For Laughs

If you have not discovered the comedic genius of Dane Cook yet, what the hell is wrong with you? The guy is simply hysterical. For a good time just go to his website and click on any of the videos or tracks off of his Retaliation CD.

When you're done with that check out one of the last appearances Mitch Hedberg made before his untimely death. He was one of the most original comics ever. And Remember, if you think your life sucks, "dogs are forever in the push-up position."

Mmmm

Yellow-fin tuna steak grilled medium-rare and lightly sauteed asparagus... that's how I roll.

The Day is Mine, Trebek!

Eureka! I had a wonderful surprise today at lunch. After a much unnecessary absence the chili-cheese burrito, formerly known as a chilito, is back at Taco Bell! The queer thing was that you could still find certain Taco Bells that carried them, but they were too few and far between. In high school, back when they were still called chilitos, I would be starving after football practice so I would head over to Taco Hell and grab some $1.00 chili-cheese burritos. The damn of it was that I'd eat two at a time and get them lodged in this region here (do Tommy Boy quotes ever get old? Methinks not).

Anywho, it's about time the stuffed-shirts at Taco Bell corporate finally decided to get off their fandangos and bring back those breathtaking burritos and all of their chili-cheesy goodness.

Under the Sea

I can remember the instant I became enthralled by the ocean. As an inquisitive child, I rarely missed a nature television show that aired on any one of the 4 channels that sometimes came in on our TV. Programs like Nature, Nova, and National Geographic held my adolescent attention like nothing else, transfixing my senses and quieting my mouth for a solid hour, which if you asked my Mom, was nothing short of a miracle. Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, hosted by Marlin Perkins (a fellow Missourian), was probably my favorite among the nature show genre, though it was assuredly the cheesiest. Marlin would normally step out of harm’s way while biologist, Jim Fowler, and a team of locals would attempt to corral and catch some snarling beast, all in the name of "furthering research," while an over-produced but snazzy bass line pulsed, adding to the already palpable drama. They were always relocating ostriches, reestablishing a new herd of wildebeests, or trailering some damn animal that you would never dream could actually be caught. Marlin and Jim were the "Crocodile Hunters" of their time. They seemed to spend most of their time filming & grappling animals on the African savanna, but every now and then Marlin and Co. would embark on an ocean adventure.

While Jim was busy wrestling Bengal tigers, Mr. Marbles and I set up camp.

One such episode in particular stuck with me and forever instilled in me the desire to learn everything I could about the ocean. Once I saw the "Wild Kingdom" crew don chain mail suits and hand feed highly aggressive blue sharks I was hooked; the deep blue which surrounded them was simultaneously inviting and foreboding. From that point on when other kids were elbow-deep in Judy Blume and Dr. Suess books, I could be found searching Time Life or National Geographic reference books for my latest fix of oceanic knowledge. Strange how my fixation with all things aquatic never translated into a desire to become a marine biologist, oceanographer, or even a commercial fisherman; but with my sense of fascination also grew a fear of all that the ocean’s surface veiled. For a Missouri farm boy the endless ocean was as alien and distant as outer space.

As I matured I never lost my curiosity for the open ocean, The Old Man and the Sea was my favorite book and reading stories about nautical disasters became a macabre hobby for me. As mentioned in a previous post, I have been fortunate enough to go out to sea a couple of times now which has only left me wanting to do and see more. I do plan on getting SCUBA certified so I can ultimately dive at the second largest coral reef in the world off the East coast of Belize, but what I want to do more than anything is SHARK DIVE! For a nominal fee, there are charters that will stick you in a cage in the protected white shark waters of California and South Africa. Perching precariously over the dark abyss in a spindly-barred cage while 18-foot great whites emerge and disappear from cloudy blue-green water would be starring down one of my biggest fears in the face. To be honest, I don’t know if my heart would be strong enough to endure the prolonged adrenaline rush that I would surely experience. Then, to open the door for a moment and to quickly enjoy an unobstructed view of a white shark, a creature feared by all, would be the ultimate climax to my life. I would also like to boat out to the Farallon Islands, an archipelago 30 miles west of San Francisco. This area, also known as the "red triangle," is a breeding ground for elephant seals and other pinipeds, all of which white sharks love to munch on. It is in these rarified waters where white sharks can be seen in good numbers during the fall while feasting on the abundant seals and leaping haphazardly from the water’s surface. The successful sharks dive below the seals and remain unseen until at some point, known only to the sharks, they rush upwards with great speed and attempt to hit the seal head on. With a direct hit, the impact alone is usually enough to dispatch the seals, though miraculously they sometimes escape relatively unscathed with only a few bloody gashes to serve as souvenirs, or rather, battle scars. The real show is what occurs after the shark makes its initial run at the seal and the forward momentum sends the shark (some of them 20’+) airborne, usually completely out of the water! The awkward aerobatics of the white shark is quite possibly the most unique and awesome displays in all of nature.

The reason why so many people, like myself, are drawn to the mysteries and creatures of the ocean is that we are humbled by the sheer volume of it, both its physical mass and all that remains undiscovered.

765LB Mako!

This picture was taken last week in the Gulf around the famed Midnight lump, a submerged offshore mountain off the Southeastern coast of Louisiana . This new Louisiana State record hit the scales at 765 pounds and 11 feet long! Makos do indeed get bigger but few fisherman have boated such monsters; I believe the all-time world record is somewhere around 1200 pounds. The reason I am posting this, other than my fascination with just about anything that has to do with or comes out of the ocean, is that the Captain on this particular charter was Capt. Kevin Beech who charted my first tuna fishing experience almost a year ago down in the Gulf. He's a hell of a guy and a hell of a fisherman as you might have guessed. Here's a guy (second from the left) who was nearly done with an engineering degree, but abandoned that undertaking to pursue a life on the water and I really can't say as I blame him. This picture doesn't really do the 11' fish justice, but hopefully they will add some dock pictures soon which I will add to this post of course. The story behind any great fish is usually just as extraordinary as the trophy itself, and this catch was no exception (scroll down for sharkbait's 1/12/06 entry). Congratulations to Captain Kevin and the crew of "The Salty Duck" that day on their awesome catch!

A blurry, underwater picture on the shark's second pass

January starts the BIG yellow fin tuna season in the gulf which runs through March. It is possible to catch big YFs in the gulf year round, but late winter is the best bet. I am disappointed that I am not going this year, but that's life. If you have never gone fishing offshore I highly suggest you do so before it's all said and done. And I'm talking off-shore, not the half-day cattle cruises where you stand shoulder to shoulder with 20 strangers and vertical fish for snapper and grouper for a few hours. No, that is for tourists and old men. I'm talking about an excursion out far beyond the sight of land or the muddy haze and smoke stacks that hover over it. Even past the many shallow-water oil platforms and buoys, out where the water is cobalt blue and menacingly remote. Do not get me wrong, a few oil rigs can be found out in the 5000'-7000' water mark, but they are few and far between. A resolute calm comes over the newly initiated when fishing in mile deep water along with the sublime realization that you are at the mercy of the ocean and the integrity of your equipment. There is little time for worry however what with so much to see and do. If the sea might seem like some endless wasteland of water to you then I highly encourage you to actually experience it and then reconsider. The ocean is quite alive, with things just waiting to be discovered. There is the very small like the flying fish that dart along the side of a speeding boat only to break the surface of the water and spread their winglike fins and fly a hundred yards in front of the bow; and then there are the leviathins like the Mako above or the iridescent Blue marlin I saw feasting on barracuda last year just below our boat. I have seen endless schools of snapper and barracuda and meandering thatches of sargasso grass and jellyfish collected by unseen upwelling ocean currents. I have seen tuna leap out of the water after baitfish and Black-tip sharks cunningly strip hooks of their bait. I could go on forever on all the different creatures I have seen out on the ocean and I have only been twice; I can't imagine the stories a salty dog like Capt. Kevin must have.

If you would ever have the hankering to fish offshore Louisiana I would have to recommend the guys at Reel Peace Charters, and ask to go with Captain Beech. Oh, and if you want to get on his good side, bring along some CDs to listen on his boat because he gets tired of listening to his. Merle, GNR, Pearl Jam, Johnny, Hank Jr., Buffett... you know, anything good.

Friday Night

Monopoly on a friday night, im so cool. We got the Monopoly board out after a less than fulfilling round of the game of global domination, or Risk, for all of you that have never been indoctrinated in this classic game of warfare- with dice and little plastic armies. Spook's gray army took root in Australia and the Philippines, thanks to an ill-advised maneuver by a novice, and quickly spread westward like some skin-rotting communicable disease.

Addition: For the record, my buddy Spook and I had to call the monopoly game a draw at about 1:30 in the morning. We weren't tired of playing, but we were quite whiskey drunk and the ping-pong table was calling our names. Speaking of whiskey, if you have the means, I highly recommend picking up a bottle of Russel Reserve, a 10 year old bourbon brought to you by the fine folks at Wild Turkey. It's smoother than just about any bourbon I've ever had. It begs to be poured over ice and sipped all by itself. Dangerous.

Yes, I Love Technology, but...

If you hadn’t taken the time to notice, we are now living in the "technological age." I don’t now if that term has officially been adopted or penned by the hidden machine that labels the epochs & timelines for humankind, but I don’t think I am taking too large of an editorial leap here. Before I begin ripping on our techno-dependencies like some modern day Thoreau, I hereby acknowledge my blatant hypocrisy in doing so. I am as ate up with cell phones, HD TVs, high-speed connections, GPS units, and instant information as the next guy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bitch about technology or wax philosophic about its importance.

I believe the impetus of technological innovations is to enrich our lives by making them easier, safer, and healthier. Who would argue that 2-ply toilet paper isn’t a wonderful achievement over industrial grade 1-ply or the Sears catalogs and corncobs that our forefathers endured? Yes, there would be some Eco-fundamentalists, who behind close doors squeeze the Charmin like the rest of us, that might preach that 2-ply is a waste of resources, but that’s another topic entirely. It would be an exercise in futility to debate the social and economic importance of essential modern conveniences like electricity, indoor plumbing, automobiles, or even TP. However, some hi-tech inventions are counterintuitive, making a once simple task more complicated than it needs to be, while others are dependent on a power source that isn’t always accessible. An old fashioned magnetic compass will get you out of the woods faster than a GPS once its battery goes dead.

We are constantly learning and re-learning new ways of performing old tricks or adapting to the latest and greatest way of doing business. There is little choice when it comes to technology; you learn it and move on or get left behind. In this regard technology is a polarizing monolith, driving deep barriers between generations and classes. Let’s go back to our friend Mr. 2-ply toilet paper; how much of the world’s total population in the year 2006 get to enjoy this "luxury" item? My guess would be less than 60%; and that’s just TP, I wonder how more important things like education and technical knowledge compare? A part of me realizes that it’s just part of life, that is, the reality of the haves and have-nots. Then there is the side of me that wonders if such expansive technological and educational voids between the classes and cultures of this world will not breed more discontent than is already well entrenched. Perhaps we’ll all catch up one day, but there seems to be no end to the process of improving and changing and computerizing. If you think that humanity is on the verge of achieving some sort of technical nirvana than you are as shortsighted as Mr. Charles Duell, a commissioner of the United States Patent Office, who in 1899 once said, "Everything that can be invented has already been invented." Each generation vainly believes that they have seen, done, and therefore know it all. I paraphrase Thomas Edison, who wrote, "We don’t know one millionth of one percent about anything." The wise would be wary of assuming this equation is in need of updating.

I can’t be convinced that more technology is the pathway to the easy life. I can honestly say my life is much more complicated now than it was just 10 years ago. As each innovation is introduced unto the world a bill in the mail seems to quickly follow. There is no appeasing America’s appetite for gadgets or consequently, credit. We are a nation of indebted tekkies. Meanwhile, a quiet dragon in the East is filling its belly by means of our own gluttony for techno-crap. We can only hope that the beast is content with its profits alone, but that is another topic for another day.

This alleged age of reason often leaves me empty, leaning heavily on an unwanted crutch. They say the world has gotten smaller and that information is only a click away, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still feel isolated and alone. Reliance on technology doesn’t make your existence easier; it just changes your perception of what is important. Looking back at my youth on the family farm, I realize how in tune I was with nature and how keen my senses were. I was able to involuntarily perceive a number of subtle ecological changes that precede a shift in the seasons. I could lose myself in the reflection of the forest canopy as it swayed with the rhythm of the creek that murmured over smooth limestone slabs just behind the farmhouse. Those simple days are what I miss, when all the entertainment I needed was out the front door.

I wish things were easier. I wish I had the wherewithal of Henry David Thoreau and give up my worldly possessions and build a log cabin on the banks of my own Walden Pond. Hasn't the futile process of paying bills, eking out a middle-class existence in front of an omnipresent illuminated screen, and hurtling anonymously through this world ever wakened the desire to regress back into a hunter/gatherer in you? Well, I think about it all the time, and not because I am contemplating a complete unplugging from the modern world, but only to take a break from it all for a spell.

Wedding Videos

If and when my day at the altar ever comes my fate will undoubtedly be similar to these poor schleps. I don't know much, but I know watching people faint is hilarious.

Not Enough Vacation Days Blues

With the New Year has come the resetting of my accrued vacation time for calendar year 2006. I have in my possession a total of 12 days or 98 hours of vacation time in addition to 11 paid holidays. To answer your question, no, I do not work at a bank but rather a publicly owned utility. 12 days may sound like a lot when combined with the holidays and the fact that I work a 4 day-10 hour workweek with Fridays off, but I still have to be careful not to frivolously burn precious vacation days. I have a history of cutting myself short, leaving only a day or two for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

This year I have one major trip planned, a weeklong waterfowl/pheasant excursion on the plains and potholes of South Dakota, which will eat up 40 of my 98 vacation hours. That will only leave me with 58 hours for the remainder of the year, which really isn’t enough. You see I don’t look at a calendar and see months and days like most people. My perception of time is marked by predictable natural events that occur throughout the year. The majority of these events are both wonderful and problematic at the same time, as they are a joy to partake in but frustratingly fleeting in nature. Such ephemeral phenomena lures perpetual daydreamers and the easily swayed, i.e. me, to hastily leave work in order to pursue any number of these pastimes and therefore eat up vacation days like a Missouri democrat at a buffet.

Springtime is the most challenging period to preserve vacation days. Not only is the weather beautiful, but the Earth and all her creatures begin to stir after a winter of lethargy. Shoots of iridescent, emerald green grass emerge in pastures and tiny leaves erupt from empty limbs, invigorating restless eyes that have grown tired of the drab landscape of winter. I’ll be able to pull through the remainder of January and the worthless month that is February easily enough, but by mid-March my primal brain will be sending subversive but convincing thoughts in an attempt to set my well-anchored intentions adrift. By then the walleye will be running up the rivers and spawning; followed shortly by the seasonal rite of passage known throughout the Midwest and South as "The Crappie Spawn." Of course spawning crappie also means that turkey season is at hand which in turn elicits thoughts of delectable and elusive Morel mushrooms that can be found in secret caches along the forest floor by the trained eye during this time as well.

Wait. Why in the hell would I want to save vacation during the spring anyway? Turkey hunting and crappie fishing shouldn’t be abstained from but enjoyed as much as humanly possible. Screw trying to squirrel away vacation for the holidays! Besides, that’s why God made sick days right?

WWJWD?

Lemme get this straight (no pun intended), Brokeback Mountain is a film about two gay cowboys. (Sigh). What's next? Rooster Cockburne? True Spit? Young Guns 3? The Duke must be rolling in his grave. Remember the good 'ol days when homosexuality was shameful and never discussed? I miss those days.

First Moblog

I really didn't have any interesting pictures to post, but I wanted to get my mobile blog account up and running so I just picked a random photo from my cell phone. Now I'll be able to blog pictures, text, and even audio while out in the field on some exotic hunting or fishing trip given that I am within cell phone coverage of course, which rarely happens. I can only assume that the ability to blog on the go without the need of a PC or laptop will result in many, if not exclusive, drunk blogs for which I would like to apologize for in advance. My friends should be relieved as I am sure this will reduce my drunk dialing and texting considerably... Probably.

More about this photo: The only reason I even snapped this picture was to capture a properly poured black & tan, aka thundercloud, for prosperity and reference purposes for the black & tan ignorant. The process is not difficult and requires little, if any, physical agility or coordination; though there are some who can't seem to get it just right. First you start with a fine, light to medium lager or ale, Bass ale for example, and fill a 12 oz. glass (unchilled) no more than halfway. Then, gently pour your choice of any porter or stout (Guinness and the like) over the convex side of a teaspoon (that's the bottom of the spoon for all you mouth-breathers) and let trickle down on the awaiting lager until a moderate head forms and reaches the top of the glass. The result should look something like the picture above. I enjoy the dark stuff, so I pour a little more Guinness than lager in mine.

The picture was taken over the Christmas holiday during a particularly scathing round of Super Scrabble with my dad and two brothers. For those not familiar with Super Scrabble, it's just like regular Scrabble but with more letter tiles and with quadruple letter and word scores. I netted an impressive 98 points that round with the word CANDOR by doubling up on a triple letter score and quadruple word score, thanks in part to the black & tans I was enhaling I'm sure!

Todd Turns Thirty

If you care to read this blog on a somewhat regular basis you will undoubtedly be hearing me rant and rave ad nauseam this year over my birthday. You see I was born in the Year of our Lord 1976, on Memorial day amid all the bicentennial brouhaha, and like all other Memorial Days, it was raining the day I entered this world which perhaps explains my penchant for gray & cloudy days. Besides the celebration of America's 200th birthday, the year was otherwise uneventful. Jimmy Carter was elected president (who would pardon all draft dodgers a year later), disco was in its glory days, and a war was just lost as were the 56,000 Americans who died during the "police action." Basically, the year sucked the big one, but to learn more about the 70's just watch VH1; God knows that channel never quits making with the nostalgia!

What does all this mean? It means that in 5 short months I will be "celebrating" (read: lamenting) my 30th birthday, a milestone eclipsed in dread only by one's 40th birthday and perhaps the "BIG 5-0" as well. It seems unfair that my twenties are coming to a close what with so much left undone. And by the way, how in the hell is it 2006 already?! Half of the first decade of the 21st century has come and gone... what a gip! Granted, on the precipice of 30 I'm not quite as lucid as I once was, but so help me, didn't time move much slower before Y2K? Adolescence ambled along with mindnumbing lethargy, each school year longer than the last. The innocence of childhood slowly gave way to pre-teen awkwardness which begat high school bravado and pigheadedness. So how did my twenties come and go so quickly and how am I already staring 30 in the face?

I suppose I will get over it. The dreaded day will come and go with little fanfare and by the middle of June the sting of reality will have healed, it'll leave a scar but I will move on. I guess I could be like Tim McGraw and write a sappy song to mark the time and describe what I plan to do for "my next 30 years" but I don't want to be gay. Besides, I'm a firm believer that announcing your plans is a good way to make God laugh, so I'll just state that in my 30's I only hope to go fishing and hunting more often and try to learn to be a better person. I would also like to get married to the right woman though females have proven to be the most elusive and unpredictable of all quarry so I'll reserve the notion of holding my breath for a later date.

Alright, I'll stop boring you with my personal pathos and self-loathing. So this blog hasn't been a complete waste of your time I've linked a short documentary on the Man in Black, courtesy of fastfocus.tv. Just click on Johnny and enjoy.

I know how you feel, Johnny.

New Year Resolution Reality

New Year's Day: Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual. ~Mark Twain


This year I wasn't going to resolve to abstain, limit, or omit any one vice or bad habit in particular. I wasn't going to lose weight, curtail already curtailed drinking, adopt a new spending budget, stop cursing, or begin keeping a legitimate balance of my financial accounts as oppossed to the running totals I perpetually update in my head. Nope I was going for a clean sweep. A spiritual and physical reckoning if you will, a greater awareness of my shortcomings and the wisdom to forever change myself for the better. A monumental task indeed, but I was refreshed by the birth of a new year, steeled solidly against all bad influences that sought to wreck my entrenched abstinence of all things detrimental to my well being. But New Year's Day was on a Sunday, which just didn't seem like a good day to start something so refreshingly new, being the last day of the week and all. Then I had the day off on Monday, so it felt more like a Sunday than a Monday really, and now I find myself already living in conflict with my new edict here on Tuesday January 3, 2006. The resolution I set out to keep has already been compromised and my inadequate attempt at an idyllic existance has left me drained, disappointed to the state of inconsolable malaise.

Oh well, good thing there's always next year. Here's to you 2007 and a fresh start!

Feel free to post your New Year's resolution in the comments link because, really, what proof will there be that you ever made a resolution at all?