How Much Iron is in Your Diet?

Ok - so here is something interesting; Iron Maiden - Iron Freaking Maiden - their new album debuted at number 1...read that again just to make you feel good. Old timer stadium rockers who gave preachers plenty to preach against in 80's and 90's debuted their newest album at number 1 on the INDIE charts! INDIE?! What the heck! Who runs these things? Unfreakinbelievable! Iron Maiden is not indie....
Run to the hills!
tags: Iron Maiden

Time to Run for Governor

If there was an all time low in the history of film it would be Clint Eastwood directing movies. If you haven’t been put through the agony of “The Flags of our Fathers” yet…I would recommend, for my sake, that you go and share in the same dismal and slow storyline that I sat through. If this film had been any longer I might have shot myself or, at very least, tried to stare into the projector’s bulb to burn out my retina. This film has set a new standard for low in the WWI genre of film and will hopefully inspire Eastwood’s retirement from Hollywood.
tags: Flags of our Fathers, Clint Eastwood

Come back...later.

All posting will be at my other blog for now unitl later.
Appreciate everyone who reads and comments!
Have a remarkable day.
-Jer

Bearly Legal

There is an area that we rockclimb in called ‘skull rocks’ so named for the two bear skulls that we found a couple of years ago. We had set up these skulls as the welcoming decoration into one of the climbing areas and felt that they somehow protected our area from intruders – not that they actually did…it was just the myth we attached to them. You might be able to imagine our disappointment and growing sense of fear when we found one of them missing and the other one smashed this summer; our icons were gone - the climbing area no longer safe.

Last night, after two weeks of not climbing at ‘skull rocks’, Candace, Andrew, and I stumbled across the decaying bodies of two dead bears. It was really quite sad to see these magnificent animals lying there butchered and killed for the sport or greed of some poacher. The first bear that we found had been dumped there with in the last day or so and was only missing “his boys”; some birds had also gotten into his intestines and dragged them out for lunch. This bear, other then the stench and open belly, was still really cute. The second bear, we found only about 30 feet away from the first one, would have been dumped sometime in the last 2 weeks while we were away and was much further along in the “from dust to dust” process. It was mostly bone with bits of skin and flesh still exposed and black hair laying around the perimeter of what I imagine would have been the mass of its body. One of the hind legs of this bear still had skin and flesh up to what I suppose would have been the knee – hairless, wrinkled, and black it reminded me of the burnt and charred remains of life that you see in the movies. An image I won’t soon forget. This bear was missing all of its claws and its skull had been crushed into small fragments – only the jaw bone still identifiable.

I hadn’t come across a bear since earlier this summer when we both rounded a corner to face each other within fifteen feet. The bear and I were both alone and, I like to imagine, that it was as freaked out as much as I was. We starred at each other for a couple of minutes and, the longer I looked at it, the more comfortable I became. The heart racing fear that is natural in those situations turned to heart racing response to the beauty and power of creation; it was amazing. Moments later the bear ambled off into the forest and I continued on my route thanking God for His beautiful world that He has commanded that we care and tend for.

Fish and Game authorities are investigating this morning.

Yesterday is Forever

The update that all one of you have been so eagerly waiting for:
1. I’ve been climbing likely more then you’ve been working.
2. I’ve been writing like crazy.
3. I’ve read a few good books.
4. I’ve been trying to let creativity be the workshop for my imagination.
5. I’ve been looking forward to a new season of writing at the eclectivity is more fun blog.
6. See ya there in wee bit.

As You Were.

There are words and ideas that should never
ever
be stopped. Behind everything of great and lasting value, deep significance, and counter convention is the idea that will never die. The hope that there is more, the belief that there is something better, and the radical eccentricity to see it happen.
I hope you have enjoyed the comfort of your familiarity.
Take a closer look.
I’ve discovered a lie and I see its cover-up.
I’m finished.
.

Thought Association

If you read past this first little paragraph - I'm sorry. What follows is hardly worth reading and I am sure that it is destined to be another piece of refuse on the blog garbage dump...so again, I am sorry. However, if you do find a moment to read through understand that I go through bits of insomnia-like nights for weeks on end. Last night was night one of what I hope will not see night two. The other thing that you should understand is that I wasn't trying to write so much as I was trying to see where a thought association would take me. If you don't know, it's like a word association; e.g. sky, star, hollywood, brad pitt, troy, war, peace, hippie, etc., but with thoughts. I re-read this today and wondered how I jumped from one thought to another - but it doesn't matter. Try it out sometime...

What happens when you don’t care anymore? How many times should I try and explain myself to myself…if I can’t get me then who in their right mind would? Tragedy and hope live together in the basement of a flooded house in Winnipeg. Mosquito larvae, live downed power lines, and boots with holes in them keep this odd twosome as happy as the grim reaper in a world that loves rationalism. How can I care if everything is an extreme or mediocrity of something else? Did you know if you press your tongue to the top of your mouth your neck muscle’s act stronger? They do. Are they any stronger? Nope. Maybe reincarnation is partially true if we were to consider that the atoms that make you you have been around long before you and will be here long after you are gone. Being you is not a gratifying experience at the atomic level; for all their devoted attention to your existence they actually don’t care about you…they don’t even know that you are there…or that they are there. It is a bit interesting to think that if you were able to pick yourself apart with tweezers, one atom at a time, you would produce a mound of fine atomic dust, none of which had ever been alive but all of which had once been you. Yet for the short stretch of time known as your existence they answer the miracle of life impulse that keeps you you. The bad news is that atoms are fickle and their time of devotion to you is short-lived; even a long human life adds up only to about 650,000 hours. And when that modest milestone flashes past, or at some other point thereabouts, for reasons unknown your atoms will shut you down, silently disassemble, and go off to be other things. And that’s it for you. Did you know that I have finally figured out why dreaming is so hard for me? I can’t sleep. Have you ever been to an honest funeral? It seems that only good people die; if you’re bad do they not give you a funeral or do funerals just cancel out all the debt and bad? I wonder how many times you can die inside before you know you are dead? And what happens when you know you are dead? Do you stop feeling? The same questions haunt sane people who suspect they are insane…but the insane never ponder if they are nuts or not. I have a theory about anyone who asks, “What is my purpose?” If you’ve asked that question then there is a pretty good chance that your purpose is trying to re-connect with you. The difference in life is just a matter of one space; it comes between a ‘w’ and an ‘h’ in a word that you would have trouble finding if it was nowhere. I heard that somewhere once and it stuck in my head. “If a man’s steps are directed by the Lord, how then can anyone understand his own way.” An ancient piece of wisdom. And now my modern (or postmodern or pre-modern or post-christian or whatever the heck) thought: maybe I shouldn’t care so much.

Not Sure How My Mind Wandered Here.

What would it be like if God complained? What would he complain about? The anthropomorphic reality that he is would probably say something like this:

Do you know what it is like having a memory so good that you even remember what
hasn’t happened yet? That’s me. Oh yes, terrible really. It is as though there
is no future…only the past that hasn’t happened yet. Dreadful. Do you have any
idea how heavy that thought is? The yet to happen past?

Re-read that last bit and imagine God is complaining in a polite and English accent. It may make the words dance a little clearer for you.
-e.d.

the Alpha Male.

Man in his primal state and smell; strong and ready to fight, a champion and ladies man, an ego the size of TV evangelists’ hair, and only a few straws short of a haystack. A very entertaining lot! And I suppose that is why I found myself this weekend at two radically different events that were exactly the same; the rodeo which was full of cowboys, wrangler butts, and girls oogling them…and…at a hip-hop show with the Swollen Members, saggy butts, and girls oogling them.

Keep it gang starr.

For anyone keeping track of the style watch; the metrosexual is on his way out the 'backdoor' and alpha male is resurging as the dominate trend in style, fashion, and badittude. I'm not sure where pomosexual fits in though.

Tidal D

One of the great advantages of living outside of time is that you would never have to go to the bathroom. However, every person every day, we hope, must fulfill certain obligatory duties at certain times in the water-closet; some are as regular as paparazzi catching Brittney Spears doing something ridiculous and others as irregular as a Hollywood marriage lasting more then 5 minutes. I am one of those regular folks who sets his schedule around the reoccurring themes of the bat-cave.

I am highly particular when it comes to the bathroom. Clean, well kept, a visible back up stock of TP, Uncle John’s Bathroom reader, and quietness. No music, no talking through the door, no cell phones, no rattling door knobs, and no company. The porcelain thrown is, in some regards, a sanctuary; a sanctuary that must never be held in irreverence.

Unless, of course, you are camping.

A fallen log will do fine to lean against. Your leg muscles will burn. There are leaves you should and shouldn’t use; I would never recommend skunk cabbage…too waxy, don’t use stinging nettles for obvious reasons, and pine cones are only for the tough. Choose a well wooded area with oak and maple saplings surrounding and, if you are feeling particularly adventuress, use the outhouse.

This week I did neither.

I used a much cleaner, colder, odder, and highly effective technique; the tidal flush. If truth be told, it was actually more of a surf flush. The technique is non-wipe and simple; de-textile completely, walk/swim into the ocean, get duty-free, and then catch a wave and body surf back to the beach. Simple.

Unless a sneaker wave steals your towel.

Unless a friend has a camera.

Unless between the ocean and being not-complete-nude is 200 yards of sandy beach.

Simple.