Why we are doomed as a species.

So today there is an article in the New York Times about rich New Yorkers that have bought houses in the woods in Connecticut for weekend getaways, but they are scared out there when it gets dark - seriously! So they spend thousands of dollars to put in security systems, extensive outdoor motion lighting, and god knows what other foolish toys that was originally designed by the military and have now been normalized for its paranoid citizenry.

SO first of all, don't complain about the dark and coyotes and moose when you have spent a million dollars on some luxury cabin in the woods. It's the woods damnit. And the minute you take away any of those beautiful wild unregulated things, it stops being the woods. And secondly, if that is what you want, please for your sake and ours, stay at home on the 50th floor of whatever high-rise you live in, shut your silver spoon choked mouths, and buy some designer purse to put your small decorative dog and taser in while you shop for black turtlenecks and trendy glasses. Leave the wild places for the rest of us, who aren't permanently plugged into an ipod or blow dryer and relish the chaos of nature and the sounds of a world that has never been ours. Nor by the evidence of our treatment of this world, should it ever be.

So sad.

This picture care of Reuters, taken along the Del Dios Highway somewhere in southern California.

Stories from the über-secret sect of boys' weekend.

Every year, me and some guy friends get together at a cabin along the Greenbrier River in the mountains of West Virginia. It's always a bunch of beer, games, competition, and unruliness, complicated by sensitive men, who are mostly married, can cook quite well and look good in flannel. The cabin was built by our friend Micheal and many others out of straw and old timbers, and we like to think that there is never a better time than the long fall weekend that we gather to pretend that we can still play sports like we used to. This year I actually took a first-aid kit and we actually used it. There is much secrecy that surrounds such gatherings and I certainly won't divulge all of the details now, but I have prepared a little photo essay on boys' weekend. This really is the first look into what has previously been kept under tight wraps, so count yourselves lucky to see this...

The top of the lane, where we drank a couple beers waiting for Nick and his four wheel drive to transport us to the "Brier Patch".

The Brier Patch.

Trent on the banjo. Nate and Andrew taking it in.

First we had to mow down the ball field. Andy started us off.

Then we had to sit and drink some more beer.

This is an action shot of Neil hitting a real-live-whiffle-ball- home-run-but-it-depends-on-where-we-drew-the-line-I-guess.

We also played a very competitive game of frisbee golf, while the courageous Phil kept us stocked on beer. This is Nick looking pensively at Hole 7.

Andrew and his own personal style of throwing the disc. (Andrew also makes super cool t-shirts. You should check them out.)

Look how Michael and Phil cook so tenderly while wearing Carharts.

This is how sensitive cabin going men like us eat. (See me sleeping on the couch to the left? I was on breakfast duty.)

Nick enjoying himself. We did lots of this. Enjoying ourselves, not necessarily pointing.

Michael, Phil, and the sunset.

Michael, Nate, Trent.
Phil, Andy, Neil.
Nick, me, Andrew.

Beware Tucson bicyclists!!

As of early this morning, there is a gang of motorcycle cops pulling over bicycle riders mostly along University Boulevard between Sixth Ave and Park Ave. SO BEWARE!! There have been heaps of bogus tickets given out by overly ambitious, blowhard cops who have decided to target bike riders. Spread the word and be more mindful of stopping and signaling and everything else. If you or someone else gets pulled over, there is a good bike lawyer, Erik Ryberg. He has an informational blog www.tucsonbikelawyer.com and his number is 520.622.3333. Personally, from my completely non-lawyerly position I would tell everyone to plead not-guilty and challenge all these tickets.

AND everyone should show up tonight, Tuesday, 8pm at Old Main for the community bike ride. The last few weeks there have been over 200 folks from all over Tucson riding together on a different route every Tuesday. ALSO, there will be a Tucson Critical Mass bike ride this Friday eve, at 6pm leaving from El Presidio Park, and then every last Friday of each month.


"A patriot must always be ready to defend his [sic] country from his [sic] government." - Edward Abbey

H2O.

Didn't someone recently say that the next world war would be over water? I sure hope it doesn't get confused with this current war over oil...

Drought-Stricken South Facing Tough Choices (NY Times)...

Patagonia, Arizona.

This weekend, Mari, Megan, and I went down to the Native Seeds farm in Patagonia, Arizona (south of Tucson near the Mexico border). It was the fall harvest "festival" which basically means that we are supposed to feel good about helping to harvest the corn and stomp the beans, and Native Seeds gets to feel good about us giving them free labor. But since Mari used to work there and my brother, Chris still does, we thought it would be nice to go down and spend the morning shucking corn and brushing ear wigs from our shoulders to be rewarded by an unknown quality of potluck lunch. Also, we happen to think that Native Seeds is a pretty vital organization in the face of mono-culture crops and genetically modified seeds with all sorts of craziness and undetermined dangers. On top of all of that, it was a perfect reason to squeeze into my beat-up, sometimes running, and always dirty pickup truck and take an hour long cruise south through the Sonoran Desert to a 60 acre farm with a perfect view of Mt. Wrightson in the Santa Rita mountain range. It was a good opportunity to give my brother a hard time and throw dried up, mice eaten, corn cobs at each other while talking about how we were clearly the best volunteers at the Native Seeds harvest festival.

The "indispensable" gator at the farm.

Seed collection system.

Post fetish #1.

A critical mass of gourds.

Post fetish #2, with Mt. Wrightson in the back left.

Here comes the praying mantis!

This Praying Mantis was outside our kitchen door yesterday morning. I think it was after our compost bucket. Riley thought we should put it on Mari's pillow, which I think would have been confusing and painful for everyone involved in that endeavor, and without a doubt end oh so badly. Needless to say the Praying Mantis was left to its own shifty motions and unknown misadventures.

Famous chickens.

Though it is hard to believe, some chickens are more popular than mine. But only for now, just you wait...

"The left column."

I would like to draw your attention to the not-so-famous "left column" in this blog. There are three reasons really. The first is that my brother (among others) has told me that he has never clicked on a single link in the "left column." My own brother! It's hard out there for a blogger. The second reason is that I have recently re-worked some of the categories and added some interesting links. The last, and I am sure most crowd-pleasing-Chicken-Diction- enthusiast-exciting, is that I have finally gotten not only up to date with the egg laying exploits, but I have made a more standardized system for some of the naysayers and critics out there in the Tucson community...So damnit - take a look at the left column and learn yourselves a thing or two. Or just hear some random shit that I happen to chuckle at late at night when I am writing for this blog. Whatever, just look at the left column, it's worth it I promise.

A Guatemalan wooden chicken for your enjoyment.

Why my hens are not football fans...

Sports fans...(Reuters)

(Cartoon brought to you by Toothpaste for Dinner.)

The Rincon Mountains.

My friend John is going to be mad. I went without him to the mountains like we planned so many months ago. But I had to. When you have your sights set on a weekend in the woods, and the world seems to be going straight to hell everywhere you look, sometimes you just have to go even though your Philly friend couldn't make it. So I did. I spent the weekend in the Rincon Mountains with my brother and some friends and found a bit of calm that I was otherwise missing. And I came back to my chickens still laying eggs and my veggies getting taller. It was an amazing time high up in the mountains above the haze of Tucson and life. Ponderosa pines for cover, woodpecker alarm clocks, and rock outcropping views of horizons and stars. We saw red-tailed hawks, black bear footprints, and fields of manzanita. Here are some photos from the trip...

In color.

Chris, Megan, Jonathan, and me at the top of Rincon Peak.
Elevation: 8,482 feet.

Prayer flags with our shirts.

The very very top of Rincon Peak.

Chris eating. He did a lot of this.

Megan wearing a real-life-non-hipster-wanna-be John Deere cap.

Jonathan looking European.
I don't know how he does it.

Jonathan and Sarah at Happy Valley Saddle.
Elevation: not quite sure.

Not as bubbly as you might think.

Chris.

The Perry Mason version.

So many trees.

Beware the Yucca monster!

Rincon Peak.
Elevation: same as in color.

Cacti.

Whole lotta me.

Ghost.

Saturday night's lodgings.

Jonathan wanted me to tell you he took this picture.

This one too from atop Spud Rock.
Elevation: cold.

Heading out.

Long live the desert.

Going home.

My "go outside" rant.

Hello Chicken Diction aficionados!

In response to a self-diagnosis of CEAD (current events affective disorder) I, along with some good friends, will be out in the wilds backpacking and breathing fresh air from mountain tops and beside ponderosa pine trees this weekend.

I tell you this for several reasons: 1. I don't want you to fret that I am not catching up on blogging as I often do over the weekends, 2. I am sure you will miss me, and 3. If you are sitting in front of a computer reading this, then you should do at least one of many things, none of which are continue sitting in front of a computer checking blogs. (Well perhaps you should read a bit farther in case you need some creative ideas...Here goes.)

Most importantly, GO OUTSIDE. I don't really care where you are. Though I personally have an extreme aversion to cold, I still am a firm believer that it is crucial for everyone to see without the aid of florescent lighting and breath non-filtered, bona-fide a-i-r. So go outside and breath. Play. Go for a run or just sit on your ass. Watch the birds fly south and imagine where they are going. Find a sidewalk and dig up a piece of it. Then plant something that has roots and water it in. Find a stream and throw rocks at the log on the other side. Wake up early and listen to the sounds that you only hear through your dreams as the light slowly warms the world. Walk somewhere instead of driving. Tell yourself that the extra time is the key to sanity. It is. Or ride a bike and take the long route, one you have never been on before, and see what you see. If you have to drive, drive OUT of the city, town, or boro in which you live and keep going until the skyline is not made by people. Go to the park, the square, or even your backyard. Get dusty for no reason, and muddy for fun. But whatever you do, please go outside. Stop reading this. For your sanity. For mine. Come back a better person, more calm, impassioned, less crabby, but less comfortable in a routine that keeps us forgetting to go outside and get dirty.

Now go goddammit, before it's too late.

So it won't go to hell so fast.

(I know, I thought it was called Myanmar too.)

This about sums it up.

Sometimes I think the world is going to hell.