Two New Books

I recently finished reading two new books, both of which were very good and very different.

The first, "Grendel" by John Gardner, I picked up at Borders on a whim because I liked the cover. This is something I have never done before, but it worked out this time. Grendel is the mythical villian from "Beowulf", the thing that creeps in the dark and gobbels up entire groups of men in a single attack. This book is written from the view point of Grendel as he watches the stupid humans form their civilizations and opinions. Grendel knows they need him because humans need to have an antagonist to fear in the night. Likewise, he also knows that he needs the humans because "If I eat them all, I would be nobody because nobody would know of me." The book is very philosophical, funny, and trite as Grendel watches the different characters (heros, priests, women) evolve and learn about themselves, only to eat them for the fun of it. If you have not read Beowulf, you probably will have no idea what is going on.




The second book was "Fight Club". Most of you have probably seen the movie. Well the book is just as good (it was a great movie) and has a better ending. The book is pointfully violent, fast, and provoking as Chuck Palahnuik takes jab after jab at our pathetic material existence. The book does a better job than the movie at making you feel bad about worrying over your clothes, your furnature, and all those other removable objects. I read it in like two or three sittings so do yourself a favor and pick it up.





Next, I think I might check out the Space Oddyse series, at least the first three cause I've read the rest are just terrible.

My blog vs. My space

Blog Gods, please forgive me.

I started a myspace account. I had to, I had no choice. I was looking for my old track buddies, and I could not search without an account.

I still love my blog though. My space is like the boardwalk down the shore...overly bright, way too gaudy, and you see a bunch of people you really don't want to see. It seems each and every sight has one too many flashes and pointless surveys.

My blog is mine. Its my own little place away from all those spiky haired Italians who flock to Bellmar on summer weekends. Its a refuge from Jessica Simpson and Brad Pitt and their little baby. Its a place that doesn't unexpectedly start playing annoying pop songs and remains a safe haven from all those who wish to whore themselves out to anyone who wishes to see. I try to remain modest and honest on my blog, but not so on MySpace. Here is my profile from myspace:

What do you want to know? I was born on a cattle ranch in Northwest New Mexico. My parents owned and operated their own "ranch and relax" where they would "Tom Sawyer" city folk into doing all the hard work. Seems stupid, I know. Those "urban cowboys" paid a lot of money to brand oxen and milk dairy cows. All the while my mother, who claimed to be one third Aztec, and my father, who was of Hessian decent, became very rich and very fat. August 24th, 1986 was the first day neither of my parents could fit through the front barn door. I remember this because my dad got stuck and when my mom tried to push him out the barn crumbled and killed both of them. Reluctantly I was sent to live with my uncle in Baltimore. He lived in the slums off the bay and referred to himself as the original ghetto superstar. The man had no furniture and spent most of his days telling me how we would be better off had the English defeated the Americans in the Revolutionary War. I couldn't stand it. At the age of 12 I ran away. I thought running away would be more difficult, like someone would notice or care. No one did, no one ever does. It was as easy as moving one foot in front of the other, then repeat. Repeat. Repeat until I ended up in Philadelphia. Little did I know I was following in the steps of my mental mentor Dr. Ben Franklin. I lived in a shelter on Arch Street, it is still there today. My room consisted of three triple bunk beds,one lamp, and nine older black men. Needless to say I slept on the floor for two straight years, the best two years of my life. It was at this time that one of my roommates, Arthur Brocklin was his name, taught me to play the Jew's Harp. At the age of 18, with little else to do, I declared my self a professional Jew's Harp player, joined a band, and toured the country. I became good, real good, and as my fame grew more and more blue grass bands had me stand in on their studio recordings. In 1999 I was honored to play my harp with the Kansas City Orchestra in their rendition of "A tribute to David Grismond; A true blue grass legend". It was a great moment in my life. Fearing a draft I migrated to Canada in 2005, only to recently return to the U.S. to peruse a degree in chiropractic. I am currently holding my breath until I feel it safe to breath again.

Sometimes it is fun to make up stories about yourself. Dylan was famous for it, to the point no one knew what was true and what was a fable.

Thank you blog for returning me to myself.

Camping

I am a good camper. I think my best camping skill is gathering twigs and small sticks as kindling to start the fire. The key here is to look under trees. At first I was searching the ground in an open field only to discover that twigs do not migrate. Twigs are stationary. My other key to successful stick gathering is to do it during the day when the sun is out. Twigs do not glow in the dark. I also exceed at hot dog cooking over an open fire. I understand that different people have different methods of cooking their hot dog. There's the "put the hot dog directly in the flame" way, but this usually results in burnt hot dog skin and cold hot dog middles and should only be used if your hot dog is covered with bugs that need to be shock killed. A better method is to slowly turn your hot dog about 4 inches above the flames. This allows maximum heat absorption and hot dog deliciousness.

Rachelle, Sofee, and I went camping this weekend at Hickory Run State Park. Why don't I camp more often... or always. Camping is great cause you are never in a hurry. At home I always feel like I should hurry up and do the dishes or hurry up and walk the dog. When your camping there is no hurry because there is nothing else to do. Why would I hurry up and make a fire only to sit there and look at the fire. I wouldn't. I would take my time and construct a tepee of the twigs I gathered and slowly expand into bigger logs.

On Saturday morning we went for a 4 and a half hour hike through the woods, something like 12 miles. It was far, but fun. We took several breaks, but Sofee just wanted to keep going. She would all of a sudden sprint ahead of us to the point where she could not see us anymore, then sprint back. Apparently dogs do not tire.