eateggs

“Yeah. I’m not in to sports. If I found out that I had athlete’s foot, I’d think that’s not my fuckin’ foot!” -Mitch Hedberg

1) Ben. Harper. Was. Amazing.

It’s quite disappointing how few people are aquanited with his music, given his exceeding talent, charisma and musical diversity.

If America didn’t suck, Jessica Simpson would be unheard of, and Harper would be an idol.

The show was at the Fillmore in Denver. I went to the show with Sagar and Carter, and enjoyed some P.F. Chang’s along the way. Our service was exceptionally poor, but the food was as good as usual. Mmm.

Although I’m about to fall asleep on my desk right now, it was so very very worthwhile.

2) It rained like crazy this afternoon while I was working. There’s just something wonderful about getting drenched in a Wyoming thunderstorm. It hardly seemed like Wyoming, really– the thick, heavy drops of rain, the mud, the sound of gutters flooding and the thousand tiny puddles jumping and dancing in the perfection of the gray and the wet heavens-come-to-earth.

clean, refreshing, somehow full of life

3) There’s something wonderful about a cup of hot chocolate and a dry shirt after being drenched by a heavy rain.

4) The RSS feed thing should be squared away. My host is being great about the whole thing, so the feed should be back up before you read this.

Ya-hey.

1) My mom makes the world’s BEST strawberry-rhubarb pie. Hands down.

2) My mom also believe that Harry Potter books are bad because they discuss sorcery.

3) You win some, you lose some.

4) Right now, I’m losing. Apparently, my host doesn’t allow RSS feeds to be run. For the time being, my RSS feed is dead. It will be back up as soon as 1) I get authorization from my host to re-enable it or 2) barring that, I switch to a host that allows RSS feeds.

5) Ug. Tylonal, kick in faster!

Ya-hey.

Well, I’m not actually counting the days. Well, maybe I am. Regardless, the post title comes from the Collective Soul song, not from my state of mind. Even if I am counting the days. Right-o.

As it happens, I’m listening to Collective Soul very quietly, mostly because I can’t get my door closed because there’s too much stuff in the way. My room is really a most amazing mess right now. I can’t hardly see the floor. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight, because my bed is covered in all sorts of stuff, and there isn’t space on the floor for the stuff on my bed. Maybe I can sleep on top of it.

Of course, however I sleep, I’ll probably sleep better than I did last night. For some reason, I decided (while camping out w/ Sagar in Veadeawoo) that I would sleep under the stars, with an old army blanket as my only protection against the elements. Fortunately, it didn’t rain, but it was a long and cold night just the same. For the record, sleeping out under the stars is overrated. There is, in fact, a reason they sell tents.

But yeah. So Sagar, his little brother and I got up at like 6:00AM and climbed for a few hours out in Veadeawoo. Being on real rocks is both surprisingly similar and surprisingly different from the sport-gym experience that I’ve been accustomed to. It’s a good time, regardless.

I’ve been considering becoming Buddhist.

Not really. Well, the thought did cross my mind, but only for a brief moment. Go figure.

Montana was wonderful, albeit entirely too short. I love the country, and I love the people. I find myself a little disconcerted about the lack of sales tax, but somehow the mountains and sky make up for it…

It was good to see my brother, his wife, and my sister for a few days. Lord knows it’s going to be long enough until the next opportunity to see both of my siblings at the same time.

On Tuesday we hiked up to Inspiration Point at Jenny Lake. At the point, there was a multitude of friendly and hungry chipmunks. Fortunately for them, we happened to have a few extra Cheese-Its to share. I managed to sneak a video clip, which you can see here: eateggs.com/upload/chipmunk.avi (12mb avi– 56k== your life sucks as much as mine).

After Inspiration Point, my brother and I continued up the trail to Solitude Lake (9000 ft), which was just high enough for there to still be plenty of snow around.

Don’t be deceived by Brian’s bare-chestedness. Instead, realize that he’s standing in snow, and the snow submerged in the water isn’t melting.

Not to be outdone by Brian, I found myself wading out to the to this island in the middle:

For those of you who have never been in sub-40 degree mountain water, the most noticeable effect of the cold is that it becomes difficult to breathe because your chest is contracting.

Anyhow. We made it to the island, and jumped off the other side where it was a little more deep. And good god– talk about COLD!

All in all, though, I think the Solitude Lake trip was prolly the highlight of the trip (well, Montana adventures being in a league of their own…). It was a 18.5mi hike, round-trip.

There was also an enjoyable white-water raft trip, the obligatory trip through Yellowstone to see Old Faithful, Mammoth Springs, etc.

And then it was over. And now I’m back at home, and not looking forward to waking up at 6:00AM tomorrow morning to go move dirt. But such is life.

Well… my apologies that this post has been entirely devoid of humor (chipmunk aside, I suppose), humanity or wit. I’ll do better next time.

In the mean time, I’m going to try to find a place to sleep. Whoo!

Six? Hmm. Just a guess.

So. Officially, I’m doing “landscaping” for Heartland Homes. What I’m quicking learning, however, is that landscaping is nothing but a fancy term for moving dirt. Lots of dirt. And you just keep moving it until things look good. Sometimes you add some rocks on top, or put some grass on top of your dirt, but in general it’s just a lot of moving dirt.

I don’t mind, of course– I must admit that I have quite the tan going on– moving dirt leaves me with plenty of time to think. Think about what, you might ask?

Well, about things like this: moving dirt allows me to get closer to the “natural world.” For example: animals have been moving dirt for thousands and thousands of years. Take the prairie dog, for example: the prairie dog moves lots and lots of dirt. And I move lots and lots of dirt. Ergo, the prairie dog and I have something in common, do we not?

Of course, a prairie dog also has a brain the size of a raisen, but that’s beside the point. No, rather, that is the point. But I digress.

War of the Worlds, for a disaster movie, was quite spectacular. The characters were generally clichéd and poorly developed, the script was riddled with unexplained plot holes, and the acting certainly won’t bring the film any Oscar nominations. That being said, Spielberg delivers another film that merits placement alongside his other summer blockbusters. Typical of Spielberg, the film is absolutely immense, with (literally) thousands of extras (real people, not CG characters) on screen at times. The special effects are nearly seemless, and John William’s score is… composed and conducted by John Williams. Need I say more?

Although Spielberg’s tallent for placing thousands of characters on the screen at the same time shown more than his tallent for creating engaging or provocative films, there still were, none the less, several scenes that me pulled out on the edge of my seat, and breathing a sigh of relief with Cruise at their conclusion.

Although certainly not the best film of the summer, it was well worth my $7 and two hours. My advice? Go. Bring some friends. Have fun. And remember to sneak your food into the theatre so as not to support your local Caramike theatre. =)

In the mean time, I’m headed outside to go enjoy the last of the sunshower that has graced my house and the surrounding land. I love the sound of the rain as it hits the landscaping fabric that lines our rows of trees…

Chester and I danced tonight. And as we did, the world was beautiful and loved.

I loved Chester, if only for his grace and poise– the flowing gait of a well-bred English Setter. We danced through the valley, and I loved its air, if only for being cool and full of the smell of summer. We danced on a hill, and I loved the its air, if only for being warm again and full of Wyoming’s summer sunset. I loved the wind at my back, pushing me on. Encouraging me. I loved the wind in my face, filling my hair, if only for making me fight for that last half mile. Challenging me. Hearing the quiet dirt roads, the waving neighbors, the laughing children, the barking dogs, the silently decaying cars, parked on front lawns. The llamas and the rolling, cow-spotted prairie, stretching greenly to infinity and the Rocky Mountains beyond…

I saw the last colors of the running sun, handing off the baton of yet another summer day to the chasing moon. Chester saw a rabbit. He chased the rabbit while I chased the sun, until the leash pulled us stumbling together. And we danced. Chester changed his mind and ran toward home, as hard as I ran away. I braced my arm, and we collided apart. We danced. Sometimes in step, sometimes stepping on each other. Each step without direction, but each step with the assurance that we were meant to dance. And that was enough.

And back home. Chester is locked up for the night. My guitar is strung and tuned and there’s a song welling up inside me. It beckons to me, to us… shall we?