize without a shadow of a doubt that we are not living as we should. I hesitate to say, “as we were meant to“, because, intellectually I have yet to embrace some idea of predetermination, or other god type concept. I think it is highly important to celebrate life, reflect on beauty and display reverence to the forces that make that possible for personal growth, but subscribing to a religion or giving allegiance to a god has never made sense to me. My wager is that if I love and perpetuate love, and never have a reason to ask forgiveness, than even if there is a Saint Peter, or an Allah, all they will be able to say to me when I reach the pearly gates will be “ Well done, my brother,” but it’s pointless to act on mythologies of the afterlife, without considering how best to live right here and right now. And to live best right here and right now is to not think about the future, not worry about tomorrow, or retirement. Is the idea of sitting in a mobile home at 65 careening along the vast highways, or watching days of our lives everyday really that attractive?? The security of a job may put one at ease, especially when mortgaged to your eyeballs, and leveraged beyond your next offspring, but is that how animals are healthiest. I’m pretty sure that every animal I’ve ever known who knew when their next meal came from, and never had to worry about shelter, or survival was less fit than its wild counterpart, including representatives of our own species. A more dynamic, visceral experience and interaction with the world can only be more satisfying, and lend itself to wider and deeper personal growth and knowledge. That is why I live as I do, and even as the bills mount, and I cannot work in my normal capacities, and I am really scared as to how I will eat in two weeks time, I know, for me, this is the right way to be, and though my smile”o”meter may be registering fewer smiles than normal for me, my standard of living will continue to be very high, and I am very thankful for that, and know that it has nothing to do with Republicans, Halliburton, Ford or even Thomas Jefferson. 8/01/09 Had a Doctor's appointment yesterday. It was pretty rushed, but went well. Got my stitches out, and finally got a look at the leg. The tendon seems strong, and no problems were visible at all. The doctor did some range of motion tests, and was impressed with the situation. Best of all, I got to put my aircast on, instead of getting a fiber glass cast. Now I can take it off when I bath. A super bonus. To maintain a pointed toe, (equinus) position and keep the stress low on the newly stretched tendon the doc put an inch and a half heel lift in. It was just a little bit less than what I had, but when I woke up this morning it hurt pretty bad, worse than it had in a five days or so. Haven't taken any pain pills in six days. |
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