Red -Town

I'll write a blog!

2009-09-09T12:29:00.000-07:00

That's what I'll do!

Well the results are in and I'm officially visually impaired. That's right, blind as a bat. I decided to go get an eye exam yesterday while we still have insurance before that Marxist, you know who I mean, takes away my insurance and my family doctor that I've come to love over the years (just kidding, I am pumped to get free healthcare whenever I want it I don't care if I have to wait in a longer line and I'm also happy that everyone can get said healthcare. Call me a socialist I don't care in-fact I call myself one). I had quite a good experience at the ol' optometrist office I'm happy to report. The first lady that helped me noticed I'm reading The Brothers Karamazov (yes I'm still reading that) and we started talking about books. She had never heard of Cal's so I told her all about it. The Doctor was a very sweet lady from India that spoke three languages. She was kind enough to answer all my questions pertaining to eyeballs and India. And the lady that helped me choose glasses was just a friendly lass. I tried to choose some neat looking frames, but all the ones I liked were expensive. I ended up choosing some that will probably be dorky and I'll have to hear Kelly poke fun at me whenever I wear them. That's life. I even enjoyed the test itself. I was pretty surprised to see how much more clear everything looked through lenses. I never even knew that I had bad vision, but turns out I do.

Does anyone do this anymore?

2009-06-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

Boy that blog boom really died out didn't it? For a while everyone was really into it and posting almost everyday. Guess most of us got burnt out. Oh well, this is what Kelly and I have been up to:

Going to southern California for:

A. My sisters baby shower

B. My Grandma's 80th birthday bash

We went to Mariposa for a wedding and after the wedding drove to San Fransisco for the oldest foot race in California. It's a funny race to watch because, while it is only 8 miles long, it is very grueling and many people faint crossing the finish line. Also because when people come running down the home stretch they are often covered in mud or blood or both from wiping out earlier.

I have poison oak on my arms and it looks pretty gross. An asshole doctor prescribed some steroids for me on Saturday. Now it is Wednesday, I'm out of steroids and still covered in oozing oily poison oak bubbles. Here's why that doctor was an asshole: He needs to get laid. Just kidding. Those are the kinds of jokes I make when I watch too much Sex and the City, which is what I've been doing lately. Here's the real reason: He talked to me like I was a "rural" living hick that is full of stupid questions. That's all I want to say about that.

I just finished reading a book called World War Z, an oral history of the zombie war. Sounds nerdy right? Right. But it was really good, so good that it gave me a dream that I was killing zombies! One of which was a dog whose skull I smashed with an aluminum baseball bat. It was a fun dream and book. The book takes place a few years after zombies almost take over the planet and is told through a series of interviews with survivors of the war. Now I'm reading Animal Farm. It's about animals on a farm sans humans, but I have a feeling that Orwell is using some kind of symbolism.

I haven't been working that much lately, so I've been thinking of ways to make an extra buck or two. One way is I did a little weed-whacking for Dan and Ann-Marie Morrow (that's where the poison oak came from). Another is I built a bike and am going to sell it. The bummer about making money this way is that I spent all the weed-whacking money (and then some) getting poison oak treatment, and you can't sell a bike if nobody buys it. Oh well.

Kelly and I are going to Argentina in a month for 3 weeks. We are very excited and plan on:

A. Drinking lots of Argentine wine

B. Going to a soccer game

C. visiting Iguazu falls

D. Eating lots of tasty steak. Allegedly the best in the world.

E. Might get a tattoo

OK bye.

off to work

2009-05-21T14:22:00.000-07:00

I have to go to work really soon, a few minutes. But I have a water belly and I'm a little sleepy and don't really want to go.

Blog-worthy? I'll let you decide.

Today my neighbor told me...

2009-05-01T13:38:00.000-07:00

"I'll be glad when you move." And I thought we were friends.

I'm in school again!

2009-02-05T12:07:00.000-08:00

Hey bros! and babes! For school I had to describe a place by using "mere words." So here is a place as described with my "mere words." (I'm quoting my new English teacher if you're wondering.)

Very few people have been here. In-fact, nobody has ever “been” here. Some people have tried, all have failed to enter though. They cannot seem to find the door which will grant them passage inside. I see them looking for the door; probing possible entries only to find themselves shut out still hoping for a glimpse inside. Some of them, my friends, will stick around. While others, those I do not particularly care for, will leave upon discovering that I will not grant them entry, often never to be seen again.

The ones that stick around, the friends, will occasionally get a glimpse inside. I never allow them to get a good of the view inside though. I don't know why I deny them, but I do. Maybe I am afraid of what will happen if they can come inside. What if they start touching things and rearranging the things that I have spent so much time to set up and place exactly where I wanted? What if they don't want to leave? What if they come in and overstay their welcome, like a relative that parks their motor-home on your lawn and asks, “Where can I plug-in?”? {I'm not sure about that punctuation}

Or maybe it is not that they would stay too long, but would enter and be horribly uncomfortable and terrified and leave as quickly as possible. What if those that I hold so dear to me, entered in, and fled from me forever, repulsed and shamed to have known such a beast? That seems like such a risk. One that I dare not attempt. So instead of letting my friends in, I will sit, and stare out of my windows at them while they try to find their way in. While they try to find Alice's fabled rabbit hole so they can enter a different place.

It's when I am watching them that things will suddenly start flying around inside of my secret cocoon. I cannot see these things flying, but I am aware of them. They flitter to and fro, like a bird trapped in a grocery store, longing to escape. But I cannot open my mouth to let them out. If I do who knows what would happen? Who knows what it would sound like? If these things ever escaped from my den, people could become aware of what is inside, or worse yet, they could get inside.

I find myself wanting to let these fluttering things escape and spread their open wings upon the infinite sky. But if I did, it could be the end of me. It could be the end of my relationships. It could do so much harm. So I don't speak, and I don't let people inside of my head.

One step forward, five backward: succumbed to the will of anger

2009-01-15T11:43:00.000-08:00

My last post was written during cold weather while this one is being written (and possibly read) in warm weather. Crazy. I think I always talk about the weather to start my posts, which I suppose makes me like a boring old man.

But I will now cease to write about the weather, and begin to write about what a bad person I can be. As you may or may not know, bicyclists in Redding aren't exactly, should I say, catered to. Or for that matter liked. Personally I have been honked at, shouted at, sworn at, had lemons thrown at, and of course, spat upon. All with little to no provocation. I am usually simply degraded for the mere fact that I choose to ride a bike rather than drive a car. With this in mind, please, read on.

I was riding home from work a couple of days ago, heading west on Dana drive. I had a green light in front of Discovery Village and asserted my rights as a cyclist to go through the intersection. During the same time, a black Honda Civic with rims tried to leave the Disco. Ville. parking lot. Seeing myself and the line of cars behind me, the Civic driver (whom I shall refer to as DBPOSAHTBL (douche bag piece of shit asshole "t" butter licker) from here on.) had to wait for me and all the following cars. I'll own that had it not been for me DBPOSAHTBL would not have needed to wait for the line of cars. But I was there, so DBPOSAHTBL had to wait. After the line of cars passed me, I changed lanes so I could turn left onto Canby and go home. Once in the turn lane, DBPOSAHTBL had caught up to me and felt it his duty to roll down his window and shout a certain profane phrase at me. The one that begins with an F, and ends with an Uck you!

Visions of all the ill treatment I had received as a Redding cyclist played in my mind. I thought of forgetting about it (turn the other cheek again). But then I thought, fuck ME? No, Fuck you DBPOSAHTBL! He was stuck at the Churn Creek traffic light so I pursued. I rode around the right side of his car and circled around the front. I looked through his windshield, made eye contact with DBPOSAHTBL and spat onto his car.

Then I rode home.

It was stupid and immature and does nothing positive for Redding's cyclist/motorist relationship, but oh well.

How redding rolls

2008-12-18T14:36:00.000-08:00

Redding is suddenly very chilly and the citizens of this great city are hoping for a white Christmas. I know I'm certainly wanting to make snow angels on Christmas morning. This sudden cold snap has however, forced me to make a few adjustments in my daily life. For example, I have to bundle up whenever I go outside, especially when I am going to be riding my bike. Here is a photograph of my sweet riding threads:

You may notice that I kind of look like a ninja/dumb ass. At least I'm warm though! Today I got to ride through some light snow for the first time in my life (growing up in Menifee (Dry desert hellish climate) we didn't get any snow days.) and found it very pleasing, except when I was going fast and getting little snow flakes in my eyes.

Other than riding around in the snow I'm going to spend today indoors making some lovely snowflakes out of paper and watching a movie. I'm going to watch Hotel Rwanda, which I realize doesn't really pair well with making paper snowflakes, but why not? Maybe the snowflakes will cheer me up as I watch unfathomable acts of genocide on my TV screen. Maybe after all the two do pair well together!

Played a little game of rummy at Sue's with the beautiful bride this morning, she won, but in my defense I had the hand with the most points. That's all I have to say to all of you. Hope to see you at the Holiday Party tomorrow, should be lots and lots and lots of fun!

Thanksgiving. Eagles kick basses asses all the time.

2008-12-01T10:50:00.000-08:00

If you're wondering about the title, I just think it's a good rhyme.

A holiday as American as american football. God bless the eternal souls of those pilgrims. I'm very happy that gluttony can be considered a deadly sin by some and a Holy day (holiday) by others. For my sake I really hope gluttony is not deadly, because I snacked and ate all day long.

Kelly and I went down to good ol' Menifee, the land from whose loins I was produced, and spent the week with my family. We had quite a good time I have to say. On Tuesday we went to Disneyland and Dinsey's California Adventure. "Park Hopper" passes are a bargain at only $93 each. However, we decided to keep the chump change in our pockets and get in for free via my mother's boyfriend's daughter that works at one of the shops, in Frontierland I believe. We went on all the rides, the good ones at least, except for Splash Mountain. We had a lot of fun all day. I'd love to prove all this to you with great photos of our day but, I managed to drop our camera and break the screen before I was about to take the first photo of the day. Bummer. At least I had my good, old fashioned, reliable, tried and true film camera though. I took charge of documenting our fun with my camera and took some really great photos, especially one of the tea cups where I used a long exposure to capture the movement of the tea cups and get the full color of the paper lanterns above. But nobody will ever see that photo or any other from that day because when I tried to rewind my film, my reliable tried and true camera broke and instead of rewinding the film, ripped the film. Bummer.

On another topic. Doesn't "Black Friday" disgust you? Every year stores have ridiculous sales and people are killed. For what? a flat screen TV? I hope your new TV falls off the wall and lands on your head you murderer! If you didn't catch the whole story of what happened here it is. A mob of people waiting outside of a Wal*Mart (go figure) broke the front door off of it's hinges and trampled an employee to death. A witness said that the door frame was bent like an accordion after the mob had passed. Wal*Mart, if you were wondering, stayed open for business the rest of the day and most likely rolled back prices a little more since they now have one less employee on the payroll.

2008-12-01T10:46:00.000-08:00

As the AWESOME song says, "It's been a while since I gone and..." posted a blog. This is a poem that I wrote for school. Read it or die!

Here for a reason

I have come here for a purpose

I am here for a reason

But already my purpose is diminishing

As I listen to the twang of a banjo.

I arrived with a goal in mind

With my eyes on the finish line

But the prize seems out of reach

As I stare at my steaming cup.

I came here to finish it

To cease procrastination

But completion seems unattainable

As I sit and let my wandering mind wander.

I came to this place

Where my mind can focus

But now, I think I'll just let my thoughts drift.

Villianry

2008-11-17T11:54:00.000-08:00

For school I wrote a letter pretending to be Batman. Here it is.

Dear villians,

I am sorry to have to write you this letter, but I feel that I must. As you may or may not know, when I am not masked, that is, when I am not Batman, I am a wealthy playboy. I own one of the most successful businesses in town and am able to earn quite a lucrative living from said business. Please understand that I am unable to divulge the name of my business on the grounds that it would enable you to know my true identity, thus placing my life in grave danger. I trust that you will make no inquiries as to my business, just as I make none into yours. How I see it, your personal life is your own and it is no concern to me how you make a living when you are not participating in villanry and other frowned upon activities. That being said...

You must understand how busy and hectic everyday life can be at times. What with trying to live a secret life in the late hours of the night and retain the facade of an everyday joe during the daytime. And furthermore, you also must understand how desired a holiday away can be at times. So here is my proposal; I propose that we all take some time off, me from battling crime during the wee hours of the night, and you from committing crime during the same wee hours. Presumably, you have agreed to the idea of a vacation and already may find yourself dreaming of a nice cold mojito on a sandy beach somewhere in the Caribbean. At least that is what I am dreaming of, it is likely that you may vacation in Europe, say skiing the Alps? or touring the Eiffel Tower?

I will be away for the month of April, and would appreciate it very much if you could try to plan your time off correspondingly. I realise that you may not be able to get time off your regular (day) job in April, but I believe that if we are all on the same page for this, we can all enjoy some much needed time off without too much overlapping, for example, Say Joker, perhaps you would leave a little before me, the last week of March perhaps. That would cause you to arrive back in Gotham a week before me. I could see how that may cause you to possibly go onto a crime spree for a week seeing as I would not be there to stop you. Obviously I would frown upon such activities. So just to avoid an awkward situation, we should just all agree on April as our vacation time. Plus, a little side note, April would be ideal for me because it would put me in the islands well away from hurricane season. Thank you all very much for hearing me out.

Your favorite “Pain in the ass”

your local cape crusader at large

Batman.

Hooray for bikes!

2008-11-10T10:41:00.000-08:00

The other morning I was putting my bike into the back seat of Kelly's car, when a man that I recognized from down the street came jogging up. He saw my bike and excitedly shouted, "Hoooray for bikes!" He was jogging in plaid pajama pants, a T-shirt and those strappy sandals (chacos or something like that) with socks on underneath. He got closer and said, "You guys like bikes?"

"Yes, they're fun."

"Yeah me too. I ride like twenty miles a day."

This was just as he was still jogging up to us. When he got to us ("us" meaning Kelly and I) he continued jogging in place and speaking to us. And keep in mind, the whole time he spoke he was VERY excited. "Do you ride alot?"

"Oh just around town, usually not very far."

"Man I love riding bikes, exercise too! I run and bike alot. I just did a thirty mile ride the other day!" He began jogging back and forth in front of me. Literally back and forth, five steps to the left, five to the right. "Well alright I'm gonna keep goin'!" And he jogged off around the cul-de-sac.

We got into the car and started driving. On our way down the road, he appeared from between two buildings and saw us. He raised both hands above his head and waved and I think jogged a little faster. Just to show off a little. Funny guy.

homework

2008-11-10T10:33:00.000-08:00

If you couldn't tell by the title, this is a homework assignment. We were supposed to start a new story that began with the last line on an old story that we wrote. So that's what I did. The old story was not pleasing to me, I just did what I had to do. But it was a dialogue between a woman being released from prison and the officer releasing her. It sucked and I just did it so I would get credit. It ended with the line, "Well alright, bye." Which is where this one takes off. I wrote it in about twenty minutes and didn't really read over it once I finished it, so feel free to take out that red pen and mark it up where I used incorrect punctuation or spelled a work incorrectly.

“Well alright, bye.” She said as she took her first step toward the door. She never looked back, she just walked right out through the door and immediately embraced her renewed freedom. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked around. Her new surroundings were vastly different from the prison cell that she had spent the last twenty years in. To her left, where her bunk would have been, she found a bustling street filled with people. To her right, where there was nothing but a cinder block wall, she saw a museum, filled with beautiful paintings and sculptures. And the most profound difference was directly above her. Where there was only dull gray cement ceiling in her cell, she could see the infinite sky, clear and blue.

She stood there, outside of the prison doors for several minutes, just listening to the sounds of the city. The sounds that she dreamt of while in captivity. She stood there, listening, and looking. Staring at the sky, watching the birds soaring effortlessly. She followed one with her eyes for as long as she could see it. She watched the way it flew around, looking for a good tree branch to land on where it could find some plump insects to lunch on. She watched the way it landed on the branch; swooping down while in flight, approaching the branch with speed, then flapping it's wings backward to slow down causing it to hoover for an instant before setting down onto the chosen branch. She marveled at the delicate grace of the little blackbird and watched it until it flew away.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She focused on the air she was breathing and felt it travel through her body filling her lungs wholly. The air was hers, the world was hers, she was free. She held the air in for a few seconds and then slowly released it back into the atmosphere. She pretended that she could see her exhaled breath leaving her body and traveling upward into the sky. It moved lightly, higher and higher until it reached as high as the tallest building. She saw it stop and turn around, her breath came back down to her and told her, “Thank you, thank you for releasing me.” It floated away again and dissipated into a million particles that mingled with the rest of the air.

She began to walk down the sidewalk, the world was new, all was fresh. Liberated and free she strode along the bustling sidewalk and disappeared among the millions of people that she now shared the city with.

photo phun

2008-11-06T16:48:00.001-08:00

I realize that I'm not Joey, so I can't take pictures that make everyone look cool no matter what they're doing. But here are some fun snapshots anyway.

This is my brother Chad (left, looking like a badass) and my cousin Wyatt (right, he was scared of drowning (life jacket)).

This is my angler Dad. His name is Walt. People tell me that I look just like him when he was my age. This terrifies me. His friends used to call him "Eight pack Walt," like how some of my friends call me "Eight pack Zach." Now his friends just call him "Fat ass." Hopefully not a sign of things to come, but if it is, sorry Kelly, It's my genetics.

He has kissed every fish he has ever caught. Weird and gross.

hate edge

2008-10-31T10:23:00.000-07:00

This is an assignment for class. We made a "spell poem." You know the "Double double toil and trouble" type thing. I was able to switch into political mode and make one about cigarettes.

clever slogans and pics of babes

a fun lifestyle and things you crave

stinky clothes and cigarette butts

uncontrollable cravings drive you nuts

smoke our cigarettes and forget your strife

now your addicted, addicted for life.

Tobacco schmomacco look into our eyes;

tobacco schmomacco you fell for our lies.

I'm not anti-smoking or anything, but it just came to mind. I think it is kind of funny that the tobacco industry has to take all the hits for using sex and a fun lifestyle to sell their product when every company (almost) does it. But then again, most products out there don't usually kill you when you use them too much.

Just livin' the Dutch life.

2008-10-30T22:23:00.000-07:00

If you don't already know, I work at Dutch Bros. coffee shop. Yes, that does mean that I am cooler than you, but I am willing to overlook my superior coolness and remain friends with you. Except maybe you (you know who I mean). But during the course of my day, I come in contact with some very interesting people. These "Dutchies,: as I will from now on call them, range all over the coffee drinker spectrum. From the extreme ignorant coffee snob that is ignorant to their own ignorance, to the also ignorant homeless person that just wants a cup-o-joe, and everything in between. Recently, two Dutchies have become blog worthy and now is the time to tell their tale.

The first Dutchie of whom I shall share, is from the snobby/ignorant elite class. She is a woman of about fifty-five years old, possibly older, but only slightly. She comes through regularly, making her a regular, and always has something regarding her drink to complain about. Except one time that I was able, with the help of the coffee gods above, to make her drink exactly to her liking. But that was an exception to the rule. A simple example of her pickiness is this; she is left handed and brings in her own coffee mug to drink from. If you hand her her mug with the lid facing the wrong direction, so that (Heaven forbid) she would have to drink holding the mug with her right hand, she will hand it back to you and have you turn the lid around. You will also get the drink handed back to you if it is the wrong temperature, or if it has too much foam, the list goes on and on and on. Anyway, she is from Boise and is VERY proud of this simple fact. But somehow she got the idea in her head that Boise is some kind of coffee haven and that the best coffee and coffee culture comes from there. All this being said, one day my favorite (please note that "favorite" is oozing with sarcasm) Dutchie came through and ordered a, "Mocha at one fifty (degrees) flat." Now, me being not from Boise and very naive, did not know what "Flat" meant. I'm sure at least half of you reading this now know what "Flat" means and think I'm a silly fool for not knowing. But please remember, I am from Menifee. That is in the southern part of Calif-ore-nie-ay. Very, very far from Boise, or Idaho for that matter. I said to the Dutchie supreme, "Flat? What does flat mean?" To which she responded, a tinge of pride shining in her eyes,

"It means no foam or whip. You've never been to Boise, have you?"

Right about now was the time I wanted to punch her in the teeth. So I made her a mocha, but it was not hot enough, ("only luke") so I heated it up and handed it to her. Just between you and me, it was not flat. I loaded that fucking mocha with bubbly foam.

And now for my favorite part. My Dutchie delight came through again, maybe even the next day, and ordered an iced double mocha. Please note that iced is in italics. If you didn't catch the italics before, here they come again: iced. I just really want to stress that she said, "Iced." Get it? If you do not know, iced means that the drink is served on the rocks, like an iced tea. I made her the iced mocha and gave it to her. She took a drink and frowned. "When the girls in the morning make this for me it's more icy. This is like pudding." Stated the Dutchie of Doom.

I replied, "Oh did you want your drink blended?" Again for those that don't know, blended means like a milk shake, or dare I say? a frapuccino. (I'm really surprised to see that my spell check doesn't know frapuccino).

"Oh yes, blended ice." was her response.

So I made her a blended mocha and gave it to her. All the while desperately wanting, longing to say to her,

"You've never been to Boise, have you?"

Moving on to Dutchie number two. This one happened just today, quite early in my shift, and I am extremely thankful that it wasn't a sign of more things to come.

So there was this man, obviously homeless, sitting on the block wall outside of my work today. He sits there quite often, usually for hours, and mostly keeps to himself. He was sitting there, and work was slow, so I was sitting there too. For a while we were doing the same thing, just sitting. I noticed him there and thought maybe he wants a cookie. We had a few of those delicious cookies that every grocery store has, the ones with the thick seasonally colored frosting, you know the ones. The powers of charity overwhelmingly (sarcasm, again), or maybe just boredom (more likely of the two), led me to grab (a generous) two cookies and offer them to my fellow sitting Dutchie. I said, "Excuse me mister, do you want some cookies?" He mumbled something about being hurt and stayed seated. A car pulled up that I had to attend to just as he was saying something that I couldn't understand. I helped the car and they left, and he came stumbling up to the window. I went to hand him the cookies and noticed how very filthy my Dutchie was. I tried my hardest to hand him the cookies in a way that I wouldn't touch him. Near success, my finger tips grazed his hands. Another car pulled up, I helped them blah blah blah. Dirty Dutchie was still there, looking at me. He asked if we had a bathroom he could use. I told him, "No I'm sorry it's for employees only." He said, something to the extent of, and I kid you not, "That's too bad, I need to clean myself up, had an accident."

Happy Noah?

Hawk photo

2008-10-15T10:19:00.000-07:00

So it has become apparent that my photo of a hawk does not appear. That's a shame. You should just make believe that you can see a thankful hawk soaring freely and majestically above the tree line. The moral of the story: Don't try to copy and paste pictures to your blog.

The autobhan society would be proud

2008-10-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

This weekend was a delight. Kelly and I went camping with good friends and visited good family in the old mining town of Mariposa. While in Mariposa, Kelly and I helped her parents pick grapes in the vineyard (which you can read about on Kelly's blog). That being said, I will not bore you by writing about the same weekend that she wrote about, just a certain happening.

Kelly, Val (Kelly's mama) and I were upstairs chatting, I do not recall what about, when Bob (Kelly's papa) shouted to me from the living room. He said, "Zach I need your help!" a speck of haste in his voice. I began walking down the stairs and he told me that he found a hawk in the vineyard tangled up in a net. The nets are used to cover the vines so that birds can't get at the grapes and eat all of them before they have a chance to become delicious wine. I thought it was quite ironic that, a bird, one that likes to eat bunnies and other small mammals, had become stuck in a net designed to keep grape eating birds away. I really love irony. My second thought, after thats ironic was We'll need something to cut the net. So I turned around and ran back up the stairs to get my pocket knife, pretty clever right. On the way out Bob asked me if my knife was sharp enough. I told him I thought it was (spoiler alert, it wasn't). So we walked out to the vineyard, Kelly, Val, Hannah (Kelly's sister), Libby (Kelly's Mom's bitch (literally, a bitch)), Bob and I. I couldn't see the hawk until Bob walked over to it, the large raptor blended in with the dirt. It was stuck hanging upside down with the net wrapped around it's feet (from now on I am going to call the hawk "Hawk" because I feel to connected to Hawk to call Hawk "it"). Bob had obviously planned ahead and had a blanket ready to cover Hawk with so he would not freak out while watching us strange looking humans cutting nets by his feet. Come to think of it I don't remember seeing Bob pick up the blanket, for all I know he could have sewn it on the walk out to the vineyard, but how he got the blanket is irrelevant. Bob wrapped Hawk in the blanket, again to keep Hawk calm and to prevent Hawk's wings from flapping wildly, while I began to cut away the net. I had quite a difficult time cutting the net, as the spoiler alert told you, my knife was/is not very sharp. It was slow going and I really did not want to slip and cut Hawk's leg or toes. Val asked if we needed a sharper knife, I replied in the negative, too proud to admit that my knife was too dull. She (luckily) ignored me though and went back to the house to retrieve her Ginsu knife. I continued carefully cutting the netting away until she came back. I was very concerned with one of Hawk's toes in particular. I think it was the bird equivalent to a human thumb. This "thumb" was twisted around and seemed to be holding a great deal of Hawk's weight. Val handed the Ginsu to Bob, who as it turns out is a much better net remover and cutter than I could ever dream of being. He made short work of the net while I took over in cradling Hawk in the blanket. While Bob sawed away at the net with a much sharper knife, I noticed how crazy a hawk's talons are. They are long and razor sharp, maybe even sharper than the Ginsu that freed Hawk from the net. Bob cut away all the netting and Hawk's thumb was restored to it's normal position. I held him in the blanket for a few moments, nervous about all the possibilities that may happen. I'd never released a hawk and had no clue about what it may do. I released Hawk, he flew away, he landed in a nearby tree and rested.

It was spectacular, magnificent and stressfully lovely. And they all lived happily ever after.

PS. this is a picture of a hawk, not Hawk. You can get this same picture from image googling the word "hawk."

2008-10-06T19:10:00.000-07:00

Yet another assignment. For this one we modernized a fairy tale or folk tale to make it better suit the times. On a side note, when we turned in our two assignments for the week (the other was a How to guide) we were told to post them in the discussion page. Meaning that the entire class will be able to read your assignments. The assignments are due today by midnight, that leaves just under five hours, and I am the only one to turn anything in. This is remarkable because I thought I was the biggest procrastinator in the world. I'm worried for my class mates.

There was an old sow with three little pigs. When the three little pigs turned eighteen years old the sow told them they had to move out saying, "I can't afford to have you three sitting here all day long and eating all of the food! Go and buy your own house and eat your own food!" So off the three little pigs went into the big scary world to make a living and buy their own homes and food. The first went to Wolfe Banking to get a loan to build his house. He told the man at the bank, "I am just moving out of my mother's house and would like to build a home for myself. I have no job and no way to pay you back, but may I please have a loan?" The loan officer smiled, showing a set of shiny and sharp teeth, and said, "Of course my little piggy, you will have thirty years to pay back your loan with no interest whatsoever. However after thirty years your interest will be 783%. But you should have it paid off by then." The little pig was delighted. He signed in all the appropriate places and took the loan and built his home. Thirty years later, after squandering his money away and not saving, he received a letter from Wolfe Banking. The letter said that the little f piggy's interest free grace period was up and that he owed 5 million dollars to the bank. The letter continued that they would seize and repossess and they would take his house back. The little pig said, "Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!" So they seized and they repossessed the piggy's home and gobbled him up in debt. The second little pig got a job in a deli. He earned the minimum wage and worked twenty five hours a week. Being a part time employee he did not qualify for medical benefits. And seeing that he earned only the minimum wage, he could not afford health insurance. One day when slicing the roast beef at work, he accidentally chopped his finger off. A co-worker was able to quickly retrieve the finger from the ground and place it in a cup of ice. The little piggy was taken to Blue Wolf Health Care where they were able to reattach the finger. One month later, the second little pig received a bill in the mail. It was from Blue Wolf Health Care and it said that he owed them 78 thousand dollars for reattaching his finger. The bill had a letter attached that read,"Mr. Pig we regret to inform you that unless you pay the above sum, we will be forced to seize and repossess your home." The pig was greatly angered by this and he wrote back to the Blue Wolf Health Care insurance company, "Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!" So the Blue Wolf Health Care seized and repossessed and gobbled the second little pig up in debt. The third little piggy moved to England and enjoyed the benefits of receiving socialized medical care. He worked at a good job and lived responsibly and never bought things that he could not afford. And he lived happily ever after.

A light hearted post for a light hearted day...

2008-10-03T14:06:00.000-07:00

The generous Lord above has finally decided to bless the dry and burnt lands and people of the greater Redding area with a light yet ample pouring out of the Heavens above this fine day. About fucking time. The rain is finally falling in Redding and everyone is quite happy about it. Of course, as is our nature, we will all be complaining about the non-stop rain in a matter of weeks, and the circle of life goes on. On a less cynical note, today has been quite magnificent. I walked the two little dachshund that I walk on weekday mornings and hopped onto my bike as the first few drops of rain bravely began leaping from their homes in the clouds above to join us here on the ground below. It was oh so very nice to ride my bike in nice cool weather. When I arrived home I decided it was time to get a bike that is more suited for rainy weather, namely something with some sort of a braking mechanism. So off I went to Village Cycle and purchased an old and rusty Schwinn from Andy. It is in surprisingly good condition and, as is the case with all old cheap low-end Schwinns, is also unfathomably heavy. But fixing up old bike projects are always fun and a good dirty way to pass the time. When I arrived home for the third time of the morning, Kelly and I prepared brunch, consisting of chili, corn bread and potatoes, and watched Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Now I am sitting in a corner at Sue's, the one that is a window at a 45 degree angle to the other walls, sipping on coffee sweetened with honey and staring out into the parking lot. The usual crew is working this afternoon, and I have to say it is always nice to talk to them. But before I get too carried away, which I already fear I have, I must stop myself from going off on too many tangents and getting to the point. I wanted to write this post about the video game Sing Star.

If you haven't ever played Sing Star, it is like Guitar Hero, or Dance Dance Revolution, in that things move across the screen and the player must react to the moving things at the appropriate time. With this game, pitch levels are moving across the screen and you have to sing at the right pitch to get points. Sounds simple? I thought so too. If you don't know this about me, and be prepared it may be a shocker, I am and have always been tone deaf. I know it is very surprising that a barely mediocre musician (If I can be called such) is tone deaf, but believe it I am. Ironically enough on the way over to the Gray's house, where we were to play the game, I told Kelly about my tone deafness. We joked about it some on the way there then we didn't think of it again until game time. When my turn came I had to sing a Duet battle with Kelly, who has a lovely voice and in-tune ear. The first note to the song that I had to sing flew out of my vocal chords and into the microphone like a baby bird taking it's first flight and falling wildly onto powerlines. I attempted to adjust my pitch and failed miserably, picture the baby bird twitching on the ground as sparks still fizzle out around it. I could not do it. My average score was "Lousy." Which was a huge self-confidence booster. The scoring system goes something like this: If you are good it will say things like perfect, great, right on, or you rule! If you are me it will say things like awful, terrible, you are the worst vocalist ever on the face of the Earth past or present, you fucking suck stop wasting our time and hurting the ears of those around you, and the worst possible score is simply, lousy. Which again was my average. The baby bird has died and it's birdy mother has been forced to move on and is thinking of building her next nest on the ground, away from powerlines. Needless to say, the lovely Kelly with the pristine voice and pure heart destroyed me in the battle. David tried to cheer me up by saying, between laughs, "You're harmonizing really well." I don't really believe him though and I will never sing again.

roses are red poems are difficult for me to write.

2008-09-29T14:24:00.000-07:00

Here we have another assignment from creative writing 101. We listed 25 fears or desires (I chose desires) and turned them into a poem. It took me a week to get around to even trying to write it, and a few hours, not to mention popsicles and pretzels dipped in nutella, to just poet up and write it. So here's my poem which I turned in with the title desires and such.

I want good coffee in the morning

and flavourful wine at night.

Rich food to sustain me

and creative music to entertain me.

I dream

of traveling the world.

living among foreigners

speaking their language and absorbing their culture.

I wish

I could spend more time being active

riding bikes

being out of doors

and playing the beautiful game.

I long

for days alone with my wife

and for a future of children with her.

For late nights talking with friends.

to learn my family history

and understand who I am

in light of the past.

to worship my God.

I crave

challenges that i will meet and overcome

a career that allows me to be fulfilled

the courage to stand for truth and beauty

and the humility to accept when I am wrong

Alex V. Ziesing

2008-09-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

This is one of those stories from my creative writing class that I mentioned in my previous post. For this assignment we were supposed to look up a name in the phonebook and write about them. We were supposed to list their basic info. first, such as gender, age, physical description, etc. I started just jotting down my characters basic information but quickly became carried away by the story. Which is why this story starts with his basic information. Also, I decided to change his first name, I think it was Roger or something like that, because I did not think it sounded Ukrainian enough.

On a side note, this story is loosely based off of my great grandfather. When he was a teenager he snuck onto a ship bound for New York. That's right, my family is a bunch of illegal immigrants! Hopefully the newly formed Department of Homeland Security will not deport us. Upon his arrival in New York he scraped a living by selling and collecting scrap metal (not in that order). But without any further ado, here is my little story

Alex V. Ziesing

male, 37 years old, scrap metal collector, tall,

skinny, stubble, short thin black hair, pale skin,

blue eyes. He is a Ukrainian immigrant.

He has no pets, friends or family in America. He

lives life alone and on average only speaks with one

person throughout his day, the man at the recycling

plant. He earns a living collecting scrap metal and

turning it in for cash. His apartment is in a slum of

the Glendale area in New York. It is populated mostly

by other immigrants from Albania and Poland. He does

not speak english or the languages of his neighbors,

so he can not speak to anyone. He has, however,

picked up bits of English from his brief encounters at

the recycling plant.

He does not own an automobile, his primary

transportation is an old brown bicycle which he can

attach a home made trailer to when he needs to haul

scrap metal.

His apartment is a bare and dingy studio. His bed is a

mattress that he found in the alley behind his house.

He only has one thin blanket to keep warm at night.

There is one light in his studio and is in the center

of the ceiling and can be flipped on and off by a

switch that is by the front door and makes a loud

"click" sound when it is flipped. To pass the time he

will flip the switch on and off. He does this for

hours on end late into the night. It is the only

thing he does beside collecting metal, eating and

sleeping. He likes to watch the light continue to

glow in the darkness even after he has switched it

off. When the light ceases to glow, he turns it back

on and then quickly off again.

His primary form of nourishment is potatoes which he

peels and boils whole. Sometimes if he has extra

money he will cook the potato with an onion. But

usually he will only eat a potato.

After he is tired of flipping his light switch he will

go to sleep, usually on his mattress, but often he

will fall asleep while staring at the light slowly

fading in the darkness and will spend the night

leaning against his front door. The nights that he

sleeps on his mattress he will not dream, he will only

close his eyes and then he will reopen them in the

morning. But the nights that he falls asleep propped

against his door he will always have vivid and

colorful dreams. He dreams of his childhood in

Odessa, a large city located on the coastline of the

Black sea. He dreams of going to the soccer games and

cheering for his favorite club, the Chornomets. He

had once aspired, as most young boys from Odessa did,

to be a star defender for the club. His dream, also

as most young boys from Odessa, would never become a

reality though. In his dreams he walks through the

streets of Odessa and looks at the old Mediterranean

style architecture or at the boxy cement buildings

that linger from the soviet occupation like black

cadillacs outside of a funeral. These old buildings

are often adorned with the soviet hammer and sickle,

the symbol that was supposed to promote hard work and

bring equality to those that gazed upon it, but

instead brought fear and oppression.

His dreams are not always pleasant though. Sometimes

he will have nightmares of the night the KGB came and

took his parents away. One of his neighbors had

reported his parents of being American sympathizers

and moles for the American government, a very serious

crime in any soviet country. His dreams will be

haunted with the sound of the door being broken down

and his mother screaming out in pain. He will hear

the sound of his mothers fingers being broken. He

will hear the sound of the crow bar smashing into his

fathers knee caps. And he will hear the sound of his

parents being dragged away while their cries of pain

and agony reach only his ears. In his dreams he

remembers feeling useless and unable to help his

parents. He recalls just lying in his bed, paralyzed

with fear, not being able to lift his finger. He

wakes from his nightmares that same way, paralyzed by

fear, the screams of his mother freshly calling out in

his head. It usually takes him a while to realize

that he is not in odessa, that he is safe in America

now. That his parents are not being tortured anymore,

they are by now and no doubt have been dead and put

out of their misery for several years.

After dreaming this he will switch his light on and

off and watch the bulb glowing orange in the center

of his room.

a return to a short lived fascination with blogging.

2008-09-25T22:31:00.000-07:00

Well, I originally started this blog, quite a while ago, hoping for it to be more myspaceish. I was one of those people that said, "Myspace is lame, if you want to talk to your friend just call them." After having that attitude for a good chunk of time the gnarled fingers of boredom began to creep in all around me, so, I decided to give blogging a try. After a couple of days in the blogging world, or blogosphere as I have heard it called, and realizing that nobody was looking at my blog, I decided that I would have to create a Myspace account. I typed in www.myspace.com with a sense of shame and embarrassment, and would not look back at my, albeit brief, experience as part of the blogging community for a very long time.

As you can no doubt see, my previous entries are comprised entirely of photographs, and some very witty captions to go along with them. This time around I will probably post my foolish ramblings about God knows what (maybe even about what God knows, if I feel like trying to tackle the infinite) and I also will likely be posting some stories that I am writing for my creative writing class. Hopefully you and I will be able to get something meaningful from these words that are and are soon to be spewing forth from my fingers and into the vast world wide web. Hasta Luego.

2006-02-26T17:26:00.000-08:00

what a view ay?

2006-02-24T23:15:00.000-08:00

Fences are made of many things... This one is made of wire and wood. I couldn't think of anything witty to say... Just to the left of this picture was a dangerous cliff that i could have fallen off of and gotten very badly injured, but i'm crazy.

2006-02-24T23:13:00.000-08:00

HAULIN' ASS!

2006-02-24T23:12:00.000-08:00

This is between highway 44 right by the Sacremento river. And there is a mountain over there.

2006-02-24T23:10:00.000-08:00

I was feeling a little depressed the other day, I don't know why, so i went on a bike ride and took some photographs. Here i am tearing this fierce half-pipi a new one! Bitchin!

2006-02-24T23:07:00.001-08:00

This is me lookin oh so fine at a gas station at 5:32 AM on my way back to Red-town from South California.

2006-02-24T23:07:00.000-08:00

Tryin' to fly.

2006-02-24T23:04:00.000-08:00

This is my special lady friend Kelly lookin' of so fine in some sunglasses.

2006-02-22T15:02:00.001-08:00

Still in the Backyard of Discontent

2006-02-22T15:02:00.000-08:00

This is Libby clenhing onto a chew toy and holding on for dear life. Libby is the most annoying dog in the world.

2006-02-22T15:00:00.000-08:00

More pictures of random things

2006-02-21T22:10:00.000-08:00

look at all those springs.

Kelly's backyard of discontent

2006-02-21T22:05:00.000-08:00

That's not where the tire goes!

2006-02-15T12:27:00.000-08:00

Hello, this is my first blog post... How profound