Rowing on three fingers of Rowan's Creek Bourbon...make that six fingers

The Future

Pictorially


















Musically

Color me antiquated

I ran into an "acquaintance" the other day on a leisurely stroll downtown. It appeared obvious that a chat would ensue so I reached into my pocket to stop my walkman cassette player. Somehow incapable of properly turning it off, I removed it from my pocket to get a better estimation to the problem and my obvious stupidity. Upon seeing the walkman, ACQ gave a mocking chuckle. "What?" assuming the laugh was directed at my obvious defect with electronics.
"What the fuck is that?".
"Umm, a tape player."
"You still have one of those?"
"Actually, I have about 8 in various stages of decay. Not sure why, should probably just toss the broken ones away."

Basically the conversation steered into the realm of me not owning an Ipod and the ridiculousness of listening to music on tapes. Ok, let's evaluate. I've had a Walkman since I could remember. The first tape I bought was Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" or maybe it was Meatloaf's "Bat Out of Hell", not important since both are classic. My tape collection has slowly grown from there. Clearly, I dabbled in latest raging media formats such as CDs and mp3s, but have since returned to tapes and records as my primary source of music.
At any rate, tapes are cheap as shit, cheaper than mp3's (unless you download of course) and they sound, well, more nostalgic, I hesitate to say better. Honestly, it really boils down to the quality of analog or digital system to accurately evaluate sound quality. And, well, a Walkman is not a high end sound system. So the argument on quality is pretty moot and probably in favor of the Ipod. My argument stayed in the pasture of personal preference. At its most basic, there is just something about that analog hiss that is really fucking religious to me. Plus a tape is tangible, a mp3, not so much.
Additionally, Walkman's are super cheap, 2 bones at your local thrift shop.
Making mixtapes is cathartic and the extra labor involved enhances the quality of the product. Making a tape is real-time dude, not point and click and you have a mixed "tape" CDr. Please don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with digital media, I imbibe lots of it. But when it comes down to it, I'll choose my Walkman over the Ipod. Mostly because I'm so fvkking kvlt.

E.

A Not So Good Night in the San Pedro of the World

it's unlikely that a decent poem is in me
tonight
and I understand that this is strictly my
problem
and of no interest to you
that I sit here listening to a man playing
a piano on the radio
and it's bad piano, both the playing and
the composition
and again, this is of no interest to you
as one of my cats,
a beautiful white with strange markings,
sleeps in the bathroom.

I have no idea of what would be of
interest to you
but I doubt that you would be of
interest to me, so don't get
superior.
in fact come to think of it, you can
kiss my ass.

I continue to listen to the piano.
this will not be a memorable night in my
life
or yours.

let us celebrate the stupidity of our
endurance.
CHARLES BUKOWSKI

Particularly pertinent this evening

I'll take mine with a bunch of slim...

Lately I've been all about brewing kombucha. While I enjoy kombucha a lot, I definitely separate myself from the kombucha fanatics, of which there are PLENTY. You know, the ones that claim drinking kombucha cures cancer, which is right up there with prayer cures diabetes. Anyway, I like it, but I like making it more. Not quite sure why. Maybe because I'm going through a mother hen phase and need something to coddle and incubate at a temperature roughly between 75-80ºF for 7-8 days. At any rate, I raise a delicious brood. I've got 3 more gallons going and 1.5 to go through. Shit, just being near me might cure your cancer...

fondre (to melt) in the past participle fondu (melted)

So we are going to skip ahead to Thurs evening (Nov. 11). Wed and Thurs were mostly filled with driving and business dribble. Granted, I spent most of the time in the most white, sterile room that I've ever been in; completely encased in a hooded jumpsuit and booties. Another time...
Thurs Night! Fondue Night! Now, let it be known, I've lived in WI all my life and readily admit I have never been the state's greatest consumer of cheese. In fact, it has only been recently since I've tried my hand at making cheese that I have been consuming cheese. At any rate, cheese is fucking delicious.
I was pretty pumped to have fondue, particularly in Swissland, the arguable origin of this fondre dish. Secondly, a co-worker, who had been in Swissland for the last two months was going to be present. In fact, he invited me, as it was a going away fondue dinner for him. We were acquaintances at best, but having been immersed in Swiss German the last three days, I considered him to be my best English speaking friend.
The fondue was amazing. I mean, it blew my mind. I made sure to sit next to the Swiss DBA (database administrator) from Roche. He looked like he clearly knew what was up (in this case I used age as my experience metric, 55 years old and clearly Swiss raised) and very graciously led me through this first fondue experience. Granted, eating fondue is not rocket science, you dip a piece of bread in melted cheese. I mean, it could stop there and still be amazing. But what I was after was those Swiss nuances, those little things that I wouldn't get going to the Melting Pot on the West side of Madison. No 1.: They brought out a Swiss Brandy called Kirsch, neat of course.
I was instructed that I should first dip the bread in the Kirsch and then into the fondue, followed by more Kirsch to wash it down. If I wasn't driving, this ritual would have been repeated several more times, several more times, several... No. 2 As the fondue started to dwindle, my mentor told the waiter to bring an egg. He cracked the egg into the remaining fondue and stirred it around until the egg and cheese caramelized onto the bottom of the pot. I was then encouraged to scrape the caramelized cheese from the base of the pot and enjoy. Oh did I enjoy. The closest comparison, in my very limited cheese consumption knowledge, would start with the caramelized cheese on the crust of a Chicago style pizza combined with the texture of a Host (aka the Body of Christ, trully or symbolized) at a Christian mass except embodying the very essence of how delicious consuming something Divine would be.




If you do not own this album, you should. This is by far my favorite album of 2010:



“They play heavy metal the old way, the exact way we enjoy it ourselves.”
- Fenriz, Darkthrone

Yup, they do and it is awesome.

Currently reading: The Bread Maker's Apprentice

It's been a long fucking time...

A lot has changed since my last post a million years ago; changes that have prompted me to start this blogging venture over again with hopefully more vigor and tenacity.

I've gained and lost a lot in the last several months:

Gained:
New Zealand
Colorado
Northern Minnesota
Switzerland
Kombucha culture
Sourdough culture
Anxiety
Appreciation for raw foods

Lost:
Weight
My best friend
interest

As is evident, the gained list far outweighs the lost list, but don't be mislead by the disparity in numbers, those lost things are pretty hefty.

Last night, after traveling for what seemed two (2) days, I made it back to Madison. A return that still leaves my a bit vexed, but overall happy to be back.
I spent the last 5 days in Switzerland (Swissland from here on) on account of work. The whole trip made me extremely anxious mostly because of the extreme lack of communication between me and my Swiss counterparts. I had set up an itinerary for my visit weeks in advance only to receive confirmation the first day I arrived in Swissland. Bullshit. Yet all that anxiety melted away once I was able to get outside and start hiking.
I was staying in Luzern at the Radisson Blu. When I travel for work the hotels are always so nice/too nice. Everyone is walking around in their business attire and here I am with my skinny fit black jeans and a $2 vintage sweater. Granted, I don't look like shit, I just don't quite fit in. That brings me to the other elephant in the room. I don't speak a lick of German. Now, granted, most people in Swissland speak English, particularly the hotel staff, but I think this stresses me out the most. This stems primarily from that FACT that when a european comes to the US, we expect them to speak English. Now, contrarily, I go to Swissland and I expect them to speak English to me because I don't speak German. Makes me feel pretty shitty. Then I remember I'm a privelaged American, so fuck it, you'd better accomadate me. Ass.Hole.
It should be noted that if you want to submit to absolute solitude though, being in a foreign country definitely helps. I was in a few coffee shops/bars, revisiting the mighty work Siddartha by Herman Hesse in honor of being in Switzerland, and I couldn't help but feel even more alone. It is incredible for focusing. I get the best of both worlds. I get the surrounding white noise of people talking that I love without the usual distraction of eavesdropping because I can't understand a damn thing. And the coffee. Amazing. It isn't so much that coffee in Europe is better than in the USA, it's more that good coffee is more prevalent. You can go to the petro station and get the same quality coffee/espresso as a coffee shop. As a result, there were few moments in Swissland where I was without coffee. Hey, at least I was regular and jet lag stood no fucking chance.
Back to the good part, hiking. Luzern is situated on a lake shadowed by the mighty Swiss Alps. While I was unable to get to the mountains I was able to circumnavigate the lake and take in all that is Luzern. In addition, I got to walk on the Kapellbrücke:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kapellbr%C3%BCcke

Breakfast: Lox, amazing bread and muesli in a buffet arrangement. Seriously.

To be continued...

Before I suspend this post I'd like to share something relevant to one of my losses. Probably at one of my lowest points my father's simply and crassly worded, but sage advice, resonated very strongly with me while I was in Swissland: "Boy, there ain't but one motherfucker that's going to be with you until the end. You." I'm learning to be that motherfucker.

Love,
E.