Teetotaling no more.

I am/was a lifelong teetotaler. All through college in fact. In my early 20s I would actively avoid any activity where other people would be drinking. Just being there made me uncomfortable. With a good set of friends, I eventually got over that. To be honest, unlike the world concieved in after school specials, nobody ever really directly pressured me to imbibe. I never encountered the apocryphal “Take a swig and be a man!” scene even once. But I guess being a hermit rather limited my exposure to peer pressure.

I hold no real religious convictions against imbibing. My family isn't made up of alcoholics who ruined my childhood with poverty and violence. Maybe the various 'say no to drugs' campaigns that the public school system launched our way was effective.

I mean, after watching the film Death Zones (1975) over and over during my formative years left me with a distaste for buses. Have you ever seen that film? They showed it to us on a yearly basis back in the early to mid-eighties. It scared the hell out of me, to the point that I began to dread the film projector being wheeled into the room. The gist of the film is that buses are dangerous, be careful around buses or they will kill the fuck out of you. They're like giant, yellow, rolling sharks just waiting for children to come within tire's length. And snow/ice? They're in a twisted partnership with the fleet of rolling death to get kids under the tires.

As I grew up in Alaska, and we had a lot of snow, I did my best to keep at least 20 feet from the line of buses that waited outside our school every afternoon when class finally let out. To hell with that shit.

The only movie that jarred my childhood in such a way was Predator, and as I lived in Alaska, where steamy jungles are few, I contrived few worries about being hunted down by a 7 foot tall invisible alien. Moose on the other hand were a common source of danger. But they couldn't turn invisible, nor were they bullet proof.

Fortunately, a Predator driving a school bus has only just occurred to me, which means I will likely be having nightmares tonight.

But yeah, those school filmstrips were brutal.

Then there was the upbringing. Our household wasn't overly strict in a religious sense – aside from the weekly forays into church. Dad was far more devoted to that cause than mom, and his preferred sect is against drugs of all kinds – from caffeine to cocaine. While my dad never drank, my mother is fond of wine(but it has to be from a box, we be classy people yo. Classy.)

Everything else aside, part of why I went the non-drinker route was rebellion. In high school I was the quiet kid who read geeky books(and after high school, and after college, and up until now). I didn't have wild hair or stylish clothes. Reading was how I defined myself. How I set myself apart. I was like Daria, except where she was brilliant and read the classics, I was a dork who preferred Science Fiction and Fantasy.

Many of my cousins drank from a youngish age, as did many of my classmates, it's a part of the culture. You drink to have fun at a party, that's what the adults around you do and you learn from the adults and try to be like them. There is also that expectation that kids will take up drinking on the path to adulthood.

But, that wasn't me. And became more not me after I moved onto college. Sobriety(at times to the point of being nearly militant – damn I bet I was obnoxious) was a part of the personae that I constructed for myself over the years. I new people who had the same response towards eating meat. But I rebelled by being boring. Or mayhaps I'm just boring and am trying to look cool by calling it rebellion.

Probably the latter.

This is sad, as college should be a time where you try new things. But I'm a borderline hermit with some anxiety issues, so the whole 'new experiences' is quite stressful. Despite this, I was usually willing to taste various foods and drinks that came my way. In that, I've sampled well over 100 beers over the years – and have come to the conclusion that I hate beer(with the exception of the fruity Lambics).

I asked my sister, who loves beer, how she got past the bitterness and the foul taste of her preferred beverage. She told me that you drink it quickly, until you learn to associate that dreadful bottle of a skunk's ass soaked in battery acid with the warm and happy feeling that comes with imbibing. My sole attempt at following her advice lead me down the road to heaves.

I'm not interested in intoxication, no matter the drug involved. Never have been. It has never looked like much fun – though I would take getting drunk hands down over being on the receiving end of some prison sex(then again, maybe getting drunk was the first step in the whole prison sex escapade). And as I don't like the taste of alcoholic beverages, there was little point for me in drinking them.

So it goes. There it all is. Another shade of the bizarre sketch that is my character. Thank you anonymous blog for allowing me to share. Well, semi-anonymous, as like a narcissistic douche I tend to share these ramblings on the facebooks.

Well, earlier this autumn, or late summer, I decided to add alcohol to my diet. A friend asked why the change, and I've been thinking about that. But when you make a life change like this, after making opposition to that behavior a pillar of your being and how you present yourself to the world. More than one of my friends has expressed confusion and curiosity.

Most have just said “About fucking time you dick.”

We all have epiphanies at times, and change our minds when new evidence comes along. I try to remain somewhat open minded to new ideas. Mine came with a book. Though I do like to say that the new job has driven me to drink.

Over this summer I discovered Michael Pollan's book Cooked. I've not read anything else by him, but I've heard of some of his other works. Thanks NPR Science Friday! It was an all around interesting book that left me wanting to sample first-hand some of the experiences that Pollan wrote about. Sure, it was a bit heavy-handed and preachy at times, but damn do I want to try some of that southern slow-cooked whole hog BBQ. And the bread, oh that fresh-baked sourdough sounded so good! And just about everything else he wrote about.

The last section was where he finally touched on fermentation. First he stepped in lightly with the kraut and kimchi, before moving onto something that was definitely more a passion – mead and beer. Cool, I guess. Yawn. Oh, wait, what's this? The actual physical benefits that alcohol bestows? Not super powers that arrive with perceived invulnerability, nor the social lubricant aspect that comes with the liquid courage

No, according to Pollan moderate consumption of alcohol is just healthy for humans. Now you've my attention sir. Keep going.

I have no moral or ethical reason against drinking, as I stated previously. So I have nothing standing in the way of my starting, beyond my general disinterest. No reason to, no reason not to. I chose not to. This was less expensive.

Well, now my interest has been piqued and my decision made. Though, as with most decisions, sometimes it takes me a while to act. I finished Cooked back in June – and didn't crack my first bottle of booze until late August. I hate beer, so I really needed to find something that I would actually enjoy drinking.

I wanted to start out slowly, at home, until I had a good grasp of what would happen when I added alcohol into my system. As dull as that sounds. Mostly, I was worried that suddenly feeling dizzy or what-have-you, while out in public, would trigger an anxiety attack. Years of living with Anxiety has made me hyper aware of myself. To the point of paranoia. Harmless changes can bring on an attack if I fixate. I've largely learned to ignore these nuisances, and just keep going, but that doesn't help when throwing in unknown factors.

My first hope was Sprecher's Hard RootBeer. A rootbeer with added bourbon. So you can feel like an adult while you drink your definitively kid's beverage. I love Sprecher's products. Sprecher is a brewery that has expanded into a delicious array of sodas. They make their ginger ale with real ginger, and their root beer with honey. If you can lay your hands on some, do. The SHRB seemed liked a good way to just jump in and explore.

Sadly, after a month of searching, and several false starts, I have discovered that the SHRB has yet to make make it to my locality. At least, none of the specialty stores I contacted seem to be able to lay their hands on it.

Fekk.

Angry Orchard released a cinnamon flavored hard cider called Cinnful Apple. This is their seasonal offering for the autumn. A friend of mine posted about it on ye olde timey facebook(that Cinnful Apple existed, and that he intended to try it). This led to ephinay number 2. I love apples, and eat them often. I love to try different varieties (Braeburns are my favorite to date, but Sweet Tango and Jonagolds are close competitors).

Cider! Why didn't I think of that before?  I visited Angry Orchard's website, and I admit that I found their branding appealing.  That is to say, I liked what they were trying to convey with the names and accompanying art.  Really though, at 5% alcohol content, you will neither be scary nor badassed by drinking their product.  But who cares?  I'm scary and badassed enough dead sober!  Cue the laugh track!

I could even buy it at my local big-box by the case! Did someone say variety pack? Angry Orchard did! Perfect. I get to try four different elixirs. The first one I cracked open was the Cinnful Apple. I love cinnamon as much as much as I love apples. I was not disappointed by the experience. That was the high point.

For that first week, I tried a new flavor every night as I ate dinner. So many people like to drink wine and beer with their meals. Many of them claim that the flavor experiences are enhanced by the complex interplays between the various chemicals. This might be true. Mostly I discovered that I didn't care for either the Traditional Dry nor the Ginger varieties of Angry Orchard. Crisp was pleasant enough.

Wasting food is one of the few activities that I consider a 'mortal sin'. Gluttony is disgusting, but acceptable. But damn it, if your fat ass is taking a third helping of pie, your fat ass better choke that shit down. I didn't care for about half of that variety pack, but I drank it all. There are sober children in China damn it.

Well, since then I've been trying more brands. Woodchuck. McKenzies. As well as local varieties when I can locate them.  This last has been a challenge, almost as great as picking up the SHRB.

I found this out while at a friend's. She was having an autumn themed feast and I decided to pick up some ciders as my contribution. Woodchuck's Fall, and the aforementioned Cinnful apple. I had one of each. My reaction of Woodchuck's Fall, is that they've taken a potpourri shop and distilled its essence. Then they took that essence and used it to ruin cider. “It tastes like a candle!” was my first thought, as I rebelled against the flowery sweetness.

Here is where cleansed the pallet with a couple bottles of the Cinnful as I waited for our meal.

It appears that I have an alcohol tolerance that is on par with that of a 11 year old girl from a strict family of 4^th generation Mormons.

I already knew that I didn't much care for the aftertaste of alcohol. The sweetness of some of the cider helps to mask this. I have also confirmed that I don't really care for the vertigo sensation that comes with drinking. I always suspected that I wouldn't. After a bottle on an empty stomach, my sense of balance feels... a bit wonky. There's no stumbling around like a caricature, and the room doesn't quite spin. But everything seems to slid back and forth, like it wants to get started.

While this was happening, my muscles would hurt. Starting with my stomach and then working down to my legs. After the first experience I thought that this might be a coincidence, but it seems a rather regular occurrence. The internet states that Alcohol is a muscle relaxer and goes on to suggest that the pain comes from my muscles being tense.

Finally there was the sense of wellbeing, or happiness. You just feel good, and I can really see the appeal of drinking, especially after a shitty day(I have since cracked a bottle when I get home to relax on a number of occasions – yep, I've become a fauxhipster, watered-down version of that guy).

I look forward to the new experiences that this path will illuminate for me.  I've since decided that my future homestead will need an orchard.

Rifftrax goodness.

Rifftrax Live: Night of the Living Dead.

I am a rather zealous fan of MST3k(Mystery Science Theater 3000 -If you don't know what it is, kindly visit Google.com and remedy this. I'll wait. And maybe finish this blog post in parenthesis, e.e. Cummings style. mikenelsonwasstrandedinasatelliteinspace) and have been since Junior High back in the early 90s when the show made its debut. Whilst in college I managed to acquire quite a collection of episodes thanks to the power of the internet. Yep, while the other kids were drinking, socializing, and studying, I put my energy into finding every episode of a dorky 10 year old television show.

Mission accomplished. But how it cost. It seems that the girlfolk are as little impressed with a large collection of illegal copies of a obscure show from cable television as they are with one's ability to beat Super Mario 2 using just Toad. I don't know what terrible realities that this fact implies about our society, but I fear for our future.

I love the show, and use it as part of my model for my perfect (and fictitious) future bride. Intelligent. Geeky. Looks good clad in the metal bikini from Return of the Jedi(or dressed as Velma from Scooby-Doo – I have expanded my horizons some). Likes/loves MST3k. Where are you dream girl? Cause I'll be hiding in my apartment and avoiding the real world when you're finally ready to come find me!

Basically the show is this: A man is launched into space by a pair of mad scientists. The Mads are running experiments on the simpleton in the form of forcing him to watch the worst movies ever made so that they can find the worst of the worst and use it as a weapon to conquer the world. Said victim makes several robots to keep him company while he's trapped on a satellite orbiting the earth. Finally, it all boils down to a trio of characters making wisecracks at terrible movies for our enjoyment.

If you like it, we are cool.

Sadly, MST3k was canceled in the late 90s. Which makes sense, it had quite a run and I expect that most of the people involved wanted to get on with the lives and do something else.

For a little while at least.

They've come back. With Gusto!

First there was the Film Crew – which was almost a carbon copy of the old show, down to the host segments(sketches) that broke up the films into easier to swallow doses. The Film Crew was comprised of half of the Mst3k cast and they released 4 movies before running into legal issues and then moving on. If you've not sampled their wares, I suggest going straight for the gold and jumping into Wild Women of Wongo.

Finally came Rifftrax. Rifftrax is basically MST3k without the host segments. But more than that, they are no longer affected by budget issues. One of the main difficulties of the original show is that they were constrained to public domain films, or whatever drek they could get on the cheap. But with the power of science, chemistry, industry and technology they only need to record the track to whatever movie they desire. The end-user provides a copy of the movie and downloads the appropriate file, and bam, comedy gold.

They've got quite a catalog. Check it out. 

Recently, they've added a new trick to their repertoire. Live shows that they beam internationally(Canada counts as internationally). This is exactly what it sounds like, you goto the theater and watch the movie as the crew performs their riffs in front of an audience.

While driving over, it occurred to me that I'd be stuck in a theater for some 2 hours. In my late teens and early 20s I would have started to panic at the thought – to the point that it colored my whole outlook on life. And still taints how I think of things to this day – thus the aforementioned thought. I shrugged off the notion. Amazing enough as that is - but by and large I've gotten over the worst of my anxiety – and then went on to enjoy the evening.

That's it. I sat in a theater with a friend and laughed my ass off for the better part of two hours. Night of the Living Dead was the second time I saw a Live event (the first was Starship Troopers). It was a fantastic experience, and I look forward to the December 5^th showing of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.

Abq2. It rhymes, so I'm sticking with it.

Oh the lament of New Mexico and this one's voyage through it.

Hey kids! Our last story time left off in the exotic hippie town of Taos, and since my lazy brain prefers its tales in a largely linear format, that's where we'll pick back up.

The mom decided that we should take a detour on the return trip and mosey on through the Sante Fe National Forrest. I seconded. I still am not sure why I would make this choice, but that is in retrospect. In retrospect, I can see that I had a long weekend still ahead of sitting in the back of that car, staring out the window as a landscape of unrelenting shades of brown slowly crawled by. Yep, there was tan, and reddish brown. Ohh, that's a nice little bit of common European Standards weights and measurements brown. You may call me a brownoisseur. But if you do, I might feel inclined to give you one helluva pinch for ever saying something so astoundingly stupid in my presence.

Self-inflicted pain is the best kind, that's my motto, along with Not in the Face! So I voiced my agreement for the plan. Two positive votes beat out two ambivalent votes, so the clan meandered off the beaten path back to the city and onto the beaten path up into the mountains. So, we took 64 east, and here's the thing, the map made the detour seem a lot shorter than it was. Stupid lying maps.

I think that I was hearkening back to the scenery in Alaska. Sights from my childhood that I would like to see again. There are mountains in both places! How different could it be? Rivers, lakes and waterfalls. Trees marching up snow-capped mountains. And such a vivid rainbow of colors! Yay Alaska. And there were trees – alas, where between them I would expect a bevy of pleasing undergrowth to add a wealth of color and texture to the scenery, there was only sandy soul. BROWN.

There was little else in the spring of memory to remind me of my childhood.

Well. Aside from the creepy little settlements that lie way off the beaten path, settlements where a visitor might feel a bit wary of stepping out of their car, just in case the banjo music suddenly started up. New Mexico shares that in common with Alaska.

New Mexico is a poor state in so many ways. You know that fundamental building block of life? If you said Cheese, I'll grant you that, but it wasn't the answer I was looking for. I was hoping that you yelled out 'Water', that simple chemical that makes up 80% of the human body. A chemical that covers 75% of our planet's surface. In terms of bodily needs for our species it goes AIR>WATER>FOOD, in that order. We can survive maybe 3 days without ingesting it. WE need it to grow food. Waterfront property goes for a premium. Water has replaced earthship for my word of the day. But only because you can't drink Earthships – which does not make a bit of sense, but I am sticking with the sentiment regardless.

Our collective human civilizations have built most of their cities around sources of water. As it happens, water is not very common in the desert. My mind is blown! Deserts are dry? You think that would be common knowledge, causing people to avoid living in deserts. But it's true. And people seem to choose to live there! Or maybe I am being Naive, and many of the residents have become mired in the shifting sands.

Some people do. I am left to wonder if many of these people are trapped there by economic circumstances. Who would chose to live like this? Rural dwellings in Alaska, I can understand. Alaska has abundant natural resources that can be harvested with hard work. Sure, winters are long and importing food and fuel is expensive, but that seems to be a fair trade for living in Alaska.

New Mexico seems to be less so. Though it must have some mineral wealth at the very least – one still needs to overcome the water problem – and all of the challenges that accompany a water poor landscape.

All along the highway there were clustered settlements of homes, usually bunched with a small Catholic church in the Spanish/Mexican style. From time to time, one will see signs announcing a Land Grant community. Back in days of yore, the various Governments of Mexico would entice citizens to move in to the vast, and largely empty, territory by offering them huge tracts of land. Tracts that would number in the tens of thousands of acres. Some of those villages and families still reside on that land.

I do not know what services that one needed to perform for king and country to gain such a boon, but a little research has revealed the outlines of the process involved with the actual grant. I only know that the various governments used the grants as a way to settle land. Rather like our own government has done. As has any society with a vast new frontier to conquer.

First, the land had to be uninhabited by people(including natives – good on you Spain). Second, the grantee would need to stay on the land for four or more years, after which, in the eyes of Spain they owned that land and could do what they pleased with it. Most of the land seemed to be used for ranching and some subsistence farming. Though I find it difficult to believe that one could do more than scratch out a living there. Some of the land grants were made to entire villages, where individuals and families were assigned a small plot to homestead while the rest of the grant was communal.

After the Spanish-American war, the entire region changed hands. The American government seems to have largely respected the claims of the preexisting communities, but America being what she is and always has been, justice hasn't always been done and after the Mexican American war in the late 1840s, Land Speculators stirred up quite a mess. Now there are legal questions being raised about who actually owns the land.

Our route wove up, down and around the mountain, taking us through several flyspeck little settlements as previously described. Places which the mere existence of boggle my mind. They're like communities on a foreign planet and I cannot understand how they continue to exist. At least in some part, many of them are supported by the illicit art trade that runs through Taos. Of course it's illicit, Hippies are involved. Some of the views from well up high was actually rather pretty. But don't tell anyone I said so.

Speckled along the highways from Albuquerque to Taos are more mobile homes than I have ever seen before in my life. Many of them seemed to be in poor shape. And the further away into the boonies you got, the worse the decay – a surprising correlation to exactly 0% of the population of humans who are capable of understanding the word correlation and using it in a sentence. As well as pretty much anyone else as well. Except perhaps movie executives. Those assholes are idiots.

Seriously you assholes, stop remaking the good movies. A remake of Highlander? What's the fucking point? If you need to revisit the past, due to cowardice on your part and a lack of ideas, then revisit the thousands of broken movies that your factories have churned out over the last hundred years. You can start slow, maybe with Highlander 2. Then when you've got the hang of it, jump in deep and try to unbork the library of Ed Wood. Dicks.

There are some run down locales, even entire cities, in my home state. But New Mexico seems to have us beat(or vice versa). I think that seeing those sad domiciles was the most depressing reality of the visit. It was like someone had torn apart the worst neighborhoods of Detroit, ground them up, and sprinkled it all over the desert.

Eventually we crawled back to the city and called it a day. At home we continued with our grand family tradition, camping out on the couch while bathing in the cold glow of the television. Letting the depressing images of poverty fade from our consciousness as we followed the adventures of the Incredible Hulk as he made his way through Latin America. If only the Hulk, like some cosmic green rage driven god, could smash all of our social problems. If only.

Monday crept in slowly in a manner that Mondays so rarely do. But alas, there was more sitting in the back of the car on the schedule. The mom wanted us to see the Ruins. Which I would find out later to mean ruins of old Spanish Missions. Who knows, somewhere in the wilds there might be an ancient city of a lost civilization that is lined with dangers for the daring adventure to endure. Mutants roam trap riddled streets and in its very heart lies The Greatest Treasure of Them All. Since The Greatest Treasure of Them All is absolutely subjective and based on an individuals desires, I'll let you fill that part in. Will it be wealth? Magic powers? Or maybe a vibrating, 12 inch, fully prehensile penis?

Or maybe all that lies out there is unending desolate brown countryside. With the only ruins being those in National Parks run by the Forest Service. As a man who majored in history, I guess that's almost as cool.

Have I mentioned brown lately? How about Earthships? They tend to be on the brown side as well. I really need a new word for brown. I'm sick of typing those 5 letters. Tan? Dung? Umber! Now that sounds posh! Man, when I get my Earthship I shall name it the Nostromo and I will be damned if it is going to be Umber.

On the road west we encountered it. The most delightfully honest thing I've ever seen in my life.

Now, Taos had Italian Restaurant as a jewel in its hemp belt. There was no further name to the dive. No Luigi's, or Fred's or Mama's. Just Italian Restaurant. Straight forward. The sign leads me to think that New Mexicans are a rather honest, straight forward, and extremely unimaginative lot. Nothing more, just big red letters that declare that within one can acquire Italian cooking.

What does this mean? Is the food so astoundingly good that the owners only feel that they are the alpha and omega of the cuisine? Italian Restaurant, the dizzying heights to which all other establishments purporting to make Lasagna and pizza are trying to aspire?

Perhaps I am misreading the intent, and actually the food isn't that good. It could be that Italian Restaurant is like a cheap ripoff of Olive Garden that was founded by people who had only gotten so close to that franchise as to see the middle three seconds of one of their ads. A place so sketchy that in fact the twin specialties of the house are DiGiornos and Spaghetti-os. With an unlimited And since this is New Mexico, both are loaded down with your choice of green or red chillies.

Here Taos gets its Italian food. Or a facsimile there of. I shall leave them to it.

Italian Restaurant is great and all, but it doesn't hold a candle to the magnificent sight we encountered on monday. BEHOLDs: ROADSIDE ATTRACTION!

Roadside Attraction. That was it and all. I could be mistaken, but for the sake of this narrative, I'm not. It was brilliantly generic. As we had a rather hectic schedule of driving in a giant loop ahead of us, we didn't stop. I didn't get to venture inside and explore the wonders. I don't know how I feel about this, as I have seen far too many horror movies in my time to walk into a seedy join that is clearly tourist bait.

Roadside Attraction! Maybe it was owned by the same folks who owned Italian Restaurant. Honest, hardworking folk who were skipped over by whatever force instills in human beings the ability to instill interesting (if not memorable, as I am talking about it now) names. People who have named all seven of their children , boys and girls alike, a variation of Brad. Brad, Bradly, Bradford, Bradette, Bradina, and Brad 2. Child four doesn't get a name, as it is hidden in the basement and never talked about by the family.

Certainly, the sign could have been a bait and switch scheme. Oh, did you come from very far? Does anyone know that you're here? They might ask with a knowing wink, a long bladed kitchen knife in their hand as they waited for someone to step into range.

Then again, there are so many tantalizing secrets that their vaults could have held. I don't know what wonders were cradled within those four walls, and the mystery burns my mind!

Maybe there was an arena where reanimated, heads of Walt Disney and Adolf Hitler were attached to bionic dog bodies and forced to do battle in an eternal death match pitting evil vrs slightly more evil for the entertainment of the locals. Gears and circuits would fly in the dimly lit and dank basement. All while color commentary flowed smoothly. Meanwhile, off in an even more shady and dank corner, an old man with a squinty eye would be selling some rather questionable objects.

What else can you expect from a place named Roadside Attraction? A freaking giant ball of yarn? Though not enough to hop a plane back to New Mexico to find out. Cause if I did, I'd only find strings of dried chillies, post cards, touristy hats, and other brickabrac. And I'd probably be kicked in the junk. The Earthship tour experience seems to have jaded me some.

But for some reason we skipped on by the cannibalistic, Hitler-Disney-headed-robot-dog-fighting-ring running hillbillies. Dunno why. We had to go see the ruins, and not get kidnapped, raped to death and eaten by the inbred family of nuclear mutants that lived in the shed out back. Worst vacation ever.

There are three different sets of ruins in the park. We only visited two. Because the reality is that one stack of stones that used to be a church looks almost identical to every other stack of stones that used to be a church. That, and after searching desperately for the secret entrance to the dungeon/entrance to hell, and finding bupkis, TWICE, I was sorely discouraged. I don't know about the rest of the family. They just seemed bored. I can't blame them, as we didn't have to fight a passel of animated skeletons once. Not once. Lamest temple ruins ever.

There isn't much to describe. We got out and walked around. I took pictures, trying to use my art degree to create interesting images. I failed.

The exploding schoolbus signs! Yes, that sentence was intentional. This is a thing in New Mexico. As are cattle crossing signs sporting UFOs. The latter are expected. The former were a surprise indeed. The signs were posted in a hilly region and I took them as a warning about school buses being in the area. School buses that exploded when they got angry, and were ever waiting in ambush for unwary travelers.

But what can you expect? In an environment as harsh as that, only the most well adapted will survive, and I'm willing to lay dollars to donuts that the exploding school bus is at the top of the foodchain.

One final thing that I noticed was that it seemed like a quarter of all the houses had bars on the windows and doors. I don't know if this is a cultural quirk or if the crime is that terrible. It was true in the nicer/newer neighborhoods as well as the rotting old ones. This, as much as the...well everything else to be honest, made me not really consider it when the folks asked if we wanted to move down.

New Mexico Part the First.

Well, I'm finally sitting down and hammering this out.  We took the trip back in Mid-May.  It is now the second half of July.  Sure some/most of the details have faded, but this country is built on people making strong statements based on half-remembered impressions. 

This was my second trip to the Land of Enchantment. I shall say now that, for me at least, Enchantment must be a euphemism. Though not on a scale that one would expect with the crossover from “Genocide” to the milder sounding “Ethnic Cleansing”. But not so tame as how “Auto-tuned” has come to mean “covering up for a talentless singer.”

The first time I ventured forth to the American South West was back in the fall of 2007. Though it was something new and relatively interesting, I don't generally have good memories of the experience. That was the year that Robert Jordan died. Actually, I was at my folks house in Albuquerque when I read the news. That was a kick to the gut, moreso than the death of either my Uncle or my Grandmother. Horrible as that might sound, but in reading his stories I feel that I knew him better than either of my estranged, introverted relatives.

We ventured out somewhat, but mostly I was there to keep my mother company while my dad was on a trip back up in Alaska. What this translates to is that, I hung out at the house all day while she worked, and then I hung out in the house all night while she napped on the couch after work. We are not exciting people. We did visit the used book stores that Albuquerque – that is a dorkly tradition that I started in high school. New city: visit used book stores. Mission Fucking Accomplished.

Aside from that we hit up a few tourist traps and sampled the local restaurants. I hung out on the couch and read and wrote(which was what I did at home). I had finished my first two zombie novels and was working on the second pair. The air conditioning went out in the first couple days after a lightning strike. This wore harder on the mom than it did me. I have been living without Air Conditioning for years, and the midwest has some brutally hot and humid weather in the summer time.

Largely I avoided going outside in general. I hate hot weather.

This is what I recall most about my first adventure in New Mexico. That and our visit to Taos. Taos was a trip in and of itself. If you ever goto New Mexico, be sure to visit Taos. If you can skip over the rest of the state, all the better.

Now to the more recent adventure. The folks have been after the sister and myself to come down and visit for years. They offered to pay the airfare, so we took a long weekend and went on down. I spent the weeks leading up to it by psyching myself up for a huge panic attack! Getting up at 4:30 in the morning and then flying? Wheeeee!

I really don't want to do this. I hate heights. I hate being trapped in public spaces. I hate heights. I really don't want to do this. I hate being trapped in public spaces. I really don't want to do this. I hate heights. I hate being trapped in public spaces. Over and over those thoughts wore on my mind. Until I realized that this was a stupid attitude. Flying most likely won't kill you, it's just a hugely uncomfortable drag that I would rather avoid. That helped, and after the fear freaking out passed I actually rather enjoyed some aspects of the flight. I love looking down at the landscape below. There is nothing as awesome as a bird's eye view of the world.

Texas sucks.

Aside from a few sweaty-palm inducing jolts of turbulence, the flight down went smoothly. But damn, I do hate when an airplane drops several feet and shudders about like a Fundy thinking about the naughty bits on a human body. After a rough patch on the approach to the Albuquerque airport, we set down and were ready to go.

Firstly, New Mexico is brown. I don't mean this in the sense that the state has a bevy of sexy Latin folk meandering around, though that is fairly true. I refer instead to the landscape, with the largely unbroken drab sandy soil that is spotted with green bushes like some sort of rash. I tried to like Browntopia. But as a resident of the evergreen midwest, I could only ever keep coming back to the question “Who would want to live here?” I am not terribly fond of the city I live in. It does nothing for me. But I would gladly take it over Albuquerque.

The folks met us at the airport. This is to be expected. But what is a narrative without a few obvious points?

Nearly entire city seems to have jumped on the Adobe theme. Even the McDonalds. Which is cool. It gives it an exotic flavor to us out-of-towners, and to be honest visiting a city that isn't exactly like the sprawled hole that I just left feels nice. Sometimes it seems like too many towns across the country have become carbon copies of one another. Seeing a place with an identity of it's own is refreshing. New Mexico is not the midwest, and I don't see any reason that it should look like the midwest. Or vice versa.

We had breakfast-lunch at ChileRio. It was Fantastic. At least through the filter of not having eaten yet that day. Else, I'm sure that I'd need to downgrade my review to merely Good. The folks like it enough to have gone back several times, and to have brought their offspring along. Whatever, it was food and I was hungry.

Now the vast sight-seeing extravaganza could begin.

Albuquerque is a vast sprawl of a city. It spreads over the valley floor and is cut into a grid. I was not at all fond of it. I think I've mentioned it before. The only real homey sight for me was the belt of green that clad the Rio Grande. Notice that I did not add River to Rio Grande. I am just that sophisticated.

Our first stop on the itinerary was the petroglyphs on the edge of Albuquerque. For those who don't know, they are a series of figures carved into boulders on the side of a mountain outside of town. The weather was pleasantly sunny and warm, so we engaged in a small hike up and around the hillside to see the marks that long centuries of past generations had left behind. In my mind these crude carvings aren't great achievements in human art, but they are rather cool still. They are a mark of the past and to be enjoyed.

The coolest part of this hike(and all of the others to follow) were the signs that warned visitors to remain on the trail. Else beware the wrath of the rattlesnakes. Sweet! I so wanted to see a rattlesnake! It was a crushing blow that I didn't even catch the faintest jingle of a rattle. Stupid lofty dreams!

After the Petroglyphs the folks dragged us to a housewarming party at one of my dad's co-workers. He had long since decided to 'introduce me' to one of said coworkers. A pretty redhead. I do like pretty redheads. But I do not like people trying to prod me in a direction. I dig in and resist. Especially when they cannot answer a simple 'why is this a good idea?'

Sometime back the Mom took it upon herself to try and reintroduce me to her best friend's daughter(a very pretty girl). We had played together a few times as kids. I got mulely. Because that is how I do. This is just an aside. Feel free to read and judge.

The reasoning behind these shenanigans damn well better be 'she's pretty and you're both single. Thus a perfect match!' This cannot be the extent of our commonalities that might connect us. Though I do like pretty redheads. I viewed the encounter with the same nervous trepidation that have with all forced social meetings. I did not look forward to it. Thus why I am still single.

All in all, it was moot. He never got around to introducing us.

Well, it was a long day. I decided to crash out around 9:30 PM local time. Weak, I know, but I had been running for about 19 hours by that point. Much longer than I like. And tomorrow, Taos and the Earthships!

Have you done much traveling? I liked the trip to Taos the first time. Sure, the way is grey, but you finally get into the mountains. We moved away from Alaska in 1997, and I've not seen anything larger than a hill since. I forgot how much I miss the beauty of mountains – some of that is why I yearn to move out to the Pacific North West. Alaska lite.

The downside of the weekend was going to be that I was spending it in the back seat of a car. Sight-seeing from the back seat of a sedan is not really sight-seeing at all. Mostly you get one angle. Worse yet when that angle revealed the drab, post-apocalyptic wasteland that is New Mexico.

I must say that Taos makes for a pretty trip. Relatively speaking of course. The highlight was the Rio Grande, which is a sparkling green that high up. It was even more fantastic in the gorge.

Segway time!

The gorge was just that. A deep cut in the rock face where the river has worn through for hundreds of years. I think that at the apex it is some 450 feet deep. We got out of the car and decided to walk the bridge. I don't like heights. But I tried walking out on the bridge anyhow. Self-inflicted pain is the best kind.

I made it somewhere between an third and halfway across before I decided to turn back. My legs just got squiggly and I decided that I really didn't enjoy what I was trying to do. What bothered me the most was sudden gaps in the guardrail between sections. They were maybe an inch, two tops, wide. But it was enough that my hand lost contact with something solid. My brain didn't like this. My feet reversed course and walked us back.

The mom and sister made it all the way across, and laughed at us.

Earthships! I how I natter on about them. I want one. This is why I spend so much talking about them. A house that heats and cools itself and also grows some of the food the residents need? They seem so solid, built with tires, earth and concrete. Enough to repel any invaders. This is an Apocalyptic novelists' dream come true. Honestly, writing zombie stories has been made so much easier by the years I've spent daydreaming about surviving the Apocalypse. I admit, part of my brain is always devoted to that line of questions.

The mom asked over and over what we wanted to do on our visit. My only goal was to roadtrip to Taos and visit the Earthships. Now, that's two and a half, or three hours of sitting in a car for a man who does that for a living. Not really appealing. But, Earthships. For $7, you can take a self-guided tour of the compound. And for a couple hundred dollars you can even rent an Earthship for the night. While we weren't down for the former, we were up for the latter.

I am a cynic and a pessimist, but only when it doesn't get in the way of my mindless and boundless optimism(read this as I play the lotto and hope to win). This is a funny mix of personality traits, one that involves no little amusement on my part. After weeks and weeks of build up, I was wary that the self-tour might not live up to my expectations. I mean really, we just flew to New Mexico and drove up from Albuquerque. I've been waiting for this for weeks! Months even, as I have long daydreamed about taking a long cross-country tour that involved visiting the Earthships as I passed through the South West.

I had been waiting for this moment. And was of course disappointed. It's a running theme in my life. The tour involved a gift shop, a video that you could easily find on the internet – not to mention the fact that, if you're into Earthships enough to visit the landing sight in Taos, then you know all of that already – and the rest of the welcome center. After that, you're free to walk around the parking lot and take the 'self-guided tour' of following the ropeline.

If you were to take the tour as a form of exercise, then you'd just be as well off walking back and forth from your couch to the fridge. Tweren't much there. We didn't even get to go inside any of the other Earthships. Just the visitors center, which is set up as a visitor's center. Very un-houselike and dull. Darker than I expected too...though on second thought it is largely an earth-sheltered house. All in all, I think that the Visitor's Center was a bit like trying out Lucky Charms cereal for the first time while only eating the drab cardboardy bits that most people discard.

Seeing the outside of Earthships from a distance is Lame at best. I have a few other choice words that would fully express my feelings, but I don't feel like getting that base.

The highlight of the tour was the pretty blonde girl. Not only was she a beauty with a dazzling smile, but she was pleasant and knowledgeable, as well as borderline fanatical about the movement. Then again, she was working as the greeter in the Earthship visitors center, so this is to be expected. I myself, though devoted to the idea of personally acquiring an Earthship and experiencing the lifestyle, am not so interested in being part of a large scale social movement. Sure, it seems keen. I just don't have the personality or the energy required to bring folks into the fold. I am not an evangelist or used car salesman. I'm a dorky wannabe hack novelist with a negative charisma stat. Come to think of it... my talking about Earthships here is probably harming their cause.

Sorry hippies.

You see how many times I wrote Earthships in that last bit? Well that's about what my folks had to endure. Truly mine is a Rain Manesque obsession.

Though I do dabble with the idea of settling down with a few like minded friends and forming a community of homesteader types. This usually seems too damn communesque, hippieish, etc. for my liking. Not to mention I don't think I have a core of friends who would be remotely interested in such an endeavor. And I'm really not good at making new friends. Though it is all a pleasant fancy. Maybe I'll just weave it into a story that I write.

Despite all that, I still want an Earthship. Maybe after I pay off my student loans and hook up with a girl that one of my relatives thinks I should meet. I of course will be stuffing my lotto winnings into a mattress by then, so the expenses won't be an issue!

Back in town, we got out of the car only to have lunch. We played a game that is a sign of dysfunction in my family. I call it “Where do you want to eat? I don't know. Where do you want to eat?” Oh the Passive Aggressive Midwesterners are on vacation, how cute! But finally we decided on a local(as opposed to chain) place that was down town. Taos, is an art colony. Which means that it is full of A) hippies and B) tourist traps. Some of the latter being run by the former.

I think we finally went with a place called The Gorge.

The food was delicious. They get my seal of approval and I am willing to pimp them here... to all 3 people who might actually read this. I had my usual, burger and fries. Can't go wrong with that. I would go back(if I were in Taos again).

More later.

Last days of driving.

No near misses lately.  I've run over a couple possums.  Those were lousy days.  Now, with the onset of summer, the daylight has increased and I've only really had thunderstorms to deal with.  No ice, just good old rain.  And damn but has it been rainy.  Last year we were in a never ending heatwave and drought, this year we've made up for that.  Rain to the point of flooding.  Some of my nights have been highlighted by fantastic light shows as thunderstorms rolled across the countryside.  In the flat areas you can watch the lightning for miles coming.

I have pretty eyes.  I've had two patients insist on it in the last month.  My standard response is to awkwardly say "Why thank you!", while trying to avoid further eye contact. I'm socially retarded.  This is how I roll, especially when dealing with clients. No, that isn't true.  This response applies across the board.  Normal, crazy, female, male.  I'm sure that if Christina Hendricks said as much, I'd shit myself and feint.  If I were lucky.  But no, I don't get random compliments from intelligent and beautiful women on the street. Nope.  I draw attention from the crazies.

One of my patients insists that I should have dated the med-passer at the facility.  Though I'm not clear on the why of it beyond the fact that the med-passer is single and I have the prettiest, clearest blue eyes that she(the patient) has ever seen.  Despite the fact that my eyes aren't pure blue, and I'm not quite sure what 'clearest' means in the context of eyes.  That I don't have cataracts perhaps.  She was rather incensed that I saw flaws in her reasoning, while trying to avoid the proposition.  I really don't like it when someone approaches me and says 'you should date *blank* because you're both single and she needs a boyfriend."  You're clearly perfect for each other!

This only it gets even weirder when the insistent individual a car accident/head injury victim who is obsessed with my eyes.

We've added a new section of homes.  They're called Behavioral.  Not the name of the company, but a self-description of their service.  They house people with emotional issues. Back in the days of Yore they would have been called Ye Olde Asylums for Insane Citizens.

Visiting them makes me uncomfortable for a variety of reasons.  Just a vibe I get that makes my hackles stand.  Though most of the patients seem to be happyish.

On one recent visit, a small man approaches the doorway where I am standing. I step aside as I assume he wants to talk to the staff whom I am keeping busy. "You are a very handsome man!"  He declares.  My response is the same one mentioned above.  It has not changed, only grown more awkward.  On a scale of uncomfortable encounters this isn't as bad as the time where a customer answered the door in her underwear.  Or my run in with the belligerent Harry Potter fan.  Or the unending tirade on how Johnson and Johnson created Male Pattern Baldness by putting battery acid in their shampoos in order to drive the sales of Rogaine.

Then he turns to one of the staff, who happens to be passing by and says "Isn't he a handsome man."  Which rather ramped up the level of discomfort on my part.  Well, I do not know if the staff actually agreed with the proclamation or if he was just humoring the gentleman, and this is something which I try not to ponder. But he answered in the affirmative.  The patient smiled and left.  After which, the woman checking in the delivery told me not to worry, he said that to everyone.

Well thanks for ruining the moment.  For a moment I was primed to quit everything and search for a career in high fashion!  Sure, this move would be based on the opinion of someone who is demonstrably insane.  An opinion that is rather questionable in it's accuracy and is at best unreliable.   And… well that's it really.  I got a compliment from a crazy who gives everyone the same compliment.  Guess I shouldn't quit my job and become a male model.

Now when i see him, he demands a fist-bump.

I have taken to wearing sunglasses indoors whenever possible.

One of the regulars whom I deal with is wheelchair bound.  I assume that he was in a car accident when he sustained his brain injury as that is the type of facility.  He proudly declares to the world that he is prone to seizures.  Or maybe he's looking for sympathy.  I've become jaded by my visits to worse places to give him much heed.  Aside from the wheelchair and the seizures, he seems have retained most of his cognitive abilities as well as all of his limbs.  While avoiding having a portion of his skull caved in.  I've seen worse.

Anyhow, he insists on calling me Drug Dealer.  But damn, but he does get his panties in a twist when anyone implies that he uses drugs.  Nope, he ingests legally prescribed medications.  He is insistent on this Point, like a pit bull that has locked its jaws.  Only Legally Prescribed Drugs.  Which is what I, the drug dealer, carry.  So I call him Drug User.  It's a circular exchange and proves that I have the maturity of a 11 year old boy.  Sometimes I wonder if he is taking advantage of his condition and using it as an opportunity to dis the people around him.  Very few human beings are willing to punch a cripple in the head, no matter what sort of abuse they hurl.  I stand with the majority on this.

Most of my interactions with him have been rather amusing.  He is a character.  He'd say something and I'd respond with a one-liner.  At one point he was randomly quizzing me on the state capitals.  I'd like to say that I passed with flying colors.  But it has been years since I last studied that in high school, and as such the rather less important information has leaked from my ears as I slept.   I failed dramatically.  Much to Wheels' amusement.

Then came the following exchange.  "You know, you should be on SNL, your voice is weird."  Have I mentioned that he's gotten really nasty lately?  I've heard my voice and it's not fantastic.  Sure, Urkle I ain't, nor do I hold a candle to the likes of Gilbert Godfried.  My voice isn't irritating, that I can tell.  I just don't cause panties to drop whenever I bust a verse and quote Star Wars.  Go figure.

You should be on SNL, your voice is weird.  I responded "I'd feel hurt, if I wasn't so certain that it was the drugs talking now."

Alas, I'll be changing jobs soon to something severely boring, but better paying and safer, so I doubt I'll have a steady stream of wacky adventures with the insane in the future.

Well, it could have been worse.

Oh the life of a delivery driver. You are full of surprises. Most unpleasant.

One of my customers seemed to have forgotten one of the social niceties by which we agree as a society. Namely, not to answer the door in your skivvies.

After years of living in our culture with the various Memes that blossom and spread. And after years of hearing about and watching various documentaries alluding to what happens when a woman comes to the entry of her domicile in her unmentionables and greets a delivery driver.

I feel that was not incorrect in expecting that: “Come on in Mr. Delivery Boy, and let me make a Delivery MAN out of you! Raaaarr.” to be the rather logical next step in the conversation. And then, somewhere in the background sensuous saxophone music would gently be piped into the atmosphere from sources unknown.

I was rather dreading a further encounter, as it would violate one of the strictures by which I work.

1. Don't dip into the product.
2. Don't dip into the customers.
3. Be polite.

Not very exciting, but they work in structuring my day to day life and keep me gainfully employed. Though the second observation is theoretical as I've not at all tested the limits of what I might get away with.

One or more of those guidelines was going to be dashed that evening, and odds were good that it would have been the second, as over-weight and middle aged women with more than a touch of the crazy don't seem to get my motor running. Really, why couldn't I have been assailed by a comely 20 something in her sauciest acquisition from the pages of Victoria's Secret?

Or more accurately, I should be thankful that I didn't encounter a over-weight, middle aged man in a stained and sagging pair of what one would have tighty-whities. Call me a pessimist, but is how I would expect my luck to run. So I call it a win. After all “Any one that you walk away from right?”

As such, I focused on studying the hallway from which I had come as she struggled with the act of signing the packing slip. This, I have found is my number one defense in life: play stupid. (some might question the accuracy of 'play', but I do like to kid myself) Fortunately, nothing further came of the experience and I am so far enjoying a streak of 4 full days without seeing one of my customers fully clothed.

Mind, all of this is merely the second most awkward encounter that I had with her. The first being the aforementioned time when she decided to preach the good word and convert me to Jesusitude.

Half-assed post

Wooh.  Sad day.  I've not even been having half-assed adventures lately.  Unless one counts my SAVING THE UNIVERSE...through video games.  Yeah, Mass Effect 3.  And not even the brilliant storyline.  I skipped that and jumped straight into multiplayer.  Mostly because my friends play the game and I wanted to get in with the crowd.  Such a follower am I.

Have I met any crazies since my last post?  I had one inmate approach, and get uncomfortably close, a couple months back and say "I know who you are.  You're Harry Potter."  "You've discovered my secret," I responded, "But now I need to get back to work."  Which brought a resounding "Fuck you Harry Potter!"

Beyond that.. Life has been dull and largely devoid of near death experiences.