Adventures in America

Lost Post

2006-05-03T22:04:00.000-04:00

I realized I forgot to post this.... it has been written for a long while...

It was an early morning, and the frost on my windshield never quite faded with the weak winter morning sun. I had packed my water, a fleece, and a camera. If I was going to sacrifice my body to my youth, I wanted it in both print and video form.

I hitched a ride with Jon, fumbling with the video camera the whole way. And recording Jess’s legendary jalapeno Mc Donald’s bathroom shit.

It was glorious.

It was far from my mind when I rode up the ramp I wouldn’t have been able to get past just two hours earlier. It had been a slow start, but now that I could mount the burms, I felt a little confidence. And I hadn’t gotten hurt yet… I was still counting on it.

I knew it was time for the test. What kind of mettle was I made out of if I could drive two hours and ride around with out ever doing anything that was really outside my comfort zone. Besides, what could happen, it was foam, right?

When I started pedaling down the first ramp to make it up the second, I wasn’t thinking about what would happen when I crested the ramp. I wasn’t thinking of how to hold the bike, or to get more air. I couldn’t. I had never done anything of the sort before. Melissas don’t like to fly through the air all willy-nilly, but that’s just what I did.

Thank you Jess.

Blog.

2006-03-19T00:12:00.000-05:00

Blog. Bloggity blog blog blog.

Where have all the good bloggers gone?

2006-03-02T21:51:00.000-05:00

Where have all the good bloggers gone? Not that I 'm helping the situation out any, and I know many of us are sitting on some cool happenings as I type, but is there nothing else out there? Are we all truely that sad? May actual adventures follow.

Outta Gas?

2006-01-30T20:01:00.000-05:00

Well here we are crusing down the Ohio Turnpike headed to Ray's. Cleveland here we come.... Or are we. Im driving a huge beast of a trailer behind a vehical which shouldnt be towing it. Its the Aztec versus the fuel gauge. As we come up on a service center i look down and see 1/4 tank. We got enough. So we venture on and the needle is falling at a visuable rate. Ding. The light comes on. Ok we'll make it to the next one. 10, 15, 20 minutes, it starts to become an eternity. I get behind a semi to draft and save as much as I can. We start to roll through some gradual hills and i feel the engine sputter. Back on the gas again the road flattens out and we see the next station in 6miles. now i dont honestly think we are going to make it but like i have a chioce. " Are we gonna make it??" comes the voices from the back. "Dont make me turn this Damn!! vehical around into on coming traffic!!!" ok we have an exit in 1 mile and the station in 4 miles. Ok.... "No Service This Exit" reads the sign. Ok here we go. Sputter Sputter....... the exit ramp..... sputter sputter, which way to the pumps, sputter sputter.....

Where have all the adventures gone?

2006-01-26T01:40:00.000-05:00

This weekend ought to prove to be an adventurous one. I'm hoping that many may have something to write. If not then I'll create something to write the following weekend. Anyways....

Here's how i picture it going

[Matt:] Hey bra, how we doin' man?
[Karl:] All right.
[Matt:] It's been a while man, life's so rad!
This band's my favorite man, don't ya love 'em?
[Karl:] Yeah.
[Matt:] Aw man, you want a beer?
[Karl:] All right.
[Matt:] Aw man, this is the best. I'm so glad we're all
back together and stuff.
This is great, man.
[Karl:] Yeah.
[Matt:] Hey, did you know about the party after the show?
[Karl:] Yeah.
[Matt:] Aw man, it's gonna be the best, I'm so stoked!
Take it easy bra'.

A box of wine or a can of cheese anyone?

2006-01-22T22:51:00.000-05:00

I had been on the road for what seemed like ages. I checked the clock-stereo. Damn, a full seven minutes already. The drive was the worst. Slowly the incandescent lights were replaced by the gritty, grimy glitz of neon. On the distance I spotted it. The lights blinked fast and slow, red, blue, and orange. I had made it to the landmark, as famous as the neon cowboy from that other strip – It was the signpost at the Ypsi-Arbor Bowl. I had finally hit the big-time.

Down the street I was an expected VIP at a posh and exclusive residence. I knew the wine list would be extensive, if not impressive – and my instincts weren’t off. The night started on a wild note: Hawaiian Blue Wine. This place was high class up to its arm-pits.

They even borrowed wine glasses for the occasion. Women battled the men in the ultimate gamble – and won on account of that illustrious celeb Mr. Tom Cruise. We kicked him to the curb and won our liberation; we ate our weight in cheese and cinnamon rolls. I don’t kid about these serious matters; like I said – it was one classy affair.

I ended the night with that damn interminable drive home, a few pounds heavier, a lot sleepier, and with the scent of freshly sprung dog (and Jess) farts lining my nostrils. Like all good hosts, I was left with a memento from the night.

Calories galore...

2006-01-20T22:06:00.000-05:00

He set off on a mission. One that would last only 24 hours of his young life. He was going to test the limits of his own body.

Jess wanted to see how many calories he could eat in a 24 hour period. He started around 10:30 thursday night, and now, at 10:00 friday night, I fear his journey has come to an end.

I saw him drink a Red Bull and a 'Mind Fuel' energy drink, yet he is fast asleep.

With only half an hour left, I don't think he'll get to those brownies I made him. Anyone coming tomorrow, it will now be a Wine and Cheese and Brownie party.

UPDATE: I was wrong, he had until 11:30, and he's awake, who knows how this will turn out...

Oh, and I have everything he ate in my diet analysis program from my nutrition class, it won't know what to think.

Adventure are sure to come.

2006-01-19T21:53:00.000-05:00

This is more of a prediction of adventures and stories to come......

On a nice warm January night (just like tonight) many people gather at the headquarters for some festivities......
Wine and cheese is abundent and flows like the mane of the beast. Topics are random and very ill thought out, and yet everyone enjoys the conversation. I see someone getting brusied and battered.... Oh wait, it's just Matt....... An now for some flames. I see big flames, oh boy Jon just lost a rib. And a very attractive female, who also happens to be single. And as for me...... Cheese, wine....... and my shear ignorance of the obvious. Lets see what happens.....

Melissa in disguise

2006-01-17T14:17:00.000-05:00

My most recent adventure was yesterday when I had to refer to young Melissa repeatedly in order to explain my past and current behavior as well as the future possible/suggested behavior of others. Sitting with a young girl, I was asked what possible purpose could be served by passing on reams of historical data to a new coach. It was a struggle just to decide where to begin my response. Oh, I knew I would use a blatant example of Melissa, but then my mind wandered and settled on wondering what Melissa would think of me giving away reams of data that, were afterall, about her and would perhaps someday be reinterpreted by someone who never met her. Also, the passing of the data was a clear closing of a door and Melissa already explained her reservations about that. But, of course, with all her other current tribulations, would this even factor in? Naw. So I again, for the hundreth time, (each one more exciting the the previous) told the young lady the tale of a simultaneously post and pre-CP Melissa valiantly attempting a heroic run through Byram Park (Linden) only to come up a breath short (Melissa, not me). Complete with actual photos (finish line pic with time clock showing included in the set!) , finish results, comparisons, and other material I told a riveting story about life, love, loyalty, and all else that is holy and good. The young lass to whom I was speaking, was not moved and simply replied "Yea, I know, but why would the new coach want this". Perhaps subconsciously, she even went so far as to leave the material sitting on my table when she left instead of delivering it.
Before that, I just couldn't find Jon despite calls to his home and multiple hours at his work.

For the record, I kept pics, videos and anything else that matters, but passed on all official records of contests.

A story because I can't sleep

2006-01-14T03:18:00.000-05:00

Hope. Is like a chronic injury. Pounding on it day after day causes it to hurt even when I don’t think I am using it. Hope. Makes me smile and then cry.
I promised someone something ages ago. Nerve-wracking to get things going again. Somehow I found myself driving north on the highway that night during the snowstorm that always follows the January Thaw. That morning I saw my neighbor running in cotton terry baby-blue shorts. She waved to me as I got the paper from the bin at the front porch.
I walked back up through the hall that was much too warm since the weather had taken to acting up over the past week. I set the paper down on my counter and looked at the small apartment. Boxes lined the walls – but I had managed to unpack the kitchen. Instead of utilizing the work, I settled on a bowl of cereal before realizing I didn’t have any milk.
Water and cereal make for a bad start to any day. I had moved in the afternoon before and was awed to see that I managed to pack up as many boxes as I did. I never realized there was so much that I had been living without the past year.
The best way to get over something is to go abroad. At least it worked in a movie I saw – several actually. In my case it only served as a distraction. The something found me, indirectly, after I got back to the states.
A postcard had managed its way to my parent’s house. I got it last week. Six months after it was sent. There wasn’t anything particularly important about it, except that somewhere in-between the buildings that lined the old down town I found an opportunity.
It was a chance I never took when I should have. Life stops and restarts, resets and reasserts itself. After a year abroad, I finally understood that it was ok for me to, as well.
Thinking about the postcard, I dug through a box marked “College” and dragged the dusty book out. It was all I had left, and I felt like trading it in.
So that day I left my boxes half opened and unemptied to make an unexpected trip. His parents were shocked that he should have a visitor here. He only showed up for holidays anymore. His mother was hesitant to give out an address, she didn’t recognize me after all; we only met once anyway.
I started on the road after lunch and ended up visiting with an old friend along the way. She smiled at me. Who wouldn’t at such a long-shot? Four hours is a bit much to drive, and a lot of pressure for a book I could have left with his mother. When I left my friend, with promises that I would fill her in on the story, we had both neglected to discuss anything that had happened in the long year we had been apart. Such is hope. It clouds vision too.
But after just a few minutes the snow was rolling and dancing across the highway. Things had turned slick in the time I had been off the road, and the trees – so vulnerable at the thought of spring – had to take hold and bear the freeze. Those that bloomed too early faced a tough spring, and those that were too brittle had limbs all over the road.
Cars moved like slow, white cattle and three hours soon stretched into five. I looked over at the book, still dusty except for my finger-marks, and wondered what was worth this. How would he view this – crazy is how. Crazy was how I felt. I had been back for just over a week. I was barely over the jet-lag, and the temperature change was killing me. At least I would have a nice tan when I met him.
I looked down at the address his mother had scrawled. By now she would have called her son. Would he know it was me? Perhaps he would assume I’d mail the book. Maybe he would imagine I’d drive up at some point – but not that very day.
The great thing about unemployment is that time isn’t a commodity. It is, instead, just a concept of how you divide the world. Who cares about five or six hours (even if they turn into half a day or longer), it was a wild exciting chance to take. My once-in-a-lifetime moment. I was making up for something I should have done long ago, something sensibility and society frowned on.

Frown on.
I’ll smile until it is time to join society in that endeavor.
The directions indicated a right turn, but really it turned out to be a left. I found a place to park the icicled car. It dropped a little slush as I slammed the red door.
I brushed off the dust from its jacket with my furry gloves as I made my way to the entranceway. What if he wasn’t home? I would have to drive back empty handed. But no – I wouldn’t do that. I would have to wait it out somewhere, until he got back. I began to think if there was anyone I knew up here. I remembered one person, but I wasn’t sure if I had her phone number anymore. I quieted my thoughts, tried to brush away my doubts, and walked to the doorway.
They had buzzers. I pressed number five. “Hello?” I recognized his voice over the cracking speaker.

Hello all...

2006-01-10T22:58:00.000-05:00

On my own I don't have much adventure in my life. I'm a shy and fairly cautious person. Who would have known that dating Doug would change all that? Mainly because of the people he knows, because as we all know, he's not much better than me on the whole exciting thing.

And as much verbal abuse as I suffer with my guys, I'll give them this. They make my life more exciting. Thursday is my favorite day, because most thursdays we all hang out. Matt gets beaten on, I get stressed, ahh good times...

Thanks guys.

...and don't let this go to your head, or see it as a reason to try harder to piss me off. Believe me, you're doing a fine job as is ;-)

The Places I call Home (Part I)

2006-01-10T00:16:00.000-05:00

My parents moved away from all their friends to the country – a place and loneliness for which neither was really prepared – just for eight acres of privacy and a decent school system for my brother and myself. It seemed so easy for them, but I know it couldn’t have been. They are much happier in their new suburban house – only half mile from the nearest grocery and five feet from their neighbors on either side.
The home of our childhood will never really live again, but we may dream (corny huh?). Forever I’ll be guided by the snow forts my brother and I used to make at the bottom of the hill our house guarded. And the pain of coming in with nearly frost-bitten toes because the boots I wore weren’t really made for playing out in the snow that long will never be entirely unpleasant.
I’ll always remember the small baseball diamond my brother, my best friend, and I created every summer – even though two sides rose up and it was really a baseball bowl. Catching snakes with my mother when I was only four and she was young enough to chase them around with me will always be my first reptilian experience. And the summers then were filled with the two of us in our bathing suits gardening with our backs to the hot sun while my father turned into a lobster trying to mow all the green. She held the tools of determination, and I mimicked and played with worms that I wouldn’t touch.

(I'll continue soon. In the meantime, visit the wikipedia entry for Brandon Township, home to the village of Ortonville)

Melissa Story #1

2006-01-07T23:54:00.000-05:00

My dear Melissa seems to have some trouble recounting her adventures, so I've been enlisted to remind her of the times, both good and bad, exciting and interesting, moving and disturbing, that we have shared together.
Remember thusly, good friend, when we didst sail from Londontown for to reach The New World, only to be waylayed, midflight, by a band of surly knaves who called themselves Pirates? Well we doth realized that they were not much more than lads, and we won their trust and commandiered their ship for mother England! What a joy, I do tell you now, were those days at sea, nary a foul storm afoot, plundering and murdering for little more than the joy of the thing, and to think! We recieved payment as reward! Did not we but keep too much booty for ourselves, for the youngfolk quickly threw us offboard and left us floating in the ocean with nothing but two oars, six loaves of bread (out of the eight we did carry on the scooner at the time), five legs of mutton, two gamecocks, a cask or three of ale, a barrel of drinking water, twelve lemons (for the scurvey, those dears, never forgetting even the scurvey) and a compass. Well how fast that all did go! So quickly was it but you and I, alone on that blue expanse....
I shall continue later, for my pen is tired and this old brain cannot think as it once did.

Broke - I'm Just Broke, Oh and There Was a Mountain

2006-01-07T00:26:00.000-05:00

It all happened so quickly. We were standing outside in the cold, waiting to purchase our tickets for “Broke-back Mountain” at the Michigan Theater. We got in, and my housemate, Heidi (who is a popcorn fiend!) smelled the buttery goodness and was already plotting. “We should buy some! Do you want to go in together?”

Well, since the place was so packed we grabbed some seats. After getting comfortable, she asked again. How could I say no to that face? It was a split decision. I put in my money, and ended up with gooey buttery popcorn goodness. Oh and the movie was good too.

new years in a few words or less

2006-01-07T00:18:00.000-05:00

People where there( Melissa, Jess, Matt/Doug, the Simmer, Shaina, and me). Some drank( all but Doug). All played pool( all). I got a black eye( me). Three of us made it through a cat door( Jon, Matt, and Jess), only one lost pants( Jess). And at some point their was sleeping( all). Now that I have wasted more of your time I can only say ha ha ha ha ha ha( Jon).

Adventures in Dating

2006-01-04T23:06:00.000-05:00

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Adventure undefined

2006-01-02T23:29:00.000-05:00

When one defines an adventure, isn't one defining ones self? An adventure to one may not be an adventure to another... So there for an adventure is more a state of mind rather than and actual occurance. When defined, an adventure can lead to may topics. Many of which is the unusual. The unusual is something that intrigues us all. We fear, or are at least skeptical of things that are not familiar to us. There are how ever some that lack this fear or skeptisim, and for those people a state of mind becomes an adventure. I would be lying if I claimed I did not fear the unusal. But its the unusal that makes our adventure for us. So if im defining an adventure I've probably done something to scare myself stupid and survived an other wise meaningless state of mind. So does that mean that I fear or am skeptical of what I feel I'm capiable of?

Bob Dole am Bob Dole.

2006-01-01T22:37:00.000-05:00

Hi Bob Dole am Bob Dole. Bob Dole enjoy Viagra, pace makers, hookers on wednesdays, and the ocasional red pen when I feel daring. Bob Dole commends running and wishes Bob Dole could run too, but Bob Dole right side doesn't work so good. Bob Dole could continue to ramble in third person, but Bob Dole needs to go do other meaningless things. So Bob Dole will leave you with this thirty minute exit speach on why Bob Dole should be president. Bob Dole would make a good president. Bob Dole would have just stabbed Sadamn in the head with Bob Dole's pen and avoided this whole war thing. Bob Dole would have talked the huricanes into hitting Cuba instead. Bob Dole would fix race relations by refering to everyone in third person, because it always worked for Bob Dole. Bob Dole would also never embarass the country by using words such as I, me, my, or we, when Bob Dole, or Bob Dole and America could be used instead. The economy would flourish durring Bob Dole's administration, because there is no I in economy. Finally most important if Bob Dole were president every man, woman, and child in America would eat pinapple, and who doesn't like pinapple? Besides who would want that b*tch from NY when you could have a Bob Dole as your president.
Thank you, and remember, Bob Dole/Ronald Regan '08.
-Bob Dole

They've Got Soles!

2005-12-31T19:41:00.000-05:00

It was a sad moment… I hated to get rid of a shoe, and what I was doing wasn’t much better; mutilation didn’t strike me as recycling. Now, I knew that I probably would never wear this shoe again. It was one of the old ones that had hidden in a closet for a couple of years, only to reappear when I returned home without my current pair. They got all excited as I laced them up tight, and we went a few easy miles together, enjoying the sunshine.
It was betrayal to go in like a phony surgeon. It wasn’t anything I liked doing, but at least I wasn’t throwing them out. And I knew that in the next couple of years, as my visits home grew fewer – that eventually my mom would find this pair and toss them too. That made me feel a bit better about the procedure.
See, I had been running for about two weeks, and my ankle killed, even when I wasn’t running anymore. My old coach helped me diagnose the situation, and was the one to recommend this treatment, “What you need to do is take the pad from an old shoe and cut it in half, then insert it into this one here.” It sounded simple enough, and I was willing to do it in order to make the pain subside. It had even been adding time to my default pace – I wasn’t going to let that happen for much longer.
It was clear, it was the shoe or me, and well, self-preservation is a powerful motivator. Or else I dare say I wouldn’t ever have turned against my old shoe like that. We went way back to junior year of high school. That shoe took me though some great miles, and we ran with some great friends.
But there I sat, legs crossed on the floor by the closet, the scissors in my hand. I wondered if this would work. So I cut. It was easy enough. When I was done, there were two beings, and it looked like they sorely missed the other. I sighed and took the right half into the other room. Then I made the transplant, inserting it into my current shoe. It was done. Now all that was left to take care of was my coordination… an adventure that I fear will take many more winters to fix….

another day at the depot

2005-12-30T23:13:00.000-05:00

So am at work the other day, like I always am, when somebody asks me to cut a piece of tile. This is no big deal because this is one of the things that I do and it’s easy. So I head off to the back room, the janitors closet, to cut the tile. When I go to plug in the cord I find it in a bucket of water. At this point I have two thoughts. 1) This could be fun and 2) I wish I had a witness for all that is about to happen. So I take the cord out of the water, quickly fling it about to dry it off, and plug it in. now of all the endless possibilities that could have happened what is it that you suppose actually happened? Well I’ll tell you. Nothing. What a disappointment. I wanted fire works. So I cut the tile and forget about all that has just occurred. Once I’m done I have to clean up so I reach down to unplug the saw, not remembering anything about water, electricity, or fire works. So I lean forward, touch the plug and assume that my arm just got a bad cramp and fell asleep. Now aside from all of the time where I call myself a genius, I must say that I am not always the brightest of persons. At this point a smart person would let go of the plug, but not me. After a while, couple of seconds, minutes, hours, I let go then it all comes back to me and I know what has just transpired. So I hive the customer the tile back and quickly tell every one I know the cool stuff that just happened. Now that y'all have just wasted away part of your life reading this don't you feel good? Who’s the not so bright one now? Ha ha ha. I'm sure that you can imagine what other stupid stories that I have yet to tell, or can you?

Blog Superstar

2005-12-29T23:03:00.000-05:00

This is my first post on a thing like this. And all i have to say is.. I wanna be a Blog Superstar.... I want people to flock to my writings, and to live by my words. Comments galore..... But can this really happen? Well i guess i have to write something compeling to get you coming back now don't i? Or maybe by a simple word of wisdom will i draw you in like the perfect hook at the end of an otherwise meaningless chorus. I could be poetic, maybe prophetic, but most likely ill just be pathetic. But once again... thats for you to decide. Maybe the way i lay the words down as my fingers tap on the keys to the board of this box. Or yet again maybe not..... Like some of the most memorable songs ever written I could just repeat the same phrase over and over till it sticks like peanut butter to my dogs mouth, but no... Ill just drag on like the songs that adorne the middle of a cd to fill space. Never quite making the playlist of norm and not sad enough to make the list of the depressed. So here i leave you with the thoughts of "are these writings worth the adventure of reading"........

Day One

2005-12-26T14:41:00.000-05:00

Well, I’ve done it. I’ve officially become a blogger… eww. I know. But I like to write about myself, and I think that this is the best (and probably least annoying) way to do that whenever I want. No adventures yet – the hour since this blog’s inception have been, well, kinda tied to this computer.

Fear not! Adventure knocks down my door day and night, it knows no curfew…